Surviving Without Gerry.

Great pre-going away show kid.
"Three weeks?" I yelled.
"Three long, long, weeks," said Tommy my cat.
"That's a fortnight and a half!" I cried. "Who, or whom is going to look after us when Gerry is away?"
"Tommy spat into the fire and said, "Sean Thaddeaus Coyle."
"Old STC?" I yelled. "That's like leaving the little pigs alone with the wolf! Mark my words, Sean Coyle will run that great show into the ground, not for just an hour, not for just a day, not for just a fortnight and a half, but-always." "Chins up," said Tommy. "If we are to survive this ordeal with our peckers up, we must be prepared for pain, dog's abuse, bossing and Danny Kaye singing, "The Three little fish fish swam over the dam."
"SENERITY NIGH!" I yelled. SENERITY NIGH!!!!"
Suddenly, YES! it was as quick as that, Jim Rodgers sprang into the room screaming,
"Nigh! NIGH! NIGH! Stop that racket. A shaking wino is trying to eat an egg at the corner of your house!"
"Highly exciteable," said Tommy, but a good man to have with you if you're ever playing poker in Austin Texas where heat is being packed."
"The only heat Jim Rodgers ever packed," I yelled,"was a fish supper in his coat pocket as he ran like a greyhound through the rain on his way home from the chip shop."
Tommy and I both concurred, which left a large stain on the carpet.
As Vera Lynn sang softly in the background. Tommy and I, both wearing tin helmets, settled down for the long fortnight and a half.
"The lights are going out all over Poleglass," whispered Tommy.
"Hold hard Everard, old chum, old pal," I crooned. "This too shall pass."
"Yes it will pass my dear old ratbag," whispered Tommy.
Tommy and I burst into tears as the plaintive Vera Lynn sang.
"And Jimmy Nesbitt will go to sleep, in his own little room again."
Safe journey kid. Missing you already!

Old Stile Jumper

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which wiped the smiles off the faces of the clowns in Duffy's circus, when you announced that the price of large shoes for clowns was increasing by a staggering 59%. "Up with this I will not put!" yelled Bobo. From this day forward I call on all clowns to jettison the big shoes and adopt flip-flops!"
"Brilliant!" cried Mrs Bobo. "Cometh the hour, cometh the clown."
"Reel to reel tape-recorders," mused Tommy my cat. "How to read the code for traffic points. Bicycle accidents, The men Mr Coyle meets each night. It's entertainment Jim, but not as we know it."
"The Gerry show is from out of left field," I said. "It's off the wall. It's crazy man and groovy. It's niche radio and is fit for purpose."
"There are some," said Tommy, "including Mrs Bunty Hovis from Teabag Lane who compare Gerry to Howard Sterne."
"Howard Sterne my motorised umbrella stand!" I cried. "Gerry is a one off, a prototype, a John the Baptist who was sent to convert the devotees of Tubby Nolan, Hugo Duncan and Mark Patterson."
"The unholy trio," cried Tommy, "who were sent from the dark side to corrupt the children of God with bull-like guldering and enough diddly-dee to float the Titanic."
I bumped into Noel Thompson coming out of a mountaineering/adult book store. Poor Noel was burdened down with an ice axe, a coil of rope and a parachute.
"Out of my way, you crumpled, crumbling crone!" boomed Noel. "I am a busy man, I have work to do."
"Work to do?" I yelled. "You call reading the news for half an hour-work?"
"How dare you!" thundered Noel. "I arrive at the BBC at daybreak and work on my script all day, making changes, adding a bit, or talking a bit out. All day, every day it's drafts, drafts drafts!"
"You're in a rut No-El," I said. "Why don't you and Donna ring the changes and play a game of Ludo or Snakes and Ladders to pass the time?"
Noel's rugged, windblown visage turned purple and he took after me yelling,"Today in Belfast, an old ratbag was badly hurt by a strange man carrying an ice, a coil of rope and a parachute. The police have arrested Paul Clarke from UTV. While Pamela Ballentine yelled, "Leave him alone. He's irrelevant."
"Old Stile jumper!" I yelled, as I weaved in and out among the wheelie-bins.
"Old stile jumper, who sometimes reads the news as a side line. STILE JUMPER!!!" I yelled. "OLD STILE JUMPER!!!"

