Category Archives: Plumbridge
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
Your stories are shite. The one about the Coalisland jersey was done by someone with zero Photoshop skills. My 90-year-old granny could have done that and she’s doting and can’t work her arms. Why don’t you just call it a day and spare us this crap? MARIE, GORTIN
It’s hard to disagree to be honest. We often don’t read our own stories either.
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
I’m sick of your stories. I counted and 88% of them are based in the east of the county. Everyone knows that 68% of Tyrone is in the west of the county, geographically. There’s life west of Coalisland you know. NOLEEN, PLUMBRIDGE
Again, you make good points. I’m personally sick of the east bias too. We just sacked four writers although three of them were from Omagh. I hope this is sufficient.
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
The story you wrote about Trump saying Lough Neagh belonged to Tyrone was one of the worst stories I’ve ever read. My three-year-old daughter has written better tales and she can’t even write. You make me angry. LIAM, STRABANE
I know. Standards have plummeted so far that I wouldn’t even use this screen as toilet roll. We can only apologise and offer a refund.
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
It will be a great day when you pull this site down. It pollutes my social media timeline feeds and actually puts me into bad form after one sentence.Why don’t you just fook off into the wilderness for good? STEPHEN, EDENDORK
To be honest, it’s only a matter of time really. There are only so many jokes you can make about Hugo Duncan or eels before you lose the will to live.
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
I would like to agree with Marie from Gortin above. The Coalisland jersey story and pictures were so bad I dropped my phone in anger and broke it. Just stop. It’s worse than shite. LEO, BERAGH
Again, we agree with your sentiments. Imagine how much more excruciating it is to write them than to read them.
Dear Tyrone Tribulations,
This is quite possibly the worst satirical site out there. Even calling it satirical is farcical. It’s pure dung and as funny as a kick in the balls. BILLY, BELFAST
100% spot on. It’s not only the unfunniest satirical site, it’s just the worst site all around on the internet, in our opinion. It’s the perfect example of a waste of cyber space.
JOIN US NEXT MONTH FOR DECEMBER’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL FAN MAIL .
After denials from Sky TV and Mickey Harte from having any influence over the narrowing of Healy Park for the clash between Dublin and Tyrone on Saturday night, the spotlight has now been shone on ‘wee fairies from the Plumbridge direction’ as well as the referee David Coldrick.
Omagh groundsman Patrick Hanlan revealed he received a visitor to his door on Friday night around midnight but couldn’t make it out because of the darkness as well as the visitor wearing a cloak:
“All the person said was ‘Ye may narrow that pitch’. I thought it was a sort of a threat but hadn’t a clue who it was. It could have been Harte, a Sky rep or even the referee Coldrick but the more I think about it, they had a Plumbridge accent and looked very small under the cloak. It may have been a fairy from the Plum or Cranagh direction.”
Referee David Coldrick has also come under suspicion as it has been explained that a narrower pitch leaves it easier to keep up with the play, though he may have underestimated the distance he’d need to take it in by.
Meanwhile, rumours emanating from Ballybofey suggest that Donegal officials have set about narrowing the Tyrone changing rooms, making it awkward for players to get changed with dignity.
Thousands of washing lines are this morning said to be under serious stress after the news that Hurricane Ophelia will hit Ulster, which initiated an unprecedented drive to get anything out that can be washed, especially the ones that can’t be tumble dried.
Plumbridge housewife, Cecilia Quinn, admitted she washed bedclothes that didn’t really need washed at all, having got caught up in the hysteria:
“It’s not often you get hurricanes in the Plum so we have to make the most of it. I’m not sure the line will hold out as I’ve 13 duffel coats on it as well most of the settee covers and curtains. This Ophelia better be good though I’ve saved a right few quid on the tumble dryer already.”
Locals have been warned to be on high alert when driving past heavy-loaded lines as underwear and blankets could come off the pegs and restrict vision. Perverts have also been told to stay away as heavy-duty knickers may be aired today as well and could become a choking hazard.
