Facebook and Me

Facebook and Me

Well I have to declare an interest, I think Facebook is overrated. I’m on Facebook but I don’t really use it. I’m on Twitter too and I don’t really know how that works  either.

Yes its great to stay in touch but to say somebody thinks Facebook is worth  billions is STUPID. One figure I read in the DT was that it would mean a single ad was worth $100, multiplying up the number of users and how much revenue could be harvested if they all bought in to the advertising. When I watch tv I always put the kettle on during the ads, or switch channels to watch something else even if its the weather for the 20th time in a day, its preferable to adverts.

Talking of adverts www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com is my site where my comic novel  The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker can be read as well as a collection of essays and plays, not to mention a collection of blogs all of which will make you laugh. Now if what I’ve just said was on Facebook would people read my advert and then go to my site, and then find me a publisher and then PAY for my 3 books. NO is the answer so far.

So what of Facebook? Its full of stuff, you can even comment on George Bush’s book. As I and thousands of people have done. In the end Facebook is fun, but will you watch all their ads and buy all the stuff thats there. I know I won’t  its irritating in the extreme all these ads. If you are googling stuff and then the ads show stuff similar then that’s not so bad, BUT if you’re doing social networking then you are social networking, I don’t want a loan or a holiday or any other rubbish, just leave me alone.

Now the investment bankers are investing, but didn’t they invest in C*&^% loans in Deep South Property and  we all know what happened there. Another South Sea Bubble beckons, and when it happens don’t you wish you followed my advice and read a book instead

Gulliver's Travels and Me

Gulliver’s Travels and Me ©

By

Michael Casey

I was thinking about what to write this New Year’s Eve. The past, the present, the future all spring to mind. Jack Black is in a movie Gulliver’s Travels this holiday season. So I thought I could use that as my starting point. Then “WOOSH” I remembered I once won a raffle, I won a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. I never won a raffle in my life but I did win that one. 42years ago and more, I was still wearing short socks with elastics to hold them up and short trousers too. There were only 6 or was it 8 of us in with a chance for the raffle.

The book didn’t change my life, it was a nice read at the time. The actual book was meant as a lecture, but we all forget/don’t know that now. If memory serves a war was brewing because one side opened their egg by the big end and the other opened their egg by the small end. Me I prefer scrambled eggs in the microwave, 2 minutes and you’re done, with lots of toast too, go to work on an egg used to be a very old advertising slogan.

Gulliver shows us that we are all afraid of things, and small things can make us all so very afraid. The shadow on the wall, or just being afraid of the dark, all these things spook us. Its so very hard getting children to sleep with the light off. So we compromise and have a night light for them, and maybe for us too. When we travel in some places the bedroom is as dark as a darkroom, but without any coloured safety light. Its total pitch black, so we compromise and have the bathroom light on, with the door  half closed, otherwise if we awake in the night we might think we’re dead, its just so very very dark. I know from my own holiday experiences, but I did also work in an hotel for 3years and when you do room checks the number of times it was pitch black because the curtains were left closed……

To some you are a giant, just like Gulliver, your kids think you are great and you make them laugh, they forgive you for telling them off on occasions. They stand on your toes and together you dance around the living room. How long will they see you this way, I hope forever, I always tell my kids to remember things, I’m encouraging them to build up a store of memories and laughter. Then in the future when I’m not there anymore they have this treasure chest of memories. I’m no Jack Sparrow but I hope I have more treasure than him, treasure that’ll last down the generations. Laughter is the greatest treasure I can give to my kids, I’m no giant, though I’m fat, Panzi FAT FAT BOY is my Chinese name after all, but a treasure chest full of laughter is what I try and add to every day.

The reverse of the coin is being small. Gulliver was small in the other half of the tale, we all sometimes forget the small people, those who beaver away in the background.

The little old ladies who teach choir, the lollypop ladies who save our kids from the selfish fast drivers who are on the phone as they drive. Today we have the New Years Honours and I for one hope the little people get their due. Little things in our lives can change and guide us to our futures. Advice we listened to once which changed our lives, such as “try computers” and then you end up with a nice job for 21years.

“Write a book”, so I wrote a book. Now I’ve written 3,  and I still need a publisher for my books not to mention a producer for my plays. “Why don’t you get engaged” was one such piece of advice, and now I am married with 2 girls. Those 3 small separate pieces of advice have changed my life. All of you reading this must have had somebody give advice or make ½ a suggestion, even if you were all drunk in a pub and somebody said “why not go on the Xfactor”, or “Go to London and seek your fortune”, it worked for Dick Whittington after all. So think big, thing small, have some travels Gulliver did, so why not you?

Christmas 2010, footprints in the snow (C)

Christmas Day 2010, footprints in the snow ©

By 

Michael Casey

I got a bit of the flu again this Christmas, so I wasn’t playing in  the snow but my girls were. They came in asking me to come out quick because they’d found a footprint in the snow. I wondered what they were on about. My big daughter had asked what was the hairy animal that left foot prints. She was talking about Bigfoot or a Yeti. 

