the story so far 2020 Words I've written this much in 4 months, 150 pages
I'll launch this by Christmas 2020, when it should have doubled in size
this is all I can do, write silly stories. It keeps me happy, and readers in 80 countries the world over read my stuff. The Butcher The Baker and the Undertaker has even been read in 10 languages on the same day via my Wordpress, for as we all know Britain is A Nation of Shopkeepers, which was the original title.
2020 Words ©
By
Michael Casey
It’s 30th Jan 2020 now
as I begin my 20th 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 1st 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 11th 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 56th
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
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
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.
persianBBU PORTUGUESE BBU2019 China BBU-converted China BBU-converted В поисках индийской принцессы Wydanie polskie Still Alive 2015 win Wiersze dla wszystkich The Polish Translations The Polish Translations polish Guardian Angel Polish Edition of Still Alive 2015 Michael Casey The Polish Translations 페이지 1
Quick Stories KOREAN 아직도 살아있는 2015 ページ1
Quick Stories in Japanese インドのプリンセスを検索するには インドのプリンセスを検索するには – Copy ЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ AD Страница 1 shoplife spanish Japanese elevator Advert BBU German BBU French 50 Spanish Examples 50 Spanish Examples bbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1 BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1) BBU in Hebrew BBU in Arabic 300 و BBU Russian Translation microsoft word BBU in KOREAN BBU German BBU French 50 Spanish Examples KOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015 The Polish Translations Spanish BBU 아직도 살아있는 2015 아직도 살아있는 2015 아직도 살아있는 2015
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 16th 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 2nd 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.
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 19th 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
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.
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,
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
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.
such as Wa, Waiter.
Michael MANUEL
Casey he's from BIRMINGHAM
As I look
out my window again ©
By
Michael Casey
Well it’s 1st 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 6th 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 4th 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 70th 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.
AI and Me
By
Michael Casey
Well as I said a day
or was it two ago, I’d write about AI reading me. I’ve tried Twitter, but I
prefer to tell a story and Twitter is just too short, so I have stopped using
it after a one month test. I remain on Blogger and Wordpress, unless Trump
decides he doesn’t like me. How such a dullard, if I quote his BFF, Kim in
North Korea, got to abuse power will be for History books, in November, please
God.
Now AI means
Artificial Intelligence, and once taught it will work harder and faster than
any Human. They have set it to work looking for cures for loads of things. It
is a “machine” that does not tire, so generations in the Future will be put out
of work because of it, Automation will Ruin the World, is what my dad said 30
or even 40 years ago. My uncle Willie was a Ploughman, and look what happened
to them, a Tractor replaced them. AI is a brain that does the boring stuff, but
far far faster than us.
Science Fiction
teaches us about the Future, go back 100 or 150 years to Jules Verne and H.G.
Wells, and to our beloved Star Trek 50 + years ago. Now what was spoke of has
arrived. So a Living Wage will be the Future, what else are you going to do
with all the underemployed people, can they all just become Politicians?
So everybody blogs, or
tweets. I write or rather talk to you and then post it. I would never call
myself a blogger, I am a writer. Or is that pretentious? Go dig out
“Pretentious Writers Strike Again” a piece from a few years ago. So getting to
the point, if ever there is one, people stumble over me. Perhaps they think I
am a lifestyle guru, as if I have a life, or any style, and as for guru, isn’t
that some obscure medical condition, doctor doctor I have the gurus, just take
1000 selfies a day and you will feel so much better. But will I be cured? No
but perhaps you’ll get a slot on tv, like Guru Murphy on Channel Four, the
perfume correspondent.
So companies search
the Web and print out their mentions, which does not hurt so long as you are
careful. Then then cut and paste their mentions into a file and share it.
Cutting and Pasting Mentions then Filing them, sounds outrageous to me, you
should only file your nails. Everybody wants to have cuttings especially
gardeners, though Chancy Gardinier did become President pick, go watch Being
There if you want clarification, which sounds like an Indy Band but is not.
Now AI, this is tasked
to seek out and find new life forms and boldly go where no one has gone before,
but watch out for the ClingONs on the starboard bow, or you may need to change
your underpants. That’s why AI does it, its a dirty job but AI will do anything
if you just ask and give it a bag of iron filing, which is like a Line of
White, but for machines.
So as you know I am a
creature, a creature or habit, I could hear you snickering, as you ate your
chocolate bar. So I spotted AI something was the source, how somebody found me.
I thought they put my photo with a banana on my head, plus my web address on HP
sauce bottles. It comes from Aston here in Birmingham, or it used to anyway. So
AI detective agency tracked me down, it was every so soft and cuddly ad so warm
too. They do all the leg work, shaved of course, so they can run so much
faster, less drag, which is a disappointment, if anybody is chasing me, it
would be so much more fun if they were in drag. Danny la Rue where are you?
So AI looks and finds
me, the results are tabulated, I do hope they dissolve in water. Then they are
presented to important people who are so important somebody else, that’s AI,
does the Googleing for them. Then the Leaders have less paper to look at, so
they can say. So this is Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades
from Birmingham England. Why isn’t he wearing shades in every photo, but he
does have a banana on his head. AI says nothing, it is licking its lips and
sucking on its bag of iron filings. It does not give explanations, it just
finds the quarry, and if you want to throw the quarry into a quarry afterwards
that’s up to you.
So I’ve been tracked
down my a “machine” an AI with a habit, iron filings in cyberspace. Is it my
magnetic attraction, why are all the iron filings lined up, or are they just
happy to see me. Perhaps I should call the AI, May West. Now it’s 5pm so I’ll
wipe Boris’ nose, he has to talk to the Country now, at least he has no
Election to win, if I were USA Media I’d switch the feed off after 30 mins, or
give equal time to the Nancys or whatever the other lot are called.
AI stop doing that,
and leave my pot scourer alone, your can’t have any more, take my pot
scourer out of your mouth, or whatever it is. AI is the future, it Marks my
Words.
Plain English (c)
By
Michael
Casey
So
I keep on reading rubbish, and I keep on writing rubbish I hear you say, why
don't you go away and burn ants with a magnifying glass just as I did in the
1960s. You can try this at home, as all
the Buddhists complain, see simple pleasures have changed in 50 years. You can
discuss this amongst yourselves, you have fly zappers in your stores, so who is
the more cruel?
Times
change and language changes too, though good old Anglo Saxon remains the same,
ask Lenny Bruce if you don't believe me. Or just go Bla a Bla or Do a Do, or
Soo a Soo or even Kapo a Kapo. You are so disgusting, how is that even
physically possible? You'll send me a link to your Utube channel. Don't bother,
I'll just wear snorkling gear and jump from the top of the wardrobe to, well
mind your own business, what people do in
the privacy of their own homes should stay there. Like What Happens in
Vegas stays in Vegas. Vegas is the name of our local fish and chip shop by the
way. They dye the chips orange, he's a very nice man, he always gives me an
extra shake of salt. If he knew that the Heart ward bans salt, then he'd stop,
but I don't want to crush him.
Now
what has this got to do with the price of a kebab, or a bag of chips for that
matter? I don't know either, but I have to give you all a chance to warm up. So
now that you are sitting comfortably then I'll begin, and you Pete and the
back, stop wiping snot on the keyboard, are you that bored already? Now where
was I? I read the newspapers every day,
though with Covid19 I'm rationing myself a bit, otherwise it would be
overwhelming. I would encourage you all to do the same. Major Mental Health
Problems will arise after we all get out of Lockdown, IF we don't all think
positive. Distract and Divert our Souls away from the Tsunami of trouble.
So
read the Press but don't read all your DM, or Guardian or DT or whatever you
read. Don't watch 10 hours of news on tv either. I confess I have been a life
long News Addict, 50 years worth. I also read the USA news mainly in bed with
Tinnitus my Roman slave. The thing is you must be selective, you must have a
plan, otherwise I'm BORED, rears it's ugly head. It seems to me people have
short attention spans nowadays, and what to be entertained. They don't have
enough in their head already to keep them happy.
Maybe
only children will be better at adapting to the Covid19 world, not just
children themselves but grown ups who were only children. As they had to make
up their own entertainment, or cruel kids who burn ants with magnifying
glasses. Or poor kids, or kids with IMAGINATION, I used to have a paper clip
and I traced up and down a brick wall, the mortar was the road, and the paper
clip was a car for the Leprechans. Simple pleasures for me and Derek McKenna in
the 1960s. Nowadays if the battery goes kids are marooned without any way of
entertaining themselves. Which is so very sad.
Dirk
Bogarde in his book tells of the look in the window challenge, you look in the
shop window for a minute, then turn your back and try to remember what was
there. Can you paint a picture? You can play this at home too. It's a way of
exercising you observation skills. Dirk Bogarde was a Photographic Interpreter
in WWII. It's a simple game, very simple, but it creates skills and stengths,
and it costs nothing, nothing at all, so anybody can do it or adapt to your
surroundings.
While
you are at home, you can all teach yourself to give a speech. Useful in all
areas of your life. And not just for the obnoctious wanna bes in the media, a
smile and a figure, male or female does not make a good reporter. So here's how
you learn. Have 5 objects in front of you, or look out the window and pick 5 objects.
Then you take turns to speak for 60 seconds, like Just a Minute on the Radio. But without any interruptions. Then
you give/get constructive advice. So 5 objects, 5 sixty second talks. Followed
by constructive advice. Then you move on to another 5 objects, but you increase
the talk time. This is the basic structure.
You
can give yourselves prep time to make notes before you talk. So you have the
idea. The “exam” the next day is being able to stand up and talk for 15minutes,
from your notes. And yes I stood up and spoke for 30 mins about my Paris
misadventures, this was Maundy Thursday 1998. Carole with an E nearly wet
herself because she didn't know what I was going to say next. The next day I
went to Czech and ended up talking to Jana's English class, I talked without
notes for 90 minutes. So the course worked. Being able to write is one skill,
but being able to talk is another. Being able to read a script is a different
skill too, hard for me as I like free flow, so even though I've written a piece
I need to learn/practice delivering it. As I am channeling myself, I bet you
never thought of that, actors really do act after all. Go to my typepad and as
I recorded more the delivery got better, though they were recorded 5 years ago
I think. And then recording 5 in a day was so tiring. I'm not a machine.
As
usual I was going to follow one path but I've gone another way, however IF you
all follow my simple instructions, all of you, yes all of you should be able
talk. You can then win the heart of that girl or boy or any which way, whom you wanted so much.
Now you have the skills to win, beauty will fade, but laughter lasts forever,
so if you can make your love laugh, she/he will chose you. And then everybody
will assume you are rich, and so you are, rich in spirit.
What
I was going to speak about was, use plain English, otherwise readers will say
he's up his own backside, as if we give a monkeys, don't they know there is a
war on, a Covid19 war. And yes you can draw cartoons of Covid19 as an ant, with
you burning them with magnifying glasses, well metaphorically speaking.
So
that's it for today, over 1100 words, and yes you can learn to write too,
though I spent 20 years listening to BBC Radio4, quality speech radio before I
ever picked up a pen. It's up to you, you can do whatever you want to do, it's
up to you. I just wish John Denver would
stop singing that so loudly, maybe I should change my ring tone?
You calling me a Liar, Bastard? (c)
By
Michael Casey
I was having a haircut
in 1978, 42 years ago, in the Barbers a bald headed man was cutting my hair. We
were talking, and why aren’t you working, it’s the middle of the week? I work
shifts. What do you do? I’m a computer operator, we do Market Research into
alcohol sales. The barber stopped to dispense something for the weekend, as
some man hovered by his shop door. That’s how condoms were bought and sold all
those years ago. Then he carried on with my hair as I explained how sales were
tabulated and then processed via the computer, which gave me a job. As I was
leaving the barber said he had a “Osiometer” at home, what’s that I innocently
asked. It tells me when I hear “Bullshit”. In essence he was calling me a LIAR.
So rather than punch him, I never gave him my custom ever again.
Now spotting on my
Blogger today that somebody used a Plagiarism machine or monitor as they looked
at my site reminded me of this event. Yes a 42 year old memory was rekindled. I
also met a rich guy in the Bell Inn Haborne Birmingham, where all the rich
people live. I ended up sending him a copy of Shoplife my hit play, which I
wrote in 1988, and was accepted for production but not finally produced. The
man, claimed I stole the idea, I was a THIEF. So obviously I wiped my bum with
his “gracious” note and flushed it away.
Some people do not
give you credit, and never will. One of my sisters was a shop worker hence
source material, I also have eyes, I try to be very observant, I am a People
person, not Paper. Though now as a writer I put people on paper, or my computer,
as everything is straight to computer, then posted and backed up. No paper
involved. I bought myself an Atari 520 on Dave Eaton’s recommendation, not for
the games but for the word processor. It cost earth, but I was not married, and
writing still is my only vice. And you can make your own jokes up about that.
So why do we care if
we are called LIARS? Well Trump does not care, and if USA does not descend into
anarchy via Covid19, Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics and Deaths will decide his
Future, though as Michael Cohen warned us, he’ll not leave graciously. But
there is a God, so hopefully Truth and Trump will out.
So why do we care if
we are called liars? Personally if you lie about a penny you cannot and should
not be trusted with a Trillion. It’s old fashioned values. Tell the Truth and
Shame the Devil, tell me the Truth and I will not hit you, as my mother used to
say when I was very small, and still naughty. She would have reached 100, next
week. I was her fifth and almost last child. She did have a final sixth child,
and used to go to the Post Office to collect her Pension and Family Allowance
on the same day, which amused her no end.
Our Integrity matters,
well not to thieves nor American Politicians, maybe your Politicians in your countries
are perfect, my readers are spread over 80 countries. So you will know better
than me. It’s obvious to me anyway there will be revolt and rebellion world
wide post Covid19, as people breakout in all senses of the word and an
accounting will be made. Let’s hope the nukes are all locked up. Or perhaps
we’ll have an era of Peace. What is also obvious it that the Developed world
will have to vaccinate the poor ½ or is it 2/3 of the world. And for selfish
reasons. If you don’t cure the poor world then the whole world is in danger
again. Simple self serving logic, no lie. You fix all the holes in a boat or it
will sink.
Yes, people tell white
lies, sometimes so kids and grandparents don’t cry or fear for their future
especially in today’s Covid 19 times. But the solution is in our hands, or in
our beds. If we stay in bed and watch tv, count the curves on your girlfriend’s
body, or imagine waxing your boyfriend’s bum. Just self isolate a bit more it
really isn’t a chore. If you have had foresight, you’ll have visited your own
bald headed barber, and bought a gross not for the weekend but for the
isolation for you and your girl. And if stocks had run low, then the stork will
come a visiting. While your there though, tell him the kid from 42 years ago is
now a Writer, and he can stick his “Osiometer” up his bum. Or am I a liar?
Discovering Tv (c)
By
Michael
Casey
I’ve
literally just seen Monk on TV, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before, but one
scene on a stage seemed familiar. So that in itself makes me wonder how or why
we remember things. I did not remember any of the rest of the show, or have any
memories triggered. So I’ve got something to watch now. It started in 2002 or
so the guide says, it’s like a comedy Columbo meets Elementary. Which might
indicated what makes me laugh, though I have very wide tastes, as wide as my
hips. I binge watched my Korean K drama last night, too much in fact, as
reading subtitle for hours is tiring. So rather than plunge into my next K
drama I’ll be spending time with Monk, his assistant looks like a young Bet
Milder, to my eyes anyway.
When
we watch tv we like something that both interests and excites, like your
boyfriend stripping badly for you, until you push him out of the way and you
use the steam stripper on the walls. What did you think I was talking about?
See you were ahead of yourself, good tv has to keep you guessing and have a
few good twists and turns, with a
surprise ending. Which goes back to stripping, what else can you both do when
you are covered in wall paper paste and paint. You just have to strip off and
tip toe not through the tulips, but through the house to the bathroom. Well if
you’ve never done that before, I’m sure you will be doing that in future.
Preparation
is everything after all, the rest I leave to you own imagination.
Now
some tv, leaves nothing to the imagination. In USA it’s very staid on tv,
compared to UK tv, hence in film it makes up for it bigtime, or so it used to
be. For example when Saturday Night Fever came out there was lots of swearing in it. It was an X, 18
certificate in UK, I thought the cursing was overdone, later a 15 certificate
was issued, and hence more people saw it, and the film made more money. You
remember John Travolta walking down the street with the tin of paint in his
hand, obviously he’d read this piece in advance, is it 40 years in advance, and
was going to take my advice about decorating and stripping, or do you think I’m
a liar, a pilot and liar, I won’t make jokes about cockpit.
There
are elements in a show that interest an audience and writers try to keep the
audience happy. In USA I’m told a team of writers write the show, and there is
even a Laugher Maker Writer, who’ll come in and insert big laughs, for which
he’s really well paid. But sitting around a table with others seems strange
compared to the way Britain writes shows, a lone writer or a team of two. Not a
gang of people writing. I’ve never tried writing with anybody, so it would be
strange. I’d be constantly hurt by the barbs, so I’d rather write something and
present it, then let them ruin it, kind of take the money and run. As if that
would ever happen.