Meanwhile, Errigal Ciaran’s bid to have the game replayed because the hurricane stopped Peter Harte’s penalty has been rejected as the storm was near Portugal at the time.
The various current O’Neill family nicknames within the county are to be phased out and replaced with sub-clan names based on general physical characteristics.
The O’Neill Lineage and Genealogy Society have agreed that many of the current nicknames are either outdated or clouded in mystery as to their origin. They are to be re-classified on the 1st of October, categorised by location. O’Neill households are to receive official documentation within a fortnight, adding that there will be no appeal procedure for any disgruntled recipients.
The following list summarises the main changes:
O’Neills from Omagh, Plumbridge, Strabane, Dromore, Gortin and Fintona and any towns and villages west of these: The big-boned O’Neills. These O’Neills have a remarkably consistent characteristic across all families – they all have large behinds. We considered calling these clans ‘The Big-Arsed O’Neills‘ but considered that to be too crude for general consumption.
O’Neills from Carrickmore, Pomeroy, Greencastle, Galbally, Aughnacloy, Ballygawley and surrounding area: The Long-Nosed O’Neills. This breed have long, pointy faces and a matching oblong noses which makes them excellent tax-collectors or traffic wardens.
O’Neills from Dungannon, Donaghmore, Brackaville, Cookstown and Coalisland: The Square-Headed O’Neills. The O’Neills from this area have distinctive square heads, often causing difficult childbirths for O’Neill mothers. They are not to be confused with the oblong O’Neills just west of this area.
O’Neills from Ardboe, Moortown, Clonoe Parish, Moy: The Yellow O’Neills. These clans have a natural tanning during the summer, often caused by their tendency to sunbathe at the Lough shore. However, over the winter, their skin turns a remarkable yellow colour and are often wrongly diagnosed with jaundice despite being perfectly healthy. We considered naming them the Banana O’Neills but that threw up too many opportunities for people to poke fun at.
Any other O’Neills not covered by the above areas are to contact the O’Neill Society for re-classification as well as providing a photo for the same purpose.
Director Rian Johnson has refused to confirm or deny that some of the scenes for the upcoming instalment of the Star Wars series may be filmed in Balix Hill near Plumbridge despite rumours that the new film will be named ‘Star Wars 8 – The Battle of the Balixes’.
Balix, sometimes named Belix or Ballix, has long been touted as the perfect location for a Star Wars film such is the out-of-this-world atmosphere and the remarkable number of natural C-P3O and Chewbacca look-a-likes in the area.
Set designer Harry Devlin is confident that the Star Wars production van will be pulling into Plumbridge within a month:
“We need to get in there now before the holiday season begins and the throngs of tourists start to flood The Plum, Cranagh and Glenelly. We’ve already done a few runs to the area and are pleased to see hundreds of natural Chewbaccas to choose from at short notice, from both sexes. And in Balix Hill we have the ideal location for inter-galactic battles.”
This is not the first time that Balix Hill has captured the imagination of the world’s top film directors. In 1966, Sergio Leone apparently filmed over 400 hours of footage in the area for his masterpiece The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He admitted years later that he was forced to abandon filming and head to Rome and Madrid after failing to find anyone to play The Good despite hundreds of the other two roles readily available in the area.
Clint Eastwood however fell in love with the area and is often spotted during the winter months roaming about Glencoppogagh on his own with his trusty dog, Dog.
Despite filming 10 episodes over a period of three months, a BBC NI spokesman confirmed that they’ll not be airing the ‘Tyrone Apprentice’ series over concerns regarding their twist on the iconic ‘You’re Fired’ hand gesture.
Desperate not to simply mimic the successful Alan Sugar version which sees the millionaire point at the unlucky contested each week, the Tyrone Apprentice, filmed in an unused boiler room in Powerscreen, sees local millionaire Giuseppe Morgan fire a potential business partner every episode by raising his middle finger and shouting ‘You’re Fired, Lad’.
