Against the Clock

Against the Clock ©

By Michael Casey

I’ve not tried this before, honest, trust me I’m a concierge, or so I was, it’s almost 12 years since I started there. I got a new job on the Monday and my dad died on the Saturday.  Now I don’t need to cry any more, what I really was going to say is that I’m going to try and write a new story before Midnight. Then my time is up. Its 11.05 pm now, on your marks get set go.

Stories have a life of their own, you start somewhere then the wind blows you somewhere else. We’ve just watched Pirates of the Caribbean ,  so that was all about tides, and as  we all know Time and Tide does not wait for no man. Work expands to fit the time available, that’s a law of economics, my brother did do economics, he told me that once, so it must be true.  I past that gem on to my daughter so she uses her time on the computer quickly and effectively. She will take all night if I allow it, time management is a very important lesson to learn in my book.

My Latin teacher Mr Procter used to tell us to do 40mins translation as homework.  However   as Latin is so hard, I always did 90mins, to pretend I only did 40 mins.  Time is a strange thing,   if you are waiting time does drag, if you are enjoying yourself it does pass quicker. A concierge will enjoy conversation with all comers, but part of the concierge role is to fill time while guests are waiting for friends or taxis. And to know when to shut up when guests’ friends arrive.

I still believe that my life has not begun, I’m 55 now with a wife who looks 25, she’s a Shanghai girl, and our bilingual daughters are 10 and 12. I want a book tour and my stories on the radio everywhere,  then I’ll think my life has begun. Yes, I may be in my box with pennies on my eyes before that happens, but I’ll keep on trying.

You cannot beat the clock, life is what it is and what will be will be, or should I say Que Sera Sera, films are a great way to pass the time. We watch so many in our house, my daughters will work in film is some way.  Film reviewers or writers or costume makers  or all of the above. In the advert breaks we discuss this and that in the film. Tonight it was music in Pirates of the Caribbean, not a deep intellectual conversation, they are 10 and 12 after all, but how music works in film. Both daughters are in the choir and have piano lessons, one daughter is doing a Deans award. So they do already know about the beauty and skill in music, thanks to Betty their 84 year old  music teacher.

How you use the time you have is important too, yes there can be fallow times, but quiet times do recharge the batteries.  Then once the starter’s gun goes you can have a vast outpouring of creativity, ask any musician. Churchill had his wilderness year, but he did make up for it.

We all work at different rates, at different skill levels. Some may be chefs with amazing knowledge and skill,  I did pass through the kitchen on my security patrols when at CPNEC Birmingham. I did get to talk to the lads too, and best of all taste their food. So chefs are gods, even if I tease them, they told me they lived on biscuits and never cooked at home.  A chef will prepare for hours so that we can enjoy an almost sexual experience, closing our eyes and consuming or consummating food.

Life is short and we may not get the time to enjoy a friendship, somebody you only spoke to only a few times, and then they were gone, or job changes meant you never spoke again.  I have a friend I have not seen in years as our paths diverged, but if ever we stumble over each other again, I know it will be a great Stella Artois occasion. Another friend has been a friend for 44 years, and perhaps I don’t appreciate how lucky I am to have this friend. He’ll groan if he ever reads this.

Life and time and friends are precious, you can meet old friends and the conversation continues, as if it’s just two seconds since you last spoke. That’s why it’s so important to enjoy the moment, don’t waste time on negative emotions, you owe me 2 quid from 10 years ago, so I hate you. I got a load of grief from a kid in school for a full year. Why? Because I beat him by 9 points when all of us added all  the exam results up to work out who was top of the class. How petty can you be?  I could reveal  horrible  facts about him, but I won’t waste my breath or spit as they say in China.

I’m looking at the clock now 45 mins to reach here. So I’ll read from the top and think of an ending. Well to end in 5 minutes, what shall I say. Use the clock don’t fight against it, I was able to visit my dad for 1 hour before work, every working day, and then go to work. This was great use of time.

 I also spent years talking to him when I lived at home and when I’d left home. I’d come for the dinner and then go home. Some call this quality time, or even multitasking. I just know that I loved him, we were more like brothers. And that is the greatest use of anybody’s time. Spend time loving your parents. It was  the Feast of the Holy Family today, and time with family  is the greatest use of time, and its Midnight now.

Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty ©

By

Michael Casey

Sleep is a great thing, it’s a form of food, an hour before twelve is better than 2 after. We all recite this as we encourage our kids to go to bed, and then  again in the morning when they cannot get out of bed. Sleep is good, it’s a bear necessity, just ask  Baloo from the Jungle Book. With a good night’s rest we can face any dawn.

Lack of sleep makes us very grouchy without any Marx, it leaves bad marks on our day, on all our interactions, we are not fully switched on. So a good night’s rest is better than any medicine. So how do you get ready for bed? Some say exercise before bedtime makes us tired so that we fall asleep quickly.

Switch all those gadgets OFF, don’t fill our mind with rubbish, or work, or anything. Perhaps we should all listen to the Book at Bedtime. Or a bit of passion to wear us out before bedtime.  A cup of cocoa  or any other metaphor,  or just the real thing, a cup of cocoa, or ovaltine, whatever warm drink you prefer.

