Tales of Pathos and Grit

Hi Kid, I am looking forward to great shows this week that will knock my little, cotton socks off my little, dirty feet.

I looked over at Tommy my cat who was reading, "The Rise And Fall Of Phil Coulter."

"Tommy," I said,"How would you describe that book of which you is reading?"

"Gritty!" said Tommy.

"Language Thomas!" I chided.

"I said-gritty!" yelled Tommy. "This book reveals the hard gritty life story of Derry urchin Phil Coulter. Poor Phil had a terrible childhood.

Poor little Phil, sporting an Afro hair style was pushed up chimneys from the age of four and a half. The money he earned was used to buy bread. Little Phil used to run over the cobble-stones wearing ragged, short trousers and cry, "Hi Governor, can I have a Hovis loaf please and a lick of the cheese wire?"

"The poor child," I cried. "No wonder his music is full of sadness and pathos."

"You are so right," said Tommy. "Every time I hear, "Boom-Bang-A-Bang" I cry like there's no tomorrow."

"You're not alone Tommy," I said,

"So do music lovers all over the world."

Tommy looked at me slyly and said, "Can we sit on our stools when we listen to the great show?"

I raised my eyebrows and said, "I BEG your pardon!"

"You KNOW what I mean," said Tommy. "Can we sit on our new reproduction Dickensian high stools when we listen to Gerry?"

"Oh lets do!" I shrieked, "Bags I be Scrouge and you can be Bob Cratchet."

Tommy went into character right away.

"Oh it's so cold," moaned Tommy, "and old Scrouge pays me so little spondulects. Oh, what shall I do, at tall, at tall, at tall? How I worry about my little Tiny Tim. Oh, my little Tiny Tim is so tiny. What can I do, begorragh?"

"I looked cross-eyed at Tommy and said, "If you're so worried about your little Tiny Tim, why don't you answer one of those strange emails you keep getting on your computer?"

Tommy happed a two kilo bag of bat guano off my head and shrieked, "Oh you are awful, but I like you!"

I knew Tubby Nolan was in the vicinity. Vultures flew on high and a pack of scavenging hyenas yelped and cried in the undergrowth like Slim Whitman. 'Twas then I spied Tubby. He was standing at a hamburger stall singing, "I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today." which music lovers everywhere will recognise as the massive hit from the film Popeye, starring Robin Williams.

"Oh all right," said the hamburger man,

"but remember now, that's 743 hamburgers you owe me for?"

"A mere bagatelle."said Tubby. "I get my massive monthly cheque from the BBC tomorrow."

I looked at the second biggest thing to come out of Northern Ireland since the Titanic and said, "Just how many shiny shekels do the BBC pay you?"

Steven giggled and said, "The day I signed my contract with the BBC, the head honcho, who seems like a nice boy said to me, "Tubby, you can have your weight in pounds, shillings or pennies."

"They thought I was stupid," gurgled Tubby. "But I was wise to their little game, so I yelled,

"I shall have my salary in pennies, but I stipulate that Walter Love must help me carry my loot home in two wheel barrows."

I looked at Tubby, so famous, so fat, so thick.

"Penny for the Guy Guv," said two dirty street urchins, who were wheeling Noel Thompson about in a rickety old cart.

"See me tomorrow lads!" yelled Tubby. "Tomorrow I will be choc-a-block with pennies!"

All this and more have I seen as Lynda Byrons said.

"Oh all right, you can come in and look at my wood chip wall paper. But do keep your big yapper shut. I've just got the chickens to sleep." RESULT!!!! And they said it couldn't be done!