Gangs and The Killer Queen

Great show to kick the week off kid. Mr Coyle seems in good nick, thanks to a combination of prayer and monkey glands. And the periodic screams and rattling the bars of his cage, did not impinge on the quality of the show in any way. Tommy my cat, friend, companion, next of kin and the son I never had said, "Just came from Stormont. Things are really buzzing up there! There they all were, out on the lawn, running, skipping, leaping and generaly having a good old time. In the corner of the play ground stood Jim Allister, like a young, surly, red faced Marlon Brando. "Hey, easy rider!" I said. "Why don't you join in the fun. Put this rope around your neck and I'll show you how to skip." "Look at them!" spat Jim. "Look at Sinn Fein and the DUP, holding hands while singing, "Ring a ring a rosy, Jim's got a great big nosey!" "Then things took a nasty turn when Sammy Wilson and Martin McGuinness sauntered up to Jim and demanded his dinner money. "So much for parity of esteem!" shrieked Jim, as he handed over 78 pence and a lint-coated brandy ball. "You got to join a gang Jim!" I said. "You can't exist on your own. Ask that nice, hairy David Ford if you can join his gang." "I am a rebel!" screamed Jim. "A maverick, a loose cannon. I am the Lone Ranger, minus Tonto. I am the ghost at the banquet, the watcher at the gate and the fool on the hill." Then.. the notorious, SDLP gang began to edge towards Jim. Jim took to his heels yelling, "I'm going to tell Mr Speaker about you!" "Alex Attwood laughed like a Mexican and said, "Speaker? We don't want your feelthy-Speaker." Mark Durkin threw back his head, laughed for eight and a half minutes and drawled, "Senor, the reality is, we are outlaws. If you want inlaws, go visit your ugly mother in law." I shook my head and said, "That nice Mark Durkin has gone to the dogs, woof-woof, every since he stopped reading, "The Messenger". Tommy, sprayed Pledge furniture on a small Norwegian dwarf, polished him up to a high lusture shine and said, "Isn't she lovely? So graceful, so regal." "You talking about the Queen?" I asked. "NO!" yelled Tommy sarcasticaly, "I was talking about May McFetridge! Of Course I'm talking about the Queen. Apparently when she met Lord Ken Maginnis in Enniskillen yesterday, she grabbed the rural knight by the lapels and yelled, "Oi, walrus face, Keep your big hooter out of the sexual orientation of my subjects, or I'll get Phil and the boys to whip your sorry ass. Capiche!!!" I wiped a spec of dust from the Norwegian dwarf and went out singing, "Caviar and cigarettes Well versed in etiquette Very fond of Corgie pets She's a killer Queen!"

They think It's All Over..It is now!!

Great shows last week kid. Ken Maguinness, who was raging against the pink machine, took time off to mutter through a soup stained moustache,"Thon Anderson boy puts on a humdinger of a show." Tommy my cat sat looking at the £12.79 he had withdrawn from his K2 tax shelter and said. "Just got it out before David Cameron labelled me another Jimmy Carr." I gazed at the glittering horde and said, "Where will you put your money now Tommy, derivatives, hedge funds, junk bonds,or your little pink, piggy bank?" "Neither!" replied Tommy, scooping all the money into a burlap sack. "I'm going back to the Post Office. No more high risk gambles for me! The Post Office girls are very sweet and friendly. Just last week, I asked for a second class stamp. The counter girl, a real little sweetie, said, "I don't have any second class stamps, but just for you, I'll tear a first class stamp in two. Now, that's thinking, that's using your head." "Tommy," I said. "Come into the war room, we have something important to discuss." I stood in front of the big map of Gortin and said, "Next Wednesday, the Queen, will shake hands with Mr Martin McGuinness. The country is waiting for our response. Today, we must release a press statement, outlining our views on the historic, hand shake. As secretary of state for this house, do you forsee any impediments or difficulties?" Tommy paced the floor, hands behind his back, and answered, "In my view, it's too soon. I smell intrigue in the air. I think the hand shake is a-ruse. A ruse by the house of Windsor!My spies tell me the Queen intends to grasp Mr McGuinness by the hand, pull him towards her and headbutt him right between the eyes. This could lead to apathy in the streets, a huge fall in sterling, the end of the fish supper, as we know it, and British warships, seizing the Giant's Causeway and carrying it off to Bristol." I ran to my writing desk and dashed off a letter to Mrs Bunty Hoven, 27 Pigs Lane, Ballymena. "TOP SECRET! It is the view of Tommy and I, that the hand shake should go ahead, with the proviso, that Mr McGuinness, wears a boxer's gumshield and a motorcycle helmet." I put the letter in an envelope and cried, "A stamp! A stamp! Time is off the essence!" Tommy, leapt to his feet and yelled, "I'll run down to the Post Office and ask the nice girl to tear another first class stamp in two!" NOW all we could do was-wait. Could we, would we, be in time to save the Giant's Causeway? Feeling the hand of history on my shoulder, I yelled, "The lights are going out all over Poleglass, due to unpaid bills!" P.S. I was nearly asleep when Tommy rushed in yelling, "THEY THINK IT'S ALL OVER, IT IS NOW!!!!" I yawned and said, "I told Woy Hodgeson, score a goal before the final whistle, or you will pay a penalty!" Tommy giggled, leapt into bed beside me, and put his ice cold feet on my back.

