The thing that suits me most about unemployment, I would have to say, is the hours. In fact, as pretty much the entire population of Bray will tell you, it's killing time that's actually the biggest problem. I find, though, that if I break the day down into, like, porcels of time, it, like, disappears more quickly and shit?

So I tend to get up at, like, one o'clock in the afternoon, roysh, and Lyudmila fixes me basically the most incredible fry I've ever tasted - we're talking two fried eggs, black and white pudding, the lot - and I horse it down while reading One F in the Stor or the Thornster himself.

At two o'clock on the button, Sorcha rings from the shop, just to make sure I'm not up to anything - and you know what I'm talking about.

Then I do, like, half an hour of weights, concentrating mostly on my upper body, while Lyudmila gets me my lunch, before the two of us settle down in front of the old Liza for the afternoon to watch Tyra, Boston Legal and Hollyoaks. We put Honor down for the night at about half-six and Sorcha gets home at, like, seven bells, which is when Lyudmila goes home, leaving me and my wife alone to ignore each other for the evening.

In fact, it has to be said, the only real conversation I get these days is from Lyudmila, who I can talk to about anything - my best friend pretty much emigrating to the States, my old dear being a stupid fockpig, why I don't believe Felipe Contepomi is the answer to Leinster's problems at number 10.

It's not all one-way traffic either - sometimes she offloads on me, too. Like this afternoon, when we were watching Tyra - "Girlfriend, you gone from fat? to phat" - when she turns around to me out of the actual blue and goes, "Yevgeni calls me today."

Yevgeni's her ex, a real focking headwrecker apparently. She basically left Belarussia to get away from him.

"Oh - what did he want?" I go, obviously trying not to sound too Roy, and Lyudmila sort of, like, massages her temples with the tips of her fingers and it takes her ages to answer. Then she's like, "He say he luff me, " and I sort of, like, nod really slowly, like the man of the world who's heard it all before.

"Love's a big word, " I go, "even though it's only got four, maybe five, letters?" "Is a big vurd but is easy to say, " Lyudmila goes. "Is too much easy to say. Oh, I luff you. Oh, I luff you. Oh, I luff you. We all say it, all ze sime. But wis Yevgeni, I never feel like he mean it. He only interested in Yevgeni. 'Oh, I am beeg lecturer in Minsk - what are you?' He never listen to me. . . like you do."

I'm just there, "Take my advice, Babes - drop him like honours Irish."

She's like, "Is not so easy. He say he come to Island to bring me home, " and suddenly I can actually feel my hands tighten into fists.

I'm just like, "I'm not going to let that happen. He can take that as, like, a threat or a promise but the basic truth is he's not going to get near you. . ."

Shit, I nearly called her Sorcha there.

She goes, "Sank you, Russ, " breathing a sigh of, like, relief, and I go, "Hey, it's all port of the service, " hoping that it didn't sound too cheesy. But it obviously didn't, roysh, because we end up sitting there, just staring into each other's eyes and it's weird, roysh, because I feel no urge to bail in. Obviously, I can't speak for Lyudmila, but for me it's enough to just sit there, smiling. .

So the next thing, roysh, Honor storts bawling her eyes out. "I sink some vun's neppy needs to and encouragement.

She goes, "Now, hold her ankles togezzer like zees, leeft her legs in ze air like zees and? slide ze clean neppy undernees her boom, yes?"

Of course I'm grandstanding now. I'm there, "I actually wouldn't have believed it was this easy. And I can't believe she's stopped crying. She always cries when I go near her, you see. I was beginning to think she hated me."

Lyudmila looks at me, roysh, suddenly all serious. She goes, "Honor does not hate you, Russ.

But bebbies is very clever, see?

Zey - how to say - sense when some sing is wrong between ze muzzer and ze fazzer. I sorry, I no like to make judgement but you and Sureeka, all the time you fight?" I'm there, "Tell me about it. I mean, I can only put it down to post-natal depression for so long.

But if she doesn't get her shit together soon, she's going to be offski, as you might say yourself."

She's like, "A bebby which sense zees hosteelity between ze parents will take ze side of ze parent she is ze most familiar weeth. Zat is Sureeka, yes?"

I'm there, "Well, I was pretty busy, it has to be said, selling the club. And then with me possibly going back playing rugby. I've been doing a fair bit in the gym - you've probably noticed."

She goes, "In Munich, when bebby is born, zey wrap him in his father's shirt before zey present him to ze muzzer. So he bonds wiz both parents in ze first minutes, yes?"

"Here, " she goes then, handing me a rub of cream, which I apply to, let's say, the affected area, before doing up the clean nappy and getting a round of applause and a peck on the cheek from Lyudmila.

Neither of us hears the front door open but suddenly Sorcha is standing at the door, roysh, weighing up the scene. I go, "Hey, Babes, I changed her nappy without her crying once, " but she just, like, glares at me and then glares at Lyudmila, like she thinks something was going on.

I go, "You're, er, home early, " which I suppose isn't going to make her any less suspicious and Sorcha's there, "Aoife said she'd look after the shop. I was missing my daughter, " except the way she says it, roysh, it comes out as MY daughter and she gives Lyudmila a look, then bends down and picks Honor up off the floor.

Of course it's then that I cop what's going on here. It's the old greeneyed monster. So I try to change the subject, roysh, to try and, like, win her around?

I'm there, "Did 40 minutes of weights today, Babes. I'd tell you how many incline presses and pec dec flies I did, but I don't want to come across as bigheaded, " but she doesn't answer, roysh, just gives me a look, then disappears upstairs with Honor.

Lyudmila looks at me and goes, "Perhaps, Russ, you should poot your shirt on."