Having a Lie In

Having a Lie In ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I’ve just had a lie in, and I hadn’t got around to talking to you all, so I thought I may as well write about lie ins. I had actually had a nap, my chest decided to pain, just where the breast bone had been broken for the bypass. 4 years on and still pains, hence the need to retreat to bed, but at least it’s given me an idea for a piece of writing.

Now we all love to have a lie in, especially if our girlfriend can lie in too, John and Yoko spent a week in bed, I think the dry cleaning was late being delivered, they should have chosen a better hotel. A lie in signifies ease and rest, lack of hurry and time to spare and waste. All this changes once you get a pet, then you have to take the dog for a walk, or collect its pooh from around the garden and put it in an old potato sack. But right now you are having a lie in with your girlfriend.

You practice all the positions from that Channel Four tv show, only you hurt your back, and then need to stay in bed, alone, for a week. Your physiotherapy male nurse goes to work while you stay alone in bed, watching the rest of the series of that Channel Four tv show. Practice, Prevents, Piss, Poor, Performance so they say, so you watch all the episodes back to back while your back gets better. You’ll not get caught out again, once your back heals.

Having a Lie In, denotes holidays or weekends. So you rush downstairs and make a jug of coffee and put it on the low table by your bed,then you’ll put the Today show on BBC Radio4 on your DAB radio. You heckle from the warmth of your bed, Nick Robinson is besides you cross examining those liars who call themselves Politicians. If he could see the spots on your bum he’d climb back into the radio. Or if he could see all those glorious curves, he’d lose his voice or stutter, imagine having somebody naked in front of you, and trying to remain professional. A prostitute always remains professional, but Nick is no Prostitute, he just works for radio4, he never has a lie in. What would Nick and John do anyway if they were in bed together having a lie in, shall we get up and torture a Politician or two?No lets cuddle, cuddle the news papers that is. I cannot imagine the pair of them being like Eric and Ernie in the 1970s.

As you lie in you want to stay in bed as long as possible, but your bladder needs emptying after that jug of coffee. Then if you don’t hurry back to bed the warm spot might disappear, or you trip over the duvet and burn your naughty bits when you knock the jug of coffee over. That’s a sight for your neighbours, you screaming and holding your knackers. Luckily your boyfriend is a male nurse, so he can examine your knackers, and advise do you need hospital treatment, in the meantime you put your bits in the freezer box of the deep freeze.

Your boyfriend takes a rear view photo, and puts it on FB, saving our sperm ready for a surrogate pregnancy is the caption. And after he stops laughing he only then realises that the 2 of your must become the 3 of you. So burning your knackers accidentally was in fact a turning point in your relationship, and all because you had a lie in.

And the rain lashes down again

something from 6 years ago

 

And the rain lashes down again©

By Michael Casey

I HEAR THE RAIN battering down on the bus shelter as I look again at my watch, cursing myself for not doing to the earlier Mass, now I have to catch a bus to elsewhere to catch the late Mass with the Korea priest. I hear the rain lashing down on the bus shelter and I curse myself again. I will be steaming as I hear the Mass read. Rain lashes down on the bus shelter again. If only I had learnt to drive, as the rain lashes down again. If only I had got out of bed, as the rain lashes down again. A car drives past the bus shelter and splashes me, oh if only I had got out of bed, as the rain lashes down again. If only I was a successful writer, I'd be in Fort Lauderdale, as the rain lashes down again, as steam rises from me as I finally get to Mass, Mass with a Korean accent. And why are the benches so hard on my fat ass, as the steam rises from me, as the rain lashes down again, on the plastic roof of the church. I say my prayers and ask for hope, for hope for my future, as the rain lashes down again. The final prayers and blessing is given as the rain lashes down again, but then up pops the parish priest with a final message or two, I look up as the rain lashes down again. I hope I don't miss my bus. The rain lashes down again, as I tramp to the  bus stop, as the rain lashes down again, I get splashed by speeding car, as I stand at the stop. I get on the bus and the rain stops, a rainbow appears. I promise I'll get up next Sunday, so I don't have to go to the far church. The sun shines through the bus windows, the bus stops I get off, the sun goes in and the rain lashes down again. God has been washing away my sins again, as the rain lashes down again.

trending tonight 26th april 2019

well no new story today my pain monster came out to play, so sorry for that.

Russia is reading tonight,  and the Korean version of  a Love Poem is being read

So is Kim having a read while he can use Russian broadband.

by the way Kim  just put all your nukes on a train to Russia  and Putin can dispose of them.

Then North Korea can start to be as rich as the South, simple.

Netherlands  or Holland is reading too, so are prostitutes in windows

reading me while they wait for trade? Or just mountain climbers, which could be a metaphor.

On my wordpress the Spanish and Arabic is being read, hello Costa Rica too.

But as you know Spain was part of the Moorish empire for 400 years I seem to remember

So thank you all for passing by, and if you agree with me that my Words have World wide appeal

then do get in touch, as I could do with some money to ease my retirement.