Drowning in a Sea of Ennui.

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which brought little comfort to the lady motorist complaining about cyclists.
"Get off your fat ass!" screamed Tommy my cat, "and stop complaining about young, non-rioters who are out in God's fresh air improving their health with a cycle race. I know her type!" yelled Tommy. "Put her in a car and she thinks she owns the road. Effing and blinding at tractors, lorries, dung spreaders, donkeys, pedestrians, CYCLISTS and any other road user who isn't her! I know her kind!" roared Tommy. "When I worked in the Foreign Office I often had to deal with Kings, sheiks and dictators who thought they ruled the world. I brought them all to heel with a loud yell of, "KISS MY ASS!!!"
I looked at the little, irritated pussy and said,
"Not very diplomatic Thomas."
"Diplomacy is for PUSSIES!" yelled Tommy.
He picked up his five string banjo and stormed off into his study for a good PLINK!
I like a good plink myself, but never, until the sun is over the yard arm. Then and only then, do I get stuck into the plink!
And so the long, weary day wore on. Across the street old Jimmy Eiderdown had his head stuck out of the window yelling, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"
I knew the noise would stop when the valium suppositories kicked in.
Tommy yawned and said, "Let's go blindfold Tubby Nolan, push him into a china shop and stand back and watch the fun."
"We did that only yesterday," I sighed. "Oh Tommy," I said, " I am suffering from fierce languor and tarra ennui.".
"NUI doesn't spell anything, it's not even a word!" replied the pesky pussy. "Listen," said Tommy, "and hark to my tale. Apparently Kate Moss was so enamoured with the TV show, "My big Irish Gypsy Wedding" that she turned to her partner and cried, "LET'S DO IT!". And do it they did," said Tommy. "They tied the knot, got hitched, or if prefer, got married. Dear Kate said in OK magazine that she would love to be a gypsy and sell clothes-pegs from door to door."
I leaped to my feet yelling, " I am drowning in a river of ennui!" In desperation-Dan, I rammed a six hour tape called, "Great Irish Golfers" by Steven Watson into the CD player and collapsed like a potato on to the couch.
Next morning a new day knocked on the door seeking admittance. One look at its long, grey face and I knew it had ennui written all over it.

Tendons and News From Tinsel Town.

Great shows last week kid.
Great shows which nearly stopped Steven Watson going on and on about Rory McIlory's injured wrist.
"It's the tendons!" yelled Steven. "Rory hurt the tendons in his wrist. When the tendons are mended, I plan to do a two hour special called, "Will the damaged tendons in Rory McIlroy's wrist be as good as new or will Rory McIlory regret his decision to make a swipe at the golf ball which was right up against the branch of a tree?"
"Catchy Title," said Tommy my cat. " I wonder could I get it printed on a T-shirt?"
"YOU couldn't," I giggled, "but I know a man who could, Tubby "Mainland Bound" Nolan."
"Mainland Bound, I wish I was," sang Tommy.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, Tommy would have been a great addition to Simon and Garfunkle.
I looked at Tommy, leapt in the air, landed in the splits position and yelled,"What's new pussycat?"
"Big news coming out of tinsel town," said Tommy. "Former,"Friend" Jennifer Anison has kidnapped a cabal of masochists and is threatening to hurt them if she and Ben Stiller are not allowed to make YET another romantic/comedy film."
I grabbed my handbag, waved it above my head and yelled,
"If Margaret Thatcher taught me anything, it was how to take milk from very young children and NOT to negotiate with terrorists or ageing, so called actresses, who have appeared in a tad too many so called romantic comedyies."
"Too late," said Tommy. "Filming has already began on, "Single girl seeks romance, girl meets boy, girl hates boy, after two hours of so called, zany, madcap comedy, girl falls in love with boy and gets married."
"Catchy title," I said, as I pulled a pearl-handled derringer from my handbag and fired six bullets into the tyres of a cyclist who was singing, "Bullet Train".
Coincidence? Absolutely! and I'll shoot anyone who says different!
"How's that boil coming along?" I said as Tommy changed the poultice on my bum. "Very red," said Tommy. "Very, very angry. I really think I should lance it, before you take blood poison.".
"LANCE MY BUM? I yelled. "Over my dead........"
TOO LATE! Tommy whipped out his trusty, Swiss army knife and began stabbing and slashing at the angry, red protuberance on my throbbing rear.
As I shot towards the ceiling I grabbed a feather duster.There are a few big cobwebs up there I have been longing to get at for ages.