Prepare For Much Gloating If England Go All The Way!!!

Great show yesterday kid. Like the great magician you are, you produced coloured ribbons, flowers and rabbits out of thin air. Your assistant, the lovely Sean Coyle, wearing a pair of laddered fishnet tights, moved about gracefully, making strange, magic waves and passes with his rough, calloused hands. What a cheer went up when you put the lovely Mr Coyle in a box and made him disappear! What a groan when you brought him back again! Tommy my cat, kicked the asbestos out of a stuffed, cuddly toy, depicting, Jim Allister and yelled, "Did you see it? Did you see it? Bono, escorting the Burmese, Lady, San Suu Kyi, around Ireland and Russel Brand, being all pally with Tibet's finest, the Dali Lama?" "I could not believe my specsaver glasses," I cried. "How I cringed when Bono, described San Suu Kyi, as having an air of silent serenity around her." "Russel Brand," yelled Tommy, "called the Dali Lama, my old pal and Tibetan playmate!" "Worse is to come!" I roared. "It has just been announced that none other then Jimmy Cricket will escort the Queen round Northern Ireland. Can you imagine it? "Come 'ere your Majesty, there's more. It is my honour to introduce you to Mr Martin McGuinness. Come on McGuinness, don't stand there like Shay Given, shake the wee woman's hand.". "What next?" roared Tommy. "Jedward, dancing with the Pope in the Vatican Square?" "Thongs and standards are dropping," I said. "I blame George Galloway and Mrs Brown's boys.". "Mrs Brown's Boys, is a disgrace to Catholic Ireland. There's no sex in Ireland, never has been and never will be. Irish children are found under whin bushes. Hence the old saying. "Keep away from the whins, if you don't want a little prick!" To the holy, Irish nation, sex is just a number between five and seven." "What do we want?" cried Tommy. "Chastity! When do we want it? As soon as we lock our chastity belts!" "QUICK!" I yelled. "Turn on RTE, the returning football team are touring Dublin in an open-topped German troop carrier. Anglea Merkel will present each member of the team with a green, plastic, iron cross." "Bet Shay Given drops his!" said Tommy. I gritted my teeth, clasped my legs together, but was forced to concur in a darkened corner. "Tommy, trembled all over and whispered, "England have just beat the Ukraine. Wayne Rooney scored the only goal. What will happen if England go all the way and become European champions?" I leapt to my feet and yelled, "In that case, GO HOME! and prepare for-gloating!!!! Much, much-gloating!".

Ireland got Stuffed!!

