SON: Me arm brushed the wall as I came in. Accidentally, like. Din’t matter – fresh paint, weren’t it. When I walked in, I did actually have a yellow streak right down me back. ‘Ello, mam.

MAM: Y’ve got a fuckin’ nerve, our kid.

SON: Nice t’see you too, mam.

MAM: Don’t gi’me that. Look what y’ve done t’me wall.

SON: Redecorating is it? Y’shouldn’t go fer yellow, mam: makes you look pallid.

MAM: Y’cheeky bugger – s’not yellow: s’daffodil burst.

SON: Daffodil burst? Sounds like a sweet.

MAM: I don’t gi’a monkeys – I like it.

SON: Well I don’t.

MAM: Don’t matter – you don’t live ‘ere no more.

SON: No. Well, how y’bin, mam?

MAM: Fine, consid’rin’.

SON: Mam –

MAM: ‘N how’ve you bin? Still workin’ fer the law?

SON: Well, I’m sort of on a break at moment.

MAM: Oh aye? ‘Oliday, is it?

SON: Sort of, yeah. (To audience) Alright, it’s a lie but I ain’t tellin’ her the truth – not yet, anyhow.

MAM: Y’lucky. Some folks don’t get ‘olidays. Some folks’re workin’ all year round so other folks can waltz off t’bloody London.

SON: I had t’go where they posted us, Mam –

MAM: Your father, rest ‘is soul –

SON: Christ! Don’t bring ‘im into it.

MAM: Your father slaved every day of ‘is life so you never went wi’out.

SON: Mam, me dad nicked lead off church roofs.

MAM: ‘E put bread on that table.

SON: He died fallin’ offa Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception’s roof.

MAM: ‘E died tryin’ t’feed his family.

SON: He went through the roof o’ th’Pizza Hut next door. Right in the middle o’ some fuckers Tropicana ‘n coke.

(The MAM clips the SON’s ear.)

MAM: I’ll ‘ave none o’ that language from you, y’little bugger. Y’ll keep a civil tongue in yer ‘ead when yer talkin’ t’me.

SON: Yes, mam.

MAM: And?

SON: Sorry, mam.

MAM: So y’bloody should be. That’s yer father y’talkin’ about. ‘E only went through that roof cus ‘is mind were somewhere else. Broke ‘is heart t’see you fall in wi’that lot.

SON: He were breakin’ law, mam.

MAM: ‘E were –

SON: Feedin’ fam’ly, yeah. Well he shou’n’t a’ bothered – bunch o’ ungrateful wretches, his fam’ly.

MAM: You watch it you. Y’re not too big t’put on me knee, y’know.

SON: No, mam.

MAM: So. How long y’got off then?

SON: I’m ‘ere fer a bit, I reckon.

MAM: Oh are you? An’ I s’pose y’ll want yer old room back an’ all?

SON: I can stay in’t hotel if y’want.

MAM: When there’s bloody good room spare here? Go an’ get y’bags.

SON: Cheers, mam.

MAM: An’ y’can touch up paintwork while y’here an’ all. Since it was you what messed it up.

SON: Yes, mam.

MAM: I s’pose y’ll want feedin’ will yer? Y’ll not be getting’ decent food down there.

SON: I can go chippy in a bit, don’t worry.

MAM: Will y’eck. Set table – I’ll ‘ave us summut in no time.

SON: Cheers, mam.

MAM: Bugger off, will yer.

SON: That was it. That’s all it was. I was home.