There
are jokes, and running jokes, sponsored by Nike or Adidas or even Reebok, or am I joking? You can repeat a joke
a few times and get away with it, or if you are clever, get a different laugh
with the same material, as Eddie Izzard or Danny la Rue will explain if you ask
them to. Dress material I meant, their material is well worn, because they use
the wrong detergent in their washing machines.
And yes I love a bit of Tan-gentle humour, as straight lines are boring,
custard pie humour, which maybe Americans prefer.
Somebody
just spat at the screen, it can’t have been at me, as I sit here naked and
paint splattered with bits of wallpaper stuck to my Dave Allen style hair, and
a silver dollar in my red garter belt. I’ve been practising my stripping, what
else can a boy like me do on a fine Spring afternoon. I was watching Monk, but inspiration struck so I moved to
the computer to share these few words with you all. Confused? If you’re not you
must be reading too much or me already. Worried and Confused, they are the
names of our Rottweilers, really, well it seemed like a good idea at the time,
after Totoro our Ninja cat put them in their place.
So
rambling is always good, it strengthens the legs, I really do have very strong
thighs, if ever you see me naked and covered in paint, chocolate paint that is,
you’ll soon agree, or maybe just run away. Rambling is a device, or vice, take
you pick, which is used to bemuse as you lead people up that garden path, say
hello to Gill with a G as you travel that path, she’s always there, well in my
imagination. And as you follow the Comedy Path, you are diverted, there are
always road works, so it’s a good job there is plenty of paper in the outside
toilet. Or in plain English, any show is better if it has variety, and the
unexpected, like Tales of the Unexpected years ago. You enjoy it more. It’s a bit like our local, Cock au Van, our
local bona restaurant, you don’t know are you getting Michelin star stuff one day or food poisoning. It’s in
an old truck turned into a building, copying those diners in USA. The Cock au
Van branding, relates to truckers having a wee on the back tyre, michelin tyres
of course, truckers do know quality after all.
As
ever I could go on forever, but I need food just like the girl in my K drama
who was forever hungry, Cinderella and the 4 Knights, I do love the happy
endings and soaring music, which I sing along to in Korean. So I’m going to
eat, so I hope you discover some nice shows for yourself during Lockdown times. Or you could try and read my
19 books on Amazon, or have a browse on my online stuff. How many of my stories
would you like to see on tv? Silence, absolute SILENCE, I’ll cry if you treat
me like that, and if you think a Korean girl crying breaks your heart, wait
till you see me crying, I’ll drown you all,
ha ha ha.
Moving On Again (c)
By
Michael
Casey
This
is my 3rd idea for a story and the 3rd font I’ve played
with in under a minute, whatever I thought of yesterday I forgot, so neither or
is it none, of us know what I was going to talk about today. Amiri is the font
I’m using right now, though when I post it, it could appear different. This
looks like a Goldilocks font, not this nor that, but just right. I like curvy
things, but not too thick, nor too faint, which could describe other likings of
mine. We all like things for different reasons, that’s why Design matters. The
days of you can have any colour you like so long as it it Black are over, Henry
Ford RIP.
I
was checking out my readers, and I spotted an old piece that I had reposted as
a repost a couple of years ago. So really it could have been 7 years ago when I
wrote it, its like discovering a time capsule. I was talking about House Church
Chinese style. I referenced Nancy, who was doing her exams. Nancy came to
England aged 7 I believe she had no English. Now she has graduated in English
at Oxford University and has gained a Masters too, I think she went on to USA
to study more. Chinese go for Education big time. If you are imagine there are
1,400,000,000 people so you have to study hard to get a look in.
Nancy
also taught my daughters how to draw and paint, almost amateur professional
style if that doesn’t some a contradiction. My girls have grown since then and
have reached the late teenager age, soon they will be older than me, I feel 20 in my head. As we grow we change,
though old men don’t change, hence they smell, ask any young person and that’s
the standard view. But as ever I digress, perhaps I should undress and wash
instead, the obvious reply to any young person reading this. Our lives go this way and that though with
Covid 19, we are all sharing a common event,
which we all hope goes away soon. I’ve inserted this sentence for Social
Historians so they can reference me in the Future, see I’m so vain. But
otherwise our lives change and we move on to something else.
In
the old days we’d stay in a job for life, but Technology arrives, my Uncle
Willie was a Ploughman, so he was replaced or is it aided by a Tractor, my
cousin’s son could actually drive a tractor at the age of 9, which is normal in
Kerry Eire no doubt. You had the fear of technology, the Mill replaced home
weavers, the Printing Press put paid to Bede, Knowledge was Democratised. Life
and Society changes, now we have Twitter so everybody knows everything, but in
fact knows Nothing. Discuss.
We
have Internet too, a Library everywhere, so we can all expand our minds without
the use of LSD or any other rubbish. Having an inside toilet, and a home
telephone, not mobile but landline were big events in my own family’s time.
Kids don’t realise the luxury they have, and I’m only going back to the
1960/70s when I was going up. Life moves on and so do we. There are changes and
we throw out cherished things, like radiograms, which decades later designers
use as a basis for high tech hifis. So circles exist in Design though the
insides are now 100 times smaller.
I
used to keep everything, plastic bags and shoelaces, just in case, the poor boy
in me, so living with somebody changes all our lives. You keep they bin, even
some treasured items of clothing find their way to the Charity shop, those worn
out slippers you felt so at home in our gone. So you buy a metal locker and put
a chain on it, so your stuff stays your stuff, and not caste out like a leper.
We do change and grow as people too, you meet new people and some of them rubs
off on you, and vice versa. Then too much rubbing means she is pregnant and she
moves in, the first thing she does is throw out the metal cabinet. You have to
dash to the tip as your valuable Stamp Collection is still inside. You have to
crowbar your way into it, and cut our hand badly, so you are scared for life,
too much rubbing led to a child and a scar, not just for Christmas but for
Life.
There
is much moving in life, sometimes you don’t move Physically, but your mind
grows, you might be stuck in a prison like the Bird Man of Alcatraz, but your
mind can be free, just as Mandela was though his body was in jail. It’s not
compulsory to keep moving and changing,
though that’s how Consumer Society works, sometimes its nice to be like a
grandfather clock, steady and reliable and
standing for 90 years on the floor. I’d like to be a grandfather clock
myself, though I very much doubt it.
So
is there a conclusion to today’s talk, no, there never is a conclusion, because
things move on. We may want to stay isolated, and yes I see the irony of that
word right now, we may want to be like Bede, but Time and Tide waits for no
man. And I refuse to trendify my language by saying “Person”, we are what we
are, things change, Women always are the Master Race. We have to live as best
we can and surf not the Internet but Life itself, as a sea of change sometimes
feels like a Tsunami, we have to pick our board, whether it be a job, a skill,
a profession, or just that curvy girl we hold onto in the dark of the night.
Our designs on her, and her designs on us, she could be a Tattoo artist after
all. And together, we won’t be washed away by life.
Maundy
Thursday 2020 (c)
By
Michael Casey
Maundy
Thursday was the night Jesus and his disciples had their Last Supper, and
Christians still copy it in the Mass, breaking of bread and so on. That night
Jesus also washed their feet, later he prayed, while they fell asleep, and
finally has betrayed by Judas. And the rest is History, the only difference
being that for Believers Jesus rose on the 3rd day, and we have
Easter.
So
in today’s world who follows Jesus, or any other Faith or None? Who falls
asleep, and who copies Jesus and washes the feet of others. Obviously here in
UK, our NHS of all Faiths and None, are Jesus like in their devotion to the
least of our brethren, they wash the feet and more of the sick, and dying. We
the rest of us in isolation, self isolation or in Lockdown are just called upon
to pray, that’s all we have to do, but do we fall asleep instead, while Jesus
or our NHS is working for us? We are all weak and full of good intentions, but
do we deny Jesus, or those doing good in society and would we betray them for
30 pieces of silver?
Something
to think about as some of you make selfies and post them online and write that
book on your self isolation tribulations.
And will the Unwashed Masses buy your overpriced tat once the Covid 19
nightmare is over? Emily Maitlis apparently
said something last night, which is obvious, it is the poor and least of
our brethren who suffer most. Because they live in the worst housing, living
off frozen food, because it is far cheaper that the fine dining food in
expensive supermarkets. Jesus had simple food, and that became the model for
Communion. The question is are we in
communion with our fellow citizens, or will we deny them 3 times before the
cock crows. Do we have to wait for the joy of Easter, to believe without
seeing, not to demand putting our fingers in the wounds before we believe.
These
times are a chance to look inward, I hope many of you do already, of All Faiths
and None, for it is only by having discovered what’s inside that we can change
the outside world forever. And change will come, otherwise we will all stay
asleep in the garden of Gethsemane.
Picking a Winner ©
By
Michael Casey
It’s hard enough picking a font to use, I tried a different word
processor program and it let me use Amiri, my new favourite font, but it then
double spaced it, so I’ve gone back to another one, which sometimes freezes
your computer, if you are not careful, but otherwise its nice to use. What has
that got to do with anything, what am I waffling on about as some unkind people
used to say. Well it proves my point for me without me giving any evidence,
things that should work, and should be easy, can prove difficult and not give
the required results.
I’ll give that girl a bunch of roses, girls love flowers. Only she has
hay fever, you should have saved your money. And yes I know a girl who has hay
fever and I do save my money. So you try a potted plant, only nobody bothers to
water it, and it dies on the kitchen window sill. My mother who would have
turned 100 this week, had green fingers up to her elbows. She would “borrow” a
cutting from a sea side town and throw it in a plastic bag sprinkled with
water, after the holiday it was planted in her garden and it grew. Whatever she
picked literally, became a winner in her front or back garden.
So it is with words, if I use this word or that word you may not like
it, and some words are overused, such as Legend and Hero. Common expressions
are reversed in an attempt to be different, the white and the black of a
situation, the zag and the zig, you can pick your own expressions, while I pick
my nose. At least I know what I am doing when I pick it, which is different to
picket. Word plays are fun, ask Will down the Shakespeare pub, or Will
Shakespeare himself if you are a Thespian, or a Les Dawson fan. I do miss
sitting on a bench with Les, my legs wide open, man spreading while dressed as
a mature woman, with huge bosoms, showing my silk stockings and garters.
Foreign readers can Google Les Dawson.
So what words should I use and chose, or is it chose and use, see you
are divided already, so I divide and conquer. Then you criticize my grandma, or
is it grammar? Remember I am talking to you, everything I write is a piece of
radio, or rubbish if you want to upset me, and make this not a Good Friday but
a bad day, on a Friday, though it is actually Good Friday.
Words have weight and power, you can say the wrong thing at the wrong
time, or just the right words. Or just being there in silence is the right
thing to do. You give a hug, a kiss, or just hold somebody’s hand. And think
you have done nothing, but in fact what you have done is better than perfect.
Others are just like marooned boats in low tide, but you are a life raft of
hope and help.
Sometimes, or often in my case, the words appear for the situation, well
on paper anyway, and you don’t know where they come from, so people say it’s a
gift, as common place as rain in Manchester, they don’t know or appreciate the
now 50 years love of words, since watching Robin Day on tv back in the 1960s.
So how do you know what words to pick, well you don’t, you have to be an
instant quote machine. You pull words from space, the space between your ears.
I’ll give you a few examples. I was talking to somebody and they thought they
knew the situation. So as we have a squared pattern carpet, the words sprung to
mind via the visual stimulation. It’s like the first square, you have to look
at all the squares, like in a chess board you have to read all the squares and
pieces. Don’t assume you know everything just from the first square.
Likewise words appears from audio stimulation, Genesis are singing
behind me, and a word or phase they sing is like a ball bouncing around in my
head, like a pinball machine, which will lead me to words and phrases. It
happens at the speed of thought, despite earwax, and appears on the screen
equally as fast, its like a damn bursting with words and ideas. I just wish I
could draw and then I’d have Cartoons made from Words, as one of my Blogger
sites is named. It really is quick, so some call it a Gift, but as I said
before 50 years love of Words equals a Gift, as if I’ve stolen Will
Shakespeare’s folio, I’m too much of a Falstaff to steal.
Now when I began, I had to stop dead just then, my words becalmed, the
Pain Monster appeared from out of nowhere. It’s like an elephant sitting on my
left shoulder. So I just slapped on the Movelat pain killing gel on my clicking
shoulder, and my face feels as if the elephant’s trunk gave me a slap. This is
my normal, my sine curve of pain, so my words shared with you are an oasis of
Hope and Fun for myself. Ok, it’s like dirty puddle or is it puzzle to you,
that splashes on your best trousers.
Let me try that paragraph again, now when I began you all assumed I’d be
talking about horses and racing, The Sport of Kings, as only they can afford
it. No doubt my UAE, Saudi, and Qatar readers will have wished for that at any
rate, not unless the Queen is a secret reader. I will finish with a horse, as
you may remember my dad was a Blacksmith in County Kerry Eire. He began at
Rathmore. The store in 1995 had been turned into a hairdressers, some 60 years
after dad was there, we visited on the final Grand Tour before my mother died.
Dad had bought his ticket and came to England in 1944, he could have gone to
USA his sister Mary had or was about to send him money to come to Chicago, but
Thomas Cooke had sold him a ticket so his Fate and my Future was decided.
Dad was very intelligent, and he liked watching Politics on TV, so as I
grew up I watched with him. And it’s for that reason I love words. When I wrote
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker I did not want to insert dad into the
story as I loved him too much, however Big Sid the butcher is my dad. Not the
character nor behaviour, but the deep love of kids inside him. I did not even
realise it as I wrote Big Sid but when I’d finished I know he was my dad. So I
am very fortunate this Good Friday, because I had the winning pick for parents,
and as any Arab will tell you a good horse and blacksmith is worth more than
all the grains of sand in the desert, even if they were gold.
The
Return of Darth the Once Mighty ©
By
Michael Casey
Now as
I’ve mentioned Darth is a Warrior with a capital W. Well that’s almost true,
apart from his weaknesses, mainly Mead, or Beer in today’s parlance. Darth is
from Viking times, but he would not listen to anybody, Vikings are a bit like
that, so he ended up sailing off the end of the world. The earth is flat after
all. Darth screamed, may the gods help me, but they did not, but God did help
him.
So,
Darth found himself in 1987 alive and in pencil, on a dogeared piece of paper
all bound with a shoe lace. Imagine the indignity of it all. Though he did
discover that 1987 beer was ok, never as good as Mead, but he could not
complain. Darth met the lads from StatsMR computer room and they super glued a
red read/write ring to his left ear lobe, and for balance a blue read/write
ring to his right ear lobe. They told him he looked so good, and Darth slurred
one day Michael Casey will be a famous writer, but the lads just laughed and
got another round in. Though Mark Alder drew a cartoon of Michael Casey in the
style of William Shakespeare, as he was a comedian.
Now
Darth did have a companion, a dwarf a very big dwarf, more like a Michelin Man
size dwarf, who drank and belched and farted, but in tune to anything playing
on the Jukebox in the Horse Trader bar. Falstaff was so talented that way,
though when Falstaff drunk too much, more that 25 pints and 14 packets of
crisps and 7 bags of scratchings something horrible happened. No not that.
Falstaff would turn Plastic, just like a giant piece of garden furniture. So,
the lads had to keep count, or plastic would happen.
So, as
it was closing time the lads all scattered, the weekend beckoned, Darth was
left to carry a plastic Falstaff away, if he could survive the subway near the
small brook, it was said to be dangerous, the lads did warn him to watch out.
But Fate came a calling, some other lads out for a weekend of 1987 drinking and
wenching saw Darth in Viking gear carrying a giant plastic dwarf on his back,
so naturally they laughed and mocked him in the subway next to the Asian food
store. Debbie was there and she witnessed what happened and told the Statsy
boys on the Monday. The yobs, let’s give them their true name, the yobs mocked
Darth and his plastic Falstaff dwarf, it was too much for any Viking to accept.
So, Darth dropped the plastic Falstaff and started singing Michael Bolton
songs, he was very drunk after all. The yobs laughed and jostled him, Darth was
outnumbered but on he sung, Can I Touch You there, Michael Bolton came to the
rescue, then plastic Falstaff awoke farting and belching in time to Michael Bolton’s
Can I touch You there. A dwarf fart is a mighty weapon, and the yobs were
vanquished. Debbie smiled she recognised the read/write rings, and then as
Darth outstretched his hand to help Falstaff off the floor, there was a flash,
no not because of fart and cigarette combined, though Paul Flash might remember
a story about that. No, it was the space time continuum, Darth disappeared into
space and time, taking his dwarf friend Falstaff with him.