Great shows last week kid. Some great guests on Friday, which made me think there just might be a residue of singers, who can put over a song without voice enhancing techniques and gallivanting dancers in the background. "BRAVO!" yelled Tommy my cat. "Those guys really nailed it to the old barn door." I looked out the window, whistled and played with the purple fringes on my burka. Tommy snapped his braces, ran his fingers through his hair and hitched up his 1970's denim hipsters. "It's no good!" I yelled. "We MUST talk about, Euro 2012." Tommy sobbed and said, "I do feel sorry for the Republic of Ireland. With the country in hock to the Germans the boys in green rowed all the way to the Ukraine, with packed lunches and Boy Scout tents, only to get stuffed twice AND with the threat of a third stuffing hanging over their humiliated heads." "I told them before they left!" I cried. I said, "Boys, stay at home and watch it on TV." Robbie Keane, said, "NO! We shall return in triumph with lots of Irish luck and eleven or twelve dodgy penalties, we can be AND will be, champions of Europe!" "And he looks so normal," said Tommy, "to be talking such gibberish!" "NEVER MIND!" I yelled. "We've still got the hurley. An Irishman with an ash plant in his hands is a horrible and fearsome sight." Tommy concurred behind the sofa and then blushed like Mr Coyle, in an Ann Summer's shop. "England!" I yelled. "Perfidious Albion. Anglo Saxonists, Sons of John Bull and Lady Thatcher, you've done it again! I doff my hat, tug my forelock and hope you get stuffed eight nil, in the quarter finals." Tommy kicked a small, shrunken head into the kitchen and said, "I don't like football, BUT I do like football pundits. To hear retired footballers talk about, man marking, getting behind the ball, keeping the shape and counter attacks, is sheer poetry to me. HOWEVER!" yelled Tommy. "I detest, loathe and despise, RTE's, Eamonn Dunphy!" "BIG MOUTH!" I roared. "Old Eamonn Dunphy, with his wizened face wrapped round a pair of brilliant, white, false gnashers, is a disgrace to man, beast and banjos." "Mr Know all!" screamed Tommy. "The great, I AM! interrupting, talking over people, why the man is a veritable, Mr Coyle!" "Two peewheets from the same pond," I cried. "seperated at birth. One sent to the North and the other to the South." "JEDWARDS!" Yelled Tommy. "HAULD ON!" I cried. "Let's have a cultural exchange. Mr Coyle joins the RTE sports panel and Eamonn Dunphy joins Gerry in the studio." "So let it be written, so let it be done," Said Tommy. "My people will talk to your people." "Let's do lunch," I cried, "or dinner, or supper, it's all the same to me." "A midnight snack would suit me better," said Tommy.

What Is The Big Question?

Alas, all good things must come to an end. HE'S BACK!!! It;s THAT man again! Mr Coyle, bat lover and vigorous, vigilante is back! Tommy, my cat, threw himself on the floor, kicked his little legs, screamed like a banshee with toothache and yelled, "Home is the sailor, home from the sea and the interrupter, home from the beach!" "He may have changed," I said. "Mr Coyle may have had an Epiphany. He may come back renewed, revigorated, with a new charismatic outlook on life." My hopes were dashed when Mr Coyle went into a long monologue about slippery Winter roads. I looked at Tommy and said, "Go home, and prepare for the Status Quo!" Tommy glared at me from under his eyebrows, like a certain member of the Gestapo and yelled, "OI! Will Martin McGuinness and the Queen shake hands?" I went on ironing my catholic, mason's apron and said, "In my day, the big question used to be, Will Liston, shake Ali's hand?" "Let's hope it doesn't come to fisticuffs," said Tommy. "I fear Martin McGuinness would be bewitched, bothered and bewildered by the Queen's lightening, fast footwork." Parroting every politician, with the sole exception of Jim Allister, I said. "We have come a long way. We still have a long way to go, but we shall never return to the bad, old days. The reality is, hate, violence and bloodshed is the sole prerogative of husband and wife. Violence has a place!" I cried. "But violence should be confined to the bedroom and not allowed to spill onto the streets." Tommy clapped his hands and cried, "That answer should be translated into Latin and inscribed on ever toilet seat at Stormount." "Half of the bums can't read!" I muttered. "Question number two!" yelled Tommy. "What is society going to do with the NEW!, IMPROVED!, Spring fresh, Jordie Tuft?" "The answer is simple!" I roared. "Dapper, shaved napper, Jordie Tuft, must be made a roving Ambassador-Immediately. The new Jordie, would command cross party support to junket to Alaska and Syria, drumming up support for the shipbuilding industry, linen teatowels and fresh baps." "Let me be the first to second that!" cried Tommy. "Just think," said Tommy. "Not that long ago, this used to be the build up to the battle of Drumcree. People used to get in such a fuss over the Garvaghy road. I really must take a trip to see the famous Garvaghy road." "It's not there," I said. "What's not there?" yelled Tommy. "The Garvaghy road," I replied. "It was taken up and is now a prized exhibit in the Ulster History museum." Tommy sat down, held his head in his hands and said, "No Garvaghy road. No Titanic. No Showbands. No Nolan light. This country is going to the dogs." "Woof-Woof!" said my next door neighbour, who can't afford to keep a dog. Like my neighbour says, "Why buy a dog when you can bark yourself!" Logic! That's what that is. Stone, cold logic, from a woman who has greatly improved after six years'electric shock treatment.

An Excess Of Television!

