A Quiet Night In something appropriate from a few years ago

A Quiet Night In  ©

By

Michael Casey

A quiet night in, now thats’ what we all need from time to time. The wife and the girls are at Nancy’s Mum’s, Nancy’s mum does have a name but my wife knows I couldn’t possibly pronounce the Chinese, so remains Nancy’s mum. While they are there the girls will go to an upper room and do some painting with Nancy, Nancy is 17 and an A* everything, with the help of God and 2 policemen she’ll go to Oxford.

In the lower room is a Jesus evening, everybody gets fed by Nancy’s mum then there are Bible readings and “Sharing” where the friends talk about Jesus at work in their lives. Me I’m here, listening to Genesis and Genesis are singing “Jesus he knows Me.” I’m a Catholic from the nipple, with added an added inheritance of my mother’s faith when she died. Doesn’t make me special, just makes me me. “Can you hear Me, Can you see” sing Genesis, it all seems on cue, but that’s how my writing comes out. A mixture of luck and hard work and a pinch of salt or angel dust, then I’ve got a piece to put on my blog www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com and in MyTelegraph.co.uk were I am the dunce in the class.

Back to my girls, they are no doubt painting with Nancy and she is good enough to sell her paintings at a car boot sale or wherever is the place they should be sold. They are picking up some great tips, I want them to experience as many things as possible, then they may find things they can keep with them throughout their lives. My wife has no doubt had a good old gossip and is now boasting how God had helped us this week. Other families are sharing their experiences too. I did travel to Nancy’s mum’s a few weeks ago, just to show my face, but their path is not my path. So while they pray I’ve been trying to find some way of getting somebody, anybody to go to Amazon Kindle and sample my 4 wares on sale. Traffic is the word they use nowadays, if only I were a corrupt journalist, or a hacker then I’d make a few bob, or is it just a prison sentence. There would be a full stop to my works.

I have found a few folks via Linkedin and Facebook but are they interested in a fat Charles Dickens, with 1000^th of the ability of good old Charlie. Strange things do happen on the Internet, if only I were allowed to blog for a Sunday newspaper, then I’d have a profile, though my profile at the moment is more like Falstaff, full of sack and a hapworth of bread, you’ll have to find my photo and judge for yourselves, well I do hope more than 1 person IS reading this.

I did have time to look at www.rightmove.co.uk and dream of where I’d like to live IF I made it as a writer. I have only moved a mile and a half from where I was born and IF I had money I’d only move a mile and a half more. Near the woods for me and Subway the dog is my dream, though my daughters would rather have a gerbil. It is so quiet here while they are praying and painting, that does give me a picture of God as Banksy, would God use lightning bolts and rainbows to leave his art?

Well its after 10pm now so I’ll love you and leave you, Genesis are still playing on the computer, “Dreaming in my sleep”  they sing, which we all will be soon. So off to beddie bybys as my mother used to say.

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

my daughter dreamt last night of me holding a big dog maybe it is time for a Subway 6 or 7 years afterwards

just to let you know

ednesday, 21 March 2018

just to let you know

i've just finished piece about toilet seat and now i'm screaming in pain. because my chest and shoulders suddenly started to hurt.

this is my real life, writing is an oasis of humour that helps balance all the pain.

so pain relief clinic really is one of dreams.

at least i should have a pain clinic referral soon.

The Toilet Seat

The Toilet Seat ©

By

Michael Casey

A Toilet Seat is a thing of beauty, it is also a thing that can provoke almost Nuclear War. Some people people may even worship them, and flushing a toilet is their religious practice as they scatter rose petals down the bog. I would say if people want to do that then so long as there is no coercion let them be, in the lavatory. All faiths should be left alone to be what they want to be, so long as they don’t drive the rest of us around the Ubend.

But all of that is an aside, but don’t mock me if I worship my toilet, I have cKd so you too could end up like me. Where was I, sprinkling  and blessing my bathroom floor with my yellow holy water. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, so long as you wipe your bathroom mat, before the mushrooms start to grow.

