The white door

The White Door

By

 michael casey

          

The White Door, or the dirty white door to be exact. I had a dream last night and I  saw a door,  a dirty white door. There were two nails driven into it in the top left hand corner of it. That’s all I remembered, we do have 2 white doors in our house but neither are like that.

So what was I dreaming about? Years ago I had a dream dictionary, I would have eagerly read that to find out. So instead I’ll have to use the Internet, google will have an answer  no doubt.

I’ve said for years that I’d only get a real publisher IF somebody opened the door for me. A negative friend always says you have to make your own opportunities. I take the view that its not ability but knowing somebody, the old saying, its not what you know but who you know.

I knocked on loads of  doors via emails, but still after 20 years no publisher for my novel. A friend said its not just a door but maybe a window  I’d may have to sneak my talent through  a window before I finally got my chance, before my boat comes in.

My smallest daughter said she had a dream last night too, she dreamt we moved house to the big white house we walk past  daily on the school run, and that we had a cat and a dog. The dog will be called Subway. She was all excited as she told me. Children just love animals, but I’ve said no animals till we get a bigger house. Somebody somewhere has to find me and like me, and then publish me before our dreams can come true. Or my 32 year old lottery ticket could finally come up trumps, thought I doubt it.

You never know what’s around a corner my old boss once told me a long time ago, she was right, I met the wife in a most unbelievable way. Its all in Padre Pio and Me and my Literary Criticism essays. Doors can be opened and closed, closed in your face. For 3 years I stood by a door when I worked at a 4star deluxe hotel, the whole world passed through as I was a 30 second living commercial for the hotel. Best 3 years of my life in  a way.

Doors in the mind are the best doors to open, because they free you to experience more, I’m not talking about taking pills or whatever, just in case any Old Hippies are out there and reading this. Just open your heart and you will open a door to experience more, to remove barriers that leave you in a box, full of your own prejudices. Think of it as food, we always have this and we always have that. Because thats the way we have always done things. Then we meet somebody different and our food world changes, our doors are open. Imagine me meeting a Shanghai girl 10 years ago , I told her fish and chips was haute cuisine. Now you need a degree in oriental languages to know what’s what in our fridge. The kids love going to Subway as its a change from daily Chinese food. That’s why if ever we move house the dog will be called Subway.

I’ll leave it at that now, though I can say that Fear opened one door for me. I was so afraid of my Primary school teacher when I was 8 that I started to read books, and it changed my life. Getting an old Bush radio from one of our lodgers also opened another door for me, expanding your mind is a great adventure. If you are lucky it leads to a corridor full of doors and opportunities. I suppose writing these blogs as well as the essays and plays and the comic novel is a door too, you the reader are seeing into my mind, I just hope you like the view.

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

Heaven's Devils

Heaven’s Devils ©

By 

Michael Casey

Rodrigo was a bad man, a very bad man. He had lied and cheated and killed his way all over Central America, but he was good at his job. He was a killer for the cartels. Obviously he was going straight to Hell, the hottest part of Hell itself, but he neither cared nor believed. He was BAD with a Capital B, Michael Jackson could sing and dance and prance as much as he wanted but compared to Rodrigo, he was just DEAD with a capital D. Jackson was not Bad, he was Sad with a silly voice and bad dance moves, and he was DEAD. Rodrigo was the MAN and his moves left a trail of Death all over Central America.

Rodrigo had no friends, but he did have one cousin, Miguel was his name, and he too was a bad man, a very bad man, who like Rodrigo lied and cheated and killed his way all over Central America. They used to send postcards to each other, with cartoons written on the back showing how many and how they had killed their latest victims. The postmen just assumed it was children scrawling things. But to the FBI it was evidence.

Rodrigo and Miguel were tasked to kill a priest who condemned the drugs trade from the pulpit. So obviously they sat at the back and enjoyed the sermon, they would slit his throat after the Mass and steal the offerings too on the way out. Only Fr. Camillo had other ideas, he was not stupid he knew when death was calling him, and today after Sunday Mass was the day. But the thing about Death is that it is not the Master, there is only one Master, and today the Holy Ghost was in town. Now the Holy Ghost was faster and quicker than any assassin, so Rodrigo and Miguel had better watch their backs.

