"No, I liked it. I thought it was like, 'Oh my God!'" "I did too. I meant that in a good way. I was talking about the noise. It's actually like sitting in a lemon grove eating pork crackling."

"Oh my God, it is!"

This is the shit I'm going to have to listen to all the way home.

Sorcha's storted going to those wine-tasting evenings I was telling you about in the French Paradox . . . her and Aoife and Lauren . . . and of course after two focking Tuesdays they're already experts.

Sorcha's going, "Which Shiraz did you prefer, Aoife? I thought the McLaren Vale was a bit too ripely flavoured, " and Aoife goes, "Definitely. I so preferred the Hilltops, especially its texture and length, " which is all just total bullshit of course.

Sorcha says oh my God she hadn't realised in this day and age how important it was to know something about wine and then she asks me, roysh, would I mind dropping Lauren home.

Seeing as Lansdowne Square is only five minutes away, it's like ain't no thing but a chicken wing.

"Oh my God, " Sorcha goes, "did you hear about Chloe?" and Lauren . . . who's not really port of that whole crew . . . goes, "The more I hear about that girlf What's she done now?" and Sorcha's there, "Well, you know Sophie? Her little sister got this amazing dress in Roccoco for the New Year ball in, like, Jury's? It was, like, baby pink taffeta? So it was laid out on the bed and Chloe spilled a glass of . . . oh my God . . .

red winef allf overf it! It was like, Oh! My God! And Sophie swears she did it on purpose."

Aoife goes, "Oh my God, that's because she's going with Patrick Laffin. Chloe SO wants to be with him. He is actually hot. He was in the Ireland rugby squad."

"Development squad, " I go, quick as a flash.

Patrick Laffin! I ran rings around that focker when we were at school. He was actually more into cricket then. Actually, I've got a video on my phone of him in Lillies about six months ago, being focked out by the bouncers and you can see this, like, humungous piss stain on the crotch of his chinos. It's a wellknown fact that Michael's boys can't hold their beer. I must put it on You Tube, see how focking hot he is then.

I pull in, roysh, opposite the Mount Herbert and Lauren goes, "No, go into the square, Ross.

Christian wants to talk to you about something, " and I'm thinking, that's weird, because he usually has his scriptwriting class on Tuesday nights.

"Is he in?" I go and she's like, "Yeah, " and of course my instant reaction is, why didn't he pick Lauren up . . . Han focking Solo . . .

it's only around the focking corner. As I'm getting out of the cor, Aoife's telling Sorcha that she couldn't believe the tannins in the Georges Dubouef Beaujolais-Villages 2003 and Sorcha's going, "I know. SO meaty."

Lauren puts the key in the door and I can already see, roysh, that the gaff is in total dorkness. I go into the hall and she closes the door behind me.

I'm there, "What's going on?

Where's Christian?" and she's like, "He's at his scriptwriting class tonight. I needed to talk to you on your own, " and of course I'm thinking, shit, I would never have thought Lauren had any feelings for me, other than actual disgust.

But it turns out it's not that at all.

She goes, "You know all about this offer that Christian's got from Lucasfilm, " and I'm like, "Yeah, I know all about it, " and she's there, "Christian's still in two minds about it.

"He's just torn . . . he's not sleeping or anything. I'd really be interested in hearing what you think?"

"Honestly?" I go, then I lean up against the wall and sort of, like, blow my cheeks out. I'm like, "I think he'd be crazy to take it, if you want my opinion. I mean, Lucasfilm . . . who knows if they'll even be around this time next year?

"And the States? It's, like, so far away, isn't it? I think you guys would be better off staying here . . .

the economy, Celtic Tiger, blah blah blahf" She nods, roysh, like she's taking it all in and then . . . so fast that I don't even see it . . . she grabs me by the knackers and she goes, "Listen to me, you little shit. This is something that Christian has dreamed about his whole life. There is nothing in the world he's more qualified to do.

And the only thing stopping him from saying yes to that offer is youf" Her face is so close to mine that I can smell brie and charcuterie on her breath. She tightens her grip and my entire body is, like, paralysed. She's clearly learned a thing or two from her old man.

"I love Christian, " she goes. "I love him more than anything in the world. And I won't stand by while someone who claims to be his friend denies him happiness.

So I'll tell you what you're going to do, you selfish little prick.

Christian will be home in, say, an hour. You're going to call him and tell him you were wrong and you're sorry. And you're going to tell him to take that job.

Okay?"

I sort of, like, nod.

"Okay?" she goes, twisting my nads and sending, like, a spasm of pain up my spine? I'm thinking, if this focks up my chances of a late call-up for the Six Nationsf "Okay!" I go and she lets go of my nuts.

I walk back to the cor like a man who's just shat his kacks.

Sorcha and Aoife are cracking their holes laughing.

Sorcha . . . my so-called wife . . .

goes, "It serves you right, Ross. I heard what you did to Christian.

It was SO out of order."

Aoife tells Sorcha she can't believe she's been such a snob about Cabernet Sauvignon all these years.