The story so far: Kilsudgeon-based independent TD Patsy Duggan is fighting for his political survival. Mammy’s youngest son Patrick has temporarily abandoned his studies and is now working as Patsy Duggan’s “social media connector”.

“Kilsudgeon got a mention in the Independent.”

Himself is reading the paper. I bought it, but I always give him first refusal. It’s sort of a tradition. Every time he says, “I only want a quick look,” he’s still reading it an hour later. I let him off with it. You have to make compromises, I suppose. “Coalition government”, I call it. Although, I’m the one who’s always in Labour. He started to read it out.

It’s all about Patsy

“But in many ways, Kilsudgeon represents what’s worst about clientele-ism and parish-pump politics in Ireland. The town has been the traditional base of Patsy Duggan, a classic rural politician.

“Most recently in the news for trying to get money from an undercover reporter, Duggan has prided himself on his stroke-pulling over the years. Having had a prostethic leg since a car accident in 1995, Duggan revels in the nickname he has acquired locally: Long John Silver.”

“And our son is working for him. You just don’t know how they’re going to turn out, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“OURselves – you were supposed to be rearing them too. The sooner this election is over, the better.”

It got worse before it got better. The telly came down. Vincent Brown’s programme was doing a debate in the Kilsudgeon Country Arms House Hotel. I normally wouldn’t watch TV3 for anything except Coronation Street, but that’s gone to that other crowd now. Deirdre had to help me find it on the Saorview.

We went along to the debate to keep an eye on Patrick. It didn’t take long to find him. He’d set up a social media hub and was giving out “memory sticks” with “Vote for Patsy, he won’t forget you” written on them.

He was going around like something out of The West Wing. A swanky phone glued to his hand. He’d even roped in his friend Lampy Toland. Lampy was calling himself a “brand engagement ambassador” for Team Duggan. And Lampy would normally have trouble engaging with any brand that didn’t come in a six-pack.

I tried to get a word with Patrick. He hardly had time to talk. “If you’re not part of the solution, Mammy, you’re part of the problem.”

I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him at this thing. I’d have to wait till things quietened down.

And then the postman did me a favour. A letter from the bank arrived for Patrick the day after. I don’t know why, but I did a thing I never did before: I opened it.

Well! The friendly bank manager was getting very cranky with Patrick. He was €2,000 overdrawn and, what’s more, he wasn’t even spending it on drink. It was all printing and election stuff. I had him now.

He came over for dinner last Sunday. I said I’d bury the hatchet.

“I must say, I’m actually proud of you, Patrick. I’ve never seen you so motivated. And, tell me, how much is Patsy Duggan paying you?”

He just looked at me. “Well, he said he would make it worth my while after the election, but that there were a lot of outgoings now.”

“And you believed him. Well, Patrick, my dear boy, – he’s making a mug out of you. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you … I don’t know … we’ll say €1,000 if you’ll stay away from him until 26 February.

No answer.

“And I want you to do one thing for me too before you leave the campaign. Give me the password to that Facebook page you’re managing for him. I’ve a few ‘updates’ to make.”

“Mammy! You can’t be doing that. That’s cyber crime.”

“Do you still want your rent money?”

Mammies can pull strokes too, you know. Maybe I should have run myself.