Great shows last week kid. With Mr Coyle off to Rome to kiss the Pope's ring, the sound of silence was blissful. Could not Ken sit in while Mr Coyle is away and regale us with stories about crossed wires and his favourite, yellow screwdriver, presented to him by Greg Dyke, for service beyond the call of duty? Hearing Ken's rich, baritone voice on the radio would, I believe, give me the strength to carry on. Tommy my cat, opened his wallet, took out a photograph of Mrs Bunty Hoven, of 27 Knicker Crescent, winked and said, "How do TV moguls expect me to watch Euro 2012, The Olympic Games and Big Brother, all at the same time?" "You will just have to make time!" I yelled. "Don't you DARE stand there talking about television saturation. I come from a generation which remembers the potter's wheel and the test card. My family, used to sit and watch the test card for hours and if anyone dared speak, dear daddy would throw a potted plant at them, usually a busy lizzie, or a lazy lupin." "Up with this I shall not put!" screamed Tommy. "I shall get a doctor's sick note, prohibiting me from watching an excess of television." "That's right!" I yelled. "Run away. Leave the TV watching to others. You make me sick, you conscientious objector!" "I did my bit!" roared Tommy. "Ten series of Desperate Housewives, Roots, The American Civil War and umpteen reruns of, Only Fools and horses. I did my bit mate. I have nothing to be ashamed of. At one time I was the only one watching, "Give My Head Peace." "Scaredy cat!" I yelled. "Afraid of a little football match, or a pole vaulter. Get out of my sight you, you,------selective viewer!" "Don't you DARE call me that!" yelled Tommy. "I bit the bullet and watched, Lesser Spotted Ulster, starring, exhuberant, white head, Joe Mahon." "Give that cat a purple heart!" I cried, and I excused Tommy from all summer TV extravagazas. Instead, Tommy will read, "War and peace" by Senator George Mitchell.

Don't Shoot There's A White Woman In There!!

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which was warmly received in Buckingham Palace, as a plethora of royals sat bathing their sore feet in zinc buckets filled with warm sea water, complete with security vetted kelp. Tommy my cat, pulled his trousers down, his underpants up and said, "Mr Coyle may not be coming back from Portugal. Every night he salsa dances in the "Spanish Harlem" nightclub under the name of, El Tigre. Local talent spotter, Ollie Splodge, says, given time and a good surgeon he could turn Mr Coyle into another Ricky Martin." "Opportunity knocks for the Eyebrow," I cried. "In five years time he could have his own burro with personal number plates." "Apparently Mr Coyle is taking it very seriously," said Tommy. "He has splashed out on a Louie Spence DVD and insured his twisted, ricket legs for £75.50." "Another Derry boy makes good," I yelled. "Thanks to dedication and a childhood spent skipping with the girls." "Joseph Locke, Phil Coulter and now, El Tigre!" cried Tommy. "Up Stroke City!" "Tommy," I said, "sit down on that plastic gnome and give a full and frank account of the latest shenanigans up at Stormont." Tommy took out a tartan-backed note book, cleared his throat and said, "Item one, Jim Allister is still very angry. Item two, the limerick about Tubby Nolan has still NOT been erased from toilet 2B. Item three, during the heatwave, Sammy Wilson had to be sedated to stop him dropping his trousers. Item four, Sinn Fein's Gerry Kelly, killed a spider with the heel of his shoe, thinking it was an MI6 bug. "Item five, Mr Eloquence, farmer Tom Elliott, brought a packed house to their feet when he yelled, "FIRE! FIRE! The hall is on fire! MLAs and women first!" "Item six, apparently the Alliance party has been on strike for some time. No one noticed, so they trooped back in again." I ruminated, to hell with the dry cleaning expense, and said, "And what of new boy, Mike Nesbitt? What has smiling, twinkle-eyes Mike been up to"? Tommy sent the square globe of the earth spinning and replied, "Mike, Lynda and a couple of hired hands have been very busy in Tyrone and Fermanagh, driving backwoods men out of the trees and scrub land. Apparently Lynda was having a cup of tea in Mahon's hotel in Irvinestown when an old timer yelled, "Don't shoot. There's a white woman in there!" "Not many white women in Tyrone or Fermanagh," I said. "The Lifebouy soap lorry doesn't go that far".

