The story so far: Mammy has ‘persuaded’ her son Patrick to quit as Social Media Connector Manager of the controversial independent candidate Patsy Duggan’s re-election campaign. She has also demanded from Patrick the password to Patsy Duggan’s official facebook page. In the end, it was Jennifer who put a stop to it.

I wrote to Patrick through his Facebook. I always use Facebook to get in touch with him if I think he’s avoiding me. Deirdre showed me where you can see if he’s read the message or not. Whereas before I’d be sending texts and he’d say: “Oh, it didn’t get through.” And me, like an eejit, believing him, thinking texts go missing like letters at Christmas.

Anyway, I was quite straight with him in the message.

“Patrick, are you going to hand over Patsy Duggan’s password or what? I’ve a thing or two to say on it that the world needs to know.”

Jennifer was on the phone to me like a shot.

“What kind of mad stuff are you writing on Patrick’s Facebook,” she said.

“I sent it in a message? Didn’t I?”

“You didn’t. You wrote it on the page.”

“Oh, I’d better delete it,” I said.

“It’s grand. I deleted it. We all have your password in case you go putting mad stuff on our pages. What are you up to?”

“I was going to put a message up about Patsy Duggan. People need to be reminded who they’re voting for.”

“Mammy, that’s all illegal. It’s identity theft. You could get into all sorts of trouble.”

And then she finished up with one last dig.

“What’s going on with you this last while, Mammy, anyway. Is it hormones? Do you need HRT or what?” she asked.

“MY HORMONES ARE FINE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”

I left things well alone after that. We went down to vote and I gave the first preference to the girl of the Hartigans. There wouldn’t be much choice around here. There’s a few anti-something candidates alright but I wouldn’t know their people. I think they might be in the New Houses.

They were interviewing Patsy Duggan on the Saturday. He’d won, obviously, by the cut of him. The cap was sort of crooked on his head and he was in his element talking to some young wan from RTÉ.

“This is not just a vote for me. It is a vote that says the people of towns all across the constituency from Kilsudgeon to Kilbicky, Drumshosney to Drumfeakle are telling the Dublin media that rural Ireland has a voice. And that voice will not be shushed by Prime Time trying to make me out to be a crook when my only concern has always been broadband connectivity in this neglected part of the country. A country with a proud heritage that beat the Black and Tans and we’ll beat the Dublin media yet.”

He always brings the Black and Tans into it. And there were no Black and Tans around here.

Himself came in as I was watching it.

“Well oul Desdemona Duck” – it’s been ages since he called me that. He only says it when he’s worried about me. “What are we going to do with you at all?”

Whatever way he said it, I just started bawling crying.

Denis was sort of patting my arm.

“You’re a knot of stress these days – between Jennifer’s clown of a boyfriend and searching for that toy at Christmas and now you’re like your man Wikileaks trying to break into a Facebook page”

“I don’t know, Denis. I used to be in charge of everything but now I’d be wondering what I’m supposed to do. I’m always worrying about them but I can’t do a bit about it.”

Denis doesn’t really go for deep talk about what a woman of a certain age is supposed to do with her life. He just started tapping at his phone.

“This’ll give you a giggle anyway,” he said. And he showed me a video of the moment Patsy Duggan was elected. When it came to the hoisting on to the shouders, the lads who lifted him did it wrong and he toppled over on to the ground.

I laughed and laughed till different tears were coming down my face. Himself isn’t the worst therapist you could have. He’ll get my number one anyway.

Listen to an interview with Irish Mammy author Colm O'Regan in conversation with Aisling Hussyey: