Head splitting, tongue furry, eyes bulging and bloodshot: 5.42 a.m., and I had to get home. I could hear Jerome outside in the kitchen popping another cork and, although my judgment was as blunt as a bar of soap, I knew that if I wanted to keep my current relationship on track I had to be back home in bed before my queen woke up.

"Have a Cava?" Jerome struts into the front room clinking glasses.

"Gotta go, Jero, she's gonna mombolise me!"

" . . . things that bad?" says Jerome.

"Things aren't that good!" says I.

Then Jerome dropped a gem.

"When the chemistry begins to fade, then it's time to take more chemicals!"

So, he poured me a glass.

"Maybe, one quick one so . . .", and I reached to phone a hackney.

I slumped back, fazed and dazed, listening as Jerome spouted the nonsense of nostalgia. He was ranting on about school, everything from blackboards to the black babies: wild Christian Brothers, September winds and cold exposed knees - happy days. Jerome was on a rant.

I have no recollection of getting off that couch or leaving the house - all I know is that, at some point, I found myself crumpled in the back seat of a cab. I sat there, drifting in and out of the pilot's constant babble.

Some say that all taxi drivers are the same, well this one was different, and just as our eyes met in the mirror . . .

"Brother McAvoy? Is that you, Brother MacAvoy?" my words filled the car before I realised I had opened my mouth.

"Jim! Just call me Jim," he said and he slipped into second gear.

Brother Mac was one of the good guys of this world. Teaching was his life, hurling his God and his approach always straddled the border between passion and compassion.

It had been a lifetime since I stood in the shadow of his soutane, and there he was, incognito in civvies, shunting me home through the streets of Cork. He said he had been following my career with interest, and commented that my spelling had improved immensely. He mentioned boys' names, names I couldn't remember. He talked of hurling and football greats, and - beaming with pride, a fatherly pride - his mind filed through the pages of the lives of politicians, businessmen and statesmen. "My lads" he called them. He said he had left the Brothers and was married now for 12 years.

"Don't get me wrong," he said. "My faith in God is as strong as ever, it's just that these days a vocation such as that required for religious life should be based on a 10-year renewable contract. "'Cause as life moves on, so do we, and allowances should be made for that."

I agreed with him, saying that I had devoted 11 years of my life behind the counter of a launderette - and that I was at the present lark for 10.

"God only knows what I'll be doing in another 10!"

Quitting the Brothers was the most difficult decision he had ever made. It was like walking away from your family, he said. He had questioned his vocation for a long time, but identified the moment of his decision to leave as similar to Saul's conversion on the road to Damascus.

Seemingly, it was during the school summer holidays. A few of the Brothers were burning the midnight oil, drinking hot milk and chewing the fat. They were talking about their lives and what might have been. And, just as the chinwag was coming to an end, up piped one of the elder members of the community and said that the only regret he had was not having a wife and children of his own - what a conversation killer.

Brother Mac walked the walls that night: how could a life's devotion exclude the possibility of creating life itself? He concluded that he, too, was a Brother who wanted to be a father. So, the following morning Brother Mac didn't put on his soutane, he just walked out of the monastery, out into the streets of Cork and closed the door behind him.

Lamb (1985), is based on a novel by Bernard MacLaverty. It is an engaging and thought-provoking film exploring the background and torment that goes through the mind of Brother Sebastian (Liam Neeson) as he questions his vocation, although his dilemma is brought about by external forces - rather than the internal nature of Brother Mac's conundrum.

Brother Sebastian teaches in a home for delinquent boys, but is forced to reconsider his position as he witnesses the daily brutality and harsh surroundings endured by the residents of the institution. The treatment of one young epileptic boy, Owen Kane (Hugh O'Conor) is the final straw. So Brother Sebastian, does the brave thing, he and Owen run away to England where they masquerade as father and son.

Although Lamb is a sad and tragic story, it is not without its rays of light. The scene where Brother Sebastian brings Owen to Highbury to see Arsenal play is particularly uplifting - but be warned, there is no happy ending to be found here, but rather a shocking twist that will stay with you for some time . . .

Anyway, getting back to Brother Mac, as the cab glided to a halt - rubber polishing the kerb-side. I asked him how married life was treating him.

"Marriage? Marriage is an institution too, you know." His eyes lit up.

"But me young fella's a great little hurler! The next Christy Ring! Swear to God, the next Christy Ring!"

It was reassuring to see that, in his own way, Brother Mac was still true to his vocation. I gave Brother Mac or Jim or what ever his name was his £2.50 and stood there as he drove off into the morning.