Finding a Plumber

Finding a Plumber ©

By Michael Casey

As we all know a good plumber is worth more than Gold itself, and the prices they charge are of that order too. Last week we heard a drip drip drip but could not discover the origin, we went outside to put something in the bins and all was revealed, the overflow of water was coming from the upstairs central heating feeder tank. So now all we had to do was find a plumber. But hang on our central heating was covered by insurance, or so I thought.

Insurance is a strange thing, you are covered or you are not covered, it’s like your boyfriend stealing the duvet, sometimes your bum is exposed and a target, other times you are totally covered and as snug as a bug in a rug, while he shivers on a mountain ledge. So your insurance cover is like that, various degrees of coverage or exposure. So joyfully I rung my insurance company, I assumed I had total coverage, only it turned out my bum was exposed, and no joyful target for my wife, it was exposed and not covered by my insurance company.

In plain English, my new boiler was covered by my boiler insurance, but my header tanker and its float, they could have been on the Moon. They were not covered, but the insurance company could cover them, if I had them fixed first. As for my radiators they were not covered either, apart from my pants covering them while they dried and filled the room with steam. So now you know.

So the hunt for a plumber began, which was almost as difficult as Stanley’s quest for                 Dr Livingstone. You always go on recommendation for plumbers and builders and maybe even priests. So we got a recommendation for Peter, who  I thought was the same Peter who did my sister’s central heating. Only it wasn’t, it was cool West Indian lad, who said “later” which was supposed to be an hour later, but turned out to be never. Maybe he had something to do, but not for us. Then we had another plumber in mind, an Indian guy who’d done up several houses in the neighborhood and fixed our kitchen gutter. He was going to do a garden gate for us as well, but the cost was too much in my opinion. So I made a garden gate myself, out of the old slats from my pine bed. As for the Indian his phone was no longer receiving calls, so option 2 had gone.

Option 3 was look online, so I found a fancy plumber and told them what I wanted, a quote for a new float in my feeder tank. They replied with an automatic email, they even had a wonderful website, telling on a ticker whose toilet had been unblocked.  Only my job was too small for them as I never heard back from them.

Time had passed and my hair had grown longer, no I hadn’t turned into Rapunzel, maybe more like the Wolfman, so I gave in to my  Shanghai wife’s nagging and went for a haircut. We are blessed with maybe 13 hairdressers where I live, half being for women and half for men. So I went to the Italian barber, only he was shut. So then I went to the Russian barber, only she was shut too. I had spotted a new Pakistani barbers while I was trying to have my haircut, so I decided to go there. He had a certificate on the wall proving he’d had some college training in hairdressing skills.

I was pleased as his hairdressing skills matched the certificate on the wall, so that was great. We got talking and he told me how his cousin encourage him to try barbering. I was about to guess what he’d done previously when he told me, taxi driver. I smiled I remembered all my taxi drivers when I’d been working at CPNEC Birmingham, we had had a great relationship, they came in fast and I got them out ever faster. Keep the customer satisfied was my policy, get our guests where they wanted to be, and keep the drivers happy too. Most of my drivers were Pakistani lads.

As my hair was cut and the years fell away I asked on impulse, do you know any plumbers? He picked up a card from the shelf in from of him, plumbers. So my quest to find a plumber had ended, in the barbers shop with my ½ price haircut. I rung the number on the card and then 2 days later the plumber arrived.

The plumber Mr J was young and strong, he needed be, as my header tank was in a strange position, it was in my bedroom about 8 feet off the floor. Mr J had to remove my mattress and part-dismantle the bed so he could get the ladder up under the tank. As I’ve still not fully recovered after my bypass and my arthritis means I cannot exert myself too much. Mr J did the business and my central heating header tank float was replaced. And my bed put back together again. All for £50 and in one hour.

I did offer him a cup of tea, he couldn’t stop, so he said maybe next time, I said I hoped I never saw him, we laughed. I wasn’t laughing the night before, some bastard had tried to break into our home, but that’s another story.

Writing for Playboy

Writing for Playboy ©

By Michael Casey

I never thought of writing for Playboy until today, it was in the News that Playboy wouldn’t be having Nudes any more. I think it’ll be more like our page 3 or the Sun which we have over here in England. There was even a piece in the Daily Telegraph extolling the virtues of the Nude in art and the Nude and the Love of the female form in Playboy. There weren’t any glossy pictures to go with the article.

I could offer myself, my body, as the last naked form in Playboy, but I think they’ll like to finish with a female, despite me being so great looking in drag. Besides naked no matter how good my drag I’d be rumbled, even if I crossed my legs and shaved my entire body. All the pain killers I’ve been taking post op have given me a very slight pair of man boobs, so now I’m a 46AAAAAA.

