The Orange Mocha-Chip Frappuccino Years (4 page)

We go into one tent, roysh, and there’s this total knob in a suit, roysh, bullshitting on about how, as logistics and planning manager of whatever focking company he works for, he felt that in the current economic climate his business had much in common with the Irish rugby team. He’s there, ‘Maintaining consistency is vital if you don’t want to continue existing off the glories of the past. And like the Irish goys, we’re now under new management … and there are great times ahead.’ I’m about to shout, ‘Bullshit,’ roysh, but Oisinn gets in before me with something even cleverer. He goes, ‘If they’re as focking boring as you, I’m asking
for my money back,’ which – surprise, surprise – only me and Oisinn find funny and one of the security guards focks us out.

We move on to the next tent, roysh, and there’s a face I vaguely recognise up on the stage and he’s there going, ‘This Paddy Teahon business could be just the opportunity we’ve been waiting for to tell the Government what they can bloody well do with Knacker Park once and for all.’ And everyone claps, roysh, and I squint my eyes to try to stop myself, like, seeing double, and Oisinn goes, ‘Ross, isn’t that your old man?’ and I’m like, ‘Let’s go and find our seats, man.’

The match is a good laugh, what I can remember of it. Oisinn suggested doing a streak, and even though I knew deep down that it was a bad idea, roysh, I just kept thinking about it for, like, the whole game, that’s how pissed I was, and I have to say I was pretty thankful for the fact that I couldn’t stand up. That was the only reason I still had my shirt and, like, chinos on at the final whistle.

We stayed in our seats for, like, half an hour after the game, roysh, until we felt we could trust our legs again, then we
staggered
down the steps and down the back of the West Stand and, like, all of the players had storted coming out and were
wandering
back to the bus. And I remembered, roysh, that I still had this disposable camera in my pocket, the one that was left on our
table
at Philipa’s twenty-first, so I pull it out, roysh, and I turn around to Oisinn and I’m like, ‘Let’s have some craic.’ So we walk up to, like, Gary Longwell, roysh, and I hold up the camera and I go, ‘Gary, any chance of a photograph?’ and he goes, ‘Sure.’ So I hand him the camera, roysh, and me and Oisinn stand there in front of him with an arm around each other’s shoulder and pose for a picture. It’s focking hilarious. We do the same thing to
Girvan Dempsey, Ronan O’Gara and Simon Easterby, but not to Peter Clohessy. Best not to push our luck there.

So there we are, roysh, bursting our shites laughing over this, when all of a sudden this bloke comes over, I think I know the face, and he goes, ‘The jealousy must be just eating you up, boy.’ I’m like, ‘Excuse me?’ He goes, ‘You’re jealous. That’s what all this is about.’ I’m suddenly all defensive, roysh. I’m like, ‘
Meaning
?’ He goes, ‘Meaning that could have been you. You could have been wearing one of those green jerseys today and you know it.’

And I just walk off, roysh. Oisinn catches up with me and he asks whether I fancy going for a few more scoops, maybe back to Kiely’s if they’ll have us, but I tell him I’m, like, not in the mood anymore. And on the Dorsh, roysh, neither of us says anything, except at one point, between Sydney Parade and Booterstown, Oisinn turns around to me and goes, ‘That was Eddie O’Sullivan, wasn’t it?’ and I’m just like, ‘Cop on to yourself, Oisinn.’

‘You won’t ring me,’
Muireann goes. ‘I know you won’t.’ At least, I think her name is Muireann. She’s there, ‘Oh my God, that
SO
always happens when a goy gets it on the first night.’ I give her a hug, roysh, and I’m there, ‘Listen to me, I’ve got as much respect for you this morning as I did last night,’ and I’m making a big zero behind her back, roysh, which is sort of, like, childish, I know, but it’s something to tell the goys later. She pulls away from me, roysh, so she can look into my eyes – as if she’s going to find something in them – and she goes, ‘Giselle was, like,
SO
wrong about you.’ I’m there, ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ playing it totally Kool and the Gang, hoping to get another quickie in before she heads off to work. But she’s big into hugs this bird, roysh, and she’s there giving me another, like she’s never going to see me again. And although I haven’t broken the news to her yet, she isn’t. And I’m just standing there, roysh, praying that she doesn’t move her hand down to my orse because I’ve got one of her CDs in my back pocket. It’s a long story.

About six months ago, roysh, I storted this new craze called Petty Pilfering. Basically, every time you knob a bird you have to steal a CD from her bedroom. Anyway, without wanting to sound like a total dickhead, roysh, I’ve got nearly a whole shelf of
them at this stage. Some of them are pretty decent as well, I have to say. We’re talking Pulp’s
A Different Class
, The Verve’s
Urban Hymns
and the soundtrack from
Trainspotting
. Of course, Fionn has to, like, hijack the whole thing. He says that stealing CDs that you actually
want
means it’s not a game at all, it’s just thieving, which basically makes me a knacker. This all came out a couple of weeks ago in The Bailey, when I pulled out the new Oasis album, which I had snaffled from Elaine, as in Glenageary Elaine with the black curly teeth.

