Washing In Washing Out a comedy

Washing In Washing Out ©

By

Michael Casey

With all the weather we are having it’s a big job to get the washing dried. You look outside, you lick you finger and hold it aloft, and what happens? A pigeon dumps on you, your wife laughs and says its good luck. At least it won’t be on the clean washing.

She hangs washing portrait fashion, you hang it landscape fashion, you “debate” about surface area and drip rates. She just says “you drip”, case over, she should have been a barrister in another life. You say she could never have  been a barista, she always makes your coffee wrong. She says you should drink green tea, and not with milk, that spoils it.

Then she goes to scream to her mother in Shanghai, it really is like chickens, ask any Chinese you know. You are left to hang her knickers on the line. They are like small hand-kerchiefs with laces attached. As for your pants, they are like flags. Blue flags.

You go inside to drink green tea, WITH  MILK, defiantly drunk, as she screams to Shanghai. The wind builds and your flags fill out like a windsock, or barrage balloon, in her opinion. At least they’ll dry in the wind. So you retire to the computer to see if any LinkedIn folks want to help you with your ideas. In the background, Panzi is mentioned, that’s you, the fat fat boy.

You look up, clouds have appeared from nowhere, so you dash to the garden. Its thundering and hail, hail is falling. So you grab the washing, and trip, at least you hold the washing upright. The washing is clean but your knees are covered in mud.

She looks up and asks “my knickers”, so you have to dash back out for those, falling over again and nearly being garrotted by the washing line. Once back inside you are ordered to undress, no not passion, she wants your pants in the washing machine, so you go the whole hog and totally undress and put it in the washing machine. Only the next door neighbour was looking out her window and got the shock of her life. You can hear her tell her boyfriend, he looks like a gorilla, so hairy, yuk.

So naked you dance and prance around the house putting the rescued washing on all the radiators. While she laughs and tells her mum in Shanghai what Panzi is up too, you hear laughter from Shanghai, just like the penny arcade dummy, from the 60s.

You scour the house looking for your dressing gown, only you cannot find it. She threw it away last week because it looked so tatty. She didn’t tell you that, you should have known already, because she didn’t tell you, so stupid you should have known.

Steam rises throughout the house, it’s like the sauna they used to have at CPNEC. Or the local chippy on  a rainy day. So you sit there decoratively on the leather settee, trying to look alluring, only she laughs even more, Shanghai echoes the laughter.

Finally defeated, you get dressed, in your 2^nd best, but now only dressing gown. She opens all the windows to let the steam out, you draw pictures on the windows and the house mirrors. You sit back on the leather sofa, trying to be alluring in your dressing gown and very hairy legs. She just laughs and says you’ll catch a cold.

The day is over, the washing is dry, some of the wallpaper is pealing behind the radiators, and you have a cold.

Plant Pot

Plant  Pot ©

By

Michael Casey

My mother had green fingers as far as her elbow. If she saw a plant she liked she’d steal a cutting from the park where we were on holiday. Then she put it into a plastic bag after sprinkling water on it. A week or nearly two later she’d plant it and it would grow. For anybody else it would die, but for mum it lived.

My brother inherited her green fingers. He actually grew an orange tree from a pip, he only had a balcony 20years ago so he had buckets and stuff as his garden. Once he got a house, he had plants galore and the squirrels and birds came by to enjoy it.

Me I’ve got a couple of pots with shamrock in. Our Aunty Mary from Ballyheigh used to send us Saint Patrick’s badges and shamrock every 17^th March. Then mum must have planted some, so there was an outpost of Kerry right here in Birmingham, shamrock in a pot and in the flower bed too.

Mum used to grow rhubarb  at the bottom of the garden, our cat used to shelter under the leaves when the summer sun was too much for her. Then there strawberries too, rhubarb and strawberries what more could you want. Though I always hated rhubarb, and was not allowed to eat all the strawberries.

A cutting here or a cutting there can brighten up a garden, or a pot in a corner of a room. I have a large pot of shamrock  sharing with a green plant with red flowers, don’t ask me the name of the plant, it’s just green with red flowers. It’s pretty so I bought it, a change from a Christmas poinsettia. It brightens the room.

I did plant the poinsettia in the same pot as the shamrock but it eventually died, so I exhumed it and planted the red flowering thing. My brother would know the name and so on, but if it’s pretty that’s all that matters.    

