What is Gerry thinking about?

Great shows last week kid. The Tuesday show caused great consternation at the Royal, Accident and Emergency Department, when an old codger rode in on a bicycle claiming he was suffering from Coylus Interuptus. As nurses dragged him away to examine him, the old codger yelled, "Every time I hear Sean Coyle, I stop what I'm doing, which isn't good if you work in air traffic control. Last week I sent a Boeing 747 to Scotland and ordered Ryanair to land in a cow pasture outside Clogher." After a thorough examination, the old man was found to be suffering from senility, shingles and sea sickness. After two Panadol and a rub down with with a brillo pad, the old codger was released into the safe hands of Mrs Bunty Hoven, 27 Easy street. Ballymena. Tommy, my cat, put down, "Ventriloquism For Dummies" and said, "Come away from the window. You're scaring children, cats, dogs and every known species of bird life." "How dare you!" I yelled. "At high school I was voted the girl most likely to be a navvy. I had great big hands and could hold ten cigarettes behind my ear." "Which school did you go to?" asked Tommy. "Private or public?" "If you must know," I replied, "I went to an alfresco, hedge school. Me and two other pupils sat behind a whin bush for eleven years reading, "See Spot Jump" and "The rise and fall of the Roman Empire" written by a smart monkey called Gibbon. Our teacher, Ronaldo "Town Drunk" McWhacker said I had the looks of Einstein and the brains of Laurel and Hardy." "I wonder what Gerry is thinking about now," said Tommy. "Is he thinking, this is a cushy little number, or Mamma Mia, has it come to this!!!" I replied thus, in dolphin clicking sounds. "If I know Gerry, and I don't, he is planning the mother of all rickety-wheels for Christmas. Ken has cleared out a big shed, to hold all the bagpipies, broken cement mixers, stone jugs, surgicial appliances and woodchip wallpaper, which will pour in from a grateful public and recovering hoarders." Tommy clapped his hands and cried, "I propose that the burnt out hulk of Jordie Tuft, with his arse in a sling, spin the big wheel." "What a festive sight!" I cried. "A rickety-wheel, being spun by a rickety man." "And think how safe it will be for the public," yelled Tommy. "Should a fire break out, Jordie, will keep her lit 'till we get out."