Now who or what is the Holy Ghost? Well the Holy Ghost was a retired CIA assassin, he knew Fr. Camillo from high school, and every day Fr. Camillo had prayed for his dark and evil soul. If the thief on the cross could be spared and Saul could become Paul, then the Holy Ghost could be saved too. And so he was, the Holy Ghost became plain old Sancho, he was Fr. Camillo’s invisible bodyguard. Any time the cartels sent a hit man to kill Fr. Camillo the hit man disappeared off the face of the earth. In actual fact, Sancho cut their ear off and posted it back to the cartel. As for the hit men, they just retired to Miami, thanking God they were still alive, though slightly hard of hearing. They grew their hair and enjoyed all their ill -gotten gains.

Rodrigo and Miguel were about to strike, when Sancho hit them first. They awoke to find themselves  tied up chickens ready to go in the oven. Fr. Camillo blessed them with Holy Water, Sancho  who had been drinking relieved himself on them. They were about to swear, but Sancho hit them with two Bibles across the face. There will be no more swearing ever, Repent or Die, with that Fr. Camillo threw a bucket of Holy Water over each of them. Now the Holy Spirit the real Holy Spirit works in most strange ways, Rodrigo and Miguel had come to kill, but now they would become savers.

They were shackled and told to read the Bible, every day Sancho fed them and Fr. Camillo blessed them, the Holy Spirit did his work too. That is the real Holy Spirit and the Sancho the retired assassin. Sleep deprived and forced to change, this was no road to Damascus, this was Central America. How many months it took I do not know, but I do know, light began to shine in their hearts, a tiny tiny light, but Fr. Camillo could feel it. The Holy Spirit was at work. Sancho had to go away with his donkey Panza for supplies, so with a wave and reminding the prisoners that there would be a 1000 question Bible test when he returned he disappeared like a Ghost, a Holy Ghost maybe.

Now an ill wind blows no good, and fools rush in where angels fear to tread. The cartels had not received any ears lately so they dispatched an entire squad to kill Fr. Camillo. Would they manage to finally kill Fr. Camillo? In the jungle whistles broke through the animal sounds. To Rodrigo and Miguel it was obvious what was about to happen, they smiled. The old priest would get his comeuppance. But as they read their Bibles, the gentle breeze of the Holy Spirit fell upon them. The Padre Pio prayer card which had acted as bookmark, fell from their Bibles, Padre Pio’s face gave them a hard stare. As Mrs Casey would say, don’t give me any cheek or I’ll slap you in the puss with the mop bucket.  They had had enough of murder, it was now time to save.  This was their Damascus moment.

So like any good assassins, Rodrigo and Miguel broke free from their shackles and slipped away.

The assassination squad numbered 10, but 10 divided by 2 is 5, and 5 to 1 were easy odds as far as they were concerned. As Fr. Camillo prayed they took action, then 10 became 9, became 8, became 7, became 6 and then Panza the donkey came to the rescue. Panza distracted the assassination squad while Miguel and Roderigo with the returned Sancho finished off the 10. All of whom were tied up like chickens ready for the oven.  

Don’t think you’ll not having your Bible test, after supper will be you final test. They spun round it was Fr.Camillo who had finished praying.  They followed him into the jungle, there on the ground was another 10 men, how come to assassinate him. They were the advance party, I sorted them out myself, they were such amateurs. So they tied those ten up and dragged them to join the others. 20 men sent to kill just one priest. Roderigo and Miguel bowed their heads, you love God so much and the send so many killers to get you.

Fr.Camillo blessed them and they all had supper, afterwards Sancho gave them their 1000 question Bible test. So what happens now? Well said Fr. Camillo, Sancho has some friends in the CIA they could use men like you. But we aren’t killers any more, you know I think we could become Christians, real Christian, do you think your boss would accept people like us. Of course he can, but listen to Sancho. So Sancho explained the CIA or the friends of friends  of the CIA needed bodyguards, not close protection ones, but invisible bodyguards to protect special people from a distance, and maybe sometimes to intervene. They would become Ghosts, Holy Ghosts if you like.

Roderigo and Miguel took all of 2 seconds to say yes. But don’t you need more than 2 sometimes? Well yes explained Sancho, after I cut off all those ears and previous assassins are official dead I stay in touch with the “dead” so to speak, and they do me favours occasionally. What about these 20, they are the worst of the worst. Well you could help us re-educate them. So after they had cut both ears off all 20 assassins, they chained them up and Bible school began. Fr. Camillo was left alone after that the cartels gave up on him, the Sicorro was blowing after all.

Now where did Roderigo and Miguel go? Well if you remember Mrs Murphy likes to visits lots and lots of churches and some are not in nice places. And her Jewish friend Esther has a zillionaire son who makes satellites for CIA etc. Well a satellite is all fine and dandy but Esther worries about her friends, her close friends. So it makes Esther sleep easier knowing that the Holy Ghost Protection Society is only a heartbeat away.   

