After yesterday's ground breaking show, Tommy my cat and I sat for eleven hours and nineteen minutes staring at the radio, wide eyed and open mouthed.
It was Tommy who broke the silence. He wafted behind him with the Little Rock Chronicle and said, "In the name of Sammy Wilson's silver salmon's simmet, what was all that about?"
I got to my feet which I had parked next to my chair and said, "What you have witnessed today Tommy, was a melt down. Mr Coyle reached critical mass and exploded."
"The fall out will be widespread," whispered Tommy.
I switched on the TV, stood dramatically, legs apart and yelled--LOOK!"
"Vatican in an uproar!" screamed a headline.
"President Obama cancels night out at bingo!" yelled another.
"Osama Bin-Laden issues new tape pledging support for the God fearing Mr Coyle."
"I never saw anything like it," whispered Tommy. "It all just came pouring out,his hatred of TV, his anger at the decline in moral standards and all the malarkey about an unwed mother, a 999 call and a close encounter with David Dunseith in a dark telephone box.".
"For years," I said, "Mr Coyle has been like a volcano, sitting, simmering everyday beside Gerry. But TODAY the cap blew off the volcano and all the pent up anger and frustration poured out like molten lava! The girls screamed and picked up their skirts, which they had thrown on the floor earlier and fled to the car park. Gerry was trapped in his booth. He sat with his feet on the desk, trying to talk Mr Coyle down. But-NO! Mr Coyle, filled with the holy spirit and five pieces of fruit, spewed out his hate and bile, until he fell to the floor an empty husk of a human being."
"David Icke has just issued a statement supporting Mr Coyle," said Tommy.
"Of course he has!" I yelled. "Did not Mr Coyle state,that the night David Dunseith had him trapped in a dark telephone box, David Dunseith took on the form of a giant lizard?"
"The Republican party in America want Mr Coyle to run for the Senate," said Tommy.
"The house recognises the honourable Senator from Sleepy Hollow," I cried.
Then the door burst open and Tubby Nolan rushed in.He yelled, "I am off to Derry to follow the chosen one, Sean Thaddeus Coyle!"
"Look what Mr Coyle has done now!" said Tommy."He has started a-cult"
"Ah Tommy, Tommy," I said."When it comes to Mr Coyle and the word-cult, there have always been rumours."
Tommy tee-ee'ed and then toasted a slice of bread, to see if the image of Mr Coyle would appear on it.
For years hence, AYE! and indeed, hence, people will remember what they were doing when holy roller Mr Coyle threw a religious wobbly.
I was listening to Frank McCrory!
Sunday 31 January 2010
Saturday 30 January 2010
A Bad Trip, Man
Great show yesterday Kid. It was a pleasure and a joy to be among the listening public. What it must feel like to put out such a great show! Well it must give you and the staff the greatest pleasure you have ever had with your clothes on and I include Janet and Emma in that heartfelt sentiment.
After the great show I turned to Tommy my cat and said,
"Tommy, you know the great regard I have for Gerry?"
"That's a given," replied Tommy,who was was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table,stitching together a small green suit for St Patrick's Day.
"And you know how much I love Gerry?" I went on. "I love Gerry Anderson like a brother,like a sister,lLike the mad, crazy aunt I never had. I love Gerry Anderson like a cuddly puppy, like an errant child,like a jar of tadpoles."
"I concur with every word utterised," said Tommy,"but can you get to the point before we are beaten by the old clock on the wall?"
I stuck out my tongue and shook my fist at the old clock on the wall and said,
"Insomuch as I love Gerry,it would be remiss of me not to express my deep misgivings about the upcoming bus trip."
"Well, bend me over and paddle my rear with a table tennis bat!" said Tommy.
"That comment has fair knocked me for six so it has. I must act devil's advocate here and ask you to vocalise your misgivings."
"The bus trip is going to be a FIASCO," I yelled. "a DEBACLE! It's going to be a bad trip-man!"
Tommy looked up and said, "At this juncture, I feel compelled to ask-WHY?"
"Because of all the junk they are going to take with them!" I screamed.
"Can you imagine the amount of scrap iron that will be on that bus, led by Mr Coyle and his-mangle, Janet flourishing a rubber bullet, Gerry with his little secret thing? And have you any idea," I roared, "just how much room a diagonal steam trap takes up?"
"They can put the diagonal steam trap on the back seat," said Tommy.
"And what will they do if two or--THREE people turn up with diagonal steam traps?" I shrieked.
"You could tie quite a number of diagonal steam traps on the roof of a bus," said Tommy.
"I can see it now," I said, biting a nail I found on the floor. "Old women turning up with unexploded World War Two shells, zinc baths, flat irons and Ulster's piece of resistance in the world of art and culture... the dustbin lid."
"Ah, the dustbin lid!" smiled Tommy. "Ulster's early warning system, often copied, but never bettered. I would say, if anything sums up Ulster over the past 50 years, it would be the dustbin lid."
"Can you imagine what the little hoodies will do?" I yelled. "They will race after the bus singing, "Any Old Iron." Gerry and Sean are going to come out of this looking like Steptoe and son."
"It's for a good cause," said Tommy.
"What good cause?" I yelled.
"I don't know," said Tommy, "but if the BBC is involved,you can bet it is for a good cause."
Suddenly Tommy turned pale. He looked at me and whispered,"Who's going to take--THE THING?"
I recoiled, like someone who had spent all their life learning to-recoil and yelled,
"TUBBY, Tubby Nolan will be on the bus!"
Tommy screamed high, long and loud and shrieked, "The bus trip is going to be a FIASCO! A DEBACLE!. A bad trip-man!"
"Tommy," I chided,"don't be such a wet blanket. Have faith. If anyone can turn this pig's ear into a silk purse it's---David Blaine..and Gerry too of course, nd Mr Coyle and Emma and Janet and her rubber bullet."
So if a bus passes you clanking with old junk, give a wave. It will be Gerry and a cargo of old iron and diagonal steam traps! Ah, don't you just love history? Recalling today the things we did yesterday for those who will come tomorrow. I think that's how it works. I may be smart, but I did not invent the diagonal steam trap.
One would need to be a rocket scientist to do THAT!
After the great show I turned to Tommy my cat and said,
"Tommy, you know the great regard I have for Gerry?"
"That's a given," replied Tommy,who was was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table,stitching together a small green suit for St Patrick's Day.
"And you know how much I love Gerry?" I went on. "I love Gerry Anderson like a brother,like a sister,lLike the mad, crazy aunt I never had. I love Gerry Anderson like a cuddly puppy, like an errant child,like a jar of tadpoles."
"I concur with every word utterised," said Tommy,"but can you get to the point before we are beaten by the old clock on the wall?"
I stuck out my tongue and shook my fist at the old clock on the wall and said,
"Insomuch as I love Gerry,it would be remiss of me not to express my deep misgivings about the upcoming bus trip."
"Well, bend me over and paddle my rear with a table tennis bat!" said Tommy.
"That comment has fair knocked me for six so it has. I must act devil's advocate here and ask you to vocalise your misgivings."
"The bus trip is going to be a FIASCO," I yelled. "a DEBACLE! It's going to be a bad trip-man!"
Tommy looked up and said, "At this juncture, I feel compelled to ask-WHY?"
"Because of all the junk they are going to take with them!" I screamed.
"Can you imagine the amount of scrap iron that will be on that bus, led by Mr Coyle and his-mangle, Janet flourishing a rubber bullet, Gerry with his little secret thing? And have you any idea," I roared, "just how much room a diagonal steam trap takes up?"
"They can put the diagonal steam trap on the back seat," said Tommy.
"And what will they do if two or--THREE people turn up with diagonal steam traps?" I shrieked.
