“I remember when you got your Leaving Cert results,” Sorcha’s old man goes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you, Dorling.” He’s talking to Sorcha, not me – I probably don’t need to tell ...
Sorcha’s old dear has a scream on her like Wayne Bornes’s whistle. Sorcha’s old man is like, “What in the name of God?” and we all rush into the living room – we’re talking me, Sorcha and, like I said ...
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