BBC NI reality TV spokesman John Corr admitted they were always troubled over the use of the offensive gesture:
“People today are still a bit PC up this part of the world. The middle finger on NI TV is maybe ahead of its time but we can’t afford to take the chance. We thought about using a tranquillizer dart or pellet gun but that brings up all matter of hurdles we’d have to jump, from appeasing the decommissioning crowd to medical cover. We’ve decide to scrap the show and show a rerun of Grimes and McKee Tractor Tour Show.”
Corr added that a couple of apprentice candidates reacted badly to the firing middle-finger gesture and clambered over the table to take swipes at Morgan, although simultaneously admitting it was excellent TV.
The middle finger has a long and illustrious history, dating back to Ancient times when the Greeks used it as a sign of intimidation. In the Red Hand county it is often observed as a term of affection, with many motorists and GAA umpires using it.
For the record, an aspiring business man from Pomeroy won the outright final after his business plan of a gay strip bar in Plumbridge earned Giuseppe Morgan’s financial affections.
The Castlederg Met Office have issued a BROWN warning tonight which indicates housewives and modern househusbands should get the clothes on the line overnight as it’ll be a deadly night for drying with Hurricane Abigail approaching.
Farmers are also urged to cut any overlooked hay as it’ll be bone dry in the morning and ready for lifting.
Strabane woman Nuala McIlhinney revealed she’ll have everything on the line tonight:
“I’d be a woman who doesn’t buy new undergarments that much so the stuff I wear wouldn’t be in great shape. I wouldn’t be seen dead hanging them out normally. But in pure darkness I can dry the whole lot in the West Tyrone air without a care in the world.”
Strabane Council have reminded people that the 10-pieces-of-underwear rule which exists in the town is now suspended following the BROWN warning.
Old people have been urged to stay indoors after five pensioners were reportedly spotted sailing through the air over Plumbridge around 6pm after coming out of bingo. One has landed already near Lissan.
Young people have also been warned not to make faces into the wind as they might stay like that.
To tumultuous applause and four wolf whistles, Greencastle man Dermie Devlins won his home club’s talent contest for the ninth consecutive year with his ‘Deadly Stare’ act which sees him stare at the judges for 4 minutes solid without blinking.
Despite stiff competition from a man from Plumbridge who can spin on his backside using a broom handle for manoeuvring and a woman with a moustache from Glenelly, Devlins took 98% of the vote from the audience in attendance, a new record despite no change in his act since his first victory in 2007.
Chief judge Jilly Kincon explained the result:
“Everyone knew who the class act in the field was. Devlins’ Deadly Stare really is deadly. He just stares like, for 4 minutes and doesn’t blink at all. It’s like a goat or the devil himself. Staring is not something any Tom, Dick or Harry can do. Well Dermie can.”
A small protest outside the clubrooms caused some disruption around midnight when friends and family of the Kildress entry refused to allow cars to leave until the judges were replaced and a new competition held. Their man, Kieran Molloy, who sang ‘Do You Want Yer Oul Lobby Washed Down‘ in Ulster Scots, received no votes.
Traffic was eventually allowed past when organisers agreed to buy a round for all Kildress supporters at the show.
An 88-year old Glenelly man, who claims to be the loneliest man on the planet, revealed that he hasn’t spoken to anyone since 1986 until this interview today.
As I made my may to the quaint ramshackle home of Peader Kearney’s under the shadow of Slieve McCreesh, I couldn’t help but notice how the temperature dramatically dropped the closer we got to the Sperrin Mountains. From a balmy 12 degrees in Plumbridge, we were now negotiating temperatures of minus 14 as the truck carely weaved its way up Kearney’s loanan in the heart of Glenelly.
Although we had arranged the meeting by phone the previous day, we had to knock on his door for 20 minutes before he opened it and greeted my cameraman and I with
‘What the fcuk do ye want?’