What if I offered to write for Playboy, how could I interest them and their readers in my Words. Well I can write humorous stuff, but would it match the under the bedcovers photography of the girls, whatever their state of undress or part undress. Would the readers tear themselves or their eyes away from Mandy the 38CCC model to read my Words. I did write a piece called What Makes a Man Attractive to a Women, such pieces of mine could they prize the eyes away from the Girls to the Words.

I never really think of a target audience when I write, I hope I write for all, I hope what springs from my mine to the page is interesting and funny.  Would Playboy give this Birmingham England boy a chance to amuse, to amuse in all the foreign editions too. Would my words be a hit in Japan or Russia, or would I have to appear naked with a pocket dictionary  to be my protection against rejection, rejection I said are you  all deaf.

There was a book about Noel Coward the British actor, wit and playwright called A Talent to Amuse written by Sheridan Morley, that’s the son of the actor, anyway it was so wonderfully written that the words flew off the page. Would Playboy have featured his writing, well he is otherwise engaged, but my diary is free, and I’m available and Hugh doesn’t need to use the casting couch with me, though I would do almost anything for an XXXL dressing gown of his.

So if you want this Birmingham boy to write for you, just get in touch, I have already sent an email this morning, it’s in your system somewhere. Just give me a couple of days to iron out the wrinkles in my body, then I’m all your, just be careful with that staple.

020 3805 0585 is a fake computer help line do not ring them

if your computer is unlucky enough to get a pop up locking the screen and an audio message saying ring
020 3805 0585    

DO NOT RING IT NOR GO TO THE FAKE WEBSITE ON THE SCREEN

they will hack into your computer and steal your stuff, do not have remote assistant.

It says do not switch off. so do the opposite.

SO SWITCH OFF YOUR COMPUTER AND DISCONNECT FROM THE INTERNET WHILE SO CLEAN YOUR PC.

By coincidence? I had a phone call which was a silent one, a few minutes after the pop up/
Beware of bastards.
Goodnight and never leave passwords on your PC nor bank stuff on it either, 

Wrapping Paper

I stumbled over this old piece today, after I'd tried on my Winter Coat, spot the connection with this piece of writing.

Wrapping Paper©

By Michael   Casey

             

I was in Aldi and I spotted Winnie the Pooh wrapping paper, my smallest girl just loves all things Winnie the Pooh, so I got the paper. I wasn’t sure whether to wrap her Birthday present in it or just let her have the paper. In the end I gave her the paper to play with. She was delighted, immediately she wanted to use the wrapping paper to wallpaper the walls with. As I’ve said before she once said she liked Winnie the Pooh because his belly reminded her of my belly. Such is a child’s love, unflattering but love.

It did get me thinking though, why do we need wrapping paper? Packaging is part and parcel of ordinary life.  Easter eggs are the thing with the most packaging, so much packaging and then so little chocolate. My mother gave up on Easter Eggs because of the cost, there were so many of us Caseys after all. So we had bars of Cadburys chocolate instead, the Cadburys  factory is just a couple of miles from where I’m sitting. Easter came and we devoured the Cadburys bars, cheaper than the Easter Eggs but so very tasty.

People have wrapping paper or layers all around them, we can all remember what Donkey said to Shrek, so many layers like an onion. At the moment I’m dressing up in the wrapping paper called a “suit”, so that I can get a new job. So people can see me at my best, hide my tummy and hope they forgive my premature white head of hair, as for my bushy eyebrows God alone knows what they may think. You can judge for yourselves by clicking on the photos on this site. How much do you reveal, how much do you hide as you have an unnatural experience that is called an interview. Perhaps interviews should take place in a coffee shop, as you may know LLoyds of London started in a London coffee shop 100s of years ago. Even better interviews could be held in a bar. You have two pints to prove your worth, so don’t spill the peanuts over the interviewer’s haute couture dress. Perhaps then at the 2nd interview you have to sing karaoke with the 2 interviewers, and IF you can sing My Way word perfect then you get the job. It sure would be more fun.

More wrapping paper is used when we are embarrassed or too shy to explain things to our doctor, we waste 5 mins talking about the weather and the Fall leaves before we finally blurt out that its a boil on the bum or something below the waistline. And why is it that on these occasions the doctor on call is one of the opposite sex, why can’t it be your usual doctor.