"You could tie quite a number of diagonal steam traps on the roof of a bus," said Tommy.
"I can see it now," I said, biting a nail I found on the floor. "Old women turning up with unexploded World War Two shells, zinc baths, flat irons and Ulster's piece of resistance in the world of art and culture... the dustbin lid."
"Ah, the dustbin lid!" smiled Tommy. "Ulster's early warning system, often copied, but never bettered. I would say, if anything sums up Ulster over the past 50 years, it would be the dustbin lid."
"Can you imagine what the little hoodies will do?" I yelled. "They will race after the bus singing, "Any Old Iron." Gerry and Sean are going to come out of this looking like Steptoe and son."
"It's for a good cause," said Tommy.
"What good cause?" I yelled.
"I don't know," said Tommy, "but if the BBC is involved,you can bet it is for a good cause."
Suddenly Tommy turned pale. He looked at me and whispered,"Who's going to take--THE THING?"
I recoiled, like someone who had spent all their life learning to-recoil and yelled,
"TUBBY, Tubby Nolan will be on the bus!"
Tommy screamed high, long and loud and shrieked, "The bus trip is going to be a FIASCO! A DEBACLE!. A bad trip-man!"
"Tommy," I chided,"don't be such a wet blanket. Have faith. If anyone can turn this pig's ear into a silk purse it's---David Blaine..and Gerry too of course, nd Mr Coyle and Emma and Janet and her rubber bullet."
So if a bus passes you clanking with old junk, give a wave. It will be Gerry and a cargo of old iron and diagonal steam traps! Ah, don't you just love history? Recalling today the things we did yesterday for those who will come tomorrow. I think that's how it works. I may be smart, but I did not invent the diagonal steam trap.
One would need to be a rocket scientist to do THAT!
Monday 25 January 2010
Birds and Snow Angels
Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to draw up your favourite armchair, put the kettle on, open a packet of biscuits with a controlled explosion and sit back for another week of great shows. The great shows will be presented by Gerry Anderson, a man who needs no institution. To the few people who may not have heard the Gerry Anderson show before, a few pointers.
FIRST!. The Gerry Anderson show does not have a starting point. It just-happens. A good indication that the show has begun, is a fierce argument between Gerry and Sean about the name of Lash La Rue's horse, John Wayne's inside leg measurements or the merits or demerits of starting a conversation with a stranger in the men's toilet. Oh, the interrupting is part of the show, as is the retelling of old stories and changing the endings. Another thing to keep in mind is, Mr Coyle does not believe one word Gerry says and when Gerry is talking, Mr Coyle is giggling with the girls about twinsets, pantie girdles and orange peel cellulite.
Now you know the guide lines, sit back and enjoy.
I was busy knitting my eye brows with a pair of chop sticks,when Tommy my cat came into the room. His hair was back combed to within an inch of its life.The fashion conscious feline was wearing the latest hideous creation from Vivian Westwood. It was a skintight, tartan and pink, taffeta catsuit with a spring loaded fork. I can see that taking someone's eye out.
Tommy was carrying a ledger and a calculator. The miserly feline had been out in the garden collecting money from the birds, for all the stale bread they had eaten during the cold spell and I must say, it came to quite a pretty penny. A very pretty penny, with eyes of blue and long blonde hair, but, unfortunately, not a coin of the realm, unless you live in the Ballymena quarter on the island of Tonga.
And very few can afford to live there. The houses cost quite a pretty penny.
"Just remember, lard turned him that way."
I spied Tubby Nolan at the corner of fifth and eleven. The plump one was gnawing at a haunch of wildebeest and giggling to himself.
"What's so funny Tubby?" I yelled. "Are the Boeing company going into trouser manufacture?"
"I was just thinking," giggled Tubby,"during the snow I used to lie on my back, move my arms up and down and put my legs in and out. When I got up, it looked like a big fat angel had just had a heart attack."
And the oval one giggled like a bus load of obese school girls.
"Imagine," giggled Tubby, "a big fat angel having a heart attack. Can you imagine it? A big fat angel having a heart attack?"
And lard for brains went into a fit of obese giggling.
Then old Fernando Rocket went by on a bicycle and yelled.
"Tubby! there's a bolt of lightning hanging round your house waiting to smite you when you go home."
"CRIKEY!" cried Tubby. "And my lightning rod is so small. Why did I not open all my spam mail?"
Serve him right for making fun of angels. Angels are usually very good, but fall out with them and theycan be right little devils and hell on wheels!
FIRST!. The Gerry Anderson show does not have a starting point. It just-happens. A good indication that the show has begun, is a fierce argument between Gerry and Sean about the name of Lash La Rue's horse, John Wayne's inside leg measurements or the merits or demerits of starting a conversation with a stranger in the men's toilet. Oh, the interrupting is part of the show, as is the retelling of old stories and changing the endings. Another thing to keep in mind is, Mr Coyle does not believe one word Gerry says and when Gerry is talking, Mr Coyle is giggling with the girls about twinsets, pantie girdles and orange peel cellulite.
Now you know the guide lines, sit back and enjoy.
I was busy knitting my eye brows with a pair of chop sticks,when Tommy my cat came into the room. His hair was back combed to within an inch of its life.The fashion conscious feline was wearing the latest hideous creation from Vivian Westwood. It was a skintight, tartan and pink, taffeta catsuit with a spring loaded fork. I can see that taking someone's eye out.
Tommy was carrying a ledger and a calculator. The miserly feline had been out in the garden collecting money from the birds, for all the stale bread they had eaten during the cold spell and I must say, it came to quite a pretty penny. A very pretty penny, with eyes of blue and long blonde hair, but, unfortunately, not a coin of the realm, unless you live in the Ballymena quarter on the island of Tonga.
And very few can afford to live there. The houses cost quite a pretty penny.
"Just remember, lard turned him that way."
I spied Tubby Nolan at the corner of fifth and eleven. The plump one was gnawing at a haunch of wildebeest and giggling to himself.
"What's so funny Tubby?" I yelled. "Are the Boeing company going into trouser manufacture?"
"I was just thinking," giggled Tubby,"during the snow I used to lie on my back, move my arms up and down and put my legs in and out. When I got up, it looked like a big fat angel had just had a heart attack."
And the oval one giggled like a bus load of obese school girls.
"Imagine," giggled Tubby, "a big fat angel having a heart attack. Can you imagine it? A big fat angel having a heart attack?"
And lard for brains went into a fit of obese giggling.
Then old Fernando Rocket went by on a bicycle and yelled.
"Tubby! there's a bolt of lightning hanging round your house waiting to smite you when you go home."
"CRIKEY!" cried Tubby. "And my lightning rod is so small. Why did I not open all my spam mail?"
Serve him right for making fun of angels. Angels are usually very good, but fall out with them and theycan be right little devils and hell on wheels!
Saturday 23 January 2010
The snowman's gone!
Another week of great shows Kid and all because the lady loved milk tray. You can always tell a lady who loves milk tray by the way she daintily takes out her false teeth to suck the strawberry out of the strawberry cream.
Tommy my cat, wearing a rather fetching, puce, off the shoulder cocktail dress, came in from the garden and cried, "look at all that's left of Seamus the snowman!"and held out two little, glittering pieces of coal and a carrot.
I broke down and yelled, "Seamus is walking in the air, to Bert McCormick in Ballyclare!"
Tommy fell in a blubbering heap, beat the floor with his fists and yelled hysterically, "Why do I always get emotionally involved with the snowman every Winter? Why do I give my heart only to see it melt away? WHY? WHY? WHY?"
I grabbed him under the oxters and dragged him to the sofa. Tommy's six inch, stiletto, high heels tore two grooves in the carpet.
