At the Bus Stop

At the Bus Stop © 

By

Michael Casey

I catch the bus to work, I’m lucky its only around the corner from our house, so I can give the kids and sometimes the wife an extra kiss goodbye before heading for work. A last laugh and hug before I catch my 1st bus to work. We have a good service in Birmingham, my brother once said it was the best bus service in the UK, he used to travel a lot, so I’ll take his word.

At the bus stop the occasional pig smokes in the shelter, sharing his pollution, his cancer, I don’t know about you but any bit of smoke makes my lungs hurt. I think execution is not good enough for smokers, and as for the cannabis smokers who come on the bus either innocently or brazenly, I wish aliens would come and take then away. Cannabis reeks and the smell stays on the person, yes I wish they’d grown up and stop the habit, but on my bus route, on that stretch of road, its more common that the white lines.

At the bus stop lipstick is applied, and smoothed down by a finger, a final look in the mirror, girls are ready to face the world, girls of all ages. Somebody makes a final call to say how much they love their still sleeping partner. An old lady as regular as clockwork appears with her little Jack Russell, the dog leaps towards me under the walls of the bus shelter, he’s just saying hello, I smile to the little old lady.

I swing my heavy bag from one hand to another as I wait for the bus, and I wait and wait, today the bus is very late, normally there are buses every 10 minutes, today I wait 20 minutes. Not to worry I’m always up to an hour early for my new job, the hour gives me time for an early coffee, a chat, and plenty of photocopying. Today I finally get the bus, I can abandon the bus shelter, only there’s a log jam of traffic on my cannabis scented road.

Once in town, I head for my 2nd bus stop, its outside Saint Michael’s the Polish church, and yes I do smile as I wait outside the church named after me. I sometimes used to attend there when I worked Sundays in the city centre, but that’s a long time ago, 15 or 20 years ago maybe. I just missed my choice of 3 buses, but after a further wait my 2nd bus arrives and I climb on. So I’m happy as I look at my watch, when I do arrive I’m 20 mins early instead of my usual hour.

So another working day begins, I still have time for my coffee, and did you know that if you want to cut your coffee consumption all you have to do is use a smaller spoon, or have only half a spoon of coffee, and best of all it still tastes good. No I’m not a health freak, I just have a nagging Shanghai wife, perhaps we should all have Shanghai wives and then we’d all be healthy, wealthy and wise I don’t know about.

The photo is of me, a very tired me, the hat is from Czech, I gave it to my sister in 1998, now its come back to me

Things to do before I die, Part I (c)

MAY 16TH, 2011 19:52

Things to do before I die, Part I (c) 

by Michael Casey

The article was on about a blood test to say when we’d die.

I’d get carried up a mountain, in Lady Gaga fashion, and look at the stars, here in Beautiful Birmingham we have a black square of gardens so we have a great view of the stars, but to go somewhere great  and view the stars, now that would be great. I have this theory that Hell is really a black hole, with no light and no stars to gaze at, no music and no touch, no soft touch of the one you love. No cold  drinks in the Summer and no hot drinks in Winter, no snowball fights, no nothing.

So if Hell is that and I know how many days or weeks or even years I have, then I would shake myself and do something. I might rush myself to finish writing Tears For A Butcher. Maybe I’d spam the entire world so that they have to read my book, or their email would never ever work again. www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com is where you can go if your free will directs it, just in case I am dying and that email lands on your doorstep.

I’d watch my favourite films again and again, I’d watch Little Women and cry when the professor says “I have empty hands” and she takes them in her hands and says “they are full now.” Simple little pleasures. Perhaps I go to Lourdes for a cure, though it is great fun in itself, the parading and the candles, the torchlight processions in the dark, the singing, the electricity, as well as the cafes and the Irish hotel with the singing and the late night drinkiung. Wearing a beret badly, climing over the fence into the grotto at an ungodly hour. Drinking the water and even having a bath in it, all in the hope of a cure, but Lourdes really is a fun place, so much joy, ask anybody who has been as a helper and they will confirm that it is a great place.

I’d go and see as many live bands as possible, music really is God’s breath, I used to see a ton of bands 20 years and more ago, so IF I knew when I’d croak I’d see as many bands as possible. I’d also try and learn to sing, Singing really is when are hearts are happy,   Saint Cecilia  sai to Sing is to Doubly  Praise, not my words but my singing sisters. Now I even have singing daughters. I would like to read my obituary before I croak, a Nobel moment, I even wrote a post Nobel and Me 2 years ago, but if I am to die my vainity would be satisfied if I had a Nobel moment.

