Our Day today 28th March 2020 Remember to put clocks FORWARD in UK

Our Day today 28th March 2020   Remember to put clocks FORWARD in UK

now we had a Disney + Day in our house

I had a few lines of a poem appear in my head

Poems come, I never "write" them, they appear list morning mist

And Where was God (c)

By

Michael Casey

And where was God

Drownd out by the Silence of Politicians Lies

And where was Mercy

On a ward all garmented and gownd

*******************

I'll see if any more lines appear

I did not write any new story today but there's a ton of stuff on this site already

I hope my Banana Photo didn't frighten too many of you

I had Syria and China amongst my readers today

Indians can enjoy the Indian hero, and the dramatic Indian Princess rescue

if they dig out The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker on my  

Wordpress site  including Hindi translation

Perfect for All India Radio to read to the masses during Lockdown India

I've decided the Banana Head photo will be cover for Words 2020 which

will be my 20th book when I finish it by the end of this year

 below what I've written so far

2020 Words ©

By

Michael Casey

It’s 30^th Jan 2020 now as I begin my 20^th book, Brexit Day in the morning. I hope you enjoy this book as much as my other rubbish. I have readers in over 80 countries via my Wordpress and Blogger

And up to TEN separate Translations are being read, for my 1^st book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, on the same day. So my words do travel, but maybe only foreigners like me, should I have stayed in the EU? Ha Ha Ha, I have watched Politics as a Blood Sport for over 50 years now. I spent 20 years listening to BBC RADIO 4 before I started writing in 1987, so that is 33 years. So over 50 years in love with words, Sir Robin Day is no doubt to blame.

The Menu in my Head (c)

By  Michael Casey

Well I noticed today that I first started here on WordPress 10 years ago, which has been a busy period for me. I became a house husband and more of a full time writer, or any other W word you would like to call me. I also started to get PAIN, Arthritis, then post Quadruple Heart Bypass pain, and yes bore you all about it. I’ve even got a chest hernia, which 1% of heart op people get. But enough of that for now.

I launched my 19th book, The Final Cut of The 19th Hole the other day, which turned out to be the same  day as my dad’s Quing Ming day. So how did I get here, well I knew I could do something and stumbled into writing over 30 years ago now. And where do the  words come from? It’s like a menu in my head. I pick A20, or H34 and out plops a story or a poem or a chat. It’s simple really, I just add sauce as required. I’m a kind of old fashioned Juke Box, or  story machine. When I check my readers it’s nice to see which old piece you are all reading across the sites. Some bring back memories, others I have forgotten, can the girl in the take away remember everything?  It’s nice too to see your reaction to new stories.

What else can I do anyway with Tinnitus as my bed fellow, Tinnitus is neither a Roman slave nor a Korean dream, it’s just a horrid noise that does not stop, and seems worse at night. Sometimes me and Tinnitus are awake all night, but not having fun. I will launch into my 20th book soon, this will be the first piece in it. I hope you all enjoy the variety.

So what can you expect? God alone knows because I never know, it’s more fun for me  that way. I do wish I could write Tears for a Butcher,  it would be a 600 page stand alone sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker but then again I doubt if that will ever happen. But God is Good as my mum always said. So stick around in 2020 and see where I stumble.  I pray to God that Trump resigns, as he really is corrupt, he hides  everything,  and not out of modesty. And the news says NO WITNESSES, this is a sad day for USA, and folks are lazy and don’t bother to vote, so 25% of the population who have voted control what happens to the other 75%.  SO VOTE.

Ok enough of him. Always look on the Bright side of Life, as Monty Python sung, because if you let sadness get you it will bring you down. Just pause,  scream, shout, and get back on the  laughing rocking horse. That’s my only advice. Others say sex, drugs, rock and roll, I’d say 2 out of 3 ain’t bad. So forget the drugs always, just have an imagination, that’s all you need.

So can you prove you ARE a Writer? (c)

By Michael Casey

Well it’s nearly Midnight on 1st Feb 2020, and I want to write a bit before bedtime, and if I’m extra  tired I may sleep through my Tinnitus.  So what did I do today, I spoke to my man about hanging my curtains, then I realised old fashioned plastic tracking is in itself hard to track down. Everything is a Pole, but in the end I found what I wanted so I ordered that, then  my man can get up his ladder and install it. Then the neighbours won’t see me sat in the window at night working on my next 1,500,000 words.

So how can I prove I’m a Writer, for that’s what I tell folks I am. Well 1,500,000+ words and 2000 plus stories, now spread over 19 books, just go to Amazon and buy some. But you never do, but you do read my stuff for free here on WordPress and on Blogger. I’ve got through the 80 Countries barrier now, and up to TEN  Translations in one day of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker being read. My readers map is greater than the British Empire Map. So I tell  folks this via random emails in the vain hope that ZTE or anybody in the East will use my comic words to help teach English.

Ok, you’ve heard all that before. Do I have a Monet or was it a Mona Lisa on my wall? Do I have a fleet of fast cars? No I have a bus pass, and an old print in an old plastic bag my Yfronts came in. Do I have a fancy writing desk list Charles Dickens? Well I did think of splashing out on one, but in the end I have this white desk with black computer. As you’ve seen from my beautiful photos. Do I lean my chin on my head? Never that’s for Pretentious People, I just have my fat bum with a cushion underneath and me grinning like an idiot. I just hate all these posed people in poser land, so I go the opposite way, and what you see is what you get, as Derek Willins once remarked, in our outer office, the pub, maybe Easter 1998. Then then next year we the band of brothers were all scattered, I really was so lucky working with such a bunch, Barry, and Wooly and John G and JC, and many many more. I was the one locked up in the computer room in those days.

I did write a story called The Czech story the week after when I had returned from Czech, and it was then that everybody realised. Michael CAN WRITE, I wrote a page, then a page more, and sent it to Louise my friend on the 4th floor, and I was on 3rd, overlooking the Chinese quarter. Finally it was finished and it was passed around. People could read the pathos and comedy combined, and that was when I was confirmed as a Writer, but only to a select few in the office. So 10 years after I started, 20 years ago now, I was officially a Writer, in an unofficial way. None of them got to read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. But 7 years later Claire was more than happy to say I was a “lovely writer” as she read most of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. She really was kind to me, she looked like a biker chic with  tats, she was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Though if she disagrees with the description, she might give me a slap, though I rather we had cake and tea at Druckers in town by the cathedral.

So do you have to have some form of praise before you can call yourself a writer? NO. though praise is nice. You have to be honest with yourself till you realise, I can really write, and you are not lying to yourself. I once managed to speak to a radio producer called Mary at the BBC. By using her Christian name I got connected. Her advice was read more, so I looked at books and noticed where the punctuation was. As for reading technical books, I did not bother. I just worked out where to put the punctuation. And carried on. In my opinion, basic punctuation is enough. People don’t need to get lost in the sentence or paragraph. What is the point? Keep the story rolling, and don’t hide it, and don’t make the paragraphs so long people get tired or confused.

So that’s what I do, I even have been complimented on my paragraphing. Tell the story and let it flow, let it blossom let it grow, and yes I’m listening to Eric Clapton from 1974, that’s why that sentence slipped. It’s like a joke, don’t kill the punchline do, like some idiots who interrupt me while I speak, I have a style, it’s deliberate, so don’t interrupt, it’s well practised. I did speak to 100,000 people over my 3 years front of house at CPNEC Birmingham, a 4 star deluxe business hotel. So I do know what I’m doing. MIAOW

So its 00.22 on 020220 now so I’ll marry my words to the page and try not  to sneeze, a Historical reference for all you diggers of words. So am I a Writer, yes I am, though I’ll probably never make any money from it. And If I do the plan is to give most away to  PAIN relief, with that I’ll go to bed. Just pray for Health, the only thing worth having.

