The wit of the Oirish

Sunday morning I was scalping the small pocket handkerchief of grass that passes for our front garden in Wandsworth when a bloke stopped and leaned over the small brick wall.

"Yer doin' a grand job there" he commented in a pronounced Irish brogue.
   "Thank you" I replied.
"What you want to do," he advised, "is sprinkle a bottle of whiskey over the grass".
   Walking straight into it, I exclaimed "A waste of good whiskey!".
"Ah but," he quipped "when it grows back it'll come up half cut".