So we end up spending a week interviewing nannies, roysh, most of them immigrants . . . and that's not me being racist.

Anyway, roysh, after much careful consideration, Sorcha has, like, whittled the candidates to two . . . Anka and Lyudmila You would presume that, being Dutch, Anka would be the nicer of the two, but I have to say, roysh, I've never been so disappointed in my life. Uglier than Parnell Street . . . a real mess.

Lyudmila, on the other hand, is from a place called Belarus, which sounded a bit makey-up to me, but Sorcha insists it's an actual place, and she did honours geography and got an A.

She's a serious honey, this Lyudmila . . . a ringer for Liv Tyler . . . and I'm just, like, staring at her, thinking, I should have bought an aportment in your town, wherever that is, and I look down at her CV and it says Borisov.

She focking aces the interview from my POV. "It's no contest, really, " I go to Sorcha after I've followed Lyudmila's orse halfway up Newtownpork Avenue.

"I agree, " she goes. "Have you seen Anka's references? The last little girl she nannied for was a member of the Dutch royal family, " and I make a face as if to say, and your point is?

She's there, "Oh my God, you're thinking about Lyudmila."

She knows me only too well.

"She just seemed cool, " I go.

"And Anka, well, she's not exactly easy on the eye, is she? Not that looks are important. I just don't want Honor waking up screaming with nightmares. . ."

Sorcha knows I have a point but at the same time, roysh, she knows bringing Lyudmila in is putting temptation in my way.

Like I said, knows me too well.

"Look, " I end up going, "why don't we call them back for second interviews, " thinking, at least I'll get another look at Lyudmila, even if we end up going for the other wreck.

"Second interviews? Ross, it's a nanny's job . . . not head of medical research at Glaxo Smithklein."

But eventually, roysh, she agrees, so Sorcha phones them to come back tomorrow. Anka mustn't be happy because I hear Sorcha go, "Yes, I've read your references but we still have one or two questions, " and when she hangs up, I go, "Sounds like she has a problem with authority, " really sowing the doubts.

Of course there's no way that focking whelk is looking after a kid of mine. I wouldn't even be 100% sure she's a woman.

So the following morning, I get up early and point the old love machine towards Shankill . . .

focking Skankill . . . where Anka has an aportment. I press the intercom and, when I say who it is, she comes down. I see she wears those big focking Nana Miskouri glasses, something she failed to mention. When she sees me she's straight on the attack.

She's like, "What is this second interview? So I am good enough for the cousin of Princess Maxima but not for you, yes?"

and I stort nodding, roysh.

I go. "Look, my wife's a tough cookie. I'm only here because I want you to get the job, " and she's there, "This surprises me. You did not look at me even one time during the interviewf" I'm actually terrible around birds I've fock-all interest in.

She's like, "In my interview, you were . . . how do you say? . . .

throwing your eyes up to the sky."

I can actually believe that, roysh, but Slick Mick here ends up going, "That's because I thought interviewing you was a waste of time. I'd have given you the job on your references. I mean, what did the cousin of that princess call you? Punctual?"

She goes, "Yes . . . and resourceful, " and I'm there, "Yeah. And I looked all those up and they're all good shit, which is why I'm offering you advice. The area you're falling down on, believe it or not, is hobbies."

"Hobbies?" she goes, looking Scooby Dubious. "But I wrote badminton, readingf" and I go, "Everyone puts those . . . it's one of those lies you put on your CV when you realise you actually do fock-all, except work and drink."

"So, " she goes, "what, you think I should make something up?"

and I'm like, "You wouldn't believe how seriously Sorcha takes this shit. It's important for her to feel she has a connection to whoever's minding her babyf" I let that sink in. Then I go, "Sorcha really enjoys hunting."

She looks surprised.

I'm there, "Five or six times a year, we're out there in, I don't know, Wicklow or some shithole, riding around on horses, looking for foxes to basically killf" She goes, "In Holland, many of the royal family like this. I go maybe one or two timesf" I'm thinking, yeah, with teeth like that, I'd say you lead the focking pack. I don't say that, though. What I say is, "Well, why not mention that . . . if hobbies come up?" and she thanks me, actually focking thanks me.

So three o'clock rolls around and we're all back, Anka in the ormchair, me and Sorcha asking questions from the sofa, like focking Mork Cagney and Sinead Desmond. So we pussyfoot around for a few minutes, until I decide this bird's face is too focking offensive for me to look at for a minute longer. I give her a little wink, roysh, then I go, "Let's talk about your hobbies?"

I can feel Sorcha looking at me.

"I like to hunt the animals, " she goes. Suddenly Sorcha's looking at her. She's there, "Sorry, can you actually repeat that?" and Anka looks at me, then back at Sorcha, and goes, "The royal family, they like to hunt. Many times I go. When the dogs catch the fox, it make me so happyf" I'm just, like, shaking my head in disgust.

"No offence, " Sorcha goes, "but I don't think you're a suitable person to look after my daughter, " and she stands up, roysh, and opens the living room door, doesn't offer to shake her hand or anything. It's like, interview terminated.

Of course Anka's looking at me but I'm just, like, blanking her.

Then, when the silence gets too, like, uncomfortable, I go open the front door. Anka looks dizzy at how quick it's all happened.

When she's gone, I turn to Sorcha and I go, "You'd think, looking like that, she'd have a bit more focking sympathy for animals."