Inner Strength ©

By

Michael Casey

As ever I did not know what to write about, but today’s events forced this idea to the top, so this is what you get today. I never plan, though very occasionally I do, like for Tears for a Butcher ideas, but you’ve heard all that before. So today I’m going to talk about inner strength. I don’t choose the topics they choose me, which sounds stuck up my own rear end, and I was going to use the A word. But here’s what has percolated to the top, and me an instant coffee drinker.

My parents were incredibly strong, physically and mentally, Irish farming stock, so what do you expect, just the best from Kerry, the Kingdom. When mum died in 1996, dad said of her that she was as strong as a horse, high praise indeed from a Blacksmith. He nearly followed her just 8 bare weeks later, it’s all in Padre Pio and Me, which is on my site. However as he was strong as an Ox, he survived, and the rest you know if you’ve read Padre Pio and Me.

When on 11^th Nov 1977 when my life was trashed, unfairly, but that’s another story, I can remember my dad shaving in the kitchen sink, the bathroom upstairs was too cold, and we used our electric central heating sparingly. When God Made Time He Made Plenty Of It, dad explained, then I had 6 fallow months until I got into computers on the ground floor in 1978, that’s 42 years ago now. It was his 56^th Birthday so I remember that day forever.

I was lucky I had parents who loved me and a mother who could pray like the Devil, so to speak. Mum used to watch Dallas, and her pinny pocket would be jumping as she watched, she has a Rosary on the go as she watched JR. Later she’d go upstairs to say her prayers for an hour, I still have her battered Prayer Book stashed away somewhere, with Holy Pictures littering it, even prayers cut from newspapers within. So this is my Legacy, it’s been poured into me. When she died I did not shed a tear, she said no tears for years, so I obeyed her. Any Faith I have comes from her, it’s secondhand, though with such a teacher I’ve done well. She used to go to Mass daily at Saint Patricks, opposite Dudley Rd hospital, of City as the now unglamorously call it. And yes she had 5 priests say the Funeral Mass.

Does this mean I’m Holy, no not at all, I can and will curse like a Blast Furnace Man, if the occasion arises, dad did start as a Blacksmith in Kerry and then spend 40 years at The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. You have to be tough to work there, 400 degrees, lose half a stone in sweat every day. So dad’s refrain to the idle rich on tv always was, did they sweat? BOLLOCKS. And other such words as the occasion demanded. But his kids went to Oxford and Cambridge, so “posh” folks could kiss his arse.

And no he did not behave like an oaf, he was a gentle gentle gentleman, who washed his hands in washing powder because the grit got the dirt from the furnace off. Mum called him soft, she would lash offenders with her tongue should the need arise. A perfect mix of ying and yang. Mum gave dad her £300 and he gave her 6 kids in return. I suppose I am the “failure”, 19 books, 1,530,000 plus Words, readers in 80 countries, and up to 10 Translations in one day being read from my Wordpress and Blogger. My map of the world is bigger than The British Empire one. But still no money, so if you judge by money, I am a failure.

However I never ever give up, did they give up on the Long March, or pushing the Nazi scum from Mother Russia, or getting to the Moon? No they did not, you never never give up, and yes The Pen is Mightier Than The Sword. So if I can persevere and thrive, so can you. If you read a pretentious self help book you may learn stuff, but experience is the best and harshest teacher. Just imagine me in red Lycra, skin tight with a feather duster, threatening to tickle you to death.

I just threw in that line to see if you have been paying attention. But the point, does there have to be a point? IS. Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England, is strange, as strange as British Humour. And the point is, that my Inner Strength is humour, humour will save you, as it has saved me. I’ll finish now as I want to watch the late news, and as I do so I remember my dad, as I can hear his echo, did they sweat, BOLLOCKS, they can kiss my arse. For I am after all a son of Kerry parents, and we are as good as ANYBODY. And so are YOU.

Thursday, 6 February 2020

Therapy and Totals

Over on Wordpress 8 languages and 7 countries reading my stuff

On Blogger Hong Kong and the Philippines are reading my rubbish

You are all most welcome as I listen to Crosby Still Nash

I've also supervised my small daughter build a book case for the corner of her

room, her reading tastes are very eclectic, I just buy them, so it's not me

reading them. She had a trip to a real book store and really enjoyed it,

 so I'll be financing that in future. Hudsons in Birmingham was really good,

maybe 40 years ago during my book buying era.

I cannot be very physically active due to the scar on my chest having a bulge

coming through it. To be fixed/operated on soon, I am one of the 1% who

 gets this post heart bypass "bonus".  I remembered building her dolls house,

when I was even fatter, prior to my heart op 5 years ago.

  Though I think I am heavier now, but less fat,

 I weight more than the  World Heavy Weight Boxing Champion,

 but I  don't have a scales any more.

 Decades of physical work means I have lots of muscle density. I also have a very strong grip after years of screwing  on mag tapes in the computer room, I  also have my very fast fists of fury. Just in case you are too cheeky. Though my running days are long over. I may write a story story tomorrow after I chase down my curtain man, then it will be curtains for my study.

So stay pure and keep on reading, message all your Chinese friends, let them all read my books as they are stuck in their home.

I pray for my Chinese family in Shanghai and all of China too, let this curse be lifted. The world needs China just as China needs the world.

Peace Happiness and Health to all of Our Land China

Just be Yourself, Gay, Straight or Any Which Way

 michaelgcasey  Uncategorized  07/02/2020 2 Minutes

Just be Yourself, Gay, Straight or Any Which Way (c)

By Michael Casey

As you all know I am a Gay Dad, which means you know about FASHION, as far as sex goes I ONLY ever look East, at women only. I do have Shanghai wife as you all know, presently stuck in Shanghai due to the virus situation, while I hold the fort back here. So Courage My China, all will be well, just Pray Hope and Don’t Worry. As for me, I’m not nice enough to be Gay, as a rule Gay people are nice. So I knew Shep Smith was Gay for years, he really Is a great News Guy, and today here on Tv a Brit came out, but he is so nice, he must be gay.

I know the Gay community may want to punch me for speaking like that, but my point is, as a rule Gay people are nice. The problem is in some Societies, Gay people are treated badly, or even murdered, which is WRONG, those Societies need to Grow Up, and be Tolerant. As a rule here in UK, we live and let live. Sure it’s not a Gay Paradise, but we are a great place for anybody to live. So if you are Gay, Straight, or Any Which Way, come here if the BASTARDS in your own country won’t leave you alone. I could go down my usual Comedy Rabbithole now but I won’t not today anyway.

I’ll just finish with  a film Tip, watch  Stardust the Fantasy film, where De Nero is a Pirate Captain, who is secretly Gay, but has a hard man front. When his secret is revealed, the hard man crew, stand by him, and say we always knew you were a PUFF, or other such words, but they still and will always love him their Captain. So let’s all love our Captains, and spit on the ignorant  “cavemen”, Michael Casey never nice enough to be really gay, Just a Gay Dad, fashion expert.

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2020 Skill Set (c)

By

Michael Casey

Ok, so tomorrow is another day, and God I really know the meaning of that at the moment. So what’s this got to do with skills? Well you never know how your Yellow Brick Road life leads you, and what Rolling Stone material sticks to your shoes. The used to say have a boring a predictable CV, but for some jobs they like “Oddballs”, yes you’ve guested it I’m going to work at No.10 for Boris.

I did have my working life in reverse, as my lawyer sister in law observed, as she stopped me from having 3rds or was it 4ths at her house. I’ve worked in computers when people used to be impressed by the very notion, 40 plus years ago. I’ve carried tons of heavy paper, continuous stuff not the 500 page A4 stuff you are used to, that’s for girls. Though if Ang is reading this, she’ll say crawl away out the way, let a Woman deal with it, but that’s another story. Paper is heavy.

