Speak Clearly, Write Simply

Speak Clearly, Write Simply©

By

Michael Casey

I don’t know about you but I am NOT impressed by people who speak in circles. By people who want to blind everybody else with science so to speak. Talk simply and clearly, so the majority understand without having to scratch their heads.

Yes in ages past, the peasants could not understand what the master was saying, so he must be right because we are the ill educated, and he is the master after all. Then the printing press was invented and everybody could read. So we were not as impressed with the master’s learning.

Then you get the great writers, are some trying to impress themselves, polishing their own ego. I like a good story, either well told or well written, storyteller is the 2^nd old profession in the world. Somebody had to tell the rest of the tribe what went on in the bushes, or whatever was the ancient equivalent of behind the bike sheds.

We have the quality newspapers and the tabloids, the style is different in each. You have the Dan Browns and the Jeffery Archers, each tells things differently. One is a storyteller and the other thinks because his plots are good people will put up with the lack of good storytelling.

Frank Cason used to say “It’s the way I tell them,” and he was right. Telling tales is a skill, a great skill, the storyteller got a seat by the fire, and a bite to eat, nowadays they are called After Dinner Speakers. It is an industry in itself, I’d love to get my foot in that door.

The use of words as toys, that can be built like Lego into many different things. You have love songs which will pluck at your girl’s heart strings and get you into her bed. We have songs that’ll make your blood boil as you march off to war. We have melodies that bring tears to all our eyes, simple words can have so much power. Think of Last Night of The Proms.

A speech in the House of Commons has rallied the Nation in time of war, mere words have changed a nation’s course in History itself. I believe that it is the simple clear words that have counted most, which have exploded through History, and beaten tyrants into the dust.

So all you writers and speakers out there, this is not The Good Old Days, with Leonard Sachs introducing the acts. Communication   means what it says, the transfer of ideas from one person to another. And if the ideas are not being transfer then it’s your fault and not theirs, so keep it simple, or do you enjoy the sound of your own voice?

We all love Freebies

We all love Freebies ©

By

Michael Casey

I used to work in a 4 star deluxe business hotel, CPNEC Birmingham, I was there for 3 years. It was hard work and low pay. Hotels say why should we pay you, if the guests are going to tip you. Its scandalous really. It was though the most fun in my working life. As Steve said at the interview road show, hard work but fun.

We had a toy fair and there was a meeting room full of toys. It was the company that had  the green dinosaur toy. Come home time I helped the guest clear away the toys and load his van. There was a small tricycle, and I did have a 3 year old, so I mentioned it and he gave it to me. That was a very kind man, so God Bless him.

I had to walk across the field to the train station, then catch the train from the NEC to New Street. Then I had to cat the bus, and finally I had to walk down the road, all the time holding the tricycle for my daughter.

She was so pleased, as was I, a toy I couldn't afford, but thanks to the nice man my daughter had a bike. My brother 30 years previously had bought my sister a tricycle, with his student grant.

Another time we had a Jaguar even, 12 brand new jags in the car park, wining and dining people, then a spin in the Jag. A team of people just polishing and valeting the jags too. My job was to deliver Jaguar car coats to the rooms. at the end of the 3 day event there were a couple of official Jaguar car coats left over, or rather body warmer gilet things. So I was given one.

Now the organiser and me were chatting and I said I had toddlers at home, so it was a very nice surprise when a few days later a very very posh teddy bear arrived with a note, thanks Michael.

These events make all the hard work worthwhile. Sometimes there'd be a letter from Japan or from a former Nato  diplomatic officer praising all the hard work and care we provided. That's the standard CPNEC Birmingham provided, I imagine they still do.

Generally though I was too busy all around the hotel doing 10 different jobs to make any tips.  Once Roger the driver counted 12 different things I did, and he did say I shouldn't do all of them as it was not my job. Me, as I had a wife and toddlers to feed, it was great to have any job.

Today right now I'm sampling another freebie, it’s called Word Online, it really is a great product. It looks so clean and crisp. And no Bill Gates hasn't paid me to say that. It’s good, and IF I can download what I'm writing to my own hard drive then it’s perfect.

