“I hears this knock on me door,” said O’Connell to our rapt attention. “And when I opens it I find meself face to face with ther Grim Reaper in person on me stoop.”

He knocked back a quaff and brushed the foam from his face.

“Go on,” urged McTavish, slipping the barkeep a few coins to keep the pint pot full.

“He’s just standin’ there,” continued O’Connell, "Staring deep into me eyes, all tall and black-robed and faceless.

He licked his lips and raised his pint pot at the hesitation.

“I says to him; death, I says, there must be some mistake fer you to come a’ callin at my flat ‘cause I’m a young man, I am, and healthy as a horse.”

We all laughed at that because O’Connell had been known to clutch his chest at times to get attention.

“Well, Death says to me, I just need the loo, mate. I should have gone before I left, and now it’s caught up w’me.”

“Wha’d you do?” someone asked.

“I showed ’im the facilities and bid ’im on his way,” O’Connell said with a twinkle, and finished his beer forthwith.