My Handbag

My Handbag ©

By Michael Casey

As you can imagine a man as sophisticated as me really must have a handbag, doesn’t every man? I first say a male handbag in France, or was it Italy, the word manbag wasn’t invented then. I noticed that the bus drivers all seemed to have one. A kind of overgrown shower bag really.

Obviously from that moment on I just had to have one, this may have been 20years ago. Where would I put my loose change, and a comb, and a pen and a metro map.  It was hot and I was in Paris, I was young and fancy free. I had sat down and injected ink into my right  buttock. I jumped up and  stabbed myself in the chest with my comb, one of those dangerous ones with a separate handle. As I danced like a Red Indian at a pow-wow in the entrance to the metro station, I took out my handkerchief and dropped it to the floor. Tourists thought it was an act and threw coins into my handkerchief.

As I rubbed my buttock and my chest alternatively, ladies of the night approached and danced next to me, this resulted in more coins being thrown into my handkerchief. They went away laughing, I bent down to retrieve my handkerchief only to have my bum squeezed by a 90year old French woman wearing a red beret. I would have hoped she enjoyed the thrill but she squeezed the sore buttock. So I jumped into the air screaming. Applause from the audience.

Now I deserved a drink so I made for the nearest bar, I could afford a beer with my earnings. In the bar I looked around and saw men and their manbags. So I drunk my beer and approached a group of drivers to ask where they got their bags from. Tatti was the answer, which is a cheaper than cheap department store in Paris.

Leaving the bar I needed a Kebab, as does every man traveling alone in Paris. So I had my Kebab and went back to my hotel satisfied. Though I was mistaken.  The night was a Dark Night of the Soul, which is a Spiritual concept. However in my case it meant food poisoning. My hotel was in a bad area, by Gare du Nord, my friend or should I say former friend had convinced me it was a nice area and it was dirt cheap too. That half right, it was a dirt area.

The hotel room had a shower with the sink and toilet all jammed together. Imagine the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, but instead of entering the wardrobe and enter up in Nania. You squeezed into a wardrobe like space for the toilet and shower. Many times that  night I entered the confessional, for again it was that small. I wished I was dead. I thought I was dead and in the depths of Hades, only in my case I was trapped in a phone booth like shower and toilet, which considering what was happening to my body was very convenient.

In the morning the sun rose, the state of my soul I cannot imagine, but I must have begged God a billion times to end my torment. Perhaps I had seen Hell itself in my broom cupboard of a shower and toilet space. So showering again, and I did need it I got dressed and had went down stairs.

Downstairs in a postage sized room I had my breakfast of rolls and coffee. I had paid francs for it so I was going to have it if it killed me. The rolls were very nice, so I had three, even though my head pounded like the drums at an African wedding. Then with an Au Revoir I hit the street.

I really did nearly hit the street, cos I tripped on the curb. In the distance I saw a cross, no nothing to do with church and God, no it was the green cross the symbol for pharmacy in Europe. I went  inside and practiced my French. Avez vois des aspirin de bas pris I asked. Which is do you have some cheap aspirin please, why do certain brands of aspirin cost so much. I slapped the money down on the counter and I went away happy.

The Dark Night of the Soul, had not yet ended. I read the writing on the side of the box. Aspirin Tamponne it said, I though what, is this a new way to take aspirin. And how was I supposed to take them, I was a man after all. Inside the box was a tube. I opened the tube and inside that was a giant pill, as big as extra strong mints, about an inch across, no string attached. Relieved I shoved the mint in my mouth, only it fizzed, I looked like a rabid dog. You were supposed to take them with water. So I went in search of bottled water.

I made my way to Tatti in search of my manbag, only to discover why Tatti was called tatty. It really was TATTY, I was amazed just how, well tatty Tatti was. So I never bought a manbag after all. I did buy two full length men’s coats instead, wool blend, I still have the blue one in my wardrobe upstairs. Right next to my wife’s collection of handbags. But that is another story.

Politics(c) by Michael Casey

Politics(c)

