All Songs Are Lies.

What a great Monday show Kid. Tommy my cat and I listened to the show sitting on the sofa with pliers, hammers, knives knuckle-dusters and an electric drill. We were pretending to be the Kray brothers, but we only ever hurt each other. Tommy is a diamond geezer, a diamond geezer, you won't find a better cat in the East End of West Belfast. When the woman came on looking for a bath to put flowers in, Tommy and I looked at each other and yelled-in unison, "YOU-REEK-AH!" So today Kid I want you to find me an old toilet that no one is sitting on. I plan to put the toilet in the garden and fill it to over-flowing with sweet peas. On a more serious note, Tommy and I were sorry to hear that you were--heckled in Omagh. Tommy looked at me and said, "Was this a consensual--heckling?" I shook my head. Tommy drummed his fingers on the small Costa-Rica dwarf we keep by the fire and said. "This is bad. Who knows what will come from this? What did the pretty little girl from Omagh have to say about it?" "Not a lot," I said. "She was looking for her false teeth. She's 94 you know and walks with the aid of a zimmer frame." Tommy yelled, "But Brian Coll said..." "Brian Coll my Aunt Eugene!" I yelled. "It was lies, nothing but lies. All songs are-lies! No one ever took Kathleen home, Maud never set foot in the garden and Chuck Berry never yelled, "Nadine, it that you?" because Nadine Coyle was not even born at the time." "Hey," yelled Tommy, "This is bigger that Watergate, or Steven Nolan." "And there's more!" I yelled. "I was talking to Jennie, light brown hair my Londonderry air, she's as bald as a coot. She got a bad dose of mange from a Doberman Pincher called Rasputin the second." Tommy's lip began to tremble and he whispered, "And--Rhonda?" "Rhonda never needed any help!" I yelled. "Rhonda is 24 stone, arms like a navvy, built like a brick lighthouse and works as a bouncer for Janet Summers." "We wuz sold a bill of goods," said Tommy "We cert-ainly were," I replied. "We wuz took to the cleaners," said Tommy "We cert-ainly were," I said. "We wuz led up the garden path," said Tommy. "Listen Tommy cat!" I exploded, "There's no need to labour the point." "You swine!" roared Tommy. "How dare you bring politics into a friendly argument." Tommy and I ran to the sofa, picked up the pliers, the hammer, the knife, the knuckle-dusters and the Black and Decker drill and in true Kray brothers' tradition did some serious hurting. But, only to each other. Tommy's a diamond geezer, Tommy is my bruvver."

All this and more have I seen from behind the false, insincere smile of Jonathan Ross at the BAFTAS.