So you are all ready for bed, then you must have a cosy bed to lie in. Soft pillows and enough blankets. When I grew up duvets were not invented,  yes we did have one eiderdown in the whole house, buy blankets were king. In winter we’d all have 5 or 6 blankets, and they were so heavy, you could hardly breathe.

Then there was no central heating either, a sheet of ice would be on the windows in the morning. Double glazing had not been invented either. And if you wanted the toilet in the night, you would have to go outside.

A bed would have rubbish mattresses on them, nothing compared to today. And they were all stripy as were the pillows,  like prison issue, black and white stripes. I did treat myself to a nice bed and mattress when I moved home, and  a duvet too. Becoming middle class I supposed.

Once in bed sleep leads to dreams, your own private cinema in your head, though Salvador Dali seems to be the projectionist. Strange dreams, nice dreams and nightmares too, my latest dream had me teaching again, I don’t know what classification of dream that is. Though using my books as teaching tools is a kind of dream I now having, a waking dream, a hope.

You wake up and then you cannot get back to the same dream, or when you awake you forget the dream. Why do we forget dreams, is it a rule, a law of bedtime, only Peter Pan can remember dreams, he is a dream pirate.

If you are very lucky you sleep through the night, and awake refreshed, I wonder is this a rarity in today’s world. Shifts and stuff challenge the natural rhythm, we get up in the dark and go to work. Cave men only lived in daylight, they followed nature.

One job I had was the graveyard shift, 6pm to 2.30am, I’d wake up my taxi driver and then get home by 3am, I’d never be in bed till 4am. Though I did discover that this time aided reproduction. It took me 3 months to deprogram  my body so I slept when I went to bed  and not stay awake for hours till 4am chimed. Though I then automatically woke up at 4am instead.

Sleep and a good bed are essential, it’s what makes us civilised, and children of all ages just love bouncing on beds. Watching a child’s joy as they count the bounces on a new mattress is such a great thing. So tonight when you go to bed and before you snuggle down like Baloo the bear, just do one thing for me, bounce on your bed.

2013 Report Card

2013 Report Card ©

By Michael Casey

Well this may be my last piece of writing for 2013, so I may as well copy everybody else and write a report card. This year has been the most painful in my life, Arthritis came a calling. I did hurt my back a few years ago then at intervals I had back pain.  One period resulted in me being confined to bed for a week and screaming a lot, so the neighbours wondered why.

This year in March my left thigh hurt, it didn’t get better. Finally after 2 Xrays all was revealed, I had a hip problem and 2 “thingys” at the bottom of my back weren’t having much fun either. Then I saw a surgeon, Arthritis and hip replacement were mentioned. In the end I had a cortisone injection which should look after the pain for a year.

Arthritis is a bastard though, you have it here and you  have it there, you cannot sleep on this side or that side and then you get pain somewhere else as you are sleeping in a new funny position. Then there are the painkillers. My mother had arthritis, she had buckets of pain killers which she never took, just stockpiled over the pantry door. Very occasionally she gave in and had a pill.

I’ve decided not to have any painkillers, as they’d just destroy my organs and I’d turn into Michael Jackson. So I wait till the pain almost makes me scream, and then I squirt gel and rub that in. Kicks in in about 5 mins.

Arthritis is as unpredictable as the weather, so my hip may not hurt but it’s the turn of someplace else to hurt, back or shoulder or any other joint. Speaking of joints I heard that some people use joints for pain relief, I never have or would as I hate smoke of any kind. I am an Arthritis Virgin compared to some of the people I have met, so I hope if any of you read this you may understand just what your Nan or teacher or old Mr Jones in the street is going through.

2013 saw Facebook die on me, I may have upset MZ, or I think I was hacked, as my location was North South East West and any other place, where I never have been, I was even in Westminster Hall, and outside Downing St, and in USA, at Palo Alto where all the Tech companies live, I was even in the White House. So were Assad and North Korea’s boy trying to find me and my ISP hiding me. It also had the wrong browser when I checked my details on FB. So this Panzi, this Fat Fat Boy, as is my Chinese nickname, what my wife calls me to her mother, is dead to Facebook.

LinkedIn is useful for making connections, so I’m trying that, I’m waiting to meet my big business partner. My writing can be used for a variety of things. You can just read and laugh. Or you can use my stuff to teach English as a 2^nd language, I was an Esol teacher, 2 excellents and an exemplary, yes really. You could even use my writing to teach customer service, I was a concierge in a 4star business hotel for 3 years.

So 2013 has been a game of two halves, pain and hope. Sounds like some bondage game, and no I’ll leave that to Dr Who, if you have seen the Christmas show. You must always put pain to one side and enjoy life as best you can. So long as I can type then Arthritis will never win. I’m able to bore, irritate my readers, well just the DT ones. The others I hope enjoy the tales I tell.

2013 saw me spend more time with my daughters, as a housfrau, making more of their meals, as my wife worked more. For my daughters a change from rice with everything was a small blessing. Shanghai/Birmingham blood means they follow Chinese diet 90% of the time. As well as food there is TV.

