I write then it happens

I wrote Kpop saves the world a couple of months ago, the today North Korean Army Dancers were on display, they should visit the Birmingham Royal ballet we have Swan lake on next week. If anybody wants to send me some tickets.

It would be nice if all I had to do was write something then it happened.
Like magic.
I did write a Korean Christmas Carol too, both can be found here on this site.

Perhaps NSA and North Korean Hackers and maybe Polish readers who can't wait for my next story visit my computer uninvited, and they dance and prance around my hard drive. Like Tron maybe.

All anybody has to go to amazon and buy my stuff.

https://www.amazon.com/MichaelCasey/e/B00571G0YC

then maybe I can afford to move house, my daughter mentioned something about it taking 16 years to be fully qualified Pathologist once she's got her Medical Degree, she is 16 now so we'll have to support her till she qualifies.

So please buy a book or all 14 of them, and DO get in touch if you are Rupert Murdoch or any other media type or whatever the correct word is.

I may write something new later on in the next 6 hours before bedtime, at least the pain monster stayed at bay, and my Viewer did not want our house. But that's fine there's always  tomorrow, and tomorrow is sunny so I can put the washing out.

 

The Washing Line ©

By Michael Casey

See number 29 she always hangs her bloomers next to the hedge hoping nobody can see her droopy drawers, how can her bum be that big? I suppose its age, she must be 60 now. Though she puts so much makeup on she looks like a china doll in a Christmas stall. She still loves her fish net tights, she hangs those right in the middle so all the neighbours can see. There’s still life in the old girl yet.

Then there’s no.35 he’s so sad, everything droops, his moustache, his eyebrows his baggy trousers, I wonder what makes them droop so much. Probably stones, he’ll  throw himself in the canal, I’m sure of it. All his clothes are so drab, doesn’t he know how to use the washing machine, his mother must have taught him before she died.

His neighbour next door fancies him, she’s always putting out her enormous bras for him to see, like a trap. And those things just like laces with a small handkerchief attached, she always has them on the line. Why she fancies Mr Drab I’ll never know. It’s just like Jack Spratt and Mrs Spratt. If ever he looked up and saw her longing for him, they’d break that 4 poster bed she has in her back bedroom, the one with the sexy red lacy curtains. I can’t quite see what see has on the walls but I’m sure it’s something bad, in a good way if you know what I mean.

What about Mrs Mean who has one of those spinning washing lines, I really hate her, she looks like that woman in the cartoon about the hen house. She wears lots of shinny jewellery, the Magpies are always dive bombing her trying to get it off her. They should just pooh on her, she’s so cruel to that little dog of hers.

Well the sun is shining and the wind is blowing, it’s a good day for the drying. Hey look what’s happened, that big red bra has broken away, it’s flying like a kite in the sky, it’s landed straight in Mr Drab’s face. Miss Big Bra is clambering over the fence, he’s handing it back to her. She’s kissing him on the cheek to thank him. Mr Drab is smiling, she’s inviting him in for tea.

Finally at last he has noticed her, his mum always said she was a good girl. They’ve finished their tea, she’s taking him upstairs to her boudoir. Move over let’s look through the window. She is a good girl, a very good girl, but when she’s bad she’s even better. A match made in Heaven, all it took was a bit of wind.

So we’ve spied on everybody, shall we do something else now? Yes let’s swoop down and pooh on all the washing, we are pigeons after all.      

 and a 2nd piece which has the same title plus (c)   BUT IS A DIFFERENT PIECE I HAVE JUST REDISCOVERED IT

The Washing Line ©

By

Michael Casey

Ok, are you ready? I’ve had a shower, ok a sheep dip, I am big and hairy with lots of nooks and crannies, crannies, not Grannies, are you all deaf, DEAF. If I could hang my body hair on a line to dry then I would, like a Golden Fleece, ok a silvery old man’s hairpiece, no I don’t have a wig, its all soft and silvery. If ever you get me in your bed you can stroke it, MY HAIR.

See you all think one thing when I am saying the other, Gill was right, you are all going up the garden path on your own. I hope Gill is well I’ve not seen her in maybe 10 years. Now did you all take the one hour challenge? Did you write a story called The Washing Line in just one hour. If you did not then STOP, don’t even look at the screen, just walk away, walk away from the keyboard, SECURITY I have an idle journo here, can you come and collect him.

