Rory McIlroy! What an ambassador for Ulster!

Great shows last week kid made all the more spectacular when Mr Coyle announced he has been appointed official owl counter, by the Northern Ireland Bird Brain Society. The old nighthawk will walk the darkened roads, clicker in hand, counting everything that goes, too wit-too woo! A heck of a job for a cub, who left school with just a D in basket weaving. Perks include free binoculars and all the mouse pellets he can carry in one hand. Nice! Tommy my cat leaped in the air and cried, "And it's yet another major golf trophy for Northern Ireland's favourite mop top, Rory McIlroy!" I swung my umbrella at a duck egg and cried, "There's no stopping the lad. What a sportsman! What an ambassador for Ulster!" "We must honour him!" yelled Tommy. "We must name some Northern Ireland landmark after Rory McIlroy!" I ruminated, pondered, thunk and cried, "We could rename the Titanic Quarter, the Rory McIlroy Quarter. Just think of all the putts, Rory has sunk." "It's good, but it's not right," said Tommy. "I propose we rename the Giant's Causeway, the Rory McIlroy Causeway." Let me be the first to second that!" I yelled, as I filled two pewter tankards with methelated spirits and white lemonade. "Still hungry?" I asked Steven Nolan, as I watched him pull a mouldy, Mother's Pride loaf out of a wheelie bin. "A little peckish," grunted Tubby, as he pushed the loaf into his mouth with the heel of his hand. "How goes the glittering career?" I asked. "From strength to strength," replied Tubby. "In fact, the BBC are grooming me to be the next Joe Mahon. I will go round Ulster, in a wee Fergie tractor, talking to boring, old codgers, making jam with the Mothers' Legion, fishing, sheep shearing, horse-shoeing and doing all the strange things which Culshies do. The programme will be called, "Roaming with Nolan.". I hope my country mentor and sidekick will be old Jordie Tuft. Unfortunately, money could be a problem." "Is old Jordie asking for a large fee?" I asked. "Oh, no!" said Tubby. "It's just that the BBC, might not be able to afford the exorbitant amount of money that's being quoted for fire insurance." "Here's an old country saying," I said. "What does it mean when a countryman stands with his back to the fire?" "I don't know," said Tubby. "What does it mean when a countryman stands with his back to the fire?" I picked up a drum and said, "It means his trousers are on fire! BOOM-BOOM!