Sharing TV favourites with your daughters is great, it’s a bonding experience. Though schoolwork comes first and TV second. We enjoy films together too, so if they become 21^st Century Barry Normans I will be happy. Though some Disney shows are dire, with a really horrible laughter track, does Disney know laughter tracks are hated in UK, ok, maybe just by me.

Getting daughters to spent less than an hour in the shower, as you scream through the door. “ The Electric Bill, The Electric Bill” Just like Kenneth William in a Carry On film. This is one of the many things you learn as a housfrau. That and going out to get them chocolate or chips from the corner shops, if you cannot buy your daughters these things then you don’t really love them. That’s how daughters “blackmail” dads, and no dad would want it any other way.

So how should I finish my 2013 Report Card?  Love your daughters love them lots, and then they’ll visit you often in the old peoples home, and then they will bring you, chocolate and chips. Happy 2014 everybody.

Serendipity

Serendipity ©

By

Michael Casey

Serendipity is a tricky word to spell, especially if you are tired and your back aches, but serendipity IS part of my life. How I got my first job in computers when they were a new thing, that was serendipity, my brother said “try computers” and I applied for one job and then hey presto I had 22 good years earning good money.

My mother’s death was unexpected and how our dad survived his major heart attack 8 weeks later was miraculous in the words of the priest. Though dad did stay 12 weeks in hospital and was given just a week to live and they would not revive him if he had another heart attack. However I do know how to pray, I wrote all about it in Padre Pio and Me.

The serendipity bit was meeting my wife in the old people’s home, and dad did live long enough to see us wed and to hold our daughter in his arms. So I do love serendipity. It is part of my life.

Discovering writing and the fact that I could write was serendipity again, however finding publishers/producers is the hard bit, writing IS easy, selling your stuff, now that is next to impossible. Though today I’ve gone through the 13,000 views mark for a post on funny or die. So 22^nd Dec 2013 is a red letter day.

I’ve been writing short pieces of writing for a few years now, which means I have 500 plus shorts, which are funny in themselves, and those which are not comic pieces are interesting and intelligent. So I’ve made collections of them on Amazon Kindle,  I have six books in total. I could finish Tears for a Butcher my 7^th book, that would take the whole of 2014 to do, in fact the 1^st chapter is on funny or die and it’s that which has earned 13,000 views.

So what I need next is some serendipity to help sell my books of shorts. I have recorded 127 short stories, 6 hours 50 mins,  and put them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  As I was an Esol teacher I know students of English would enjoy some light reading, so a book with a cd and a translation would work. So students Listen, Read and Learn English with Michael Casey, you could have a translation on the facing page in Spanish/Chinese/Arabic/Urdu/Korean/Japanese or whatever.

So this is my new angle to sell my stories, I have a comic tale about Santa on my site, perfect for Xmas 2013. I have made a lot of new connections on Linkedin and my hope is that some of them give British humour a try.

I have in fact stumbled on the perfect partner and I hoped they agree and get back to me after the holidays. What attracted you to your wife? Was it her looks and curves? If it was, then you are stupid, because looks fad, laughter lasts. Me, my wife made me laugh, yes she does look like a model, far prettier than a model, but that’s not why I married her. She made me laugh, when we first met, she was in disguise if you like, her pretty was hidden as she said to me. See photos at the end of this piece.

Chance and Luck do play a part in our lives, if I was a lazy unloving son, I would not have met my wife. I visited my dad every single day for 3 years, only then did I meet the future Mrs Casey.

Mark at work once said I was  good stumbler and I suppose I am, but being able to improvise is a good gift too. Wait till you have your kids then you’ll soon learn to be quick thinking, you need eyes in the back of your head to watch for potential danger. Then you need a cot and a playpen and all the other baby stuff.  Luckily for me, my brother had kept all the baby stuff so I kind of inherited it.

As a writer I’ve written about all the stuff we all do with our kids, but hopefully in a really amusing way, so I know everybody who reads my stuff can connect to what I’m writing about. A modern Shanghai/Birmingham Adams family if you like. Some themes are international and eternal, so that when you read and listen to the stories they make you smile and you enjoy learning English, it’s not a chore.

Now all I need is a bit more Serendipity and Bob’s your Uncle, though that phrase may confuse some English students.

The Twelve Days of Christmas in one day? by Michael Casey (c)

The Twelve days of christmas
12pints of Stella Artois
11 bags of crisps
10 packets of peanuts
9  indian currys
8 kebabs
7 fish and chips
6 bottles of cola
5 packets of mints to hide your breath from the wife
4 missed phone calls
3 fallings over
2 bangs on your head
1 unconscious all christmas day in your bed
Merry Christmas Everybody and a Peaceful New Year
michaelgcasey.wordpress.com
michaelgcasey.typepad.com
6 books on Amazon Kindle perfect for hangovers

I want to be on the radio a love stort

I want to be on the radio©

By Michael Casey

Michael was security guard at AllUWant  chain store, he’d been there a number of years, he enjoyed meeting people and helping out. Occasionally he’d have to run when a thief came a visiting, he was not very good at running as he was big, or fat if you want the truth. But he was good at improvising,  he always had a plastic carrier with him. So if a thief came he soon knocked them to the ground, he was a good shot, so he threw the plastic carrier at them. A thief cannot run if his legs are inside a carrier.