So,
since 1987 Darth and his plastic dwarf friend Falstaff have been in the ether,
waiting just waiting for the gods to call him back. Now it’s 2020 and the clock
is ticking, the clock is ticking, I just changed the battery, maybe I should
change it more often than every 33 years. My clock has chimed, and through the
clouds Darth is falling to earth, not a spaceman, but a Viking and a Dwarf, not
even a Red Dwarf, just a grubby beer
stained dwarf called Falstaff. May the gods help us screams Darth, again the
gods do nothing, but God is listening. Darth and Falstaff fall through the roof
of Saint Mary’s where thieves had stolen some lead and there was enough space
for a Viking riding and gliding down through the sky sat on a plastic dwarf
could fall. Splash landing, Darth and Falstaff land in the Baptismal font. They
would get zero for technical merit, but 10 for level of difficulty if this were
the Tokyo Olympics diving competition.
After
all these years Darth was thirsty so he drunk the Baptismal Font dry as
Falstaff awoke and wondered where the nearest pub might be. Climbing out the
font, Darth spied the vicar, Quasimodo, it was not her real name but some
bright spark had christened her that when she was spotted ringing the church
bells, when she had first arrived.
Now the
gods may have not listened to Darth, but God had been listening to Quasimodo
over and over and over again, she was plain, but she had a heart of gold, if
only she could find a man and have a child, one would be enough, somebody to
love and be loved by. But who would have her? Darth was a strapping big man, so
big he could be Ukrainian, though Darth did explain he was a Viking. Was God
playing tricks on her, or was the altar wine too strong. She prayed for a man,
and now there were two, both falling through the hole in the roof, she thought
they were lead stealers at first, but she could tell they were not. She had
done English and History at Queens before getting the call, the vocation, come
follow me.
Quasimodo,
was a great priest, she spent all her time reading, and not because she as so
plain and nobody would ever want her. She was just so terrible shy too. God
looked on, he had answered her prayers, twice over, now she could not make her
mind up. So Quasimodo did what any girl would do, she rung a friend, she rung
Fatima her friend from the Fence company down the road. Fatima was always kind,
some thought to kind, she may build fences having inherited her dad’s Fence
company, but she was a chatterbox. It’s always the case, opposites attract.
Some cruel people in fact said the pair of them were too close, if you know
what I mean, some people are so cruel and gossip hurts, really hurts deeply.
But they were thankful for the friendship between them, and Quasimodo was great
at getting splinters out after Fatima had had a busy day. Quasimodo was seen kissing
Fatima’s finger after she extracted a really bad splinter, and you can guess
the rest.
Fatima
came running, Falstaff smiled and moved forward, so obviously Fatima punched
him hard and followed up with a kick to his groin, a girl had to know how to defend
herself after all. Quasimodo put herself between Fatima and Darth, as she was
about to be hit next, in doing so Quasimodo fell over and would have banged her
head on the font, but Darth caught her. He looked into her eyes, and it was
love at first sight, she had literally fallen for him. Meanwhile Fatima
realised violence was not called for and held out her hand and lifted Falstaff
from the floor. Falstaff was still rubbing himself with one hand, Fatima
laughed. As she laughed Falstaff realised, she was more beautiful that a table
full of ale and 24 packets of Walkers cheese and onion crisps. Yes again, love
at first sight.
God
works in mysterious ways said Quasimodo and Fatima agreed, no need of fences
any more. All four of them sat, and Falstaff began to sing, he knew all the
Abba back list. That’s how they spent the evening singing Abba songs, sat next
to the font. Quasimodo had an idea, if they held a concert they could raise
funds to repair the hole in the church roof.
Abba sung by Norsemen, such a simple idea, so it was decided. Now how
could Qausimodo and Fatima accept such strange events? Well old Mrs Houseman
had said before she died that as soon as she got to Heaven, she’d find two
strapping men for them, and then nobody would ever call them Lesbians again.
She was always very direct Mrs Houseman, she’d even said she’d throw them
through that hole in the church roof. So it must be the work of God, so obvious
Quasimodo believed, she was a vicar after all.
The
concert arrived and Falstaff and Darth were ready, the posters showed them,
they were posted everywhere up the street. Women thought they were male
strippers and obviously they came in force. Men thought they were WWW wrestlers
so they came too. So some were disappointed by what they saw in the church
hall. But ABBA are universal, the local
lesbians came too, because the believed the rumours about the vicar, so wanted
to show solidarity. When Darth sung with Falstaff joining in all were amazed,
and even more amazed when the vicar Quasimodo appeared in silver spangled hot
pants, Fatima matched her with the same costume. And yes they were great
singers too. David had come along too to play the organ, David was world famous
in the area for his organ playing. All in all a wonderful night. Lots of money
collected to fix the church roof, just left in the collection baskets.
David’s
bald patch glistened, Quasimodo and Fatima kissed his bald patch and David went
red, he was so embarrassed, Fran his wife laughed. Everything was so perfect,
David and Fran would cycle home on their tandem laughing. But somebody else was
laughing all the way to the bank, Quasimodo had raised enough for a new roof as
they raised the roof with Abba music. However is always lurking. Lewis the
local bad boy knew this was his chance, he’d steal the money, and be off to
Paris, he always wanted to go to Paris. Now with the roof money he could go
with his Honey.
After
the concert Quasimodo kissed Darth, and Fatima kissed Falstaff. Then the girls
proved they were no lesbians, the local lesbians saw the kissing as the crowd
filtered home. They weren’t sad, at least Quasimodo and Fatima had somebody
strong to lean on, and there was a lot of leaning going on.
Now in
the night Lewis climbed down from the roof dressed as an angel and attempted to
steal the money. Darth caught him and Falstaff awoke from their position in the
choir loft to find Darth strangling the angel. In fact the whole world saw this
as Quasimodo had a camera for online church services. Quasimodo and Fatima came
running in their nighties, as Fatima had stopped over, as she’d had too much
church wine as part of the roof raising celebrations and could not drive.
Quasimodo’s nightie got caught on a candlestick, and in the gloom the whole
world saw an unfrocked vicar. Darth decided in a nanosecond he’d marry her. As
for Fatima, she had layers or fences around her, but Falstaff knew she was the
one for him. As for Lewis the angel, he was strung up like a Christmas fairy
and suspended by the bell rope, he was left there for the Police in the
morning.
Darth
asked Quasimodo to marry him and have a small family, 8 children was considered
small in Viking terms. Of course Quasimodo said yes, you can ring my bell is
what she said, as she began to sing the song. What of Falstaff and Fatima, or
double FF as the couple were known. Well they only had 4 pregnancies but each
was of twins, hence their nickname, double FF, which represents Fatima and
Falstaff. And Falstaff never turned plastic again.
Wednesday, 15 April 2020
Come On make Some Noise
I don't know what it's like where you are in the world
But here in Birmingham it is too quiet
Apart from my daughters cutting the grass in the garden
Thanks to this hernia through my bypass scar I cannot do it
This SLADE song could be our anthem
I don't know what it's like where you are in the world
But here in Birmingham it is too quiet
Apart from my daughters cutting the grass in the garden
Thanks to this hernia through my bypass scar I cannot do it
This SLADE song could be our anthem
Slade
Cum On Feel The Noize 1973
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qu_ozjAu_vM
they were very big band when I was growing up
So play the video on 15 with your windows open and stand there with your
bum exposed and slap it along to the music
or get somebody to slap your bum for you
Cause a sensation in your street
WE NEED A BIT OF NOISE
the world as gone too quiet now
we all need the stimulation of noise
Or we all wear a Trump mask as we slap our bums
singing WHO needs you now
a catchy chorus
You can make up your own entertainment, but we do need a bit of noise
To fill the vacuum of silence, apart from Trump's daily lies conference
Stay Safe Everybody Everywhere, and it's obvious this is a Global problem
and every part of the world has to be fixed, or Covid 19 will return like a tide
Meanwhile there is much less pollution as a side effect of the Covid 19,
Just watch wildlife with David Attenborough and don't eat it.
D.I.Y.
Haircut ©
By Michael
Casey
Where do
I begin, which is most important thing when giving yourself a haircut, well you
start at the eyebrows, I do have bushy eyebrows if I fail to trim them. As you
know I cut them off with a scissors when I was 4 or so, then when I was 13 or
14 and learning some French for Mr Notzing the best teacher ever, I plucked
them as naked an over ready chicken. So my sister painted some on, nobody
noticed the first day, but on the 2nd day they did. Luckily I was
13.5 stones so nobody took the mick.
So be
careful, that’s all I’ll say, not unless you want your class mates to think you
are Eddie Izzard, and in the 1970s everybody wasn’t as open to everything as
they are, or should be nowadays. You need to find the scissors first, they may
have been used to scape chewing gum from your daughter’s boots, or even dog
pooh, people just grab the first things that come to hand, so disinfect first,
just to be on the safe side. Or if you are lucky you have those comb scissors
that look like a comb on one blade with a hopefully pooh free 2nd blade, though bubble gum could
be worse, have you ever had bubble gum in your hair? Oh, just seagull pooh,
it’s supposed to be good luck, though how the seagulls get as far inland as
Birmingham the centre of the country I’ll never know.
Now
safety first, cover your eye with your hand, or if you have a spare Pirate
patch wear that over the eye where you are going to eyebrow trim. I have the
Pirate scars myself from my heart bypass, and yes that sexy photo of my bare
chest really is me from 5 years ago, before my hernia started to poke through
like a breast. And you all thought I was a bit of a woman already, you so very
cruel, maybe one day a Korean girl is smitten by my scared torso, etc etc etc,
as the King of Siam used to say. But back to the plot, standing in front of a
mirror ever so carefully begin to trim your eyebrow, but make sure the bathroom
door is locked, otherwise you’ll get knocked over and be blinded, or have dodgy
eyebrows that Youths think make them look hard. Sorry you just look really STUPID, but who am I to
judge, I do trim the Pope’s eyebrows for him, but that’s another story. A bit
of which is in my 19th books and the 1st story inside, so
go look.
The comb
scissors are the best, however if you cut too
much don’t try to match it on the other eyebrow, as you’ll always end up
cutting and trimming more and more as you attempt to reach balance, and just
end up like an oven ready shaved chicken. Basically you are stuffed, but
without the sage and onion up your behind. So once you have finished your
eyebrows, step back and admire yourself in the bathroom mirror, but don’t trip
over the toilet and drop the scissors down the bog. You really really need
those scissors, no matter what’s in the toilet, your hand will have to go down
and retrieve the scissors. Otherwise you’ll look like a Yeti. So always Prepare before you start. Flush and
clean everything, and but the toilet lid down, and put plugs in bath and sink.
Five minutes prep will save the day. And don’t forget to pull the blind down on
the bathroom window, you don’t have frosted glass on that window, you don’t
want your neighbours laughing at you. Which reminds me of a story, The Shy
Girl, I wrote it for a 2nd girl, and after she read it she did speak
to me for 6 weeks. It may be on one of my sites, or I’ll load it up, its over
20 years old.
So your
eyebrows are done, so you shave your ears next, well I do anyway. Be careful
not to use a brand new blade, shave your behind first, then use the same blade
on your ears. That way you won’t cut your ears to bits, you could end up
looking like Mike Tyson had had a go at you in the ring, or is it bathroom.
Also as you have blunted the blade there won’t be any nicks, or if they are
nobody will ever know, not unless you sit side saddle. Which reminds me of
another story about a bolt up my bum, and then I did have to sit side saddle.
My eldest brother came home from Oxford University and asked me to show him my
scar. The joys of large families, 50 years ago.
So you
are confident now so you can start cutting the hair on your head, your bum,
ears and eyebrows are done. Once again, safety, cover your ear with your hand
as you cut the hair all around it. You could even put headphones on upside
down, so as you listen to music you protect your ears, otherwise you might cut a piece off your ears and end
up looking like a Vulcan. You can cut away to your hearts content because as
you are in lockdown nobody will see you. Or in my case my hair grows like
Japanese knotweed, that’s why Orientals find me so attractive, please
yourselves as Frankie Howerd might say.
Now I
think you’ve had enough of my Hair, though in the Musical isn’t that a theme
song and they all end up naked. See I may have given you an idea for you own weekends
entertainment, Singing. Be careful if you do cut your hair, I am very tempted
myself, as my hair really does grow so fast, where I live there are loads
and loads of hair places, but now they
are all shut due to Lockdown. Maybe they are all singing Hair from that
Musical, or have they filmed me in bathroom, I always forget to put the blind
down. Michael’s Bathroom is another story I seem to remember, in it a bread
knife falls down the toilet, so obviously I retrieve it, how else can I make my
sandwiches on my crusty cobs?
God Bless the Queen and
United Kingdom too
well it as on
the news that there will be no gun salute for the Queen’s 94th Birthday
I did not
know Freddie Mercury was that old
Anyway for
all you tourists and fans of the Monarchy
You could
always stand on your doorstep and sing Happy Birthday
Stevie Wonder
could even do it on today’s concert
Otherwise we
could all stand on our doorsteps when the Queen’s actual
Birthday
happens on Tuesday
And sing
Happy Birthday twice, to remind us to WASH our hands and to
Wish the
Queen Happy Birthday, 2 for the price of one, like the Abba song
I’m sure she
would agree, WASH YOUR HANDS as you sing Happy Birthday
twice
We could also
make some noise, and here’s a challenge of Pipers
get on
your roofs and play
We cannot
hear the gun salutes, but the Queen can hear Pipers all
over the
Capital and beyond
I heard a
Piper play in a bar once, and it really does inspire
Let’s put the
fear of God into Covid 19, as Piper’s play defiantly
Now this is
just a mustard seed, it’s up to you all to Twitter and
Facebook and
Watsapp
it to the
world
Or you could
just stay here and Read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
which after
all is all about the best of British and their friends
Originally I
called it A Nation of Shopkeepers
so Pipers and
noise makers this is a challenge for you
In with
the New ©
By
Michael Casey
Well a well-wisher
delivered something to the house, ok it
was a bag of frozen food, which I could not get when I had my delivery slot
from one of the food companies. In return I donated an old android phone, a
very basic one, but it had credit on, as well as my entire collection of CDs
from the 1990s which I had loaded up to the phone.
So I’m all exposed,
or rather my record collection is, the WW which is short for well-wisher, will
now be grooving to Barry White as they discover what kind of music I liked back in the 1990s, beside Barry that is. A
bit of Barry does go a long way after all, and there is a lot of him. So my technophobe
WW will now be able to talk to us, and see us in the flesh too. I did not
delete my phone contacts either, so they will be wondering just who I know and
why. Your phone has all your secrets too, that’s why we have passwords on it.
How would you feel
if your grannie got hold of your phone? And looked at all of those photos? I
only use my phone for Music mainly during my night time Tinnitus time, so I
don’t have 1000s of selfies of me and that girl/boy/horse/or other such things
kids have on their phones. And why is the girl from the take-away so prominent,
or are you a Rice expert, or just leaning Korean or whatever. By the way a
K-drama is a Soap, like Coronation Street or Dallas, it’s not an X film, and I
bet you hope you tidied your History from your phone.
So it is amusing to
see, how my WW adapts to android phone life, a baked bean tin and a string was
the technological heights of her present phone. A Heinz beans tin of course,
the WW is not cheap after all. They will no doubt be wondering how the camera
works too, don’t laugh all of us use an android, but to my WW it’s like giving
one to an Amazonian Native and expecting them to understand. No doubt watching
David Attenborough would be the very first thing they would do, assuming wifi
reached their settlement.
Wifi is a great
gift to us all especially in today’s Covid 19 world, when my dad was in the
seniors’ home I visited every single day for 3 years, so now with wifi it’s
effortless and does salve conscience, as well as being practical. Though it
will be interesting to see will folks in care homes get addicted to K-pop on
Utube, or other delights. Or will they get revenge and make nuisance calls to
double glazing firms, or switch your energy provider companies who even today
are ringing me. Though it won’t be me it’ll just be the WW, that’ll confuse all
of them.
Will the
WW get addicted to online gambling, I know a couple of people who got into
trouble that way, and they were girls, getting into trouble. So they had to get
2nd jobs to earn money to pay of the gambling debt. An android phone
is a great toy, I inherit my daughters’ cast-offs, and you don’t have to go for
the Apple, cheaper versions costing ¼ of the price have just as good specs,
just go googling and prove it for yourself. There are good reviewers such as
Tech Radar, who do unbiased reviews, or trawl through online reviews, and read
them all. And if you are a parent you should not be spending more than 100 quid
on a kids phone, or much much less, and do learn how to switch the wifi off.
You are the one supposed to be in charge, or just lock the batteries away every
night. A parent should have more self-discipline than a child.
Enjoy
your toys and use your Onedrive and Gdrive and all those other free storage
places, 1000s and 10000s of near identical selfies can be stored in the Cloud.
Which reminds me when my Aunty Mary came to England the one time in her life
she flew and asked Where Was Heaven as she was amongst the clouds over County
Kerry. Use your Android with love, and you’ll be amongst the clouds of Love and
Family, maybe arguing too, which sounds like K-Drama to me.
There are many things I could say ©
By
Michael Casey
Yes, there are many things I could say, but sometimes
some things are best left unsaid, and you don’t need say some things because
they don’t need saying. Simple really. We never said I love you and all that
when we grew up, or even today 50 years on. It seems in today’s Selfie taking
world, too much has been said, but what is actually said is meaningless. Just
like the old song The Songs you sing are meaningless by Lindisfarne, if you
have even heard of it then I’ll be amazed.
