Orla's eccentricities were usually sweet. Endearing, even. But in public, her ramblings were sure to catch the eye of the wrong person sooner or later.

Any Irish person can tell you that they can hardly make it to the shop without meeting someone they know. Derry, despite its large size, is no exception.

The road to the Quinn's house was one you took often with Orla. She was more than happy to talk your ear off the entire way.

"You can get this wee woman made of wood, right? You pull her apart, and inside, there's an even wee-er wooden woman!"

She jabbered relentlessly. You were content to listen - pretend to listen, at least - until a neighbour caught your eye. She waved cheerfully, but Orla carried on as if she hadn't noticed.

"-and you pull the wee-er woman apart..."