So Michael was held in high regard by the owner, the Old Forge and Singing Anvil store had the lowest theft rates in the whole of England. So everybody was happy, but Michael harboured a dream, he wanted to be a radio star. Well not a star, he just wanted a quiet corner to read out his stories, he’d been writing a long time, but nobody knew, apart from the girl at the stationary store where he bought his paper and ink. He’d shown her his stuff and she was his number one fan, if only he’d ask her out, she fancied him something rotten. 

www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com was his site and he’d recorded his stories there.

Doris would lay on her bed and listen to Michael reading his stories, he had 500 of them, she just wished he was lying on the bed next to her. Doris wanted Michael but she was too shy to say. She promised herself that one day she pluck up the courage to tell him

Michael had had a busy day and he’d caught 3 thieves, a family in fact. Sgt. Mulholland had taken them away with a smile. He’d have them playing chess against him while they were in the cells. Michael had managed to bang his head while he captured the thieves, a little blood was running down into his eyes.

Doris had been visiting  AllUWant when she saw the bulk of Michael, her heart skipped a beat, she noticed the blood trickling down into his eyes. Her maternal instincts kicked in, she ran towards him and grabbed him by the arm.

“Michael, you are wounded, let me take a look at that,” she said as she looked into his eyes. She took out her hanky and spat in it, then like a mother she wiped the blood away.

“This looks bad, you need to apply pressure and then put a bandage on,” she chided him. Then taking his hand in hers she led him to the first aid point. Her heart beat more, his heart beat more. Had it taken a beating about the head, for the drumbeat of love to be heard.  They made their way to the office.

“Here sit on the desk and I’ll apply pressure she said,” as she pushed him back on the desk. That push would change both their lives. For accidentally she had switched the tannoy on, the whole of AllUWant would hear everything.

“Let me look at that wound, just apply pressure then I’ll put a bandage on,” she cooed.

“You are really gentle, you’ll make a great mum someday,” replied Michael.

She pushed too much on the wound.

“Oow, “ that hurts screamed Michael, his screams echoing around AllUWant.

“Sorry, but I’d need a boyfriend before I could be a mum,” replied Doris as she looked deep into his eyes.

“I assumed you had one already, I mean you’re a big girl,” observed Michael.

“You saying I’m Fat?” asked Doris indignantly.

“ No, you’re perfect, I mean, I think you’re perfect,” replied Michael starting to blush.

“ I think you’re perfect too, when I listen to your stories on the computer while I lay on my bed at night, I think it would be so much better if you were on the bed besides me. The real thing, and not just a voice on the computer,” replied Doris

Cheers echoed through AllUWant, people had stopped to listen and enjoy an unfolding love story.

“Tell us one of your stories,” pleaded Doris. She had decided, he was going to be hers, she would be a mum, and he would be the dad.

“Which one?” asked Michael his heart beat going faster.  He looked at her and she looked at him, they twinkled even, twinkling said it all. It was like a comet across the night sky.

Michael told a tale or three, people in AllUWant listened, he really was a good storyteller, he actually wrote stories and could tell them so well. The tannoy echoed. Michael and Doris were in love, the urge was upon them.

“Kiss me,” whispered Doris.

“Kiss you where?” whispered Michael.

The whole store looked up to the first aid office, they could see Michael and Doris kissing. They could hear the heavy breathing too, this was true love.

Roger had been on car park patrol, he had a megaphone in his hand. He watched and listened from the store floor, just by the toilet rolls.

“Michael if you and Doris are going to make love, please turn off the tannoy first,” he laughed through the megaphone.

Doris slowly switched off the tannoy, she had Michael where she wanted him.

The next day Michael was summoned to the office, it must be the sack nothing else. Doris was by his side, she’d tell them it was all her fault, it was the urge and so on. Mr Blair was there, things didn’t look good.

“I heard about yesterday, and I only have one thing to say,” began Mr Blair.

“It’s all my fault Mr Blair, I just realised how much I love Michael  I’ve been listening to his stories for months, all 500+ of them.  Every night hearing his voice as I lay naked on my bed. It’s too much, a girl can only take so much, nature is nature,” explained Doris.

Michael realised he may have lost his job, but he had got something better in exchange, he had got Doris, or rather she had him.

“Michael, get a room, in fact just get married, I’m giving you 2 weeks off, I have this cottage in the Virgin Islands, your honeymoon will be there, but don’t make too much noise, Richard Branson is a neighbour,” ordered Mr Blair.

“That’s so generous,” gushed Doris.

“When you come back Michael, there will be changes. I want you to record all 500+ of your stories, we had feedback from the shoppers, they all want to buy copies of your stories, and AllUWant always gives shoppers AllTHEYWant,”  declared Mr Blair.

So Michael and Doris went to the Virgin Islands for their honeymoon, and as they lay naked on their marriage bed, Michael told Doris stories, lots of stories 500 times over.

