putting out the last few weeks and I’m thinking I’m going to have to get it somewhere else, and I’m never going to be hotter than I am tonight.

Oisinn turns around to me and he’s like, ‘Ross, I know you don’t want her cramping your style tonight, but that wasn’t very festive,’ and I go, ‘I’m sorry, Oisinn, I just couldn’t come up with a festive way of saying it,’ and then, into my mouthpiece, roysh, I go, ‘Actually, tell her there’s no room at the inn,’ which the bouncer actually does, roysh, he actually uses that focking phrase, and on the screen I can see Sorcha mouthing the words, ‘oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’ while her friends – I can make out Chloë, Aoife and the lovely Erika – are just in total shock, like their Visas won’t swipe in Nine West or something.

I tell the goys to come on and we head downstairs and there’s this, like, big cheer when we arrive, roysh, three members of the Echo and the Moneymen consortium who now own the joint, and it’s basically nice to see that everyone knows what side their bread is, like, buttered. Birds are coming at us from every angle, giving it loads, telling me I’m the man, it’s a disgrace that Decían Kidney keeps ignoring me, blahdy blahdy blah, but I’m going around looking around for Christian, roysh, because I haven’t, like, seen him all night.

Then I cop him, roysh, basically canoodling in the corner with Lauren, and as I get closer I can hear him telling her that Jawas has forty-three different terms for the word relationship and she’s going, ‘Forty-three? Wow!’ and when Christian cops me he goes, ‘Ross, you’re here. Great. Look, we wanted you to be the first to know…’ and I look at him, roysh, and I look at Lauren and she, like, holds up her left hand and she’s wearing, like, a ring.

I fight the urge to go, ‘YOU FOCKING SAP!’ and instead I give it, ‘That’s incredible news,’ and I kiss Lauren on both cheeks and give Christian a hug and I go, ‘I have to say, roysh, having made the trip down the aisle myself, I can totally recommend it,’ and of course in my Davy Crocket, roysh, the old Wolfe’s ringing away and it’s, like, ‘Darth Vader’s Morch’, and I actually stort to feel a little bit, I don’t know, guilty I suppose.

Lauren goes, ‘So where’s Sorcha tonight?’ and I’m like, ‘She’s, em, I don’t know, helping people. Homeless people. Homeless unmarried mothers. With Aids,’ and Lauren says I’m lucky to have married someone with such a big hort.

Christian says he has something to ask me, roysh, and of course I’m expecting him to go, ‘Do you think we could get Figrin D’an and the Mos Eisley Cantina band to play at the wedding?’ but instead he goes, ‘I want you to be my best man,’ and I swear to God, roysh, I actually burst into tears, roysh, because what with that whole thing between me and his old dear – me knobbing her basically – I know how, like, awkward it’s going to be for him having me as, like, his best man.

I tell them I’m, like, SO happy for them, which I am, roysh. I used to, like, worry about Christian, about whether he’d ever find someone on the same – I was going to say level, but I actually mean planet – and I order a large bottle of pop and it’s great, roysh, just the three of us, sitting in the corner, basically toasting the future.

My phone beeps and it’s, like, a text message. It’s from, like, Sorcha, the defiant wench. It’s like, Wher r u? OMG d bouncrs wont let us in! Can u cum dwn? and I just, like, delete it and head off to look for JP.

He’s in cracking form, it has to be said. It’s, like, the first time I’ve actually seen him since he storted in Maynooth and he seems really, I don’t know, at peace or something. He’s, like, chatting away to Caroline Morahan and Gráinne Seoige and they’re having this, like, really deep discussion about whether Mel Gibson’s take on The Passion portrayed the Jews in a fair light, all pretty interesting, I’m sure, if that’s your basic vibe.