Over assertive, over blown words and actions, without
any depth are all too common, as I observe from my position sat on the fence
like a sparrow waiting for the cat to go away before stealing the dog’s dinner.
A grannie giving you a sweet or a squeeze has far more worth, than Reality TV
Life. So now some say Covid19 will change people forever. Just as Live Aid was
a cry from the heart, but did the buzz last forever then? Did the 2012 Olympic
buzz last forever?
Some people have Charity and Love in their hearts
already, some communities have a vibe and feeling or MoJo as
Cuomo calls it. This is great, but if you are Christian you may remember the
Parable of the Sower, about how it is the depth of love that makes the
difference. And quick is not always lasting, just as they say Marry in haste
Regret at Leisure.
So as Covid19 changes all of us, some for the better,
some for the worse, do think ahead, what do you like about yourself, have you
changed, or will you go back to your old life, will you be a better man, or
will you go back to beating the wife. And will you criticize my words without
thinking about the meaning and metaphors behind them. Because it’s too easy to
be lazy, and thinking is for losers as you go back to your Selfie life.
I could say much much more,
but in the end you have to decide for yourself, but Wisdom is a
hard fought teacher, often gained in Battle, but best of all learnt while sat
on your mother’s knee. So, I say thank you mum and Cromane Lower
Kerry for pouring everything into me.
Going
around in circles or loading software for beginners ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
it’s taken a week but I’m finally there, or I think I am. I now have Word 2019,
I got a download and away I went. Or rather I discovered I was duped, my
download “worked” only it then displayed “this product will be unlicensed in
20something days” So I was really annoyed. So I emailed the folks I bought it off, and their advert did say it
was genuine Microsoft Word. What they forgot to say was that it would DIE,
because the KEY had been used too often already.
Years
ago I bought on CD Microsoft Office 2010 and I loved that to bits, but as there
were problems with Windows 10 over the years I had to load or rather reload it
several times. Until finally it died, too many loads. So, I emigrated to free
Wordish programs. However, as I was so annoyed that my brand spanking new Word
2019 would not work for me I decided to dig out my discs of Word 2010 and try a
load of that, as I prayed to Bill Gates. And yes, you’ve guessed it, IT
ACTUALLY WORKED.
So, I
was in Word Heaven again. I did annoy the company who sold it to me, and
allegedly I could ring a friend and it would work. The friend being a Microsoft
phone number. But I thought that could be a trick, so I did not bother. I have
been saved and my Word 2010 would be good enough for me. With this Covid pain in
the pants thing I thought I deserved a nice Word Processor, so at least I’d be
having fun as I wrote the stuff, even if you my readers think this writing is
PANTS, you can be so cruel sometimes, you my bemused bewildered and bothered
readers in 80 countries, and languages galore, and if you find the translate
button you’ll drown in a Tsunami of my words, all 1,600,000 or so of them.
But it’s
nice having nice tools, or should I rephrase that. A butcher has his favourite
cleaver, a cleaner her favourite feather duster, a teacher her favourite red
pencil, a policeman his favourite handcuffs for work and for pleasure, and a
stripper her favourite thong that fits just right so she can shake her bootie.
Myself I don’t use a thong as I am so hairy, but otherwise, anyway, every pro,
every professional likes the tools of the trade. So, me or I, me anyways I just
love a good font to write with, and to sprinkle holy water from.
So last
night I decided I’d never get my few quid back from the 1st company,
even though I tried to bribe them with a copy of The Butcher The Baker and The
Undertaker, in Chinese, as I tried to guess where they were from judging by the
less than perfect English in their email. So, a final roll of the dice I sent
them a copy in Urdu, plus a photo of myself with a banana on my head. If they
cannot read English maybe a silly photo might work, as a picture is worth more
than 1000 words. That night I had a junk email in Korean from a fake name, that
referenced a female Bosnian tank commander, with short hair. Was that my seller
of Word 2019 software with an overused KEY? I don’t know but everything is
material I can put into a story. And no, I never use substances, my writing is
substantial enough on its own.
So last
night I chose between a London company and another which said it was a
Microsoft Partner. London won, and I followed their link which led me directly
to Microsoft and I got a fully spanking new copy of Word 2019, I knew it was
spanking new, as Donald Trump’s Guide to Spanking was a free giveaway with it.
Or am I making that up to fill a sentence and increase my word count, some
writers do get paid, and paid by quantity of words. Though even with this
London copy once you load it down via Microsoft you have go here and there and
login and do this and do that, no need of Trump’s Guide to Spanking, just a
guide to where to click and so on. So, finally at about 10pm I was all Worded
up, and I wrote the first sentence of this piece. And you wish I did not
bother, I can read you all like a book, you can read all 19 of my books as a
punishment. Never interfere with a Writer, not unless he encourages you, after
a good dinner and wine with music and the rest. But that was obvious, but you
still smiled, if you didn’t you are reading the wrong Michael Casey, try the
Monk instead.
I did
try complaining about the original company, but to no avail, maybe an anvil would have been of more use to hammer
home my case on, as you know my dad was a blacksmith after all. But today I had
another idea, I’d message Microsoft, so if anybody at Microsoft got my email
maybe just maybe they’ll slap the bum of the naughty company, they can wear
gloves, or follow the instructions in Trump’s Spanking Guide.
So, I’ve
about finished my first story on Microsoft Office 2019, if you are a
shareholder maybe you’ll dash of a message to them, NEVER NEVER NEVER let that
Fat Silver Haired Writer in Shades from Birmingham EVER get his hands on Word.
He’ll ruin the business, what kind of people does he think we are, when
Lockdown is over we’ll throw flour at his door. To which I reply the Whole
World can visit, but make Cookies, don’t waste flour on my door.
Saint
George’s Day 2020 and Shakespeare’s Birthday too ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
it’s Saint George’s Day today, not that it is really celebrated here in
England, Saint Patrick gets more noise, here in Birmingham there is even an old
joke, how do you recognise a Brummie, by the Shamrock in his turban. So why do
we celebrate our National Day? Well Saint Patrick’s Day reminds us of our
heritage wherever we are in the world. In Chicago they even dye the river, and
New York has parades, so it’s an intoxicating celebration and yes a lot of beer
is drunk too. I remember once I went to a bar on paddy’s day, it was like being
part of a jelly or football crowd, everybody swaying together and fixed moulded
to each other’s body.
So
that’s one example where happiness and joy is everywhere, the world over in
fact. However national days are exploited by the Powers, and then tyranny takes
over. Look back at History, remember Hitler and his parades, look at all the
parades back in the USSR, look at North Korea. You can think about other
examples for yourselves. So when somebody somewhere says lets have a parade
then be very very suspicious, even if it’s an Ariel show which is stated to
mean one thing when in fact it has another purpose. Self promotion and product
placement happens, especially in an Election year. But you cannot condemn an
act of Patriotism can you? You’d be called a Commie bastard. Dictators always
wrap themselves in the Flag, then slowly or quickly the Flag is them, and
nobody is allowed to speak out for fear of upsetting or is it informing the
unwashed masses.
Each
night we have unfettered blatant lies and electioneering, attempts to make
puppets out of Science. We have somebody surfing the waves of Populism, flip
flopping ad nasuseim turning every which way. As the unemployment lines
lengthen, as you literally cannot give oil away, you have somebody saying
BREAKOUT. When they should stay in, be patience. Yes, USA is the Land of the
Free, but it could turn into the land of the Dead Stupid. Because Covid19 will
kill you, because of an obsession to be
“free”, it’s like a child wanting Christmas to come at Easter.
So some
of my USA readers might hate me now, but hopefully I have readers who both like
Humour and do have a Brain as well. So use your brain, your skills, your
enormous love of family faith and country and THINK. Can I wait just a bit
longer, do I really need to hug everybody, or can I say Hi from the length of 2
assault riffles away? The Economy is the People, as a female economist stated
on tv the other night here in UK. And she is right, and yes you should listen
to a woman too, any women. The Economy is the People, because if folks die
there are less sales, and less money to circulate. Yes, folks will get back to
spending, and as somebody said why are coins round? So they can circulate.
Let
science talk, and not politicians abuse news briefings for petty political
motives, politicians come and go, and are changed like dirty pants, every four
years. Listen to the Science, we all are missing what we love, even
prostitutes, let Science be our guide, not misguided politicians who may have used….
Inside
a Book ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
Jeff Bezo was in the news, news not nude, you all have one track minds, he
donated to help bricks and mortar book shops here in UK, so God Bless him for
that. And because I read that headline you are getting this, so blame him, he
had done it anonymously but it slipped out, STOP, I know where your minds are
going just stop and behave, or beehive if you’ve seen Nanny McFee. So, I was
thinking about Books and what it must be like, from the inside.
I love
it when I’m being read, all open and people turning my pages, or rather that
one special person who picked me up from a shelf in a book store and read my
back and then smiled and ruffled my pages. It’s all so very romantic having
your pages ruffled, then being held against a chest as the Reader is so happy
to have discovered me. Trump’s guide to Honest and Integrity. Or maybe Michael
Casey’s The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, until they read it and think
it’s a load of old cobblers, and I don’t mean like a shoemaker either.
So, you
are sniffed and stroked, perfect foreplay for any new book, perhaps Bezo should
add a scent feature to his Kindle, a new book has a feel and smell, and the
pages are tight, and have to be smoothed down. But today’s books don’t have
large type, just small small print as it’s easier to produce, maybe Jeff should
add a magnifying glass stuck to the back, or invent a projector device that
castes the pages to the ceiling. Well curled up in bed with a good book with
the cat too, the ceiling is the best place to read words. And should your lover
arrive the book isn’t squashed as it’s being projected and protected to the
ceiling from its spot on the bedside cabinet.
How do
the words feel inside the book? The cover can be embossed and it’s like a blind
man feeling for lumps on your face. Then there may be a dust cover that is ever
so brightly coloured, but it can be discarded like a dressing gown to reveal
itself in all its glory, once satisfied the dust cover returns. Maybe Bezo can
add a few tricks to a Kindle so it’s like the curtain being raised at a theatre
before each chapter. Blurring the boundaries between book and film, in a tiny
tiny way. Feel free to reward me Jeff.
What
about the words on a page, the font really is ever so important, as I’ve said
recently Amiri font in my new favourite font, and writers think a lot about
what and how their words appear on a page. Maybe some words in the middle of a
page should be embossed, like hills and hillocks, or maybe just those words, so
you have a more interactive sense of the words on the page. Cartoons or
Illustrations are of great use, and if I could draw I’d have one cartoon per
story or per chapter, my daughters did do drawings for 2 of my first books, the
cover art. If only I could bribe or persuade them to do more, hey Jeff how did
you Bezo your kids into helping you? See I turned you into a verb, almost
parity with Google. As you read all this I am Michaeling you, which is where I
make you laugh despite or is it because of the bemusement.
So, the
pages turn and the story unfolds, the cartoon of Winnie the Pooh where the
pages appear and Pooh slides through them was my original starting thought as I
started talking, but as ever I’ve Michaeled myself, so you have a different
strand of thought. I was going to write how words feel, but I may come back to
that another time, there’s always more in the soup. You could have scents,
appear as a chapter ends and so one, like the old cinema where you squeezed a
scent at various points in the film, that was a very long time ago now.
Interactive books, and you sell refills for books. And why do we need all these
tricks and addons? Because people lack imagination maybe, because they are use
to TV, with too many adverts, which actually spoil the story, hence Streaming
Tv takes over, as you avoid ads.
A tv
show will die if it doesn’t have a good pace to it, people want quick fixes.
But with a book it’s a slow build love affair, the cast is introduced and you
get to know them, and hate them especially if it is a book you are forced to
read for English Literature. Read the book at least twice first before the
English Teacher instils hatred for life for the text. Don’t judge a book by its
cover either, especially mine, I put my photo on them so you know who to blame,
and because there are several Michael Casey’s I am of course the most original
one. No smirking I know what you are thinking already, of course I do, I’m
writing this sentence, so whatever you are thinking only my opinion is on the
page. See Writers are power mad, FOOLS.
The
ending of a book ties up all the strands, as we are told a book should have a
beginning a middle and an end. It can annoy as well, you didn’t get the ending
you hoped for. In K-drama there are many many twists and turns and the quality
is so high, 16 hours is the norm, and why are Koreans so rich and good looking?
In a book you have 10 hours to get people’s attention, or 20 hours for The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as it’s 600 pages. So, people will read
your words in sessions, and you have to hope they carry on reading. Reading is
a more intimate experience, it’s one on one, like love making. So, the writer
gets to influence the reader and can touch them emotionally, with a good story
you can excite, entertain, scare, bring hope, bring fear. But in the end you
can also bring tears of joy.
The day
I first finished the book it was Leap Years Day 1988, and I cried as I finished
up the story and wound myself up to write it, I knew I’d finish on Leap Year’s
Day, so I was excited and happy. I’d actually written a full lenghth book, on a
typewriter perched on a stool while I sat on a broken-backed barn chair.
The
original typescript on actual paper was 238 pages, but I wanted to put it on a
computer so I started to copy type it, which was boring, so I expanded the
story, and that’s what you all read now. The book from a couple of years later.
The last word in the book is there for a reason, for it signifies Hope, and
much more, you need read it for yourself. Thousands of you have via my Wordpress
in multiple languages, up to 10 different languages on the same day. And if you
want my Original English it is on Amazon, just look for my silly face.
Inside a
book, is more than words on a page, you are inside the writer’s head, or the
story in his head. It’s the difference between looking at a cover, and what is
beneath the covers. So, tonight and every night curl up with something nice
beneath the covers, and I hope it is not a book, but a book is the 2nd
best.
Public
Opinion ©
By
Michael
Casey
I was
wondering what to talk about, as ever, when I decided to choose this, but
before I continue I need you all to find Linkedin Profile and CV, a piece from
a few years ago and read that first, you may even find it on my Typepad so you
can listen to me instead. Ok, I’ll assume you just read that, so basically it
charts lies on Cvs and Profiles, maybe lies is too strong a word, but if you
have just read it for yourself then you get the context.
Now what
is Public Opinion? It’s a group of guys in a bar saying what they’d like to do
to the new barmaid, which probably dates back 1000 years, the statements, not
just the age of the bar. The wench moves forward seductively a tankard of ale
in one hand, her other is behind her back. Quickly she reveals the hidden hand
and puts the red hot poker on the loudmouths thigh, he screams and she pours
the ale all over his leg. Now that is how to answer public opinion, it could
have been worse if the loudmouth was Edward II, if you know your History.
So Public
Opinion is what people think in large numbers, starting with small groups
hanging around in bars, which hasn’t changed in 1000 years, and we all know
about Prince Hal and Falstaff, Henry IV Part I and all that, which I did back
in 1975. The prince was worthless boy hanging around in bars, and not taking up
his mantle. But he proved them all wrong. We had Churchill and his Wilderness
years, but cometh the hour cometh the man.
So
Public Opinion is not set in stone it is a very fickle thing and is subject to
influence and people will pay a lot of money to influence people, to gain
sales, or gain Power. In Politics the Master would go about the bars buying a
few drinks in the hope of gaining those votes, as Time progresses the few
drinks convert to a factory here, a hospital there, a new road, in essence a
bribe. Not that those things are not needed nor have worth of their own, but
suddenly they appear so that votes are gained and the Master keeps his power.
The thing about Power is that it is transitory, and even Churchill was voted
out after the war, so don’t assume anything.
Public
Opinion is measured in many ways, but remember too a sample of 1000, really
isn’t good enough, a sample of 10,000 is bigger and better, and the best sample
of all is the Election, however time and money does not allow for that all of
the time. Though with technology you could have a people’s vote on everything
all of the time. But for Government you chose a team and let them get on with
it for 4 or 5 years. But they do take the temperature to see how they are
doing. Or Newspapers scream at them, the Press can have its own agenda
depending on who owns the Press, and that’s why it’s always best to read
widely, then you are well balanced, I could mention the barmaid again, but that’d
encourage a red hot poker so I won’t.
Public
Opinion is swayed by campaigns, some newspapers call themselves Campaigning
Newspapers, or pain in the butt for Politicians. Then there are uprisings
coming from public dissatisfaction, but if you follow the money you’ll see this
Billionaire or that Billionaire paid for the Teeshirts they are all wearing.
Even Protests have a Sponsor, so think for yourself and really do watch 3 news
outlets from all directions, as One Direction may be a good band, but Politically
you don’t want to be stuck on a style, not unless his name is Harry and you are
that barmaid, no need of hot poker.
Character
counts, so Politicians pretend to be one thing so they can ride public opinion,
sometimes they treat the Public like donkeys, when they stink like elephants. A
man can cheat on his wife or wives and have a string of encounters,
But so
long as they hate the other guy or woman more, then the public will swallow
anything. Instead of Bible bashing horror, there is jealousy and a desire they
had as many girls in their beds, how the Politician avoided the hot pokers
nobody knows, but he’s a good old boy, so they’ll vote for him. Besides he has
a Bible on his bookshelf, not that he could even recite the Lords Prayer, the
Public just wants change, besides they hate the arrogant self-absorbed other
guy more.
