'I hear this laughter coming from the conservatory - or, as they call them in this part of Foxrock, the orangerie'

Sorcha's gran's in shock after a burglary, but if the thieves knew what they missed . . .

SORCHA'S FAMOUS damsel in distress act gets an outing whenever she decides that she might like to, I don't know, be with me again? Usually, she'll ring me to come and rescue her from some date that's taken a disastrous turn, where the goy has maybe expressed the view that Whole Foods is a profit-driven corporation that trades on a perceived public morality or that Nelson Mandela beats his dog.

Or, classically, she'll let the petrol in her cor run right down - or, since she got her old man's old Merc converted, the rapeseed oil - then ring me and ask me to come and get her from Dundrum.

So you could say, roysh, that Thursday's call came as no actual surprise? I'm sitting in the gaff with Ro, watching The Wire, with him helpfully translating all the street slang for me, when all of a sudden the Hawaii Five-O theme tune fills the room. "Looks like you got a two-way," Ronan goes.

It's Sorcha on the other end, bawling her basic eyes out.

Turns out, roysh - and it's not funny - that her granny's gaff has been turned over. Basically burgled - and they've, like, trashed the place? Sorcha's old pair were in Puerta Banus and she didn't know who else to ring.

So me and Ro, roysh, tear around there. Sorcha meets us at the front door. The place is a mess. The granny, who I've a lot of time for, even though she hates my actual guts, is sitting on the sofa in the middle of what looks like a war zone, with a blanket around her shoulders, holding a sherry large enough to wash her hair in.

Obviously shock.

Sorcha goes, "I was at yogalates when she rang," and for some reason I'm thinking that yogalates is one of those things you're going to hear very little of now that the country's focked again. Sun-bruised tomatos, as well. And, I'd imagine, cars that run on rapeseed oil.

She sits down beside her granny and puts her orm around her.

Ronan asks if they took anything and Sorcha says no. Then he walks over to the broken living-room window and mutters something about doorty low-life - doorty fooken low-life, at that.

"It's this new one per cent income tax levy," Sorcha goes. "People out there are getting desperate. There's going to be a lot more of this kind of thing." We all just nod, I suppose, sadly.

I ring the Feds and it's the usual crack - they'll send a cor around when one's available, contact your insurance company, maybe throw out your old toothbrush.

Then I stort cleaning up. Ronan's suddenly looking majorly shifty. "I, er, might head off," he goes, "if the Filth are coming round."

I'm there, "Ro, you were with me - you've got, like, a cast-iron alibi," but he goes, "They might start asking questions about why I'm not at school." Some father I am - I never asked that myself. Although I suppose, given where he comes from, watching The Wire is kind of school.

He slips out the back way, roysh, and just when I think he's gone, I hear this laughter coming from the conservatory - or, as they call them in this part of Foxrock, the orangerie.

When I go out, he's pointing at this humungous plant - must be, like, six feet tall - in the window.

"Rosser," he goes, "what the fook's she doing with a cannabis plant?" I'm like, "Cannabis? Are you sure?" which is a ridiculous question, of coure.I peg it back into the living room. I'm like, "You've got a cannabis plant out there. The Feds are on their way. What! The fock!"

Sorcha goes, "Ross, stop shouting - can't you see she's already in shock?" I'm there, "She's going to have a focking screw screaming in her face every morning if the Coq Hardi find this."

"You bought it for me," the granny suddenly goes. "For Christmas one year." "I did?" Actually, I think I actually did - as, like, a joke? Didn't think she'd still have it.

I'm there, "We've got to get rid of it." They follow me out to the orangerie and the four of us end up just, like, staring at it.

"It's supposed to be good for glaucoma," Sorcha goes. "We could say she has glaucoma." "Glaucoma?" I go. "There's enough there to keep Ronan's entire estate peaceful for a month."

"Now you're singing my tune," Ro goes. "This is the answer to all me Christmas present worries."

I'm there, "You're never watching that programme again. Now, help me get this thing outside. We'll stick it in the shed slash utility room."

"It's locked," the granny goes and suddenly she's the one looking a bit, I suppose, shady.

Sorcha's there, "Okay - you have the key, don't you?" and after five minutes of basically faffing, with my back pretty much breaking trying to hold this thing, she hands Sorcha the key and we all go out to the utility room.

Sorcha turns the key and opens the door. In front of us, roysh, are maybe fifteen or twenty milk churns. Sorcha turns around and goes, "Gran, what are all these?" She doesn't answer. We put the plant down. Ronan goes over, opens one and looks inside.

"Moy Jaysus," he goes, "They're stuffed with money, man." Me and Sorcha are both like, "Money?" Ro's there, "Here - you're not a dealer, are you?" obviously delighted at the idea."No, I took it out of the bank a couple of weeks ago," the granny goes. "Well, they said it wasn't safe, so I wasn't trusting them with it."

"This is what they were after," Sorcha goes. "Gran, did you tell anyone about this?"

"Just my friends from the Active Retirement," she goes. "And one or two I met in the post office. And a girl I know to see on the 46A."

Sorcha's there, "Ross, get the cor storted. We're going to the bank."