I’ve been a Trainee Betting shop manager, a Life Insurance Underwriter, non medical. A lost adjuster note taker. Hotel General Manager, that’s what guests thought, though in reality I did 10 other role almost daily. You learn a hell of a lot in a hotel, the job, the guests, the people. Best job I ever had, though it was the hardest work physically. My chest grew 2 inches and my neck 1 inch, due to the carrying and non-stop talking for 3 years. I only gave it up because the hotel went one step too far regarding my shifts, so I wouldn’t see my toddlers as much, so I left that job.

One moment I’d be cleaning toilets with Vicky, then I’d put my jacket back on and straighten my tie and be holding my own talking to millionaires, it was a business hotel after all. Great fun and very hard work, but I loved it. I had tried out the new uniform, which actually fitted me, instead of my own DIY suit, that’s why folks thought I was the General Manager, I did have the looks then too. But then I left, 15 years ago now.

Who you mix with, and what you pick up does add to your skill set. I’ve always watched workmen, 50 to 55 years worth, so I can see their skill and know how to do such and such a job. But obviously not be able to do it myself. So when I hear BS, I just smile, if only inwardly. Me and Roger used to hear a fair bit of BS, then Roger would turn to me and whisper BS.

So I’ve had all my working life, adding to my knowledge, I am heavier than I look, both in intellect and weight, I was 120kilos yesterday fully clothed, the shop assistant in the store insisted I keep my clothes on. I could have Life Posed on the counter for her, me and my quadruple heart bypass scars, up my chest and down both legs, they harvest your veins after all.

If you listen actively to Radio for 50 years you can learn a lot too, I don’t just mean the Chart Show, though my dance steps are impressive, BBC Radio4, the best radio station in the world, period, as the Americans say. All your Life at every moment you are growing and learning, not directly, but subliminally. Then when the occasion arises you can jump into action. You did First Aid training, on the Annie doll, so save a life in the street. In my brother’s case he saved our dad’s life long enough to get dad to hospital. Though 8 bare weeks earlier he was not so lucky, as mum died in his arms as he held her in the marriage bed, with dad looking on.

So life goes on and you learn stuff, or you lie on a CV, until a Czech trucker arrives at the factory and your Czech does not exist, the Trumps are ½ Czech you know. As for me I learnt French and Spanish at school, but never Chinese, though my kids are bilingual, Shanghai wife and all that. Though now my small daughter says she hears more Korean than anything as I watch all my Kdramas on tv.

So life goes on and you accumulate knowledge, or 50 years worth of tv and radio news, one of my addictions. My daughter did a quiz and only she knew the answers because, she heard it all from me and the BBC. The other teenagers looked at hear in disbelief, who is Robin Day anyway? As my life has gone on, and could have ended too, I’ve morphed into a writer, I try and be humorous but on other occasions you get what you are getting today.

So 33 years ago I started writing, I can remember writing in pencil on paper, now its direct Brain to Screen and nothing in between. Leap Years Day 1988 was when I first finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, so in 2 weeks or so it’s another Leap Year, I forgot we were having one, so 2020 Leap Year’s Day means its 32 years old. Then you have the other 18books, all on Amazon. I also have stuff on my sites, just in case I die, so at least somebody reads my rubbish.

All in all what does this mean, as I have to finish as I’m expecting a man at my door soon, it means I may look like a stupid fat silly man with brilliant silver hair, ok dandruff man 2020. However I have lived a life, and I did it my way, and I always analyse even if at the moment you think you have won, for I will come back and bite you on the bum. Which may be a kinky way to start a relationship, but whatever gets you through the night, enjoy it and do it.

The Courage to Sing (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s 16^th Feb now, and the Red Shoe’s Ballet at the Birmingham Hippodrome was great, the music induced a tear. Today the pain monster in my back/hips is inducing near tears, and loads of pain. That’s the sine curve of pain, totally random pain, on randomly chosen parts of my body. As I sit here in my chair, I wanted to write something new, and not just post a repeat, and as Celine Dion started to sing, the choice of subject rose its head from the barricades of pain.

You do have to have courage to sing, so as Les Mis comes to both our minds, you can start singing that to yourself, as I talk to you, above Celine’s voice. To sing is to doubly praise as Saint Cecilia says, though in S&G’s song was Cecilia a bad girlfriend or worse? Then Cecilia broke hearts, if you can remember the song. A good song sung well can break hearts, can touch as much as the music from The Red Shoes touched me yesterday. Or in a play, you can shed tears as the play unfolds. We saw the theatre version of The Lovely Bones recently and I was shocked to by core by the performance and sat with tears falling, I had forgotten the film version, so I was not prepared.

So Art, can and does touch the parts that only some lagers do. If you have a pint or three you will be inclined to sing, but otherwise you have to have a good spirit before you can sing. You cannot sing when you are sad or dealing with a crisis, just as I cannot write if I’m sad, or yet another USA shooting horror overwhelms us all, nobody wants to sing at a funeral.

Yes great songs can be sung at at funeral, and the Lazarus reading usually read at funerals is very touching, Jesus wept. Generally to sing you have to be happy. If you are happy and you know it clap your hands, if you are happy and you know it stamp your feet, and so on as the song goes. Songs are ways to defy tyranny, they unite and bind us, from union songs, to slave songs and all manner of songs, from sea shanties to songs of war. To rallying cries and more, from I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy to Over There to the Yanks are coming, or here in Britain We’ll Meet Again.

But Out of the Depths I Cry to Thee Lord, may be the start, when we are flat on our back, when we are crawling like worms in the dirt, when there is no hope, when we are battered and broken, and beaten. By life, by lack of hope, when we are at the end of our rope,, when we might be tempted to use a rope. Then a song, a noise, a hum, a voice might cut through our darkness and give a glimmer of hope, somebody or something offers a rope ladder out of our pit of despair. Then the only way is up, just like the song from years ago.

We have the courage to begin to sing, to hold that hand that reaches down to the gutter, and lets us look at the stars, Oscar or David, or whoever it is. We have the courage to sing, it can be anything, away in a manger, if it is Christmas, or a rugby song, a spiritual, or a really obscene song, it does not matter. The point is it lifts us up, there is a song that we love and whenever we hear it we feel better. My favourite song is The Windmills of Your Mind, from the 1968 Thomas Crown Affair. I just love it, and if you’ve read some of my 1,500,000 plus words you can understand. I was Sancho Panza and my master did tilt at windmills after all.

A song is a shock to the heart, it makes us skip a beat, or kick starts our emotions, our feelings, if we have no feelings then we are dead already. So a song, and being able to sing is evidence of life and hope and love. We sing to our children to reassure them, to keep the bedbugs away, or whatever. It brings joy and happiness to them. We sing in the darkness as we wait for the power to come back on. To sing is to have a heartbeat, they say you should keep on talking to a coma victim. But you should also sing to yourself to whistle while you work.

I have music surrounding me all my life, and now with Tinnitus coming out to play and attack me for 18 months and more, music and song is so important. In the dark of the night I have no Cecilia, just music playing till exhaustion gets me, then I sleep. You can make up your own Cecilia references. I hope you recognise that when you are down and nearly out, you do need a bridge over troubled water. And that bridge is song, a song will inspire, and ease your weary bones, it will come on baby light your fire, just little little embers being blown in the wind, but it is the answer.

So sing to somebody, have a sing song, whistle while you work, be the sparrow singing in your family, in your neighborhood. Then rejoice rejoice Emmanuel, because you have learnt to love again. The shadows of sorrow and pain have been banished, by a simple song of sixpence.

Weather Vane ©

By

Michael Casey

Now, Storm Dennis has been a Menace, just like the kids cartoon of the same name, our 2^nd storm in as many weeks. So after I ventured out past the barricades, Virgin Media are digging up the pavement outside, I sit here and think what shall I write about, sorry talk about, today. Then Weather Vane comes to mind, though I may not actually talk about the weather, I’ll leave that to pundits, I hope I’ll write something more interesting and better, though you’ll be the judge, as ever. So Settle Down Now, as an old comedian used to say, as Eric Clapton sings for me as I talk to you. Clapton lounge singer, though I did meet him once, but I’ll save that story.