Fionn goes, ‘Philosophically, Ross, you’d have to ask yourself whether you’re doing this for fun, or if you’re succumbing to some primordial instinct that’s in you to take things that don’t belong to you. Who knows, in a previous life you might have lived in Bray.’ I was, like, so tempted to deck the focker, break every pane of glass in his face. Instead, roysh, I did what I do best. The next time he saw me, I laid OTT’s
This One’s For You,
Hootie and the Blowfish’s
Cracked Rear View
and
The Best of Andrew Lloyd Webber
down on the table and went, ‘Alisa from LSB, Katy from the tennis club and Simon’s cousin with the huge baps who used to work in Benetton. Read ’em and weep.’ Of course, he doesn’t know what to say. He’s there pushing his glasses up on his nose going, ‘Ross, I didn’t mean to impugn …’ I’m just like, ‘Notches on the bedpost, Fionn. Notches on the bedpost.’ I know for a fact, roysh, that the second I left the boozer he was telling everyone that I bought them myself, which is total bullshit. He knows I did the business, roysh, with a bit of help from Hugo Boss, who makes jeans with a back pocket that fits a CD, like, perfectly.

So anyway, roysh, back to Muireann. I’m there going, don’t let those hands go too low. Of course, the girl can’t help herself. She,
like, grabs my orse, roysh, and she’s like, ‘What’s that?’ I’m like, ‘What?’ She goes, ‘In your pocket. What is it?’ Quick as a flash, roysh, I’m like, ‘It’s, em, a present. It’s a present for you. A CD.’ She’s like, ‘Which one?’ I can’t even remember which one I robbed. I was going to take Madonna’s
Something to Remember
, but couldn’t decide whether it could be classed as cool or not.
Anyway
, roysh, I whip the CD out and straight away she’s like, ‘Gary Barlow.
Oh
my God!’ Gary focking Barlow, that was it. I’m still there playing it cool as a fish’s fart. I’m like, ‘I hope you haven’t got it already.’ I know what’s coming next. ‘Em, no,’ she lies. She’s like, ‘I’ve always wanted it though.
OH! MY! GOD!
You are
such
a mind-reader. You know me
SO
well.’ Then she’s like, ‘This is probably
such
an uncool thing, but I prefer Gary Barlow to Robbie Williams. Oh my God, you
SO
better not tell Jenny and Esme that.’ I would except I haven’t a focking clue who she’s talking about. I’m there, ‘Yeah, well, I’m actually a Gary Barlow man myself.’ If the goys find out I said that …

She takes the CD out of the box and, like, turns around to put it on and she goes, ‘What’s your favourite song?’ and I scan down through the track list, picking songs at random. I’m like, “No Commitment’, ‘Are you Ready Now?’ ‘I Fall So Deep’, ‘Forever Love’.’ She goes, ‘
OH! MY! GOD!
‘Forever Love’. That’s
my
favourite as well. Oh my God, we are
SO
well suited.’ So suddenly it comes on, roysh – ‘
My love it has so many empty spaces
’ – and I’m there thinking, Like your head, Muireann. Just like your head. I don’t actually say it, though. She gives me another hug and we stort, like, slow-dancing in her kitchen. What a sap. Wetter than a bank holiday weekend in Dingle. But I think there’s a reasonable chance I’m going to get that quickie now.

Might take the Madonna CD after all.

Aoife says that to burn off the calories from a Snickers bar would basically take forty-five minutes on an exercise bike, and Sophie goes, ‘Oh my God! That’s, like,
OH! MY! GOD!
’ And Keera, roysh, she asks how long a Caramel bar would take and Aoife looks at her as though it’s, like, the stupidest question she’s ever heard in her life and she goes, ‘How the fock would I know? What am I, an expert on dieting or something?’ and Keera, like, shakes her head and goes, ‘Sorr-ee!’ and Aoife tells Keera she has
such
an attitude problem. Sophie says she went to the gym last night with Amy and Faye for a jacuzzi and one of those high-protein shakes.

I eat the froth at the bottom of my cup, lick the spoon and check my messages. There’s, like, two. One is from Eva who wants to know whether I’ve heard about Anna, not Anna as in first year law Portobello Anna but Anna as in clarinet Anna, and the total fool she made of herself in the rugby club last Saturday night. Michelle from Ulster Bank has also rung to say she’s, like, concerned about my overdraft, roysh, and I’m tempted to ring her back and tell her I’m glad one of us is because basically I couldn’t give two focks.

Keera stands up, roysh, and makes a little announcement – she’s going to the Ladies – and she says it, roysh, as though she expects Aoife and Sophie to come with her, but they don’t move and Keera’s already up on her feet, roysh, so she’s sort of, like, past the point of no return you could say, and she has to go on her own. When she’s gone, roysh, Aoife goes, ‘Sorry,
how
much weight has that girl put on?’ Sophie goes, ‘I know, I know. It’s like,
OH! MY! GOD!
It’s like,
Hello
?’ Aoife goes, ‘Tell me that’s a skinny latte she’s drinking,’ and Sophie’s like, ‘It’s, like,
SO
not. It’s, like, full-fat milk.’ And Aoife goes, ‘
OH! MY! GOD!
, that girl is,
like, so … duuhh!’ Sophie goes, ‘
TOTALLY
. It’s, like, her points have
SO
gone out the window since she broke up with Eoin. If she’s, like, eating out, she only counts whatever she orders
herself
. If she, like, takes a few fries off your plate or has, like, half your dessert, it’s like she thinks it doesn’t count.’ Aoife’s there, ‘That is
SO
, like … aaaggghhh!’ and Sophie goes, ‘I know. It’s, like, totally … duuuhhh!’ Aoife’s there, ‘It
SO
is. I’m, like,
Hello
?’

