A wife for Steven

As the sound of "Flowers on the wall" faded away, Tommy my cat sighed and said. "Ah, the Statler brothers, named after a well known American tissue. If they lived over here, they would be known as the Kleenex Brothers." "Yes," I said, "Or even the coat sleeve brothers." Tommy began to carefully pick between his little feline toes with a silver plated crowbar and said, "I saw Steven Nolan today. He was coming down a hill. He looked like an avalanche in a suit."

I bit my lip with a pair of false teeth I keep for the purpose and said, "I'm worried about Steve. He's in his 30's now, both years and stones. It's time the lad settled down and stopped all his high living and partying outside all night fish and chip shops." "Nolan is a wild child," said Tommy. "A hell raising son of a gun like Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, Richard Harris and Olivia Newton John." "Nolan needs a wife," I said, "And when I finish knitting this goldfish bowl, I will dedicate my life to finding a wife for Steven "Tubby" Nolan." "What kind of girl will you look for?" said Tommy, as he blew the TV apart with a bazooka he got on eBay. The funny thing is, he was really looking for a balalaika after seeing Donal Lunny in concert. "The perfect wife for Steven Nolan," I said, "Would be a girl like Davina McCall." "You mean a cheeky hussy," said Tommy, "That roars and screams in the dark of the night?" "You've got Davina wrong," I said. "Actually Davina McCall is a patron of the arts and has an extensive library of Laurel and Hardy films." "What about Lisa Reilly formerly of Emmerdale?" said Tommy. "No, No," I said. "If they wanted to kiss, they would have to do it through a third party." "Kirsty Wark?" said Tommy. "No," I said, "Too bossy." "Kirsty Young?" said Tommy. "No," I said "Too saucy." "Then who?" cried Tommy. "Is there a woman in the world who will say, "I might" to Steven Nolan?" "There is--one," I said. "Who?" cried Tommy. "Who-Who-Who?" I smiled and said, "There's a girl who works in a chip shop that looks like Elvis!"

"Sorted!" yelled Tommy, "With a capital-SOR."

All this and more have I seen from the beach towel of Sean Coyle in the Costa Packet. There little Sean lay, reading the Derry Journal, eating an ice cream and checking for the 100th time that the 20 pesos note was still secure in his dark blue gutties.

"Gargon, Gargon" cried Sean "Another slider for my wife, myself and my best pal-Joe".