I Blame Darren!

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which helped quell a riot at Saint Dymphna's Old Folks' Home.
The trouble began after breakfast when two old codgers fell out over ownership of a pair of false teeth. The trouble spread to the gym and soon the doors to the morgue were torn off and used as shields. Before you could say, "incontinent" a full scale riot erupted. Soon the air was full of bed-pans, catheters, colostomy bags and heavy, sodden, adult nappies.
It was then the matron, a hefty lump of a woman with more than a passing resemblance to Steven Nolan roared, "THE GERRY SHOW IS ON-NIGH!!!"
Soon the old relics were back in the day room pumped full of a liquid cocktail containing Valium, Diazepam and horse tranquilizers. Nothing brings an unruly old codger to heel like the liquid cosh!
Tommy my cat looked up from his knitting and said,
"I do declare, poor Steven Watson will wilt if another Ulster sportsman OR woman wins a major event."
"I blame Darren "The Cigar" Clarke!" I yelled. "Darren knew fine well that Steven Watson was exhausted after the Rory McIlroy jamboree. Knowing that, Darren could have done poor Steven a favour by dropping a few holes, but-NO! Darren only goes and wins the British open."
Tommy held his knitting up to the light and said,
"Now poor Steven will have to use the same words in the same sequence AND with the same emphasis to laud Darren Clarke as he lauded Rory McIlroy only a week ago."
"SHAMBOLIC!" I yelled. "It's like a singer coming on stage and singing the same song TWICE!"
Tommy picked up a stitch he had dropped and said,
"I think Steven should come on TV and just say, "Good on ye, ye boy ye!"
Needless to say I concurred. I really must get the doctor to change my tablets! My chronic concurring is not responding to treatment.