‘We’re going to buy a sh**load of frozen turkeys - if there’s a shortage I can sell them for €500 each’

Sorcha is in her – literally? – element. She goes, “This is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

This being the humungous Christmas morket in – believe it or not – Belfast.

Honor’s there, “I still don’t understand what we’re even doing here?”

And Sorcha’s like, “Honor, we may end up living in a united Ireland one day. And what do we know about our brothers and sisters from the North?”

‘Ronan is hanging out with the absolute scum of the earth: my old man and Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara’

‘Dude, if you insist on coaching Blackrock, you can forget about me being your best man’

‘It’s all right for you,’ Honor goes. ‘You can have any woman you want’

“They’re very angry,” Johnny goes.

Sorcha’s like, “They’re not angry. That’s just the way they talk.”

“That’ll be tharty poynds,” the woman in the coffee truck goes.

Thirty snots for six hot chocolates? Yeah, no, we should be the ones who are angry.

“Hoppy Chrassmuss,” the woman goes as Sorcha taps.

I whip out my hip flash and pour a couple of fingers of cognac into mine to jolly it up. Then we tip around, looking at the various – I don’t know – stalls?

Sorcha is on a roll now. She goes, “It feels like we’re extending the hand of friendship across the divide, doesn’t it? Oh my God, we should think about buying a frozen turkey while we’re up here.”

Oh my God, we should think about buying a frozen turkey while we’re up here
— Sorcha

I’m there, “Er, should we?”

She goes, “There’s talk of there being an actual shortage in the south this year because of the whole, like, bird flu thing? We should maybe buy a frozen one just to have as a backup.”

I’m about to go, “Yeah, whatever,” when Sorcha’s face all of a sudden lights up and she’s like, “Oh! My God! Will you look who it is!”

I recognise her straight away. It’s a girl called Treasa Rorty, who was in UCD with Sorcha and who I may have slept with when we were on one of our world famous breaks. And from the way Treasa’s face turns instantly pale, it’s obvious that she remembers me too.

It’s Honor who ends up rescuing the situation. She’s like, “Why don’t you two get reacquainted while we go and get the emergency turkey?”

And Treasa goes, “Och, let’s go for a wee thrink.”

So – yeah, no – that’s what basically happens. They hit The Crown to talk about old times, while me, Honor and the boys head for the big Morks and Spencer’s on Donegall Place to get the frozen bird.

Did you have sex with that woman?
— Honor

Honor goes, “Did you have sex with that woman?”

And I’m there, “The human hort is a complicated organ, Honor.”

She’s like, “You did have sex with her, didn’t you?”

And I’m there, “Yes, I did. Thanks for rescuing me, by the way.”

She goes, “I wasn’t rescuing you. I need a strong pair of orms. We’re going to buy an absolute sh**load of frozen turkeys.”

I’m like, “Are we? Er, why?”

“Because if there’s going to be a shortage,” she goes, “I can sell them in Christmas week for, like, €500 each.”

Of course all I can do is just shake my head.

I’m there, “It reminds me of that Christmas when you bought all those Elsa and Anna dolls and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. We had mums and dads in tears at the door on Christmas Eve.”

She’s like, “So?”

I’m there, “I’m saying I’m proud of you, Honor. From Frozen dolls to frozen turkeys. You’re an actual genius.”

So we hit M&S and – yeah, no – I end up getting really into it. We fill a trolley with turkeys and then we push it back to Sorcha’s cor, with Brian, Johnny and Leo carrying one under each orm. We cram them into the boot, then it’s me who ends up going, “Let’s go back and get more.”

“Er, the boot’s full?” Honor goes.

But I’m like, “We could stuff them into the footwells and put some on our laps.”

Honor says it’s a great idea – and why wouldn’t she? I’m one who’s paying for the things.

So back to the supermorket we go for another 25 frozen turkeys. And it’s as I’m forcing this second batch into every available air pocket in the cor that I suddenly notice that Leo is missing.

I’m like, “Where’s your brother?”

Brian and Johnny shrug. So I end up having to lock Sorcha’s cor, then we retrace our steps back to the supermorket.

Leo is standing in the middle of the street, holding a humungous frozen turkey in front of his face and it’s only then that I realise that his tongue is stuck to the thing.

I’m there, “What did I tell you about licking those turkeys?”

If brains were batteries, Leo wouldn’t have enough to power a set of fairy lights.

Honor’s there, “What are we going to do?”

I’m there, “I’m tempted to leave him there. The thing will thaw out in a day or two. It’ll be a lesson to him.”

“I’ll pour my hot chocolate on his tongue,” Honor goes. “That should melt it.”

So – yeah, no – that’s what she does, then we head back to the cor, only to discover, with a shock that almost empties my bowels, that the thing isn’t there any more.

I’m like, “What the actual fock? Was it stolen?”

“More likely towed,” Honor goes, then she whips her phone, finds the number of, I don’t know, whoever, then dials it. I hear her giving Sorcha’s reg number, then a few seconds later, she goes, “It’s been impounded – for non-payment of a porking fine.”

And I suddenly get a flashback to the summer. Yeah, no, I drove up to Belfast because Richie Murphy offered me a job as a kicking coach with Ulster. Of course, it turned out to be Simon Zebo ripping the piss – he can impersonate anyone – and so when I got back to the cor and saw the ticket on the windscreen, I ripped it up and thought this is me closing the door on Ulster forever. And, like I said, it was Sorcha’s cor.

I’m there, “Is there someone I can give my old man’s credit cord details to?”

But Honor – still on the phone – is like, “They’re saying the pound is closed. We can’t get the cor back until Monday.”

And that’s when I remember the turkeys.