Nostalgic for the past!

Great show yesterday kid, which caused great confusion and consternation up at Stormont. Wee Barry McElduff, was just about to put the kettle on for a cup of tay for everyone, except, Jim Alister, when Mr Coyle yelled, "There's nothing about that! You're a liar!" A great feeling of nostalgia swept over the MLAs. Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness, who were sitting on Alex Attwood's back, sharing a bap, stared into each other's eyes and said, "Remember when we used to carry on like that? The insults, shouting each other down. Each one calling the other a liar. So much time wasted on petty point scoring. Now, we live in harmony, each aware of the other's needs. Each ready to defend the other against brick bats, threats and the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Jim Allister, sitting alone in a corner, with a jam sandwich in his hand and a red face on his shoulders roared, "Sean Coyle is my hero! I model myself on Sean Coyle. It was from him, I learned not to trust anything, or anybody." Jim leaped to his feet and screamed, "I follow Coyle, the way a hungry lion follows a missionary. Coyle, taught me to be rude, disruptive, unforgiving, loud, disparaging, annoying, boring, unremitting, bombastic and a right gulpin." Jim, crushed the heel of his jam sandwich under his foot and shrieked, "Here's to Coyle, a man with no insight, hindsight, and very little sight in his bad eye!" In the silence which followed Wee barry McElduff said, "Will I wet the tay boys? The burner is lit and I'm going to keep her lit!" All this happened, so Lord Laird could eat his porridge and make merry in an inn with plenty of room. We stand now and shake the pins and needles out of our legs. I looked at Tommy my cat having a cat nap in my chair and yelled, "Tommy, if you're going to make a habit of breathing, at least do it quietly." Tommy leaped to his feet, still wearing a black armband in memory of Noel Thompson and roared, "Ah, shut your mouth, you old harridan! All you ever do is complain. Go and get a job. Plenty of villages are looking for an idiot." "How dare you!" I cried. "I was at Queen's university." "Not as a student!" shouted Tommy. "When you were six years old, your father, who was a chimney sweep, took you to Queen's university and rammed you up all the chimneys." "It still counts!" I yelled. "I WAS, at Queen's university!" "NIGH! NIGH! NIGH!" screamed Jim Rodgers, creeping out of the cubby hole under the stairs. "Is this any way to behave? You two, should be setting an example to the Sudan, Iran, Syria and the plethora of inter-faces we have here in wee Belfast." "Jim is right," said Tommy, putting the sledge hammer back in the corner. "I'm sorry," I muttered, lowering the battle axe. "That's better," said Jim. "Now come home with me and we'll jump over giant tomatoes until mammy calls us in for milk and cookies." You may have seen it in the sports pages and Steven Watson, put it well when he did a piece to camera. "Once again, ex lord Mayor, Jim Rodger's trailing foot let him down when he tried and failed to win the coveted, world tomato jumping championship, held at the moment by Mexican, Manuel Labour. Speaking after the leap, Jim said, "I'm working on the trailing leg and hope to bring the tomato jumping championship to 'Norn' 'Iron in the near future. If the good Lord's willin' and the creeks don't rise!"