I was now face to face with ‘Glenelly Man’. Once inside, I was reminded of the pictures we looked at in our History books at the Christian Brothers’ School in Omagh of old shebeens in West Mayo around the turn of the 19th century. Some sticks were burning in the middle of the bare room as Peader delicately placed himself on a decrepid rocking chair, using a blunt pen knife to cut a small branch into what would surely be a sharp weapon. I asked him what he was doing, knowing full well he was preparing himself for catching some live food later in the day, maybe a salmon or small bear:
“Mind yer own fcukin business and I won’t be makin ye anything to ate either.”
Taking the opportunity to explore his surroundings as he worked on his spear-like killing machine, I couldn’t help but admire the idyllic lifestyle Kearney had embraced – away from electronic devices from mobile phones to microwaves.
A small stream quietly rippled along behind his back yard, its hushed tones in keeping with this little piece of paradise Kearney had embraced as his own. The unmistakeable sound of a corncrake warbled in the distance as rabbits and hares danced in unison on the north Tyrone horizon.
On returning to the house, Kearney was still in the same spot, still chipping away at the piece of wood which now resembled a small but lethal steel-sharp spear. Trying to find out what makes the man tick, I asked him if he missed talking and interacting with others – sharing experiences and deliberating over current affairs.
He looked me straight in the eye, grimaced slightly, scratched his beard and said:
“Shut the dur on the way out.”
As I pulled out of Kearney’s loanan, I knew I’d probably never see this great man again, a man at one with nature and himself. This instinct was confirmed when I saw Peader in the rear view mirror giving me the middle finger and shouting something before firing one of his tiny spears with pin-point accuracy at my tyre, bursting it instantly. I saw him smirk, offer another more modern hand gesture and slam his door shut.
I just drove on, smiling to myself that Peader Kearney had it all.
Following his high-profile departures from various soccer teams as a player or manager, as well as some media outlets, Roy Keane has added the 10am Mass at St Malachy’s in Woodbridge to his quitting list, labelling the Tyrone born priest Fr Quinn ‘a clown’.
Worshippers who sat near Keane during the service claim to have heard him muttering stuff throughout the readings and throw piercing stares at a 13-year old boy who sneezed three times during the Gospel.
Daily mass-goer Harold Burkin, who normally sits behind Keane on a Sunday, maintained the warning signs were there from the opening Introductory Rites:
“His stubble was unusually haggard and he had that deep furrowed brow look from the moment he knelt down for a few pre-mass prayers as he normally does. Two women were whispering away about last night’s X-Factor to his left and I heard him muttering something about the ‘blue-rinse brigade’ and ‘a pack of feckin donuts’. I knew something was going to blow.”
Keane appears to have walked out just after the Sign of Peace which involves worshippers shaking hands with anyone sitting close to them. Fr Quinn, who originally hails from Plumbridge in Co Tyrone, decided to shake hands with the first five rows as it was the first Sunday of Advent:
“He just stared at me but I continued to hold out my hand. But then he said ‘how are you in effing close proximity to me you effing clown – get back on your pulpit and do your job, clampit’. I admit I was sort of shaken by the incident and made a few mistakes thereafter. I’d completely forgot about the Prayers of the Faithful earlier and so tried to squeeze them in before Communion.’
Members of the congregation maintain Keane soon got up and mumbled something about ‘a bunch of amateurs’ and used the ‘effin clown’ words again.
The NI Anger Hotline have confirmed they received 492 calls from chastised husbands since Sunday after George Clooney confirmed he is to marry in Venice in a couple of weeks.
The 53-year old actor, who rivals Pope Francis, JFK and Paddy Heaney for room space on the mantelpieces in living rooms, was still considered an eligible bachelor by the majority of hopeful women in the county.
Tom Quinn, a Derrylaughan window fitter, fumed:
“Herself has been a bear since Clooney announced his intention to marry a girl in a fortnight. She’s snapping at everything and giving me dog’s abuse for even breathing. It’s a bit humiliating like. We’ve been married 14 years and she still thought she’d win him over by taking him to Derrylaughan for a feed and a few pints.”