Clapton is drowning in a river of tears. We all can when events overwhelm you, when bureaucrats put paper before people, you’ve all had your own battles, but what I want to talk about today is how do you overcome them. Events blow, and we are that battered Weather Vane on the roof, we spin and shake and may almost be blown away from our place on the roof, on the committee, in the family, at work or anywhere, or even amongst safe old fashioned church politics.

So how do we survive, we may pray, pray like crazy, or just have a good old session with the local ride, in all senses of the word. Or we visit Nice Nelly, who is such a good listener, she is blind but she can see far better than authority. She is also very very fat, and her dog Dougal too. How do you reward a blind lady? You give her food, the very best of food, and even arrange for a sighted cleaner to come twice a week. Nelly listens, she does not miss a heart beat, her sightless eyes, and wonderful ears, as good as any dogs, listen and dissect. She’ll solve your problem, she is patient and kind, and has all the time in the world. She used to be a Litigator in another life but a random act of violence took her sight away. But now though sightless she feels God has given her the chance to do something useful with her life. She is a listener, and thanks God for the opportunity to be of use to the world. Before she used to extract blood from a stone, for profit. But now she extracts Love, Hope and Charity, and spreads it all around. She is better than any therapist.

We all have such a person somewhere in our lives, it may be a friend, a relative, or a random stranger on a bus, paths cross and wisdom is revealed, and you never meet that stranger again. Was it an Angel, an angel with a dirty face, a smelly fat silver haired man in shades on the bus to Birmingham? Was it the man or young girl you thought would rob you in the dark. But a big smile shone out of the darkness, in every sense of the word and saved you, saved you from stepping into a giant puddle, and saved you from your dilemma.

Life blows us, sometimes there is a gentle breeze on our face on a summer day, sometimes there is blinding freezing hail cutting our face as we walk uphill home from work. The weather vane spins, but with hope, friends and love we get back to our True North. So what I’m trying to say is that, you’ll be swamped and even almost Water Boarded by Life, but you can and will survive. You don’t have to be a Hero or Legend, two very over used and over rated words, no you just soldier on quietly. Dig out your own Nice Nelly, and cherish her and her dog. Simple unassuming ordinary or even boring people are the extraordinary people in this life, and I’ve been very lucky indeed to meet some in my life.

Let the wind blow, but know this my mother used to Bless the Wind and tell it to be calm. Just as some other guy you may have heard of used to do when he was out fishing with his mates. The storm may batter the weather vane, but there is only one way up.

The Navvy (c)

By

Michael Casey

Now as Donald Trump flies off to India I was thinking what to talk about today, then as I looked out the window the answer lay there. The Navvy, you see Virgin Media are laying cable everywhere, its suppose to be the fastest and the best, according to the reviews. Sadly out of my price range, but if you are reading this Richard, feel free to give me the whole package for free, and I'll thank you in pectore if I spelt that right. But obviously that'll never happen, not unless it's him in American Samoa who is reading me. Though it's probably a desk clerk bored with porn who is reading me.

Now a Navvy is a misspelling of Navy, no Donald it is not, word blindness is a bad thing, it slows you down, you get tenses wrong, P for B and so on, and yes I do all that, but maybe it's because I'm too fast. So let's hold hands Donald and tip toe through the Tulips, just watch of for Tiny Tim, you know the boy from a Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, the British Writer who pees all over Twain, leaving his Mark on him. But enough of the friendly Literary Rivalry. Charles is best period as you say over there, though over here a period is well, a period.

Now as you also know a Navvy was/ is the guy who digs things, not the fab and groovy, hey man what was in this cigarette, or fag as we say over here in England, not that kind of “dig” but the dig as in digging, not to be confused with Mick Diggings who used to live in Cromane Kerry if memory serves. I hope you are keeping notes Donald, didn't Kim give you a souvenir, no not that Kim of the curves Kim, but the short fat and bad haircut rocket man Kim, before you became BFFs and pen friends. Anyway back to Digging. The Irish and the Chinese made America, and they still look after America. The Irish are the Cops, and the Chinese make everything sold in America, such as the iphone.

The Irish and the Chinese laid America, by which I mean they laid the railroad tracks, any other kind of laying, must be something to do with eggs. One of the streets where I live is named after the chicken farm that used to be there 100 years ago. Yes it's called Chicken Lickin Street, nowadays we have roads named after the Brewery that used to be there. I used to hop, as I could smell the hops, as I went down the hill, and yes it's been all down hill since then I can hear you exclaim, you are so cruel, at least Donald make such remarks, maybe because he thinks this is Abbot and Costello, but no it's Gerald Wiley, go google NSA.

So the Irish Navvy and the Chinese Navvy linked America from coast to coast by building the Railroads. And AMTRAK was born so to speak. I did have an Uncle, no not the man from UNCLE, by my mother's brother who worked for Amtrak in Boston, his son is a Cop there, he's Irish or son of Irish, so obviously he's a Cop. If he were Chinese then he'd be a business man or run a restaurant, or run a factory building iPhones. Though the Chinese connection is this side of the Atlantic via my Shanghai wife. I hope you are keeping up with all this Donald, or we'll get Kim to spank you with a rolled copy of the failing Washington Post, by Kim I mean the curvy Kim, though I'm sure your BBF would jump at the chance.

As the railroad advanced people died, so they were buried at the rail side, no doubt Mark Twain would comment, and curse Dickens for being on the train behind, touring Dickens was a great big hit back then. Before TED talks were invented, and how did Roosevelt persuade a bear to talk I just do not know, but it ended in a film, but maybe Donald knows more about film than I. He was in Home Alone, after all, well apart from the Canadian version.

Early photos captured the back breaking toil of the Irish and the Chinese, without them Casey Jones would not even have had a job, and no he's no relative of mine, Casey is my surname, my family name. There is a Genesis song on the We Can't Dance album about Navvies. And remember too, who dug the Canals in England 100s of years ago, they were the motorways of their time. I'll pause now for Movelat painkiller gel, which was not invented back then, so no doubt the Chinese massage was the best alternative back then.

Buy shares in Movelat Gel, it works fast and stops me from screaming in pain, I know it's you the readers who are in the most pain, from listening to me. You are so cruel. I was going to offer you a cup of tea and biscuits, and no that's not a metaphor, what kind of boy do you think I am? I did give my navvies outside tea and biscuits, and a couple of apples from Portugal too, as they dug the Virgin Media trench, I know how hard they work, my dad used to sweat for 10 to 16 hours, if he got overtime in the steel works, The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. Years later Betty who taught my girls piano revealed she used to teach in the Primary School in the same road. Small world, and obviously you couldn't put a piano in front of a furnace, that would be ridiculous.

So Navvies come in all shapes and sizes and are ridiculously strong, they have to be, you and me would just drop down dead if we tried to do their job, so when you get the new superduppa Virgin Media, spare a thought for the navvy who brought it to you. So I'm going to finish now as my belly needs feeding, I heard that Trump, it looks overfed already, you are such a card, and I'm not talking about your golf score card. Just spare a thought for the navvy as you ride the rails, without them, you'd be stuck at home with your mother-in-law all. You couldn't go and visit the ballet, or the bowling alley, and all the other bs there are, so spare a thought and say a prayer for some soul buried there by the tracks. Irish and Chinese we salute you.

Now if you think this piece is too Robin Williams, then really it's more Robin, Batman's boyfriend or is it boy and friend, and Williams, Andy Williams, so as I moon over a river, I'll say a pray too as Internet Mass is next for me.