Santa's stuck up the chimney

Santa is stuck up the chimney ©

By Michael Casey

There’s a noise upstairs, so I push the wife forward, while I watch her back. She grabs here cleavers on the way up the stairs, one Shanghai wife two meat cleavers. She stamps her feet to make noise to frighten the intruder, or is it to boast her courage.

Meanwhile I switch off Phoenix TV and a Date with LuLu, I want to watch the BBC news instead. Upstairs I can hear a scuffle, then a whoosh, 9 reindeer appear at the bottom of out stairs. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Quickly followed by Santa sitting in his sleigh, with Jing Jie sitting besides him.

I’ll bring your wife a new set of German knives for Christmas says Santa, the Zwilling J.A. Henckels ones, with the picture of the two men on. So smiling JJ sits down and switches back to Phoenix. So I have to play host to Santa.

I get Santa  a cup of  green tea with brown sugar in it, as I mention brown sugar Santa starts to dance, he’s a very old Rolling Stones fan. He got Charlie Watts a new drum kit ten years ago, Charlie had worn it out with too much Jazz. Santa just adores Jazz too. Keith Richards got an Atomic Rooster pace maker, how else could he do the 50^th anniversary shows.

Mick Jagger got a re-tread for his lips, and some new knicker elastic, with all his moves he needed it. The other one, he got a Donny Osmond album, his musical tastes are mind blowing eclectic after all,  just listen to his show if you don’t believe me.

As Santa enjoyed his tea the reindeer grazed on our carpet, we hope to replace it soon, so I wasn’t too annoyed. Besides if we move the glass table it’ll hide the bare patches, won’t it?

Santa looked around casually, “I know what you really want” he said. I nodded “ a new house.” I cannot promise anything said Santa, it is Friday the 13^th after all, maybe a dolls house for your daughter.” I laughed and  drunk my own green tea.

Jing Jie was laughing, Mr Zhou the comedian was on Phoenix, I laughed too, his body language is so funny, no need to understand Mandarin. Santa and the reindeer fell over on the floor laughing, they do of course know Mandarin. It’s the way Mr Zhou tells them, he may have watched a Frank Carson video in the past.

So I asked Santa what he was doing in our loft. Birmingham is so nice nowadays was the reply, the reindeer wanted to eat the plants from the roof of the new library. That’s the real reason the roof top gardens were added, the architect is a friend of Santa’s.

So if you want a visit from Santa make sure you have a plant or two growing on your windowsill, the reindeer do of course adore poinsettia. The reason why poinsettia is red is because Rudolph had an accident and it changed the plant forever, so blame Rudolph.

But why our house Santa? It was the sounds of carols being sung by my daughters, reindeer are attracted to carols, they home in on them. As the girls are in a choir and practice, not to mention Capital radio being on too. It was too much for the reindeer, they fell out of the sky into our house.

So I gave Santa more green tea with brown sugar, as for the reindeer they continued to graze on the carpet. I think I’ll have to move to sofa to cover the bare patch. My wife continued to laugh with Mr Zhou, the reindeer and Santa chuckled too.

It was nearly time for Santa and the reindeer to go, they had to visit a few lonely churches to cheer up the clergy, would people discover faith, hope and love this Christmas. As for our carpet Santa said if I Faith then on Christmas day a new carpet would appear with the book of Kells pattern.

I just hope Santa’s right, otherwise I’ll have to move the sofa.   

How to Handle a Client

How to handle a client (c)

By Michael Casey

A client is like a girlfriend who you wine and dine, and hope she’ll marry you. If you keep that idea in mind then the business relationship will work and pay dividends. If you treat a client like fast food you’ll end up getting gas, which is not what anybody wants.

It leaves a bad atmosphere literally. remember if you do good you’ll get x 4 more customers. 

If you do bad then you lose x 10 customers. Also you must change the sales pitch to fit each individual customer. It makes more work for you BUT the results are better.

A salesman must be a cross between a priest and a hairdresser, somebody who can be confided in. You are not selling burgers at a Red Sox match, you are inviting your customers to be part of the family.

And I don’t mean joining the Mafia either. That kind of close relationship, means your calls are answered and even looked forward to. If nobody is taking your calls then you’ve got it wrong.

Michael Casey

p.s. my play Shoplife “teaches” customer service, by showing you what NEVER to do.

Street Clock

Street Clock  ©

By

Michael Casey

I  love watches, I’ve told everybody this before, but today I want to talk about my Street Clock. A what? A Street Clock. What am I on about, I’m talking about my street clock. It’s not mine really, it’s my small daughters. The street clock tells us are we on time for school.

So is it a speaking clock in the street perhaps? No, its how the street tells us the time. In ancient times seamen looked to the skies to tell them the time and their destination. We have Stonehenge here in England, and it is an astronomical clock. Then you have the Mayan calendar and wasn’t it supposed to be the end of the world recently? Or did somebody overwind the Mayan clock?