Clooney, who once described Plumbridge as comparable to ‘roasting delicious white marshmallows‘, has been asked to reconsider his proposal by a couple of sisters in Clady:
“George’s head is cut. He’s marrying some oul blade who’s probably after his dough. What’s wrong with Clady women? Too good for them, Clooney? If he goes ahead with this then he’s just another selfish man and I’m destroying all my copies of ER and the Oceans films.”
PSNI have urged a bus load of Dungannon women not to travel to Venice to protest outside the ceremony. The 22-strong crowd have already booked a Chambers bus and plan to set out tomorrow with placards reading ‘Clooney, You’re Acting The Dick This Time’, ‘Don’t Do It George’ and ‘No Fracking Here’.
One of Tyrone’s most cherished songs has come under attack from other villages desperate to put their own mark in the music world.
The village of Pomeroy is facing increasing resentment that not only do they have their own special Diamond, but they also have their own song, renowned throughout the world. Other villages are now promoting songs about their villages and townlands, including the mournful ballad, ‘The Street Signs of Plumbridge’, a song about unrequited love and clear, unambiguous traffic signage.
Mickey Daly of Derbrough Road in Plumbridge told us,
“That Pomeroy song’s mince. What’s so special about their mountains, eh? Sure, do we not have a whole clatter of them in Tyrone? That’s why we’re promoting ‘The Street Signs of Plumbridge’. It’s an instant classic”.
He went on,
“It’s about a pair of two young star-crossed dreamers who meet by the river in Plumbridge for a romantic tryst, surrounded by
roads with excellent traffic calming measures. Once this gets out the recording studios’ll be fighting off Nathan and Malachi and Andrea and all that lot with a sharp stick. This is going to be the next ‘Fields of Athenry’”.
Daly said that an extract of two of the verses of the song relate to the timeless dance of young love, yet set in a modern and contemporary
We met upon Glenelly bridge where cars reduce their power
They’re not allow’d to travel more than twenty miles an hour.
With stars above I begged for love, your embrace I did beseech
You updated Facebook, texted friends and soft did slur your speech.
With golden hair and winsome glance, your gentle form divine
You kiss’d me whilst the curlews sang beneath the Give Way sign.
My eyes did close in sweet delight when your lips on mine did linger
And only open’d in surprise at where you’d put your finger.
The final verse reflects on the sorrow of loneliness and of unreciprocated desire: –
We parted by the traffic lights and true I shed a tear
I’d had my heart so pierced with love, you’d had four cans of beer.
You captivated all my heart, my soul you did bewitch
Tho’ none can hold a candle to the street signs of Plumbridge.
Rumours surfaced last night that Hugo Duncan may have agreed to record another new local song, entitled, ‘The Pawn Shops of Strabane’.
Plumbridge clergyman Fr Butler, nicknamed ‘The Plum’s Prosperous Priest’, has admitted he can’t go past a shop without buying something shiny or golden but has vowed to say longer masses to make up for his lavish spending.
Parish accountant Jack Spratt reckons Fr Butler, who boasts a fleet of Citroen Dyanes and three Saudi Abrabian crowns, has spent almost £1.2m in the last 15 years, mostly the takings from Sunday collections and tenners given to him at weddings or christenings. Also amongst his possessions is a private plane with a Lithuanian pilot and two chairs made from Indian horses.
Butler admitted he might seek treatment for his monetary addiction:
“It’s a terrible affliction. When I was being handed a fiver or tenner after a funeral all I could think about was going into Omagh and buying something shiny like a chain for around me neck or maybe golden tips for my laces. Then ten pounds would lead to me taking the whole of the weekend’s collections and going out to an auction in Cookstown and buying all manner of second-hand shiny stuff like hefty medallions or golden chalices for the house. I was out of control.”
