The bor in Dublin Airport is full of old faces – we’re talking dudes I played rugby with and against back in the day – except everyone looks a good 20 to 25 years older and nobody has any hair. The floor is a dork mahogany colour and if you were looking down on the room from a height, it’d look like beans on toast.
That's actually Honor's line – I said I wouldn't use it without, like, crediting her? – and I laugh because I'm in cracking, cracking form today. Like the rest of this crew, I'm off to Budapest for a five-day course of Dr Holger Esterházy's hair restoration follicle serum and I decide to get a pint or two in before I go through the security gate.
Sorcha goes, “Ross, what are you doing?”
I'm like, "Er, I'm having a drink?"
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‘What the actual fock? I’m talking about the Six Nations and none of you are listening’
“Ross,” she goes, “it’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
Seriously, every time I have a drink these days, I feel like I’ve phoned the speaking clock. It was the same when I opened a can in the cor on the way here.
I’m there, “When you’re going on a flight, Sorcha, it’s always no time o’clock.”
I remember Hennessy Coghlan-O'Hara used that line in his own defence after an air rage incident on the flight home from Edinburgh during the foot and mouth Six Nations of '01. He was shunting the drinks cort up and down the aisle like it was a scrummaging machine. He was found not guilty as well – although I think he paid some bad people to put the frighteners on one or two members of the jury.
“Well, your flight leaves in an hour,” Sorcha goes. “Are you not worried about missing it?”
I’m there, “I’m scared of flying, Sorcha. I can’t get onboard without getting a few onboard.”
Honor follows me up to the bor and goes, “Dad, can you get me a Cosmopolitan?”
I'm like, "Er, isn't there, like, alcohol in that?"
She’s there, “No.”
"That's weird because it definitely sounds like there's alcohol in it?"
"Dad, it's a focking mocktail, okay? Oh my God, what is your problem?"
I’m there, “Fine, I’ll take your word for it,” because I wouldn’t have come up with the 50 Ks for this trip if she hadn’t signed me up for the whole, like, Cameo thing.
Up to the bor I morch and I order the two drinks. As I'm waiting for them, I get a tap on the shoulder. It ends up being Stogey Bennigan, who played loosehead on the Castlerock College one-in-a-row team of 1999. I literally haven't laid eyes on the dude for, like, 20 years – in which time, by the way, he's become as bald as a Magic 8-ball.
I’m like, “Stogey, how the hell are you?”
“The fock are you at?” he goes.
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
He's like, "My nephew is playing for Blackrock this year."
I’m there, “I’m sorry for your troubles,” because – like I said – I’m in scintillating form.
“You sent them a message,” he goes, “wishing them all the best in the Leinster Schools Senior Cup.”
I'm like, "Dude, I did them for everyone – Gonzaga, Belvo, Mary's."
“He showed it to me. You said, ‘You can’t knock the Rock!’ You used those actual words.”
“Ah, but which Rock was I talking about? Because in my head, I was thinking about Castlerock.”
“You said, ‘Come on, Blackrock – let’s make it number 70!’ You’re a focking disgrace.”
I’m not loving the tude he’s giving me, by the way. He wouldn’t have spoken to me like this when I was his captain.
I’m like, “Dude, I’m just getting a pint here and a Cosmopolitan for my 15-year-old daughter. I don’t want any trouble.”
He goes, “Why did you do it?”
"Why did I do it? In terms of-?"
“Was it for the money for this?”
“Dude, I’m receding by the day – and the top of my head looks like a ring doughnut.”
“So?”
“So I needed 50 grandingtons in a hurry. My daughter signed me up to Cameo and, well, who would have believed it? There’s still a hell of a lot of people out there who want to hear what I have to say?”
“You’re like their performing monkey.”
“Excuse me?”
"Do you think Brian O'Driscoll would do a video wishing Michael's all the best in the Senior Cup this year? Do you think Johnny Sexton would do one saying good luck to Gonzaga?"
I have to say, it’s a nice feeling being mentioned in the same breath as those dudes, even though he’s technically roasting me here.
I’m like, “Dude – whatever.”
He goes, “You lifted the Leinster Schools Senior Cup – does that mean nothing to you now?”
I’m there, “Pretty much, yeah. They took the medals off us because we were all on drugs – do you not remember that?”
He’s like, “Well, whatever money you got out of it, I hope it was worth it.”
I’m there, “It will be, Dude – don’t you worry about that.”
I leave him there with his bitterness and anger. I just hope I’m not sitting anywhere near him on the flight. I tip back over to where Honor and Sorcha are standing.
Sorcha goes, “What’s that?”
I’m like, “A Cosmopolitan,” at the exact same time as Honor goes, “A watermelon nojito,” and Sorcha whips it out of my hand.
She’s like, “Oh, no you don’t.”
Honor rolls her eyes and goes, "So unfair."
It’s possibly not a very nice thing to say but I’m looking forward to being away from my wife and children for the best port of a week.
Sorcha goes, “Why are you smiling, Ross?”
And I’m there, “Because I’m about to meet Dr Holger Esterházy, hair restoration miracle worker. Plus, a dude I used to play rugby with just paid me an unbelievable compliment. I still have goosebumps from it.”
“Is it the goy who’s giving you the wanker sign across the bor?” Honor goes.
I’m like, “Yeah, no, that’s the dude alright. Okay, I’m going to need to knock this back – especially if I’m going to get a second one in before I hit the gate.”
“Ross,” Sorcha goes, “it’s 10 past nine in the morning.”
I give her a wink and I’m like, “I think you’ll find, Sorcha, that it’s no time o’clock.”
