She's like, "Russ, can I come een?"

and of course I'm there, "Hang on a sec - I'm not decent, " and then I flex my pecs and my biceps and go, "Okay, come in?" She's looking well today, it has to be said. Did I mention that she looks like Liv Tyler?

"I am surry to vake you so early, " she goes, "but thees letter, it come for you."

A letter? Weird.

I can tell straight away from the writing that it's from, like, Christian. What's he writing letters for? Then I remember - California supposed to send you a bit, you know? But then again, he's married.

I rip it open, roysh, scan down through it? working at Lucasfilm? job of my dreams? a fight between Snaggletooth and Weequay? and there it is, right at the bottom.

It's like, "Lauren and I have some news - we're going to have a baby?" I just, like, punch the air. If I was missing that mental focker before, I'm really missing him now.

"Vot ees it?" Lyudmila goes.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed.

I'm like, "It's Christian - as in my best friend - he's got his bird up the spout, " and Lyudmila says this is great, then she goes, "You are ferry, ferry gude friend?" Now I must have some inkling as to what's about to go down here, roysh, because I actually go, "Where's Honor?" as in, checking that she's out of, like, earshot.

"She is sleeping, " Lyudmila goes and I'm like, "Cool."

She gives me a really nice smile then, roysh - I am not yanking your cord here - she touches the top of my orm and gives my actual bicep a squeeze.

So suddenly we're, like, staring into each other's eyes, roysh, and all I can smell is Clinique, which I'm a sucker for, and I can tell from her mince pies that she's already doing in her mind what we're about to do in the sack and the next thing I know, roysh, I've whipped back the sheets and we're suddenly at it, in other words making bacon.

The sex is un-fockingbelievable, roysh - Lyudmila has more than a few tricks in her grab-bag - and, though I don't want to sound like I'm writing my own reviews here, I think it's safe to say that she got as much out of it as I did.

Afterwards, roysh, we both drift off and I eventually wake up massaging my supraspinatus muscle which I think I strained during one of the gymnastic routines she had me performing - and of course I'm just hoping that it's not going to rule me out for the knockout stages of the Heineken Cup, if I do get the call.

See, at that moment in time I thought that was my biggest worry in the world.

"What time is it?" Lyudmila goes and I have to say, roysh, my hort skips a beat when I check my phone and it's suddenly, like, four o'clock in the afternoon. We must have been out for, like, hours. But that's not the worst of it. There's, like, someone moving around downstairs. I end up nearly soiling the focking sheets.

It's Sorcha.

I throw back the covers, roysh, hop out of the bed and lash on my chinos and my blue and white Abercrombie t-shirt. I fix my hair and open the bedroom door and I listen from the top of the stairs.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I can hear Honor crying and Sorcha trying to, like, comfort her.

I go back into the bedroom and I go, "Do you think she knows?"

and Lyudmila's like, "I don't know. Russ, thees is ferry bed, " and I'm there, "No, I don't think she's copped - she'd have pulled both my focking testicles off by now, believe me. . ."

She looks away, roysh, lost in thought for a minute. Then she goes, "I can go to ze spur room. I shall say I am seek. I hef to go to ze bed. You can say you were - how to say - checking on me, yes?"

She's good, this bird.

I'm there, "Yeah, I'm actually going to play this one as I see it, " and then I go, "That's what Fehily used to tell us before the big games - just play it as you see it, " and she nods, like someone who understands rugby, and then I tip down the stairs, roysh, only remembering to button up my fly when I'm in the hall.

"Hey, Babes, " I go, playing it slicker than otter snot.

She doesn't acknowledge me, roysh, except by going, "Oh my God, I think she's actually teething already. . ."

She doesn't know. There's no way she knows.

I'm like, "Teething? Fock - that's all we need."

Then I go, "I'm going to put on a pot of coffee, if you fancy some."

She doesn't say anything, just storts making baby talk to Honor.

It's like, "Who's the big girl?

Who's the big girl? Who's getting the big teeth? Yes - you are. Yes - you. . ."

"Still no word from Michael Cheika, " I go. "I swear to God, roysh, if Gordon D'Arcy was ripping the piss that night in Reynords. . ."

I tip three spoonfuls of French vanilla supreme into the pot, and then a fourth, just for the heck of it.

"In our bed, Ross?" I suddenly hear Sorcha go. "In our bed?"

I spin around and she's standing right behind me, too close for comfort actually. She's not crying, roysh, but I can tell from her eyes that she has been.

"Sorcha, " I go, just basically stalling, trying to think of something to say, but for probably the first time in my life, there's no lie I can tell to get me out of this.

Neither of us says anything for, like, five, maybe 10 minutes. Then Sorcha goes, "I took the suitcases out of the attic. We'll go down to Superquinn in a second and get you some boxes."

She's playing this one tough.

I'm like, "Boxes?" and she's there, "I'm going to mum and dad's for the long weekend. Is three days enough time to get your stuff together?" and I'm like, "Whoa, are things really that bad?"

She doesn't give me a straight answer. She just goes, "You know, I blame myself in a lot of ways."

I'm thinking, whoa, there could be an out for me in this. I'm there, "Go on - continue. . ."

She puts Honor back in her carry-cot. As she does, she's going, "I should have seen it coming - you and her. I used to come home from work some days and look at the two of you and think, oh my God, they're the husband and wife. I felt like a spare part in my own home. It was like, Oh! My God!"

It's weird, roysh, because she doesn't seem angry - just, I don't know, sad.

She's there, "You read about this stuff all the time in Heat.

New mums who think they'll never get back to work. They hand their babies - oh my God, their homes - over to a nanny and suddenly they're not the woman of their own house anymore. I don't blame you for being confused. For the last few weeks, even I haven't known my own role, my own function here. . ."

I go, "This can't be the end. . ."

but she gives me this smile, roysh, a sad smile, as if to say, basically, it is.

She actually means it this time.

The front door slams. She must cop my boat race because she goes, "Lyudmila. . ." and I'm like, "Too scared to face the music, " trying to take some of the heat off myself.

Sorcha walks over to the sink and takes over the coffee-making.

I'm in too much shock.

She pours my coffee and puts milk and two sugars in it, just the way I like it. Then she's like, "I'm going to put Honor in the car, " as in the Peugeot 306 2.0 convertible that her old pair bought her to celebrate Honor's arrival.

And then she does the weirdest thing, roysh. My hand is, like, resting on the table top and she rubs it, roysh, like a mother would to her child.

She goes, "Finish your coffee.

Then we'll go and get you those boxes."