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!