Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘No one goes to lectures before Christmas’

Ronan looks at me crooked.

“A pint?” he goes. “It’s midday, Rosser.”

Oh, it’s all ahead of him.

I’m there, “You’re a student now, Ro - live a little.”

Speaking of which, I'm disappointed to see that the bor is pretty much empty? "When I went here," I go, sounding like the old fort I possibly am, "the people were five- or six-deep at the bor trying to get served. That was at, like, one o'clock in the afternoon."

I think the recession scared a lot of young people straight. There was a year or two there when this campus didn't even have a pub? I'd hate to think that the old traditions like being pissed in the middle of the day are being lost.

“Here, knock that back,” I go. “It’s not gonna drink itself.”

He’s there, “Thing is, Rosser, I’ve a lecture at two.”

I laugh - no choice in the matter.

I’m there, “No one goes to lectures before Christmas. Matter of fact, I never went to a single lecture the entire time I was here.”

He’s there, “You nebber got a degree eeder, Rosser.”

“Exactly. I think the point I’m trying to make is don’t set the bor too high for yourself early on - and I mean that in every area of your life - because that’s what people will expect of you all the time.”

He turns to the borman and goes, “Hee-or, can I chayunge this for a Baddygowan?”

I grab the pint before he pushes it across the bor to him. "Yeah, no, give him a Ballygowan, " I go, "but leave the pint there. It won't go to waste - I can guarantee that!"

I have an idea then. “I’ll tell you what, Ro, if you’re so anti the idea of spending your first day in UCD mullered, I could just give you a tour of the campus. Show you where everything is, including the famous Orts block. That’s where you’ll find most of the pretty girls. God, I used to sit outside there like a polar bear at foxhole.”

He goes, “Look, no offedence, Rosser, but I might go off by meself - do you know what I mean? Foyunt me owen way arowunt.”

I’m there, “Er, yeah, no, fair enough.”

“I’ve a map I gorroff the intornet,” he goes, getting up off his stool. “And like I says to you, I’ve a lecture at two. I’ll give you a bell later, Rosser.”

I’m like, “Yeah, whatever,” trying not to sound too hurt?

Then off he goes, leaving me alone with the borman. Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. I stare at Ronan’s drink, untouched, then I go, “A Ballgowan. Do they still call it a Bally-go-on, go-on, go-on?”

“If they do,” the borman goes, “I’ve never heard it.”

“When I was UCD, that was all anyone ever called it. ‘Can I have a Bally-go-on, go-on, go-on?’ they’d say!”

“I’d say that was, em, hilarious.”

“Still is hilarious. I was just trying to explain that to my son. The memories you have while you’re here, they stay with you for the rest of your life. He’s studying law, just to mention.”

The dude nods, clearly impressed.

I’m there, “He wants to possibly be a solicitor.”

He goes, “There can never be too many of those.”

I raise my glass. I don’t know why. It just sounds like the kind of line we should be toasting. Then - totally out of the blue - the dude goes, "So, what, you decided to chaperone him on his first day in college?”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, thought I’d show him where everything was - although the bor is as far as we got!”

He just nods. He’s all of a sudden got, like, a serious expression on his face? I don’t like it. He’s there, “How would you have felt if your old man had insisted on bringing you to college on your first day?”

I’m there, “That’s a ridiculous question. Me and my son have a totally different relationship to the one I had with my old man?”

“That’s what we all like to think.”

“Excuse me?”

“He just seemed, I don’t know, embarrassed, that’s all.”

I end up losing it. I’m there, “Why don’t you mind your own beeswax and pour me another pint?”

He goes, “You’ve already got a pint and a half in front of you.”

“Sorry, are we married or something?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t get to count my drinks! And give me some change for the pool table.”

I slap a Caitlin Jenner down on the bor and he gives it back to me in shrapnel. I grab my - so what? - two-and-a-half drinks and I tip over to the table. I rack up and grab a cue, then I stort potting balls, the old magic coming back to me pretty quickly.

Ronan wasn’t embarrassed. I know my son. He was just keen to get to his first lecture, that’s all. I’m not going to let that come between us.

To cut a long story short, there ends up being more pints and more pool and I don’t even feel the afternoon pass. Then suddenly I hear voices. Excited laughter. I look up and I notice that the bor is filling up with young people. It’s a genuinely lovely thing to see.

And that’s when I spot Ronan. He’s in the middle of this - literally - gaggle of girls and they’re laughing their heads off at something he’s saying to them. He’s got the gift of the gab. You’ll know that feeling, those of you who are parents, of seeing one of the qualities you genuinely love about yourself reflected back at you by your children.

I’m about to tip over to introduce myself and that’s when Ronan cops me. He’s obviously surprised to still see me there. The look he gives me reminds me of the UCD coach back in the day. But there’s something more than just surprise in his face. It’s, like, embarrassment. No, it’s actually worse. It’s fear. His expression seems to say, “Please don’t come over here!”

And I realize in that moment that my son - like me - is all growed up. I knock back a full pint in two mouthfuls, pot the final black ball, then I push the bor of the emergency door and wobble across the campus in search of a taxi.