Nearer
Elections Public Opinion really does matter, as you want to keep the Power and
all it’s trapping. So you hog the limelight in briefings, especially when you
want to keep the herd following you, but if you are immune to the herds’
feelings and say “they are not worth my time” let them drink disinfectant,
which is the new Let Them Eat Cake mantra, you may find they finally stop
voting for you, especially if they are dead after drinking disinfectant.
The
Public can be fooled, and a Castle glimmering on a Hill, may in reality be just
a façade, but back then there was Hope, but now there is a guy doing rope a
dope. So, in the end you, me, everybody has to think for themselves. This guy
who wants to be a leader, is he a concealer? Do you know has he ever paid any
tax, like the rest of us with 3 jobs to keep afloat. Is he really super rich,
or are his finances in a ditch, mortgaged to several foreign governments, does
he spend all his time denying everything, “I take no responsibility” hiding his
total lack of ability. Is he as honest as the day is long, or does he just
spend his time watching his own reviews on tv, Glory Be.
Churchill
said “All forms of Government are Bad, but Democracy is the Least Bad” so when
we vote, it is our own private opinion on how our Politician has acted in
Public. We are paying him to take responsibility and do the People’s bidding,
to look after us, especially in bad times, in sad times, and not to rant and
rave and save his own bacon, he is our hog. If he cannot do the job he should
be voted out, and have that red hot poker of Public Opinion placed where it can
do the most good, Edward II does come to mind…
And what
was the most stupid thing you ever did ? ©
By
Michael
Casey
And what
was the most stupid thing you ever did ? I just asked my kids as I waved 2
fingers at them. Why 2 fingers, well the reason for that relates to what was
the most stupid thing I ever did. You see around Guy Fawkes night, when we have
fireworks in UK, I actually held a banger and let it explode in my hand. There was nothing at first and then a rush of
heat and pain, and that’s why I only have 2 fingers left on one hand. Our dog
Lassie ate the charcoaled digits, but after a day they came out her rear end
and the vet or was it surgeon was able to reattach them. So, my fingers are
very well travelled, exploded off my hand, eaten by a dog called Lassie and
poohed out a day later, then reattached. And if that isn’t stupid then nothing
is.
Though
part of that tail or is it tale is a lie, which part? I did in fact hold a
banger in my fist, encouraged by D, he knows who he is, and the banger did
explode. Luckily my hand and my life were not damaged forever. The bit about a
dog and pooh and a vet sewing back my digits I added for colour. So, this 4th
of July or whatever celebration you have do not even think of doing what I did.
I did it
50 years ago and more, before fireworks, or fire crackers as they are called in
USA were more like ordinance that Marines use in conflict. So, don’t be
crackers and ever even think of being as stupid as I was then. Or I’ll give you
the finger, you’d only be able to give me one finger back in return, as all the
rest of your digits will be blown off if ever you were as stupid as I was.
This was
before I discovered books and fear of my Teacher Mr Gallagher, which led to be
becoming a reader, and ultimately the Writer wagging his finger at you, and
thank God I still have all of my fingers. So that was my confession, what do
you want to confess? Or has the priest already battered you with an old Bible
for being such a dirty little bastard, and banned you from church. So, you go
off and regret your past, then years later you return to the church as a
priest, and the old priest retires. You do of course hear the old priest’s
confession and you in turn batter him with an old Bible, and call him a dirty
bastard. Life is a circle after all. And what was the old priest’s failing? It
was your very own. He had got drunk on the altar wine when the big match was on
tv, and a penalty shootout had taken place, so he drunk the altar wine, to
celebrate.
And will
God forgive, him and you? You are both priests now, and yes God will forgive 77
x 7 times.
But it’s
always best if Stupidity is avoided, so think before you act, and wait till
tomorrow, because a good decision is always best slept on. Though if it’s a
girl, she’s best slept with, today, tomorrow and always. Especially if her pet
name for you is STUPID.
When
Shakespeare met the Vampires ©
By
Michael
Casey
As I
said before the morn broke, on yester eve, my offspring were partaking of a
Tale on the magic flickering theatre box, tv in common parlance. So as the dawn
has broken I will relate a Tale inspired by the Originals and how they spake
like Shakespeare, to my own very ears that is.
Let us
begin. O you upon the balcony, what is thy purpose, are you afte perchance a
thief or a knave, or an escaped slave. You came to wash the windows? But where
is thy bucket, or is it hidden in thy mighty codpiece?
Do not
dally, go fetch a pale of water, and should thou meet Jake and Jill, tell them
to hurry. Now with that boy gone I shall tell you the gist of the Tale. There
are strange creatures abroad, they dost say they live in the darkest of the
night and make merry, no not Students, but strange strange people who have
exceedingly bright teeth, as white as virgin snow. And thou dost know how hard
it is to come upon a virgin in this city, and as for snow, Ha, I repeat Ha, it
never snows in Old Forge and Singing Anvil.
The
leader of the Teeth as they are called is a man called Bert, yes Bert is how
his mother did Christen him, Bert, it was to have been Gilbert, but gills sound
too fishy, and it was for lack of a fish head that the bastard was born. As thou
will remember fishes’ bits were used to prevent unwanted births. Brook Street
had not yet been invented, it was still just a puddle filled back passage,
before the Future arrived. But back to the tale, the Teeth as they were called
were bold strong men that hung out together, yes very early Body Builders, who
always wore deep red lipstick, or so it would seem. Perchance when I awoke from
my reverie in the mist of the night, to use the chamber pot, I overfilled my
chamber so I had to throw it out the window. It was then that I saw a man
below, he was all red mouthed, I just thought he was a local rent boy, and I
nearly waved and said garde de l’eau
below, but I did not. For on the floor by his feet was a very very pale maiden,
her neck and bosoms exposed, and her neck was blood soaked. I had in the middle
of the night come upon such a dreaded sight. The Teeth had bitten and a faire
maiden had been bitten, and her blood been drained from her. So, I bit my
tongue, and waited for the Teeth to depart, while I held in a fart, then I
caste my po, because I was in dire need of it again. So, the fallen maiden was
blessed with a po full of my pee, by me Will Shakespeare, consecrated from
above, by a shower of water, not blessed, just expelled not heaven sent, just from
a window above, without any love.
In the
morrow without any sorrow I emptied my po again, and when I looked to see was
the maiden still fallen, and perhaps was she still available, her bosoms did
methinks were so inviting. There was naught to be seen, maybe it was all a
dream, but it would be and could be inserted into a tale, inserting a maiden
always makes good theatre after all, I am Will Shakespeare after all. So, I
went about my business, sharpening my quills, which is always a cure for all
ills for Writers such as I. Besides the Tavern, the Horse Trader had yet to
open, so I sharpened my quills, as I watched my maid shake my paliass, though I
must confess I dost enjoy her paliass more than my own, especially when dear
Ann is away.
I was on
the lookout for a tart, Greggs Olde Bakery was and still is the best, but I was
wont for a strumpet, as I had great need filling my codpiece, and besides I
needed a boy to play that strumpet. Not that I have inklings for boys, but you
see we have to have boys playing maidens, as the Queen does not allow ladies to
play ladies, she is the Queen and does not want any competition. Queen Rules
OK. So unbroken boys dress as strumpets and ladies and all sorts of the female
gender, where is the equity of it all, it seems all balls to me.
So I
came upon Bert in the dark, the inn keeper refuses to use more candles, so it’s
always dark, it’s frightening whom one couldest bump into. Then Bert opened his
lips and I was dazzled, his teeth were so amazingly white, I was stunned, but I
recklessly asked how he managed to get his teeth so white. Perchance a triffle
I could buy the wife to keep her happy, a white teeth maker. Bert explaineth to
me he had a friend from over the border, what Birmingham I asked, no a bit
higher, not Wolverhampton. And we continued with said game till he explained
over the Wall, the other side of Hadrian. Now Hadrian was a fat bastard, he
really was fat and a bastard to boot, so I looked past Hadrian at the bar. Bert
smiled and nearly blinded me in the process. No, he explained, not past that
bastard Hadrian stood at the bar, but over the wall, Hadrian’s Wall into
Scotland, the land of the men is skirts.
I was
immediately interested then, men in skirts would be perfect to act in my plays.
Bert explained his friend MacClean helped him with his teeth, after he had
eaten him his teeth had forever been so bright and white. Little did I know
that Bert did not mean eat but eat, you see Bert was a Vampire. But I was
intrigued, if I could meet some more of the Clan MacClean then I’d have a
source of actors to play the strumpets in my plays, like wot I wrote yesterday
as Ernie Wise used to say, before he ran away with a sailor in Morecambe.
So Bert
and I tarried in the bar, Falstaff came with the food, he was such a fool, I said I’d put him in a
play if he gave me more ale, so the fool did, and I will stick him in a play if
my name is William Shakespeare. Through I have to leave my mark on parchment
just for the record, so I always sign Michael Casey let that fat silver haired
writer who hides in the shade, get the Kings Men chase him when I leave for
London at the weekend, he can pay my bar bill, my civil bar bill, or should I
reverse it, the bar bill of civil, methinks that could be a good title for something.
I’ll file it in my codpiece for later.
That
night as the cock crowed, as it’s neck was being strangled for crowing at a
such an ungodly hour, before being put in a pot, cock in a pot is a verily a
great disk in these parts, put your cock in my pot is a much heard refrain,
not just from cooks but ladies of the night around here. Bert appeared in a
flash, his codpiece was loose, too much weight being carried within. With him
was a man past Hadrian, a Scots man, a man in a skirt. So, I proposed he appeared
in one of my plays, and did he mind kissing me, and as I demonstrated, the man
in a skirt kissed me back. A Glasgow kiss, or head butt to those who do not
know, a Glasgow kiss is a head shattering head butt, the men past Hadrian may
wear skirts but they were definitely all men, and as their kilts swirled I can
attest definitely ALL MAN. But for a good bottle or Irn Bru they’d dress in all
a girl’s finery and appear in my latest play. Measure for Measure, which was
all about drinking, or so I told the Devil in a Kilt. The Scot told me he’ll
accept all this carry on, so long as I left his kyber alone.
Bert
smiled and dazzled us both, then he flew away after turning into a bat, he said
his friend Bruce, another Scot was making the dinner, dina dina Batman.
Naming
Things ©
By
Michael
Casey
So,
Boris and his girl named their baby today, so God Bless all 3 of them. This got
me thinking, so that’s why you are getting this. I am of course called Michael
and I’ll have you know I insist that’s my name, NOT Mike or Micky or any other
useless shortenings. I once wore a Dicky Bow at work for a whole day so that
they’d call me Michael, I was getting bored correcting them, this was 40 years
ago. So, I wore the Dicky Bow for a day, there were 4 or 5 other Michaels but
only I was Michael. When I worked at
CPNEC, a hotel right next to BHX airport there were loads of Michaels there
too, but I was Mr Casey or Michael, my name was not shortened. When I stumbled
into teaching Esol for a year, where my external assessor called me “excellent,
excellent and exemplary” on my assessment, there the students called me Mr
Michael. So now you know.
Of
course those that really really know me call me Sarah, or you sexy vixen, I am
of course dressed in drag with my bypass scar exposed through a very low cut
blouse, size 46 hairy chest. And my very firm large buttocks are squeezed into
tight red jeans, which is the norm for me, as not even Cotton Traders can
accept the challenge. I do wear high heels, size 10 men’s size. So don’t call
me Sarah it’s Michael M I C H A E L .
Now that
I’ve explained that I’ll get on with it, and what am I getting on with, I’m not
some pole dancer, despite Morris my friend ratting his stick at me, after he
got out of the bath where he squashes his grapes, it is rather a small bath
after all. No, he really does squash his grapes he is a big bloke after all, he
makes his own wine in his bath tub, what were you all thinking of. What? You
are disgusting, go and book online Confession immediately.
Where
was I? I lost my drift, it’s very hard drifting you know, especially if you are
a coalman. Where’s Julian and Sandy when you need them. Julian has locked
himself away for a while, he won’t be reading the news for a bit, but if he
practices the One Minute Waltz, I’m sure he’ll get the Just a Minute host job,
and he can thank me for it when he does.
See you drifted off for a second, am I repeating myself, it was the eggs
I had for breakfast. Which reminds me of my influences, no not 40 year old
Whisky, me drink whisky, are you laughing. You, want me to carry on, now who’s
the clever dick now, and as for Julian, I could have been called Julian, well
my mom once said name a child after her, Julian would do if I had a boy.
OK, so
I’ve been too far Around the Horne, and Julian you can explain it to the Youth,
you are good at explaining, the kids today will totally misunderstand, they’ll
think Around the Horne is some form of sex education. So, where was I, I’m
listening to the Beatles as I talk to you, It’s Wednesday Morning, which is a
lie it’s Saturday and Boris and his girl have named their new baby. Now it’s
Yesterday and that’s another lie, why do they keep on lying, next they’ll say
they are better that the Stones, they were all too “stoned” to tell the
difference if you ask me. And now I can hear Hippy music from the Beatles so I
was right after all, trust your Uncle Michael, and I was in fact named after my
Uncle Michael. The space between us, did they have Social Distancing back then
in the 60s? Just a thought, how can I think straight with a sitar playing
everywhere and those bongos or whatever are making my head spin.
I’ve
switched the Beatles off, they thought they could turn me on, but with a manly
command “Computer Stop” I’ve switched them off, all those years in the hotel,
me and my booming voice, I can be so masterful when I like. Jules, just stop
sniggering or I’ll tell Sandy to stop bringing the shopping to you. I’ve just
looked at the tally in the corner over 740 words, and still I haven’t got to
point, sorry it’s the Gerald Wiley in me, and NO , that’s not a double
entendre, Julian you really must explain it to the kids. Everything breath I
take every move I make, they are misrepresenting me. It stings, it really
stings when I’m misunderstood, what try Polygrip on my dentures. Julian that
was wicked, you’re supposed to be the straight man keeping order, and playing
the one minute waltz. I do not have DENTURES, I know they look so good, but
they are all mine, I did inherit them from Steptoe.
Living
Years is playing now as I continue, and NO I’m not going to stop yet, though I
will put some roast potatoes in, so I have something to look forward to when I
finish. What have you got to look forward too? Well Jules is a good player, he
told me, so it must be true. Finally, I remember what I was going to say. Why
do we name things? Because it gives us power over the thing, it shows affection
to a thing, it differentiates from one thing to another. Here’s Julian, and
that’s Michael. Simple really, Julian would not want to be mistook for an
18stone super model with gorgeous silver hair with his shades perked
provocatively on his head and a massive chest. What I’m stretching the Truth?
Who does Julian think he is, the BBC?
Wait,
right there I have to sort out the washing, do you think I have servants?
Well I
just had an emergency, our cat Totoro was watching the washing spin around so
she followed it with her head and got very dizzy, so she collapsed. I had to
give mouth to mouth to our pussy, but Tororo is fine now, I’ve got whiskers in
my mouth, so I had to spit them out. But Totoro did help me hang out my
washing, I throw it on the line and she puts the clothes pegs on, I saw it on
Blue Peter, how to teach your pussy tricks, it was very educational and practical
at the same time.
But why
have names? Well you cannot keep on grunting, well apart from Heavy Metal
people, Steelworkers, not musicians. Though they do both bang a lot and have a
lot of rhythm. Put this there and do that, with thingy, and bobs your uncle,
not unless your sister in law has forgotten to shave again. That’s why shaving
was invented, to differentiate between the sexes, simple really.
We name
things to bring order, I’ll have 17 pints of Stella and a packet of cheese of
onion crisps. It just would not work with, I’ll have 17 dodas, and a chapaa of
onion crisps. It would sound too much like Lenny Bruce was getting the drinks
in. So, by using words we get the right thing, the right stuff and not the
wrong stuff. It must have been very tiring having to give names to everything,
Mr Webster or was it Pepys must have been very tired when he was finished. No
wonder he went to Greggs for a pasty was that what caused the Great Fire of
London? But at least the Arabs invented numbers so he could write his insurance
claim out properly.
This has
been a meandering tale, I didn’t name names, but I did drop a few hints, you
can name things for yourself, I have to take my roasters out now, they should
be ready to eat. I’ll tell my girls I burnt them, then I won’t have to share
them. This is what parental responsibility is after all, LYING. Ok be good
Julian, if you don’t get that job on
Just a Minute, a least you can become a Lounge Bar Piano Player, be Les Dawson
instead of Nicolas Parsons, or I am no vicar,
no I did not say wearing no knickers. Switch your hearing aid on.
What
Binds Us? ©
By
Michael
Casey
I just
checked my readers for today, as I do every day, that’s why I always have a
ruler with me, to slap their knuckles if they misbehave. Yes very old school,
my dad’s teacher in 1920s Kerry in fact said “One Day Casey you will hang” But
my dad had the last laugh, out of dad’s
kids 4 of the 6 of us, became Teachers, though I only did Esol, but I am open to offers if you can tempt me. Now today
from Colombia to Korea and Singapore I’m being read, I won’t rattle off the
list, 80 countries in total. But it brings me to my point, what binds us.