Colour Blind

Colour Blind ©

By 

Michael Casey

Today I’ll not mention any heat or cross dressing, sorry to disappoint my readers in the Philippines, Priests or Sinners of anybody else. I’ve got Barry White singing in the background as I talk to you all, the wife has recovered her voice and is ordering folks about in two languages, the cat Totoro has let herself out via a window and is off killing the local wild life. Everybody should have a hobby I suppose, though I noticed that the ham I bought today has a RSPCA sticker on it. The pigs in Heaven will no doubt appreciate that.

Today we are discussing colour in our house, no nothing to do with Barry White or my sometimes black humour, you’ll have to ask the pink pigs about that, or the RSPCA. No, what we are talking about is colour, as in what colour our walls are going to be painted in. Me I like white, as it makes a place brighter, we do live in a South Facing home, so that does colour our lives, and anybody else’s house looks Grimm or is it Brothers Grimm by comparison.  By the way for the record they only wrote 250 or was it 280 stories. My total is around 2000. They were actually very educated, I even have a copy of their Fairy Tales on the book shelf behind me, you can have  it too, just go to Amazon. And yes my stuff is on Amazon too, it may take 200 years before you all start buying it.

Barry is singing about the colour of your hair, my weakness is red or browny red hair. See colour of hair makes men defenseless, and women know this and spend billions on hair colouring products. Though Chinese girls do have the best hair of all, as for my hair, it’s ever so soft, and wonderfully silver, but you will all have to take my word for it. All the little old ladies in the White House will be spitting at the screen now, envy really is one of the seven deadly sins. No I’m not calling Donald a little old lady, he has his own little old lady as we call them in UK, Melania. No the White House I’m talking about is the retirement home up the road in Spangles Lane, Stars and Spangles is the name of the pub opposite. So residents use their walkers to get to the pub and a wheelbarrow brings them back. So I hope I’ve explained things clearly, the Donald does not drink as we all know.

But talking of blondes, Donald is a blond after all, why do blondes always have the most fun, or in Donald’s case, why does this blond always have the most fun? Because he has a good grip and knows where all the bunkers are, which reminds me of the Dr Strangelove film, which you can find for yourselves. See this talk of blondes or is it the blond, has made me lose my thread, speaking of thread that reminds me of a camel and the eye of a needle. But the Base believes anything can go through the eye of a needle, whatever colour it is.

But I was talking about our walls, what colour should they be, the wife has ordained that Shingle is the colour of her choice. I did tell her that Shingles was a disease that spreads around your belly and if the spots join up you are in deep deep trouble. I can remember my old Kerry Irish mum telling me all about it on one occasion. So there you have it Shingle colour is ordained, but remember Shingle colour on your walls is not the same as Shingles you put on your roof which are a dark grey, the colour of tombstones. I do have a new friend called Tombs, so hello to her if she ever stumbles over this. So I was worried that our walls would be the colour of my tomb, I can wait for the tomb without it invading my living room and pointing to my final exit. Charles Dickens has a lot to answer for, him and  his Christmas Carol, though my wife does have a  friend called Karol, a Polish guy. Even though she thought it was Carole and was amazed when  she turned out to be a Polish he.

Back against the wall, is that how you are all feeling as I talk to you, that’s not nice, I may punctuate you all! Did you like the exclamation mark, no, well please yourselves. At least there is no blood on the wall or carpet, just a little kebab sauce and coffee stains. We had a very nice carpet and yes, I spilt my coffee all over it, it’s still a very nice carpet, apart from that one spot. If I stand decoratively on that spot when we have visitors then, it still looks very nice, thanks to John Lewis. Otherwise it looks as if Jackson Pollock was about to start but dribbled a bit. The moral of the story is don’t have white or sand coloured carpet near traffic areas, ok, don’t ever let a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham have a drink. Not unless he is standing on concrete .

Hot Stuff

Hot Stuff ©

By

Michael Casey

Now the heatwave is continuing in Birmingham and everywhere else in the world, so I’ve just been wallowing in the bath like a Hippo, with lots of ice cream to dribble down myself. I had been thinking the pains had stayed away when I screamed, my scar tissue made me jump. But otherwise I cannot complain, I acquired Tinnitus from somewhere, sounds like a cat with a Latin name, and sadly I cannot get rid of it, though it’s not too noticeable when I’m listening to my music, just lots of miaowing.

