Mike's A Real Politician.

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which made a young secretary leap to her feet up at Stormount and turn the radio off. Apparently her boss, Tom Elliott was showing signs of acute agitation and hysterical excitement.
"Just in time," joked Michael McGimpsey, "or old Tom would have donned rooster feather wings and flown off towards the sun like Icarus."
And they say politics is dull and boring!
Tommy my cat, little prankster that he is, made a circle with his finger and thumb, put it to his eye, looked at me and said,
"AHOY ye scurvy landlubber! Did you hear farmer Giles,in the form of Mr Coyle,go on and on about farming yesterday?"
"I DID!" I yelled. "What is the maid---I mean, the knave of the maiden city up to?"
"Aar Jim lad," said Tommy, "'tis a ploy. Aye,'tis a ploy to hang around with bulls without raising suspicion."
A wave of revulsion swept over me(I really must get that upstairs toilet fixed.) and I uttered with great ire,
"I knew it! I knew it! Taking Mr Coyle to the Balmoral show was like taking a culchie from County Tyrone into the hot, seedy, sexy heart of Soho."
"For ever and a day," roared Tommy, "this Balmoral show shall be known as the immoral Balmoral show!"
I concurred behind the sofa where no one could see it.
When I saw him come out of a high class chocolatier I took after him yelling, "Are ye right there Michael? Are you right?"
For it was indeed dashing, debonair MLA, Michael Nesbitt.
"SO!" I yelled. "The gamekeeper has turned poacher."
"I suppose you could say that," said Mike. "You look well after your electric shock treatment."
"I am Mike," I gushed. "Thanks to the electric shocks I feel-brilliant! Tell me Mike," I said,grabbing his arm and taking him down a dingy alley. "How will you feel when Paul Clarke, or Noel Thompson come over all Jeremy Paxman with you?"
Mike smiled and said with a laugh,
"Who's the daddy? I AM Mr TV. I cut my teeth on cameras and my knees on trailing electric cables. I will swat Clarke and Thompson like flies and Steven Nolan like a big, fat bluebottle."
"Mike," I yelled, grabbing him by the knees of the trousers. "I have a problem with a toilet, could you help me?"
"SURE!" smiled Mike. "No probs. Just make an appointment with my secretary and the first open window that appears on my calendar, you can climb in through it."
I watched in awe as Mike walked away. He had made it! Mike was a REAL politician who could give you the brush off with a sincere smile. I ran off to tell Hugo Duncan about my brush with fame. Poor Hugo, he doesn't get out much these days. But his love, his love, keeps cascading down.