How Writers Writer, but Not Me

How Writers Write, but Not Me ©

By

Michael Casey

Oh no, not another self indulgent piece, I just want a STORY. Well if you Listen you may just discover something to help yourself to Write your own stories, then you won’t need me, just like Nannie McFee. So a writer will begin with an idea and then sketch it out, then he’ll put his first words on the page. I gave up the page in 1989, yes 30 years ago. I decided that I wanted things on a computer so I bought an Atari 520 which cost the earth, 300quid back then, maybe a month’s wages. But I was single and no wife or kids, a bit like being Gay or Lesbian, without the gay of lesbian bit. In clear English no Family, so no outgoings. Gay and Lesbians are the richest because a family costs money.

I had written 238 pages on a typewriter, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker was finished on Leap Years Day 1988. After I finished I made two photocopies which I may have in a plastic bag somewhere. The original is lost. Then I got my Atari. I’m thinking maybe I actually got it at the end of 1988 and not 1989. Anyway I wanted my masterpiece to be on computer, and scanning wasn’t even thought of back then. So I thought I’d copy type it and so have it on a computer.

This was so boring a process, and new ideas formed so I wrote an expanded version of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. It then ended up as 616 pages or so.I had also written Shoplife my comic play masterpiece, which was accepted by a Professional Theatre, though not finally produced. I wrote a couple more plays too, including They Are Knocking Our Street which was based on one chapter from BBU. So When I was writing an expanded version of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker I used the play as material to go back into the book. A circle so to speak, from chapter 8 to play then back into chapter 8.

I did not do any rewriting, or more “drafts” So effectively everything I write is first draft. Yes I don’t have a Monet on the wall like Jeffrey Archer, but he does 13 rewrites I believe, and that would kill the love of words in me. Maybe if he reads this he’ll send me a photocopy to hang on my wall, assuming I like the Monet, he can send an email first with a photo in, then on approval he can send the photocopy framed.

So there you have it, I am a storyteller, I hope you’d give me a seat by the fire and a glass of Stella Artois to wet my lips with. I sit here in front of the screen and let the story drip out or pore out as the words dictate. You could say I turn the tap on the cask and the story comes out. I don’t know how big the cask is, or even what is in the cask. I just hope it tastes good and is not bitter to the taste.

Because of my age and because of my decades or listening to stories on BBC Radio4 and  watching hundreds of films, and reading 100s or even a few 1000s of books, as well as watching 100s of bands perform in an upper room I have an idea of how a story should sound. Even a lifetime of going to Mass and listening to the Readings and the Priests give sermons all of this means I know words. Yes that’s a pompous statement perhaps, but I’ll say it anyway, I know words. I know nothing of:- cars, or electrics or brick laying, or carpentry, I’m not a carpenter’s son, I am the son of a Kerry Blacksmith.

Being a radio listener for so long before I started to write, 20 years of constant Speech radio, means I notice words, they mean more to me than most people. A mechanic knows by the sound if a car is wrong, just as a plumber or heating engineer will also know. So that is my only skill. Now that my Health means I have a pain day, then a good day, a no sleep night thanks to Tinnitus and all other manner of health annoyances, this means being able to Write means more to me than the average illiterate blogger.

There are nuances of words, just as there are nuances of pain. But lets stick to words. I write and I let it pour out, generally I don’t stop and rack my brain for a word here and a word there. If the words aren’t coming then finish the story. I’m old enough and experienced enough to know if what I’m writing flows or not. A story has its own life, it’s own flavour. Take an egg you can do this literally later on. Boil one egg, scramble one egg, poach one egg, fry one egg. Now taste test it, you can do it while you have it for tea with your old mum. Each egg tastes different. Scrambled and fried would be my favourite, hard boiled would be third, as for poached I’d give that to the cat. You could mix in Heinz beans as you scramble eggs and then you have another flavour. Or soak the egg into bread before frying it, then you have French toast which I discovered in 1980 in Boston Mass.

Now accidentally I’ve given you a cookery lesson. A paragraph ago I did not even know I was going to write that. I have SatNav that gets me to the bottom of the page, the path of words leads the way, leads the story. Just as I didn’t know a sentence ago that I’d write the path of words, SatNav led to the choice of the path of words. Yes it really is that quick and random.

This morning at breakfast I said to my girls that my body was all broken and cracked with pain, just like Humpty Dumpty, would I, could I even be put back together again whole and pain free? One daughter laughed aloud, she’s sat in the corner like Little Jack Horner revising for her A levels. I added the Humpty Dumpty line in the morning because it’s Easter and we had Easter Eggs, so it was a subliminal line, just as Little Jack Horner was a second ago.

Subliminal influences feed the fire of my imagination, but having over 50years of memories and more, maybe 56 years of memories as I can remember when my sister came home from hospital as a newborn. There is a pool of memory to draw from, or in my case an Ocean to draw from, so I cast my net and pull the fish ashore, and then I feed the Page and all my readers . That’s all I’m going to say now as my stomach needs feeding, and no I won’t be eating Birds Eye fish fingers.

p.s. try always to finish with a smile line, then you’ll be remembered