Concerns were raised about Fr Butler’s spending when a school trip to his house revealed the extent of his shopping habits. Master McGrath, principal of Plumbridge Academy, told us:
“I was dumbstruck. House? More like a 5-star hotel. On entering his abode I noticed all the door knobs were made of solid African gold and hanging from the ceilings were the most extravagant Brazilian chandeliers you’ll ever see. It was like a scene out of Dynasty. What came next was a real eye-opener. Fr Butler was sitting at a golden table, wearing a shiny crown made of sparkling jewels as well as a sparkling cloak and his maid was feeding him Jamaican grapes from a massive glittery silver spoon. All he gave the children was a packet of crisps and a Tip Top mineral with straw.”
The shamed clergyman has vowed to make it up to his flock by saying extra long masses and handing out shorter penances after confessions.
A new restaurant recently opened in Dungannon has denied accusations that it has been serving up animals killed by traffic on the nearby motorway.
‘McGlone’s Dead-Tasty Restaurant’ in Irish Street, which was opened only two weeks ago by former slaughterhouse worker Eugene McGlone with the slogan, ‘Fresh Meat, Straight From The Grill’, prompted a series of complaints to the Foods Standards Agency about the source of many of the ingredients.
Angry diner Damian Gormley from Plumbridge fumed:
“It says on their website, ‘Come in and enjoy our great food, just off the M1’. Now I know exactly what it means. Scraped off the bloody M1, that’s what. The hoors. I wouldn’t go back in there if you paid me. The menu’s a disgrace. Shepherd’s Pie my arse. More like German Shepherd’s Pie”.
Diners became suspicious after finding that nearly all the main course dishes were peculiarly flat, including, ‘Eugene’s Four-Meat Omelette’, ‘Protein Pizza Platter’, and ‘Begley’s Big Meaty Pancake’, a dish comprising what appeared to be a number of different types of unspecified meat.
Another unhappy customer Liz McGee from Ballygawley said,
“Jays, you could practically smell the engine oil off the food. It gave me the heave. If that McGlone thinks I’m going to put his ‘Meaty Waffles’ anywhere my mouth, he can think on. Anyone who seems to take Toad In The Hole literally is in the wrong game. I tried complaining, but the music was so loud you couldn’t hear a thing. The menu said that they serve up ‘bumper portions’. Now I know what it means”.
McGlone however refused to be drawn about the source of his food.
“All I’ll say is that we’re very aware of the importance of sustainability and the environment and suchlike. That’s why all of our food is local, from within 10 miles. Or 20 if you go as far as the M12 to Cookstown. Some of them lorries are going deadly fast”.
McGlone also denied that the background music was turned up loud to drown out the sound of diners retching.
Rumours also surfaced that McGlone was spotted last Thursday night standing on the side of the M1 near Moygashel with a pepper grinder, a spade, and a hopeful look on his face.
The thieving community across the county last night said it was in crisis as the ever-increasing demands of health and safety tookits toll on the criminal fraternity.
Gang leaders claim that they are getting so many compensation claims in from gang members who have injured themselves that they have no alternative but to insist on taking adequate health and safety measures.
“It’s tara boys”, said Kieran, a crook from Fintona. “In the olden days you could steal a whole lock of cattle in a couple of hours and still be in time for last orders. Now I’m not allowed to do it unless I’ve done a two-week course in feckin’ animal husbandry. What’s that all about? It’s almost enough to force you into an honest living”.
But master-thieves were quick to point out they were merely reacting to changes in society. Bill Fagin, the head villain of a gang of thieves from ‘somewhere near the Dooish mountain’, said,
“It’s not our fault. It’s the claims culture. I’m getting demands for compensation left, right and centre. I’ve one boy who’s claiming five grand for having made him ‘allergic to the dark’, and another claiming the same amount after the eejit swallowed nearly a litre of red diesel when he was siphoning it out of a digger near Glenelly, and had to have his stomach pumped. That’s why we now give them manual handling training on how to lift a stolen plasma TV. They might hurt their backs and make a claim. Some handlin’. Literally”.
