My old schools coach, Father Denis Fehily, used to say: 'God, life and rugby balls - they all move in mysterious way.' And I could, like, fully understand that statement? Like the great Jesus Christ Himself, I hit the age of 33 with a lot on my mind. I had three newborn future Ireland internationals to feed, a daughter in need of psychiatric evaluation and a son obsessed with uncovering the dark secrets of our family's 1916 past. Throw into the mix a sister missing in Orgentina; a wife, who needed a little - shall we say - encouragement to shed her baby weight; and a set of interfering in-laws living under my roof. You can see why life had become a hassle. But just when I thought it couldn't get any more complicated, a moment of indiscretion with - what else? - another women, persuaded Sorcha that I needed to have the unkindest cut of all.
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