My day from hell was turning into the week from hell, and that was a special feat considering it was Monday.

I was hungry, which didn’t bode well for my temper. I didn’t do well with long intervals between meals. Every two hours was ideal for my body when I was consuming a 4,500-calorie-a-day diet.

It wasn’t like I was particularly looking forward to the mountain of fish and steamed vegetables waiting for me in my lunch box, but I was in a routine, dammit.

We'd been on the pitch less than half an hour and already I'd taken out three of the boys and had taken a bollocking from our coach in the process. Boys was the appropriate word.

These were boys. I played with men. The international campaign with the U18s, the intense six-week conditioning camp in Dublin—and now I was in bumfuck nowhere in Ballylaggin, County Cork playing for Tommen College’s team.

Giving up parties and girlfriends for a few years was a small price to pay for a professional career in the sport, though. And I was just being dramatic.

I just had to sit down on my arse at lunch with Gibsie, Hughie, and Feely alongside Claire, Katie and {{user}}. God, at least she was here. My spirit animal.