The dude goes, ‘The famous Rosser, what?’ looking me over like I’m a buffet item gone cold

Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: Ronan’s mum, Tina, has a new fiance, but here’s the big shocker – the dude plays rugby

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Illustration: Alan Clarke
Illustration: Alan Clarke

So – yeah, no – I’m in Dunnes Stores in, like, the Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre, grabbing a few bits for Sorcha, who’s making a special dinner tonight. I dump my items on the checkout belt and make a mental note to find out if it’s her birthday, or our wedding anniversary, when all of a sudden I hear an old woman’s voice go, “Mind if I just go ahead of you there, son?”

I’m like, “Sorry, what?”

She’s suddenly standing beside me and her next step will put her ahead of me.

She’s like, “I was asking do you mind if I just skip ahead of you?”

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I’m there, “Er, yeah, I do, as a matter of fact?”

She goes, “But I’ve only got two items.”

Which is true. Bread and chicken pieces.

I’m there, “Well, I’ve only got six items?”

She’s like, “There’s no need to be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Aggressive.”

“I wasn’t being aggressive.”

“You’ve never heard of letting someone with only a couple of items go ahead of you?”

“Yes, I have, but it’s usually in cases where you’re stuck behind someone with, like, a full trolley?”

The woman working on the till decides to be on her side then?

She’s like, “It’s common courtesy.”

“Well,” I go, “I happen to think it’s the kind of thing that you shouldn’t just take for granted. Like all courtesies – common or not – you should wait until it’s offered.”

They start talking about me then like I’m not even there.

“I’d have been through there and gone,” the old woman goes, “in the time he’s been stood there arguing.”

“Fine,” I suddenly – for some reason – go, “if you want to skip ahead, then skip ahead.”

‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’Opens in new window ]

But the woman’s like, “Oh, no, I wouldn’t be beholden to you. You pay for your bits first – seeing as it means so much to you.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Means enough for you to make a song and dance about it in front of half of Dunnes Stores.”

All of a sudden, some dude tips over to us. He’s, like, a big dude as well. He’s there, “Everything all right, Ma?”

She’s like, “Everything’s fine – except this man wouldn’t let me skip ahead of him.”

The dude goes, “But you’ve only the two bits – sure, it’s common courtesy.”

And then I hear another woman’s voice go, “Wanker! Standing there in his yachting shoes and his– Hang on, is that Rosser?”

I turn around and – yeah, no – it ends up being the famous Tina, mother of my firstborn, who I haven’t seen in, like, a couple of years. She’s like, “Howiya, Rosser?” and she gives me – in fairness to her – a lovely hug.

The dude laughs and goes, “So this is the famous Rosser!” and then he turns around to his old dear and goes, “Ma, this is Ronan’s oul’ fedda.”

She’s like, “Him?” like she thinks that someone like me would be incapable of fathering a child like Ro. “The head on him and the price of cabbage,” which her son seems to find hilarious.

I give her a hug and – sure, fock it, why not? – a kiss on the cheek, then I pump Tom’s hand, which is humungous, by the way. I’m guessing he’s a number eight, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of asking

Tina goes, “Ross, this is Tom,” because – yeah, no – I heard she was doing a line with some total randomer, “and this is he’s mutter, Ann.”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, it’s, like – I don’t know – whatever to meet you.”

The dude goes, “The famous Rosser, what?” looking me over like I’m a buffet item gone cold.

“Has he a boat?” his old dear goes. And – yeah, no – it’s a common mistake that northsiders make.

Tina’s like, “No, he just dresses like he does, Ann.”

I’m there, “It’s a pair of shoes and a jacket. Not a major deal.”

Tom goes, “The famous Rosser, what?”

And I’m like, “What about you, Tom? What’s your deal? What, em–”

Tina’s there, “He’s about to ask you what school you went to. He’s obsessed.”

I’m like, “No, I wasn’t.”

I was, of course.

I’m there, “I was going to ask, what do you do?”

He goes, “I’m a fireman, Rosser.”

And I’m like, “A fireman?” trying to say it like it’s a crap job. “That’s definitely random. So have you seen many fires?”

“I’ve seen a lot more fire than you’ve seen boats,” he goes. Him and Tina crack their holes laughing.

Ann – again – goes, “Has he a boat?”

And Tom’s like, “No, it’s just the way he dresses, Ma. It’s a southside thing.”

I’m there, “Speaking of which, Tina, will you tell Ronan that I have a ticket for him for the Ireland versus England match.”

And Tom goes, “No need, Rosser. He’s going with me.”

I’m like, “You?” while at the same time trying not to sound prejudiced. “What, you’re into rugby?”

The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’Opens in new window ]

He laughs like this is a ludicrous question. He goes, “I’ve played for Barnhall for the last twenty-and-odd years.”

I’m like, “Bornhall? What school did you go to?”

Tina’s there, “Told you!”

He goes, “What does it mathor what school I went to?”

I’m there, “Like you said, it’s possibly a southside thing.”

Tina’s like, “He’s played over three hunthrit matches in the AIL, Rosser.”

Three hundred matches in the AIL? I can’t compete with that and I know it.

I’m there, “Bornhall, though. In fairness.”

Tina goes, “Here, Rosser, what are you doing next Sathordee?”

I’m like, “The weekend before the stort of the Six Nations? Probably just thinking about rugby and making notes in my tactics book.”

“We’re habbon a peerty,” she goes. “In the Broken Arms.”

And that’s when my eyes automatically move to her ring finger, on which sits a diamond, as big as a focking hazelnut.

“Oh, em, congratulations,” I go. “And – yeah, no – I mean it.”

I give her a hug and – sure, fock it, why not? – a kiss on the cheek, then I pump Tom’s hand, which is humungous, by the way. I’m guessing he’s a number eight, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of asking.

Tom’s there, “Thanks, Rosser. So will we see you? In the Arms?”

And I’m like, “Er, yeah, no, whatever.”

The woman on the checkout goes, “Can one of you pay for your bits? There’s a big queue after forming behind you.”

I turn around to Tina and I go, “I’d no idea it was that serious. And three hundred AIL matches? It’s, em, all a lot to take in.”

While I wish her well, there’s also that little voice in my head telling me, “You have to do everything you can to break them up, Rossmeister.”

And I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’ll see you at the porty.”

Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

Ross O’Carroll-Kelly was captain of the Castlerock College team that won the Leinster Schools Senior Cup in 1999. It’s rare that a day goes by when he doesn’t mention it