Now once you share your home, your pad, with girl things change. They have too. She fills your bathroom with loads of lotions and potions and your pad is filled with her pads. And now you have to observe toilet etiquette, the seat and the lid must come down, and the toilet must be flushed every time, otherwise its a big big crime.

Attila the Hun would be classed as meek and mild compared to your girl if the toilet seat is not down and the lid closed too. And no sprinkles left all over the floor either. But you are a lad and you forget, and her revenge may lead you needing to see a vet. So beware or you could get a kick down there.

But all is forgiven and you catch her unawares, and so now she is pregnant, and you have to massage her back, but you love her. Even if you have to pee in the bath or even sink because she is the queen always on the throne. And then the months pass and her waters burst all over your favourite Wonder Woman bathroom toilet mat. Wonder Woman is drenched, and it is far far worse than hair gel. Then you have no time, you have to deliver your baby on the bathroom floor, with only a bedraggled Wonder Woman there to help you.

Its a girl. You are so happy you cry, your girl thinks you are just a drip, as you place the newborn baby girl in her arms before finally dialing for the ambulance. So your new life as a dad begins, scraping pooh down the toilet before bagging the soiled nappies so they can go as far away as possible from you, thanks to the bin men. And on it goes.

Then just when your daughter is potty trained, your now wife decides she wants passion, so she is pregnant again, and it’s all your fault. You could have improvised with cling film, but now you will be a dad of two in several months time. And yes is a second daughter, so your chances  of getting into the bathroom are now less and less.

Your wife insists you can use a potty so buys you a bucket to use when she and your daughters invade your bathroom. This goes on for years and years. Little wonder you become a toilet worshiper, its such a relief when you can relieve yourself in the bathroom, down your own blessed toilet.    

But the worm turns and sprinkles everywhere, there is screaming and shouting, but dad just smiles and holds up something pink, pink paper not toilet paper. Dad has won the lottery and bought a mansion with 3 bathrooms and a spare toilet. Perfect, just as his old mother said, many mansions in Heaven. Though this one was in the posh part of Birmingham.

Then dad wakes up, he’d been sleep walking and sprinkled down his pyjama trouser’s leg. He leaked, not won the lottery at all. But at least he bathroom toilet paper was pink. 

***********

Hello Mother Russia thank you for passing by

Hello Mother Russia thank you for passing by

Funny thing happened today in the supermarket, I met an old gentleman and I joked he had a Russian hat. We could all do with one as its been so cold this Winter. The old man told me that it was not Russian but Albanian. We got talking and he said he could speak Russian. In fact when he was at the Ballet once he was talking in Russian to the ballet people and they said that he had a South Russian accent. My only comment was that I was vetted by a Chinese Ballerina when I met my Shanghai wife as her friend was in the Ballet.
I also tried chatting up this girl with great hair in a bar in Barcelona at the top of Las Ramblas. She turned around and had a kink in her nose and spoke English with an American accent. This is 20 years ago nearly. So the next day the Russian Ballet was appearing in Barcelona so I went along to see them. They had giant speakers and recorded music. It was really good of course. And as I watched I noticed that one of the ballerinas had great hair, she spun around, and yes it was the girl from the bar with the kink in her nose. No I'm not making it up. I had been trying to chat up a ballerina. Later on the same year I met my Shanghai wife and her friend a ballerina vetted me.

So everybody in Russia that's just how stupid I am. Though I have now written 15 books and am 1/2 way though my 16th. 1,270,000 words or so.  My brothers are clever, one went to Queens Oxford and another to Downing Cambridge, go look it up if you don't believe me. Dad sweated in a steel works for 40 years after coming to England from Kerry Ireland where he was a Blacksmith. As for me I am a Wordsmith. Thank for passing by. I have yet to be discovered, so despite all the words, I'm not making anything from them. I could have a column in Russia newspapers...

But I should not complain, despite my pains. I can bore you all for a few more years, just tell all your friends the world over, from Canada to Russia and everywhere else in between.


Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham


Привет, Мать Россия, спасибо за то, что вы прошли мимо Забавная вещь случилась сегодня в супермаркете, я встретил старого джентльмена, и я пошутил, что у него есть русская шляпа. Мы могли бы все с этим сделать, потому что в эту зиму было так холодно. Старик сказал мне, что это не русский, а албанский. Мы поговорили, и он сказал, что может говорить по-русски. Фактически, когда он был в балете, когда-то говорил по-русски с балетом, и они говорили, что у него южнорусский акцент. Мое единственное замечание состояло в том, что я был проверен китайской балериной, когда я встретил свою жену в Шанхае, когда ее подруга была в балете. Я также попробовал поговорить с этой девушкой с большими волосами в баре в Барселоне на вершине Лас-Рамблас. Она обернулась и передернулась в носу и говорила по-английски с американским акцентом. Это почти 20 лет назад. Поэтому на следующий день в Барселоне появился русский балет, поэтому я пошел к ним. У них были гигантские ораторы и записанная музыка. Это было действительно хорошо, конечно. И когда я увидел, что заметил, что у одной из балеринов были большие волосы, она развернулась, и да, это была девушка из бара с изломом в носу. Нет, я не собираюсь это делать. Я пытался поговорить с балериной. Позже в том же году я встретил свою жену в Шанхае и ее подругу, балерина проверила меня. Так что в России все так глупо. Хотя я сейчас написал 15 книг и на одиннадцатый путь, хотя мой 16-й. 1 270 000 слов или около того. Мои братья умны, один отправился в Квинс Оксфорд, а другой в Даунинг Кембридж, иди, посмотри, если ты мне не веришь. Папа потел в стальных работах в течение 40 лет после приезда в Англию из Керри Ирландии, где он был кузнецом. Что касается меня, я - Усмешка. Спасибо, что прошли мимо. Я еще не обнаружен, поэтому, несмотря на все слова, я ничего не делаю от них. У меня могла бы быть колонна в российских газетах ... Но я не должен жаловаться, несмотря на мои боли. Я могу вас всех утомлять еще несколько лет, просто расскажите всем своим друзьям по всему миру, от Канады до России и повсюду между ними.

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

My last Positive Thought

 For History- my last post on Positive Thoughts where I practiced my words Sep 21, '09 5:23 PM

for everyone

My last post on www.positivethoughts.com

Saturday, June 20, 2009, 11:40 PM GMT [Wisdom to Share]

Well what can I say, only goodbye. I've practiced my writing here. Sometimes direct, sometimes via little stories. The world is an uncertain place. North Korea wants an excuse to zap everybody with their nuclear bomb, while their own people die starving. Iran fiddled the vote and priests who should know better turn the other way while police kill their fellow citizens.

Give peace a chance is all I can say.

Each of us in our daily lives can give peace a chance, even if its only by smiling, even if sometimes we want to scream, but a smile and a little prayer can do some good.

Saint Teresa's little way was the right way, I actually went to her shrine 25years ago.

Spreading a little laughter can build bridges, if I could sent Laughter to North Korea and to Iran by hitting the keyboard in front of me then I would.

Let my laughter ease your pain

Let my laughter stop your fear

Let my laughter break down the walls between us

Let my laugher make us friends

Let my laugher feed your people

Let my laugher make us grow together

Let my laugher bind us together like a steel cable

more and more intertwined more and more strengthen TOGETHER

Love conquers all is what my mother used to say

So let love end madness in North Korea and Iran

For Love is all we need as the Beatles sang.

my laughter lives on at
 https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

Thanks to ALL at Positive Thoughts for your friendship, Cheerio from Birmingham England

What If from 8 or 9 years ago

What If (c)

By 

Michael Casey 



What if Today wasn't the 1st day of a New Year but the last Day of Your Life.

Who would you hug, who would you kiss, who would you miss.

Who would miss you, do you have a clue, and do you know why?

Would your years of striving to be a good writer/teacher/cop or whatever still mean so much to you .

Would you miss making love in a tent high up in the mountains.

Would you miss a real good coffee and donut on 7th and 4th.

Would you miss the sales where you always bought nothing but shoes, shoes for work. But the fun you had with the girls was worth it , because pals are fun.