So Bill, Michael Casey the writer of 7 books, available on Amazon Kindle just loves your new product. And his latest piece written today 21st Feb 2014 was first written on Word Online, you can all read it at www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

And that recommendation is my freebie to Bill Gates, do you think he can afford 3 bucks to buy my books?

this is my hotel look

I AM a Poet

I AM a Poet ©

By

Michael Casey

I’m a poet, yes I am. I can rhyme mine with thine. Or whatever. I can repeat a verse two or three times, thinking its improving with repetition . I can write an ode to a toad, I can talk about slime and mud, and splash as the toad escapes. What if it’s really a frog who can tell the difference anyway?

I can wax lyrically about the moon in the night sky, even if nobody really knows what “wax lyrically” means. It’s to do with the bikini line isn’t it, or uni-brow removal. The moon the moon, why does it make us swoon?  The moon the moon, why does it make us swoon?  See if I repeat the line it makes it ever so much more powerful. I am the new Lord Byron. You don’t know who HE is/was/whatever can’t you just go Google?

The heart, the heart, it bleeds and weeps when we are apart, I cannot stand the pain, that’s why I have all the weight gain. Oh comfort eating, oh comfort eating, that’s why my pants are splitting, because I miss you so much, the pain the anguish, the soul destroying anguish. When will you be back from the shops with my triple size frozen family size pizza. Then the longing, the tears will stop.

You rush through the door, I can see you once more, you drop the plastic bags to the floor. The pizza rolls out across the floor, I rescue it from the cat, who’s just finished a nap, stretching stretching, the cat claws at the pizza wrapper. Such a clever cat, it delights in being a chef, pussy just loves pepperoni, so I flip the pizza in the oven, gas mark 7.

Then I turn my attention to my love, sent from heaven above, removing her gloves to put her hands in the suds to warm her beautiful hands, from the cold cold cold cold outside. 4 repetitions  in a sentence, such great poetry. As I wipe her hands on the tea towel I look into her eyes, yes she did bring me a surprize, a surprize I can see in her eyes. Triple double dip donuts, she loves me she love me, the Lord Byron of Birmingham.

The cat rubs his body against the oven, the house is so cold, we can’t afford to  keep the heating on, we huddle against the oven for warmth. Soon the pizza is ready, soon the pizza is ready, it is ready soon. We are over the moon as soon the pizza is ready. The cat claws at the oven door, the oven door is clawed at by the cat, how the cat claws at the oven door, how the cat claws at the oven door.

The smell of the pizza fills the house, the smell of the pizza fills the house, how the pizza fills the house with its smell, the smell the smell, all is well, the pizza is done, the pizza is done.

The smoke alarm rings and rings and rings, the pizza is ready the pizza is ready, are you ready too, are you ready too. The pizza is ready. You open the oven door, you open the oven door, the oven door is open. The cat is ready with its claw, the cat is ready with its claw.

The pizza is flung, the pizza is flung, like a frisbee, like a frisbee  it is flung on the table. The cat the cat is ready for that. The cat is clever the cat is clever, such a clever pussy, such a clever pussy. The cat divides the pizza into eight, the cat divides the pizza into eight. No need for plates, no need for plates. The cat takes a slice, pepperoni is nice, a nice slice, a nice slice, a nice slice.

I devour the pizza, I devour the pizza sharing it with my love, sent from heaven above, sent from heaven above, well from the frozen food store anyway. Dripping pizza and sauce, dripping pizza and sauce we devour the pizza. We consume it, we devour it, we demolish it, we eat it, we scoff it, we we we, we just eat it. Enough of the verbs, enough of the verbs, we just have pizza, we just have pizza, pizza is had.

As for the cat it loves the pizza, pepperoni is its favourite, the cat sat on the mat, the mat was sat upon by the cat. Dripping in sauce the cat is cleaning its whiskers, its whiskers are clean, clean clean.

And what about us, and what about us? We are covered in cheese and tomatoes and pepperoni bits, the pepperoni bits are everywhere. So now that we are fed I carry my princess to my bed, to my bed I carry her, to my bed I carry her. Passion and Flatulence awaits, passion and flatulence awaits, but as we cannot afford to put the heating on that is perfect.

Love Passion and Pepperoni Pizza, with the cat asleep at the bottom of the bed. This is perfect love sent from heaven above. Sent from Heaven Above.

SENT FROM HEAVEN ABOVE,

Dedicated to Pretentious Poets Everywhere.  19^th Feb 2014.  

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.