He went on,
“We can’t have them boys stumbling about in the dark on a remote farm in Killyman or somewhere when they’re trying to steal a lorry. They might bump into something and injure themselves. That’s why they need to wear the hi-viz jackets. And put up floodlighting. Or even better, come back and do it in the daylight. Safety first boys, safety first”.
But most thieves have condemned the actions as being over the top, and for compromising their chances of a clean getaway.
“We had one boy breaking in through the first floor window of a factory in Lissan last week”, confided Hugh, a swindler from Tattyreagh. “But he took so long filling out his ‘Working at Height’ form and putting up scaffolding that he got caught. Jaysus, in the good old days we just climbed up the drainpipe”.
Fully-qualified thief Declan from Plumbridge, was resigned to the changes.
“Aye, I suppose now I’m all trained up I won’t injure myself. I was breaking and entering into a big house in Donaghmore last month and although the risk assessments took over an hour to complete, at least I knew I’d be safe”,
he said, before being led back to his prison cell to complete a two-year sentence.
Figures released by the PSNI last week confirmed that despite over 300 cattle have been stolen from the South Tyrone area since 2012, no arrests have been made.
Defending their record, DI Sean Robertson said,
“Listen. We’re up to our necks giving out parking tickets, and we’ve all this cattle theft to sort out as well. We’ve been told there’s 300 cattle been stolen. Well, we’ve not found a single one. Maybe they’ve got it wrong. Do they mean kettles?”
Robertson also explained the challenges some of his officers have had identifying cattle.
“Understand that some of these officers come from huge towns like Aughnacloy or Moygashel. They’ve rarely been out in the country, poor lads. Some of them don’t know what a cow looks like. And it’s easy. Cows is the ones that look like wee fluffy white clouds. Aren’t they? Or is that pigs?”
Responding to the criticism, Constable Ivor McDowell said,
“Where do you hide 300 cows? We’ve seen pictures and they’re enormous. We’ve been sent to butcher shops to see if we can find what might have happened to them, but it’s a waste of time. The only thing in them butcher shops is massive big pieces of meat and stuff. There’s no way you could hide a cow in there. It’s pointless. And anyway, you’d need an awful lot of milk for them to drink, wouldn’t you?”
Officers are also working on a theory that the cattle weren’t stolen at all, but instead that the cows might be playing a game of hide and seek with police.
“If that’s the case, wasting police time is a grave offence and can come with a custodial sentence”, said a stern Robertson. “If we find out that these cow things are deliberately giving us the run around, Jaysus, we’ll take the legs out from under them. Both of them. Or have they got four legs?”
In a separate incident, three cows were arrested last night in a field near Plumbridge for ‘urinating in a public place’.
A recording-breaking episode of Countdown will be televised next month after it was revealed Paddy Hunter, from the Gortin Road in Plumbridge, beat Shirley Moore, from the Plumbridge Road in Gortin, 2-0 after 15 rounds. The low scoring game shattered previous records with reports of booing and mass walkouts during the 30-min Channel Four show. Studio producer Simon Grey reckons the episode will live long in his memory:
“It started badly when the presenter’s name was announced – Nick Hewer. The two contestants giggled at the name ‘Hewer’ for the first three rounds. For the first numbers round they were given 50, 100, 1, 3 and 2 and were told to make 156 – possibly the easiest calculation ever. Hunter came out with ‘four million’ whilst Moore announced ‘it’s a trick question – it can’t be done’. It went downhill after that.”
Hunter finally got off the mark when both contestants were given the letters d, a, n, g, e, r, o, u, s. Hunter proudly exclaimed ‘us’ whereas Moore again reckoned it was a trick question. The Plumbridge man celebrated his 2 points by roaring “you’re on your own ye boy ye, yeehaa”.
Grey reckons dialectal differences may have been to blame:
“Susie Dent, the dictionary girl, wouldn’t allow a succession of words such as ‘clift’, ‘cowp’, ‘feck’, ‘gobshite’, ‘the-marra’, ‘wheesht’ and ‘budley’. Then we had Hunter making lewd remarks to the letters girl Rachel Riley. The PSNI have reassured us that he’s not to come within 30 miles of her.”
