HIGH FINANCE AND LOW FINESSE

As the sun broke over Belfast, it found the city exactly where it had been last night. It hadn't moved an inch, had not tried to make an escape during the hours of darkness. I think that says a lot about Belfast and the people of Belfast. Citizens of Belfast, stand up and take a bow. If you haven't got a bow, get on to eBay immediately. If you can't find a bow in your size, you could always buy a curtsy or a snappy salute. It's up to you, good people of Belfast, how you show pride in the populace. Far be it for me to dictate how you should celebrate your bravery. But, good people of Belfast, don't squander this glorious moment. Take a bow, pat yourself on the back and the next time you meet yourself, invite yourself in for a wee dram. Och-Aye.
I groaned wearily as I crawled out off the toilet bowl, I had been in there for two weeks, pretending I was the American economy. Tommy my cat was sprawled on the carpet, pretending to be the fallen dollar. Suddenly, Jim Rodgers stuck his nose through the letter box and screamed, "HI-big bail out for the American economy-NIGH!" Seven hundred billion. I could feel it doing me good already. Tommy jumped up, grabbed for a Cockney accent and began to sing in the oddest voice, "What do you want, if you don't want money?" I twirled myself round the room, then I grabbed my hand and danced The Walls of Limerick to the sound of the slapper with the hoover next door. What a relief! At one point I thought I was going down the pan and poor Tommy was so weak, the Japanese yen was battering the face of him. And now!-now we had got a transfusion of money from the American tax payer. I whipped out my wok, found it was a stone that Jonathan Ross had given me for my birthday, and grabbed the frying pan instead. In no time I had whipped up a celebratory banquet of cardboard, string and dust mites. As Tommy and I sat, toasting the financial bail -out with goblets of Fairy washing up liquid. I looked at Tommy and said. "Tommykins, you're a smart Cookie. What was the reason for the collapse of the American economy?" Tommy took a sip of Fairy liquid, boaked into his dinner and said, "GREED" "Greed?" I yelled, running to the foot of our stairs, bolting the door and drawing the blinds with a pencil. "GREED," said Tommy. "That's the cause of all the caffuffle. Nothing but good old fashioned-greed!" "It can't be!" I yelled to Pansy the parrot. "Oh yes it can," squawked Pansy. "I don't understand," I cried to the light bulb. "Hey man," said the light bulb, "Don't drag me into it. I'm just hanging around, minding my own business." "GREED?" I shrieked to the whispering grass, who tried to tell the trees, but the trees didn't want to know. "Tommy1" I yelled, "what can we do to make sure this, this-ah meltdown, this horlicks doesn't happen again?" Tommy wiped his feline lips with a sleeping kin, no, sorry, a napkin, got to his feet, stood at the fireplace, lit a cigar, put one thumb into the pocket of his canary yellow waistcoat and said. "Fiscal responsibility." "You what?" I yelled. Tommy sauntered over to the piano, tinkled on the ivories, filthy habit and said, "We must tighten our belts, cut our cloth to suit our means, knuckle down on credit, tie a knot in our galluses, always carry a clean hankie, keep our powder dry, never look a gift horse in the mouth and flush the toilet after using it." I looked at Tommy in shock and awe. What a smart little cat, what a cute little feline. Then Tommy's cigar exploded with a BANG, blew off his bow tie and left his little face all black. I just laughed like the gulpin I am, as I looked at Tommy, searching frantically for a banjo while singing, "MAMMY-MAMMY."
Two stone of biscuit crumbs had accumulated in the fork of Steven Nolan's huge trousers. There we lay, beside the landfill site, swatting flies and yelling-"Shoosh" to the hungry rats. I gazed at Tubby with my eyes full of passion and pus. Dear Steven gazed back and fluttered his eyelashes. My beret flew off my head and my wig slid over one ear. Steven eased up on one gigantic hip, broke wind so romantically and said, "Lie down Toots, I've got something for you." I shrieked like a rat in a trap, as dear Steven picked up a hurdy-gurdy and began to croon.
"I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes
I'm so full I'm brustin, I'm gonna need some pos
So If you really love me
Have them lined up in neat rows."
As the haunting love song drifted up with the smoke from the landfill site, the sun slowly sank in the West, leaving the city of Belfast in darkness. But would Belfast be there in the morning when the sun rose in the East? I sighed and threw myself on Tubby, grabbing and groping at his little hurdy-gurdy.
You will find Rosie Ryan at..
www.rosie-ryan.blogspot.com
And you can buy Rosie's book at..
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
And remember, be good and if you can't be good--be bad.