WOMAN WITH CAT--REPORTING

What a great show Gerry Anderson put on today,the show had everything, style,beauty, bonny wee bon mots and 12% off for people with piles, I saved a packet.
After the show, I was squatting on a spiky, World War two bomb, filing my nails, I filed them under N, it makes them so easy to find, if you want a good scratch or are attacked by a gang of International chicken bone wielding bicycle thiefs. They really should crack down on those little guys, I blame the parents and the cross border tension in Cullybaccy.
I looked at Tommy my cat, as he sat at his writing desk, penning another fruitless letter to the home secretary, begging for a pardon for Herr Hitler, Tommy is the Lord Longford of the feline world. "How do you spell, ratbag?" said Tommy. I ruminated religiously and pondered properly and perniciously, as the minutes turned to hours, iIpaniced and yelled,
"Just write down Jordan, he'll know what you mean". "Yours affectionately,Tommy the cat" muttered Tommy and he put the letter in an envelope and stuck on a 2,ooo,ooo Italian peso stamp. "Tommy" I said "Tommy cat, what will you do if Herr Hitler is cleared of all crimes because he was bullied at school and is bipolar?" "Well" said Tommy cupping his chin in a tea cup "After I appear on Heart's and Minds,I will have a victory parade down the Donegall Road, led by the first citizen, Mr Jim Rodgers. The vast crowd will yell "What do we want? HITLER, when do we want him...? and Jim will scream-NIGH". Is Tommy a poor pathetic, Walter Mitty living in a self delusional mad, mad, world? Perhaps, but by God I admire his pluck, the lad has a purpose in life, you won't find Tommy hanging round street corners, he is too busy writing letters to world leaders and building a bunker in the back garden where the bones of Hitler will be on display 24/7 except for Christmas day and pancake Tuesday.
I walked into the Newsline office yelling, "Right you lot, let's be 'aving you" It was just as I expected, they were all lying in a corner, covered with coats sound asleep. "Thompson" I yelled, "Come 'ere you 'orrible little man. You're a disgrace Thompson" I roared "A disgrace to the elite Newsline team. "As for you Carruthers" I screamed, "Come out 'ere you 'orrible little maggot, you can't hide from me, I can see your red socks". Donna Trainor crawled out from under an anorack, pouting her lips and fluttering her eye lashes. "Don't try that girlie stuff on me girlie" I roared. "Over at UTV, Paul Clarke has Lynda Byrons, Tina Cambell, Frank Mitchell and Loggie out on a 30 mile hike wearing full battle dress" "Permission to speak Sir" piped Carruthers. "I have a cunning plan, why don't we go over there and steal their microphones?"
"Do you think that's wise Sir?" drawled laddy-de-dah Thompson. " I could be a spy" simpered Donna, "I could be a Matty Harry or what ever they call it, I could seduce Frank Mitchell and get him to give me the news headlines". "Trainor, you're a better man that me Gunga Din" I said,
with tears in my eyes. "Go over there and get Mitchell to spill his guts and Trainor" I said.
"Yes Sir" said Trainor. "If you can find out why Mitchell, changed his name from McCrory I'll see that you get the VC" "A VC, just for me?" cried Donna. "Yes" I said, "You get the goods on Mitchell and you my girl will be the proud owner of a virile chimp"