The World of Twitter

Great show yesterday kid. The saga of the long poem continues. Was it really Seamus Heaney, as many people think? I greatly liked the poem. I would compare it to the Tour de-France. Good in bits but a little too long. People can only laugh so much. By the time the poem was over, I feel the audience were like a rat in a sewer pipe, simply going through the motions. What was the name of the saga and will it ever be made into a film? Tommy my cat came in, put down his brief case and said, "I heard the great show in a taxi. Mr Coyle is in a bad way. I fear he may never see another millennium. One eye has gone, rickets have played havoc with his legs and now he has a sore throat." "Swinging the lead!" I cried. "I am on to Mr "put it in the bin" Coyle. Mr Coyle, knows that Gerry will soon be entering the world of Twitter. Coyle knows that will entail more work for him. What Mr Coyle is doing is laying the ground work, so he can absent himself from Twitter on the grounds of ill health and a caterpillar eyebrow." "Tommy sighed and said, "I love Twitter, I wonder what Stephen Fry is doing at this moment." I put on a Stephen Fry voice and said, "Just met the lovely, fragrant Fiona Bruce at the Beeb. She flashed me a smile and threw me a rainbow trout, which I caught in my mouth like a seal." "Fiona Bruce would never stink up her handbag with fish!" yelled Tommy. "Maybe a tin or two of corned beef, but never fish!" To avoid a fight, we disagreed to agree. "Tommy!" I said, pointing to a Mayan calendar, you have been working for the past six months as a political adviser to UUP leader, Mike Nesbitt. How goes that work? Mike has a small Unionist base, I suppose the hunt is on for floaters." "It's a hard slog," said Tommy. The big hurdle for Mike Nesbitt and the Unionist party is the back woods men. We can't get them out of the woods. We have tried sheep dogs, low flying helicopters, stick and carrot, but the back woods men will not leave the woods. Last week we got a glimpse of Ken Maguinnes, grazing in open pasture, but before we could sedate him with a dart gun he was gone." "What about Napalm?" I said. "Defoliage the trees and the back woods men will be revealed in all their dinosaurian glory." "I shall bring it up with Mike at our next working breakfast," said Tommy. "Tommy," I whispered, "what does the lovely Lynda cook for your dinner." "Classified!" yelled Tommy. "Top Secret! If I told you what Lynda makes for dinner, I would be carted off to the Tower in Blackpool. And, further more," cried Tommy, "if I told you dinner was followed by stewed prunes and custard, Turkish coffee, Jacobs cream crackers and a choice of six cheeses, I would be sacked on the spot.". Loose lips sink ships. Loose lips also lose many sets of false teeth.