Wrapping paper is used an awful lot in Faith, we lie to ourselves and our God/Gods by thinking we don’t have to do this or we don’t have to do that. Faith can become a Buffet, we lie to ourselves and God, this bit does not matter, so we’ll show God only so much of ourselves. A bit like cheating in an exam. I’m sure  God’s smiling as he watches us, perhaps the Saints place bets on who will finally come clean, clean being the operative word. The Saints queue up ready to intervene, which 999 or 911 call will come though so that a Saint can be dispatched. I know in1996 when my mum had died suddenly and then 8 bare weeks later my dad was given 1 week to live, we actually picked the hymns for his funeral he was so bad. Then all the layers, all the wrapping paper was off, Padre Pio came to the rescue. So that I met my wife in the old peoples’ home, 3 years after my dad came back from the dead. Dad lived long enough to hold his grand daughter in his arms, 5.5 years after that massive heart attack.

The ultimate wrapping paper is love, its hard to say you love somebody when your heart has been broken so many times before. Its hard to take a chance when somebody might laugh in your face. Slowly you reveal one thing, then another, then another, yes I can see  the idea of a Monty Python joke as I write this. I do write comedy after all. But when 2 strangers become friends, when 2 become one, then all the wrapping paper is off. She may not mind your hairy back or fat stomach, he may not mind her big feet or whatever she feared. It can turn out that  what one thinks is ugly your Love may find attractive. Love is Blind after all, Love conquers All, Love is all you need. Together naked, the wrapping paper is discarded.

Fairy Liquid and All That

Fairy Liquid and All That ©

By Michael Casey

As we all know Fairy Liquid is the best washing up liquid, that’s why my wife insists I buy it for her. Yes I do the washing up, or I used to until she decided  I was useless, I did not rinse properly, and the rinse is the important bit, she does have a chemistry degree after all. So as I love her so much I went to Iceland to buy Fairy Liquid for her, even though she didn’t give me the money for the Fairy Liquid, it was an act of Love buying the Fairy Liquid.

Then I noticed the price so I was tempted to try another brand, much much cheaper, so I was tempted, a bit like seeing a kebab and wolfing it down, even though I’ve given up meat since  after my operation in Jan 2015. So I gave into temptation and bought the cheap washing up liquid, I got 4 bottles for the same price as one big bottle of Fairy Liquid. You can see why I was tempted, please don’t judge me, I know it was wrong, but it was a big big temptation, 4 for the price of one. It was like what happens at a Christmas party, TEMPTATION.

So I went home guilt but defiant. When I got home I squeezed the green coloured washing up liquid into the Lemon Fairy Liquid bottle which was still on the kitchen sink. Only Totoro our cat witnessed my crime, and she wouldn’t tell, but to be on the safe side I bribed her with some chicken from the fridge. One whole bottle of the cheap stuff was squeezed into the Lemon Fairy Liquid bottle, then about 3/4s of the 2^nd bottle of the cheap stuff, I was triumphant.

So what to do with the other 2 bottles of the cheap stuff? I decided to hide them under the sink in the old metal bread bin that I had brought from my family home when I bought my own house. Then I had 2^nd thoughts, what if I was found out by my Shanghai wife, a Shanghai girl is known for 3 things, her beauty, her intelligence and her NAGGING. So I quickly removed the cheap stuff from under the sink, and decided to hide it in plain sight, I’d squeeze it into the hand wash and my anti dandruff shampoo. Then quickly as if my wife was in the next room I took the evidence outside and put the 4 empty plastic bottles at the very bottom of the recycle bin.

For five days my wife did not realise what had happened, she is a very busy woman after all, what with her career. I did let the cat out of the bag and explained it to my children, Totoro our cat miaowed that I had bribed her, such a traitor, my girls just laughed. We had hidden the fact that I’d bought my smaller daughter a new Zara coat from my wife before, it looked exactly like the one grannie in Shanghai had bought her, but was a much better fit. It took my wife 6 months before she discovered my subterfuge. But Fairy Liquid was sacrosanct to her.

Each day when the dishes were washed my daughters stifled their laugher and Totoro had to be bribed too, 3 girls could they be trusted not to spill the beans. Then finally tonight my wife noticed that the hand wash and the washing up liquid  were the same colour, both a pale imitation of the real thing, not Coca Cola but it was not Fairy Liquid either. It was just too much for me so I burst out laughing, with my daughters joining in, I’m sure Totoro was laughing too. I laughed so much that it hurt, my chest scar does still hurt 9 months after my operation.

I also warned them all not to use my shampoo, or they would be using cheap hand wash on their hair. They all screamed in terror, girls are very sensitive about what goes into their hair. It would be revenge for all the times they had stolen my shampoo, speaking of which the Aldi Tea Tree shampoo is really good, and its cheap. My wife chided me, her stupid and clever husband, but if I was so stupid what did that make her?

