Young Pete: Mammy, I’ve written a poem but I can’t finish it. Will you help? It goes –
‘Low lie the fields of Athenry, where once we saw the da da da fly’. What will I put?
The Mammy: I cook and clean and slave and all you can think to do is write. Put any feckin’ thing, put ‘small freebirds’ whatever the feck they are. Nobody’ll read that shite anyway.
Then go and pull me up a cabbage.