A LATE VOCATION

What a great show you put on yesterday Kid. You may be falling off your feet, but the way you put yourself out working for your many, many fans is admiral. I have searched the dictionary from A to B and the only word that sums up your show is-Admiral.

So take a bow Kid, but hold on to something while you take it.

"That takes me back to the war," I said, as I looked at Tommy my cat with a gas mask over his face cleaning out our respective litter trays.

"PHEW!" said Tommy, "That was a hard job. We must clean these respective litter trays twice a year from now on."

I made a note of that in my diary under-S. The-S stands for, shoveling out respective litter trays.

"Well Tommy," I said, "apart from the smell, did you enjoy the show?"

Tommy smiled, wiped his little feline brow with the national flag of Lichtenstein and replied,

"Eeh, that show has fair set me up for the day. Eeh by gum I could handle anything now. Even trouble at mill."

I could see that Tommy was in gritty, North of England mode, so I gave him a small riser to bring him out of it and said, "So you would give the show full marks?"

"Not quite my old trout," said Tommy, "There was something missing from the show that has me deeply worried and perplexed."

"And what would that be?" I yelled. "That show had everything, even Lord of The Rings dancing."

Tommy looked all around and whispered, "I am worried about......

"Jim?" I said.

"No, Sean." said Tommy. "At no time in the show did Mr Coyle interupt and say, "I was talking to a man last night."

"Gadzooks and fish hooks!" I yelled. "You're right. Oh, dear what can the matter be, if Coylers ain't talking to men in the lavatory?"

"No, No," said Tommy, "You got me wrong. I think Mr Coyle is staying at home, kneeling in a bare room praying, fasting and meditating."

"Meditating about-what?" I yelled."Interupting?"

"I think," whispered Tommy, "that Mr Coyle has a late vocation."

"Another holiday?" I yelled. "Now someone will have to give Lynda McCauly a she-ite."

"A vocation," said Tommy, "Not a vacation. I think Mr Coyle wants to be a priest. Just think, Father Sean Coyle, it has a ring to it don't you think?"

"So has a cracked bell," I yelled, "but it's still cracked and so are you for coming up with these outlandish notions, stories and-and-tittle-tattle for tittle-tattlers!"

"There were bad words at the end of that sentence," said Tommy.

"So what?" I yelled. "Let the censor take them out. How are you all of a sudden, little Tommy Whitehouse?"

After a three week silence Tommy said,

"Hey rat bag, what's the deal with little Kerry Katona? Why did she get the big heave-ho from Iceland?"

I stuffed cotton wool in the ears that the walls have and whispered,

"Little Kerry Katona was sticking things up her nose."

"Up her nose?" said Tommy. "Surely you mean up..."

"No, up her nose," I said.

"What sort of things was Miss Kerry Katona sticking up her nose?" said Tommy.

"The usual," I said, "You know how children are, marbles, ball bearings, six inch nails, pliers, frying pans, a harpoon gun, a three piece suite, OH-and a big bottle of Coke."

"The last one was probably the final straw for the management," said Tommy, as he walked away with his paws behind his back muttering,

"Kerry Katona, small lady, big hooter."

All this and more have I seen from Sean Coyle's sparse, monk's cell as he whipped the back of himself with a cat called Ginger that had nine tails.

It will all end in tears!

Turned out nice again. I think I will leave the garden gate open to freshen up the garden with sultry breezes from Ballymena.