John: How r ya Mick?

Mick: Ah sure I’m grand. Not a bother.

John: Sure same as meself so.

Mick: How’s the missus?

John: Sure she’s grand too. How’s yours?

Mick: Ah she’s alright I suppose.

John: D’ya know who I seen up there the other day?

Mick: No. Who did ya see?

John: Yer ma. God what’s his name?

Mick: Was it yer man Danny?

John: Who’s he now?

Mick: You know Danny with that oul car? Yer man? Ah you do. Yer man.

John: Ah yeah. That fella up the road.

Mick: That’s him. Was it him you’re talkin’ about?

John: No.

Mick: Alright so.

John: It’s that other fella. The one with all those dogs.

Mick: Who’s that now? The dogs. All dem dogs?

John: Over by ‘The Big Wall’?

Mick: No. Maybe. When I think of it now no.

John: Well who is it? You know The Wall? The Big Wall? Sure you know it.

Mick: Of course I know The Wall, ya feckin’ ejit.

John: Ha ha. Of course. Well?

Mick: Well feckin’ what?

John: Is it yer man with all the dogs by The Big Wall?

Mick: Ah ya feckin’ gobshite. I told ya that.

John: Ya did in your hole!

Mick: Sure maybe I didn’t. Anyway – it’s not him.

John: For feck’s sake!

Mick: Well tell me then. You’re the one with your shite clues.

John: Clues. What are ya? A feckin’ detective?

Mick: No. But you could at least give me a hint.

John: You know the other fella up the road with the dogs.

Mick: Ah for fuck’s sake.

John: Sure we had that cuppa with him that time. He takes a load a milk in it. Bit mad he is.

Mick: Ah sure Joe Driscoll. Sure you shoulda said!

John: Yeah. Well it’s not him.

Mick: Feckin’ hell. Is there another fella with the dogs?

John: No.

Mick: God Johnnie. You’re driving me mad!

John: Hang on. Hang on. You’re pressuring me. Oh sure it’s not them. It’s the fella up the road.

Mick: Which feckin fella?

John: Yer man who likes the drink.

Mick: Half of Kilmary likes the drink.

John: Yeah. I suppose. The fella that drinks the Guinness.

Mick: Ah for feck’s sake. Sure isn’t that all the fellas fond of the drink.

John: Oh yeah. Well he has a cat.

Mick: Ah sure Joe Cuddy! Why didn’t you say so ya ludramán!

John: Ha.

Mick: Well what about him?

John: Ah nothing. Sure I met him is all.

Mick: Come ‘ere an’ I’ll feckin’ bate the head of ya’

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