Keera comes back, roysh, and Sophie goes, ‘Oh my God, Keera, you have lost
SO
much weight,’ and Keera, like, looks at Sophie, then at Aoife, then at Sophie again, like she can’t work out whether she’s being, like, a bitch, and she eventually goes, ‘I
SO
haven’t. I look in the mirror and it’s, like,
OH! MY! GOD!
I’m just like … aaaggghhh!’ Sophie tells her she
SO
should wear that pink belly top she bought in Morgan for Críosa’s twenty-first. Aoife tells her she
SO
should, that it would look, like,
SO
cool.

Fionn comes in, roysh, and it’s, like, a relief to have some male company at last. Aoife and Sophie and Keera all stand up and, like, hug and air-kiss him, and Sophie tells him she has
SO
missed him and Fionn pushes his glasses up on his nose and goes, ‘I met you in Benetton half an hour ago.’ Aoife goes, ‘
OH! MY! GOD!
Speaking of Benetton, Jane texted me this morning and she said Sara is
SO
not going out this weekend.’ Sophie goes, ‘Oh my God, that’s, like, why not?’ And Aoife goes, ‘
OH! MY! GOD!
She was
such
a total slut last weekend. She was, like, flirting her orse off with Conor. All night. In the rugby club. We’re talking Conor as in might be playing for the Clontarf J2s next year Conor. But she ended up being with, like, his best friend. We’re talking Cian. It’s, like,
OH! MY! GOD!
’ Keera goes, ‘That’s, like,
SO
not a cool thing to do. It’s like … duuuhhh!’ Aoife goes, ‘
TOTALLY
. It’s, like … aggghhh.’

Sophie goes, ‘That girl has turned into
such
a Samantha. It’s, like …
Hello
?’ Aoife goes, ‘Oh my God,
I
am, like, a total
Samantha
myself. We are talking, like,
OH! MY! GOD!
’ And Sophie goes, ‘No, you’re not. You’re, like, Ally McBeal. You
SO
don’t know what you want.’ And Keera goes, ‘And you are
SO
Joey from ‘Dawson’s Creek’ as well,’ and Sophie’s like, ‘Oh my God,
TOTALLY
,’ and Aoife, roysh, she actually looks quite pleased with that.

I ask Fionn how college is going and he says fine, his course is a piece of piss. Sophie goes, ‘
OH! MY! GOD!
What do you think of Monica’s hair?’ and me and Fionn, roysh, we look at each other, wondering who the fock Monica is, but we cop it when she storts, like, talking about Rachel and Phoebe as though she knows them. Aoife goes, ‘I would
SO
like my hair like Rachel’s. It’s, like,
SO
cool. I’m like,
OH! MY! GOD!
I asked my hairdresser to, like, do my hair like hers and I looked in the mirror afterwards and it was like … aaaggghhh!’ Sophie goes, ‘I know, but that girl who did your hair, she has
such
an attitude problem. She is, like,
SO
… duuuhhh!’

Fionn goes, ‘In a hundred and fifty years time everyone in Ireland will talk with an American accent. That’s my prediction.’ All the girls are like, ‘
Hello
? Where is this, like, coming from?’

Fionn and his theories.

We only really sent Oisinn’s name into ‘Blind Date’ as a joke, roysh. We came up with the idea one night when we were all watching it totally ossified in Fionn’s apartment, so we downloaded the application form off the internet and filled it in without Oisinn knowing anything about it, never thinking of course that of all the millions of applications they get in that
they’d pick his out. Anyway, they did, roysh, and he rings me up one afternoon and he’s like, ‘Ross, what the fock is going on?’ and I’m like, ‘Come on, Oisinn, it’ll be a laugh. No, it’ll be a lorra, lorra laughs,’ and I basically say it the way that focking kipper says it. He’s like, ‘They want me over in London the day after tomorrow,’ which is basically Paddy’s Day, roysh, and I’m there, ‘Hey, I’m with you. Every step of the way. We’ll all go over.’

But basically, roysh, it takes me, JP, Fionn and Christian to persuade the dude to go over for the laugh, roysh. So the five of us head for the airport, roysh, check our bags in and, of course, hit the bor. So there we are, roysh, seven o’clock in the morning, basically skulling pints and we end up nearly missing our flight. JP’s there telling us we need to take a helicopter view of the
situation
and we’re all trying to work out what the fock he’s talking about when all of a sudden, roysh, we hear our names called out over the intercom thing, and it’s like, ‘Please make your way to boarding gate 4B. Your flight is about to close.’