Honor goes, “Oh my God, I am so bored!” and I actually laugh. She came out of the womb bored – or at least she gave that impression with her face.
I’m there, “Why don’t you finish unwrapping your Christmas presents?” because it’s, like, four days after the big day and most of them are still piled up in the living room untouched.
“What’s the point?” she goes. “I know what everything is. I’ll just get Jadwiga to open them for me.”
I’m there, “Jadwiga is paid to clean, Honor. She’s not paid to open your Christmas presents because you couldn’t be orsed.”
She goes, "She's paid to do whatever the fock we tell her to do!" and I end up having to laugh again – even though I possibly shouldn't? – because she sounds so like my old dear it's not real.
“Here, I’ve got an idea,” I go. “Why don’t we swap around all the wrappers on the Quality Street so no one knows what they’re actually eating? Come on, that’s one of our Christmas traditions, isn’t it?”
She goes, “Mom said I’m not allowed to do it anymore because her granny has a nut allergy.”
Of course! How could I have forgotten last year? The EpiPen Christmas, as it will probably always be known.
I’m there, “Hey, my old dear is coming over for lunch in a few minutes. You like her, don’t you?”
She goes, “No.”
“Yes, you do. You two get on like a house on fire – especially when you’re being horrible about people on TV.”
“I like that she’s a bitch, but I find her face really scary.”
“It’s just rubber, Honor. Rubber and then little pulleys and levers under the skin to control her facial expressions.”
“I always try not to look at her directly.”
“That’s the same with me. I always talk to her side-on so I don’t have to see her. Here, I’ve a great idea. Why don’t we tell Sorcha’s granny that my old dear is going deaf? Then when my old dear arrives, we’ll tell her that Sorcha’s granny is deaf, too.”
Smells like wet coats
“Why would we do that?”
“It’s a game I used to play as a kid. I call it Deaf Con Two. The more they shout at each other, the more they’re convinced that the other one is deaf. It’s genuinely hilarious.”
“No, I think I want to stay in my room. I don’t like Mom’s granny. She smells like wet coats.”
“She does smell like wet coats – I’m going to give you that one.”
“Wet coats and Toilet Duck. And she’s always reminding you of her age every five minutes.”
“I have to laugh at the big dandelion puffball head on her. I always think if you blew her hair, it’d all blow away.”
“She’s annoying as well.”
“Yeah, no, she can be. Okay, I’ll tell Sorcha you don’t want any lunch then, will I?”
“Not unless her granny eats hers outside in the gorden.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Honor.”
“Then I don’t want any, no.”
I tip downstairs then. Just as I reach the bottom stair, I hear the front doorbell ring. I decide, do you know what? I’m not going to take no for an answer. I’m going to show my daughter how to have some good old-fashioned family fun at Christmas time.
I stick my head around the door of the living room. Sorcha's granny is in there watching – get this! – Mass on the TV! I go, "That's my old dear at the front door. I just wanted to mention, she's gone a bit deaf since the last time you saw her. You kind of have to shout at her?"
Sorcha’s granny goes, “I have perfect hearing! I’m 88, you know?”
There’s another ring on the doorbell. Sorcha shouts from the kitchen, “Ross, can you answer that? I can’t take my eyes off the risotto.”
So I go out and open the front door. The old dear goes, “Happy New Year, Ross!”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, same to you. Listen, I just wanted to warn you, before you go in, Sorcha’s granny has gone very hord of hearing.”
“How awful! How old is she now?”
"She'll fill you in on that herself, don't you worry. But remember you have to, like, really shout to be heard by her?"
She’s there, “Oh, thank you for telling me.”
Into the house she comes. I lead her down to the living room. Sorcha’s granny looks up from TV and goes, “OH, HELLO, FIONNUALA! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Tears
And, of course, because she actually shouts it, the old dear automatically believes that the woman is MDF.
She goes, “HAPPY NEW YEAR, YOURSELF! DID YOU HAVE A NICE CHRISTMAS?”
“YES, THANK YOU! VERY QUIET! WHICH IS WHAT YOU WANT AT MY TIME OF LIFE. I’M 88, YOU KNOW?”
“EIGHTY-EIGHT? WELL, YOU’RE MORVELLOUS! YOU REALLY ARE!”
I listen carefully and I suddenly hear Honor walking across the floor of her bedroom, then out onto the landing, then down the stairs.
Sorcha’s granny goes, “AND HOW ARE YOU, FIONNUALA? ARE YOU STILL WRITING THE DIRTY BOOKS?”
The old dear goes, “I’M STILL A NOVELIST WHO REFUSES TO SHY AWAY FROM GRITTY REALITY, YES!”
Honor suddenly appears at the door of the living room. She has her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. I slip out of the room quickly and the two of us end up sitting on the stairs, listening to the pair of them roaring at each other from, like, two feet aport, the two of us nearly wetting ourselves we're laughing that hord?
The granny goes, “THAT LAST BOOK YOU WROTE, FIONNUALA! I LOVED THAT ONE! IT WAS FILTHY!”
The old dear’s there, “I HOPE NOT GRATUITOUSLY SO!”
And the granny’s like, “OH, NO, I LOVE A BIT OF FILTH, ME!”
Honor goes, “Oh my God, Dad, you are hillair!” and I can’t tell you how amazing that is to hear coming from the mouth of my daughter, who’s usually my horshest critic.
Suddenly, Sorcha comes running up the hallway from the kitchen, going, “What’s all the shouting about?”
And me and Honor laugh so hord, we end up with actual tears rolling down our faces.
Honor goes, “Oh my God, this is even funnier than Dad having to give your granny that adrenalin shot last year.”