Fishing For Sardines

Great show yesterday kid. Price Phillip, listened to the show in his hospital bed and yelled, "I know that man, but I don't know what he does!!!" An Irish nurse said, "Ah, you poor man, you got foundered on that auld boat. Would you like a wee cup of tea in your hand?" "The absence of Mr Coyle," said Tommy my cat, "is akin to the workmen moving away from your front door." "It's so quiet and civilized," I said."No guldering, shouting, or raised voices." "Just like it must be in Prince William's and dear Kate's house," said Tommy. "OH! talking about Royality, what's on the menu today? Hot air balloons? Morris dancing? The Queen, leading the people of Britain in a conga dance?" "It's all over!" I said. "There ain't no more. It's back to the old routine, work, television and the spectre of debt looming over the country like Shylock." "All over!!!" screamed Tommy. "NO! I won't have it! The Queen should have her own reality show on TV. Forget Big Brother, let's hear it for, "Desperate Monarchs", or "I'm royalty, get me out of here!" I looked at Tommy with distase on my face and socks in my shoes. Tommy lit 75 candles, prayed that old Jordie would make a speedy and complete recovery and said, "What is Mr Coyle doing in Portugal, learning new skipping rhymes, or lecturing on blind bats and compost boxes?" "Neither," I said. "Mr Coyle, has a small tent pitched outside Braga. Every morning Mr Coyle sails with the fishing fleet, seeking the highly dangerous and elusive sardine. When he spots a lone sardine Mr Coyle yells, "Thar she blows!". Then the crew, lower a small tin box into the water and try to get the sardine to swim into it." "It's the only way to catch them," said Tommy. "Some fishermen use nets, but the sardines use the net to play tennis." A thought entered my head, I grabbed it, put it in a match box and said, "How come Mr Coyle knows so much about sardines?" "That information," said Tommy, "would be contained in Mr Coyle's medical record, which are sealed from the general public." I thought of Mr Coyle, fifty yards from shore, sheltering from a light breeze and yelling, "Captain, art thou sleeping down below?"

Why We Have A Queen.

Great show yesterday kid. To make up for the absence of Mr Coyle, Tommy my cat and I kept interrupting you and yelling, "There's nothing about that! You're a liar! and Ah, your drawers!" Tommy grabbed me by the leg and yelled, "Hi! Hi! Did you see the big flotilla of boats going down the Thames?" I waved a tangerine union jack and replied, "Very impressive, but had the Spanish Armada turned up as planned, it would have been one hell of a kerfuffle!" "The Queen's really back with a bang!" said Tommy. "And she makes people do the funniest things. Whole streets of families sitting outside in the rain, waving flags, eating roast beef and carrots and singing, "God save the Queen." Why do we have a monarch?" asked Tommy. "WHY? WHY? WHY?" "We are not alone in having a Queen," I said. "The ants have one as do the bees. Tommy pondered and said, "I have never seen the Queen carry eggs on her head, or produce honey." "Perhaps not," I said, "but the Queen does fulfil a basic need for her people. People in the main are lost, lonely, pathetic wretches, cast adrift on the sea of life. We need someone we can rally round and look up to. The Queen, is our surrogate mother. When times are bad, the people surround Buckingham Palace. The Queen sees their distress and sends an old, doddering butler down to the gates of Buckingham Palace to read this royal proclamation. "My dear subjects, one has noted your fear and distress. I too am worried and indeed, fearful for the future of this great country. My message to you today is, Go home and prepare for trouble, but don't panic! Don't panic! One doesn't want you to-panic!" "Now I see why we have a Queen," said Tommy. "If Boris Johnson said that, the people would just laugh at him. Stall the weddin'!" yelled Tommy. "If the people need someone to look up to, THEN, logic dictates that the people also want someone to look down on. Who is that person?" cried Tommy. "I gotta know! Who is he?" I tried to distract Tommy by saying, "I see Mr Coyle, is away on holidays." Tommy, gave a leap and screamed, "It's HIM! Mr Coyle is the one that people look down on! Now, all is clear. Mr Coyle and the Queen are two sides of the same coin. Spin the coin, if it's heads, that means the Queen and you win, if it's tails, that's Mr Coyle and you lose big time." "Tommy!" I yelled. "Don't go putting that story round the ghetto." "I'm going to tell everyone!" yelled Tommy. "Sean Coyle, is the anti Queen!" I looked towards Buckingham Palace, saluted smartly and cried, "I really love you Queenie, you are the bestest Queen in the world. If that doesn't bring me a gong," I muttered, "I'll write to Angela Merkel, down in Dublin. When are they going to change the road signs? When are they going to change the road signs to German? SNELL! SNELL! SNELL!!!!

