No More South Bank Show

Great show yesterday Kid. Just goes to show what you can do with two cheap microphones and a small ten watt amplifier. Tommy my cat and I tied a piece of cord to our radio, then we tied the cord to a rafter and let the radio swing like a pendulum. We got a great all round sound. After the show was over, Tommy turned off the radio by bashing it against the wall repeatedly. A little household tip there for the infirm and elderly, who may have trouble fiddling with tiny off switches.
As the day wore on, the glum look on Tommy's face got bigger. I decided an intervention was in order.
"Hey, baggy knickers!" I yelled. "What's got up your kilt?"
"I'll tell you what's got up my kilt!" yelled Tommy. "Are you aware that the South Bank Show, that great bastion of arts and culture is no more?"
"Yes! I am aware that the South Bank Show is kaput," I cried, "and I'm glad. Do you hear me-glad? Now we will have more time to watch fat people crying about being fat."
Tommy glared at me and yelled, "Are you really so shallow as not to care about arts and culture?"
"Yes, I am!" I yelled. "I don't care if I never hear another opera by Picasso, or look at another painting by Puccini."
"Bread and circuses!" yelled Tommy. "That's all you care about, bread and circuses."
"You got it in one Kid!" I yelled. "I want to be entertained. I don't want to be informed. If I see that old fool Sir John Betcheman wearing a raincoat and pointing up at old churches again I will scream."
"Do you not have a hunger for knowledge" said Tommy, "a desire to know?"
I pondered and said,"Well, I do like a good who done it. One of the wee blonde girls in Eastenders is going to have a baby and I want to know who done it."
Tommy went mad, oh yes, Tommy went clean mad. He leaped up on the sideboard and screamed, "The people of this country are turning into gigantic balls of lard. All they do is sit on the sofa, stuffing their faces and watching other balls of lard on TV crying and weeping about the vast amount of pies they shovel down their pie holes every week."
"I know," I giggled, "isn't it great. Have you seen Lorraine Kelly's new show "My big fat family? Lorainne gets the family expert help, writes out a diet routine and when she comes back in a weeks time, the family have put on another four stone. "Do youse know that youse is killing yourselves?" asked Lorraine. And one of the family puts down a pie long enough to say, "Aye we know Lorraine. But we can't help it. It's not our fault. People are so cruel. When I roll down the street people call me fat. It's the fault of society so it is. I would love to be thin. Why don't the doctors come up with a pill, so we could eat night and day and still be thin?"
Just then Tubby Nolan waddled in and felt the full force of Tommy's wrath.
"It's all YOUR fault!" yelled Tommy. "You are the Guru of fat, The Lord of lard and the Emperor of gluttony. You started all this, lard ball, mentality and now you have thousands of followers eating themselves silly."
"Biggest in the country!" roared Tubby.
"You are the anti-thin!" screamed Tommy. "You are the one with the golden spoon who is warned about in the book of Revelations. You are the mountain who would not come to Mohammed. You are a bun scoffer, a biscuit nibbler and a cake grinder."
"That's me to a T!" yelled Tubby. "And talking about tea, I have nine fish suppers in the boot of my car. Clear the table and let's have a feast."
And who was it who yelled, "I'll help you carry them in Tubby?" Yes, Tommy the cat. If there's one thing I hate more than Colin Murray, it's a hypocritical feline.
After a bumper feast we turned on the TV and watched, "I'm so fat it's not funny."
Oh how we laughed!