I’m listening to the soundtrack of Moulin Rouge right now, I am of course wearing my bright red stockings and suspenders, topless of course, showing off my bypass scars, and my chest hair, which took 2 years to grow back. I love the film because the music is so very good. It’s interesting but not really sexy, I won’t define my tastes, not on this page anyway, maybe if ever I get locked into a Japanese Private Hotel. Pause, or should it be Tinnitus paws.

You all need to find Around the Horne, which is a RADIO show from the 1960s to understand some of the styles of humour. And with all Styles just be careful you don’t snag your bottom as you go over. I resisted the temptation of mentioning Harry, actually his music is very good, though he is no good in drag, and if ever he ladders my stockings again then I’ll slap his bare legs with lettuce.

But what has this got to do with anything? I don’t have a clue but I’m sure we’ll get to the end of the page safely, even though some of you may be red faced. It’s all the sun, little old ladies all trying to trip me over with their walking sticks, or barging me with their baskets on wheels. I thought it was because I looked so irresistible in my white shirt exposing my bypass scar to the world, walking down the street like John Travolta, but with 2 pints of milk not a can of paint in my hand.

Only the local old girls were feuding me, they could not remember why, but it could have been something to do with me saying I did not like Tinnitus. The old ladies all studied Latin, so they knew that Tinnitus was a cat, and me a young man, a good looking young man prancing down the street in my shades just made their blood boil. A Tinnitus hater, I may as well have said I did not like the vicar. So the old ladies were not behaving like ladies, they were trying to kill me, or at the very least split my pants. Getting me to fall in the gutter without ever an Oscar Wilde for company. I was a star they wanted to drown in the gutter, no chance of rescue for me like that 1950s film, which they could remember like yesterday, as well as their Latin.

The window cleaner hissed, he was like a snake, playing Snakes and Ladders with his own ladder. I looked up and he wrung his rag on my head. He’s saved Tinnitus when she was stuck up a tree by using his ladder and carrying her down in his bucket, even though he’d forgotten to empty it. So Tinnitus was was a soggy moggy, but at least rescued. Meanwhile I was persona non grata as my bottom lip began to tremble, my ice lolly was too cold and had stuck to my lip. It’s hard to look as cool as John Travolta with an ice lolly stuck to your lip, its even harder to speak.

I headed for Post Office, Donald Trump’s influence was everywhere, hang on where am I, a lolly stuck to my lip had sent me overboard, or over the sea to DC. I sneezed all over old Mrs Murphy, I knew it was time to run as I left her pebble dashed in snot. Tinnitus might be forgiven but  covering the chairwomen of the local Women’s Institute in snot would ever be accepted. I would come to a sticky end.

I screamed and sat bolt upright in bed, I’d knocked my cocoa off the night stand and burnt myself. I had been dreaming, that Feta cheese has got a lot to answer for. The doorbell run, so I answered the door, in my ladies pyjamas, funny place to have a door in your ladies pyjamas as Eric Morcambe said. Here’s your cat you forgot to let her in said Mrs Murphy as she handed Tinnitus to me. Who’s a clever cat, I asked Tinnitus, it’s all Greek to me replied my Tinnitus, or maybe I was hearing things.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2018/07/24/painkillers-tripling-risk-harm-dementia-patients/

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2018/07/24/painkillers-tripling-risk-harm-dementia-patients/

I read the piece above in today's DT.

Obviously I neither need nor take that level of pain killers.

I only take them when the pain comes calling. I don't dope myself up.

And I'd rather have some level of pain instead of destroying my brain.

In USA everybody takes a pill for everything, sometimes its better to ride the bucking bronco of pain, big or small, long or short. That way you protect your self, as your brain, is your self. Clever people can discuss Id, Ego and all manner of other fancy words.

I've got the whole world in my hand, just some of yesterday's readers

Thank you all everywhere for dropping by, Learning English via Comedy, or maybe you think I look so very stupid. Thank you all. I imagine it's a Kangaroo with an iphone in its pouch who is reading me in Australia. Could even be setting up a Fan Page for Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades. Though it's more likely Rupert Murdoch asks me to carry his bags to his bus, he may as well take advantage of his free bus pass. I mean the amount of tax he has paid, I'd use my free bus pass as often as possible. My dad used to enjoy having a ride on the bus, just to get out of the house.
In  Russia I hope Putin and his driver are sitting in the Zil limo and enjoying a crafty Stella Artois while waiting for important people to arrive, so they huddle over an iphone and together read a story or three.
I suppose the Germans think I look a little German, though a trifle small, so that's why they read me.
As for la Belle France, they just like to mock the English, so that is why they are reading me. Though the family is IRISH. Would you call Belgiums French?