Outside she showed me what she had seen, it was a footprint wider that a mans and longer too, with 4 toe prints, or so it looked. She said there was a 2nd footprint but it had disappeared. Perhaps it was Santa’s slay mark or was it one of his reindeer’s footprint or was it the sleigh itself leaving marks behind. I retreated indoors to the warm, then I suggested that my big daughter that she took a photo.

She took a photo, literally one. I then got an old file divider and folded it in half so that I could take a few photos with the file divider being a scale reference. Its hard photographing footprints or Yeti prints in the snow, its all too white. The impression in the snow was a large imprint only half an inch deep then a smaller imprint a bit deeper followed by the 4 toe prints. I include a photo below.

Now was it the Yeti in our back garden or was it Santa and the reindeer, just leaving one footprint as they hovered in our garden. Perhaps it was the Gruffalo itself, it was all a mystery. We talked about it while we had our duck and pancakes Christmas dinner, egg fried rice with king prawns will be our supper soon as we watch Dr Who, the new one the silly one as my girls call him. I punctuated the conversation with sneezes and wiping my nose.  Terry’s Chocolate Orange was our desert. Not very traditional but a good celebration if you have a Shanghai wife and two bilingual daughters.

We’re having a break from the tv after the Gruffalo, which gives me time to write this down and tell you all about the Yeti in Birmingham. Though having thought about it, it could just be  an impression in the snow made by a cat sitting down and stretching and scratching. Though we do have foxes near where we live and we have had a fox in our garden before. But as its Christmas Day I chose to believe it was Santa’s Sleigh just touching down momentarily, and if it wasn’t that it must have been a Birmingham Yeti. A Birmingham Yeti, now that would be something, I could organise coach trips and freeze the footprint and keep it in our freezer just next to the pizzas and the sea bass, I could charge a tenner a time to see the frozen evidence. And what if it was a Gruffalo? My small daughter did have an apple fall on her head while she was making a snow angel, so did the Gruffalo knock it off while he was trying to hide amongst the trees at the bottom of our garden? Was it her Isaac Newton moment?  Was it all her imagination, or was it mine?

Judge for yourself, here’s the photo.

 

My Lottery Numbers

My Lottery Numbers ©

By Michael Casey

Well Christmas is upon us and all our thoughts move towards a baby in a manger. Maybe 40years ago that was true, nowadays we all have a variety of different thoughts. My wife is telling tales of her youth back in Shanghai, tipping rice out of her bowl and landing on a neighbour’s washing below, pants with rice in them, the remainder of the rice landing on an old lady’s head. This was 30 years ago.

Other people wish and dream for a lottery win, just in time for Christmas. Me I play spasmodically, and yes I never win, I tend to play when there is a rollover, as if my chances will get any better then. I know I’ll never win the lottery, but spasmodically I waste a quid on it.

How do you pick those six numbers? The number of smiles you got on the bus in the morning, the number of times you fell on you’re a*&^% in the snow. The number of Z list celebrities who were featured in The Metro the on the bus newspaper, or the number of copies left strewn on the floor of the bus waiting for somebody to slip and twist their ankle on.

Or maybe it’s the number of attempts you have to make before your computer switches on at work. Or perhaps the number of people in your lift or how many got out on your floor, or even how many free cups of chocomilk you have in a week from the free vend machine.

Choosing a lottery number is a very engrossing thing. I have won a tenner very very occasionally. I once got an IM from Shanghai my small daughter gave me the winning numbers. So when she got home from her holiday I gave her the £10. Hover I’d much rather win enough to move house or even retire, then I could write all day everyday. But maybe the Fates are saving the Reading Public, God does have a funny sense of humour after all, he did make us Mankind after all.

So is there any hope or logic in lottery numbers, no, perhaps what I really need is for Vince Cable to introduce me to Rupert Murdoch and maybe then Rupert will discover my writing. Either that or my 33year old Premium Bond finally comes up trumps.

Merry Christmas Everybody

www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com to escape the Turkey.

 

 

The Chair

The Chair ©

 By

 Michael Casey

When we got married we  couldn’t afford much furniture, just a bed and an old armchair and a table to eat our dinner off. But that was fine my wife could always sit on my lap. That was nice and that was cosy and kept the fire going inside us and between us.

But when somebody sits on your lap the passion soon rises, and soon you’re both naked and soon babies will come. 

So the question is should I/we all of us not sit on laps and just buy a second chair. Its more civilised no doubt but a girl sitting on your lap leaning against to is much more fun. Don’t you agree.

What if you can’t afford any chairs, not even one? Is it better to sit on the floor doing Yoga positions? Would you both sit down cross legged and have serious conversations, and quote the Times, or would you both roll about and try something from the Sun?

So would it be better to buy a chair, or steal two deckchairs from a beach?

Furniture plays a major role in romance, a rocking chair is very romantic or even erotic, and when the babies come feeding a baby while rocking in a chair is such a nice feeling.

Your favourite chair, or an old suite donated by a friend is great, you can cuddle up together and watch tv, even if your wife thinks you’re like Homer Simpson, not the ancient Greek philosopher.

An old chair can be used  to stand on while you wash the windows or change a bulb. I used to have an old huge battered old chair that I sat in while I speak these lines to you. Now we have a more modern and smaller chair that I sit in while I share these words with you.