Many
things bind us, our family, our faith, our football team, our gang, fear of our
mum and her tongue lashing us. Having something in common binds us, working as
a team, or sharing the same canteen.
Things bind us, they make us stronger.
If you look at a bridge you’ll see how the ropes twisted together makes
the thing stronger as you cross that river in Colombia or wherever you are
today reading my stuff. So, rope or metal is weaved together to make it
stronger and it can then support the weigh as people or animals or trucks cross
it. So, it is with people too, if you bind them you make them stronger.
A
strange thought came to me as I checked out who was reading my rubbish today,
what if my scattered readers all met, say at the United Nations. They wouldn’t
be able to speak each other’s languages, no doubt English would be the Lingua
Franca, though the French would pretend they could not speak it, and insist
French was the language of Diplomacy. My scattered readers, what can they say?
Michael Casey, and then smile and mention Big Sid, or Smiling Paul, or the
Gavin twins, Amjit and Patrick, not forgetting Mrs Murphy. They might not be
able to use each other’s language but they can mention a name and they all
smile, why are those people in that book so stupid, or clever, or poetic, or
just so full of love. So, a fan club, unites, not that I’ll ever have a fan
club, the point is there are things we all love, or characters in a book who we
like the most. Fan conventions especially SciFi allow people to dress up and be
like their favourite star or character, thus the love of this brings people
together. I have actually met the real Chewbacca and r2d2 when there were fan
conventions at the NEC in the early
2000s, and yes they both asked for my autograph, NOT.
A
connection breaks down walls and friendship and love or just lust begins, and
that forms families, sometimes even after just one night. So, we are bound
together. Some binding may just be because we belong to the same bondage club,
Cuffs and Links, does not refer just to fancy ways of closing your shirt
sleeves, it might also be Cuffs and Links a members’ bondage club. Or you are
in a drinking club or a diving club, or selfie taking and accident club.
Selfies do lead to accidents as fools fall off things, too many times people
die because they were too busy taking a selfie.
A common
thing, a connection, starting with cobwebs love, binds and unites and
strengthens us. We feel happier if we have a connection and are more likely to
help each other. Back in 1999 I was in Barcelona, my last solo misadventure, I
had relearnt my Spanish by practising for just 15 mins a day but for 3 months I
think it was, the exam was in 1975. Anyway, I was lost and unable to find my
hotel, so I stopped 2 old ladies, older people and ladies always help, remember
that. So, I stammered “Donde esta Hotel Paral Ley” and the ladies helped. Why? Because
I said, “me llamo Miguel” and she replied “ mi hijo es Miguel” I said I was Michael and her own son happened
to be called Michael. The accident of a connect no matter how bad my Spanish
allowed me to get help. So, they walked 400 metres with me to the Subway at the
top of Las Ramblas, and pointed the way. I then said I was hungry, so they too
me to a Tapas bar next door to Dunkin Donuts and told the bar staff, feed this
man. So obviously every day for a week I went back to that bar, “otra vez” they
named me. Connections work, no matter who spurious.
So, to
finish because I need to visit the tapas bar that is our kitchen, why does a
Colombian read my stuff as well as a Korean? Not to mention the rest of you. I
hope it’s because I make you laugh and mix the almost serious with really
stupid ideas. So, as you do whatever you do in Colombia you say to “vuestros
amigos” “Miguelito Casey es Loco, pero Que Aproveche” if my Spanish idiom is
right. As for Koreans it might be just because I so damn attractive all the
girls read me. Though, if that’s true, somebody must have a really bizarre
sense of values. Whatever values you have I hope you can see yourselves in The
Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker, and laugh with me and at all my 2000
plus short stories. Because laughing together is the only gift I can bring to
the table.
Optics
and Reality ©
By
Michael
Casey
When I
left Pinsent Masons Law Firm over 10 years ago, and they really are very nice
people by the way, I shared a piece called Nobel and Me. I had sent a farewell
email to the folks, and one of the Lawyers and I think we had up to 400 in the
building, or was that total staff? Anyway, one of the lawyers said he liked the
piece of writing and good luck with my future and the writing. These past 10
years have been my busy time for the writing, and then I became a hausfrau, and
my Health got bad, arthritis, heart bypass, tinnitus etc.
I am
very very fortunate though as I’ve had my Golden Years with my daughters. My
mother called the time my dad was made redundant and the decade they had the
Golden Years. Five years ago, I could have ended up dead, and you would have
all been spared my 1,600,000 words in total. So I’ve had 10 years with my
daughters, and I’ve watched them grow up, and I’ve moulded their characters, no
dad has had the time to interact with his kids as much as I have. So, I’ve been
very lucky, though the kids may not think the same. I’ve also had time to
write, though nowadays it’s all I really can do, and some of you may wish I’d
stayed at Pinsents, or just wish the Grim Reaper got me 5 years ago. I was
lucky, a neighbour of a similar age, also with 2 daughters at the same school
as my girls, he died in his bed.
So,
that’s the short version, and you will have gathered if you read my stuff, I
really do hate Pretension. What you see is what you get. Ask Derek Willins if
you like, he said it a bar, and he was getting the beers in, he was my boss,
though he may deny it, being shamed and associated with me might dent his
street credibility. I watch things and I get ideas, it’s over 20 years ago
since Derek said that by the way, it was in my Market Research into Alcohol
days, yes really, it was a real job, ask ACNielsen if you don’t believe me.
I’ve flourished into a Writer, though you may use another W word. So what has
this got to do with Optics and Reality? I’m just giving you some background,
just as I should remind you I’ve watched too much tv and radio news, 50 years’
worth. If I had pocket money growing up maybe I’d have watched less tv and
listened less to BBC Radio 4, which is the Internal World Service if you are an
American reader.
Which
brings me to Optics and Reality, maybe you should read LinkedIN Profile and CV before
you continue. So I’ll assume you have and I’ll march on, like a Christian
Soldier, Mr Watts my old Physics teacher was in the Salvation Army, I just
remembered that, I can even remember his face and the 2nd year
classroom we were in once. See my brain is just a sewer, or a smoker’s chest
full of phlegm. Maybe it’s the phlegm that keeps the Covid 19 out, not the
nicotine.
One thing has one image, one picture, the desired
picture, but the sad reality is far far different. You see me one way, but as
you read you discover more. Don’t just look at one piece of the 1000 piece
jigsaw, or even 10000 piece jigsaw. The same goes for Optics and Reality.
He is fat, he must eat too much, so he is greedy
In reality he has a medical condition
He smells, he must not wash, he’s a dirty old man,
literally
In reality, he has kidney failure, goes to the
bathroom 20 times a day
He is inconsiderate, he has the radio on loud all
day and even at night
In reality, the Tinnitus is never ending, and seems
louder at night
He makes a lot of noise at night, going to bathroom
every 2 hours
In reality, his kidneys are destroyed, so he has to
go to bathroom so often
He screams at night, he must be taking drugs or
drink
In reality the sine curve of pain, comes and goes
and hurts, really hurts
He gets up late, he’s so lazy
In reality some nights, he cannot get to sleep till
6 am or later or is it sooner
And on it goes, ignorance displacing unknown facts
But what about in the real big outside world
I’m a Stable genius
But where are the grades, hidden in Davie Jones
locker
I have a gift for these things
A relative knows, he pretends to know by
association
I’m a great businessman
But went bankrupt, was it 5 or 6 times, help me I
cannot count, can you
I am generous, I have a Charity, I love our Vets so
much
But a Judge made you return $2,000,000 dollars, and
said you could not run any Charity
I’m so clever I had my own University
Which closed
People love me, somebody paid 1000s for a picture
of me
You bought it yourself
I’m as respected as Abe Lincoln
So, you sit in front of his statue for the cameras,
if Abe
wasn’t set in stone he’d walk away
Under my Absolute Rule everything is booming
30,000,000 Unemployed, stock market tanking
Covid 19 is a HOAX
Millions infected, tens of 1000s dead
I never lie, it’s all Fake news
Too many lies, 18,000 and mounting
I could go on but you get the picture, lies, damn
lies and statistics. Trump may even declare war on China, or then change his
mind the very next day, and let democratic Taiwan be invaded. Trump loves a
show, that’s all he is good at, SHOW, but running a circus is not the same as
running a country. Boasting about winning a Nobel Prize, is just too stupid for
words. It also is where I began this piece. Nobel read his own obituary, and he
was so filled with shame that he changed and started the Prize.
Will Trump be filled with shame? Will he ever admit
he got it wrong, never because he’ll never a mask, because that would be the
Optics of Failure, and that is the real reason Pence did not wear a mask when
he did tour, and everybody was all masked up. Optics in Election year is all
that matters. Photo opportunities and flowers, the sweet smell of success, when
the stench of death and failure and 30,000,000 unemployed. Nobody standing up
to him, a sober straight person is what is required in a crisis. Not a self-centred
egotist, who boasts about his TV ratings when people are dying and hurting, who
probably hasn’t paid any taxes in 10 years, hiding everything, except his tv
ratings.
So, if the United States is to survive as the
Unites States, people have to speak up, and speak loudly, and get off the couch
and Vote. Post in Voting is what is needed, and then the People’s Figures will
be counted, or do you prefer to be sheep, and just watch a Clown bring down a
Nation, because he looks so charming on tv, oh so Optical,
BUT IT IS
ALL AN ILLUSION.
Hidden
Secrets, Hidden Meanings ©
By
Michael
Casey
I was
sitting in the bathroom, and I wondered what I’d regale you with today, and the
thought occurred Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings, best ideas sometimes come when
you are sitting down in the bathroom. Wednesday 23rd May 1979, was a
memorable day for me, because I’d just got out of bed in the afternoon after a
night shift. By 3pm Andy Madden was dead, so that’s 41 years ago, he died of a
heart attack and I tried to save him. I was still 20 at the time, so it was a
rude awakening and introduction to death, face to face death. I’ve mentioned it
before, but now 41 years on, I’ve given his name.
Andy had
no family and he was our lodger, him and his wife, she was a cleaner down
Dudley Rd, hospital, now renamed City, for some unknown reason, it’s on the
Dudley Rd, directly opposite Saint Patrick’s RC Church, my home church so to
speak. When people die, their secrets are revealed, well if you have to tidy up
after the dead, I’ve just counted I’ve known 5 of our lodgers who died over the
years, luckily the local undertaker is a family friend I could say. Add on lodgers who bailed out, or you evicted
finally after so much bad behaviour, that the local Police encourage him to
leave after he’d made a verbal commitment, Jock had a birdcage but no bird,
then that could be 10 or so. So, with this upbringing I know stuff that some
people don’t know, or have not experienced, because they’d had tidy lives.
If I
bring in William Shakespeare for a second, you get all these denialists who say
he could not have written this or that. One great documentary series explained
his education, and wool trade connections, and he may have even been a secret
Catholic. Which means like me he had a varied life and life experience, which
helps if you end up a writer. Simple really. Now back to the theme, when you
die people have to clear up, sometime literally. As you pooh the bed when you
die, if you didn’t know, when my mother died, my brother washed all the
blankets in the washing machine. No, not something you’ll want to know or ever
hear about, but a sad reality of death.
You go
through a room with bin bags at the ready and pour the stuff into the bag, as
far as Jock was concerned the right verb. Then there was the bird cage but
never the bird, he did in fact return for the bird cage. His room was deep
cleaned by my mother, as for his mattress it was burnt at the bottom of the
garden, without the use of any paraffin. So much soaked in whisky meant it went
to blazes so fast, I just remembered too we had been on the family holiday
probably to Abegele and he’d been promising to leave, so mum was livid, he
was forever playing catchup on the rent
for his bedsit. NO, we weren’t horrible landlords, our price was the cheapest
in Birmingham, I can remember my mum nagging dad to put the rents up. Remember
we were a family of 8 plus a cat and a dog, how could mum feed her 6 kids,
despite dad working up to 16 hours a day in the steelworks.
The
accidental purchase of the house next door, had been a life saver. Dad’s
brother Dan lost his wife in childbirth, on her 10th child, dad’s
brother Willie was about to buy the house next door. So, when Dan lost his
wife, Willie a bachelor went back to Kerry to help raise the family. As for the
house next door, dad’s name was put on the deed instead, simple, and that’s how
Fate changed all our lives. And that’s why it really is a Casey Clan, so hello
to all and any of them should they stumble over this. I think it is Morris who
has the Casey family farm now, and yes my own dad was one of 10 too, and mum
one of 7 but Timothy died age 7 of rickets.
Time for
roast potatoes, I am Irish after all, then I’ll continue. Well I’ve had my
spuds, and my mum used to use a milk bottle to mash them, sometimes with the
milk still inside. So, if you were late to the table you wondered why the milk
bottle had mash all around it. Where was I, tidying up after the dead, yes you
find their secrets. And they can be disturbing, the girlie magazines under a
cushion, or neatly sacked next to the Bible. A diary filled with hate and bile,
or old photos, of long-lost friends. Coupons and cuttings, hidden secrets or
collections, he was a Villa fan, or loved science, he had all 100 parts of a
science book published weekly in parts. Or just stale old clothes, not even the
Charity shop would want, bagged and not even tagged, and thrown straight into
the dustbin.
When you
go through somebody’s stuff you are not even a burglar, certainly not when it’s
single working men who lived in bed sitter land. It’s sad, they get up go to
work in the screw factory or wherever, go to the pub, go home, go to bed and
that’s the sad circle, and sometimes they wash in the bath. On the other hand,
you get to hear plenty of tales, and it could be said it motivates you to do
well at school. Though in my own case it did not motivate me at all, other
things did, but that’s another story.
With the
ringing of Tinnitus in my head, the doorbell rings and my “slot” arrives, so
I’ll leave you for today, I could have said more, but I’ll just say this. If I
can be a Writer, then all of you can, so write then post it somewhere, even if
it’s on the door of the fridge in a plastic wallet. Shakespeare started
somewhere and why not emulate him, because I don’t want to be copied, I just
want, well if you’ve read my stuff before then you know what I want, so go hunt
while I answer the door.
A
Nudist’s Guide to Walking ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
everybody is talking about Covid 19, I don’t really need to say too much about
it in my writing. And we’ll all be sick to the back teeth with Plays and Films
all about it. Why? Because 7 billion, 7,000,000,000 of us have experienced it,
so do we want to pay a dollar to see the film of it? No doubt howls or rage,
but would you want Christmas 365 days a year? That’s taken the howls down by
6,000,000,000 at least. Now to amuse you all, while you spit at the screen,
here’s an account of my Locked Up Life, what I am being a hypocrite, or just
another government adviser. No, I don’t have any women sneaking into to my home
to give me “personal care”, maybe I should put my address and phone number at
the end of the post.
Now as
you know I have to be careful having had a heart bypass, so I stay indoors and
things are delivered, in a way not much different to my life prior to Covid 19,
though as a government advisor, I do get recreational visits from women twice a
week. That’s a joke should you be speed reading this. So, what do I do for
exercise? Well going to the toilet 20 times a day is my exercise, as the toilet
is far away from where I am sat most of the day in front of my PC, though I do
use a 9 or 10 year old tv as a screen for comfort, and soft toilet paper too.
20 x 40= 800, so toilet time is 800 metres, because I walk or run there and
back every time I have to go. I did not
realise it was that much, it explains why my belly has not got even fatter.
Obviously,
I’ve been told to stay indoors, because I’m such an ugly ____, insert a word to
describe me, you really are such cruel people. I wouldn’t let you in twice a week, such horrid
horrid words to talk about me. So I do need a bit of other exercise, up and
down the stairs to use the bog is not enough, so what do I do? Well if you’ve
read the title of today’s talk, I go walking in the nude. The weather has been
so kind, so I take advantage of the weather.
At night
when the coast is clear I disrobe, and sneak out the front door as naked as I
was born. Letting the breeze blow the cobwebs away is always nice, better still
if there are no cobwebs, and if there are then you have not been exercising
enough, I won’t elaborate, let’s just say you’ll have nothing new delivered at
Christmas. So gently and gingerly I skip down the garden path, winking at our
garden gnomes, who hide their eyes behind their fingers. Have they never seen a
manly man naked in a front garden before?
Then I
look left and right and decide spontaneously
which direction to go, in the end there only is one direction, so
humming Harry Style’s hits I prance off. As I go along the pavement I look all
about me, the whole street has been abandoned these Covid 19 days, so I move
into the centre of the actual road, and off the pavement. I can wiggle my way
manfully, stopping occasionally to touch my toes. I am so fortunate I have such
a firm pair of buns, a lifetime of standing and prancing around computer rooms
and foyers and so forth has made me such a tight arse. If I really were a
government adviser women would visit twice a week to interrogate me, just how
did you get such a tight arse, would always be on their lips.