Have fun in the heat, I have to go shopping before the heat kills me. School holidays so my girls demand better food.

family photo 12 years ago

Here's some Random Connections

Here’s some Random Connections©

By

Michael Casey

Well I’ve just been asked for CHOCOLATE, or rather my big daughter has demanded a Bounty, so I have to stop to pay the bounty, then I’ll be back with you. Teenage daughter are so demanding, but at least she brought in my drawers from the washing line, so they cannot be spotted from the space station, nor stray parachutists using them as target landing places. So I’ll pause with Simon and Garfunkel playing, with the cat snoring along on the back of the sofa while I run to the Polish shop before it closes, otherwise there will be a bounty on my head and it wont be chocolate. I hope you notice how I weave in real life drama into my stories, what you haven’t noticed? I’m going to sulk now, I’ll have a moan with Julian and Sandy from round the Horne, you can google that for yourself.

Now where was I? It’s4.30pm another day, Sunday 22^nd July now, just in case any of you are archiving my writing. The storm has passed, and I was up in the night with pain, its so very unpredictable, when and where pain comes. At least my computer is fixed now, it might just be too much anti virus software, or good old Windows 10 having a Benny as they used to say. So if I cannot sleep I can always fix the computer, or even think about a new piece.

Now today if you have spotted today’s message the wife has lost her voice, so in the middle of the night just before I crept back to bed I thought what if I lost my voice too. So I left a note on the coffee table stating I had lost my voice. And still after 1/2 the day is over she believes me. I winked at my small daughter, and she smiled knowingly, then she ruined it by telling he big sister. You must never tell anybody not even your small daughter if you want to keep a secret, or a joke for that matter. My wife still does not know and is asleep like a pig on sofa. I should post a photo but we keep our  media lives separate. My photos are not suitable for Linked IN after all, and I’m not on it anyway.

I spotted Germany having a reading fest so hello to you all, Ich Lieb dich if I’ve spelt that right. As you know I was in Frankfurt at Hotel Achat in Offenbach back in 2008, it really was great. I assume they have had the room fumigated by now, and replaced the bed after my heavy weight stay. I did have a metal bed collapse once under my weight, you can track down that story for yourselves. Though it was an ill wind that blew no good as a passing Polish guy rescued it from the street and hammered it into shape, no doubt him and his beautiful wife are smoking in it now, the Poles tend to smoke a lot.

Yes I realise that some of you misplace my words and their meaning, assuming I’m thinking what you are thinking, but as Gill from StatsMR used to say, you are going up that garden path again, and again and again. Rather like a Status Que song, its all in the rhythm and the beat after all, rolled up magazines not included. That was for all you Political Scientists out there, and why is the BBC better than Sky, its all about coverage? The BBC uses bigger paper, rolled up, and no I’m not talking about smoking of a different kind.

Where was I, there was somebody at the front door and I’m all in my scruffs, at least I showered earlier. When a stranger arrives it does put you off your flow. In actual fact it was a Fairy Godmother, yes really, I don’t just make this up, it was Fran, a real Godmother, a nice white lady with an Afro hairdo. She’s my small daughter’s Godmother, she just dropped by with a present for my small daughter. I thought she had come to demand the return of a library book, she is in fact a member of the Library staff at the end of the road. Her husband is the organist and choir master from church, he really knows how to make people cry. Not due to his organ skills or lack of them, but rather he use to work for the Inland Revenue, or IRS as the say in USA. Thinking on it, in the Untouchables there is a little bald guy from the IRS, well they could be related, they look so similar.

I hope they laugh if ever they read this, or I could be hung from the bell tower. Which reminds me of Chuck Berry’s song My Ding a Ling, though that does sound like one of my Chinese relatives. Or will I be accused of being “Wordist”. Snowflakes everywhere want to be wrapped in cotton wool and not experience real life, Casey Jones was a tv show about the steam train driver in USA, I believe as a child the drummer from The Monkees featured in it. And yes when I was small, and I was well below 200lbs once, Casey Jones was shouted at me in the school yard.

I think that’s enough random connections for today, I think we have some Ice Cream Soda pop in the fridge so I’ll have some of that. I’m lucky now that I’m older, at least my brother does not pee in the old glass pop bottles anymore. He knew I used to drink the dregs, so he left his surprise pee in each and every bottle. That’s an example of family love, some families never interact with each other, they don’t even bother to pee in pop bottles, ready for their little brother to drink.