Poor Tara! That's tarra.

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which came as a great surprise
to an old codger who was being waked at home in the good room. The old
codger, leaped out of the coffin and ran through the town in his
shroud yelling, " Barnyard fowl and tawny owl, I've missed two Gerry
Anderson shows!" When told that Mr Coyle's interrupting had increased
by 37% the old codger ran home, leaped into the coffin and closed the
lid with a bang!
Tommy my cat, looked at me and said, "The well spring of ugliness in
your family must run fast and deep."
"It does," I chortled. "When I was born the doctor and midwife would only handle me with tongs. My sister Suzie, was fined for being knowingly and persistently ugly in a public place. My brother Sunk, who was named after the Titanic could
kill a goatee beard just by looking at it. When my late daddy died, the man who came to shave him took one look and yelled, "In the name of God!" turned him over on his face and covered him with bubble wrap."
Tommy picked up his pea-shooter, fired a salvo of peas in the general direction of Iran and said, "Your family would made the Adam's family look like the Osmonds. Your combined ugliness must have been a great drawback to tourism."
"Oh it was," I said. "Tourists, especially the Japanese, used to take one look at us and get right back on the plane. We did our bit in the war!" I yelled. "Oh yes, we did our bit in the war. Old Winston Churchill, reeking of cigars, self importance and cooking sherry, lined the whole family up on the cliffs of Dover and ordered us to pull faces for God, King and country."
Tommy flicked a speck of dark matter off his gansey and muttered under his
breath. "So, that was why Hitler, never invaded Britain!"
Under the spreading chestnut tree, the lovely, blonde, Tara Mills,sat eating corn on the cob, washed down with Listerine mouthwash. "TARA!" I yelled. "Lovely, wee political Tara. It must be tarra for you to have to sit up in Stormount,listening to the sound of baying jackals and the inspiring, unforgettable oratory of Jim
Allister."
Little Tara, wrung her hands, wept and cried, "OH woe is me. You knee
Noel Thompson just ONCE in the groin and the BBC send you off to Stormount. SIBERIA, the political correspondents' graveyard. How I would love to sit on the sofa, talking about the Titanic and interviewing important people like Sue Pollard, Les Dennis and little old wine drinker me, Brian Kennedy."
"TARA!" I cried. "That's tarra. You only kneed Noel Thompson once. One day you will be set free. But what in tarnation did big Jim Fitzpatrick do to be sent to Stormount for LIFE?"
"That I can not say," said Tara. "Let's just say it involved Donna Traynor, a box of Ferraro Rocher and a feather duster."
NO!" I cried.
"YES!" said Tara--in the broom cupboard! GO" said Tara. "Make haste and go. The BBC have spies everywhere.
I looked around just in time to see Tubby Nolan, hiding behind some
wheelie-bins, like Orson Wells. The thin man? I think NOT!!!!!