No my Street Clock is how me and my daughter know we are on time. First we see the blue jaguar going into the works at the bottom of the road, it’s a car not a strangely coloured wild animal.  Then  there is my old workmate, we see him at the bottom of the road taking his small ones to school. Then there is a lady and her dog just before the zebra crossing outside the library.

These events are regular events, as regular as the day itself, we know if we are on time or not, just by how far along the road and how far on our route we have travelled. So no need to take our gloves off to peer at our watch, the street itself is our watch.

There is a steep bit next, slippy  with fallen Autumn leaves, but once past that piece of road it’s not too steep. We see the old man warming up his old car, we wave hello as we pass. In the distance we can see Mrs Mum and her son, depending how far up the road we are we can gauge the time. They are going to one school while we go to the big school on the hill next to the woods.

Then we turn right and meet the main road, which is more like a slide at a funfair as it bends and weaves down the hill so much. We see Mr Old Smoker, he must be 75, he has a funny walk and always has a roll your own cigarette between his fingers.

Then there is another bit of hill, Mrs Three Children appears, she has a pushchair and 2 older kids with her. We are nearly at the zebra crossings and Mrs Murphy the lollypop lady. All is well, now finally I take off my glove to show my daughter the time. We are  early.

Sometimes we are just in time, because of this or because of that. But we know the time already, because our Street Clock has told us we are running a bit late or not. The school bell rings, I watch Mrs Murphy stop the traffic and my small  daughter enters the school yard. I wave goodbye as my daughter enters the school. Now  time to go home for my breakfast, its all downhill now, downhill to my breakfast.

Is this a photo os a YETI footprint in  our garden?

From Shakespeare to the King's Speech

From Shakespeare to the King’s Speech ©

By Michael Casey

Today was a good day, a very good day indeed. I recorded 5 more of my Shorts plus a Silly Song and put them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  Then as a reward I finished watching Shakespeare in Love, and later on I finally watched The King’s Speech.

The day had started with Mass and my confession to the priest about my arthritis, his reply was “its good,isn’t it.” And so it is, as you enjoy the good days and suffer the bad days. It’s not as bad as childbirth women will say, but you have epidurals, and I can only use gel. Though since the hip procedure things have improved.  But I’ll shut up about my weaknesses.

I could talk about pain, but I want to talk about words. Shakespeare’s and the scriptwriter’s. Shakespeare in Love was such a joy to watch, the rhythm in the words and the bounce of the script and the film itself. It reminded me that Shakespeare is so good, I used to understand all the old English. I even studied Shakespeare  at 3^rd level Open University, I got 74% for my 1^st essay, my tutor said I sounded like Shakespeare’s agent.

The joy of words, the power and love that is in words, all could be enjoyed in Shakespeare in Love. The King’s Speech was an eye opener for me. IF events were close to what was shown in the film, then I have a new found admiration for the Queen Mum, and I can understand why she hated Wallace Simpson’s guts, I heard this not directly from the film itself.

The King’s Speech shows the importance of words. Nowadays we’d switch off any Royal or Politician, but back then, the King would be listened to. The King’s speeches were an event and of great importance. The majesty of words is so important, and no I’m not making a joke. We all know of the power of Churchill’s words, but as a figurehead the King at that time, and at a time of war was so very important.

Enabling the King to rise to the occasion, to use words to spit in Hitler’s face if you like, to show the indomitable spirit of the British people in time of war and of great mortal peril, this was of such great import. So the speech therapist helped the King to use words as weapons.

The line I liked and my daughter noticed too, as she climbed the stairs to bed. I may not have the paper but I have the experience. Who does that remind you of?  You Daddy, was her reply.

So what of words? There is power and poetry in words, words can give us courage when we have none. Words can woo a maiden to our bed. Words can comfort the sick, and console the dying. Words can spit in the face of tyranny, I may die but my spirit will come back to haunt you. There is such power in words, there is meat in words.

Watching those two films tonight, reminded me of my deep love of words, well I do call myself a writer after all. Love of words means you experience them more deeply. Words come off the page to kiss me, to slap my face, words leap and bound from the radio to box my ears.

Words slip across the room from the speakers to gently touch my cheek to tickle me. Words from a film or from any source can bring tears to our eyes, to remind us we are not blocks of wood or made of stone. Words are our pulse, our very heart beat. Words are made from our very breath, but as breathing denotes life, so a word can bring death.

A word written down can condemn a man to hang, to the electric chair. Words have such power, words should not be used lightly. Words have so much beauty. Poets are dangerous, they hold your heart in the palm of their hand.

Go to www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR 20 new stories with my new microphone 120 in total

hello I've just uploaded 20 more short stories to my typepad account  www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com   Thats 120 in total

So just bring your ears thanks

Christmas Kerry

Christmas Kerry ©

By Michael Casey

I got my first Christmas card today from a cousin in Ireland. 

It brought a tear to my eye.

It reminded me of all the good times I had in Ireland at that cousin's house.

It reminded me of my aunty who drove me there.

It reminded me of all my cousins in Ireland, of all my uncles too.

 The Christmas fun I had in Ireland, getting lost in and out of Tralee.

The beach at Ballyheigh, mum's own beach at Cromane.

