When I'm Dead.

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which brought a blush to the face of Mrs Bunty Hovis, when her husband opened the back door and a blast of icy,cold wind rushed into her back passage. "'Oi!" yelled Bunty. "What's your bleeding game then?" Herbert, who uneasily wears the crown of Mr Hovis, knocked a flying duck of the wall and yelled, "Ah, stop your bleeding row, you ferret-faced, old rat bag!" Then the door bell rang and Herbert and Bunty Hovis began another day of marriage counselling.
Tommy my cat put down his copy of "Too Big to Fall" by Steven Nolan and said,"When you die, do you want to be used as a scarecrow, or stuffed and mounted on the wall?"
"Neither!" I yelled. "I want to be propped up on the Ballymena round-a-bout with a cardboard sign saying, CULLYBACCY, in my hands."
"Ah, you're a traditionalist," said Tommy. "I thought you might be one of those, freeze my head when I'm dead, modern-day types."
"Not me!" I cried. "When my clogs go-POP! I want to be displayed in a prominent place so passers by can say, "LOOK Ethel, that must be a new Damien Hurst." I utilised my eyeballs to look at Tommy and said, "And how do you want to be buried, my fine feathered friend?" Tommy coughed daintily into a French lace handkerchief and replied,
"I have lived a simple life. I despise flippery-flappery and ostentation. A simple shoe box will do me, BUT! before you bury me, please remove the words, "Clark's Shoes" from the box. I do not wish to suffer for all eternity for the sins of Paul Clarke." That's what I like about Tommy, his forward thinking and ability to play with a suffering mouse for hours.
As luck would have it I found myself walking into a tin whistle emporium, just as dapper, little Phil Coulter was coming out. I looked at the little manikin, laden down with whistles, recorders and oboes. Some little devil ignited a spark within me and I found myself singing,
"Steal away, steal away.
No reason left to stay.
How many windwind instruments
Can Derry's Pied Piper play?"
Well! Boom-Bang-A Bang! Wee Phil completely lost the head. The miniature composer took after me yelling,
"I'll brust your bake you stupid clown.
You do the hokey-cokey then you turn around!"
You can hear the rest of that little ditty next year, when it will be Ireland's entry in the Eurovision Song Contest.