Tuesday evening, we had no match to go to, so off out to the poly-tunnel for a few hours. "It’s been a while since you checked how my tumbling tomatoes are coming along," said Nancy, "I’m always afraid they’ll start to droop."

Of course, it wasn’t long before the cordless rang. "Ballybore 213," replied Nancy, while clutching a pair of purple-sprouting broccoli in the other hand.

"Is it yourself that’s in it, Sean? I see you’re back with the International Rules team. That was some laugh the time yourself and Kieran McGeeney went crying on the telly about the Aussies kicking and belting.

"A lot of people never realised the two of you were such keen students of irony before that. Gas men. Fair play to ye.

"I’ll get himself for you now, Sean."

We go back a long way, Boylan and myself. Without revealing too much of a personal nature, or embarrassing Nancy in any way, I can say without fear of contradiction we would not have eleven healthy, strong, and happy children today were it not for one of Sean’s herbal remedies.

The six cruel months of indigestion Nancy suffered was a small price to pay for a successful conclusion to 12 barren years. Over the next ten years, as the eleven children came into this world, one by one, each with their little foibles and quirks, we always gave thanks to the loveable rogue from Dunboyne.

"Sean, a chara," I said to him, "anything at all I can do, glad to help. Getting that tie-up going in the first place required a great deal of work, and, in fairness, your own county-man Peter McDermott was a great help to me. The Cork Examiner are sending Nancy and myself over, so I’ll be on hand anyway."

And, so, on Wednesday evening, the two of us met up with Trevor Brennan at the GOAL Challenge in Omagh. I have more than the petit peu French, and was able to converse directly with Trevor, while Sean needed a translator, which happened to be me.

I told Trevor in no uncertain terms that I wanted Ireland to wire into the Aussies. He agreed with my suggestion that Tough Men in Westmeath be played over and over again on the plane out, and on the team bus to the matches.

It was then I looked Trevor and Sean square in the eye, both at the same time, and uttered an instruction I’ve been storing up for almost 25 years: "If The Big Dipper starts any of his nonsense on the sideline, take him out. Clean and clever. Wrap the microphone around his neck. No second thoughts," I said.

"And if he utters one word of complaint, just mention my name, and remind him of Pearse Stadium in ’84. That’ll soon quieten him."

Sean didn’t look at all comfortable with this sudden turn of events, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls out of the job. But it’s time for Ireland to get real this time.

Trevor was enthusiastic and muttered "magnifique, bleedin’ magnifique" over and over again. We were just at the end of our little discussion when John O’Shea came over and asked Nancy and myself to referee, and we had a grand evening entirely, and I don’t regret one bit sending off Ryan McMenamin on a straight red.

I’ll be reporting him too.

Noel always covers the runner. Email This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ; visit www.knowledgeablenoel.com; Skype (knowledgeable.noel); and Facebook (Knowledgeable Noel.)

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