I’d pick the hymns, the songs for my funeral,  my wife would put a DAB radio in my coffin, perhaps they invent a battery that works and is charged by perpetual darkness, a solar cell in reverse. That’s Part I of the things I’d do before I die. If I live I’ll write more, though I’m sure some DT readers are swearing, die you B((((( die.

For Telegraph and Sun Readers and anybody else who finds this

These are my books, if I sold 1% of  what Jeffrey Archers sells I'd be a happy man.

The selection of blogs is perhaps only 1/2 of what I've written.

Tears For A Butcher is my 4th book, I'm on Chapter 2, Old People's Home.

I have met some very nice people over the Internet, and some very very negative people too.

So IF you want to laugh read on.

AS USUAL JUST TO REMIND EVERYBODY EVERYTHING IS MY COPYRIGHT.

A little bit of Paris in Birmingham(c) by Michael Casey

A little bit of Paris in Birmingham©

By Michael Casey

I have my lunch in a little café up the road from where I work. They have these little round tables and when you sit down you immediately struck by the sight of all the cakes, cakes galore so to speak. They are mouth-watering strawberry cakes, everywhere! 

I was away over the Easter holidays and the shop had a total  refit, new windows, new doors, new floors, new furniture. New display cases for all the cakes, even new tables and chairs.

What hadn’t changed was the cakes and all things lovely. I walk through the door and they say hello and start on my beef panini, I grab a drink from the fridge point to it and start drinking. I talk a lot in my job so I need a drink, I finish half my drink before my panini is ready. I’m in heaven, the food is great, the brothers in The Pastry House are very nice. People come in for English tea or Arabic tea, people shake hands and say hello, cakes are chosen and eaten. You hear several different languages, there is laughter in the air, there is debating, there is friendship, there is fun.

For me it’s a quick and nice bite to eat before I dash back to work. I asked Zain where did he get the money to pay the Polish workers to do all the changes, “did you win the lottery,” I asked. 

“No,” he replied, “it was a scratch card.” I laughed at his reply, he may have been joking, he may have been telling the truth, I’ll never know. But I do know, for me, this café on The Coventry Road is my oasis of peace on a busy day, the world may pass by, but for me, for a few minutes, I could be in Paris, Paris in Birmingham.

UTube are you ready?

My 9 year old is making a movie of herself playing Adele's latest tune, her 7 year old sister hold the digital camera  while she plays. All this modern technolgy in our Chinese/Irish household. Meanwhile harking back to oldern times  my wife has been baking bread. I'm slightly bloated having been force fed all the bread, old fashbioned English bread, and Chinese style bread too. I also knocked over some concoction of mushroom in an old coffee jar, that was lurking in the back of our fridge. Orange juice is nice with all this bread, as is a nice knob of butter, there is something so satisfying a piece of warm bread in your hands with the butter melting down your fingers. Ice cream streaming down your fingers is a great childhood memory too. I have a warming mug of coffee besides me at the computer as I talk to you, behind me one daughter is now singing Adele's song while she plays the piano, the other daughter has decided  to go into the next room to film my wife and the breadcrumbs all over our glass eating table. Adele's music echos around the front room as the shadows begin to fall, we'll have more music soon, Glee is on tv, I'll record it for the girls. I hope everybody else out there has a similiar family dynamic, it does make you want to thank God for the gift of family. My small daughter has just returned, she's just done a tour of the house, filming the entire house, perhaps she'll be an estate agent in the future. I did notice  on one estate agent website there was a thrumb print on all the photos, 1st law of cameras, clean the lens. I wonder did Michael Moore or Spielberg start this way, I know they are not girls, but the use of technology and the naturalness of their creations, I may never be published nor make the stage but they WILL.

Gagging For A Drink

As usual I cannot post in the right place....

I read the news item about Cocktails and folks trading up in the drinks stakes.

I used to work for a market research company into alcohol sales, StatsMR was the name until ACNielsen bought us out, I had 21 good years there. Since then my life has been a bigger and much more varied adventure.

I can remember when AlcoPops were invented, I seem to remember when my boss said they wouldn'd last. I was the shandy drinker while my learned friends were also great at drinking. And I mean great at drinking. We had a collection of spent bottles and cans which would impress any party animal, I suppose we had them instead of potted plants.  We really were great company, that's why we were bought up, and our folks became the bosses down at Oxford. The Oxford office of ACN was like a 6th form college with a sports field behind it. It really was like a club not a place of work, but that's another story.