Irishmen On Skis!

Great solo shows last week kid.
Great shows which sent the world's money markets into turmoil when it became known that Mr Coyle was being separated from his conjoined wallet.
"I'm going in!" cried Doctor Ripper. A swarm of ancient moths hit the doctor up the face and he was rushed to the maternity department where he gave birth to twin boys.
"Medicine has made great strides over the past ten minutes," said Doctor Ripper as he sat up in bed with a twin on each shoulder.
"SO!" said Tommy my cat. "As I predicted, America has lost its triple AAA credit rating."
"I'm afraid so," I replied. "There's no point phoning President Obama now if you find yourself broke by the roadside.". Tommy grabbed the phone and ordered his broker to move his ten pounds worth of Premium Bonds into gold Krugerrands. Tommy is a financial expert, a real Brian Cowan, without the arrogance and stupidity. I pulled an old black shawl over my head and cried, "What's going to become of us at all, at all, at all? 'Tis homeless we'll be, sitting by the side of the road eating nettles and dockens, and our menfolk boarding the boat to sail from Derry to Buncrana seeking work."
Tommy ran his hand over my face, checking for dust and said,
"Last week in the Dail,when asked if Ireland had enough money left to buy a fish supper, the bold Edna Kenny sprang to his feet, gave a Texas rebel yell and roared,
"THE SOUTH SHALL RISE AGAIN!"
"Rise again!" I yelled. "There's more chance, I say, there's more chance of the Titanic rising again!"
Tommy sprayed me all over with Pledge furniture polish and said,
"The South had their moment in the sun, their fifteen minutes of fame. I knew it was all over for the South when I first saw an Irishman on skis. An Irishman on skis is an affront to both God and nature. It's unnatural to see an Irishman on skis. An Irishman on skis is akin to seeing an Inuit on the moon, a Shinner wearing a poppy, or Tubby Nolan coming out of a clinic for anorexias."
"It's the way they stand," I cried,"upright and rigid, with the fear of God in their money-mad eyes!"
"If an Irishman must be seen on skis," roared Tommy, "let him sit! Let him sit like he would in a coracle. Times are bad," said Tommy. "But before we start blaming the banks, the credit crunch and reckless borrowing, let us remember the real reason we find ourselves in a doomsday situation is due entirely, ENTIRELY, to yuppie Irishmen, pissed on the piste wearing-skis!"
"So let it be written, so let it be done!" I cried, as I strapped on my Rottweiler lead and took myself for a walk.
Pooper-scooper??? I spit on your feelthy pooper-scooper!

The Hiccuping Sinn fein Letter.