I ran to the drinks cabinet, filled a jam jar with brandy, ran back to Tommy, held out the brandy and said,
"You ask why you always fall in love with the snowman? Well let me tell you why. Because you, Sir, are a tube!" And I threw the jam jar of brandy down my throat, grabbed Henry the hoover and danced the "Bonny wee maid from Fife."
"Oh the best we maid, that every was made, was the bonny wee maid from Fife."
There were five of us round the kitchen table. Me, Jim Rodgers, Donna Trainor, Tubby Nolan and Lynda Byrons. Lynda looked absolutely stunning in a long, flowing cloak made from the tail feathers of a rare species of hummingbird, found only in remote parts of the Amazon basin and the hills above Drumquin.
We had been standing at the corner with our hoods up yelling abuse at people, but we got fed up and came back to my pad to listen to some sounds. After I had played, "Irish Showbands greatest hits" for the tenth time, Tubby Nolan, broke wind, leered at Lynda Byrons and roared, "Let's play a game. Let's play spin the bottle."
Lynda Byrons and Donna Trainor reacted as one. They gave a shriek and cried,
"OH NO! Lips that taste blubber, shall never taste mine."
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim Rodgers. "Let's keep it clean HI!. Let's play a good game of hide and seek. I propose that Tubby Nolan goes and hides somewhere in the lovely wee province of Ulster and that we wait two weeks and then try to find him."
Tubby lumbered out the door, jowls, derriere and tummy wobbling and yelled,
"Youse will never find me!"
After the fat man had gone, the four of us had a heated discussion about where the ancient Egyptians kept their mobile phones. Then I made a big pot of Ulster/Scots broth, which consisted of, shamrocks, thistles, spuds and tatties, neaps and turnips seasoned with fine shavings from a home-grown caber and a supermarket bought shillelagh.
Lynda ate three big bowls full! I don't know where she puts it. Yet when she threw her leg on her bike to go home to Mike and the wains she looked as dainty and petite as the bonny wee maid from-Fife.
AYE! Fife the noo! Nay Falkirk.Yeh ken.
The bonny wee maid from-Fife!
Tommy my cat, wearing a rather fetching, puce, off the shoulder cocktail dress, came in from the garden and cried, "look at all that's left of Seamus the snowman!"and held out two little, glittering pieces of coal and a carrot.
I broke down and yelled, "Seamus is walking in the air, to Bert McCormick in Ballyclare!"
Tommy fell in a blubbering heap, beat the floor with his fists and yelled hysterically, "Why do I always get emotionally involved with the snowman every Winter? Why do I give my heart only to see it melt away? WHY? WHY? WHY?"
I grabbed him under the oxters and dragged him to the sofa. Tommy's six inch, stiletto, high heels tore two grooves in the carpet.
I ran to the drinks cabinet, filled a jam jar with brandy, ran back to Tommy, held out the brandy and said,
"You ask why you always fall in love with the snowman? Well let me tell you why. Because you, Sir, are a tube!" And I threw the jam jar of brandy down my throat, grabbed Henry the hoover and danced the "Bonny wee maid from Fife."
"Oh the best we maid, that every was made, was the bonny wee maid from Fife."
There were five of us round the kitchen table. Me, Jim Rodgers, Donna Trainor, Tubby Nolan and Lynda Byrons. Lynda looked absolutely stunning in a long, flowing cloak made from the tail feathers of a rare species of hummingbird, found only in remote parts of the Amazon basin and the hills above Drumquin.
We had been standing at the corner with our hoods up yelling abuse at people, but we got fed up and came back to my pad to listen to some sounds. After I had played, "Irish Showbands greatest hits" for the tenth time, Tubby Nolan, broke wind, leered at Lynda Byrons and roared, "Let's play a game. Let's play spin the bottle."
Lynda Byrons and Donna Trainor reacted as one. They gave a shriek and cried,
"OH NO! Lips that taste blubber, shall never taste mine."
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim Rodgers. "Let's keep it clean HI!. Let's play a good game of hide and seek. I propose that Tubby Nolan goes and hides somewhere in the lovely wee province of Ulster and that we wait two weeks and then try to find him."
Tubby lumbered out the door, jowls, derriere and tummy wobbling and yelled,
"Youse will never find me!"
After the fat man had gone, the four of us had a heated discussion about where the ancient Egyptians kept their mobile phones. Then I made a big pot of Ulster/Scots broth, which consisted of, shamrocks, thistles, spuds and tatties, neaps and turnips seasoned with fine shavings from a home-grown caber and a supermarket bought shillelagh.
Lynda ate three big bowls full! I don't know where she puts it. Yet when she threw her leg on her bike to go home to Mike and the wains she looked as dainty and petite as the bonny wee maid from-Fife.
AYE! Fife the noo! Nay Falkirk.Yeh ken.
The bonny wee maid from-Fife!
Friday 22 January 2010
At The Crossroads Again
After yesterday's great show I turned off the radio's life support system by pulling out the plug. I stood at the window, furrowed my brow, cracked my knuckles, girded my loins and, putting great stress on my last remaining brain cell, roared,
"Honourable and indeed dishonourable members I wish to address the house."
Tommy my cat like the traitor he is, took up his place on the opposition benches and sat glaring at me like Dennis Skinnner.
"Do you remember the crossroads we were at?" I yelled. "Well, we're at it again!"
"Damn and blast!" yelled Tommy, throwing his order papers on the floor.
"I have a dream!" I yelled. "In my life I want to see peace in our time and indeed, time in our peace. And yet," I roared, "there are those, oh yes, there are those, who would take us back to the bad old days."
"Name names," cried Tommy, "or resign!"
"Today," I shouted, "a comment was made on the Gerry Anderson show."
"Hear! Hear!" cried Tommy.
"The dastardly comment," I yelled, "was made by-Sean Coyle."
"BOO!" yelled Tommy. "Bring back capital punishment."
"TODAY," I thundered,"Sean Coyle advocated mass genocide for a race of people! YES! OH YES! Mr Coyle said he would put a stop to any family who set foot on the ice. This, my friends is code for a full scale cull of all Eskimos."
Pandemonium broke out in the house. Tommy tried to grab the mace and Herbie the budgie rattled the bars of his cage.
"Over my dead body," I yelled, "over my cold, blue, mouldy, maggoty dead body! I call on the Secretary of State, whoever he, she or it may be, to arrest the agitator Coyle and confine him to the tower. And I'm not talking about The Tower Bar and Grill in down town Cullybaccy."
The house then broke up after Tommy had received permission to claim expenses for a THIRD litter tray.
There he was just a walking down the street, singing do-da-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-do. Eating lard on a stick yet so quick on his feet. Singing, do-da-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-do"
"Ah Tubby!" I yelled. "My old friend, Tubby Nolan. Happy pigs ear."
"And the same to you," smiled Tubby.
"Looking good my man," I said, "are you working out? You look like you've lost half an ounce."
"I feel-GREAT!" yelled Tubby. "Now that the snow has gone I feel-GREAT! You have no idea what a fat man wearing a white coat goes through when it snows. Oh, the number of young children who thought I was a fat, jolly snowman and rammed carrots into my face. And the wee hoodies," whispered Tubby, looking all around him, "the little hoodies tried to stick the carrots lower down."
"You don't mean!!" I yelled.
"YES!" shrieked Tubby. "I used to come home with my wellington boots full of carrots."
"You poor little Tubby," I said, "lie over my shoulder and I'll burp you."
As I lay under Tubby looking up at the stars I thought to myself.
"Well, that was a stupid idea." But with two forklift trucks working in tandem, I was soon back on my feet.
"Good night, dear Steven," I whispered. "Think of me tonight when you are tearing your pillow to shreds with your teeth as you gently dream of pink
blancmange."
