What is lilting???

What a great Wednesday show Kid. Tommy, my cat, and I always think that the great show on Wednesday, is the ham between a sandwich of great shows. Other people may disagree but it's that kind of attitude that starts wars.

Tommy was in fine fettle before the show, dancing, singing, telling jokes, but after the great show,he sat atop his spiked, world war two mine, engrossed in meditation and moroseness.

I twisted my lips like an elastic band, released my finger and thumb and speech came pouring out of my vibrating mouth, "Tommy," I utterised, "Tommy old son, what is the matter with you? You appear down. You seem strangely quiet and, if you don't mind me saying so, uncommunicative!. Are you training to be a--loner Tommy? Oh Tommy, don't turn into a-loner. You know the first time something bad happens round here, the police will lift you and Lynda Byrons will describe you as a--loner, a cat who kept to himself."

Tommy seemed to snap out of a trance. I saw fear in his eye and a slight discharge of pus. His tail was oh so limp. I have known him for a long while and the limpness in his tail was unprecedented.

Then Tommy spoke,but as through a glass-darkly. "What was that woman doing?" said Tommy.

"What woman?" I said.

"The woman who came on to talk about, "The maid of the sweet brown NIGH!".What was that strange, unnatural sound she was making?"

I curled my knees up under my chin, by the use of block and tackle and said through a veritable hurricane of laughter, "The woman was-lilting."

"Lilting?" said Tommy. "What, in the name of Michael McGimpsey's familiar, is-lilting?"

"It's a sound some Irish people make," I said.

"So--lilting is not universal?" said Tommy.

"Indeed and begorrah it is not," I replied. "You will only find lilting in the Emerald Isle, so you will, so you will."

"Why do people do it?" said Tommy. "Why do people-lilt?"

"So they can push back the dresser and dance yeh boy yeh," I replied.

"I feel like Mork the alien," said Tommy. "I have so much to learn about you people and your strange customs."

"Ah, get away with you, you wee gobeen!" I cried, as I danced the "Tube of Tyrone" to my own hysterical-lilting.

"That's a Rolex," said Tubby Nolan, pointing to his chubby wrist.

I peered closely at the huge paw and cried, "There's nothing there! I can't see a Rolex watch."

Tubby blushed like a barn on fire and said, "It's hidden. The wild, expensive watch is hidden under the folds of, ah, of-muscle, on my arm."

"Tubby!" I yelled. "If you want to show off your wealth in a vulgar display of jewellery..........."

"I DO! I DO!" yelled Tubby.

"Then what you must do," I said,"is to get a massive, big gold ring, like the ring farmers put in a bull's nose. Heat a poker until it is white hot and ram it through both nostrils of your gigantic honk. Then, snap the ring into place, before the holes have time to heal up, or seek compensation."

"And will people notice me?" said Tubby.

"They will!" I said.

"Will they stop in the street and point at me?" cried Tubby.

"Without a doubt!" I replied. "People will see the glint of your massive, gold, nose ring from afar and cry as one, "Stand in! Mind the children! Here comes Bully Nolan!"

"Steven smiled with delight and said, "Well, I'll be jiggered."

"Not on Radio Ulster," I said, "but I can't speak for radio Five."

All this and more have I seen, as Lynda Byrons raced Frank Mitchell out of UTV with a broom,

yelling, "NO! I will not be included, in your ten best totties in Ulster!"

No matter what I say, Frank just keeps on going! He seems to have a self destruct button. Tears, are what I see, tears and much gnashing of McCrory teeth!