GOODBYE CYRIL

Great shows last week kid. Great shows which had the suspicious, hard as granite, from another planet, people of Ulster saying,
"Why is Gerry Anderson giving us all these great shows? What does he want? What's he up to?
I met an old codger and his codgeress probably going to lift their old age pension or write filthy graffiti on gable walls. The old codger stopped me by throwing a police stinger across the road and yelled,
"Hi, you can tell Anderson I'm on to him. I know what he's up to, him and his great shows!"
And the old codgeress said,
"We may be poor, but we have our pride. We don't like to be beholden. So tell Gerry Anderson, when it comes to great shows, "Thanks but NO thanks. We would rather be Ulster and miserable."
The old man waved his stick and yelled,"I fell for Ulster you know. I fell on my way out the front door to join the army in 1939."
"He did!" shrieked his wife. "He's got a plate in his head. Show them the plate in your head Sammy."
Sammy took off his flat cap and cried,
"Have a feel of that then! Solid brass that is. Be worth a bob or two when I die."
On my way to where I was going I had to round a corner otherwise I would have travelled straight on. And as I rounded said corner I ran into Steven Nolan and Tommy my cat. Tubby was wearing a black arm band in honour of big Cyril Smith.
"He was the first," sobbed Tubby. "He was our inspiration and now he's gone to the great tuck shop in the sky."
"Dry your eyes you bucket baked slabberer!" cried Tommy. "At least you don't have to help carry the coffin. Now let's knock at the portal of Jim Rodger's abode and invite the screamer out for a game of hop scotch."
Two hours later, a veritable mound of broken paving slabs bore testimony to the fact, that Tubby Nolan had played hop scotch in Rodent street. A rash act on Tubby's part, which led to the fat boy's inclusion on the DOE's 10 most wanted list. But if you see Tubby, don't approach him. He is armed with lethal, prawn cocktail crisps and could be dangerous. It is thought Tubby is on the run somewhere in the Malone road district, or the-"Badlands" as the rest of Belfast call it. The people living there never pay their milk bill!
"Me drink-milk? My dear we drink nothing but champagne on the Malone road."
There's a bounty on Tubby's head, but don't try and snatch it. It's Sellotaped to his noggin.
Tubby calls it his emergency rations!