Perhaps when I’m very old I’ll have a commode for convenience   sake and my daughters will spray perfume. Nobody knows the future but I do really miss my rocking chair.

Christmas On A Bus

Christmas On A  Bus ©

By

Michael Casey

On a bus coming home the Christmas Story revealed itself to me, ordinary events on a cold  Winter’s evening.

There was a large man squeezed into a seat sitting crossways as he was so large, I squeezed in next to him, the two of us like boulders abandoned.

A small African child was singing a carol to her mum who was weighed down by worry and a carrier bag  larger than  the child, behind a bigger child was swinging her feet off the seat.

In front of me a child with  a large bright pretty ribbon in her hair was talking excitedly to her nan. Her nan was all wrapped up against the Winter weather, she was more like a parcel than a person She was giving sage advice to her granddaughter, don’t expect too much this Christmas.

There was a pretty teenaged too, she was  moving her ankle in her new clean boots, perhaps Christmas boots, she was speaking confidently to her ugly friend, pretty girls always have either a fat or ugly best friend, its Nature’s balance.

The African family got up it was their stop at the bus stop, I told the child to hold on tight to the rail as she moved forward only she was too small to understand fully.  My children are about their age I said to the child with the ribbon in her hair and her nan.

The large man squeezed in next to me started doing sign language to me, it was only then that I realised he was deaf and dumb. So I signed back to him. A few stops further on the dumb man as big as Gabriel himself got up as it was his stop, we exchanged goodbyes, “Good Luck” I said, he got off and waved goodbye from the street.

I heard a voice on a mobile, “we’ve got to go then or the graveyard will be shut, I want to give mum some flowers for Christmas.” All this represents Christmas,

your Christmas, My Christmas, Everybody’s Christmas. So take time out to speak  to the deaf, to share a smile, to remember your mum, for Christ is Born.

Talking to an Audience

Talking to an Audience ©

By

Michael Casey

The average speaker starts by saying “unaccustomed as I am to Public Speaking” and then he rattles off his talk.  I was sent on a presenting course back in 1998 this was a great course and after 2 days of training I had mastered the basics.

The trainer placed a few objects on the table, a pencil, a book, a pair of glasses and  several more random things. We had previously been shown how the expert did it now it was our turn. We were given 15mins to prepare then one by one we had to stand up and talk about the object we had chosen.

We all watched and then gave feedback, it was a group thing, we were all on the same team, it was a family we were there to help each other learn how to present. Talking for 5 mins can be scary when you’ve never done it before, but with training anybody can do it.

We repeated this exercise with different objects, we gave advice and encouragement to each other. Some were not as good as others, for some standing up and talking in front of another group of people was like being naked in front of people. Nobody was naked but it felt that way to the shy talkers.

Having Irish blood in me made it easier for me. Then we were all given the big challenge, the next day we had to stand up and talk for 15mins, on a subject of our own choosing. I decided to talk about my trip to Paris in the February just gone. So on the train from Oxford to Birmingham I started making out some Qcards, notes to help me with me talk the next day. I should explain I was working in Birmingham for ACNielsen but the head office was in Oxford and that’s where the training was. Caroline had been very generous and allowed me to go on the course just months before redundancy beckoned. If I’m honest I hoped the course would help me with my comedy writing.

The next day I was on a train my Qcards all ready, I rehearsed and rehearsed, then I got to Oxford and ACNielsen HQ.  I think I was last to talk, or should I say perform. I told them that I had chosen hotel on the advice of JC, only JC had forgotten to tell me it was in a red light area by Gare du Nord Paris.

Being a lad I had a Chinese an lots of wine, before staggered all over Paris and down the Metro, at the Eiffel Tower my camera was bust, I was using my schoolboy French trying to get the girl in the box office under the Eiffel Tower to fix my camera. I decided a kebab was a good idea after my night time look at Paris. That was a mistake, the Chinese and wine and a kebab all mixed, and made me violently ill. My bathroom was like a wardrobe that you climbed into for both the toilet and a shower. I was as sick as a pig. In the morning I found a pharmacy. “Avez vous des asprin de bas prix” I asked. In exchange I was given a box which said “asprin tamponee” I opened the box and inside was a tube with extra strong mint sized asprins, asprins that fizzed. So I had to find a drink and wash the asprins down, I must have looked like a rabid dog.

I continued with my tale, my audience in fits of laughter. I was nearing the end of my tale when I was stopped. “How many minutes have you done?” asked the trainer. “15” I replied. In fact I had done 30mins. So I think I passed the test, I can present.

3 days later I was in the Czech Republic, my penfriend was giving me a look at Pilsner her home town, the home of lager itself. She had a class and would I, could I talk to them, she was an English teacher you see. So there I was in front of 25 students, so I stood up and presented off the cuff for 90minutes.

I think that proves I had a good teacher in Oxford. My trip to Pilsner gave me an idea for a piece of writing, Czech Story, which proved to be one of the best and funniest pieces of writing I have ever done. Its good because its true. I suppose all art is best when it  draws from life. Shall we leave it there for tonight……………..