What Shall We Buy The Queen For Her Birthday?

Great shows last week kid. Great shows which brought great comfort and joy to Jordie Tuft, as he struggles to come to terms with a non nicotine, non cooking sherry world. Old Jordie, is searching for a raison d'etre, a reason to live. Francie says it's a toss up between the Moonies and the Russian Orthodox Church. President Putin is sitting by the phone, waiting eagerly for a hoarse gulder of, "Hello ye boy ye!" "60 years!" said Tommy my cat. "60 years! Never put a foot wrong. Beloved by the people. A life time of service. Always looking radiant. A smile and a wave for everyone. 60 years!" said Tommy. "Imagine, 60 years!" I choked back a tear and said, "There was no-one more sad than me, when I heard Walter Love was leaving the BBC after 60 years sterling service." "I speak not of jazz anorack Walter Love!" yelled Tommy. "I speak of Her majesty, Queen Elizabeth the second, Queen of Britain AND Norn Iron,head of the commonwealth and model for postage stamps." I ruminated quickly behind the sofa and cried, "SO! That's why people are thronging the streets. I thought it was a ground swell of appreciation for Walter Love." "Walter Love is not leaving the BBC," said Tommy. "That rumour was started by that young whipper-snapper from Ballymena, Jackie Fullerton." "We must get the Queen a birthday presant!" I yelled. "Run and fetch the Argos catalogue." After a heated debate about deep fat fryers, Henry vacuum cleaners and ironing boards, Tommy and I settled on a lovely tiara, studded with real fake diamonds, £17.99, including postage, expensive, but worth it!" Tommy began to snigger and said, "I see Northern Ireland Nil..........." "SHUT UP!" I yelled. "SHUT YOUR BIG MOUTH!!!" "Six Nil!" said Tommy. "STUFFED!!!" "SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" I screamed. Tommy laughed and said, "Where did the old, 'one two and you're in' go?" I grabbed Tommy, put him over my knee and gave him six of the best!

The Boys Did Good.

Welcome back kid to sultry, sunny Northern Ireland. The heat, when it came, was welcome, but now people are beginning to complain. I saw a group of women kicking and flinging outside Tesco's. They were driven to mad distraction by big bluebottles settling on their eyes and eating their mascara. Clothes are being thrown off that people didn't even know they had on! I saw one ancient, female relic standing at her garden gate, holding up a pair of old, mouldy, bottle green knickers. "Nine pennies!" she bawled to a woman across the street. "Nine pennies and two clothing coupons back in 1944. I am taking them to the skip!" A man going by on a bicycle said, "Put them down and they might walk there themselves." Sunny Jim Allister turned up at Stormont wearing a knotted hankie on his head and a pair of electric blue speedos on his pale, white legs. A security man, who thought it might be Red Nose day, let him in without a murmur. I hope Thunder Thighs and the Eyebrow did not wreck your studio. The boys did good! Thunder Thighs played thought provoking music and conducted probing interviews with high ranking stars in the music business. The Eyebrow hobnobbed with the great unwashed and played a plethora of golden oldies which first came out on vinyl. What a change came over Mr Coyle! Gone was the grumpiness. The Eyebrow was Mr Amenable, Herr Congeniality. Nothing was too much trouble. "Nora! Nora! I haven't got "My Old Man's A Dustman" by Lonnie Donegan, but I'll play it first thing tomorrow. No trouble at all Nora. That's what I'm here for. You make yourself a nice wee cup of tea and take it easy. Goodbye Nora. Goodbye. Take care now." The Eyebrow did come unstuck on Wednesday when his hearing let him down. A woman called Joan was on the phone. suddenly she shrieked, "You called me Jan!" "I called you-jam?" spluttered a dumbfounded Mr Coyle. "You called me-JAN!" roared Joan. "I have no recollection of calling you-jam!" shouted Mr Coyle. "JAN!" bellowed Joan. "JAM!" guldered Mr Coyle. "JAN!" screamed Joan. "JAM!" yelled our hard-of-hearing hero. It all got sorted out in the end, but I don't think Joan, Jan, or Jam, will ever call Mr Coyle again! Tommy my cat is away camping with the boy scouts. At first I was worried that Tommy might be bullied or picked on by the other scouts. After pulling many strings I was reassured to know that Tommy will be sharing a tent with the scout master! People who don't know Tommy see him as brash and cocky. Let me assure you, Tommy is really shy and sensitive. I have seen little Tommy cry his eyes out when watching, "Lassie Come Home".