By Michael Casey

They are all Bananas
They think they are the Biggest Apple
The Berries think they should have a turn.
I don't trust any of them.
Apples are the brightest the shinyest family.
Bananas are just as bent and crooked as thier name.
Berries are just small fry and should be squashed.
Only Apples and Bananas have a right to rule.
A divine right to rule just like in England.
But we left England for freedom here.
And what did we get?
Apples and Bananas and those small fry Berries.
And we still keep on electing them.
The Apple family goes back years.
The Banana family came over on the Mayflower.
AS for the Berries, some say they are the bastard child of an Apple and a Banana.
So how should I vote Grandma?
Vote with your heart, and ignore all the bastards, Apple,Banana and Berries.
Just vote with your heart, but do vote only 1/4 of the population actually voted for the president. The opposition got just under 25% and 50% never even voted.
But Grandma its too complicted, I think I might join the 50% and NOT bother.
Thats all right little Michael, you're only in 4th grade after all.
I think I'll just punch the Apples, Bananas and the Berries, what do you say Michael?
Violence Grandma, is never justified, that's what the teacher says, but she's a bully.
Ok, I'll punch all of the fruitcakes, Apples,Bananas, Berries and all of the fruits,
Then I'll put it in the blender and then in a container, you can bring it to school.
That'll be great grandma, a mixed fruit punch for the school President elections.
Now give your grandma a kiss, and never trust any fruits.

Are You Ready Yet?

Are You Ready Yet ? (c)

By Michael Casey

Now I don’t know about you, but I believe being on time is a must, it’s not optional it’s a must. Some people would be late for their own funeral, who are you thinking of now?

Different cultures have different views of time, our priest says that Shona people are very relaxed about Time, 11 may mean 12 or 12:30, but at 1pm they have Shona Mass in our church. Italians and Mediterranean people are more relaxed about Time too. I imagine the Swiss are absolutely sticklers for time, that’s why they make so many watches. In the olden days, as in the days when Knights were bold only candles told the time. A notch on the candle told the monks when to get up. The clocks were invented, but they only had an hour hand on. Time was different.

Was it Mussolini who invented being on time, at least the trains run on time was an excuse for Fascism. We know wrist watches were invented because it was a quicker way to look at your watch when you were in the slime of the trenches of the Great War, the War to End all Wars.

Fashion arrived and watches went everywhere, in all meanings of that word. I as you know love watches and one day I’ll have a fancy automatic watch. But I have side-tracked myself, Are you Ready Yet is really about dads and their families.

Everybody up, we’re going on holiday.

But its only 5am dad.

Move, out of bed quickly, or we’ll be late.

Groans from half -awake children and the wife.

The taxi will be here soon to take us on holiday to Malta.

But I’m need more sleep dad.

You can sleep in the taxi.

The taxi is not till 6.30  dad.

And the plane isn’t till 9 dad.

You have to be on time.

Mum appears and the 3 of they discuss in Chinese why dad is so stupid, and how they were having a great dream till they were woken up.

Dad I was dreaming about Winnie the Pooh

When does she not dream about Winnie the Pooh, muses dad.

Quick downstairs, eat and shower and then I must turn the gas and water off while we were away.

WE all had a shower last night, we can shower when we get to Malta.

Go on eat then, encourages dad.

It’s too early to eat, we can snack at the airport.

Its 5:10 you should all be ready by now, says dad as he pulls the covers off his 3 girls.

Rise and Shine, Shake a Leg, he continues as if his girls were in the Navy of long ago, that’s where Shake a Leg comes from after all.

5:30 everybody is still in bed. Dad is pacing up and down.

You’ll miss the plane, he intones. Its 5:55 he lies.

As one 3 girls bounce out of bed like Tiger from Winnie the Pooh, in seconds he is crowded out of the bathroom. Dad mutters if only he had his own bathroom, one day, one day, when he wins the lottery.

At 5:55, the real 5:55am all are ready, so dad goes on the internet, now they nag him, he’ll miss the plane etc.

6:15 all are ready and standing by the front door waiting for the taxi to hoot. Dad runs around switching off water and gas. He did see the Home Alone film, so ever since them he switches everything off.

Dad decides to have a final visit to the bathroom, his trousers are still down when the taxi hoots.

Are you ready yet scream his 3 girls with glee. Dad has to sort himself out in the bathroom, only he forgotten he’s turned the water off already. So he has to turn the water back on just so he can wash his hands, then turn it off again.

Are you ready yet shout his 3 girls with glee, using all different accents from tv. Daddy’s trousers fall down, because in his haste he has not done the belt properly, it’s a shock for the taxi driver.

3 girls laugh, that’s why they love him so much, their clever and stupid dad.

See perfect timing says dad, its 6:30 exactly.

Yes daddy, perfect timing, but Are YOU ready yet.

3 Way Ping Pong

3 Way Ping Pong©

By Michael Casey

I have a friend, two actually, on FaceBook who inspire me, we make each other laugh. They are in New York and have American accents I suppose, me, I’m in Birmingham, the English one. Though in Birmingham we pronounce it “Bermingum”, no long drawn out BirmmingggHAAM. Is the saying a common people divided by a language? Or maybe the other way around.