The girls got seed planting kits from their uncle, the same brother, so we had to do that on the living room coffee table, which is also the family dining table. So we put old newspaper down first, then you cut out all the instructions and make labels on a stick, so you’ll know what’s in each pot.

Once the labels are ready you have to put the cocoanut husks in order, then put the compost is each pot. Watering is then done, rather like a priest baptising a child.  In this case just compost.  It expands before your very eyes. 

The labels are planted, then and only then the seeds are added and buried in the compost.

“When will they grow,” the girls badger me, so I tell them it’ll be a few weeks. So they put 2 plant pots on the windowsill in their room. I take the 3^rd and put it on my windowsill. The girls complain that my windowsill is South facing and theirs is North facing. I offer to swap pot put they don’t fall for that trick.

Its weeks later now and I have won the race,  I have sweet pea growing in my pot. It’ll be a few weeks more before their pots have anything growing.

As I said at the start our mum had green fingers all the way to her elbow. When mum died she still grew plants after her death. She must have sneaked up to my sister’s house and planted daisies. A few weeks after her funeral they appeared  in my sister’s front garden. Fragrance  and love from mum.

What are Dreams For

What are Dreams For? ©

By Michael Casey

What are dreams for? They are there to help us, to guide us, to share our love, to give us hope. If we are without dreams then we are without hope. If we don’t dream then we are just a block of wood, or worse a lump of rock.

With dreams we can turn a piece of wood into furniture, we can create the perfect desk for a writer. This writer will have such a nice desk once he sells enough books. Like one Charles Dickens had, and HE was a great writer.

Dreams give us a destination to aim for. A goal, a dream, a hope, without hope there cannot be any dreams, we are just lumps of rock. But with dreams a lump of rock can be turned into a David by Michelangelo, into many many great works of art. We all have to dream.

Today Britain got its first medal ever at the Winter Olympics, this is because of dreams. One girl’s dreams that today became a reality. That today became an Olympic medal for Jenny Jones.

So we should reach for the sky with our dreams. But what of the sleeping variety?  Night dreams are there to untangle the spaghetti which is our thoughts, to knit order into the tangled wool of thought. To produce that Xmas jumper in our minds wool.

Dreams are the cinema of our hopes and desires, we want that job or house or love. Dreams can give us that many years before hard work will bring it to us. Castles in the air my mother used to call them, when dad was saying how he’d like a nice house, and if ever he won the lottery he’d buy all of us a house each. And yes I have that same dream still.

Night time dreams can be very strange, like Salvador Dali paintings, twisted and distorted, taking the ordinary and changing it totally. There is no logic in dreams, they are what they are, dreams. Too much Greek feta cheese does enhance dreams, so beware of night time cheese on toast.

We may dream of lost parents, of lost hopes, lost loves. The process of dreaming is complicated. If you awake it’s hard to return to the same spot, there is no sat nav in dreams.  Dreams guide themselves, you are just a feather being blown by the wind of dreams.

Too much tv can lead to nightmares, so don’t watch too many Japanese horror films before bedtime. Yes watch studio Ghibli but not the horror movies. Your mind has some cache in it too, just like your PC, so don’t fill it with fear before bedtime.  Or when you sleep you’ll be uploading it to your dreams, and you will scream.

LinkedIn Profile and CV

LinkedIn Profile  and  CV ©

By

Michael Casey

We’ve all been on Facebook and LinkedIn, we get to know people and make “friends”. On LinkedIn it’s more about connections and maybe business connections. So we have to rely on the Profile, my LinkedIn profile tells my story, as I am a writer. But how accurate are these Profiles?

I am a born leader.

Means he was the firstborn boy in a family of 11 girls.

I created the supply chain structure.

Means he decided to use a clipboard and notepad instead of just his memory.

I optimised the sales among target audiences.

He chatted up all the girls, he was kind to seniors and went to church.

I was inventive and creative in gaining new sales.

Means he designed a flyer and went street to street delivering them.

I was never afraid of going the extra mile for the business.

Means there was a street gang chasing  him after he was at  the bank

I am great at communicating the business message.

He just would not shut up, so the boss got him to tidy the fruit outside the ma and pa store.

I always try and improve myself.

Means he has no friends so he reads a lot.

