Jimmy Plunkett Kelly — author, trade unionist, hater of adjectives

Even before brown paper bags, the wiseacres used to say it. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know that matters.”

Not knowing anybody of any importance seemed set to doom me and my sister to a life of miserable mediocrity. The one person of importance the family did know was neither a politician or a big businessman. He was at the other end of the scale, and a peculiar hybrid at that: a short story writer and trade unionist.

Plus, we never referred to him by the name for which he was known James Plunkett but by what my father called him: Jimmy Kelly. Name-dropping in genteel reverse. Try impressing anybody by telling them your da knew Jimmy Kelly. The payoff is negligible.