A normal humdrum day.

Great shows last week Kid and it was good to see young Michael, Sean Coyle's replacement putting out such a great show on Thursday. "That lad will go far," said Tommy my cat, as he lay curled up under the bed, pretending to be a lost sock. I looked at Tommy and said, "Do you know something Tommy, I've never lived this long before." "And you probably never will again," said Tommy, "So enjoy each day as it comes." "That's what I like about Tommy, it's not just the mice at the door, the hair balls in the soup, the puke under the bed, what I like about Tommy, is his tenuous grasp of reality. If Tommy was a pen, I would be proud to wear him in the breast pocket of my electric blue simmet. "Tommy," I said, "Run down to the corner shop and get a packet of assorted yells, shrieks and screams. I am going to pluck my eyebrows." "What about a small bag of expletives?" said Tommy. "Oh sugar," I said. "I forgot all about the expletives. Ask Manuel the shop girl if they have any President Nixon expletives, if not, just get the Gordon Ramsey expletives." After Tommy had gone, I did something I have always wanted to do. After I did what I've always wanted to do, I cleaned up, using plenty of hot water,dettol, and jeyes fluid, danced the Walls of Limerick with a trio of cock roaches, sang a verse of Mother McCree and lubricated my oxters with axle grease. Just the normal, humdrum antics that every woman with a cat gets up to. I grew bored waiting for Tommy to come back, so I passed the time by putting a bun in the even and crying, "Oh musha allana, what am I going to do at tall, at tall, at tall? Sorry indeed I am to have a bun in the oven and my Danny far, far over the sea, clubbing baby seals to death!" Tommy rushed in tripped and spilled the President Nixon expletives all over the floor. In the midst of all the effing and blinding Tommy cried, "The police are coming, the police are coming. They have thrown a cordon all over the neighbour hood and every house is going to be searched from top to bottom." "WHY?" I yelled. "Is there a bomb scare?" "NO!" cried Tommy. "It's worse that that. Some one broke into Steven Nolan's house and stole a raisin from his bun!" "This is big!" I cried. "This is-huge! Nolan will wreck Belfast looking for that raisin" "Tubby is standing in the middle of the street," said Tommy, "stripped to the waist. He says he will fight any man who interfered with his bun." "Quick!" I yelled. "I have a bun in the oven. Take it out and give it to Nolan." Soon Tubby was cradling the bun, cooing into its face and the bun was looking up and saying, "Daddy, what a big belly you have." I stood at the door, with my apron over my face, keening like I've never keened before. "As sad indeed it is today, what will my seal clubbing Danny say at tall, at tall, at tall, when he finds out my bun in the oven calls another man-daddy?"

All this and more have I seen from behind Sammy Wilson's bowl of porridge. Sammy's porridge is very temperate, not too hot, not too cold. It's just right.