Now E & S, I’m protecting their identities, as their children may disapprove of them talking to strangers. Now E & S live together, they are related, me I’m in Birmingham with a Shanghai wife and two bilingual daughters. E & S speak and write American English, me I read/write English English. However there can be days and I mean whole days when all I hear is Chinese, as my wife screams to her mom in Shanghai. Chinese people are very loud, especially over the Internet.

So if you like E & S are my refuge. Good morning I’ll start with, as I put my bowler hat on and open my umbrella, it’s always raining in England after all. I may send a link from a newspaper over here, and they reply with a link from over there. Ping replied with Pong. Now first E may reply before S counters, it’s like having two pitchers at the Red Socks, so occasionally I have to duck.

Now E and S are poets and writers, E has a big vocabulary, luckily I have a very big dictionary, and best of all the Internet makes everybody a spelling bee, and I can find out the meaning too. Being over here she cannot see the expression on my face when I don’t know the meaning of her big words. While she is typing her next sentence I can run for the dictionary and/or Wikipedia, so I can smoothly and effortlessly seem intelligent, when it’s my turn to return service.

So this goes on, with photos of what S has baked or made for their breakfast. I’m putting the pounds on and that’s just by looking at S’s photos of cakes galore. So S is a poet, writer and baker. Then splat, is it E returning service over the cyber table tennis table? No it’s a photo of pancakes that they are having for breakfast. I’m sure my Internet connection is slowing down due to all the maple syrup in the status updates.

E will say something and I will repost as I move closer to the net, S will make another comment distracting me from my left hand side. Then Taiwan or Arab friends pop up with news, and I’ll comment on Esol English  lists, I’m jumping from here to there, hither to thither, now how do I explain those two words to Esol English students.

I have a new post to share so I post it, after putting it on my own site www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com In nanoseconds and I’m not exaggerating E has read it, she’s an executive editor, she reads fast. S told me once E was at the dentist and somebody dropped a magazine and before it hit the floor E had read it.

So this is how I use the Internet and FB too. FaceBook is a form of Ping Pong, and Ping is an IT word after all. Ping Pong is how FaceBook works, and don’t forget I have a Shanghai wife so I know all about Ping Pong.

Now what about FaceBook itself? Well Facebook is a 3 ring circus, with high wire acts, with juggling, with lion taming, and not forgetting the clowns. And the staff? They are roadies, they set up the tent, allowing me, E and S not to mention the 1,000,000,000 rest of you to play the game.

Now I know a thing or two about roadies, when I was a concierge at CPNEC we had the Arena next door. Roadies stayed at the hotel. All of them wear shorts and they have tattoos on their calves, it’s too hot to wear long trousers. So I can reveal this final piece of information, Mark Zuckerberg has tattoos on his calves. If you don’t believe me just go ask him, does he ever roll up his trouser legs when he’s paddling at the beach?  Ping Pong.

Relief and Recharge

Relief and Recharge©

By Michael Casey

“Thank God for that” we say when things are sorted and over. The electric bill isn’t really £500 or something like that, I can actually remember when we were kids that we had a huge gas or was it electric bill. Anyway it was one of them, the meter had been read then a week later we got the bill. In those days everybody had meters that had dials and the meter man came to your house to read them, then you got a bill. One of our meters needed a chair to be read as it was 8 feet off the ground, the other one was in a cupboard on the ground, maybe it was the electric one then, come to think of it. You’d have to be a basketball player to read it properly.

Mum was shocked, dad just cursed them as idiots, this was in the 1960s now, Ali was king, men were heading for the moon, and I was still wearing short pants, and long socks with elastic in them, before I was Head Boy at school even. Mom said we’d have to walk back and forth to school as we could not afford to use the bus if the electric bill really was that big. So we scrimped and saved until dad’s words came true. It was a misread meter, so the meter was reread and we were recharged and relieved.

That’s just one example of relief. A woman may think she is expecting a baby and then she isn’t, who is more relieved, her or the boyfriend too young to shave.

We study for an exam and we are so relieved when what we revised for actually came up. Somebody we know studied for A level Geography and then as she turned over the paper what did she see, only the exact same thing she had revised the night before. And yes she did get an A, she is my clever niece after all.

You’re walking down the street, its dark, you are on your own, you see three or four shadows walking towards you, you are scared, you don’t know should you turn around and walk or even run the opposite way. Then the shadows in appear the light of a streetlamp, they raise their hands, are they going to punch you, you, you close your eyes and pray. Then as one they all speak    “Good Evening Sir,” you look at their faces you haven’t seen them in years, but they know you, you were their teacher long ago. So relief pours out of you in a sigh.