Simple Sarah (c)

By

Michael Casey

Simple Sarah, was well simple, or so folks thought, in fact she used to teach languages, very strange languages to very strange men. They all respected her, she used to slap their knuckles with a plastic ruler if they made any mistakes. She was no ordinary ESOL English teacher, but in reverse if you know what I mean. She was the best, the very best in her field. When she announced she was to retire early, while there was still some life in the old dog, everybody at the “school” was sad. You’ll miss the bitch, or Miss Bitch, I know what you call me behind my back. Then she laughed like a drain, and everybody joined in. She always told them after slapping knuckles with a ruler, one day you’ll thank me. And indeed they did, indeed they did.

They didn’t give her a clock as a leaving present, they gave her a watch and a parrot. As she had told them all that Parrot Fashion was the only way to be when speaking a language. She also told them a friend of hers used to own a cafe and he had a parrot that always said “shut the bleeding door” and yes that’s a true story, because this writer’s dad used to go there on High Street Smethwick many years ago. So Simple Sarah retired early, with a parrot and a Mickey Mouse watch, though it was no ordinary Mickey Mouse watch.

So Simple Sarah settled into living in her Agatha Raison style village. Soon she knew everybody and she knew everything, she cycled everywhere with an old grocer’s bicycle with it’s basket at the front. Simple Sarah was a big strong girl, in fact she once had a French student in her class, he complained about being hit with a ruler, so she slapped his face so hard it was red for an hour. She believed in discipline, and so did her students. The French man never complained after that, in fact a year later he returned with a gift of wine and cheese. All he said was, you saved my life, and went away with a tear in his eye.

So Simple Sarah soon became the village gossip par excellent, she knew things only your priest or doctor should or could know. If you were sick, or needed cheering up she was there. A cheerful chat, disgusting really disgusting jokes, that you’d need confession after hearing them. Or a kiss and a hug, and a gift of jam left at your door. She had a friend called Mrs Douglas who made cake so a cake made with love from Mrs Douglas would find it’s way to you. Carried in a basket in front of the bicycle, Simple Sarah really was the best, simple the best, better than all the rest. Flowers were grown in her garden and shared with love. Simple Sarah had green fingers up to her elbow, she received seeds in the post from her “boys” as she called them fondly, even if they called her “Miss Bitch”, she laughed at the memory.

Simple Sarah loved her life, her retirement, she could keep a secret too, so she was the confessor to all, she could easily have put the priest out of business. But she did not, she was a glue, a form or chattering cement that bound the street as other women do all over the world do. Now when one day Sarah was not seen at the post office everybody assumed she was some place else. But she was not, she had in fact fallen down the stairs, carrying too many books and her mug of Horlicks.

There was a Frenchman in the post office, he wanted to buy a plastic ruler, he was the very same Frenchman, all the girls swooned. He was hot, so very very hot, and yes he even had a moustache and a battered beret with a Lourdes badge on. Then everybody pointed to the sky, there was a parrot flying overhead, it had something in it’s claws, it was a watch. It was Simple Sarah’s, she had told them all to call her simply Sarah, or Simple Sarah and had laughed when she first met them all. Hence Simple Sarah, and now the parrot was carrying her watch.

The Frenchman looked up, Miss Bitch he exclaimed, he recognised both parrot and the watch. Everybody in the post office gave him a filthy look, such language and to speak of the angelic Simple Sarah in such a way. The Frenchman ran outside and spoke in a foreign language, the parrot immediately descended and perched on his shoulder. The Frenchman looked at the watch, he pressed the special button immediately. Help will Come, Help with Come but this was not Narnia this was a little English village, near Herford.

The Frenchman spoke into his phone again in a very strange language, look after the parrot he commanded, and he was so very commanding, the French as so very hot, hot hot. All the post office ladies were aquiver. The rescuers will come, just tell them Jacques Cousteau has gone ahead, and then he raced through field in a direct attack, or should I say save. What’s going on, and why is Simple Sarah’s parrot here. Then the ladies looked at the Mickey Mouse watch, on the back was an inscription, from those who dare to speak.

They didn’t quiet understand what it all meant, but 3 military helicopters overhead and quad bikers swarming did give a little indication. Simple Sarah used to teach strange languages to even stranger men, and yes your life could depend on it, so you did have to speak just like a parrot. Or something deadlier than a ruler might hit you. And why was the Frenchman call Jacques Cousteau? Because he enjoyed a gentle paddle in water, if I explained any more somebody might have to kill you, if you’ve read the first story in The Final Cut of the 19^th Hole that might explain it to you, ok enough.

So Simple Sarah was saved and a helicopter took her to a Military hospital, as it was the closest, and they do look after their own after all. Though Birmingham’s QE does look after many military too, and military nurses work there, as this writer can testify. All was revealed, well almost, Simple Sarah was a linguist, was it 15 languages she spoke, and they were the kind of languages “naughty boys” as she called her boys might need when they were out for a Friday night’s mischief. And yes that’s a metaphor.

All the post office’s supply of plastic rulers were bought up, the “naught boys” did have a sense of humour after all. So a vase of wine with plastic rulers sticking out of it like flowers was placed by her bed in hospital. They did give her a very long straw as well.

Saturday, 29 February 2020

How's the past 32 years been for you?

as you know today marks 32nd anniversary of

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

I finished it 32 years ago today on Leap Year's Day 29th Feb 1988

It has been downloaded thousands of times for free

from my Wordpress, in many languages

My original English you can buy on Amazon

So how has the past 32 years treated you?

Me, I've experiences many many horrors and bucket loads

of pain, you've seen me and my bucket in photos

But I refuse to let that dissuade me

YOU  MUST CARE ON, AND START  OVER

Or you are dead in the spirit

Yes I moan and bitch, but if you've had my past 32 years

I'd like to see how you survived or would you have thrown

in the towel in many many ways

I'm very very lucky as I had great parents

and a great family to support me through the horrible times

and there have been too many

But the thing is I just never give up

Because I has a faith poured into me, I am just a cup

and I had love too poured into me, I am still a cup

I am very lucky I had two great girls, two daughters

now teenagers, forgive the old photos I post

So I never give up, even when racked with pain

so far all pain passes, even if it is like a thief in the night

and makes me want to scream, and sometimes I do scream

Writing is a focus, it may drive you guys mad, or  bore you all

but for me it's almost like a prayer, it gives me hope and a focus

to my life, when pain is upon me

No I'm not in pain all of the time, just enough of the time to

call it chronic pain.

So after 32 years there are 19 books now, 2 of which are omnibuses

I can say at the end of my days, at least I left something behind,

my legacy to mankind, which lives here on Blogger and Wordpress

and Amazon too, if any of you bothered to buy, and pay this writer.

My face hasn't changed much all these years, though my hair is far

whiter, and I have scars on my chest and both legs post unplanned

quadruple heart bypass. Never mind any other metaphorical scars.

If God were to give me  my health back I'd marry again, a Korean catholic

girl and have 4 more children, and live till I was 100. 

We could have a Kpop band or a martial arts school.

And grow older all pampered by my 6 kids in

total. And if I actually made any money as I write the next 19 books,

I'd donate 50% to Pain Relief, rising to 90% to Pain Relief

But sadly Yoona or anybody similar doesn't live anywhere near me in

Birmingham, & I'm not humble enough to receive more Blessings from God

So that's about it from my 1st 32 years of "professional" writing, because once I finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

that's when I started to call myself a WRITER,

though you may choose another W word

such as Wa, Waiter.

Michael MANUEL Casey he's from BIRMINGHAM

As I look out my window again ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s 1^st March now, just to aid all you archaeologists of my words, am I that vain or conceited, or do I just have a sense of humour, just. I was playing with the font style a moment ago, this is a very big deal if you are a writer. As important as your makeup if you are a girl, or me on a Friday night when I dress in drag. Well I have to look my best or the bouncers won’t let me in, besides girls have more fun, so I dress as a girl.