Puck fair and dancing in the street at Midnight.

Going out to the pub at 10pm, to drink fizzy pop and an occasional beer.

All the kindnesses from all those uncles and aunts. They are all gone now, all lie still in their graves.

But their memory I always have in my heart. I can see them dancing, I can hear them laughing.

I can see the mountains of food they fed me. So much love and laughter almost like a Leo Sayer song.

All of them so big and strong, farmers and sons of farmers. Laughter constant laughter, that’s what sings in my soul.

 All the good people of Kerry.

So yes a card brings a tear because of all the love it reminds me of.

Past Present and Future, but always Kerry.

Christmas on a bus

Christmas On A  Bus ©    By            Michael Casey

 On a bus coming home the Christmas Story revealed itself to me, ordinary events on a cold  Winter’s evening.

 There was a large man squeezed into a seat sitting crossways as he was so large, I squeezed in next to him, the two of us like boulders abandoned.

 A small African child was singing a carol to her mum who was weighed down by worry and a carrier bag  larger than  the child, behind a bigger child was swinging her feet off the seat.

 In front of me a child with  a large bright pretty ribbon in her hair was talking excitedly to her nan. Her nan was all wrapped up against the Winter weather, she was more like a parcel than a person She was giving sage advice to her granddaughter, don’t expect too much this Christmas.

 There was a pretty teenaged too, she was  moving her ankle in her new clean boots, perhaps Christmas boots, she was speaking confidently to her ugly friend, pretty girls always have either a fat or ugly best friend, its Nature’s balance.

 The African family got up it was their stop at the bus stop, I told the child to hold on tight to the rail as she moved forward only she was too small to understand fully.  My children are about their age I said to the child with the ribbon in her hair and her nan.

The large man squeezed in next to me started doing sign language to me, it was only then that I realised he was deaf and dumb. So I signed back to him. A few stops further on the dumb man as big as Gabriel himself got up as it was his stop, we exchanged goodbyes, “Good Luck” I said, he got off and waved goodbye from the street.

 I heard a voice on a mobile, “we’ve got to go then or the graveyard will be shut, I want to give mum some flowers for Christmas.”

All this represents Christmas,your Christmas, My Christmas, Everybody’s Christmas. So take time out to speak  to the deaf, to share a smile, to remember your mum, for Christ is Born.

Stand Up Writing

Stand Up Writing ©

By

Michael Casey

I read a few minutes ago on Linkedin that there would be a writing competition, a kind of XFactor for writers, you read for 2 mins, then you are judged. So what do you think of that? Me, I think writing is more than bubble gum that you spit out when the flavour goes. However I do think that writing can be like chocolate, something almost as good as sex, that you enjoy and then you get back to day to day reality.

So how would the show go? Would it really be the writer with the best blurb who’d win? Would it just be battle of the blurbs? Writing is so subjective. I bought Shadow of the Wind and I really wanted to read it, because of the blurb. Sadly I did not like it at all and then I stopped reading it ½ way through, and there are not many books I’ve dropped in my life. Then there is The Book Thief, which I regard as one of the best books I’ve read in my life, it’s so poetic, so touching, I cried as I read it, I even think it should be on schools’ book lists.

My own first novel is a slow starter as there is a large cast, however it is a rattling good read once the cast is introduced. So at Book X Factor should I read a blurb, or should I stumble as I flick to the climax. We have  starters and soups, then the main, and finally dessert, with a coffee and mint we finish the meal. Then arm in arm we leave the restaurant and head home for play, only we are so full of food we both fall asleep on the sofa. So much promise but no fulfilment.

Books are such fun, it’s really great when we discover a new writer. I can remember being introduced to Tom Sharp maybe 25years ago, before he was on tv. Then 5 years ago I can remember the IT guy at the Law Firm  saying how he’d just discovered Tom Sharpe. Books and Writers are candy for the mind, they do open our mind to laughter and tears and hope. The Book Thief is one such book, but would it win on XFactor for Books?

I can remember  my History teacher, Mr Trout, he said try Don Camillo. I did and I loved Don Camillo, I have an omnibus edition  in the bookcase behind me, next to the piano. Would Don Camillo win the XFactor for books, probably not, but it is a book you can reread over and over.  The spirit  in Don Camillo is the thing. Don Camillo may argue and fight with the Mayor, but they are still brothers.

Sorry you won’t be going through to the next stage of the competition. Not enough sex, nor violence. Great description of a sledge called “Rosebud” but it’s just not commercial. 500 or 600 pages for a first novel, 160,000 words, I think we’ll run out of ink if we try and publish it. No could you just take a few characters  out, could you miss the bit where somebody saved the undertaker’s son’s life. And you know the bit where……

It would be like being asked to save only one member of your family when the ship sinks. Words have meaning, words have power, and if you remove your false teeth your words have no bite.

Shaving

Shaving ©

   By

Michael Casey

Shaving is a chore, we cut our faces to pieces in order to look nice, or is it in order not to look dirty. Look at the water when you shave after not shaving for a day or two. Its dirty, no wonder woman don’t want to kiss a stubble faced man.

