By
Michael Casey
I was up early this morning, so I fed the cat and let her out, so she could go kill things. she is a killing machine after all. A kind of furry pussy version of Kill Bill I suppose. Totoro is her name, which as you know is Japanese. Now that we have finally moved and it took 2 years I suppose, or even 3 if you consider when we first thought of moving, well Totoro has a new hunting ground.
After I let the cat out of the house I had my own breakfast, and it was still not even 7am. So I had my toast and coffee and then headed for the computer to see if any of you loved me. I check my viewing figures religiously, more religiously than my prayers, I confess. But it proves I still have Hope, and Hope is a kind of prayer.
Its nice to see where in the World, or the Globe as trendy people call the Earth, that you are all reading me. I still don't know if the Unidentified region is the Space Station, or a Russian nuclear submarine hiding somewhere in one of those trenches. Wherever you are you are all most welcome. I am Omnibus, for everybody, but no smoking please.
Up early means it is still very quiet, my pigs are still sleeping, though my wife is already on her phone talking to the world, in Chinese and English. The street noise has not started, you are surprised by the silence, you can even hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. Ying and Yang the clock goes, we are a Chinese/Irish household after all.
The first footstep of the morning arrives on the pavement outside. Cliperty Cloperty like the mouse from old Amsterdam, why are women's shoes so noisy. Then there is somebody jogging by, you can hear the heavy breathing like a stalker through the open window. We still have to open windows to let the smell of fresh paint escape. Though the kids insist its the smell of my guts that needs to escape, moi farty pants, non, pas de tout.
I finish my morning trawl of my 3 newspapers, The DT, the DM and the Guardian, I'll have a quick look at Sky and BBC too, then I may switch on BBC Radio 4 Today programme. Yes I'm a News Junky. But I have to spend my time some way, now that I'm always home. Home Alone.
I wonder what I'll talk about today, I still need to get back into my writing or is it talking groove. Seventeen Again has reached 63,000 words now, about 168 pages, so really I want to do another 37,000 words before I launch it on Amazon. Then I decide, Up Early is what I'll talk about next, and this is what you are getting. I can only write in my own style and to please myself, so never tell me what you think I should write. You will get very short shrift if you attempt to.
I can see a flash of red it's my Bulgarian/Russian postman, so I get up to collect the post, shouting Thank You after him through my open window, don't mention it is his reply. The other postman is a black guy who sings as he delivers, both are just nice, with a capital nice. I seem to remember I have a postman in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, he is hounded by the kids while at the Fete for the Children's home, finally disguised in a sari and hides in the beer tent. This memory makes me smile as I decide I'll go back to bed.
Up early gives you time to muse, to wonder where you would be, and then bed seems the best place. I'm had my early breakfast and my morning meds, so I'll go back to bed for a few more hours sleep. I'm not lazy, remember the pain monster visits half the nights. Like a Sumo prostitute without any of the favours, just the pain. So I'll go back to bed now, or was it then, this morning. But now its evening and I'm telling you all about morning,
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