"How far is she gone, Margaret?"
"Jesus I couldn't tell you Marie. Four or five months by the look of her."
"Jesus, her poor mother."
"I know. Oh it's shockin'. And she's there still servin' away behind that counter, bould as brass."
"You wouldn't be up to her, Margaret."
"And her mother's a lovely woman. A LOVELY woman. Do you know her?"
"Ah I know her to see..."
"She took it very bad, God love her. She's the only daughter."
"Who's she having it for?"
"She's not sayin' or, if she is, I couldn't tell ya."
"It's like that film, isn't it Margaret?"
"Which one? The Ronnie Doyle one?"
"The very one. The one about the showband."
"Ah Jesus, Marie. Wait, here it is. Which one are you gettin'? The 121?"
"No I'll hang on for the 122. Don't forget your bag, Margaret."
"...where's me purse??? I'd forget me head if it wasn't screwed on. Bye bye Marie."