The final Countdown Conundrum also wasn’t solved. EVILDREAD was meant to be revealed as DAREDEVIL. Hunter buzzed in after three seconds with “381” before shouting “EVILDREAD”. Moore simply shook her head, refusing to believe it could be solved at all.
The episode will be televised on November 31st. Producers are considering using Hunter’s successful practice round answer ‘arse’ to take the bad look off things.
The recent spike in petrol and diesel costs have witnessed new and mostly unsuccessful ways to travel from A to B in the county. Just last week, our cameras witnessed one man from Coalisland spend £120 filling his Datsun Sunny before pushing his motor into Roughan Lough in disgust. Jackie Carr, a 70 year old plasterer, almost made his way to do a job in Donaghmore later in the day using an inventive mode of transport:
“I’m not spending any more of my dole/work money on petrol but I’m too old to walk any distance. So I got an old ironing board and tied two hungry labradors to the front of it. I then asked my grandson to run ahead of the dogs with a couple of raw rump steaks hanging out of his back pockets whilst I sat on the ironing board. We got as far as Newmills before the dogs caught up with the lad and near ate the arse clane off him. To be honest the ironing board was in bad shape by then anyway. The sparks were annoying motorists behind. Back to the drawing board for me.”
Other unsuccessful attempts to avoid the rising cost of fuel saw a teacher from Augher jump the whole distance to Fivemiletown until exhaustion set in halfway down Clogher Main Street and a sales rep from Glenelly float in a bucket down the Glenelly River to his office in Plumbridge before being capsized by a big shoal of salmon.
The rising number of horses parked outside the Ulster Herald offices in Omagh suggests all is not lost. One journalists, nicknamed ‘McSherry’, said he’s never felt freer:
“I rent a mare from a boy in Stewartstown and it’s working out rightly. There’s no better feeling than galloping through Pomeroy and Carrickmore with the wind in yer hair and my laptop flung over me shoulder, sticking two fingers up at the motorists and their dear diesel. Picking up the manure is a bit of a handlin but sure it’s swings and roundabouts. I think it’s a horse anyway.”
It has emerged that a Gortin taxi washer, Ian Coyne (62), almost succeeded in selling his wife of 40 years to Liverpool Soccer Club for £2.8m three hours before the deadline for accepting new players yesterday. Sources have confirmed that the deal was only scuppered after she turned up for the medical and Liverpool discovered she was a 61-year old Plumbridge woman with a plastic hip, severe arthritis in both legs and a pacemaker in place.
Liverpool director of transfers, Kenneth Dogleash, admitted it sounded too good to be true:
“Yes, it seemed like all our Christmases had arrived at once. This boy with a fierce Irish accent rang us and said he had an offer to make us about a player called ‘Ouldoll’. We had been on the look-out for a cheap striker to act as cover for Sturridge and Suarez so this was a dream come true. He said his ‘client’ was a real battle axe, causing havoc wherever they went. He said Ouldoll was good up front for their age and had a powerful kick on them when angered. He added that his client had become an expert dribbler in recent years and had scored in every town in Ireland in their younger days. We settled on £2.8m”.
With a deal thrashed out, Jenny Coyne boarded this first plane at Belfast International Airport, thinking her husband had booked her in for a week’s health spa session in Liverpool:
“It wasn’t until I was met at the other side by three men in suits that I began to think that all wasn’t right. They kept giving me strange looks in the car. Why they put me through that fitness test I don’t know. The hip was squeaking like mad on that treadmill. The weights were easy though. This nice young man called Brendan Rodgers came in and said the deal was off but that I should keep my head down and work hard. I was a bit confused and gave him a hard boiled sweet but I took it off him and clipped him around the ear when he said ‘thanks oul doll’.”
It appears that this was Coyne’s second attempt at offloading his wife after trying to sell her on The Antiques Road Show in 1999.