Luddites and Lignite

Great show yesterday Kid. A show, if I'm not mistaken, that had its face washed and hair combed by Janet, just before Micky Bradly yelled.
"Quiet in the studio please! Three-Two-One and-ACTION!" The show had, as Patrick Kavanagh would say, merit and proved that arts and culture was very much alive, West of the Bann.
Tommy looked at me, like only a cat can who is dismantling a live hand grenade can and said,
"Herr Coyler gave short shift to that poor man with the golfing story. Why was that? Do tell. One JUST has to know."
I readjusted my jet pack and replied,
"Huston! we have a problem." I then went on.
"The story was new, topical and up to date. Mr Coyle hates anything-new. Had the story been about making a pair of moleskin britches out of weasel skins back in the 1920's, Mr Coyle would have been all over it like a rash."
Tommy pulled a wee, red thing out of the hand grenade cried, "OOPS!" and quickly replaced it again. After the house didn't blow up, Tommy said,
Are you implying that Mr Coyle is a-Luddite?"
"I am!" I yelled. "Oh, how Mr Coyle would like to pick up his sledge hammer and go on an orgy of destruction. In the course of a night, Mr Coyle would smash every computer, mobile phone, photocopier and gameboy in the province."
"Lor love a duck!" said Tommy, picking up a very ugly, cross-eyed mallard drake and giving it a big kiss right on the beak.
"There is another word," said Tommy.
"There are many words," I replied.
"Another word that sounds like Luddite," said Tommy. "I think it is the name of a brown coal found in great quanties in Ulster and surrounding districts."
"LIGNITE!" I screamed. "Don't get me started on-Lignite. Fifty years ago a man came on TV and said,
"People of Ulster. Sit back. Relax ay voo and let it all hang out. I bring tidings of great joy. We have just discovered that Ulster is build on millions of tons of-lignite. Lignite is a brown coal found close to the surface. Our fuel problems are over. Lignite can be used as a coal, or converted into gas, petrol, moisturizer and margarine."
And what happened?" cried Tommy.
"ZILCH! I yelled. "Diddly Squat! Nothing! Experts found out that Lignite burns up faster than an old, dry wig of Dicky Rock and is not worth the trouble of mining."
"So," said Tommy, "there it sits. Lignite, a big pile of brown stuff."
"And that's what Lignite is!" I screamed. "A great big pile of-brown stuff."
I watched as Tommy opened a window and released the defused hand grenade back into the wild.
"Fly my little one," said Tommy. "Fly back to the flock of defused hand grenades that are swooping back and forwards over Tubby Nolan's house."
Plenty of crumbs at Tubby's house for hungry hand grenades.
Tubby is indeed the Saint Francis of hand grenades.
You got to love him. You just got to love him.