Sitting lazily on the deckchairs, apricating in the late September sun in the untidy garden of the half-derelict tholtan, already showing signs of the reconstruction work they were undertaking, Padraig finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle into the bucket where it joined half-a-dozen others: "that's fuckin rotgut TP, don't ya think we could squeeze some better booze outa them?" but Tim Pat shook his head: "they're payin us tae work, Paddy, no tae drink, an it's only because o me skills in creative accountin that we kin afford this shite, so no rockin the boat, ok?" and Paddy grunted in acknowledgement of his pal's superiority in being able to skim a slice off the cost of bricks and mortar sufficient to provide anything to wet their whistles at the end of a day's hard graft: "ah, TP you're always on the ball, sure that's the reason we've got work at all, when half the town is laid off, I don't know what I'd do without ye, even if you do have the ugliest mug this side o Tipperary!" and far from being offended, TP took out his pack of Afton and handed his mate a cigarette: "the bus'll be along in half an hour, so we've time for a wee puff an then stow the tackle away an walk up to the road end – ould Enda O'Shaughnessy's drivin it this week an if we're so much as thirty seconds late he'll drive past without stoppin, he's a right gobshite, but I promised Emer I'd take her along to Mulligan's tonight so I daren't be late," and Paddy clambered up from the deck-chair and offered TP a hand up: "well never let it be said that Paddy McGinty was one to stand between a friend and the love o his life, I never have an I never will!" and TP laughed: "I'll make sure they put that on your headstone, Paddy, it'll give the mourners something to talk about!"