Sure Aren't We Grand

Welcome back Kid. On the sad day you left, which for ever more shall be known as the day of mourning, I grabbed Tommy my cat, bound and gagged him and handcuffed him to a water pipe under the sink. Then I unbound Tommy, so he could bind and gag me and for the next two weeks, Tommy and I lay bound and gagged under the sink.
There we languished, as Mr Coyle, hobbling on ricket legs with the aid of three blackthorn walking sticks, slowly made his way to your chair. It took the combined efforts of Janet, Emma, the Undertone and Ken to lift him onto the seat.
"Are you all right wee pet?" said Emma, as she wiped the drool from Mr Coyle's gaping mouth. "Would you like a wee blanket?" And the angel that is Emma, threw an old, dirty, horse blanket over the ancient, gnarled and twisted golfer.
Then, aging hippy Coyle, took the people of Ulster on a 60's, drug induced, psychedelic, magical, mystery tour. It was a bad trip-man, a real bad trip.
For eleven, LONG, LONG days, Mr Coyle ended each show by picking up the ball and taking the teams off the pitch. So many teams. Such a load of balls!
But Tommy and I survived and are now looking forward to many great shows, during the Spring and Summer.
I was standing in the back yard wearing a leather apron beside an anvil, when Tommy rushed out full of Irish ire.
"Before you shoe that ostrich," yelled Tommy, "answer me one question. What the blankety-blank is Sir Reg Empry up too?"
I laid down my hammer and said,
"I have no knowledge of Sir Reg, the little knight of the realm. I thought he was dead. What has the little comb-over been up to?"
"Erecting roadblocks, that's what," yelled Tommy. "It's a little late in the day for Sir Reg to find his cajones. For years, not a dickie bird and now the wild, bad knight is thwarting Hillary Clinton,George Bush and David Cameron!"
"Sir Reg probably found his cajones when he was rummaging down the sofa looking for the remote control," I said.
"Who does the little alien think he is?" screamed Tommy. "Mr Delmonte? Sir Reg, he say-NO!"
"'Tis a ruse," I said, as I put the ostrich's right foot between my legs. "'Tis only a ruse, to grab headlines and prove he's still alive."
"Sir Reg wants changes in education," yelled Tommy. "Did you ever hear the like of it? Changes in education! Sure aren't we grand? The children don't need any education. They should be out kicking a ball and thinking about lifting the Sam Maguire cup."
"Of course we're-grand," I said. "When it comes to education, we've never been grander. Aye, we're-grand. Sir Reg should reflect on the words of Pink Floyd and, leave the kids alone."
"Leave education alone," said Tommy. "Sure aren't we-grand?"
"We are," I said. "We're-grand."
The ostrich looked round and said,
"We're grand so we are. Now hurry up and hammer them shoes on me. I have places to go and people to see."
Sir Reg should pull his neck in. We're-grand. There's no need for change. We're grand. We're-grand!
I dug up an old Saxon tea pot, threw in a tee-hee bag, the tea that puts a smile on your face and buttered three, Paris Hilton buns. And there we sat, Tommy, me and the newly shoed ostrich.
"Sure, we're-grand," said the ostrich.
"Sure, we're-grand," said Tommy.
"Sure, we're-grand," I said, as Steven Nolan cycled by on a butcher's boy's bicycle. playing Waltzing Matilda on the paper and comb.
It was good, but Tubby didn't nail it. He didn't make it his own.