"No probs!" yelled Tubby,as he sprinted after an emergency ambulance in the mistaken belief that it was an ice cream van.
"Honourable and indeed dishonourable members I wish to address the house."
Tommy my cat like the traitor he is, took up his place on the opposition benches and sat glaring at me like Dennis Skinnner.
"Do you remember the crossroads we were at?" I yelled. "Well, we're at it again!"
"Damn and blast!" yelled Tommy, throwing his order papers on the floor.
"I have a dream!" I yelled. "In my life I want to see peace in our time and indeed, time in our peace. And yet," I roared, "there are those, oh yes, there are those, who would take us back to the bad old days."
"Name names," cried Tommy, "or resign!"
"Today," I shouted, "a comment was made on the Gerry Anderson show."
"Hear! Hear!" cried Tommy.
"The dastardly comment," I yelled, "was made by-Sean Coyle."
"BOO!" yelled Tommy. "Bring back capital punishment."
"TODAY," I thundered,"Sean Coyle advocated mass genocide for a race of people! YES! OH YES! Mr Coyle said he would put a stop to any family who set foot on the ice. This, my friends is code for a full scale cull of all Eskimos."
Pandemonium broke out in the house. Tommy tried to grab the mace and Herbie the budgie rattled the bars of his cage.
"Over my dead body," I yelled, "over my cold, blue, mouldy, maggoty dead body! I call on the Secretary of State, whoever he, she or it may be, to arrest the agitator Coyle and confine him to the tower. And I'm not talking about The Tower Bar and Grill in down town Cullybaccy."
The house then broke up after Tommy had received permission to claim expenses for a THIRD litter tray.
There he was just a walking down the street, singing do-da-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-do. Eating lard on a stick yet so quick on his feet. Singing, do-da-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-do"
"Ah Tubby!" I yelled. "My old friend, Tubby Nolan. Happy pigs ear."
"And the same to you," smiled Tubby.
"Looking good my man," I said, "are you working out? You look like you've lost half an ounce."
"I feel-GREAT!" yelled Tubby. "Now that the snow has gone I feel-GREAT! You have no idea what a fat man wearing a white coat goes through when it snows. Oh, the number of young children who thought I was a fat, jolly snowman and rammed carrots into my face. And the wee hoodies," whispered Tubby, looking all around him, "the little hoodies tried to stick the carrots lower down."
"You don't mean!!" I yelled.
"YES!" shrieked Tubby. "I used to come home with my wellington boots full of carrots."
"You poor little Tubby," I said, "lie over my shoulder and I'll burp you."
As I lay under Tubby looking up at the stars I thought to myself.
"Well, that was a stupid idea." But with two forklift trucks working in tandem, I was soon back on my feet.
"Good night, dear Steven," I whispered. "Think of me tonight when you are tearing your pillow to shreds with your teeth as you gently dream of pink
blancmange."
"No probs!" yelled Tubby,as he sprinted after an emergency ambulance in the mistaken belief that it was an ice cream van.
Wednesday 20 January 2010
Liberated from our clothes
What great shows you put on last week Kid. When your great shows were on people forgot about the cold, the recession and any sensational stories that might be running on 24 hour news. I am not aware of any sensational news stories last week, but I was very busy. I spent the whole week under the sink with a torch looking for leaks. But come Friday, which is soup day in our house, I had to make a bubbling cauldron of soup devoid of leeks.
Tommy my cat went completely berserk.
"NO LEEKS?" screamed the agitated feline.
"NO LEEKS!" I yelled.
"The leek man is under the duvet suffering from a severe case of indigo incontinence!"
"It's his own fault!" yelled Tommy. "Have you seen the thin nylon trousers he goes around in? I told him. "Morris," I said, "invest in a good pair of warm woollen trousers, with a double indemnity gusset, or by the sacred primrose drawers of Reene Witherspoon, you will get a chill in your kidneys and we won't get our leeks for soup Friday.".
"And what did Morris the leek man reply?" I asked.
"He told me get stuffed!" screamed Tommy. "Me? Stuffed? I came over all wan," said Tommy.
"I staggered out to the street and fell in a prone position beside John Daly who was sitting on a warm stone heating up the cold blood in his dome by the dawn's early light. John looked at me and very slowly muttered,"This too shall pass."
"John Daly is rotten!" I yelled. "John Daly is rotten with brains!"
Tommy and I sat in silence in front of the TV for four hours. Then we turned it on and watched Gok Wan host a programme called,"How To Look Good Naked". Gok Wan, a black clad stick insect, persuaded some old wrinkly prunes to take their clothes off.
"I feel so-LIBERATED!" shrieked a woman, who looked as if an airbag had gone off in her face.
"I feel so-CONFIDENT!" cackled another, who appeared to have two saddle bags hung round her neck.
I looked at Tommy, Tommy looked at me and next morning. Tommy and I wearing trench coats, sallied off to the city hall. We placed two plastic plinths we had bought at a plastic plinth shop, threw off our trench coats, mounted the plastic plinths and struck two classical nude poses. Tommy, who was supposed to be Michelangelo's David, stood with one knee bent and both hands on his hips. I, as Venus the Goddess of love, stood on tip-toe, belly sticking out and an urn clasped under my oxter. Soon a large crowd had gathered and many and varied were the comments.
"Take that old bag home and iron her!" yelled a lady from the Malone Road.
Many comments were uttered about a species of small bird, blue being the predominant colour. The abuse I got was nothing to what poor Tommy got. Most of the comments were rude, lewd and very crude.There was a veritable chorus of, "SHUT THAT DOOR!" Quite a few gentlemen of the cloth suggested that Tommy was one of the two cats who would not eat a certain cat food.
"Scoff away!" yelled Tommy. "Today, I stand here-nude-dude and I have never felt so liberated or confident!"
Then Jim Rodgers drew up with a flurry of snow on one ski.
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim. "If the Lord God almighty had meant us to go around without clothes, we would have been born naked. Besides," screamed Jim,
"only Sammy Wilson has a licence to drop his drawers in the vicinity of the city hall."
"What about Sir Reg Emprey?" I yelled. "Why has wee Sir Reg never been seen naked? What has he got to hide? The voters have a right to know. I demand in the name of democracy that Sir Reg come out here NIGH and drop his strides."
"Are you mad?" whispered Jim. "With the way things are going, things have never looked better for Sir Reg. Do you think Sir Reg is going to throw all that away for the pleasure of a quick flash? Let the hare sit," whispered Jim. "That's the UUP's position at the moment. Let the hare sit". I concurred with that statement, put on my trench coat and went home to watch, "NOLAN!" How was he built?. Is he aligned with the stars and why is he never seen-naked?
Even his midwife says Tubby was born wearing a baggy suit.
Tommy my cat went completely berserk.
"NO LEEKS?" screamed the agitated feline.
"NO LEEKS!" I yelled.
"The leek man is under the duvet suffering from a severe case of indigo incontinence!"
"It's his own fault!" yelled Tommy. "Have you seen the thin nylon trousers he goes around in? I told him. "Morris," I said, "invest in a good pair of warm woollen trousers, with a double indemnity gusset, or by the sacred primrose drawers of Reene Witherspoon, you will get a chill in your kidneys and we won't get our leeks for soup Friday.".
"And what did Morris the leek man reply?" I asked.
"He told me get stuffed!" screamed Tommy. "Me? Stuffed? I came over all wan," said Tommy.
"I staggered out to the street and fell in a prone position beside John Daly who was sitting on a warm stone heating up the cold blood in his dome by the dawn's early light. John looked at me and very slowly muttered,"This too shall pass."
"John Daly is rotten!" I yelled. "John Daly is rotten with brains!"