Yes female journalists exist, and without the spacing you have journalistsexist which gives you SEXIST, but I stumbled over that so I put it in, which if you mistype is PUTIN. Ok I’ll stop with the discoveries in mistyping, a guide for dislectics, yes I left it there mistyped just for the clever dicks to bitch about.

There is thought behind these pieces,or do you think I just sit here and rattle them off. And yes Rattlethemoff, is a Russian Nudist and Concert pianist and part time ballet dancer. Which reminds me there is a real ballet dancer in my next novel Tears for a Butcher, but I may never write that as it would take a year. Not unless I can get Nick from the today programme to take dictation, he got plenty from Alex Salmond after all.  

Where was I, being hung out to dry on the washing line, Ronnie Corbett on acid, you are so cruel, he only ever had pear drops, and I am a pineapple chunk kind of guy. See 356 words already, that Editor can go and take a flying leap, after I finish the test piece, write 1000 words on The Washing Line, and he’s making me do it on a typewriter. The one Rupert Murdoch left in The Sun’s safe roof where all the naughty files are kept. So how did our leader at the Daily Sploge find this Michael Casey anyway, the SOB.

So here’s my piece for the editor, and if he doesn’t like it he can give Michael Casey my job and my one inch column.

The Washing Line is a very ordinary thing, its in every back garden, but what is on the washing line is evidence to who we are and what we do. On my washing line there are lots of girls knickers in a multitude of colours, then besides them are my flags, so big in contrast to the girls’ knickers. I do live with 3 girls after all, the wife and our two daughters. My pants decorated the washing line in Shanghai when I first went there nearly 20 years ago. We used them to navigate our way back to the mother in laws house. In fact in Shanghai you have a giant bamboo pole with you bright blue acre size pants hanging from them. Rather like a national flag.

So that is my memory from Shanghai. Looking up and seeing my pants on a pole on the ten floor of the tower block where they lived.

In the olden days people hung their washing on hedges, maybe that’s how the first laundry begun, a farmer’s wife with a steam and a stone, and her husband busy planting hedges as business expanded. They got a bigger stone when the village got bigger. And when the farmer’s own family got bigger they bought a windmill, to make flower but also to hang the washing from the sails on the windmill. Yes Don Quixote was a pain, tilting at the windmills and stealing the washing as his lazy servant Sancho Panza never did the laundry. But Fr.Brain, now Bishop Brain did used to call me Sancho Panza maybe 45 years ago. So I have a soft spot for Sancho Panza, the laundry thief, and now me wishing to be 1% as good as the Author of that book, the book thief not the laundry thief, I got missed up.

Don’t tell the Editor that I sneaked off to the kitchen for a tea, don’t tell Nick on Today either, he’s such a gossip, he’ll tell anybody who cares to listen, why does he always wear ear warmers all the time? Did Alex Salmond buy them for him, it can be cold in Scotland.

I can remember looking out the back bedroom window and see birds on the washing line, watching not part of it, just observing, is the sentence that came to me back then 30 years or so ago. On a washing line you can be a sentry while the other birds have their dinner of words, or is it worms in Michael Casey’s back garden.

Then when the coast is safe you can drop down and eat some words or worms whichever taste the better. As for Totoro she is asleep in/on or under a selection of 4 beds, she’s had dinner with at least 4 different owners. She has two bells and the Best Bitch medal around her neck, the birds would hear her so they are off the menu. Besides our gay neighbours at the bottom of the garden have recently installed fairy lights, so Totoro is intrigued by them, the lights that is.  

Close pegs are very dangerous things that hold your clothes to the washing line. The quality of pegs is not strained, that surfeiting they break and a spring goes in your face and gives you a scratch.

You’ve been scratched by your cat, or is it the wife, your friends all ask as you are down the pub, they examine your face and take photos and put them on FB and Twitter. In an hour it trends, washing line injury, or problems with the washer woman?  

Somebody even rings up local radio. BollocksTalkFM the new radio station for the Islington Crew. Several Sky and BBC Press Preview listen laughing as they listen, drinking green tea in the green room before the Press Preview starts. Thankfully a bottle of Polish Vodka has infused the green tea.

First item on the Press preview, in the Daily Express, front page picture of a washing line. Are clothes pegs dangerous, new EU regulations, are they trying to tie us up with red tape before Brexit, or should we hang them out to dry. The anchor just looks at his watch and says, I use a hair dryer myself.

Well Mr Editor I broke my best finger nail writing this for you and its well over 1000 words. So can I have my one inch column back or are your giving it to this new Napoleon, Michael Casey from Birmingham, the centre of the washing line universe.