Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

I think I’m on the record somewhere as saying that I’d prefer to be remembered as a great father than a great number ten. It’s total horseshit, of course. I’d much prefer if people talked about my abilities with a rugby ball after I’m gone. But being a brilliant, brilliant parent is sort of, like, my superpower? As in, I’ve no actual control over it. And I don’t know why I’ve been given it. It’s just a fact that I have to accept. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

So – yeah, no – I’m in the cor with the boys, driving home from The Bridge 1859 after watching The Ster make shit of Clermont Auvergne, when the usual rugby singsong storts up. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Ronan is smoking one of his famous rollies in the doorway of the Museum of the Irish Gangster when he sees me coming. “Rosser!” he goes. “The fook are you doing on Capel Street dressed like that? Did you take a wrong turden cubbing ourra Chapter One again?” Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

It’s every parent’s worst nightmare. Sorcha goes, “You’re being ridiculous, Ross.” I’m there, “Oh, I’m being ridiculous, am I? My son gives up rugby to play the port of Sam Cormichael in Mamma Mia! and I’m the one being ridiculous!” Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I’m like, “Westlife?” And I say it like that as well. I’m there, “Why are you going to see Westlife? You always said–” Honor goes, “No, I didn’t. I actually like Westlife?” and she’s telling me to – yeah, no – shut the fock up with her eyes. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.