Tommy and I sat in silence in front of the TV for four hours. Then we turned it on and watched Gok Wan host a programme called,"How To Look Good Naked". Gok Wan, a black clad stick insect, persuaded some old wrinkly prunes to take their clothes off.
"I feel so-LIBERATED!" shrieked a woman, who looked as if an airbag had gone off in her face.
"I feel so-CONFIDENT!" cackled another, who appeared to have two saddle bags hung round her neck.
I looked at Tommy, Tommy looked at me and next morning. Tommy and I wearing trench coats, sallied off to the city hall. We placed two plastic plinths we had bought at a plastic plinth shop, threw off our trench coats, mounted the plastic plinths and struck two classical nude poses. Tommy, who was supposed to be Michelangelo's David, stood with one knee bent and both hands on his hips. I, as Venus the Goddess of love, stood on tip-toe, belly sticking out and an urn clasped under my oxter. Soon a large crowd had gathered and many and varied were the comments.
"Take that old bag home and iron her!" yelled a lady from the Malone Road.
Many comments were uttered about a species of small bird, blue being the predominant colour. The abuse I got was nothing to what poor Tommy got. Most of the comments were rude, lewd and very crude.There was a veritable chorus of, "SHUT THAT DOOR!" Quite a few gentlemen of the cloth suggested that Tommy was one of the two cats who would not eat a certain cat food.
"Scoff away!" yelled Tommy. "Today, I stand here-nude-dude and I have never felt so liberated or confident!"
Then Jim Rodgers drew up with a flurry of snow on one ski.
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim. "If the Lord God almighty had meant us to go around without clothes, we would have been born naked. Besides," screamed Jim,
"only Sammy Wilson has a licence to drop his drawers in the vicinity of the city hall."
"What about Sir Reg Emprey?" I yelled. "Why has wee Sir Reg never been seen naked? What has he got to hide? The voters have a right to know. I demand in the name of democracy that Sir Reg come out here NIGH and drop his strides."
"Are you mad?" whispered Jim. "With the way things are going, things have never looked better for Sir Reg. Do you think Sir Reg is going to throw all that away for the pleasure of a quick flash? Let the hare sit," whispered Jim. "That's the UUP's position at the moment. Let the hare sit". I concurred with that statement, put on my trench coat and went home to watch, "NOLAN!" How was he built?. Is he aligned with the stars and why is he never seen-naked?
Even his midwife says Tubby was born wearing a baggy suit.
Monday 18 January 2010
The Good Samaritan
After your great show yesterday Kid, I was filled with the holy spirit. I took a slug of white lemonade to wash down the holy spirit, picked up the phone and ordered a mount from Stormount.
When the mount arrived. I climbed to the top and addressed Tommy my cat. I raised both arms on high and yelled,
"Behold!"
"I am beholding!" yelled Tommy. "Get on with it."
"Behold!" I cried. "There were two men. One of the men was a Samaritan and the other man was a Pharisee."
"BOO!" yelled Tommy. "I wouldn't trust a Pharisee, as pharisee as I could throw him."
"Both men worked in the vineyard," I went on.
"Ah, winos," said Tommy.
"Not quite," I replied, "but you're not a million miles out. Now one of the men,the Samaritan, had a mobile phone. an all singing, all dancing, hi-tech mobile phone with all the latest bells and whistles. When the Pharisee saw the mobile phone he was filled with great envy and refused to eat his five daily pieces of fruit. When the kind hearted Samaritan saw this he was deeply worried. He gave his mobile phone to the Pharisee saying, "Amen, Amen, I say onto to you, there is great rejoycing in heaven, when he without a mobile phone is given one."
"Without a word of thanks, the pretentious Pharisee grabbed the mobile phone and ran off into the shrubbery. But low, low and thrice times low he could not use the it. The Pharisee, who had the charisma and the IQ of a fruit fly, flew into a great rage at the kind hearted Samaritan.
"The Samaritan is showing me up in front of the other workers," grumbled the Pharisee. He only gave me this mobile phone, so I would make a right Horlicks of myself."
Then the evil hearted Pharisee went round all the other workers spreading lies about the good Samaritan. He whispered into Emma's ear. He thrice whispered into Janet's ear. He drew back Ken's comb-over and whispered into his ear.
And soon the bad, bad Pharisee had turned the people against the good Samaritan.
The people began to grumble. Grumble, Grumble, Grumble. They were about to lay hands on the good Samaritan, when the good Lord Laird yelled,
"Unhand him! By my tam-o-chanter you shall not touch him. Did not the good Samaritan give his mobile phone to the Pharisee for nay groats or pennies? Then the good Lord Laird glared at the cowering Pharisee and yelled,
"Depart from me you scunner! I nay want tay gleek at your ugly dial again. You are filled with-bile. Sarah Bile is a good singer, but you, you are what we in the highlands call, wee tatties. On your belly shall you crawl and may Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, and the Irish guy, Mick In-Titch go with you."
Then the holy spirit left me and I fell down in a snottery heap.
"BRAVO!" yelled Tommy leaping to his feet. "BRAVO! Now tell us the story about Jonah swallowing the great whale."
I picked up my staff, my secretary, my temp and my driver and went to wander for 40 days in the barren wastelands of Ballymena. Nothing but stones, stones, stones. How I longed to hear a blirt from the Beatles.
We will stand now and sing hymn No 176.
"Jordie spreads the manure and scatters."
Is there a man here with an organ?
Man with organ? Hurry up please
That's right. Up here at the front. OOH!, that is a big one!
When the mount arrived. I climbed to the top and addressed Tommy my cat. I raised both arms on high and yelled,
"Behold!"
"I am beholding!" yelled Tommy. "Get on with it."
"Behold!" I cried. "There were two men. One of the men was a Samaritan and the other man was a Pharisee."
"BOO!" yelled Tommy. "I wouldn't trust a Pharisee, as pharisee as I could throw him."
"Both men worked in the vineyard," I went on.
"Ah, winos," said Tommy.
"Not quite," I replied, "but you're not a million miles out. Now one of the men,the Samaritan, had a mobile phone. an all singing, all dancing, hi-tech mobile phone with all the latest bells and whistles. When the Pharisee saw the mobile phone he was filled with great envy and refused to eat his five daily pieces of fruit. When the kind hearted Samaritan saw this he was deeply worried. He gave his mobile phone to the Pharisee saying, "Amen, Amen, I say onto to you, there is great rejoycing in heaven, when he without a mobile phone is given one."
"Without a word of thanks, the pretentious Pharisee grabbed the mobile phone and ran off into the shrubbery. But low, low and thrice times low he could not use the it. The Pharisee, who had the charisma and the IQ of a fruit fly, flew into a great rage at the kind hearted Samaritan.
"The Samaritan is showing me up in front of the other workers," grumbled the Pharisee. He only gave me this mobile phone, so I would make a right Horlicks of myself."
Then the evil hearted Pharisee went round all the other workers spreading lies about the good Samaritan. He whispered into Emma's ear. He thrice whispered into Janet's ear. He drew back Ken's comb-over and whispered into his ear.
And soon the bad, bad Pharisee had turned the people against the good Samaritan.
The people began to grumble. Grumble, Grumble, Grumble. They were about to lay hands on the good Samaritan, when the good Lord Laird yelled,
"Unhand him! By my tam-o-chanter you shall not touch him. Did not the good Samaritan give his mobile phone to the Pharisee for nay groats or pennies? Then the good Lord Laird glared at the cowering Pharisee and yelled,
"Depart from me you scunner! I nay want tay gleek at your ugly dial again. You are filled with-bile. Sarah Bile is a good singer, but you, you are what we in the highlands call, wee tatties. On your belly shall you crawl and may Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, and the Irish guy, Mick In-Titch go with you."
