TROUBLE SPOTS AND MEDIATION

Great show yesterday Kid, but it was a strange show,no insults, no put downs, no acts of bodily harm. It almost seemed that you and Mr Coyle were getting along and horror of horrors, actually "liking" each other!

Tommy my cat picked up on it right away. The sensitive feline who was sitting on a bundle of Northern bank £20 notes, softly strumming a lyre, looked up at me and said, "That's odd!"

"It is odd," I muttered, "and I detest oddness of any description. I wonder what is going on?"

Tommy, still softly strumming on the lyre said,

"The word in the hood is, that Senator George Mitchell was seen leaving Gerry's house at four o'clock in the morning!"

"Mediation!" I yelled.

"You wot?" said Tommy.

"Mediation!" I cried. "The feud between Gerry and Sean has now taken on the importance of the Middle East and President Obama has sent Senator Mitchell to mediate between the waring factions."

"Do any of the two lads have access to nuclear weapons?" said Tommy.

"Only after a surfeit of baked beans," I said.

"But it's as plain as the wart on my nose, Gerry and Sean have now become a "Trouble Spot!"

"YIKES!" screamed Tommy.

"Yikes indeed my fine feathered friend," I replied.

"The roads will be packed with envoys, rushing from one to the other to-mediate. School buses will be late for school. Dung spreaders will crowd the lay-bys and Baggott's boys, with blues and twos flashing will clear a path for the all important peace envoys."

"Chaos!" screamed Tommy. "Thunder ball and lightening, very, very frightening!"

I went to sleep and yelled,"I have a dream. A dream where wee Ulster will return to the Stone Age, due to over mediation, reflection and looking back."

"Tommy strummed the riff from, Smoke On The Water, on the electric lyre and said,

"But what can we do? Oh Lord, you made my head so big and my brain so small."

"The only way to fight mediation," I yelled "is WITH mediation! I want you, Tommy cat, to go to Stroke City and go on a whispering campaign. Creep up on Gerry and whisper.

"Don't trust Coyle, he is nothing but a propagandist and a procrastinator." Then go to wee Sean's lug hole and whisper,

"Gerry says you have a big head and play golf more like Eli Wood than Tiger Woods."

Tommy saluted and said, "You can depend on me, my cap-i-tan."

That should fix their wagon. Let's see how they like them apples.

All this and more have I seen as I went through Angie the weather girl's drawers. Hidden away in a secret drawer I found many hot Summers that little Angie had stamped "TOO GOOD FOR THE GULPINS" and had instead paid good money on the black market for cold, rainy Summers. Why does she hate us so?

Answers on a postcard to Frank McCrory care off-UTV-LIVE.