Again I haven’t a clue what to write about, Sam Smith is singing behind me, I just wish he’d sweep up and wash the dishes, he’s really good at that. But he just keeps on singing behind me, who does he think he is? James Bond in his slim suit, now that I stopped him from eating all my bread and cheese. I just had to let Totoro our cat back in, so there was a dramatic pause in the writing, I also had a play with my fonts, which could be a writer’s metaphor, but in reality it means what it says.

Yes I’m chilling today, like sitting on a roundabout in the park, slowly looking about me and wondering which way I shall go, or shall I suddenly leap off and go to the sweet shop. The rain comes down so that decides everything for me. As I’ve just mentioned park and roundabout a story from 50 years ago comes by. We were all in the park, it must have been the Summer of 69, to name a song title. My brother wondered what was that in the distance being blown around. Somebody jumped, it was a £20 note I seem to remember, whatever size note it was, 50 years ago that was an enormous amount. Somebody had lost it, but we found it.

So we all dashed back to the sweet shop on the Dudley Rd, was it called Jennings, or was that the other sweet shop? We all crammed in, me my brother, one of the many McNalleys and maybe 3 more. It’s my Birthday said McNalley and produced the note, so boxes of chocolate galore were bought, McNalley was confident he was already 6 feet tall, as was my brother, both early sprouters. 30 years later I met McNalley again, I was working in CPNEC Birmingham and he was a guest, now a businessman I believe.

I paused again, nothing to do with the cat, I went to Internet Mass, in Belfast today. I get to “travel” to Mass, its easier than up and down our hill with my aches and pains and a hard bench for my soft behind. That was yesterday by the way, as a day and a night have passed before I resume amusing you, or not. I was just at the store and the kid was looking the vegetables, so I asked was he praying to them. He replied who would pray to vegetables, so I told him vegetarians would. Then he asked was I a vegetarian, so I said look at me do I look like a Vegetarian. I’m heavier than Tyson Fury I continued, but he can fight the kid in the store said. So I said so could I, I’d spit in Fury’s eye, then kick him. Though I’m not very fast at running away. The kid must have thought he’d given up a place at MiT, just to suffer “the fat silver haired writer in shades” How shopworkers suffer, and it’s me who make them suffer the most. But they can always read my play Shoplife, as somebody Japanese is doing so, right now. Or Still Alive 2015, as a Korean is doing so right now too.

This is a hobby of mine, bewildering the staff in the store, but Harvey is kind, he always says hello as he stands at the door. All I really desire is an escalator or moving pavement installed up the hill, then it’d be great. Though if Harvey was the other Harvey then I could sit side saddle behind him on his horse, that’d be a Victory. At this point any USA readers will have to research the references, but it’ll be good for your soul. Speaking of Soul, as I watch the Hunters on tv I’m learning a tiny bit about Jewish culture, and a Rabbi’s saying. Basically perspective changes everything, and the more you know the more your eyes are opened.

As for Seoul they seem to like my writing, though not as much as I like Kdrama, but it’s good for my ego to see the world, or planet or globe as trendy people call the “world” being shaded in as my words spread like spilt coffee from my mug. So at this point I need to refill my mug and fill my belly too, so that’s your lot, I was thinking with this virus thing, we need a world day of prayer. Then when I googled World Day of Prayer is actually due anyway, this Friday on 6^th March 2020. So whatever Faith you have or none at all, or even if you worship vegetables, or just your French Fries, do say a prayer for the world on Friday, or at any time.

Is Twitter worth my spit ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I’ve stumbled into Twitter again, only because of Tinnitus my Roman slave who shares my bed, till exhausted I fall asleep with a smile on my face, as for Tinnitus he is beaten or is Tinnitus a she or an it, or a they if you want to be totally PC. Well Tinnitus is knackered. For foreign readers this might really confuse. But if you did Latin at school it might help, or have an old grannie who keeps on saying, What? Or Speak up, you know I have hiss in my ear. And yes HISS, nothing to do with grandpa’s leaky waterworks in her ear.

So I was in bed, hissing Tinnitus in my ear, so as I’m awake I play with my phone. Which led to me thinking why not Twitter Trump. So I pressed a few buttons and I was on Twitter. I did have a go a few years ago, but found it exhausting fun, not very productive. Writing a story is better use of my time. Twitter then was too much like flogging Tinnitus, and now I’ve returned I hope I might just direct folks to my sites where they can read my rubbish. But they will join readers in 80 Countries. Though they might prefer to flog their own Tinnitus, or just play with their Twitters, if they carry on like that they’d be both exhausted and blind, they should listen to Brown Own in the Guides after all, or they’d need a guide dog.

But back to the plot, I trolled Trump, but he never replied, I think he’s planning on Nuking the West Coast to save it from this virus. Just like Lex Luthor in Superman, is he buying up Nevada as we speak? Or using them as Lab Rats for 2 month ready vaccine, Seattle doesn’t vote for him anyway. If this virus is the new Black Death, then USA will have a Civil, an very uncivil Civil War, as everybody has a gun, 300 million of them in civilian hands alone. It’s my right to cough and spew, so (*&&* you, as they load up. Plenty to Twitter about there.

Over here I’ve been reading the Press, all the Powers needed just in case, BUT SUNSET CLAUSES MUST BE INSERTED, or our next Dear Leader could be a very nasty leader. But at least the trains will run on time, because there will be no passengers. The thing with Twitter it’s very ping and pong, and nobody thinks, or so it seems when I looked at it a few years ago. Everybody wants oven ready microwaved Opinion, which may remind you of our Election just gone, there’s not enough space to develop a theme. It’s like kids in the playground.

Silly photos rule, so obviously I’ve added my own in an attempt to direct people to my Words. But Writing or Broadcasting is Talking to Yourself, and Twitter is painting on walls, Graffiti, or even peeing up a wall. As kids we’d see who could pee the highest up the outside bog wall, and high praise indeed if you could actually pee over the wall. Is Twitter just like that, I don’t know what the female equivalent is, there’s a discussion to be had over a drink on a Friday night. Or you could have a hashtag for it *Peeingoverthewall I don’t even have a hash on this keyboard, # I just found it, #peeingoverthewall

So is that the sum total of the debate. Then of course you have Politicians all Tweeting, as if we want to hear their Drivel, whatever happened to a Statement that actually said something. It’s too much people joining in and piling in, as if they’d be the odd one out because they did not comment, and they’d be castrated if they did not comment.

Michael Casey did not comment of the fallen leaves blocking the drain, for 5 minutes, before a Hero, a True Legend, of a caretaker, or his own wife or mistress or bit of stuff or whatever, or just neighbour, unblocked a drain. We have melodrama because of what? 2 minutes delay for something inconsequential. And then you have the ping pong played out, on the merits of cleaning drains etc. Have people got nothing better to do. We have nonentities being paraded as heroes, and why? Because of Twitter.

Real heroes, the caretaker who does care and look after his school in all weathers, and the crossing lady, and you can add those you know to the list, the real list, they aren’t noticed by Twitter, or anybody or anything.

But I’ve twittered on enough, use Media to the best effect. But go deeper and find out facts, not more and more bite size, pieces of vacuous rubbish. Yes, I’m trying to get you to think, and think for yourself, Follow Nobody, just be your own Leader. Or we’ll have more “leaders” like Trump, who’ll let the Vultures eat us.

Un PC Political Comedy ©

By

Michael Casey

Here in UK, Labour lost our Christmas Election, because the Labour leader looked like a tramp, and workers voted for the brainy Toff  instead because they felt he was one of them, he was London Mayor twice as well. They also did not like our Political Classes who had ignored their vote for 3 years. In a nutshell that’s it.

Over in America, in USA you have a selfish egotist billionaire as President because he won the Electoral College, not the popular vote. A President who banned film and video and copied Kim in North Korea, by insisting only pen and paper were allowed. Because he was recorded a day or so previously being told off like a naughty ignorant child by CDC DOCTOR and expert in the field who explained it in 4^th Grade style for the President. So the President more concerned for Optics than Protecting the People which he swore to do at his Inauguration, banned recording devices. Though this may have gone unnoticed what with Super Tuesday.