Then the holy spirit left me and I fell down in a snottery heap.
"BRAVO!" yelled Tommy leaping to his feet. "BRAVO! Now tell us the story about Jonah swallowing the great whale."
I picked up my staff, my secretary, my temp and my driver and went to wander for 40 days in the barren wastelands of Ballymena. Nothing but stones, stones, stones. How I longed to hear a blirt from the Beatles.
We will stand now and sing hymn No 176.
"Jordie spreads the manure and scatters."
Is there a man here with an organ?
Man with organ? Hurry up please
That's right. Up here at the front. OOH!, that is a big one!
Tuesday 12 January 2010
I Never Saw It Coming!
Another week of great shows Kid, aided and abetted by Mr Coyle, who spent all last night baying at the moon. It's a lonely job baying at the moon, but when a man's gotta' bay, a man's gotta' bay.
Tommy my cat sat crouched up in a ball in the corner shivering.
"What a week," whispered Tommy, "what a week for earth shattering news. I never saw it coming. Did you?"
"Never had a clue," I whispered back."I mean, everything looked so-normal."
"I know," said Tommy. "There was no clue, no-inkling, no--predictability or predisposition. It just came out of the blue!"
"These things always do," I said. "But what's done is done and can not be-undone. We must carry on, pick up the pieces and-carry on. That's what HE would want."
"I'm not sure I can," said Tommy. "My feline world has been shattered, like one of Lynda Byron's eggs falling from a great height. I feel-empty and in a way-betrayed."
"We all do Kid," I replied. "But Jonathon Ross has left the BBC and we will just have to get used to the idea."
Tommy pondered, kicked a recumbent Romanian dwarf with his wee toe and said,
"It's not as if he were any good in the first place."
"RUBBISH!" I yelled. "Jonathon Ross was-Rubbish. And any man who can not pronounce his own surname, should not be allowed near any institution that the venerable Lord Reith was involved in."
"HERE! HERE!" cried Tommy
"WHERE? WHERE?" I yelled.
"HERE!" cried Tommy, pointing to a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. "Sit down you weird old creature and tuck in."
I tasted the scrambled egg and cried-erotically, "YUM!, Just like Lynda Byrons makes them!"
As my house got colder and colder. I yelled, "Shackleton" picked up a shovel and dug my way out. Belfast looked like Russia. Cold, ice, snow and Baggott's boys nicking people and carting them off to the nearest Gulag. As I rounded a corner, I saw Tubby Nolan deep in conversation with a wheelie-bin.
"Hoi! you muppet!" I yelled. "You're well out of order. What you doing talking to a wheelie-bin?"
"Do you mind?" roared Tubby. "Do you not see I'm talking to my good showbiz chum Eamon Holmes?"
"That ain't Eamon Holmes," I yelled. "You is talking to a wheelie-bin, you muppet."
"Crikey!" cried Tubby. "I wondered why Eamon was so quiet"
I grabbed Tubby by his little Sony and dragged him to an optimistic optician.
"Hey!" I roared. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Test this Tubby's eyesight."
There was no messing about with the optician. He grabbed Tubby by the scruff of the neck, gave him a riser and yelled, "Read the letters on that chart."
Tubby squinted at the chart. Then a big smile appeared on his face and the fat one yelled,"Hey! I know this guy. He did all the plumbing at my new house."
Save the planet. Recycle an old joke today!
Knock. Knock.
"Who's there?"
"Tubby"
"Tubby who?"
"How soon they forget!"
Knock.Knock.
Who's there?
Iris.
Iris Who?
Iris Robinson.
In the name of God, Willie John, hide all the money and our big lump of a cub.
"Here's to you Missus Robinson. Jesus loves you more than a cup of tay. Hey-Hey-Hey!"
Tommy my cat sat crouched up in a ball in the corner shivering.
"What a week," whispered Tommy, "what a week for earth shattering news. I never saw it coming. Did you?"
"Never had a clue," I whispered back."I mean, everything looked so-normal."
"I know," said Tommy. "There was no clue, no-inkling, no--predictability or predisposition. It just came out of the blue!"
"These things always do," I said. "But what's done is done and can not be-undone. We must carry on, pick up the pieces and-carry on. That's what HE would want."
"I'm not sure I can," said Tommy. "My feline world has been shattered, like one of Lynda Byron's eggs falling from a great height. I feel-empty and in a way-betrayed."
"We all do Kid," I replied. "But Jonathon Ross has left the BBC and we will just have to get used to the idea."
Tommy pondered, kicked a recumbent Romanian dwarf with his wee toe and said,
"It's not as if he were any good in the first place."
"RUBBISH!" I yelled. "Jonathon Ross was-Rubbish. And any man who can not pronounce his own surname, should not be allowed near any institution that the venerable Lord Reith was involved in."
"HERE! HERE!" cried Tommy
"WHERE? WHERE?" I yelled.
"HERE!" cried Tommy, pointing to a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. "Sit down you weird old creature and tuck in."
I tasted the scrambled egg and cried-erotically, "YUM!, Just like Lynda Byrons makes them!"
As my house got colder and colder. I yelled, "Shackleton" picked up a shovel and dug my way out. Belfast looked like Russia. Cold, ice, snow and Baggott's boys nicking people and carting them off to the nearest Gulag. As I rounded a corner, I saw Tubby Nolan deep in conversation with a wheelie-bin.
"Hoi! you muppet!" I yelled. "You're well out of order. What you doing talking to a wheelie-bin?"
"Do you mind?" roared Tubby. "Do you not see I'm talking to my good showbiz chum Eamon Holmes?"
"That ain't Eamon Holmes," I yelled. "You is talking to a wheelie-bin, you muppet."
"Crikey!" cried Tubby. "I wondered why Eamon was so quiet"
I grabbed Tubby by his little Sony and dragged him to an optimistic optician.
"Hey!" I roared. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Test this Tubby's eyesight."
There was no messing about with the optician. He grabbed Tubby by the scruff of the neck, gave him a riser and yelled, "Read the letters on that chart."
Tubby squinted at the chart. Then a big smile appeared on his face and the fat one yelled,"Hey! I know this guy. He did all the plumbing at my new house."
Save the planet. Recycle an old joke today!
Knock. Knock.
"Who's there?"
"Tubby"
"Tubby who?"
"How soon they forget!"
Knock.Knock.
Who's there?
Iris.
Iris Who?
Iris Robinson.
In the name of God, Willie John, hide all the money and our big lump of a cub.
"Here's to you Missus Robinson. Jesus loves you more than a cup of tay. Hey-Hey-Hey!"
Monday 11 January 2010
End Of The Noughties
What great naughty shows you put out in the noughties Kid, shows that will remain with us long after the great shows of Andrew Lloyd Webber have been consigned to the rubbish bin. You are up there Kid, up with Parky, Wogan, Venessa Feltz and Tubby Nolan. You are an A list celebrity. Do you not have your own parking place for your bicycle at the BBC? Do you not have your own BBC headed personal stationery with the name Walter Love scored out? Do you not have a gopher in the shape of Sean Coyle? You can go no further Kid. What you must do now is branch out, get your own television show. I can see you presenting a Saturday night prime time show called
'Strictly Come Ploughing. aided and abetted by Jordie Tuft. I can hear old Jordie say,
"Now look here yeh boy yeh, your furrows were like a dog's hind leg, all over the place. You're a good looking lump of a cub, but tonight, you failed to nail it."
Or how about, 'Ulster has no talent? hundreds of people would come on TV to prove that very point.
Tommy my cat came down stairs wearing a top hat, polka dot gansey a lovely pair of McHaggis tartan trousers and said, "Hoi, repulsive reptilian features, now that we have left the noughties where do we go nigh? Come on.Speak up. Don't stand there, like I've got your tongue."
