Watching Ro up there on stage, roysh, I'm seriously impressed by his talent – for breaking horts, writes ROSS O'CARROLL-KELLY
I CAN'T BELIEVE that Sr Ildephonsus is still playing the piano in all the school musicals. After the trauma that we put her through, I thought she'd have earned an honourable dischorge by now. But no – there she stillis, sat at the old Steinhoven upright, hammering out the opening bars to Bless Your Beautiful Hide, with what would have to be described as a contented smile on her face?
The next thing – the worst possible timing – she happens to look up just as I’m taking my seat in the front row and she hits an immediate bum note, after which her playing falls to literally pieces. You can see all the kids on the stage, roysh, scratching their beards, wondering, er, what is the Jack?
Of course, I'm as entitled to sit in on rehearsals as any of the other parents here. Except poor Sr Ildephonsus is obviously having flashbacks to 14 or 15 years ago, when ourproduction of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers– also with Mount Anville – had to be cancelled after solicitors' letters were received on behalf of more than half the female cast, with allegations of "intolerable emotional cruelty" against, well, no prizes for guessing who.
Ronan, the little pro that he is, just gets on with the scene. He’s in the General Grocery, except they’ve actually made it an Aldi, just to give it that whole Ireland-in-the-current-economic-blahdy-blah vibe.
He goes, “Hee-er, you wootunt happen to have an aul’ woife under yisser checkout there, would ye?” because he’s playing, like, Adam.
Of course I'm straight away laughing at the top of my voice. I can feel all the other parents giving me serious daggers as well, but I don't actually care? I love the kid. I'm biased. Build a bridge and get over it.
Possibly the main reason I'm so excited, though, is that literally every girl who's involved in the production – we're talking the chorus, we're talking the kinfolk, we're talking Millie and the other six brides – is clearly in love with him. And I'm saying that as someone who has long experience of having girls staring at him in the exact same way. Their eyes are full of – being honest – longing? And I suppose what's made me so suddenly proud to be his father is that he's finally aware of it – as in, there's a sudden swagger about him. For the first time ever – and I can't tell you how proud I am to be able to say this – he actually reminds me of me.
The bird on the till storts giving out yords to him, going, “You theenk you can come into shop and buy wife like she eez box of Corn Flecks?” See, they’ve actually made her Polish, which is also a nice touch. Shows they’ve got their finger on the definite pulse. “Theez you must know – there eez 10 men for effery woman in theez place.”
"Sounds like Club 92 back in the day," I happen to go to the woman sitting beside me. She's not thatunlike Karen Allen, in fairness to her. "Of course I was never put off by the odds. I think even my horshest critics would have to admit that."
She shushes me, which is unbelievably rude, although I let it go and just turn back to the stage, where Ronan – shoulders back, chin in the air – is going, “Ine maddying no one until I check out every girdle who’s out there.”
“And scene!” the director – Ms Whittle – shouts.
I’m the only one who actually claps. “Brilliant!” I shout. “Focking brilliant!”
It would not be an exaggeration to say that the girls are suddenly swarming all over him, pretty much fighting for his attention. I just shake my head. Despite all my worries, he’s turned out to be every bit the ladies’ man that I was – and still am, I like to think.
“That’s your son, is it?” a voice suddenly goes. It’s the woman who, like, shushed me.
I just go, “Guilty!” not having picked up on the bad vibes from her yet. “Yeah, no, obviously I’d much rather he was playing rugby, but if this is the road he wants to go down, so be it.”
It’s then that she goes, “Quite the little Don Juan, isn’t he?” and I suddenly turn and look at her.
I’m like, “Something in your tone tells me that you don’t mean that as an actual compliment.”
“Do you think it’s funny,” she goes, “the way he treats girls?”
I’m like, “Aha!” because it’s suddenly clear to me now. “You’re obviously Dorcas’s mother.”
“Her name happens to be Filipa.”
“Well, either way, you’re the one who rang his old dear last week, complaining about him.”
“Filipa came home in tears. She hasn’t been able to eat, she hasn’t been able to sleep . . .”
“Still no excuse for involving his old dear.”
"He told her that he loved her." I end up laughing in her face. It's just that he's sucha chip off the old block.
"Look, everyone knowsthat's just a line," I try to go. "I mean, how old even are they? Thirteen? You're not in love with anyone at 13."
Unfortunately, she’s one of those people who’s determined to ignore any of the genuinely good points I have to make.
“Of course,” she goes, “it shouldn’t come as any surprise, having you as a role model.”
Now, there are two areas, as far as I’m concerned, where my record should never be open to question. The first – the main one – is obviously as a points-kicker.
The second is as a father. Which is why I end up going, “Er, excuse me?”
“Oh,” she goes, “I know all about you. See, my niece did this musical with you when she was at school. And from what she’s told, it seems to me the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”
I’m like, “Okay, which one of the seven was she – just for the record?”
She's there, "What does that matter?" except she practically roarsit? "Just tell him to stay away from my daughter!"
I actually consider telling her what Hennessy was forced to tell three or four parents back in the day: don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington. Except I don’t, because she already looks mad enough to kill.
It’s at that exact moment, roysh, surrounded by adoring girls, that Ronan looks down from the stage and gives me a big dirty wink. And I have to tell you – because it’s the basic truth – that I’ve never felt prouder to be his old man.
rossocarrollkelly.ie