All kinds of relief can happen, it’s afterwards that we pray and thank God for an exam passed, for a husband found, for getting that job finally. After relief we have to recharge our batteries, just as in horror films they kill the baddie and then have a fag or share a victory drink. For some of us we make a donation to charity or give that annoying beggar a fiver, just because we are so relieved the panic is over. Thank you God, I know I don’t pray much, ok, maybe never, but if I had the words I would say a prayer of thanks. And maybe it’s then that God’s relieved because we have not forgotten Him.

Pilgrimage(c)

Pilgrimage©

By Michael Casey

Our first avowed intent, to be a Pilgrim, so the song or should I say hymn goes. Pilgrimage is what you make of it, I can only speak for what I know as a catholic with a small c. Other Faiths with a capital F go on Pilgrimage too,  it’s part of their Faith. A Pilgrimage IS a thing of joy, I’ve been to Lourdes 3 times myself, each time was fun.

In 1966 we all went as a family on the train to Lourdes, it’s a very long journey, and along the way we had a misadventure. We stopped somewhere and dad said he’s buy us all a small bottle of pop, this was before plastic bottles were invented, so he asked for 8 bottles. The train consisted of the Birmingham Pilgrimage, 400 people or more. Once the vendor had passed the bottles through the window he asked for the payment in Francs, that’s when Francs still existed. The price was sky high as the vendors had a captive audience so to speak, so dad said “bollocks” and handed them all back. Dad handed back 7, the vendor asked where was the 8^th, an argument ensued,  the vendor came on the train to search the compartment. He searched and searched and condemned us all, the whole Birmingham Pilgrimage took umbrage. The 8^th bottle must have been handed back already. The train pulled off, the Birmingham Pilgrimage loads of people gave the finger to the vendor as the train pulled away. Very Holy of them all, people came and shared their drinks with us, united we stand. Us kids ranged in age from 16,14,12,11,7 and 3 oh I remember it all, just as Maurice Chevalier would. Half an hour later mum shifted from her corner position.   A miracle the 8^th small glass bottle of pop  was revealed, she had been sitting on it. So it was drunk and the evidence was thrown out the window.  So father forgive us and the entire Birmingham Pilgrimage 1966.

We stayed in hotel Biarritz which was  very good, I remember it was said, I also remember dad reminding us years later that the priest said enjoy the first meal. The other meals that week, we did not like, it was French food, why couldn’t it be English food, it was 1966 remember. Nobody had an experienced palate 47 years ago, was it really that long ago, yes it was. My younger sister would not take off her anorak, just like in East is East . She was bought a wind up toy, a rabbit that clashed cymbals, she loved it, until we got home and the head fell off, but still crashed cymbals.

All this is part of the Pilgrimage experience, and yes we had to eat outside the hotel, so it was a week of baguettes, we took a knife from the hotel with us, we had baguettes and butter or should I say beurre  every day, I forgot to say we put bananas in them to make them filling. Eight of us wandering around like the Von Trappe family, eating baguettes and beurre, I can still see dad in his habitual sports coat.

Lourdes really is a special place, you get up and after breakfast, we did like the rolls, after breakfast you go to Mass, then you wander around till dinner time, after that the afternoon procession where you sing hymns in many languages. Then you wander around till dinner, the after dinner the absolute best bit as far as kids are concerned, The Torchlight Procession in the Dark. You cannot imagine just how exciting this is for a kid, in the dark with a candle in a foreign language in a foreign land. This was before ½ the family became bilingual, was Lourdes the spark for Linguistics in our family. The Ave Maria IS the most touching of hymns, candles and prayers, we loved it.

Lourdes is  holy water, so you drink the water by the gallon and you can even bathe in it. They have giant candles too as big as a man, it’s like a  furnace as you walk past and pray, for dad who worked in a furnace it was a home from home.  Does the Pilgrimage magnify Faith, yes it does, it is a great big adventure, I was 7 not quite 8 at the time. I remember racing against the lift by running and bouncing down the stairs next to it, I think I won. We bought a giant plastic container and filled it with Holy Water to bring back and share, it must have held 15 pints if you compare the size to a modern milk bottle. We had it in the front bedroom at home for years. So those are my 1966 memories.

In 1981 that’s 15 years later I returned to Lourdes, this time just me and my sister, I had promised to take her to France if she passed her A levels, she did so I took her to Lourdes, it was our mum’s idea because we couldn’t decide which past of France. She didn’t have an anorak this time, we had a great time. We were adopted by a Manchester group as we had not joined any parish Pilgrimage, so we tagged along with them for Masses and processions. We are even on their group photo, they even had a flag bearer, “I wondered what belly button was for, it’s for flag pole” said one man. I still have that photo which is 32 years ago now. Now Lourdes is a special place, the priest with the group was called Fr. MacKarty, we got talking, as you do, it turned out our uncle Danny in Kerry used to steal his bicycle and ride it, Fr. MacKarty had a bike and nobody else did at the time, this must have been in the 1930s. So what are the chances of that happening?