I was useless at shaving, I had a cut on both cheeks, at least my face was symmetrical, little wonder I grew a beard. I was 15 or so at the time. In them days we all used a safety razor, that’s a joke in itself. I was spurting blood like in a horror movie. All down my vest too, we all wore vests in them days, perfectly matched blood and  toothpaste stains.

Then you’d put pieces of toilet paper on your face, to soak up the blood, as you put your shirt on you’d hope the blood didn’t stain your collar. But it always did. At least the stains, blood and toothpaste, were on your vest where nobody could see them.

Though sometimes in haste you brushed your teeth with your shirt on, then you DID have white marks on your shirt. So you positioned your tie to cover the toothpaste stains, perfect, all was well, then on the bus to work you pull the toilet paper from your face. Only to arrive at work with blood streaming down your neck onto your white collar.

So you improvise and take your shirt off and wear it inside out, with your tie lengthened to hide the fact that the shirt was on inside out. Jerry Lewis did something like this in a film of his. Ask a French film buff they’ll explain.

As you get older you get better at shaving, technology arrived, its 40 years since I started to shave, or rather self-mutilate would be a better description, but technology did arrive. We had disposable razors made of cheap lightweight plastic. Only this gave me the chance to cut myself with two blades and not one.

Saving foam and save gel made an appearance in my life, in all of our lives. I’d been using a shaving brush and soap, but gradually after years of practice I got better at shaving. I had tried an electric razor but that just pulls your beard off your face. My mistake was using cheap throwaway razors, really you need a bit of weight in the razor.

Salvation came when I paid for a decent razor, a Gillette Mach 3, and Aldi’s own shaving gel. Gel is always better than foam, gel helps the razor glide. So once I had the proper tools I no longer looked as if I’d been cutting my own throat. Problem solved.

Over the years I’ve tried a variety of different blades, makes me sound like a circus knife thrower, and they did the job. However the Gillette Mach 3 is my favourite, because it works. But what should a man do with his clean face? He now has to copy his wife and put lotions and potions on his face.

Men’s beauty, sounds like a contradiction in terms, men’s beauty is big business. So your wife or girlfriend gives you a bottle of something to slap on your face. Only it stings and you scream, but you cannot swear as it’s a gift, given with love. Your daughters tell you that you must stay looking young, even if you are already called “Grandpa” when you do the school run, because of your silver hair.  

So now you look at the beauty products in the shops, shop assistants smile at you, they wonder why is grandpa looking at those products. The shop assistants  wave helpfully in the direction of Just For Men, hair dye. But you would never dye your hair, would you, could you. So you settle for £1 face balm, at least it won’t sting.

Boys Don't Knit

Boys Don’t Knit

Boys Don’t Knit ©

By

Michael Casey

Boys don’t knit, your nan does, your mum did, your aunty does, but boys don’t knit. I do confess when I was 9 I did try it. Mum had knitting needles in the back of the dinner table’s drawers. A heavy mahogany table with curvy ends  with holes in, it’s probably an antique now, it’s still in the old family house. It weighs a ton and a ton of food passed over that table over the years.

So having found the needles I went in search of wool, I found it in mum’s plastic wicker basket which was in the back of the pantry under the stairs. So off I went knitting. Only my knitting was totally linear, I filled up one needle then another. My knitting did not grow, or whatever is the official word for it. Iwas no Kaffe Fassett I could only produce one line, it would be ok if I were making a jumper for a caterpillar, but for a human, my knitting just would not do.

So that was 40 years plus ago, now we have a new knitter in the family, my eldest daughter. And she knows how to make her knitting grow, I am so impressed. She got a knitting set and soon ran out of wool, she made a scarf, not as long as Dr Who’s but just as nice. I was impressed.

Being a good dad I had to go and find more wool for her. A man asking for wool does raise eyebrows, but a modern dad has to do what a modern dad does. I found some in the plastic shop, it’s a shop that sells all things that are made of plastic, and everything else, a modern bazar. Then I wondered would our local market have a wool section.

In the market, halfway up on the right I found wools galore. All sizes and colours, you cannot imagine the variety of wools there are.  Sparkly wool, fluffy wool, fat wool, thin wool, neon coloured wool. I’ve never noticed this on the sheep when we’ve driven past in the car, the sheep must keep their secrets to themselves, until they are sheared.

So my daughter has knitting as a hobby now, she says its relaxing, after all the choir and piano practice, not to mention maths and book reading. I know she’ll never starve as she can always knit jumpers as an occupation into her old age, imagine 80 years of knitting.

My mother used to knit for all of us her children, I can remember her holding up the knitting against my back to see how much more she had to knit. We had so many jumpers in the house. We used to have a corner cupboard that held all our jumpers. One day when mum was out, just for fun we made our little sister wear all 9 or ten jumpers. There were so many jumpers that my sister could not put her arms down. Her arms were outstretched, she was like a letter T. Mum was not happy when she came home to see our little sister standing like a letter of the alphabet. T.

Nobody knits nowadays; it’s cheaper to buy jumpers in the shop. Which is such a pity, as knitting is so much fun, especially if you don’t sit on the knitting needles!

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