The unbelievable thing is, roysh, he’s actually back on the Britneys. Have they no Baileys? That’s what I go to him. I come up behind him and I’m like, ‘Have they no Baileys, JP?’ and when he turns around he doesn’t look pleased to see me at all, roysh, he actually gives me a filthy and goes, ‘Ross, I joined the consortium on the understanding that there’d be a chapel where patrons could go for a moment of quiet repose and perhaps speak to God,’ and I’m thinking, The goy has totally flipped this time, and I have to think on my feet, roysh, and I end up going, ‘We couldn’t get planning permission for it.’

He stares at me, roysh, and he obviously knows it’s a lie because I can’t actually look him in the eye, but then all of a sudden he storts cracking his hole laughing and he goes, ‘Ross, I’m yanking your chain,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh my God, you focking had me there, JP. That’s if I can still call you that. I mean, you’re not a priest yet, I take it?’ and he goes, ‘It’s JP, Ross. And it’ll always be JP to you and the goys.’

So all of a sudden we stort, I don’t know, reminiscing I suppose you’d have to call it, about the time we borrowed his old man’s cor, drove out to Terenure and totally wrecked the Gick’s pitch, doing, like, wheelspins and handbrake turns all over it. Then we did Mary’s and Blackrock on the way home. He’s there, ‘Happy days,’ and I’m like, ‘Are you happy now, dude?’ and he goes, ‘Unbelievably happy, Ross. It’s a content I never thought I’d know,’ and I just, like, raise my glass to him and I go, ‘Hallelujah to that,’ and he goes, ‘Amen.’

He’s like, ‘Everyone’s happy. Christian has Lauren. Oisinn’s a millionaire, doing what he wants to do. Fionn seems really keen on that Debra – he’s talking about going to a Kibbutz next year. Looks like things are working out for all of us. And you – you’re happy, aren’t you?’ and I’m there, ‘Pretty much. Hit me with some of that Bible shit. Some of that stuff you said to me before, it got me thinking…’ and he goes, ‘Ross, it was wrong for me to try to force my beliefs down your throat. It’s an abuse of your friendship,’ and I’m like, ‘Come on, JP. Hit me with something. Give me a thought for the night.’

So he thinks, roysh, then he goes, ‘Okay, Proverbs 5:15,’ and I’m like, ‘What one’s that?’ and he’s there, ‘Find joy with the wife you married in your youth, fair as a hind, graceful as a fawn. Let hers be the company you keep, hers the breasts that ever fill you with delight, hers the love that ever holds you captive.’

I’m like, ‘No, give me something else,’ and he laughs and goes, ‘Where is Sorcha tonight?’ and I’m there, ‘She’s helping out with some, I don’t know, homeless… one-legged… gay… junkie… refugees,’ and he laughs because he knows that I’m basically ripping the piss.

I have to, like, excuse myself then, roysh, because out of the corner of my eye I see – I don’t believe it, roysh, I don’t actually focking believe it – Ronan’s turned up and he’s leaning up against the bor, eyeing up birds and drinking from his hipflask. I just, like, storm over to him and I go, ‘How the fock did you get in?’ and he’s like, ‘Storreee, Rosser? Didn’t I tell you I was connected in this town?’ and I go, ‘I focking paid you good money to stay away. What happened to that?’ and he’s like, ‘There I was tonight, Rosser, looking forward to a nice night in front of the oul’ box, when Sorcha rings. Said she was outside of here. Couldn’t get past the bouncers. Said you weren’t answering your mobile. Well, she knows I’m a man of influence – and I owed her a favour after Ibiza – so says I, “I’ll be down. Gimme fifteen minutes, Doll”.’

I’m like, ‘Are you telling me she’s actually inside?’ and he goes, ‘Of course. I know two of your lads on the door out there,’ and I’m thinking, bang go my plans for a bit of extra-curricular tonight. Ronan goes, ‘Do a disappearing act, will ye? I’m looking at boords and you’re cramping me style,’ but I’ve decided to make myself scarce anyway, roysh, before the storm arrives.

