Turning Japanese

Great show yesterday Kid. A show, if I'm not mistaken, that will stand the test of time. Millions of years from now, swarms of wee, green men from another galaxy, will uncover Radio Foyle, clear away the cobwebs with a groping tentacle, press the play button and yell as one, in Ulster/Scots, "What a great show!"

Tommy my cat and I are into all things Japanese. We eat raw fish, bind our feet with tight bandages, kill whales, make great cameras and bow and bend while softly grunting, "Ah So! Ah So!"

We are also into the ancient Japanese art of Feng Shui. Yesterday, in order to ensure perfect harmony in our home, we listened to the great show, Feng Shui style.We found, through trial and error, that we would get bags more harmony, if we placed the radio half way up the stairs and I clung like a spider to the ceiling, while Tommy stood out in the back yard with one leg up in the air. After the great show. Tommy came running in and cried, "It's SO harmonic in here! Feel the harmony man. Feel the harmony!"

I myself was amazed! I thought Feng Shui was like the Japanese attack on Pearl harbour, a good idea at the time, but it all ended in tears. and indeed, BIG BANGS! And Nolan was involved in that too. Remember-Fat Boy?

But let's put the past behind us, the future before us and the present under the Christmas tree.

Talking about Christmas. Shouldn't the Easter eggs be in the shops by now???

I had great fun in Belfast yesterday. I stood on the Donegall road singing, "Chestnuts roasting by an open fire." You should have seen the way the men grimaced and crossed their legs.

It was hir-rare-eh-us, sorry, hilarious. I still have, as you can see, a little bit of Japanese in me, which is odd, because I walk like an Egyptian!

My late daddy, always walked in profile, like an Egyptian, while my dear mother, walked like a clod-hopper from Tyrone. You could always tell mummy had walked down a street, by the number of waste bins and small children that were lying overturned. She had no control over her feet. She threw them out like tentacles. And her Tyrone accent! How ashamed I used to be when she would call into the barbers, "How's she cutting boy? Keep her lit and between the hedges!"

Yes. mummy was a Tyrone woman. She came to a hiring fair in Belfast, met my daddy, who was looking for a good strong donkey, and raised myself and my sixteen siblings on the meager pittance my daddy got for being the village idiot, in a city full of village idiots.

It was a bad time to be an idiot back then. It was a buyer's market. There was a glut of idiots around in those days, still are, some might say. And now for something not completely different.

"Steven!" I yelled, "Cooee Steven. Why are you wearing that neck brace? Did you get whiplash reaching over for another chip?"

"There's nothing wrong with my neck," growled Tubby. "It's still made from brass. This neck brace helps me with my diet. I can only look straight ahead, so I am not tempted by food that may lie in my peripheral vision. This neck brace keeps me focused and staring straight ahead."

"Like a pair of Donkey blinkers?" I said.

"Exactly!" said Tubby. "But I couldn't get a pair of donkey blinkers to fit me. The neck brace is great. I've lost half an ounce since I put it on."

"So you would recommend that all fat people wear a neck brace?" I said.

"I would!" cried Tubby. "Since I put on this neck brace, I have never looked back!"

All this and more have I seen, as Tubby waddled across the road into the path of a big truck.

There was no harm done. All they have to do is fix the big dent on the lorry bumper.