Jesus, I thought me and public transport had said our goodbyes a long time ago. It's supposed to be the Celtic Tiger. It's lucky for these focking politicians that I couldn't be orsed voting . . .otherwise I'd have every focking one of them out."

She knows I'm trying to sweettalk her, roysh, but she doesn't bat an eyelid, hord and all as that is to believe. She just goes, "We've got, like, nothing left to say to each other, " and, it has to be said, roysh, I've never seen her hold it together like this before.

"I suppose you've heard I'm still coaching the Mountjoy Prison team with the old man, " which is a lie, roysh . . . that focker's dead to me . . . but something tells me I'm going to have to pull out all the stops here.

"We're playing against Shannon at the end of June. Well, their elevenths. Or twelfths.

Dependsf" "Oh my God, what makes you think I'd be interested?" she goes and of course I just shrug, roysh, and I'm like, "Well, you've always been into, like, rugby and rugby goys . . . and you've always been into, like, caring about poor people, the dregs of our society.

The beauty of this story is it sort of, like, combines both?"

"I'm just glad they've taken down those posters of you, " she goes.

She means the modelling ones I did for Eden Pork . . . me in the total raw except for a pink bow tie. There were one or two complaints, from what I hear, mostly parents.

"They're going to run them in, like, newspapers, magazines, that kind of shit from now on. Did you hear what Gerry Thornley said?

He said, that's one way of reminding Eddie O'Sullivan that you're still alive in a World Cup year. Although he said it to Hennessy at the last Leinster match, not in the actual paperf" "Look, " Sorcha goes, "there was a time when this would have worked, Ross. Not anymore. I couldn't care less if you played in the World Cup. I'd probably turn off the television if it was on, " and I look into her eyes, roysh, and she doesn't look away. She actually meant that.

I go, "Can I justf" but she knows where I'm going, roysh, and quick as a flash she's like, "She's asleep. Look, if you were talking to Hennessy, he'll have explained the separation agreement to you . . . you have her on Sundays, " and I'm there, "It's just, you know, I really miss her.

We were just storting to, like, bond and shitf" and even though she's entitled to go, well, you should have thought of that before you threw her nanny a bone, she actually doesn't?

Instead, she goes, "Look, it's already Friday, Ross. It's just two more days."

Then all of a sudden, roysh, I hear the kitchen door open behind her and then a familiar voice in the hall go, "Sorcha, who is it?"

It's her old man . . . that must be his 07 BMW 7 Series outside. He gets a new cor every year.

I haven't actually seen him since I got caught conkers-deep in Lyudmila. Turns out he is not a happy bunny to see me.

"Nice wheels, " I go, "did you hear about my BMW Z4?" trying to keep it light, pleasant conversation, blahdy blahdy blah, which is a mistake of course.

He goes, "You littlef If I catch you around here again, you're going to be mulching my roses, you little focking shit, " which, I probably don't need to tell you, was aimed at me.

"Dad, " Sorcha goes, cool as a fish's fart. "Go inside. I can handle this."

He has to think about it for a few seconds. Then he goes, "Don't you listen to his bullshit.

He'll be telling you next he's going to be playing in the World Cup. I've seen him do it to you before . . . like a snake charmerf" "Dad!" she goes. "Go inside!" which he does.

When he's gone, roysh, I pull a face, as if to say, someone's lost the plot, but Sorcha just goes, "Is that everything?" and I'm like, "No, emf" and of course I'm just, like, stalling . . . to use a Ronan word . . . because I don't want her to go.

"Actually, the real reason I called around, " I go, "was to get a, er, DVD I forgot. Packed in a bit of a hurry, if you rememberf" She's there, "Which one?" and I'm like, "Well, Jerry Maguire, " which I only mention, roysh, because it was always ourmovie.

We went to see it on our first date and I actually bought her the DVD for, like, our second anniversary?

"Do you know where it is?" she goes.

She doesn't give an actual shit that I'm taking it. I can't believe this is the same girl who used to always go, "You complete me."

I'm there, "Er, yeah, " and she's like, "Go and get it, " and she opens the door wide enough to let me in.

Halfway up the stairs, roysh, I turn around and I go, "Okay, I know I'm to blame here for, like, obvious reasons? But we should never have taken on a bird who looked that good. We should have hired that focking shipwreck.

What was it . . . Anka? Face like a dropped pie. You'd have been safe leaving me in the gaff with her."

She doesn't answer. I head upstairs, into our bedroom . . . I still consider it our bedroom . . .

and I open the cupboard where we keep the DVDs. It's way in at the back.

I whip it out, roysh, and stick it inside the old tennis racquet and I stop outside Honor's room on the way down the stairs. I decide to look in on her. I just need to, like, see her, even for 10 seconds.

It'll get me through till Sunday.

So I'm reaching for the handle, roysh, when all of a sudden the door opens from the inside and suddenly I'm standing eyeball to eyeball with a bird whose boat race I could never forget in, like, a million years.

It's Anka.

I take a couple of steps backwards, then I go, "Er, I don't know if you, like, heard what I was shouting down the stairs to Sorcha a minute ago but the upshot basically is that I wish we'd given you the job in the first place, " but she doesn't answer, roysh, just gives me serious daggers, which I suppose she's entitled to.

I just, like, nod my head, then tip back down the stairs.

"Did you find it?" Sorcha goes to me, still standing at the door and making me feel like the most petty focker in the world for taking a DVD that's half mine anyway.

I'm like, "Yeah."

She goes, "I'll see you on Sunday."

The second I step outside, she closes the door behind me. And there I am on the doorstep thinking, there's nothing else for me to do on a night like this except get totally mullered.

At a loss? . . . .Text Ross

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The L Man goes, "Ok its election time ross, its skanger bertie against bogger kenny n d big question on every southsiders lips is who is fionn voting for?"

He's actually just storted teaching, so probably whoever can guarantee longer hours and bigger class sizes, the nerd.

Eoin in D6 is there, "Why is no politician campaigning to STOP the luas lines being joined? Nobody in cowper wants to visit bluebell and we should be discouraging the reverse journey. Went on the red line recently . . .it should be renamed the breadline."

Cowper? Isn't that where the General lived?

Some dude who doesn't give his name goes, "Get your facts right. Shane Byrne is from Aughrim."

Get your facts right . . . Arklow was invented for people who couldn't say the word Aughrim.

Eimear in Tullamore goes, "Was walkin into town the other day when I saw a howiya standing outside smoking a fag with her baby in a buggy chewing on a pack of cigarettes. They should really introduce a parent theory test . . . the practical's too easy to pass."

By far the most working class part of that story is that you were "walkin into town".

"Wot do u tink bout mr tayto n his campaign. His views on preschool proposals . . . they're too young to marry . . . bit better than all this berti crap u think?"

Never been a Tayto man. Always looked on them as, like, Pringles for boggers.

Simon from Cork goes, "Sorcha from Fair City. Would you?"

Would I what? Watch Fair City? If I wanted to listen to northsiders pissing and moaning about their lives, I'd go to a League of Ireland soccer match.