So, I
nimbly walk about my area, up down and around and back again, a circuit in the
twilight, my hairy mass and ever so gorgeous tight ass on display as I go about
my way. Then tossing my head backwards I let my ever so gorgeously soft and
silver hair wave in the twilight twinkle of the stars. Aliens from above would
remark, why is that fat fool prancing around naked in the dark, I thought it
was only us aliens who never wear clothes. Though he has such a tight fat arse,
perhaps we should abduct him, and get him to breed with us aliens, then we
aliens would have great arses like him. He can keep his silver hair, us aliens
are all Gingers, it’s a know fact, aliens are Gingers.
After 20
mins, I have had enough exercise and its is time to come home, nobody will
recognise me in the dark, beside I have no clothes on, so how could they
identify me. Well apart from the A3 size brown and hairy birthmark on my left
shoulder, but nobody would ever see that in the dark. I get home and the garden
gnomes avert their eyes again, though one local cat runs away in fear, seeing me naked before
them. A takeaway deliveryman spots me and pukes all over the pizza he is
delivering, pepperoni of course.
I get
back inside and get myself a Stella from the fridge, I deserve it. So on I go
with my night-time nude exercise, nobody will ever be the wiser. Unfortunately
there is an App, and everybody is using it, not the Covid 19 App, but WhatsApp,
I have been filmed, and everybody but everybody in Old Forge and Singing Anvil
has recorded and shared my dusk dancing and prancing in the dark. I have even
been edited together to cover all my routes, a full HD video of dear naked me.
Then one
night as I have my key in the lock, a voice behind me, it’s a policeman, he
follows me inside my home. I’ve been spotted, it’s a fair cop. And indeed it
was, for it was a fake moustache, the Policeman was really a women in disguise,
she had come to take down my particulars. The rest you can make up for
yourselves, as we practice with handcuffs…..
New,
Really New ©
By
Michael Casey
In game
shows you can Take the Money or Open the Box, Michael Miles and Monika Rose may
spring to mind if you are even older than me. If you Google you’ll discover sad
facts about them, so the memory I’ve had for over 50 years has a cloud over it
now. But I won’t dwell on it, nobody should dwell on sad things, that’s why we
all like New things.
In
advertising New is the buzz word, and game shows and sagas were introduced to
sell Soap, washing powders in USA. The Soaps sponsored shows. You can Google
away with that for yourself. You may even have a degree in the subject,
Marketing as it is called nowadays. If money is involved everybody wants the
biggest share of the market after all. Which brings me to, New, what is New?
Brand New, is better than just New, how about New and Improved, and with added
Value for Money. Is it real, or just some idiot with a half a dictionary?
Marketing
folks are trying to grab our attention, so words are showered on products,
especially stuff you use in the shower. We all want to look nice and smell
nice, well girls do anyway. Hence the shower of buzz words to promote use of
products used in the bathroom. This will leave your hair soft and shiny and
with added bounce. We all believe it and try the product, though personally I
use carbolic soap on my head and lower down my body, and I still have great
soft thick silvery hair. Don’t you hate me girls? It’s all in the carbolics
after all, or genes if you did biology.
And on
it goes in an effort to gain a bit more market share, it is a billion pound
industry after all. That’s why I’m on posters everywhere, advertising my
carbolics, or rather carbolic soaps. So, YOU too can have such really great
hair. Advertising is a very deal, it used to be on hoardings, I once applied
for a job to do with hoardings, checking that posters were up in the right
place at the right time. Yes really. See what a many splendored life I’ve had,
or nearly had, as I didn’t get that job. Nowadays there are niche adverts, as
you wouldn’t sell ham to Muslims or Jews, so you target what a specific
audience might want, so you decide who might want what you have to sell and
spend your budget appropriately. The student market drinks more, has more sex
and uses more technology, or so they think. So, adverts on posters near
universities are for STD clinics and bars, and flash new phones. And if you
weren’t using flash photography while drunk making that “advertising” video
with your girlfriends then you wouldn’t need the STD clinic, but at least there
is a map on the poster.
When you
graduate, or rather when you discover just how much that piece of paper called
a Degree cost you, then you may decide it was a waste of your time and money.
Especially as everything was Online, and you could have stayed home with your
nagging mom and dad, but cut your debt in half, for the same piece of paper.
But you really wanted to live it up in squalid housing with dodgy people and
their new diseases, at the other end of the country, just to prove how
independent you really are. Besides you are a grown up now and can comb your own hair, and wipe your own bottom, with
cheap toilet paper that your finger always goes through.
Which
means you need a new suit, so you flick through the mags in the barbers, as you
need a new haircut for your first interview. The barber asks what kind of cut
you want, you say you have an interview. So, he gives you a short back and
sides, or the same haircut Michael Casey has been having for 50 years. You look
at the barber with a mixture or hate, you’d punch him, but he’s even fatter
than Michael Casey, so you smile a pained smile and say “thanks”. The barber
looks at his palm, you didn’t tip him, though you did want to leave him at a
tip, him and his clippers.
You have
torn a page from his magazine, the picture of the suit that’ll be perfect for
you is displayed, worn by a male model, with a decent haircut. Accidentally on
purpose slamming the door, that’s taped as the glass in it is already cracked,
you leave, with “mind the door” ringing in your ears. Up the road is Steers the
old suit shop, only they don’t have the suit in the stolen picture from the
barbers. Though the assistant does have the same haircut and he says “nice
haircut” as you arrive. Time is short, it’s a Saturday afternoon and the
interview is first thing on Monday, you are cornered, so you take whatever
fits, or almost fits. But the price is right, so come on down. And the trousers
do, as they are both too long and too big, but the assistant has a nice brand
new fake leather belt. So you have to buy a belt, and reject the offer of
braces as you just detest braces.
So
scalped, and wearing a clown’s trousers you arrive at the Estate Agents for
your interview. At least your marketing degree will be useful there, and there
is a ubiquitous large chested girl working on reception, she might get lucky,
as you preen your scalped head. Only nothing is as it seems. You are invited
into a small back office, a man in a track suit is there, with a fat girl also
in a track suit besides him, and yes she is wearing braces, and any kind of
haircut would be better than her hair is right now. A 2nd man
arrives, all suited and booted, he IS an estate agent, you look hopefully at
him. It’s ok, Don and Debbie will be interviewing you, I’m just doing them a
favour, the use of an office.
Don owns
7 chip shops and 6 pizza parlours and 4 nail bars, nail bars were Debbie’s idea
for diversification. Obviously with a growing property portfolio, NEW NEW
Estate agents were happy to lend an office. So, the job is all about food and
nails, never mix them together joked Debbie. You’ll get food for life from any
eatery we own, and we are expanding all the time, and I’ll sort out all your
beauty needs said Debbie looking with disgust at your bitten nails. Never bite
your nails, it’s the very first thing people spot, when they shake hands. And
there will be company transport provided too. The pay’s alright, but you do well
and we all do well. And if you strike gold, you can marry Debbie, jokes Don.
You almost faint, the room spins around, but you do notice Debbie’s eye’s look
down for a second, there is sadness there.
You take
the job and start the very next day, Debbie has tidied her hair and put red
lipstick on, but she still is wearing a fat loose track suit, and the dreaded
braces. Well you job is marketing and we’ll be working closely together, but
first allow me. With that she grabs your hand and applies DO NOT BITE on all
your fingers, it’s disgusting, you will never bite your nails ever again. Her
grip is very strong, yet her hands are ever so soft. Then she grabs your other
hand and does that one too. Now, that’s better, let’s find the company
transport. It turns out to be a Tandem, a retired one from the Olympics, state
of the art, they bought it on Ebay.
How do
you think we deliver the leaflets? So you are to cycle behind a fat creature and deliver leaflets. It’s better
than jogging everywhere, but you have a degree in Marketing. You’ll be sat
around her fat arse all day. You close your eyes, and she begins to strip off.
She is wearing a fat suit under the track suit, it’s a NEW way of toning and
losing weight, underneath she is a very pretty woman, beyond lust. And she says her braces are coming off next
week. So now you have to endure her sat on the front seat of a tandem, you
cannot avert your eyes, just her wonder thighs and more. It’s a relief to jump
off and sprint up and down streets delivering, buy one get one half price
pizza, with a coupon for 10% off the nail bar for your own adorable fat, pizza
fat girlfriends.
And that
is how you met your future wife, Don wasn’t joking, he wanted her to be happy
as his veins clogged from all the fast food. Debbie wasn’t stupid, and her own
chest was even bigger than the girl from the estate agent’s, she was all
curves, and she has not one but two degrees. She was tempted to do a Phd, then
she’s be a Doctor of Chips Pizza and Nails. You found all this out as you
cycled behind her, well watching her behind.
It
wasn’t easy, she made you learn all about nails too, she even made you take a
nail technicians course. Then you had to learn how to make fish and chips and
pizza too. She was a very hard task master, you had to be as good as her dad ,
and as good as her too, and only then were you good enough. By which time your leg muscles were rock solid from all the
tandem riding.
Now what
has this all got to do with new? Well nothing really, sometimes as good as new
is good enough. Or with a new hair cut you are as good as new, even while
wearing a clown suit. The thing that you need to improve the most is yourself,
once you do that anything is possible. And Debbie insisted on the impossible,
you had to have your nails done in every room of every shop of her dad’s empire
in the space of one month. And by having your nails done, Debbie didn’t mean
have your nails done, she meant have your nails done. Or perhaps you need 2
degrees and her newly won PhD, to explain it, as she paints your nails.
Dinner
is Served ©
By
Michael Casey
Everybody
is a baker during Lockdown, it’s on the telly or BBC Bitesize, so my girls
tried to poison me the other day, and today they are trying again. Euthanize a
parent for beginners or what was the name of the Alistair Sim film, where all
the relatives are killed off in order to inherit. Go Google then go watch the
film, leave your parents alone, don’t be tempted, they don’t have any money
anyway.
The
other day my small daughter tried her hand at baking, but her efforts were fell
flat, because she did not put enough baking power in, or it wasn’t self-
raising flour. Or some other excuse, as she and her bigger sister bickered. I
just left them to it and retreated to the study, or the front room if I’m not
being pretentious. It’s the nice room, the clean room where sticky fingers are
not allowed, you’ve seen the photo, though 95% of my photos are from the old
house.
Today I
decided to try my hand at cooking for them, chicken goujons, straight from a
packet, we had to eat them today because the use by date was up. Food choices
by use by date, all so very sophisticated, just like in the very best transport
cafes. I cooked them to perfection, or till my big daughter said she wanted the
oven, so we ate them. We had them with wraps, no not some guy singing and
banging on the table tops, but with wraps with a W. We had to finish the wraps
as somebody nameless did not wrap the wraps, so the edges were stale or hard.
Or just the one I selflessly ate. However, both my daughters proclaimed me a
chef, though they could just be lying to humour me, till the small print of the
insurance policy comes into force.
I
retreated triumphant to the study while big daughter dripped her mix into a
baking tray. Which could be a metaphor for what Amicci used to do with his
mixers, or was that a different kind of mixers? Then a roar rose up from the
kitchen, my big daughter’s cake mix had raised up. She told me as I came into
the kitchen looking for a banana, I do eat them not just actually pose with
them on my head, it’s in a photo if you search my sites. I couldn’t find any
bananas as she had crushed them to make banana cake, she did though leave a
trail of banana skins on the kitchen floor. The accidental death bit of the insurance
policy had been most revealing. But I left no skid marks, at least with
bananas, though Totoro our cat did come racing in and slip and slide like a
figure skater. Totoro loved it, she is a Ninja cat after all, I just smiled and
wondered had my girls seen The Adams Family Values too often.
I then
returned to the kitchen to help small daughter with a new screen protector,
managing to get stickers stuck all over me, and finally a cracked screen
slapped on my forehead. It’ll protect you dad, no doubt if I did fall over on
any stray banana skins. Otherwise her phone was now protected, but what about
old dad? The cakes came out of the oven, banana cake was like bananas, though
now the raised cakes had lowered. I said sagely they must have opened the oven
door too often, to admire their handywork. Let things rise, and don’t touch
till the crust is brown. I did watch my own old mum make fairy cake when I was
a child after all.
So,
sampling a fairy cake I made my way back to the study. Though I did trip over
Totoro our cat spread like a centre fold on the living room rug, exposing her 6
nipples. Luckily, I landed on the settee, or I would not be talking to you
right now. Home baking is a very dangerous thing, so be careful out there as
they used to say in Hill Street Blues, I wonder can I find that on tv
somewhere?
Tinnitus
and Phlegm Solicitors ©
By
Michael
Casey
Tinnitus
and Phlegm were Solicitors in London, their office was 25 paces away from
Morley and Scrooge, though Morley and Scrooge were nothing compared to them,
they were just money lenders, but Tinnitus and Phlegm were Solicitors, they had
even studied at Oxford. Tinnitus wore a tall tall hat and strode with his very
long legs, so he knew that the common money lenders were exactly 25 paces away,
or 40 for short people. Tinnitus was tall, so tall that the French fishmonger
called him deux metres, but only behind his back, or Tinnitus would strike his
back with his silver topped cane.
Phlegm,
was fat and round, very round, the French fishmonger called Phlegm grosse deux
metre, 2 fois 2 egale 4, so if the 2 were together then then fish monger called
them les deux quatre metres. They were a
strange pair, but they liked his fish, so they were good customers. Fish is for
brains was what the pair of solicitors always used to say as they carried their
fish away, inside of an old piece of newspaper no doubt with a new Charles
Dickens story printed on it.
The fish
was cooked and eaten with a smack of the lips, the cat called Dickens ate the
head as a reward for keeping the rats away. London was full of rats after all,
it was 1843 and the Thames was full of boats and rats.
Now
Tinnitus had wanted to be a sailor but his family were Solicitors so a
solicitor was he, no sea for him. He did watch the cannon being fired, he stood
close so he could smell the smoke. Only he stood too close and as well as the
smoke a cannon misfired and nearly killed him, it was supposed to be seaman’s
drill but it nearly killed him. And now Tinnitus had forever the noise in his
ears, the sound of and explosion followed by a whoosh as a cannon ball just
missed his head. The doctor could not mend his ears, but as the Dr, a Dr Watson
was a family friend he decided to name the condition after Tinnitus. And that
is how Tinnitus came into the language. Dr Watson explained it to Charles
Dickens his dear friend when they were down the pub drinking ale, Sherlock the
barman thought it was a great tale too, before being told to know his place and
get another round in.
Phlegm
really was called Phlegm, the family had come to England from the Low Countries
several generations ago. Phlegm could not get used to the London smog by the
river, what with the tanners and the fish smoking, so his weak chest meant he
forever had phlegm and was always spitting it up into the spittoon by his desk.
Though Tinnitus and Phlegm never had need to buy glue, they just used the
bucket of phlegm to stick postage stamps on, or to stick posters on walls
advertising their Solicitors services. They were ahead of their time as far as
recycling was concerned, Waste not Want not.
One of
their best customers was a Mr Pickwick, he was so very rich, he had folding
money, so much folding money, coins were for criminals he often joked. Mr
Pickwick was a Paper man, though he could be a Tiger the ladies said. In fact
Mr Pickwick owned high class Whore Houses, his first was called the Nevada
club, because he had travelled the world and liked Nevada so much. He was
forever buying houses, the kind only whores and the poor would live in, but he
had to squirrel his money away someplace. And Slum dwellings brought in a
steady income, though he did buy a fancy house for himself, off Sloan Square,
and other places for his high-class whore business. The Rich and Gentry could
not be expected to visit bad areas after all, their whoring must be done in
high class areas, they had their reputations to keep after all.
So, Mr
Pickwick visited Tinnitus and Phlegm so they could handle all his paper work,
and even more eagerly handle his large white paper five-pound notes. Then with
Tinnitus saying it’s just 25 paces away Mr Pickwick would go to Morley and
Scrooge to get them to arrange the rental of his slums, a perfect business
operation. Sally one of the local whores used to bump into Mr Pickwick, but
he’d just bowl her over, she was no lady. He only had Fallen Ladies work in his
high class whore house, because they could talk proper, and were good in the
bedroom department too. So Sally was bowled over into the mud, and horse pooh,
she nearly was killed one day, but Bill Sykes saved her, but that’s another
story or two.
London
in the 1840s was a different place than it is today, but for Tinnitus and
Phlegm it was good very good even, they even got invited to Nevada, Solicitors
finding nirvana in Nevada, a high class whore house. Obviously, Morley and
Scrooge were never invited, they were just money lenders and lower class
people, not high class solicitors, so no invites for them. Tinnitus and Phlegm
enjoyed life and all of Mr Pickwick’s business, so much so that on occasion
they would offer a drink to keep the cold out. It was French cognac, the
fishmonger had a bottle and Tinnitus enquired what it was, so when he tasted it
he enticed the fishmonger to get him a few bottles. Hence French cognac for Mr
Pickwick.
And it
was because of the cognac and Dickens the cat that Mr Pickwick died. You see he
had a drop too much as it was such a cold day, that he slipped on a stray fish
head that Dickens the cat had left lying about, he banged his head on the cast
iron stove and that was that. It would have been ruin for Tinnitus and Phlegm,
so they had to think who to blame for the sudden death, and Dickens the cat
couldn’t tell a tale, and take the blame.
