Little Dermot was crying about the water not being warm in the bath and I had regretted not throwing him into the second-hand slops of Fiadh.

“It doesn’t take much to give them all a fresh bath, Fabien. It’s not the 1960s.”

“There isn’t enough hot water.”

She shouted back up the stairs. “Your fault. You’re on bath duty.”

Dear Michelle and Emma. You’ve done the PR. Now when are you going to tackle public services? – Patrick Murphy

Lay me down, in the hallowed ground, where my father waits...

I washed the little boy’s hair and gave him a suds Mohican and took a picture and sent it to Fionnuala. She didn’t respond. I sat on the edge of the tub looking down at my son and I was abruptly overcome with emotion. Memories came flooding back of me being in the bath and my father singing Don Williams songs, his soft voice holding the tunes well: “But I believe in love / I believe in babies / I believe in mom and dad / And I believe in you.”

Where did that come out of? I already told you my dad died when I was 15,........

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