Talking Fionn into opening up his gaff in Dalkey is a delicate enough business without Ro popping up and announcing his plans to run for elected office, writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly
Said in the paper the other day that a judge has told Lidl they need to adopt a more understanding attitude towards shoplifters. I'm like, "Yeah, especially because they represent 90 per cent of their customer base." When he hears that, roysh, Fionn ends up nearly spewing a mouthful of nectar over the bor in Special Ks and I'm thinking, that whole funnyman thing is a side to my personality that the public never really gets to see.
He's still laughing, roysh, as he wipes his nose and mouth, then cleans his spectagoggles on his shirt, and I put my orm around his shoulder - but not in, like, a gay way? - and order two more Kens.
Now, I know what you're thinking - Fionn and the Rossmeister? Er, they hate each other's actual guts? Even though they've been mates since they were, like, 12.
Okay, I'll explain. You may or may not know that, a little while back, Fionn took a vow of poverty. In other words, he became a teacher, back at the old school, and of course it's like, yeah, whatever floats your boat.
But Fionn also has a gaff in, like, Dalkey - home of the haves and the have-yachts - a pretty incredible pile of bricks, it has to be said, overlooking the horbour. And of course I need somewhere to stay, since Cruella de Vil - for whatever reason - decided to fock me out of my own home, the mad, menopausal soak.
So the bags are packed back at Hell Hall and all I've got to do now, roysh, is get Fionn so rat-orsed that tomorrow morning he won't remember offering to put me up for a few weeks, just until I find my Deep Heat.
Three pints should do the trick, knowing Fionn.
I'm about to remind him, ever so subtly, that he wouldn't have that schools cup medal hanging around his Gregory if it wasn't for me, when all of a sudden this, like, figure, no more than four feet tall, climbs up on the stool between us, calls me a benny, then asks for a scotch, straight.
"He'll have a Coke," I go to the borman, "decaf, if you have it," and then I turn around and go, "What are you doing here anyway?" Ro flicks his thumb at my new landlord and goes, "I'm here to see Mr de Barra," which is what they have to call him in Castlerock.
They get on like a house on fire, these two.
"I'd like to put me name forward for student president," Ronan goes and he puts on those little Ronnie Kray half-glasses that I got him for his birthday, which says he means business.
Fionn's like, "Student president? Wow, em . . . usually, candidates for the position are, em, a bit older. I mean, they're usually sixth-year prefects. Ronan, you're not even in the senior school yet." Ro's there, "Even so - I'd like to run, even just for the experience. Lot of people come to me with their problems . . ."
That's actually true. Some fourth-year who was bullying first-year kids last year went missing for six or seven hours on his way home from school. When he showed up again, he told his old pair he never wanted to go back to Castlerock. I think he's doing fifth and sixth year in, like, the Institute? Me and Tina ended up getting called up to the school over it but Fionn said they were, like, secretly delighted to be rid of the goy.
"I know what this is about," I suddenly go. "This is you going straight isn't it? Looking for, like, respectability and shit?" He's like, "Leave it, Rosser," all embarrassed.
I'm there, "So how is Blathin?" and he goes, "She's grand," and his boat lights up like Vegas. "Leave it but."
Fionn goes, "Is there any particular platform on which you're seeking election?" and, without even blinking, Ronan goes, "See, at the moment, I'd see it as a largely titular position . . ." Largely titular position - there's a joke in there somewhere. I'll get back to you.
He's like, "I'd see meself as having a more hands-on role, knowhoarramean? I'd see myself as a mediator between the staff of the school and the student body . . ." Fionn's nodding, actually genuinely interested.
"Kid in my class got expelled last week. Now, I know what he did - but I still thought it was harsh, cos I happen to know he's having a hard time of it at home. Parents splitting up - you know the score. I want to speak for that kid. And all kids under stress . . ."
Fionn goes, "You know, I'm going to let your name go forward." I know I give him a hord time and everything but Fionn is actually sound, underneath it all.
"Mustard," Ronan, goes, draining the last of his Coke and jumping down off his stool.
Fionn's there, "But I should warn you - there's already three or four very strong candidates in the field." Ronan smiles sort of, like, slyly. "Don't be surprised if that changes," he goes, then winks at Fionn and of course what can Fionn do but laugh and shake his head in, like, admiration.
Ro looks at me then and he's like, "You alright for money?" It's a line you never really expect to hear from your 10-year-old son.
I'm like, "Yeah, thanks, Ro - I'm actually flush at the moment," because I took eight grand out of the old dear's safe this morning. Took me five seconds to crack the new combination - 6969. That woman needs to be hosed down.
"I'll give you a bell during the week," he goes and then he's gone.
"That is one great kid," Fionn goes and I suppose he's right. "I mean, he's the talk of the staff room, Ross. They all say it - he's a born leader."
"Chip off the old block," I go.
He's like, "For a minute there, I could actually see it working - Ronan sitting at the top of a table, surrounded by teachers, going through his files, making his representations. I mean, that kid of yours could persuade you of anything." I just nod.
"By the way," he goes, "where are you staying tonight?" I call for two more pints.
I'm like, "That's all to play for, Fionn. All to play for."
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