SMILE AND LET IT LIE.

Great Christmas shows Kid. Great shows which put a smile on everyone's face, even Michael McGimpsey!

On Christmas morning Michael McGimpsey looked at himself in the cobwebbed mirror and cried, "I'm, smiling! I'm smiling for the first time in my life and it's all down to genial Gerry Anderson and his great Christmas shows."

A smiling Michael McGimpsey ran on slippered feet, to his small latticed bedroom window, threw the window open wide and yelled to the crowd below, "LOOK! Look at me everyone, I'm-smiling!"

Most ran away in terror, but a few remained to take photographs of the most unusual Christmas miracle.

A still smiling Michael McGimpsey spied a young boy and cried, "I say there young shaver," (Michael had seen the lad working in the barber's shop.) "is that big turkey still in the butcher's shop window?" smiled Michael.

The young lad put his hood down so he could hear better and roared, "Yes it is Guv. And a bigger blinking turkey, I ain't ever seen in my blinking life."

"What a smart boy," giggled Michael.

"What a smart, intelligent lad. Here is a £50 note of the realm," smiled Michael. "Run to the butcher's and buy that big turkey. Then invite all your little hoodie friends to join me for a merry Christmas dinner."

"Cor thank you Guv," said the minute hoodie.

"People say Michael McGimpsey is a rum cove. But you is all right in my book mate. I like you Mike."

"What a smart intelligent boy that is," giggled Michael McGimspsey, as he threw off his night cap and danced around his bedroom. But even smiling has its handicaps. Later in the week, a smiling Michael McGimpsey was turned away by Ryanair. And all because his smiling, beaming face did not reflect the photograph on his passport.

BOO Ryanair. Oh yes I will. He's behind you!

Tommy my cat sidled up to me with a horrible grin on his feline face, nudged me in the ribs, winked and said, "What do you think then? What do you think of all the Lady Ga-Ga malarky then? Come on. What do you think of it then?"

"Be off, you unfeeling feline!" I yelled. "It is Christmas, a time of good will. I refuse to speculate on the one known as Lady Ga-Ga."

"Message received and understood," leered the remorseless feline. "But what do you think eh? At the end of the day like, when all's said and done, what do you think of Lady Ga-Ga? Come on. Don't sit on the fence. Stop messing about. Say what you see. What do you think of Lady Ga-Ga? Is she a.......?"

"STOP!" I yelled. "I don't want to hear anymore about Lady Ga-Ga!"

"Who or whom rattled your cage then?" said Tommy. "I was only going to say, is Lady Ga-Ga a good singer?"

I looked down at Tommy's little pale, whiskered, innocent feline face and replied softly, "Yes Tommy, I think Lady Ga-Ga is a very good singer."

Little Tommy picked up the Financial Times, sat down on his favourite armchair, crossed one skinny leg over the other, put on his reading glasses and said, "Mind you, she does look a bit like the bloke who works in Tesco's."

"You couldn't let it lie!" I screamed. "You just couldn't let it lie. GET OUT!" I roared. "GET OUT and never darken the door of this hovel until you learn how to--let it lie!"

That's what I have to put up with Kid. All you have to put up with is Sean Thaddeaus Coyle. Want to swap?