I'm looking in the grill, the oven, the hob, wondering why nobody's fixed me a fry yet and at the same time I'm trying to shut the focker's voice out.

"Red clover for the bloodstream, molk thistle for the liver, hawthorn for the hortf Och, thot's only the stort of it.

This wee bibby has changed laves. It promotes peristaltic action, see. Two to three bowel movements a day, goranteed . . . or your money bockf" He's orse-obsessed, this goy.

I reach across the table for some reason and slam the old dear's laptop shut, nearly chopping her fingers off in the process. "Ross!" she goes, like she's actually considering giving out yords to me, but then she thinks better of it, roysh, and just flips it open again while giving me a filthy, then goes back to whatever it is she's doing.

Her new book is called Legal Affairs. It should be calledMore Bullshit From A Frustrated Old Trout.

"Hie's it coming along?" he goes and the old dear's like, "Oh, just wonderful, Lance. Valerie's only coming into her sexual primef" Of course I'm just like, "Hello?

I'm still in the actual room, you know."

She's going, "Only beginning to discover the roots of desire and arousalf" He smiles and this look passes between them that makes me want to borf. "Tri-Star have upped their offer, " he goes. "A million-and-a-hawf for the film rates. Reckon Columbia will up their offer as well, so I dof" I just stand there, "Whopeefocking-hoo! Is somebody going to cook me a breakfast or am I going to have to go out and get one?" Of course they totally ignore me and when I say totally I mean it. I end up just, like, storming out of the kitchen and upstairs to my room.

No sooner am I out of the room, roysh, than the two of them are at it. I don't even want to think what it is, roysh, but it sounds like she's wrestling a focking orangutan.

I whip out the old Wolfe and I bell Oisinn. I'm like, "Dude, where are you?"

"The fourteenth at Elm Park, " he goes. "What's the Jack?"

I'm there, "Remember I asked you to put bitch spray into a bottle of Chanel No 5 for me?"

"Er, not the kind of thing that tends to slip your mind, " he goes.

I'm there, "You did it?"

He's like, "Yeah, sorry it took so long, Dude. It was difficult to get the balance right, you see."

I'm there, "Balance? Fock balance. I hope you lashed loads of bitch spray into it . . . I want this shit to work."

"It will, " he goes. "Believe me."

So what happens is, roysh, I end up meeting for a late brekky upstairs in Donnybrook Fair, where he, like, hands over the merchandise. He's done an unbelievable job, it has to be said.

To smell it, roysh, you'd swear it was just Chanel No 5, but the way Oisinn explains it to me, roysh, it contains herbal oils that hide the natural hum of a dog in season, in other words my old dear.

So I take the stuff home, roysh, and I tip up the stairs. The two of them are out, probably down in The Gables, feeding their focking faces as usual. I go into the old dear's room and have a bit of a poke around and I swear to God, roysh, I actually get angry at the sight of his Irish Book Reviews where my old man's Golf Digests used to be.

I find her Chanel No 5 on the dresser, roysh, and I take it into the en suite. I tip a couple of inches out of Oisinn's bottle, roysh, to make sure the levels are, like, identical. Then I make the switch.

Then I go looking for her handbag. I find it in her bedside locker. Orla Kiely . . . you wouldn't focking blame her, would you?

And here's me practically storving to death.

I unzip it and turn it upside down, tipping the contents onto the floor. I pick up her purse, which is focking bulging with fifties. I pull out five or six of them, then I change my mind and end up whipping the whole wad.

There must be, like, a grand there. Should see me through the next week or so.

So I ring a Jo, hit town and meet One F for a few scoops. We end up talking about all sorts of shit . . . life, love, the Leinster outhalf situation, Vietnam, Amanda Brunker . . . then I head back to the gaff around nine o'clock that night.

No sooner am I in the door, roysh, than I notice . . . get this . . . a trail of the old dear's clothes, all the way up the stairs, across the landing and into her bedroom.

It's like a focking dog got loose in Pia Bang, which I suppose, when you think about it, it did.

I stand on the landing, listening basically. But they're not doing anything, roysh, because I can hear the old dear inside the room going, "Oh, for heaven's sake, what is the matter with you?"

And I hear him go, "Nathing . . .

just, I don't know, tired."

She must make another move, roysh, because after about 10 seconds he storts going, "Stap!

Just stap!" and she's like, "What is wrong with you?"

He's there, "I'm just nat in the mood. Do you understond nat in the mood?"

She's like, "When are you ever going to be in the mood?" and of course I'm just there cracking my hole laughing. Oisinn's a focking miracle worker.

He's going, "Och, don't be lake thot, Finnyf" Finny! This just gets better and better!

He goes, "We did it twace this morning, remomberf" Er, too much information?

She's going, "Twice? Pah! That might be enough for you! It's those blasted pills . . . they've taken away your libido."

"Och, you're being ridoculousf" She's lost it now. In this, like, high-pitched voice, she storts going, "You and your focking arse, " which is probably the only funny thing she's ever said in her life. "You and your focking arsef" He's like, "Where are you going?" and she's there, "To rewrite the ending to my book.

Valerie and Lovell don't live happily ever after . . . because Lovell happens to be impotent and incapable of giving Valerie the pleasure she needs in her sexual prime!"

The next thing, roysh, before I have a chance to even move, she rips open the bedroom door and I'm suddenly standing face to face with her on the landing.

Thankfully she has her clothes on this time.

She's like, "Ross!" and you can hear the little focking wheels in her head turning. She's thinking, how much of that did he actually hear?

I just look her up and down and I go, "Love's young dream, huh?"

And then I go, "Finny!"