As for alcohol it is a great thing, the first miracle was changing water into wine after all. I'm not much of a drinker myself, I was the shandy drinker at ACN, nowadays a random couple of pints  every few months or more is enough for me. I do think alcohol is one of Life's greatest gifts, it does relax it does mellow people, its as good as as taking your shoes off at the end of a busy day. Perhaps we should have shoe racks under the tables in bars.

Trading up is a good thing, a nice drink IS nice and if you can make it even nicer with an extra pound or two then good. I do the same thing myself, though in my case its cloudy lemonade instead of regular lemonade in Aldi; I even saw lemonade in glass bottles in Aldi, harking back 30 years or more, trying to create an upper class lemonade. I wish them well but that won't work, wine yes, lemonade no. My brother used to pee in the glass lemonade bottles because He knew I'd drink the dregs before trying to get the money back on the bottles, perhaps thats why I like bitter lemon.

Trading up in food is good too, I am lucky my Shanghai wife is a good cook, Eastern or Western, she's baking bread as we talk. I like my food too, see the photo for proof, breaking bread is first thing Man ever did, and sharing a meal is the thing that binds us even in or cannibal days. So  stock your freezer well.

Shoes and your Sole(c)

Shoes and your Soul ©

By Michael Casey

I don’t know about you but I love shoes, they are something we all need and they really are good for your Soul.

When you stand up all day, be it as a Concierge, or as a Teacher or as a PC on the beat, you really need to have good comfy shoes or boots or whatever. Being in touch with your Sole IS good for your Soul, we all sigh when we come home and slip our shoes off. We wriggle our toes and throw our socks at the dog, the cat arrives to play with your socks. The dog meanwhile loves to lick the salt off your sweaty toes.

All is balanced, we are all one with Nature, we may soak our feet in a bowl of water, my mum used to add Jeyes Fluid to the water when our dad came home. When you stand up all day in  a steel works your feet really do need some TLC, my dad’s feet were so so baby white, my mother used to use the tongs that she used in the washing machine to pull my dad’s socks off. 

400 degrees of heat tends to glue your socks to your feet.

My dad always used to say “It’s great to wash your feet.”  And of course  he was right. Finding his slippers for him , then a big mug of tea, this was our family.

Me, I like comfy shoes, I buy shoes, 2 pairs every time there is a sale in Clarks. I buy brown shoes too, not because I like the colour but because they are cheaper, and when money is short then brown shoes will do, besides black shoes mean you are in service, like in an hotel for example.

The bounce and the walk around the carpet in the shoe shop is always fun, but you still have to buy odor eaters because of your smelly feet, and they make your shoes even more comfy. I always buy 2 pairs of shoes at a time, then I don’t have to come back till the next sale whenever that is. I am 17.5stones or 112 kilos, so my feet good shoes, good shoes are like a kiss, always welcomed.

Now when me and the wife got together I went to buy her some trainers in Clarks on New St. now my Shanghai wife looks very young, I tell her its because she has me, and of course she agrees with me. We were having a bit of banter and  my wife said to the assistant, “he’s my dad,” and even then I had white hair, so the assistant believed my wife, “he’s my dad,” the Freudians amongst you can work that one out.

On another occasion my wife brought back 30 pairs of shoes from her Summer vacation to Shanghai. You can imagine her horror when Lufthansa lost some luggage, and yes it was the shoe bag, her size 3s had gone AWOL. I just laughed, they were cheap but the right size for her. I should add our 9year old now has size 3 feet, so none of mum’s shoes are safe. Finally Lufthansa  found the bag and we opened our own shoe shop.

WE are also very lucky  because our 7 year old loves cast me downs, at the moment she has a pair of flashing Dora The Explorer sandals, which I bought for her big sister when we were in Florida 5 years ago.

I can remember my Concierge days when I used to walk 25 miles a week and that was on marble, we did 12 hour shifts too, so we all used to walk around like hobbled  horses on our 1st day off. So I think I am an expert on sore feet, I know just how good shoes are, nice comfortable shoes. Ask the policeman outside 

No.10 Downing Street, I bet he and his friends have great shoes/boots I bet he has foot massage often. 

When our kids are young we pull their toes and do, this little piggy went to market etc. Wriggling your toes after you’ve been on duty in an hotel or as a policeman outside No.10 really is something that resonates to the depths of your Soul.