Would you miss Midnight Mass and Silent Night getting home exhausted and late and crying for your late mother.

Would you be too afraid that you'd not meet her again in the afterlife, or would that be the only hope you'd cling too as you watched the hands on clock sweep around faster and faster.

Would you rail at the world and want to get your gun and shoot those bastards who'd ruined your life in the past , even if all they ever did was steal your parking place, or would you be all sweetness and light, dying peacefully without a fight.

What would be your parting words, would anybody remember you, small kindnesses remembered and rewarded. 

Remember thou art dust and to dust thy will return is the Ash Wednesday phrase

Is that how you want to be remembered?

Or he made me laugh, he made me cry but I was always was happy when he was around , I'll miss him yes , but I've not lost him because because a laugh lasts forever.

That is my hope, for the start of this New Year and new day, and everyday because we all should live like today is our last because one fact is certain, one day it will be , so make 'em laugh , make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh

Happy New Year from this Comedy Writer Michael Casey

In the Soup

In the Soup ©

By

Michael Casey

We just had soup, Heinz tomato soup with buttered buns to dip into it. Perfect. Winter 2017/18 had decided to put it’s tongue out one final time so we had cold and snow and now finally Monday 19^th March, Saint Joseph’s Day I think finally Winter will end. I know it’s Saint Joseph’s Day as it was the day my aunt died many years ago. Delia was a great cook and a very hard worker. I’m trying to remember did I ever get soup from her, I did get every other kind of food imaginable.

Mum, Delia’s littler sister did occasionally make soup, I seem to remember a big saucepan with bones in and vegetables and it was a off white milky colour, kind of dish water colour. This is over 50 years ago before Heinz and his soup arrived at our house, all dressed up in his lederhosen, but he was welcomed and enjoyed.

My small daughter loves her soup, we have photos of her covered in it as she dips her bread, they will of course be shown at her Wedding. I did the exact same thing myself, so she is definitely not adopted. We used to joke as children that one sister was adopted, and as for me I was born under a cow, hence my birthmark. When we had a new cottage loaf we would eat all the crusts and leave the inside of the bread to one side. Our mother would scream at us in her thick Kerry accent, though we could never hear it in both senses, once we got a telephone decades later we only then could hear her accent. So mum saved the inside of the loaf for her own soup.

You can of course get in the soup or in a pickle which means in trouble. Or things are too hot to handle. There are doubt many food metaphors, too many cooks do spoil the broth, and I’ve met a few chefs in my hotel days, they are gods by the way. Besides they all carry their own knives so like a good coward I would never argue with one anyway.

As you all know too I say everything is in the soup and it is. Just as builders and Mafia say its all in the foundations. Soup and foundations both require plenty of filling. So my stories, my words, my babies they too are all in the soup. If its cold outside a reference or a memory of cold is ladled from the soup onto the page. Then I add seasoning with a dash of this story or a memory of the past. I never know where I’m going before I start, its much more fun that way.

In a way I am a blindfolded chef or soup maker, I dice and slice the ingredients and add them to the pot, then simmer and stir before still blindfolded I put them on the page. Though like my wife’s Chinese cooking I may simmer for years, and when an idea presents itself for this day’s story the tale on the page can be weeks old or decades old. When its a direct story story then the elements can be far flung too, not just far fetched.

All this talk of foods reminds me that stomach needs filling, so I really do need to make some soup now. So I hope you’ve all enjoyed this soup starter and enjoy the rest of the meal too. There are at least 1300 stories to be enjoyed, ok suffered, there may even be 1600, I really have stopped counting. The word count is 1,275,000 now. So as you an imagine my soup is very thick, not as thick as cement but I hope all the stories bind us all together in the confusion that is know as Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades readers club.

What else would I call it, gruel group? No I have just christened you all, my Confusion of Readers. No nothing to do with Confucius, I am nothing to do with any form of cleverness. Though I just googled him and he said “choose a job you love, then you never have to work a day in you life” Now that I do agree with, so let us all ponder that as we drink or is it eat our soup?