“Oh! My God!” Honor goes. “What the fock are you wearing?”
She’s talking to her old dear, by the way. She never has to ask me that question – the answer is almost always, “Something by Canterbury.”
Sorcha’s like, “Honor, will you please stop filming me and put your phone away?”
But Honor goes, "Er, no? I'm doing my vlog."
Sorcha's there, "You are not vlogging your confirmation day, Honor."
"Er, hello? It's one of the biggest days in the south Dublin social calendar. My followers are going to want to know what people are wearing. So come on, answer the question – what is that?"
Sorcha just rolls her eyes. “If you must know,” she goes, “it’s a Jones New York faux shearling coat.”
Honor’s like, “Yeah, second hand.”
“It’s not second hand.”
“Well, it’s not exactly new, is it?”
“For your information, Honor, this piece came from an amazing, amazing vintage store that I discovered recently in town.”
“Oxfam?”
"No, Honor, not Oxfam."
“Enable Ireland?”
"No, I'm talking about a proper vintage store?"
“It’s still someone else’s cast-off, though, isn’t it?”
"The expression is 'previously loved', Honor. I thought you would have known that – being a supposed influencer?"
“Hey, I wouldn’t influence anyone to wear second-hand clothes – in case they found out that someone died in them.”
She stops filming her old dear, then she goes, “I’ll be outside in the cor,” and out the door she heads.
You are not going to your daughter's Confirmation wearing a Leinster jersey
She's obviously touched a nerve with Sorcha because she goes, "You don't think someone died in this coat, do you, Ross?" and she storts examining it for, well, God knows what?
I’m like, “She’s winding you up, Sorcha. Because you rang the school and told them not to mention in the church that her middle name was Suu Kyi. And because you stopped her choosing Vladimir as her confirmation name.”
“You’re right. She knows how to press my buttons. Now, go and put a shirt on, Ross.”
"Er, yeah, no, I was going to just to wear this?"
“You are not going to your daughter’s Confirmation wearing a Leinster jersey.”
“At least it’s not second hand,” I go – well, I say it in my mind. Then I go upstairs and throw a shirt on over it.
We drive to the church, stopping off at an ATM to take out a roll of twenties, just in case we have to grease any of Honor’s friends – although I remember from the Communion that a lot of Mount Anville mums and dads hand out cords with their daughter’s bank account number, sort code and IBAN on them, so you can transfer the money to them electronically.
Into the church we go. Honor is filming everyone and providing her followers with, like, a running commentary, as if it's a fashion show, which – let's be honest – it kind of is? She's going, "Amantine's mum has worn a sort of pastel-coloured suit – she looks a bit mother of the bride. And – Oh! My God! – who wears a fascinator to a Confirmation?"
Sorcha snatches the phone from her and tells her she can have it back afterwards.
The Confirmation ends up being basically Mass, with what we in the property game call "added value" – meaning the actual confirming bit?
Each of the girls is called by name, then they’re asked to basically reaffirm the promises that their parents made for them on the day they were baptised.
I can sense Sorcha tensing up when Honor is asked, “Do you reject Satan?”
It tells you a lot about our daughter that neither of us is sure of what she’s going to say. The 10-second delay before she finally answers, “Yes,” doesn’t help our nerves either.
But our relief is short-lived. A second or two later, she interrupts the bishop to go, "You actually got my name wrong, though?"
The dude’s like, “I beg your pardon?”
She looks over her shoulder, fixes Sorcha with a look and goes, "It's Honor Angelou Suu Kyi O'Carroll-Kelly?"
There's suddenly, like, muttering in the church – judgy muttering. You can hear the other parents, out of the side of their mouths, going, "Is that after Aung San Suu Kyi?" and I'm trying to limit the damage by telling people, "Yeah, no, it's actually a different Suu Kyi?"
The bishop goes, “And I see here that you have chosen the name Bridget as your Confirmation name?”
This is south Dublin remember, where the embarrassment gene has been lorgely bred out of existence
Again, Honor turns around, smiles at Sorcha and goes, "No, I've chosen the name Vladimir. After Saint Vladimir? And Vladimir Putin."
Well, you can imagine how that goes down. There ends up being, like, gasps in the church, followed by a lot of tutting. And this is south Dublin remember, where the embarrassment gene has been lorgely bred out of existence.
Sorcha ends up having a total conniption when we get outside. She goes, “I can’t believe you would humiliate me like that in front of all those other parents.”
Honor’s just like, “Whatevs!”
But Sorcha doesn’t know what humiliation is yet.
Honor takes back her phone and we head for the cor. Like everyone else, we’re having lunch in the InterContinental in Ballsbridge.
I’m just opening the door of the cor when I suddenly hear a voice go, “That’s my coat!”
I turn around and it ends up being Desdemona Burke’s old dear. She’s staring at Sorcha with a face like thunder.
Sorcha goes, "Excuse me?" – as anyone would in the circumstances.
The woman’s there, “That coat you’re wearing – it’s mine!”
Honor's like, "Oh! My God!" and she points her iPhone at the woman. "I have to get this for my vlog!"
Sorcha's there, "It couldn't be yours. This is actually a vintage piece. It's a Jones New York–."
“Faux shearling coat,” the woman goes. “And the right hand pocket has a hole in it, right?”
Sorcha’s face just freezes. It’s obvious that the answer is yes. She’s there, “But I bought it in, like, a vintage store?”
“It was stolen from my car,” the woman goes, “two days before Christmas.”
And all Honor Angelou Aung San Suu Kyi Vladimir Putin O’Carroll-Kelly can go is, “Hill! Air!”