I mounted a passing podium and yelled, "We have left the noughties behind us and have now entered, the teeny-weeny decade."
"The teeny-weeny decade!" yelled Tommy. "Are you mad?"
"YES! I am mad," I yelled. "And I have many, many doctor's certificates to prove it. Anyone," I yelled,"who questions my sanity, must be mad in the head."
"I'm certaintly not mad," cried Tommy, "so logic would dictate that you must be sane."
"You can't have it both ways," I yelled. "You can't put a cake in the calaboose and eat it."
Tommy changed the direction of the conversation by asking, "What are we having for lunch today, chicken, fish?"
"Duck!" I yelled.
Tommy ignored my advice and got a terrible dunt on the side of the head from a cast iron model of the leaning tower of Pisa, which, I guess, must have been thrown by-me!
After a lunch of left-over tinsel, holly and paper chains, I cantered down Belfast dressed as an out of work South American dictator.
Seeing a crowd of people, I approached, hoping that David Blaine was encased in a block of frozen Minoan ox urine. No such luck. There stood Tubby Nolan with his giant head stuck between some iron railings.
"Tubby!" I yelled. "What happened? Why are you crouched there with your gigantic head stuck between foundry cast iron railings?"
"I saw a Smartie," croaked Tubby, "on the other side of the railings. I stuck my head through to hoover the Smartie into my mouth, but now, I find I am unable to withdraw by BBC head."
I arranged nine Norweigan dwarfs with receding hair into a pyramid, climbed to the top and yelled, "Has anyone sent for the fire brigade?"
"I have," screamed Jim Rodgers. "Just NIGH! I was playing with the toy Choo-Choo train that Santa brought me, when I heard a horrible gurgling scream. "NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" I screamed. "That sounds wild like Tubby Nolan with his head stuck between some railings"
"Well done Jimbo," I cried. "Your quick thinking should get you another year as Lord Myrrh."
While we waited for the fire brigade, we commented on the massive size of Tubby's derriere. Small hoodies took running risers at Tubby's rump with very expensive designer trainers.
Then we heard the wail of a siren.
"He won't sell much ice cream going at that rate," gasped old 102 year old Disney Worke. Oh how we laughed.
It took ten men, six Millies and two small hoodies to hold Tubby, when the firemen got going with an angle grinder. Once free, Tubby gave a prehistorice bawl out of him, charged through a blackthorn hedge and ran round a golf course, tossing his head and kicking up his heels.
"Tubby Nolan has gone feral!" screamed Jim Rodgers.
"We should have put blinkers on him," gasped old Disney Worke.
"Get a net," cried a Milly with a fag in her mouth.
"NO!" I cried. "Let the magnificent woolly mammoth run free.Run my little one!" I screached. "Run free as you did in days of yore."
Tubby tossed his giant head, pawed the ground and ran in circles, kicking his legs and bawling most horribly.
As the sun set, Tubby stood on a hill, like a magnificent stag at bay.
Big Audrey captured him later that night, by going to the back door and banging a zinc bucket with a wooden spoon.
They always come home to eat!
'Strictly Come Ploughing. aided and abetted by Jordie Tuft. I can hear old Jordie say,
"Now look here yeh boy yeh, your furrows were like a dog's hind leg, all over the place. You're a good looking lump of a cub, but tonight, you failed to nail it."
Or how about, 'Ulster has no talent? hundreds of people would come on TV to prove that very point.
Tommy my cat came down stairs wearing a top hat, polka dot gansey a lovely pair of McHaggis tartan trousers and said, "Hoi, repulsive reptilian features, now that we have left the noughties where do we go nigh? Come on.Speak up. Don't stand there, like I've got your tongue."
I mounted a passing podium and yelled, "We have left the noughties behind us and have now entered, the teeny-weeny decade."
"The teeny-weeny decade!" yelled Tommy. "Are you mad?"
"YES! I am mad," I yelled. "And I have many, many doctor's certificates to prove it. Anyone," I yelled,"who questions my sanity, must be mad in the head."
"I'm certaintly not mad," cried Tommy, "so logic would dictate that you must be sane."
"You can't have it both ways," I yelled. "You can't put a cake in the calaboose and eat it."
Tommy changed the direction of the conversation by asking, "What are we having for lunch today, chicken, fish?"
"Duck!" I yelled.
Tommy ignored my advice and got a terrible dunt on the side of the head from a cast iron model of the leaning tower of Pisa, which, I guess, must have been thrown by-me!
After a lunch of left-over tinsel, holly and paper chains, I cantered down Belfast dressed as an out of work South American dictator.
Seeing a crowd of people, I approached, hoping that David Blaine was encased in a block of frozen Minoan ox urine. No such luck. There stood Tubby Nolan with his giant head stuck between some iron railings.
"Tubby!" I yelled. "What happened? Why are you crouched there with your gigantic head stuck between foundry cast iron railings?"
"I saw a Smartie," croaked Tubby, "on the other side of the railings. I stuck my head through to hoover the Smartie into my mouth, but now, I find I am unable to withdraw by BBC head."
I arranged nine Norweigan dwarfs with receding hair into a pyramid, climbed to the top and yelled, "Has anyone sent for the fire brigade?"
"I have," screamed Jim Rodgers. "Just NIGH! I was playing with the toy Choo-Choo train that Santa brought me, when I heard a horrible gurgling scream. "NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" I screamed. "That sounds wild like Tubby Nolan with his head stuck between some railings"
"Well done Jimbo," I cried. "Your quick thinking should get you another year as Lord Myrrh."
While we waited for the fire brigade, we commented on the massive size of Tubby's derriere. Small hoodies took running risers at Tubby's rump with very expensive designer trainers.
Then we heard the wail of a siren.
"He won't sell much ice cream going at that rate," gasped old 102 year old Disney Worke. Oh how we laughed.
It took ten men, six Millies and two small hoodies to hold Tubby, when the firemen got going with an angle grinder. Once free, Tubby gave a prehistorice bawl out of him, charged through a blackthorn hedge and ran round a golf course, tossing his head and kicking up his heels.
"Tubby Nolan has gone feral!" screamed Jim Rodgers.
"We should have put blinkers on him," gasped old Disney Worke.
"Get a net," cried a Milly with a fag in her mouth.
"NO!" I cried. "Let the magnificent woolly mammoth run free.Run my little one!" I screached. "Run free as you did in days of yore."
Tubby tossed his giant head, pawed the ground and ran in circles, kicking his legs and bawling most horribly.
As the sun set, Tubby stood on a hill, like a magnificent stag at bay.
Big Audrey captured him later that night, by going to the back door and banging a zinc bucket with a wooden spoon.
They always come home to eat!
Sunday 10 January 2010
Rejection and Humiliation
Two great shows to start the new year Kid then Mr Coyle takes over the helm and the ship goes down and all hands are lost at sea. NO! NO! Unfair. The boy done good. His choice of music was groovy and cool in the extreme- man.
After your Tuesday show, Tommy my cat turned off the radio by giving it a dirty look, climbed up on a kneeling dwarf from the rain forests of Saudi Arabia and said,
"So now we know. Now we know why Mr Coyle always cheers for the cowboys in a western film."
"Expand Tommy," I yelled. "Expand. Don't just stand there like a tube on that Saudi Arabian dwarf. Expand Tommy. Expand."
"HUMILIATION!" cried Tommy. "Shame, humiliation and common or garden rejectednesss lies at the core of the matter. When the Red Indian wrestler, Big Chief Turkey Trot humiliated Mr Coyle by asking him to clean his shoe, Mr Coyle from that day hence, was filled with a deep hatred for all red men."