We also found a great café where we had croche monsieur and croche madame, which are egg sandwiches or something, which we loved. We found the Irish hotel too, which meant we’d go there for a sing song and a beer after the torchlight procession, before going home to our own hotel. There’s also a trip to a lake where you are almost in Spain, and we went on a paddle boat there. I nearly forgot another trip takes you to a bridge, where legend says if you walk over that bridge you will get pregnant.

All in all lots to do when you are not just praying. I did go to Lourdes again in 1990. You may think I’m not being serious about Pilgrimage, if I wrote about just Prayer nobody would read this. We each make a daily Pilgrimage every day in every way we pray and hope in our daily life. Life is a journey, and as we make that journey we bring our prayers with us, we pray for this and we pray for that. WE may even want something and think it wrong to pray for it, should I pray for a nice house and finally to make a living as a full time writer? Please God don’t, some of you may be screaming at the computer as you read it. Isn’t it enough  he bores us with these blog or his shorts as he calls them.

A Pilgrimage is a hope, it’s a sign of piety and love, it’s us giving in and asking God to take over and help us, but   let his will be done. One final thing for those of you who don’t pray much or can’t find the right words, who don’t know how to pray, you are praying already, for what did Saint Francis of Assisi say  Labore est Orare, to Work is to Pray.

90 Seconds with Michael or why my Shorts should be on the Radio

Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for   RADIO

I grew up listening to the radio, we all used to hide under the blankets and listen when we should have been fast asleep. Radio did change my life, a lodger gave us a radio when he had to go back to Ireland to look after his sick mum. In fact he left all his stuff and caught the first boat home. Months later he came back to see us and said me and my brother could have his old Bush radio. I spent 20 years listening to radio. That and being afraid of Mr Gallagher when I was 8 changed my life, and improved my intellect.

Today after 20 years of radio and 25 years if writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 54 now, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say 12.

I met my Shanghai wife in the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad's room. I was positively vetted by a Chinese Ballet dancer from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters, my wife is a Shanghai girl.

Tomorrow we are off to Malta, my first holiday in 5 years.

Now here's a few samples, what I'd like to do would be to read my shorts/blogs on your radio. Each piece is about 90 seconds long, 90 seconds with Michael is the idea, simple idea. I have gained 11,442 views on Funny or Die for a sample chapter of Tears for a Butcher which will be my 6th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 500 shorts, enough for over a year. My books are on Amazon Kindle and www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com  is my site.

 Here's the samples for radio or print.

How do Men Shop? ©

By Michael Casey

There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.

If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all  in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.

This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion.  A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.

As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football  while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.

This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why  your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.

The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

All Things Bright and Beautiful ©

 By Michael Casey

I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while, so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it. They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an absolute Fashion Must.

Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3 stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one, although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair. As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.

I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it “Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener said “in the Spring there will be growth.”

Cheese and Chorizo ©

By Michael Casey

The thing about girls is that they steal your stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.

Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were  the ones I really like, its always the ones you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing. JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me  where the biscuits were, a new hiding place, that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.

Shoes are a big thing, so our small daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they can cut them down to make a dress  or even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family, DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.

Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall, as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it  disappears. When do I find out? Never, or nearly never, until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s my clothes.

So if you want to keep the clothes on your back, don’t have daughters. If  you want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies, don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you look before you sit.

From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked Sink  ©

By Michael Casey

Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For us the Sat Nav debate continues.

In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He'd done the Knowledge and it was all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it 30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.

Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.

Bus drivers know their route, so once they've done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes because that can lead to strange directions.

Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.

So basically we all know what we want and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai

Or was it me, his grandson who got there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and more ago.

Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay, no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off, if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has to do is copy them down, in English.

She’s  busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.

Let There Be Light ©

 By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

Thanks for reading this, that’s if Junk did not get it. I have come close and not got a cigar many times in my life, so I decided to try you. Radio is the medium for my words, 90 seconds with Michael, could go nationwide, it’s a simple idea, with great words, mine if I can be boastful. We are off to Malta in the morning, my back pain has flared up again, so I'm hoping the 20degrees in Malta cure it, we have had zero for what seems months here in Birmingham

Cheerio, Michael Casey  

www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

p.s. my 1^st book is called The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker and it would make a great serial, Charles Dickens 1^st appeared in a newspaper as you know.