I created the new scheme to optimise the business cash flow.

Means he took the store’s cash and put the money on a horse.

I am now looking for new opportunities to excel

Means he got fired, cops not called as the owner married to his sister

I created a great new idea for centralising purchasing delivery.

Means he was a guard for the money delivery company, crash helmet and visor.

I created my own start-up company

Means he stole the money from the cash delivery company and started his own company.

I am now on a learning sabbatical before resuming my career

Means he is in jail, working in the library.

So when you read those LinkedIn profiles or reading a CV or resume think what do they really mean. Check the photos out too, the reality can be far different. Just like actors, photos can be 10 or 20 years old, and they are. Dig deeper.

Me, I google and check people out, as far as you can on Google. Google me and my sites and think for yourself. I am on a sabbatical myself, no I’m not in a library, thought we have plenty of books in the house, no it’s called arthritis, which comes and goes and makes me scream sometimes. But at least I can sit here and make some of you laugh, as I Google everybody.

 

Business Opportunity Easy Reader for English as a 2nd language students

THIS IS MY LINKEDIN SUMMARY BELOW. THE IDEA IS A CD OF ME READING IN CLEAR BRITISH ENGLISH MY SHORT STORIES THEN YOU HAVE A BOOK WITH IT TO FOLLOW THE STORY AS WELL AS A FACING PAGE TRANSLATION IN JAPANESE OR CHINESE ETC SO HAVE A READ BELOW AND LOOK AT MY SAMPLES ON MY SITES. THEN GET IN TOUCH VIA MY LINKED IN OR EMAIL

I have written 7 books

I have a film producer looking at a script

I have got OVER 13,649 views On Funny Or Die for Tears for a Butcher
http://www.funnyordie.com/michaelgcasey 
other posts gone over 1000+ views

http://www.spreaker.com/user/michaelgcasey to HEAR 127 of my short stories
click on Episodes

On http://michaelgcasey.tumblr.com/ too

I also had a publisher say 300 and Not OUT my 5th book was VERY FUNNY.

My play Shoplife was called "Sparkling, very real, great fun, hilarious, we could not stop reading it, 

we hope to produce it"

Poets like my writing as do Radio people. One Poet said my prose was like poetry.
I need a slot on the RADIO so I can read a new STORY a day, listen with Michael.
I have 127 recorded samples at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com JUST LISTEN
I have written over 500+ shorts so plenty of material

I know that a Book and CD of me reading my shorts could be used as an easy reader for ESOL,
you could also add a translation in Chinese/Spanish/Arabic/Hindi/Urdu on Facing page.
I was an ESOL teacher in the past.

PUBLISHERS & MEDIA DO GET IN TOUCH

BEFORE I started to write I listened to speech radio for 20years, at least 16 hours a week, from the ages of 8 to 28. So DOES that make me a PhD of Radio Listening???????
If you want to be a writer you must have good Ears and Eyes too.

I started writing in 1987, read my Writer's Profile on Amazon Kindle

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

http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1 

www,michaelgcasey.wordpress.com is my site
http://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/ is another site of mine
www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR me read 127 pieces of my work
http://www.spreaker.com/user/michaelgcasey to HEAR 127 of my stories 7 hours worth 

I Love Shoes

I Love Shoes©

By

Michael Casey

Shoes, I just love shoes. Not as much as watches, but I love shoes, I may write a piece about shoes in the morning. I bought some in a sale and I only wore them a little bit and the sole was pitted.

So I returned the shoes and finally got a refund. I won't reveal the name of the bad shoe company. AS a bit of irony I returned the bad shoes in a GOOD shoe box. In a Clarks shoe box, telling them with this message that their shoes were rubbish but Clarks are great.

Once I got my refund I returned to the fold and bought a new pair of Clarks in the Clarks sale. Clarks are the bees knees. I have wide feet, size G and Clarks have my width so it’s a no brainer, just buy Clarks. If you can catch the sales then you are so lucky.

Brown shoes are cheaper that black shoes, so I buy brown shoes, sounds like a track by the Rolling Stones, or is it Elvis? My dad always had industrial boots for his job at the steel works. Once in 1974 I think, cos  I was still at school, he had an accident some red or white hot steel jumped the pit and went into his foot.