I manage to find Oisinn and Fionn, who’re, like, huddled together in a corner, roysh, and they seem to be, like, studying something pretty closely. Oisinn sees me and goes, ‘Have you seen it yet?’ and of course I presume he’s talking about Lauren’s engagement ring, roysh, and I go, ‘Yeah, great news, isn’t it?’ and Fionn goes, ‘I thought you were against the idea,’ and I’m like, ‘What are you on about?’ and – I swear to God, roysh, with absolutely no warning – Oisinn turns around and goes, ‘This,’ and he holds it up, roysh, it being Miss October in the Yummy-Mummy 2005 calendar, in other words my old dear, the stupid focking weapon.

There’s, like, no preparing yourself for a moment like that, roysh, basically seeing your old in the raw. I don’t even want to focking describe what she looked like, but suffice to say, roysh, that Oisinn made sure I got a good eyeful for, like, five seconds before I managed to turn away. I’m like, ‘Yeeeuuuggghhh,’ and I’m actually focking gagging, roysh, and Oisinn’s going, ‘You’ve got to be kidding, Ross. She’s a stunner. Look at the size of those—’ and I’m like, ‘DON’T! I’m going to vom,’ and Fionn’s like, ‘Better get used to hearing about it, Ross,’ and Oisinn goes, ‘Your old man’s sending them to everyone as, like, Christmas presents. Oh, by the way, Sorcha’s looking for you,’ and I jump up and get the fock out of there.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot two of the blokes out of Westlife, roysh, the pair from Sligo, but I don’t even have time to find out how the actual boggers managed to get in here tonight. I find a quiet spot in the corner, where I end up chatting to these two former Mounties, who are talking about the various ports of their bodies they’re going to have botoxed when their SSIA money comes through. One of them might be called Iseult.

I stort giving it serious amounts of welly in the old chatting-up deportment, roysh, we’re talking me at my knicker-loosening best, until this total dickhead called Donnacha, who happens to be a brother of one of the two birds, comes over and storts going, ‘Hey, Ross, how the fock are you?’ and I just, like, pretend not to know him, roysh, even though I do. He’s actually a tosser, roysh, went to CBC Monkstown, was hooker on the S when we totally kicked their orses one year.

Actually, he was a total focking donkey, as I remember.

I’m just like, ‘How the fock did you get in?’ and he goes, ‘I’m actually going out with Sorcha’s friend, Claire,’ presumably Claire as in Claire from Bray, of all places. I’m safe nowhere, roysh, because suddenly Claire’s there and Erika’s behind her, with that this-place-is-so-beneath-me look she seems to, like, wear permanently. When Erika sees me, she goes, ‘Your wife is looking for you, Ross,’ and I go, ‘Well, I’m here amn’t I?’ and she goes, ‘She has some joyous news for you,’ and then she turns to Donnacha and she’s like, ‘So you’re Claire’s new… boyfriend. She tells us you’re a barrister. My father knows Paddy McEntee. Which firm are you with?’ and this is all news to me, roysh, because I always presumed Donnacha was like me – thick as a ditch basically.

The goy looks at Claire, roysh, then at Erika and he goes, ‘Storbucks. Out in DCU,’ and Erika just, like, screws up her face and goes, ‘Storbucks?’ and then, looking all, like, delighted with herself, she goes, ‘I thought you were a barrister?’ and Donnacha goes, ‘A barista! I’m a barista. As in, serving coffee?’ and Claire’s suddenly, like, pulling away from him, going, ‘You said you were a barrister!’ and he goes, ‘Claire, I didn’t. In fairness, the music was pretty loud in Rí Rá,’ and Erika goes, ‘Rí Rá! Oh, Claire, he’s just perfect for you,’ and I can see Claire’s eyes, roysh, just, like, welling up with, like, tears.

Erika goes, ‘Don’t start crying, Girl. You’ll have that pan-stick make-up all over your face again,’ showing basically no mercy and Claire turns around to Donnacha and goes, ‘OH! MY! GOD! You’ve, like, ruined my Christmas. I can’t believe you thought I’d actually want to be with someone who makes coffee for a living,’ and off she focking storms to the jacks and behind me I hear Chloë go, ‘OH! MY! GOD! That’s like, Aaahhh!’

