The last week of level five restrictions, and Maisie is begrudging Jimmy his longed for few pints.

• It’s been a long six weeks, Bernie.
• It has, Jimmy is gagging for a pint. He hasn’t had a drink since September. He can’t wait for Friday.
• I’m sure it hasn’t done him any harm.
• What do you mean?
• About time he lost that beer belly.
• I’ll tell him you said that.
• Indeed and you won’t. Don’t be a rise a row.
• Well don’t be saying it then.
• I’m only thinking of his health.
• I’m sure you are.
• Men of his age need to be careful, look at your poor father.
• Da only had a few pints after work of a Friday night and maybe Sunday morning after mass; it wasn’t the drink that killed him.
• You may be sure it didn’t help.
• You have a drink yourself.
• The odd glass of brandy to help me sleep, that’s all; and maybe a Baileys at Christmas.
• Whatever you say ma.
• What are you implying, Bernie?
• Nothing, I’ll tell Jason not to bother with that bottle of Remy Martin he was going to buy for you.
• You will not, the child will think I’m ungrateful. He’s good enough to think of his poor granny at Christmas.
• I’m only joking, ma.
• It’s nice to have a bottle in for visitors.
• It is ma, it is. Fair play to you.

Roll on Friday, can’t wait for a few myself.