I left the house still laughing till it hurt, I promised to buy her some real Fairy Liquid, if I was quick Iceland would still be open. She promised to use the other rubbish first, but she longed for her Fairy Liquid. I know she’d make me use the rubbish washing up liquid on my hair, but I don’t care, I’m a real man, and real men don’t do use Fairy Liquid, because they are banned from washing up as they cannot wash up properly!  

A Trip to the Dentist

A Trip to the Dentist (c)

By Michael Casey

My daughter decided that her teeth were not good enough so she had braces fitted, so now we have something to tease her about, for a few years. I told her that her uncle had a gap between his teeth, it meant you'd travel a lot, that's what grannie, my mum used to say. It's true too my brother was like a gypsie, travelling far and wide. As for my daughter, I think she's been to Shanghai 6 times now, so her gap between her teeth has proved she's an international traveller. So once the gap disappears thanks to the braces maybe I'll have to pay for less international air tickets, or grannie in Shanghai will start to visit us instead.

So as the trip to the dentist, or should I say orthodontist was on a school day I had to attend with her, which feels like a waste of my time, but they do have BBC news channel on tv in the waiting room. So I walked all the way to her school and waited in the sunshine outside. That used to be no big deal but post quadruple heart bypass with arthritis returning I have to pace myself. So I walked up the hill, then had a rest while I watched the traffic and enjoyed the pollution before heading downhill again towards the school.

Now it is a known fact that if you stay still in one position long enough you will see the whole world, a bit like how mariners navigate if you think about it. So I stood at the corner of the street waiting for my daughter to leave school, and who did I see over the road on his phone, only Mr Singh who used to own the corner shop where I used to live 30 years ago. It appears his hard work has paid off and he now lives in a £750,000 house. He is actually immortalised in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, but he'll have to buy a copy of the book to see if he can spot himself or his actions.

Pretty Indian girls jogged past in one direction then another, they may have even been Mr Singh's granddaughters. Then I could see a gardener walking towards me with his “napsac” on his back, and his tools strapped to his body. It was my neighbour Brian, so I said hello and explained what I was doing hanging around a street corner, looking like a well-dressed criminal casing  or should I say Caseying a house. Though I do look at www.rightmove.co.uk often, dreaming of the day I can have a bigger house in the posh area near my daughters' school.

My daughter emerged from her school, thankfully it’s in the top 1% of schools in the country, it’s a grammar school in all but name. In fact it’s so good the head has been asked to go over the field and assist the boy's school, so she's now the head of both schools. Me and my daughter had plenty of time, we could have even walked to the dentists, though I soon decided my body could not cope with that, so we sat and chatted at the bus stop. The bus sailed past as we talked, so we waited 10 minutes then the next one arrived.

My daughter told me that she discovered that her orthodontist went to her school, my daughter was also musing about being a dentist. I just told her only do it if she could hold her breath, a lifetime of having bad breath in your face, no wonder they wear masks. So while my daughter had the braces tightened I watched BBC news channel, though I did think Kwickfit might have been closer, it was similar work, spanners and so forth.

Time passed quickly, my daughter told me she'd been away 25 mins, I thought it was only 10, so I must have been enjoying myself, I just hope my daughter did too. Looking at my watch I suggested we dive into the pub on the  way back to school. They had a meal deal, two meals for  £10 I had spotted it on the outward journey. Though it turned out we'd only have time for a drink and a huge pack of crisps each. On the bus back to school/pub the driver was unique. He had curly hair and big dangly ear rings on, plus stick on nails and a bra. He was in drag. Or that may have been his normal attire.

Once in the pub I needed the toilet, I couldn't use the toilet in the church opposite the dentist as they locked them up. Toilets only available on Sundays. I was tempted to pee in the Holy Water fonts. Instead on the bus I just dared not sit down, in case the extra pressure caused me to erupt like a water font. So finding the pub toilet was like being in a haunted house going up and down and round and around, while trying to keep my legs crossed at the same time. I was relieved to say the least. Then my daughter had followed my lead, so I had to look for her too, a fool searching for a fool.

We waited to be served and the barmaid raised half an eyebrow, it was not quite like a Saint Trinians girl with Arthur Dayley, but my daughter is very tall. As time was now pressing we both had a drink and some crisps, before my daughter grabbed her school bag and dashed back to school. As for me I jumped on the next bus and went back home via Aldi, as I did need to buy some sprouts for the wife.