I mean, that can't be fun . . .being made to look a tit in front of the entire class.

"Please tell me we weren't that obnoxious when we were at school, " I go, actually backing the goy up, what with him being my friend and everything, but Fionn looks at me, roysh, with this big Scooby Dubious face on him and goes, "Ross, you got two teachers sacked from their jobs."

I can't believe they're still banging on about that in the staff-room. I'm there, "Dude, I was captain of the focking S. I was trying to bring glory to the school. All they could do was pull me up for not having my homework done. I just pointed at my right foot and went, 'This is my homework'" "Yes, " Fionn goes, "we all remember the little speech you made from the top of the lobby stairs as they were being escorted off the premisesf" I'm like, "The poems of John Donne! Hello?"

He's there, "Yes, God forbid that you should try to improve your mind, Ross."

He's in a major Pauline tonight, it has to be said. I'm wondering is he pissed off that he didn't get a mench in that Ireland's Leading Steamers piece in the Trib last week. I could have a word with Hegs for him, get a correction put in.

I just change the subject. I'm like, "Hey, it's good to enjoy my last few days of normality. Things are going to get a little bit crazy over the next few weeks, especially with this match coming up. I know it's only coaching and shit, but it puts my face back in the frame. I'd expect at least a call from Michael Cheika" "That's one of the things I have to admire about you, " Fionn goes and I'm thinking, shit, I hope this isn't going to get too gay. "This absolute certainty you have that it's still going to happen for you. I mean, you're, what, twenty-six?

You haven't played rugby since you were nineteenf" "I'm still in amazing shape, " I go, on the major defensive. "You could scrub your clothes clean on this stomach except I send all my washing out, of course."

He's there, "Ross, I'm actually giving you a compliment, " which feels a bit, I don't know He knocks back the last of his drink and goes, "I'm going to hit the road. I said I'd swing into Aoife'sf" I heard they were back together again.

"Dude, " I go, a bit embarrassed, "I was delighted to hear about you two . . . even though you and I both know you're living a lie, " and he laughs at that . . . in fairness to him . . . and then he heads off, leaving me sitting at the bor, roysh, on my Tobler.

Of course with a boat race like this, you're never going to be on your Tobler for long and within a couple of minutes I'm chatting up this bird who's a ringer for, like, Sarah Chalke.

Basically what happened was she was trying to get the borman's attention, roysh, like, tilting her head backwards every time she thought he was looking in her direction but he kept missing her, until I went, "HEY . . .ARE YOU FOCKING BLIND!" and she finally got served.

Of course she was like, "Thanks for that, " in a really, like, flirty way? I was there, "Not a problem, " and before I know it, roysh, we've exchanged names.

She's called Kia . . . as in the cor?. . . and she's in, like, PR.

She asks me about myself and of course my first instinct is to, like, make something up . . .mention, I don't know, Davy Stockbrokers or one of that crowd . . . but for some reason, roysh, I don't. There's something about this bird that makes me want to tell the actual truth, which is what I end up doing.

I go, "I actually do fock-all. See, I had this idea that I was going to end up playing for Leinster but it didn't quite work out. Now, I'm, like, twenty-six . . . in other words, past it. I've got, like, two kids, a broken marriagef" "Whoa!" she goes, suddenly pulling my pint away from me.

"You don't need any more of this tonight!" and I end up cracking up laughing.

She pays the borman for the round. I count the drinks. She's here withf one, two, three, four friends. "Well, " she goes, "it was really nice to meet you, " and I'm thinking, say something, Ross, before this bird walks out of your life forever.

"You can, er, come back if you want, " I go and I just about stop myself giving her the guns.

She's like, "I might do that, " and of course I'm suddenly knocking back 7-Up, trying to sober myself up, just in case there's any afters.

She gives it an hour, long enough for me to know she's not desperate. That makes her a player, in my book.

"Your mates don't mind, " I go, when she comes back over, "as in me stealing you away, " and she looks at me and she's there, "Hey, you haven't stolen me anywhere."

She's an absolute cracker, it has to be said. And the more 7-Up I drink, the more beautiful she gets, which I know is, like, a reversal of the way it usually works.

We spend the next couple of hours talking about pretty much everything except rugby, mad as that sounds. She's thirty, from Malahide, does drama port-time, four sisters, one brother, two serious relationships in her life but she's never been hurt. And, like, loads of other shit as well.

End of the night, roysh, I offer to walk her home, because I'm nothing if not a gentleman.

Now my usual MO at this stage would be to, like, whip out my iPod and play her Jessie by Joshua Kadison just to show her the, I don't know, sensitive side to me. But I don't, roysh, because the conversation is so good.

This girl is in a different league to my usual fare. I certainly won't be creeping out of her gaff in the early hours after a farmer's breakfast . . . a shit and a glass of water.

Oh, fock! Turns out she lives in a gaff on Leeson Street and as it happens the walk there takes us past a lap-dancing club where, let's just say, my ugly mug has become pretty well known since Sorcha focked me out. She lives, like, four or five doors down from it and of course all the way there I'm just, like, praying the goys on the door don't say hello to me and give the game away.

Of course, typical focking bouncers, they cop me from, like fifty yords away and they're all smiles when they see me with a bird. They know my form. I'm kacking it but in fairness to them, roysh, they pretend not to know me when we pass by, utter professionals that they are.

Kia puts the key in the door, then turns around, holding it open with her back, and goes, "Well, I really enjoyed tonight, " and it's pretty obvious that this is where the evening ends.

You don't need a weather cock to tell you when you're pissing into the wind.

"Maybe I'll see you again, " I go and she's there, "Maybe you will, " and I think about maybe throwing the lips on her but I don't want this scene to end with kick in the Davina McCalls.

"Night, " she goes. She gives me a smile and then she's gone.

"God loves a trier, " one of the bouncers goes as I'm facing the walk of shame.

But I don't even bother giving him the finger. Because for some reason I'm walking on air tonight. Maybe I'm learning that life isn't just about getting your jollies. And after this match next week, people are going to know my name again.

I stop and I think to myself that this is the greatest city in the world in which to be single. I check my pockets. A hundred and twenty bills.

Enough for a bottle of plonkf and a dance.