Tommy's Obsessed with Tom.

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which kept the flies away from the butter and the daddy-long-legs away from the tight's drawer.
I looked at Tommy my cat carving a likeness of Tom Elliott out of wood and said,
"Tommy, why this great love and devotion,some might say, obsession with Fermanagh's finest, Tom Elliott?"
Tommy put his knife down, his face a picture of rumination and replied,
"Tom Elliott, is not, never has been, or never will be-SCUM! I find Tom Elliott to be strong, stable, capable and in a certain light, quite handsome. Tom Elliott is no excitable flibbertigibbet. Tom Elliott has a sound foundation. Tom Elliott is not built on shifting sand. Tom knows the price of a bullock and the value of good fertiliser. Tom knows if you look after the pennies, the pounds will look after themselves. Tom Elliott thinks long and hard before he buys a gansey. Tom Elliott's favourite colour is a dull, drab grey! Tom Elliott is a straight shooter: He shoots from the mouth and thinks about it afterwards. That's why I like, perhaps, even love, Tom Elliott."
I looked on sadly as little Tommy picked up his Tom Elliott drawing and went out whistlng.
"Always look on the bright side of life!"
I glared towards Fermanagh and yelled,
"Tom Elliott, you silver-tongued Svengali,you may have fooled Tommy the cat but you don't fool me!"
When I saw the strolling policeman I climbed out of the gutter, adjusted my clothing and said,
"Good evening officer."
"Hello turnip head," replied the policeman.
That's what I missed when the troubles were on, the cheerful banter with the local bobby on the beat.
I glanced at the notches on his baton and said,
"How are all the old Bills back at the station?"
"Fine," said the copper. "When I left everyone was stuffing their faces with chips and bullying the Culchie from Co Tyrone."
"And little Matt?" I said. "Is little Matt Baggott settling in?"
"The Governor is settling in well," said the blue bottle. "He now knows that a wee beg, is a wee bag and a puff at a fag is not a criminal offence."
"Splendito!" I yelled.
I looked all around, put my finger to my nose and whispered,
"When do you think we'll have a Northern Ireland chief constable?"
The policeman tested his baton on my head and said,
"When apples grow on an ivy tree."
"As soon as that!" I screamed, as I sank back into the gutter.