The company only wanted to refund him the cost of one  boot, that’s how I remember my dad telling the tale. I can remember my dad having a walking stick for a while,  and we had to go on the free school dinners, people felt ashamed about that back in the 1970s.

I have a pair of indestructible Clarks that I only use in winter, the design I don’t really like, but every winter I dig them out and they are my winter shoes, more like boots. So if you see me wearing them it’s better than any weather forecast.

Today’s new shoes from Clarks are so comfortable they feel like my slippers. And why am I slightly obsessed by shoes? I had to stand all day for 3 years when I worked in a hotel. It was twelve hour shifts as well for the first 18 months. Later I worked in a hot, 30 degrees hot law firm print room, for another 3 years, so shoes matter. As well as my years in computer rooms running around all night.

Kicking your shoes off is so nice, and putting your slippers on, bliss, now you are at home and can relax. The Clarks shoe box has now been slightly rebranded to show C & J Clark were the brothers who started in all nearly 200 years ago. It’s really posh so whoever did it for Clarks did a good job.

Children love to wear their mummy’s shoes, it must be something in children’s DNA, though wearing mummy’s dresses is another thing entirely. I only did it once, haven’t you ever worn a woman’s dress?

It was a fancy dress party, and we stopped on the way there to use a cash machine. So me dressed as a woman, with my friend Chris dress as Big Ears from the books by Enid Blyton. Coming home late at night I had to sprint back to my house so my neighbours would not think I was a transvestite, like that comedian.

School shoes are a real pain. My daughter has big feet, nearly size 7 and she is only 12, but she is tall for her age. But the school insists on plain shoes, not shiny, no designs, even a tiny motif is banned. Then school shoes are so expensive, £40, so you have to hunt around the shops and Internet to find the perfect for school rules shoes.

I think we should sent the head teacher out and tell her to find the shoes herself. Then there might be a bit of common sense in the rules. Other than that the school is great, because the ethos is of a grammar school, and its girls only. Which is great as far as me and the wife are concerned.

Back to shoes, or rather trainers, why do trainers always stink? No matter what you do, trainers stink, roses are red, violets are blue, and trainers always stink. Though I have to confess that in 2^nd year at my grammar school, which is year 8 in the new terminology, I cleared an entire coach in Romsley, because of my smelly wellies.

Now modern shoes sometimes have antibacterial coating or spraying or something so they don’t smell. In the days before Odour Eaters were invented some people used to put talcum powder in their socks. Which is a good idea, I’ve done it myself.

However as shoes sometime have a design with tiny holes in the leather, what happens? The talcum powder escapes and you look as if you are a miller with flour on your shoes, or if you are wearing old shoes you leave a trail of footprints.

So I always use Odour Eaters. So learn from my experience.

  

 

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this is my pretentious writer pose

Searching

Searching ©

By

Michael Casey

I just saw a photo on LinkedIn I don’t know was it a policeman searching a dog or was it a police dog. If searching, was the policeman looking for drugs or fleas?

When you are young you get searched when you go through customs, the pat down, just as Starsky and Hutch used to do in their show. I once was once going through customs, maybe 30 years ago, and the customs guy asked what the tin was in my luggage. Snails I replied, he pulled his hand out of my luggage quickly.

As you get older and your hair gets whiter, you are stopped less and less by customs. You are relieved, but also saddened, because old age is catching  up on you,  or so customs think, so you don’t need to be searched.

Then you get married and have a family so everything should be quicker as you go through customs. Only today’s world means that everybody is dangerous in the eyes of the customs. So it’s a virtual strip tease as you take off your shoes and belt and all metal things in your possession.  Revealing a hole in your sock, and stinking the place out with your smelly feet.  And then they Xray you too.

If you are “unlucky” enough to have had hip replacement, you set off alarms because of your new hip joint. I’ve avoided the hip replacement for now, however in the future I’m sure my children will be amused by me ringing all those alarm bells.

So now you arrive in a country with your English looking children, apart from the hair, with your young Shanghai wife, and the customs guy in NY raises his eyebrows. Where did you find her Mack, he asks. In the Seniors’ home I reply, he looks in disbelief. Then he says Grandpa, you are a lucky SOB.

Another time another place, Shanghai, we get waved through the Diplomatic Customs gate, they must respect my white hair and age. Or it could have been because the children were so small. But it was good for my ego.