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which, like the Rosetta stone, at last explained the meaning of the Ballymena expression, "It's a great,big supermarket boy!" Scholars on bicycles converged on Ballymena to decipher the strange hieroglyphics written on a Panadol tablet found in a secret cave by pot-holer and falsetto yodler, Rodney Mountebank. After a heated debate Professor Wiggins stood in front of a large, excited crowd and cried,
"My little Chick-a-dees, we have at last translated the secret language of the ancient Panadol tablet. I can now reveal that the inscription reads, "Not to be taken with alcohol!"
Suddenly the Plaza in Ballymena erupted with cheering, clapping, yelling, screaming, animalistic yelps and the throwing of flat caps high in the air.
"I can die in peace now," said an old codger running out in front of a bus. "Not to be taken with alcohol! Boys a boys, who would have thought it-Hi!"
"He just ran out in front of me," said the bus driver,"so I never bothered braking-Hi."
"Take him to the great,big cemetery outside Ballymena boy," said a policeman.
Tommy my cat coughed, pulled his Raith Rover's scarf round his neck, took a sip of Lemsip and said,
"There's a very nasty virus going about. In fact the Sinn Fein computer is suffering from it."
"Symptoms?" I yelled, reaching for my prescription pad.
"The symptom," said Tommy, "is a nasty, repeating hiccup. No matter what Sinn Fein type into their computer, the same letter shoots out of the printer."
"SNAP!" I yelled. "Everyone in Ulster got the same letter today from NIE."
"What are the dear directors of NIE up to?" said Tommy.
"Dear customer," I read, "we at NIE were feeling a little bored, so we decided to change our name from, NIE to, Power NI. This change of name and logo will be very expensive, but we, at NIE/Power NI are not worried because YOU, dear customer, will be paying for it. Missing you already, from all the guys and gals at NIE/Power NI."
"What a lovely letter to get," said Tommy. "When this old world is getting you down and people are not around anymore."
"The infamous Sinn Fein duplicating letter!" I cried. "How are Sinn Fein dealing with it?"
"Very well," said Tommy. "Gerry Adams came out yesterday and said,
"This auld letter hanlin' is down to a glitch in our little Dell computer. But, as President of Sinn Fein,I hold my hands up and say,"We alone ourselves are responsible for the hiccuping, repeating letter. Sinn Fein, we, ourselves alone, are responsible."
Then the bold Eamon Mally yelled out, "What did you think of Kate Middleton's wedding dress Mr Adams?"
"Devine, Eamon," said Gerry Adams. "Simply-devine! Now if you will excuse me, I have the Sky man coming round today, so I will need to be at home."
"Just one more question Mr Adams," roared the troublesome Eamon Mally."What do you think of my blonde hair?"
"Devine Eamon," said Mr Adams getting into his car"Simply--Devine!"

Remembering The Good Old Days.

Great show yesterday kid.
Freed of the dragging anchor called Mr Coyle.the S.S. Gerry skipped over the waves without interruption or equipment malfunction. It makes you wonder why nothing works when the eyebrow is around!!!. SABOTAGE is an ugly word, but in this instance is fully justified.
Tommy my cat lifted his head from under the bonnet of the old, bullnose Morris car behind the sofa and said,
"People who play mirrored accordions shouldn't throw stones."
"Right on Bro!" I cried. "And people who play the tuba should always carry the phone number of a reliable plumber."
"Polish?" said Tommy.
"Of course they polish their tubas!" I yelled. "Old Pete Postlewaite would have your garters for guts if you didn't polish your instrument in, Brassed Off."
"Ah the sound of the tuba," said Tommy,"and a little, ragged urchin walking on cobblestones to the corner shop to steal a Hovis loaf and five woodbine."
"A different world," I sighed. "I remember walking down a working class street. The sound of TB coughing coming from upstairs windows, and women, WOMeN with massive rumps raised in the air polishing their front steps.
"OLD CODGERS!" I yelled. "releasing pigeons and watching them fly high and free, while coal dust eats away at their lungs like a cancer."
"Cold tea and bread and dripping," said Tommy, "with a nice slice of ham on a Sunday."
"EEEH!" I said.
"EEEH!" said Tommy. "Them were the good old days. I walked down a working class street yesterday," said Tommy. "The vista, the tableau, the pictorial impression was oh so different. Little 50 inch women sitting on sofas, watching Jeremy Kyle on 56 inch TVs."
"When our TVs are bigger than our coffins," I cried, "we are on the road to ruin."
"BACK TO BASICS!" yelled Tommy. "Time to throw our drugs away and return to a time, a golden time, when life expectancy for a man was forty four and a half."
"Home births!" I yelled "And nits in the hair!"
"Black, rotten teeth!" cried Tommy. "The working class should have nothing to smile about."
"Borstal!" I roared.
"The Birch!" cried Tommy.
"THE ROPE!" I yelled as white foam ran freely from my lips. "Bring back the ROPE. It never did me any harm."
Then Tommy and I rang for a taxi and made our way to the Post Office in style to lift our DLA money!

Wipe The Slate Clean!