"You're right Tommy," I yelled. "Did not Mr Coyle want the Saville Commission to look into battle of the big horn?"
"Yes he did," said Tommy. "But Sir Jimmy Saville said, "Now then, now then, now then, sling your hook young man."
"Yet another humiliation," I cried.
"Humiliation piled on humiliation," yelled Tommy. "and yet, Mr Coyle's hatred for the red man is so unnecessary."
"WHY Tommy?" I cried. "WHY? Expand."
"Because," said Tommy with one finger raised in the air and another finger raised up his nose, "the red Indian wrestler was not an Indian at tall, but was in fact, Arthur Higgenbottom from Burnley with red paint on his face."
"Eeh by gum!" I cried. "Who would have thought it? Eeh, I'll go to the foot of our tepee."
I met him on a Wednesday and my heart stood still.
At first glance it looked like a mountain of old clothes, but mountains don't walk. I looked again and saw the fat features of Tubby Nolan, hidden under a mound of coats, scarves and horse blankets.
"I can't stand it! yelled Tubby. "I can't stand the cold. Oh mummy, mummy, take the naughty cold away from your little pink baby!"
"Shut up you mountain of shivering lard!" I yelled. "We all feel the cold. Suck it up fat boy."
"I feel the cold more!" roared Tubby. "There are parts of me,little, but very important parts of me, that are ready to fall off with the cold."
"What are these little parts?" I asked
"My little nose," cried Tubby. "And my little....."
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim Rodgers. "Belfast council has run out of-GRIT!"
I sprinted home to tell Tommy, but when I got home, I couldn't remember if Jim had screamed-GRIT! or another word very similar, so I pushed Tommy into the coal bunker and kept him in the dark. Tommy goes completely haywire when he hears bad news. Something just fell off me. I hope it was an icicle!
After your Tuesday show, Tommy my cat turned off the radio by giving it a dirty look, climbed up on a kneeling dwarf from the rain forests of Saudi Arabia and said,
"So now we know. Now we know why Mr Coyle always cheers for the cowboys in a western film."
"Expand Tommy," I yelled. "Expand. Don't just stand there like a tube on that Saudi Arabian dwarf. Expand Tommy. Expand."
"HUMILIATION!" cried Tommy. "Shame, humiliation and common or garden rejectednesss lies at the core of the matter. When the Red Indian wrestler, Big Chief Turkey Trot humiliated Mr Coyle by asking him to clean his shoe, Mr Coyle from that day hence, was filled with a deep hatred for all red men."
"You're right Tommy," I yelled. "Did not Mr Coyle want the Saville Commission to look into battle of the big horn?"
"Yes he did," said Tommy. "But Sir Jimmy Saville said, "Now then, now then, now then, sling your hook young man."
"Yet another humiliation," I cried.
"Humiliation piled on humiliation," yelled Tommy. "and yet, Mr Coyle's hatred for the red man is so unnecessary."
"WHY Tommy?" I cried. "WHY? Expand."
"Because," said Tommy with one finger raised in the air and another finger raised up his nose, "the red Indian wrestler was not an Indian at tall, but was in fact, Arthur Higgenbottom from Burnley with red paint on his face."
"Eeh by gum!" I cried. "Who would have thought it? Eeh, I'll go to the foot of our tepee."
I met him on a Wednesday and my heart stood still.
At first glance it looked like a mountain of old clothes, but mountains don't walk. I looked again and saw the fat features of Tubby Nolan, hidden under a mound of coats, scarves and horse blankets.
"I can't stand it! yelled Tubby. "I can't stand the cold. Oh mummy, mummy, take the naughty cold away from your little pink baby!"
"Shut up you mountain of shivering lard!" I yelled. "We all feel the cold. Suck it up fat boy."
"I feel the cold more!" roared Tubby. "There are parts of me,little, but very important parts of me, that are ready to fall off with the cold."
"What are these little parts?" I asked
"My little nose," cried Tubby. "And my little....."
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim Rodgers. "Belfast council has run out of-GRIT!"
I sprinted home to tell Tommy, but when I got home, I couldn't remember if Jim had screamed-GRIT! or another word very similar, so I pushed Tommy into the coal bunker and kept him in the dark. Tommy goes completely haywire when he hears bad news. Something just fell off me. I hope it was an icicle!
Monday 4 January 2010
New Year, New Decade, New Catch Phrase!
What a great show yesterday Kid. It was the best of times and the worst of times, as Mr Coyle chronicled the tale of the two Rip Coyles. How odd that Mr Coyle, who is Mr Law and Order has a brother who is a son of a gun. "Bang, Bang, he shot Rip dead! Bang, Bang, he shot Rip in the head!"
Just before the news. Mr Coyle made the oddest of comments.
"Did I every tell you," said Mr Coyle,
"about the time I hit myself on the head with an axe?"
With stories like that. Mr Coyle must be a WOW on the Shantallow cocktail circuit!
"Hit himself with an axe on the head?" said Tommy my cat. "What was he trying to do? Take a chip from the old block?"
"Careful with that axe Eugene," I chortled as Tommy and I enjoyed a rare, Pink Floyd moment.
Suddenly, the mood changed.
"Thomas, attend me," I said. "We stand not only at the brink of a new year but a new decade. We must take ourselves in hand, make changes, turn over new leaves, make a new start. The first thing we must do is cleanse all the toxins from our body with a good detoxing."
I grabbed Tommy by the neck, as recommended in the American Army field manual and poured ten gallons of water down his throat. Then Tommy did the same to me. Tommy and I sat in adjacent toilets as the toxins were flushed from our body at a rate of two gallons every half an hour. Communication could only be achieved by shouting very loudly. I got blisters on my hand from pulling the chain!
Fully detoxed, Tommy and I donned two Arctic white dressing gowns and sat down to plan our new life in the year 2010.
Tommy admired his Cadillac pink toe nails and said, "Next year I plan to learn five new languages, Irish, English, Ulster/Scots
Scots/Ulster and Mandarin. When I master Mandarin, I can then order oranges from China."
"Good thinking Top Cat," I said. "Anything else?"
"Yes," said Tommy. "I plan to delve into painting and architecture."
"But Tommy," I said,
"painting and architecture were the hobbies of Hitler and he turned out to be, well, let's just say, not very nice."
Little Tommy turned purple with anger. His right arm leaped up in the air and he screamed.
"In zee dark of zee night, will come zee third Reich and on that night, zee third Reich will be zee right Reich!"
Tommy glared at me and yelled, "Always be remembering xat, you old Germanic rat bag!"
In a bid to ease the tension, I played Leonard Cohen singing, The Sisters of Mercy and Tommy and I jived like there was no tomorrow.
"Next year," I yelled, "I plan to find out who I am. I have no idea who I am or where I come from, so next year I plan to look up my family tree."
Tommy sniggered and said, "You won't have to look too far up the tree, before you see a red arsed baboon looking down."
"How dare you!" I yelled. "You know I have blue royal blood in my veins. Have you not seen me playing polo?"
"I have seen you playing tiddly-winks on the kitchen table with little white sweets," roared Tommy, "but it's hardly polo is it?"
"It's a start!" I yelled.
"I glared at Tommy and cried, "You Sir, are a tube."
Tommy glared back and yelled, "And you are a repulsive thing that should be kept under the bed!"
Then the bells began to ring. It was the new year, the new decade.
I looked at Tommy with tears in my eyes. Tommy looked at me with a trembling lip. Then, we leaped on each other and battered our respective faces into a pulp.
It may be the New Year, but at our hovel, it was business as usual!
So remember folks, don't make promises you can't keep.
Happy New Year everybody from Tommy and myself.
Has anyone seen my mangle? I say, has anyone seen my mangle?
(Sorry, just trying out a new catch phrase).
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