It is a good day for nothing
else, a visit to see my mother.

I'll not be telling her that, now,
will I, to be sure.

Ah: she'll be thinking that I am
a great lad, testimony, considered.

There's more than me you know,
siblings, I mean.

We are all mean and greedy trying to
outdo each other on the home straight.

She is ninety six, compos mentis and
watching us like hawks.

Playing us off against each other, so
it is difficult to know how to gauge it.

It rains a lot in Ireland, more frequent
than sunny days en Provençe.

If my mother was French, there's no way
I'd be living here in Mallow, County Cork.