"Ninety-nine percent of the time you’re not competitive"

Sligo, Saturday, early afternoon. My sister and I are in the polytunnel, preparing our entries for the Boyle Summer Show, which takes place tomorrow at midday.

I am entering into its ‘Best Wild Flower Bouquet’ category. My sister is entering her rhubarb into ‘Best Fruits’.

I am all of a dither, quite unable to account for my sweaty palms and trembling hands; I fear they may point to something my husband said earlier: “Ninety-nine per cent of the time you’re not competitive. But you pack some frightening stuff into the one percent of the time that you are.”