Craic On

It seems that this really is a country for old men.  Contrary to all expectations the favourite Uncle is now installed in a house round the corner. This will enable him to make a garden at my sisters and come round here with stale packets of biscuits and instant coffee while telling me tales about smoke alarms, fish sticks and moles. He has been digging flints out of the Sisters’ garden in order to develop a brand new vegetable patch. In doing so he has created a superhighway for moles who have also decided to spend more time round at the Sisters enjoying the veg patch. The challenge of the moles has now become the principle occupation of the favourite Uncle, who tells me this story on repeat. I don’t mind this and try to respond to each telling of it as if I am hearing it for the first time. “It’s Uncle here,” he says when I pick up the phone. “I’ve got a very funny story to tell you about moles.” I listened to the story and when he got to the end, he wondered if he had mentioned who it was that was call