Yet some people still think Trump is King, which is what Trump believes in his own imagination, as he folds his arms around himself in an effort to control his temper. How many times is he hugging himself, just watch the pictures, sorry you cannot do that, or has he allowed cameras back into the White House.

So what will dislodge him, we need to use PC, Political Laxative, I know I said PC, but if you use the laxative then you will get the C, in PC, need I explain more. If Mel Brooks wrote Political Adverts what would he do? Charlie Chaplin made a film,The Great Dictator, perhaps somebody at SNL is doing so already. Perhaps I should give Mike Bloomberg a few tips, now that he has taken my advice via twitter to him, he’s going to be a supporter, because he’s a big man. Unlike a Big Man who is actually a little man, can you guess who, boys and girls. This might turn into a Panto, or Pantomime, which is British comedy slapstick theatre for the Christmas season. Go google and watch one, you will never never never be the same again. Have I just given Broadway an idea? You could just produce my play Shoplife, but I digress.

So lets say this is a Pantomime, or Political Cartoon advertising. People bore with attack ads, they won’t remember the FACTS, or they may not even watch them, because its FAKE NEWS. However if the show in 60seconds or half that is FUNNY. Then they’ll LAUGH, and come back to see it again and again, like Rocky Horror show, or better still my play Shoplife which was actually accepted for Production, but I digress.

So where do I begin boys and girls? You have a man coming down an escalator, singing Hello Dolly, in drag. I suppose I’ll have to give up this if I run for President. The drag artist rips off the dress to reveal himself in a suit with a very long red tie, touching the floor, it’s our Donald.

Run that commercial over and over, and put it on Facebook and Utube and Billboards.

You have a multitude of dancers in skin tight tops, with numbers on 1 to 17 maybe or more and more and more who appear, and disappear as cheques are passed out. Cartoon this or live action this.

Have a series of buildings going up, and falling down like puppets on a string. Have the Donald with the enormous tie, skip backward and forward trying to distract attention as buildings fall and rise again. The buildings could be in the shape of vampires rising from the dead.

Have Donald skip around banks, with doors slammed in his face. All with great Disco music being played. These are little snapshots that’ll make people laugh and watch over and over again. So in 30 seconds to 1 minute you show the real deal. No need for an hour on CNN or MSCBC showing the reality. You show it quick, and rock him and mock him.

Mel Brooks did it so well in the Producers, and the never version is great too. So this kind of humour cuts to the core. And you can keep it rolling, or bring out a new one twice a week, to keep momentum up. Donald is great at misdirection, and the USA audience has a very low attention span. But if you keep them laughing, then his core will slowly seep away, until finally crack.

You can have a whole serious of Great deeds of the Donald, and have the Dear Leader, or the Taliban or Putin, talk to the audience, just like in Panto or the narrator in Rocky Horror show. He thinks this, the reality is really this and so on.

You can have voter try and vote but it’s like a Treasure hunt, as obstruction after obstruction is put in the way. You can play King’s I have a Dream speech, and Kennedy’s Ask Not What, on a speaker as the citizen in search of a voting place struggles to vote. Finally the citizen puts his vote down. Stars and Stripes plays, or a marching band strides across the stage. Rejoice you have voted, or Ding Dong the Witch is dead from the Wizard of Oz.

There are many many scenarios, keep then short and swamp Trump, his trick is to spout so much rubbish you just cannot fire fight it. Every lie you hear from him just play a FART sound. COMEDY WORKS. So use it as a weapon. If more and more people are laughing at him, then his “message” of ignorance and spite can be washed away. And washing away is the key, the whole world is depending on folks getting off the sofa and voting. You can even cartoonize that. Why do Dictators dictate, because people don’t bother. Now is the time to register and vote when the time comes. Before it is too late. And my final thought, Defence has been a theme of Trump’s yet he had to repay $2,000,000 to a Veterans Charity. And CDC is part of the Biological Defence of the people, why was that trimmed to the bone. I sometimes feel here in UK I know more about what is happening in USA, than some Americans so. Trump is no joke, so vote him out, and start by mocking him constantly in a Tsunami of comedy/cartoon short. Starting with a Cartoon with him in a bunker surrounded by a wall made up of LIES.

OK> the DEMS will now be condemned for having a foreign adviser, Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England,   

The Old Irish Dancer ©

By

Michael Casey

Delia was, well she was Delia, no way to describe her other than that, she was herself and nothing else. She was old now, and a bit slower in movement, but she had strong legs. So when she was invited to a dance by her dear old friend Mrs Winston of course she’d come. Their combined ages over 160 at least, but nobody dared ask, for fear of a slap in the puss, for cheeking their elders.

Mrs Winston and Delia stationed themselves in 2 old chairs, battered like themselves, brought especially to the church hall tied to the roof rack. Don’t be thinking you can take me home like that strapped to the roof rack, said Mrs Winston her bosom shaking like an enormous bouncy castle. Delia said she didn’t mind being strapped to the roof rack so long as she was still sat in an armchair.

And that in fact was how she got home in glory.

Delia shuffled about leaning hard on her stick, a present from Mrs Winston for her 70^th Birthday, practical and much love. Mrs Winston had many many relatives, and they had friends and friends had friends. So the church hall was full, before the 70s theme started and Barry White could do his thing. The gospel choir did their thing, with all the boys looking on. Delia weaved her way in and out of the choir, like a sparrow hopping from place to place. Though like a bee pollinating might be a better description. The Delia sat next to Mrs Winston, they exchanged a knowing look.

Barry White started proceedings, always reliable. At the first interval, Delia stamped her stick, winking at Mrs Winston. Do you call that dancing? If I could have a little support I’ll teach you how to dance Irish style, it was Saint Patrick’s Day after all. So pointing her stick at the biggest man in the crowd she called him over, then she pointed stick at a shy girl, you too, come here. They were both cornered, so they came over. One on her left, one on her right supporting her weight, then with a wink Mrs Winston bluetoothed the speakers, Irish dance music blared out.

Delia was on fire, those legs dashed and pranced, all her weight supported, by Dennis and Marlene. Uproar.Dennis and Marlene joined in, 3 Irish dancers. Then Mrs Winston could see the look in dear Delia’s eye, she released her supports and danced for 10 seconds before tripping Dennis and Marlene over, only Mrs Winston knew this was her plan. Dennis tried to catch Marlene, only he just ended up with his hand on her chest, and Marlene ended up with her hand below his waist. Silence then with Delia leaning over the couple, her weight on her stick. Well if you have finished your introductions, I’d say you would be a great couple. But learn to Irish dance properly first. Uproar of Laughter.

And that was how Dennis and Marlene got together, they were tricked. Mrs Winston knew they’d be a great couple, if only they were introduced, and Delia did the introductions. So Marlene and Dennis spent the evening being the first my last my everything with Barry White as a witness. They say the rhythm method is the best method, and Delia and Mrs Winston knew all about that. So over the course of the evening 4 other couples were introduced to Irish dancing, and each time they fell for each other literally. If you have rhythm then you should stick to it.

Some may say it was a cheap trick, a dirty trick, pushing people together. But Mrs Winston and Delia had a plan, besides the nursery needed more kids or they would close it next year. But Mrs Winston knew as did Delia, fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and at their ages they’d be joining the angels soon. So they were helping couples find each other, and they’d have a few more visitors with gossip, the lifeblood of older people, all because they were creating families, via Irish Dancing.

Now when the dance was over Delia was chaired out of the hall, and indeed tied to the roof rack chair and all. Then ever so slowly driven home. Sgt Mulholland from Old Forge and Singing Anvil police station was driving past and could see what was happening. So obviously he gave them a Police Escort with blue light flashing,

How many couples this Saint Patrick’s Day he asked Delia as she was lower from the roof rack. So she high fived him by way of reply.