Great shows last week kid.
The Thursday show in particular caused great consternation in comatose Castlederg when two Japanese soldiers staggered over the bridge with their hands in the air. Apparently the two old relics had been hiding in Killeter forest since World War Two.
Oh they were tattered, they were torn, at the webbing they were worn, the two Samurai from the rising sun.
When asked why they had decided to surrender the old warriors screamed,
"Jelly Anderson singing about a wee boy up a tree drove us out of our bunker and out of our mind!"
"HARI-KARI!" screamed the ancient enemy. "HARI-KARI!"
A kindly Castlederger said,
" Keep her lit boys. The Hari-Kari restaurant is on the Strabane Road, next door to the cat sanctuary."
The last I heard, the two Japanese soldiers were working as bouncers for Sammy Walls. A gang of hoodies who turned up wearing trainers, are now building a railway line from Castlederg to Clogher. In five or six years time, Rosie Ryan and her son Bon Jovi could be causing havoc and mayhem in the lanes and byways round Castlederg.
Tommy my cat put down the Financial Times and said,
"If America loses its triple AAA credit rating how will that affect the "special" relationship with Britain?"
"Britain is tied to America's coat-tails!" I yelled. "If America goes down the pan Britain follows like the tail of kite."
"Cor, Cor and thrice times, Cor Blimey!" roared Tommy. "It seems like the WHOLE world is in debt."
"The whole world IS in debt my fine feathered friend," I cried, "and every day the debt climbs higher and higher!"
Tommy drew a rough likeness of Tubby Nolan on the floor with lard and said,
"To whom is the world in debt to?"
I pondered deeply, which I wouldn't recommend on an empty stomach and said,
"Every country in the world is in debt to another country in the world."
"START A-NEW!" cried Tommy. "Clean the slate,wipe out all debt and start a-new! Print more money, it's only paper, that way no country will be in debt."
I looked at Tommy, so young, so innocent, so concerned about the fate of the world and yelled,
"Put your coat on lad, tonight I put you on a plane and tomorrow you address the world bank in New York with your brilliant, amazing, smashing monetary plan."
You may have seen Tommy tear Jeremy Paxman apart on Newsnight with his caustic wit and remarkable grasp of fiscal and monetary shenanigans.

No Alien Invasion.

Great shows last week kid.
Great shows which helped keep wee Ulster a phonehacking free zone. Wee Chlorine Sodsbury came into the living room just in time to see her Grandad about to hack into her mobile phone. Wee Chlorine slapped the chops off him and threw him a newspaper. The old codger said, "Thanks Petal" and coughed, spluttered and hacked into the Belfast Telegraph instead.
Tommy my cat pushed me up against a wall I had built to separate the armchair from the foot stool and roared, "I want the truth, the whole truth and I want it NIGH! Why was Steven Nolan tweeting hysterically last week?
I quickly assembled two Ikea milkmaids' stools and said,
"Sit down Thomas. It's all very hush-hush, but Edwin Poots told me that Tubby was abducted by aliens and probed to within an inch of his life."
"I bet the little aliens were tired," said Tommy. "That would be the biggest probe they have ever carried out."
"Come 'ere," I said. "There's more! Apparently an old Codger living in the hills above Drumquin, was futtering with his 1924 Cossar wireless trying to get Maureen Potter on Athlone when,clear as a bell he heard the leader of the aliens say,
"This is Zogo reporting to the mother-ship. We have really struck the mother lode this time."
Then the mother-ship responded, "Well bend me over and spank me with a rolled-up copy of the Uranus Journal. Have you made a preliminary report on the subject?"
"We have," said the alien. "It appears to me some kind of mobile black hole that eats everything it comes across."
"Come on home boys," responded the mother-ship. "We don't want anything to do with that crazy sucker."
"Jolly Gosh!" said Tommy. "So Tubby saved the world from an alien invasion?"
"That he did!" I replied. "But the United Nations have decided not to tell him."
"WHY!" yelled Tommy. "Give me one good reason why Tubby should not be told he is the saviour of mankind?"
"They don't want to give the oval one a big head!" I roared.
"That's a GOOD reason," said Tommy and went back to writing begging letters to, Mrs Bunty Hovis, 27 Teabag Lane, Lisburn.