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!