Marches and Minutiae

Great show yesterday Kid. When the great show was over, I pointed dramatically at the radio and yelled, "You're Fired!" As I unwrapped a new radio for tomorrow's great show, I turned to Tommy my cat, who was waddling-slowly across the floor, pretending to be Mark Durkin, the lame duck, leader of the SDLP. Ah, remember the SDLP. Brian Faulkner. Paddy Devlin. Gerry (The Simmet) Fitt and a young vibrant, black haired Ian Paisley.

It was a golden age. Why did we let it slip away? It was a great time to be a cobbler. Everyone was out on the street, marching, marching, ever marching about something or other. Protest marches, legal marches, illegal marches and my favourite,-the spontaneous march. People would stop what they were doing and suddenly start marching up and down. And yet-we let it all slip away. A good march put clean fresh air in the lungs, a skip in your step, a glow to the cheeks and of course, it gave the people something to do and kept them off the street. Can you see the young hoodies and scum bags marching today? NO!. They haven't got the stamina. They haven't got the time and worst of all, they haven't got the inclination. Wasters! that's what they are. I wouldn't waste a stone on any of them.

The big question now of course is, will Mark Durkin tell us what the reality is, before he leaves office? If he does not,the reality is, that we may never know what the reality was.

As Tommy and I sat in the gloom, leading, as all of you are, lives of quite desperation, we watched a large cobweb slowly detach itself from the ceiling and softly flutter to the floor.

Tommy looked at me, giving me the distinct impression that he had looked at people before.

"Have you ever noticed," said Tommy,

"how Mr Coyle is interested in the minutiae of life?" The rest of us take a broad view of life, but Mr Coyle seems to be irrepressibly drawn to the-minutiae. I have come to the conclusion," said Tommy, "that Mr Coyle is a--Minutiose!"

I slapped a knee that was near me and yelled,

"Expand Tommy, go on Tommy,-expand!"

"When Gerry is telling a story," said Tommy, "Mr Coyle always interrupts, seeking, always seeking to find the minutiae behind the story.

"For instance, Gerry might say, "I was talking to a man last night" and Mr Coyle will yell, "What side does he part his hair on? Was he wearing a duffel coat or does his granny have a black cat? The minutiae," said Tommy, "Mr Coyle is always searching for the minutiae."

"If Mr Coyle is always looking for the minutiae," I yelled, "let him look no further than his pay packet."

Tommy smiled, but did not laugh. He is a very serious cat.

All this and more have I seen, as the lovely Lynda Byrons helped me across a busy street, by pressing a long, sharp, pointy stick into the small of my back. And to look at her you would think McCowan's toffee, wouldn't melt in her mouth!

Turned out nice again. I think I'll hang my drawers on the line, but the big question is,... should I take them off first? Decisions! Decisions! Decisions!.