They
thought long and hard then they remember Jacques the fishmonger and Jill his
wife. He’d said they were going back to France forever to look after his mother
in Yvetot, so an idea was hatched. Mr Pickwick was stripped and placed in a
trunk, with a few fish heads too. Then the trunk was taken to Jacques’ fishing
boat, Tinnitus said he always wanted to be a sailor, and it was the truth. But
now everything he had saved for being a sailor, books and so forth he was going
to symbolically throw away at sea. Jacques thought he really was a stupid
Englishman, they really were A Nation of Shopkeepers, or butcher baker
undertaker. But for a gold sovereign he’d let him act his play out, who did he
think he was Shakespeare, to be Candide. So, Jacques let Tinnitus throw the
trunk overboard into the English Channel, all the time he hid his face up his
sleeve, or la Manche as the French say, the fish in the trunk stunk after
all.
Tinnitus
had got away with murder, or accidental death due to slipping on a cat’s fish
head. When he got back to the office, Tinnitus used his left hand to forge Mr
Pickwick’s signature. He inherited everything. Thus Tinnitus became a big noise
in the entertainment business, the British are Phlegmatic after all.
We all
look like somebody ©
By
Michael
Casey
As I
said earlier today before the pain monster got me for a good 2 hours, like
carrying a cross of concrete on my left shoulder, I spotted folks reading the
Mitt Romney is Captain Pike comment. So
that gave me the idea for this, and that’s why you can all suffer, just with my
words, I wouldn’t want any of you to have my physical pain. So, have you seen
something and said that guy/girl looks just like X Y or Z. I of course am a
George Clooney look alike, though I weigh more than Tyson Fury the world
champion heavy weigh boxer, but am 11 inches shorter. See it’s how thick you
are, and I am very thick. Being thick is also slang for stupid, so you will all
no doubt be smiling over that, and agreeing, you are all so cruel, sob, which
is sob not SOB, sob means cry. You are a far-flung audience so I’ve explained
things for you. I’m going to stop now as the pain is too much, so go and have
fun till I get back to you, and no this is not a pretentious word play.
Well
it’s the next day now, I had to lie down the pain was bad, then after 3 hours I
arose like a vampire. However, it would now seem that I really am a vampire, as
for 4 nights I don’t sleep till after Dawn.
Tinnitus my Roman slaves really deserves a damn good flogging. So, I
look like death warmed up, and I know the wise guys in Ukraine are saying, but
he always looks terrible, can’t he take photos? That’s the idea, I take rubbish
photos because I hate the pretentious, I am a Writer photos, or am I being
pretentious?
So, who
do your friends say you are? He looks like a security guard in that mismatch
collection of clothes he wears, pretending it is a suit. Him a writer? He looks
like a refugee from a charity shop, wearing all that was left over after the
bus went through the front shop window. And how exactly are writers supposed to
look? Just not like YOU! You are so cruel, I’ve heard it all before, you wrote
that? As if I’m chewing gum stuck to a shoe, or worse. I have feelings and I
put them on paper, and what you read is my heart on my sleeve. Just like snot
when I forgot to bring a handkerchief with me, tissues are all so modern.
How we
look betrays us, in every sense of the word. A cool person will pretend not to
look when the bus goes through the charity shop window, and as I grab the
clothes and put them on, best way to carry clothes is to wear them. My mother
once went back home to Cromane Lower Kerry, wearing her clothes all on top of
each other. Her mother told her she’d belt her if every she did it again. This
was 1930s or 1940s Ireland. But back to the Future, or 2020 present, being cool
was a very big thing, then selfies and accidental death by selfie stupidity
took over. Everybody just had to have a selfie, and the Cloud was invented to
hold all these inane photos. Apple built an empire on selfies with ever more
costly and fancy phones. All made in China. Though now a 100 quid Huawei takes
just as good photos. Do a blind test if you don’t believe me.
As ever
I digressed, that’s the trouble if I don’t write my piece all in one go, my
chain of thought does. Put it like this, STOP, you’re making up your own jokes
now. I’m the only Comedian here. I just remembered a trainee teacher with
arthritis and a stick he once said that in a 2nd year English class,
we laughed our pants off. His tutor arrived, and yes he had a stick too, you
can’t make this up. In 1985, I even saw Sky the Classical/Rock band at the
Birmingham Odean when I had fractured my left elbow, and in the audience
everybody seemed to have an injury, cripples’ night out. And yes nobody would
use that phrase nowadays, because we
care, or Corporate People want to give the impression that they really care.
Discuss.
As well
as having the Cool attitude, people adopt a style of clothes, which shows just
how fab and groovy they are. Though professional photographers bemoan the fact
that everybody dresses the same now, to prove just how cool they are. Nobody
has a personality, standing out would be uncool, so they dress uniformly in a
“uniform” to prove just how cool they are. Come back Glam Rock, all is
forgiven, at least people dressed differently. Abba where are you?
I just
wear a shirt and chinos, with multiple jumpers on top which make me 4 inches
thicker than I am, my waist, not my intellect. As for others, they have fast
fashion, so some poor malnourished worker in the 3rd world, works
hard so we can change our Fashion quickly, more often than we change our
knickers. I of course don’t wear any knickers, a panty line would detract from
my Kardasian shaming large derriere. But I won’t show you any back view photos,
as it may excite you too much, it’d be like looking at Trump’s bum, mine is
even bigger and firm, unlike his.
Style
lasts, and can be worn forever, that’s why I am so stylish. Don’t snigger or
I’ll get you on toilet cleaning duty, after my dinner. That’s wiped the smirk
off your face. Yes, style does cost more, but it transcends time, I’ve seen
Devil Wears Prada 3 times I’ll have you know. Don’t buy 3 cheap belts buy one
nice one and it’ll last forever. If you’ve seen Guy’s film The Man from Uncle
in it Guy has the two hulks argue about Women’s Fashion. I did of course give
Guy the idea, same as I gave him my uncle’s old cloth cap to wear, uncle’s cap
while he directs Uncle. So simple really, you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes
to work it out.
I
recently discovered an old belt I bought in Italy in 1995, and yes it still
fits, but the style is nice and will last till I die, if you say a word, or
even half smile I’ll get my Ukrainian friends to stand outside your house,
it’ll feel like a total eclipse of the sun, Ukrainians are HUGE, taller than
trees, they cannot hide.
It's the
belt in the photo, assuming you are reading this on my site. If you are reading
this in 2020 Words, then you’ll just have to use your imagination, this is
radio after all.
Pick a
nice colour, Primary colours are good, and I don’t mean your old school
uniform. Red, Blue, Green stuff like that, a decent shade too. Then as 40
shades of grey becomes a fading scar in your mind, too much spanking at school,
then good colours remain vivid forever. Buy styles that aren’t happening right
now, and in 10 years time your fashion sense remains ahead of the game. Glam
Rock styles are of a certain time and place, but true timeless fashion is just
that, Timeless. Yes it cost a little bit more, but just listen to your own Gay
Dads or just the Men from Uncle, then girls people will always call you Bitch
behind your back.
I could
say more, and I would have written something different if yesterday hadn’t been
such a pain day, but what you have got is Timeless, like my totally
unfashionable fashion, I can dress and undress others but not myself.
Shower
Curtain ©
By
Michael
Casey
I just
changed our shower curtain in the bathroom, so that got me thinking, and
that’ll be the story for today. When you change your shower curtain, what do
you do with it? Do you throw it away, having it billow out of your dustbins? Do
you wash it in the washing machine, as the care label said you could. Only it
melts inside of the washing machine and ruins the washing, and that’s how you
met the hunk from next door and started breeding little plumbers.
Whether
you recycle it or just straight bin it says a lot about you, and your
upbringing. It reveals were you poor, or maybe you have an imagination. I had a
humble backgound, and I DO have an imagination, hence all the pages of writing,
8300 pages now. So, I’ll pause for a while, as I use the bathroom, I do have to
test the new shower curtain, as I step over the plumber fixing the washing
machine.
The new
shower curtain works, it’s a deep blue in colour and I am now fragrant
smelling, but not as nice as Mary Archer. My daughter said it looked like a
hospital shower curtain, it is certainly dark in the shower without the light
on, but I wouldn’t want the neighbours to puke if they saw me in the nude in
the shower, hence the curtain. Though a bar of soap, Dove of course, is best
when naked in a field of rain, so long as Adele is not setting fire to the
rain. So I am clean, and ready to continue. I did of course stop off for a
mushroom and ham omelette, made with margarine I bought in error, but at least
I did not throw it away. The remainder of the marg is being converted into
cakes by my chef daughter, so food poisoning may await just around the corner,
though as they say you never know what’s just around the corner, not unless
it’s my daughter’s baking, you can smell it. I did set off our smoke alarms
while making my omelette, but it’s a change from the Tinnitus ringing in my
ears. And I did watch an episode of my Kdrama, about a King, a horse, and a
parallel universe, before I came back with this story.
Now as
far as shower curtains go, what can an old one be used for? Well if you’ve
managed to extricate yourself from the plumber, he is such a hunk. Well
assuming it’s a normal person like me, you’ve just choked on your can of Stella
Artois, moi normal, it’s just everybody else who is strange, working in the
White House to the sound of not music but musical chairs. Where was I, yes, the
shower curtain, well you can roll a body in one and bury it in the compost at
the bottom of your garden. Which may explain the size of your tomatoes, at the
bottom of your garden, which could be a naughty metaphor, depending on the size
of you tomatoes, and how juicy red they are, and how much splatter there is
when you bite into one of them. I do eat tomatoes often nowadays, real ones,
you are all so one tracked, as they are good for me, and I do like them anyway.
And healthier than an eternal bottle of red sauce, though if it’s sauce it has
to be Heinz.
You can
also use an old shower curtain as loft insulation, along with mashed up copies
of The New York Times or The Washington Post, as broadsheets they offer so much
more coverage. You spread out the shower curtain and spread your mashings
everywhere on top, this catches the air and makes your loft so much warmer, and
hence our power bill so much lower. It depends on how many copies you steal
from the library and how smelly you are, or rather the rate at which you
replace your shower curtains. So by recycling you do save energy, and cut your
power bill. Or you can just shower with a friend, such as that hunky plumber
who came over to fix your washing machine, after the old shower curtain melted
inside.
If the
wind blows a hole in your yard fence then you could use the shower curtain to
spare your blushes, ok the nosey neighbours, just by nailing up the shower
curtain till you fix your yard fence. I would have done that myself, but I lack
20 thin nails, no not from the Thai beauty parlour kind of nails, but real
nails, like the Blacksmith might have secreted about his person. There’s never
a Blacksmith around when you want one, too many Plumbers, they earn more than
dentists you know, but have less brighter teeth.
As usual
I side-tracked myself, but blame BBC Radio 4 comedy shows in the 1970s, or
rather the repeats I listened to from decades earlier, that’ s where this style
comes from. I can hear you all mutter, like Muttley, wish it stayed there. In
1970 Terry O’Callahan muttered about my Whitty Comments, and what happened to
him. Mr Ely the P.E. and woodwork teacher spanked him. I won’t make any
spanking jokes, or a 90 something P.E. teacher might make me do the plank, and then plane it, he
did teach woodwork too.
So as
the light fades, I’m lying but it must be dusk in the East by now, so as the
light fades, I’ll finish for today. I did have a Finnish reader the other day,
as I had a Finnish guest when I worked at the hotel. She emailed me to ask
should she bring her fur coat, Birmingham can be so cold. Not me, the weather.
Though I am a bit windy now, after the omelette, so I may need to shower again,
and yes so it’s curtains, shower curtains from me.
What’s
that stink? ©
By
Michael
Casey
There is
the sweet smell of success, and there is a “stink”, at the moment in the news
Cummings may be going because he looked after his kid and wife in Lockdown, the
rest you can follow in the news. Et tu Brute, is all I shall say.
Now as I
began a thought came acalling, or rather a smell, a remembrance of a smell. Of
a child in school in my class 55 years ago who smelled, let’s call her B.
Nobody wanted to sit next to B, because she stunk, maybe her parents did not
care, maybe they could not even afford the basics. Poundland did not exist
then, I cannot remember it anyway in inner city Birmingham as it would be
called nowadays. So, B stunk and nobody wanted to sit next to her. You can
extrapolate her life, me I hope she had a chance to flourish and change,
literally. I hope she became fragrant and ended up selling perfume in Rackhams
or other fancy shops, I hope she turned out so beautiful that heads turned,
instead of noses being held. But I am a writer and an Altruist, but I’m sure as
you are my readers or listeners I know you’ll agree. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi
my Slav friends would punch anybody who said bad things about B, and give her a
carrier bag of things, including fancy soaps donated by their wives. You can
open a window, as it’s hot and I’ll get back to the story.
Yes, I
did pump or let loose, or there was an escape from me, ok I FARTED, but that
gave me the idea for this, and it does prove I talk S*&&, or I’m still
digesting yesterday’s mushroom and ham omelette. We all recognise smells and
there are memories associated with smells. There even was a song in France, ca
se sans c’est vraiment toi, if I remember it right, from 1983 maybe, forgive
the bad French spellings. You can go Google France for yourselves, but if you
find it don’t sing it in class once you go back to the safety of school.
Every
smell has an association, a baby smells the milk from its mother’s nipple, and
cats no doubt come to visit because there is milk in the air. Beware though, a
cat will sit on or too near a baby, because of the heat. Watch the baby not
your phone. As we grow we smell differently, especially if you have kidney
failure etc. A baby smells of talcum powder, the 3 kings delivered 3 gifts, and
one was for nappy rash, yes really, go Google. You know when a baby needs
changing because of the whiff in the air, or you should if you ae not paying
your phone too much attention. I have seen a blind lady with 2 or 3 kids, and
she used to hold them up to her nose so she could sniff them, and yes she is a
great mother.
As you
get older you wash more, people will insist. Washing in the downstairs kitchen
Belfast sink every night, with a bath once a week, used to be the norm in our
house. Showers hadn’t been dreamt of, and we’d have to run upstairs to put the
emersion heater on for dad’s bath. And yes a cork full of disinfectant was
added to the bathwater, 50 years ago and more. Then bubble bath arrives,
teenage girls in the house makes this happen.
And on
it goes, the changing smell and frequency of washing. Though with dad’s steel
workers’ feet, Jeyes Fluid was added to the plastic bowl of water so he could
soak his feet when he came home from the steel works. Mum used to use wooden
tongues to remove his sweat glued-on socks. Then he’d say it was good to wash
his feet. Afterwards the same plastic bowl was used to wash the dishes, it was
rinsed first. To me that’s a happy memory, mum was like Veronica, if I haven’t
mixed up the names, no doubt Bible students reading this should know the
difference.
Mum also
made bacon and cabbage on occasion, and I still hate that smell, just as I hate
certain Chinese concoctions that my wife used to make, but love the smell of
other delicious Chinese smells. Smell is a big memory bringer. Perfumes also
come along, and Price does not denote quality, neither does name brands, nor
Star brands. I could name names, but you’ve all tried Star brands, even if it’s
a sample spray from B, who now sells perfumes at Selfridges, well in my
imagination. Though as I write this I just remembered something, memory is not
even and one more layer has arrived to make me cry.
Back to
perfume, we all have a favourite, or that pretty girl looks great, but her
perfume stinks, literally. So, nobody wants to know her, if she stuck with the
nurses’ smell, carbolic soap, then she’d have a boyfriend. I’ve just remembered
a big fat Asian lad from the hotel, he had loads of girlfriends, or should I
say girls who talked to him. Why?
Because he knew all about perfumes and so on, so he could talk to them, about
things they were interested in, not just boring football. So boys, learn about
perfume and ladies fashion and you’ll be surrounded by girls, though some
ignorant boys will call you “gay” because they are so jealous.
Personally,
I like Ck1 or CkBe, not that you’ll send me any. I’m big and fat so I need
perfume distraction. Though the old old school perfumes are coming back, Brut
for men, and Old Spice. You have to be 40+ to remember them, but they are cheap
and cheerful. Old Hannibal Lector has designer perfumes, and that’s to cover
the buckets of blood and brain soup, if you saw the film on tv the other night.
As we
grow older we exhibit the Old People’s smell, as they leak, or kids think they
do, and there is the Old Ladies perfume smell. Our homes have a smell the musty
smell of old people’s homes. Mine does not as I have young daughters, teenagers
now, so it’s cleaned and all the lotions and potions my daughters use fill the
air.
We may
grow more religious so we visit church, and we have the smell of candles in our
hearts. I did spend 3 years and more of lunchbreaks in Saint Phillips cathedral
in Birmingham city centre, it was closer than Saint Chads, so I was a catholic
converting the Anglican cathedral. I hope God is smiling, as we both know all
prayers from all faiths are equal, God just wants us to talk to him, as any
parent does.
So as
the music fades, what you did not hear any?
Discover Allan Taylor a British folk singer, I’ve just Googled there’s a
ton of stuff on Utube. So, I’ll leave you there with my perfume up your nose,
but Allan Taylor’s music will fill your ears. Which one will you prefer?
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