I’m about to peg it myself, roysh, before Sorcha gets here, but the next thing, roysh, who arrives over, only three of the biggest focking legends in the history of Irish rugby – we’re talking Drico, Dorce and Shaggy, and Dorce says they met One F at a Russell earlier on and he told them to follow him on down and I’m like, ‘Dorce, it’s an honour to have you here. I worship at your altar, dude,’ and what does he do, roysh, only high-fives me and tells me that he thinks I’m a legend too and he can’t believe the IRFU have never given me a contract, which he doesn’t have to say, roysh, especially given the number of times I wiped his eye with the ladies over the years.

Then I get chatting to the old Dricmeister himself about rugby and how I could be where he is today if I wasn’t so into my scoops and getting my rock and roll, and I have to admit, roysh, I’m actually a bit in awe of the goy, though I’m pretty sure it’s, like, mutual – two former schools rugby legends, living the dream, blahdy blahdy blah. So I’m just about to tell him, roysh, that I’m thinking of going back to playing rugby next year, maybe for, like, Greystones, when all of a sudden I get this, like, tap on the shoulder, roysh, and I spin around and who is it – OH FOCK! – only Sorcha.

I’m there, ‘Hey, Babes. Thank God you got in. I was worried sick,’ and she’s like, ‘OH MY GOD, Ross, enough already?! I’ve got something to tell you…’ and I just go, ‘Bit busy at the mo, Babes. I need to ask the bouncers to fock out those two boggers from Westlife,’ and she goes, ‘HELLO? I think this is slightly more important, Ross,’ but everyone’s watching and ISO don’t want a scene.

So I go to walk away and I notice that Erika’s suddenly up at the bor, roysh, and she’s, like, chatting away to Ronan and he has his orm around her waist, the lucky focker, and I don’t know what he’s saying to her, roysh, but she’s clearly loving it because she’s, like, smiling again and then I see her turn around and give him, like, a peck on the lips and Ronan catches my eye and gives me the old thumbs-up.

Sorcha goes, ‘HELLO? I need to talk to you, Ross,’ but I’m there, ‘Later,’ and she’s like, ‘Okay, I’ll say it in front of everybody then… Ross, us two… are about to become three.’

And I just, like, freeze on the spot, roysh, because I think I know what she’s hinting at. It’s weird, roysh, might be all the champagne I knocked back with Samantha Mumba earlier, but everything’s moving in, like, slow motion. I’m there, ‘oh my God, I don’t think I want to hear this,’ and she goes, ‘You oh my God better hear it, Ross,’ and I look around me, roysh, and in that moment it all, like, suddenly hits me. JP couldn’t have set it up better himself. I look at Erika and I go, ‘A cow,’ then I look at Donnacha and I’m like, ‘A donkey,’ then at Drico, Dorce and Shaggy and I’m there, ‘Three focking kings.’

I see Fionn shaking his head. He goes, ‘You goys didn’t follow a stor to get here, did you?’ and Drico nods his head over at One F and goes, ‘No, we followed the goy from The Stor.’

This shit is, like, SO freaking me out. I go, ‘What about the shepherds?’ and Oisinn, who’s suddenly arrived over, goes, ‘The goys from Westlife – they’re boggers, roysh? And we all know that boggers like to look after sheep.’

I point at Fionn and I go, ‘Look, we even have a virgin.’

So Sorcha goes, ‘Ross, I’m pregnant,’ and probably the worst thing in the world that a basic husband can say at this point is, Oh, and I suppose it’s mine? which is what I actually do say. I go, ‘Oh, and I suppose it’s mine?’ which earns me a slap across the boat, followed by a Bacordi Breezer all over my new beige chinos.

Then Fionn – it would have to be Fionn – goes, ‘The scene is complete. Look everyone, the child’s father thinks he’s God,’ and of course everyone’s just, like, cracking their holes laughing.

I’m just there, ‘And a merry focking Christmas to you, too, orseholes.’