Paddy walks into a Belfast pub, looking like he's just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised and he's walking with a limp.

“What happened to you?” asks Sean, the bartender.

“Jamie O'Malley and me had a fight,” says Paddy.

“That little twit, O'Malley,” says Sean. “He couldn't have done all that to you - he must have had something in his hand.”

“That he did,” says Paddy. “A shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it.”

“Well,” says Sean, “you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?”

“That I did,” said Paddy. “Mrs. O'Malley’s breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but useless in a fight.”