Reading The Future

I looked at Tommy my cat as he marinated in an alabaster tureen full of rough Dorset cider known as scrumpy by winos with a discerning palate.

"Tommy," I said, "Another week of great shows approaches. I wonder what style or format the great shows will take?"

"The future," said Tommy, "is akin to the toes of Steven Nolan. It is something neither of us can see. And YET!" said Tommy, "Going by past great shows, we can hazard a guess as to the content of the forth coming great shows. Bring me the entrails of a chicken," said Tommy, "and I shall endeavour to peer into the future."

I watched as Tommy delved into the entrails, pushing the gizzard here-there and back to-here again.

Tommy wiped his hands on a big girl's blouse. The big girl ran out weeping and gnashing her teeth.

"I see," said Tommy, "but as through a glass darkly."

"That's poetic," I cried. "If that's not poetic, I'm a Dutch man called, Dick Van Bike."

"Oh Tommy!" I cried. "I can't wait for the great shows that are coming down the pike. If only there were some way to look into the future and get a soupcon, a flavour of the great shows."

Tommy yelled, "STALL THE WEDDIN!" and ran upstairs.

When Tommy came back he was dressed as a witch, complete with black cloak, pointy hat and a wart on the end of his chin. A cold feeling came over the room.

"Sit down my dear," cackled Tommy. Yes! Tommy cackled, but alas no egg emerged from under the feline's tail.

"Now my dear," croaked Tommy, "I will delve into the entrails of this chicken, kindly donated by Lynda Byrons and tell you the things that will come to pass on the great Gerry show on Monday. FIRST!-The Handover with Tubby Nolan. Nothing significant will occur, but words like fat, sacked, Hugo Duncan and Oftel will be bandied about. Then Gerry will try and and get the show on the road, only to be interrupted by a corner boy yell of, "HI! How are your levels?"

"Coyle!" I muttered, gritting my teeth in case the roads got slippy.

"THEN!" said Tommy, "Gerry will say, "If you want to get in touch with the show..." ONLY! to be interupted again by a vulgar yell of.

"Do you know what I watched on TV last night?-Nothing. I went for a walk instead."

"Gerry will lose the head," said Tommy, "and inform Mr Coyle in no uncertain manner that he should be in a home.

After a long argument, in which abuse is thrown from both sides, the first CD of the day. This CD may or may not play. If it does play, Mr Coyle will yell,

"That was a horrible song to start the show with. That's an auld get- me- down song. People want to hear a good, get up and go song in the morning." Another fight will follow, which Mr Coyle will cleverly get out of, by diverting Gerry's attention by yelling, "You're looking very thin today." or, "When you were a wee boy did you ever play a five string banjo?"

This will remind Gerry of a story.

Mr Coyle will insist that Gerry told the story before. Gerry will reply, "Well I'm going to tell it again!" Mr Coyle will play his trump card by screaming,

"There's a man on one. Talk to Shughie. Shughie's paying for it."

Gerry will reply, "I never paid for it in my life."

Every one at home will go, "Boom-Boom!"

Then Tommy cried. "KEN! KEN is in the studio. Waving his trusty screwdriver above his head and roaring about stupid gulpins.

It's all gone dark." said Tommy. "I can see no more." And the poor feline fell to the floor in a heap of black cloaks, pointy hats and chin warts.

But Tommy, who has never been a big fan of gravity proved that what goes down must come up again by leaping to his feet like Bruce Lee or the highly athletic-Sarah Travers.

Tommy looked at me and said, "Did you see the balloon boy who took to the skies in America?"

"Listen Tommy," I said,"I have more to do with my time than watch Steven Nolan landing in a wheat field. I told Tubby never to go back to Las Vegas and I especially told him never to fly with Ryanair."

All this and more have I seen as Frank Mitchell counted down the ten best places in Northern Ireland to get a Swedish massage. Cullybaccy surprised me. I was sure the number one spot would go to the catholic quarter in down town Ballymena.

But Frank should know. Frank looks like a man who was been massaged to within an inch of his life. He's Sooo clean! Frank Mitchell is Soooo clean.

I believe they put him back into the box he came in every night! It keeps Frank in pristine condition and will add greatly to the valuation when Pamela Ballentine tries to flog him at the antique roadshow in 2020.

I like Pamela. What a pity she can't stand me!