Self Motivating when you could not be bothered ©

By

Michael Casey

I was going to start with a much repeated opening, “I could not think what to talk about today”, then as usual an idea formed. How do you motivate yourself. Me, I am not driven, but with a Protestant work ethic, though I’m a catholic altruist, that best describes me, though fat silver haired and wearing shades is more accurate. And yes I write too and am from Birmingham. Though a confession, I use Birmingham as nobody outside UK would know nor could pronounce where I’m really from. Ok, it’s Old Forge and Singing Anvil, and you thought it was a made up place in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, or am I lying to you, or just a good writer?

Confused, I hope so, bemused is the best way to have our readers, stand up writing, where you are a few paces ahead of them, just out of hitting range, or best practice self isolation range. Talking of range, free range eggs are the best, the yolk is so yellow you almost need shades as you look at them. So am I looking at a lot of eggs, hence the shades, or is the yolk on me? Roy Hudd RIP left me that joke in his will, or was it John Prescott? Non USA readers can Google those names.

Which brings me to Motivation, as you all know everywhere, in 80 countries where you stumble over me, I’ve done a ton of writing, nearly 1.6million words now spread like manure on my field of 19 books. So I don’t need to write any more, and I know some of you may be praying for me to stop, you and your friend Covid. So why should I add another story to the 2000 blocking the sewer of the Internet. Social commentary inserted without you even realising it, I do like to test you all, I can hear you reaching for that bucket of water to drench me. Oh was that a bar of soap you’ve thrown at me, I thought it was a rock, what, you left the rocks outside in the rockery next to your Gnomes. So you want me to strip naked before I continue talking to you? I’m clean I have no need to wash, if I paraphrase the Bible. But you insist.

So there I am on a doorstep, naked, a hairy bear with scars and a breast poking out through my bypass scar. All I hear is laughter inside and I can see a light, I’m being filmed and uploaded to the Internet. Self Isolation my fat behind, I’m being pranked. And that’s how I explained myself to the ice cream man as I ran still dripping and naked to the ice cream van.

You see Mr Wippy’s 99s are legendary around here, so I just had to have an ice cream and sprinkles too. I looked like that dog that does the paint advert for Dulux, Dulux I said not those personal clothing things made of plastic. You are all so deaf, DEAF. I’m having a hearing consultation over the phone in 5 minutes, yes really. So I think I may just stop now.

And the point of all this? Well there I was with no motivation and now I’ve added 600 words or so to my grand total. If I can write or talk to you off the cuff the so can YOU. The thing is to just start, turn the tap and see what comes out, something is better than nothing. If you have a tick list, or a to do list then GREAT, or if you can only muster a few words, then that’s great too. Something is better than nothing, if you only do one square on the chess board, then that’s a beginning, little by little you can do more and more. Motivation is not about climbing Mount Everest on day one, it’s about thinking, about preparing, it’s about doing.

You may have 6 kids now, but it all started looking out the window, then smiling at that girl, then waving to the girl, then inviting her in for a cup of tea. Then finally years later you are a family with 6 kids. So motivate yourself to get off the couch and do something. I’ve ended up with 19 books spread all over the Internet. But it all started writing in pencil with a scrap of paper, then pages held together with shoe laces. So motivate yourself to do something, and yes chasing a girl and having six kids, is far more fun than writing any day.

Shouting Shakespeare (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well I threatened to write this, so here it is. As you all know Covid19 is annoying us all, young Covid needs a slap, and he’s getting one right now as I speak, thanks to NHS and labs the world over. So what about me? I need a slap and tickle, just the slap, you are all so cruel. I’ll have you know Colombia is reading me today, they think I’m Joan Wilder, or is it Michael Douglas, the local double glazing fitter? I did post a photo with a banana on my head, but if you don’t expand the photo you don’t see the banana. Can’t see the banana for the head, and my toilet should be flushed down the head for all you sailors out there, the navy is no lark after all.

Still with me, remember I am the bastard, you know that already, what I meant to say before you rudely interrupted me was that, I am the bastard love child of Joyce Grenfell and Ronnie Corbet so does that make my writing style so Gerald, not Duncan and Sandy kind of Gerald, but Gerald Wiley. It’s a form of indulgence, not Papal Indulgence, it is Lent after all, Francis does like Cadbury’s cream eggs so I’m told, all so very Easter. I get all my gossip when I go to Confession, it’s the best place for news why do you think old mothers go so often. Not unless they get a pint of Guinness from the priest while they are in there.

But this is but the prologue, Ian Dale gets a quid a word, so 278 quid so far if I were him, no wonder he waffles on, but I like waffles, but only potato waffles, I tried the other and they were too sweet and set fire to the toaster. So what has all this got to do with Shakespeare, and I was called his agent by an Open University tutor I’ll have you know, then the next year my play Shoplife was accepted for the stage, so I am like Shakespeare. Though he was produced and was I not, I think they did Rocky Horror show instead, 30 years ago. But that could be an excuse.

Which brings me too Shouting Shakespeare, finally I hear you all groan, any more cheek and I’ll come and knock on your door. But sadly I cannot I am in Isolation for 3 months, me and my broken heart and assorted ailments. I heard you all look to the Heavens and say thank you God, and that was just the non believers. So we are all in this together, Cameron should have trade marked that phrase he’d be even richer now, he’d have so many caravans he could open a caravan park, for writers who cannot write, no I don’t mean me. The cheek, I don’t sit here talking to you to get abuse, I get enough from the neighbours already, well when I Shouted Shakespeare that is.

So a stray word gave me the idea, Shouting Shakespeare. It was and is so quiet here on our hill, so I thought I’d cheer the neighbours up, as I normally do with the folks in my local shop. But as I’m staying in, the Government insists, is it just me, what have I done to upset Boris. I’ll ask him if ever I meet him. Anyway so I thought the Bard, that’s what they need. So I went to the bottom of our garden and started to quote, though the neighbours prefer I choke.

To Be or not to Be, measure for measure, a stitch in time saves nine, and on I spoke, just trying to get their attention. Then I thought I’d put a silly voice on, my Topol impersonation voice. They seemed to like that, but it gave me a sore throat after 2 hours. Shouting Shakespeare in a silly voice does hurt. As it grew dark the nude sunbathers decided to go back inside, so they all wanted me to shut it, so very Frankie Howard of them. But I persisted, Shakespeare should be heard, I know it sounds absurd, but you must, you can, and you will, Will Shakespeare that is, or was it Kenneth Corner practising his chat up line in an old Carry On film.

Then the neighbours started throwing things at me, tins of beans because they thought I was just an old fart. Then one card threw a toilet roll, to go with the beans. I was so affronted, and with the size of my behind, I can be very affronted, but that’s just at the back. They even threw stale rolls, but I’ve seen Heide so I knew I could toast them and they’d be ok. Now is the Winter of our discontent made glorious, I continued to shout. They would have beaten the c(*& out of me, luckily I had plenty of toilet paper now. Only the social distancing meant all they could do was throw things at me, even the kids threw things at me. Luckily I have a sweet tooth, and gelly babies don’t hurt when they hit you.

Finally as I looked at the debris surrounding me I realised I had enough for my dinner, and I could wipe the plate afterwards with bread rolls, and as for my behind, my audience had also provided paper for my behind. So I don’t get a pound a word like Ian Dale on the radio, but I’ve nearly reached 1000 words now, just by Shouting Shakespeare, so perhaps I’ll send it to him. Though I doubt the radio would pay me for it, maybe I’ll send it to Isabel Oakshot if I got her name right, she has better hair than him.

Though she’ll just think I’m a nanna, I do have a banana on my head after all, some card put superglue on it when they threw it. Expand the photo to get the full picture, like reading newspapers, it’s dying art, I am an old fart.