Life is like a pigeon with one wing.

Great shows last week kid, and hats off to Mr Coyle, who manipulated his
fader brilliantly with just one good eye.
Birdman, Dickie Crowe, wishes it to be known that he has crossed a parrot
with a rooster which shouts, "Are you going to lie in bed all day?" at
break of dawn. What a boon for house-bound honeys and the fox hunting
fraternity. Do you ken John Peel? No! but I ken his sister Emma Peel!
Tommy my cat, picked up his shoe shine box and said, "I'm off to work. I
have a pitch just outside the BBC. Oh yes, I know them all. Dear Donna
Traynor, with her blue gutties, Noel Thompson, with his hiking boots and
debonair, Mark Carruthers, with his super-dooper, leather shoes made by a
saddle maker in Barnsley."
"Eeh, it's grim up North," I said. "Our Eli said cobble-stones are no friend of clogs. Eeh, by gum, Michael Parkinson said in book, "I were so hungry I ate food out of whippet's bowl. Trouble at mill lay over Barnsley like a dark satanic cloud. My ambition were to be a gas lamp lighter like our mum, but gift of the gab decreed I be a talk show host. Eeh, I don't know! Life is like a pigeon with one wing. You never know which direction it's going to go. It were only going to foot of our stairs on a regular basis that stopped me from going barmy. A lot of folk go barmy in Barnsley thee knows."
Tommy hit me over the head with a bronze bust of Louis Spence, picked up
his shoe shine box and set off for the BBC to polish the hooves of the
great and the good. Finding myself on the floor, I decided not to waste the
opportunity and began to clean the carpet with my tongue. I ran out of
spittle behind the sofa and lay there like an old bag with a dry mouth.
"So, Mr Nolan, we meet again," I said. Tubby took his little piggy eyes
away from the pies in the window and yelled, "Clear off you old bedlamite.
Every food outlet I go to, there you are, mumbling and cackling like an
old crone."
"Don't be like that," I said. "Let's be friends. Chase me round the wheelie-bins like you used to do before you became famous." Tubbylooked towards the Black Mountain and said. "Fame lies heavy on my shoulders. I carry a great responsibility. Like Caesar's wife I must be whiter than white. Like Lot's wife I must never look back and like King Henry's wife I must keep my head, while all around me are losing theirs."
"MARRY ME!" I shrieked, falling to my knees. "Marry me! I will give you
many offspring."
Tubby looked at me with scorn and replied. "YOU! give birth to children? You are too old, too ugly and too crazy."
I retreated like a scalded warthog and screamed, "Do you think I would have children with YOU in the conventional way? You shall never lay a finger on me, oval man. The lights may be going out all over Europe, but this midden, I mean,
maiden intends to keep her lamp LIT!" Then it suddenly hit me, Jordie
Tuft, too must be a child of God, why else would he cry on high.
"KEEP HER LIT, 'TILL WE GET OUT!" As for the children I promised Tubby,
I simply meant I would steal five or six sprogs from an orphanage. Lips which taste lard, shall never taste mine. I go now, to put more oil in my lamp and trim my wick. I like a well trimmed wick!