You have won!!!

You have won!!!! ©

By Michael Casey

You always delete junk emails, you always do but this time you didn’t, you don’t even know why, but it said you had WON £1000 of vouchers for B&Q or This&That or even for Whatis&Thingymabob. So against your better judgement or maybe you were just tired because of the pain from your arthritis or piles or whatever. So you started filling in the form.

It asked your name and address and so on, and then it asked a load of other rubbish. DO you want this do you want that? Are you this age or that, do you want to book your funeral or do you want to go on holiday, and please specify which of 4 possible destinations, assuming you weren’t heading for your grave, or was it just pre-booking it, as you love your family so much and you don’t want to leave them with the bill, because you are so considerate.

Then it sends you through a maze or slide of other offers and promotions, it even asks you for your mobile number, which you don’t know because you never ring yourself. You only have a phone so you can keep in touch with your daughters when they go out singing in the dark, or after dark. Finally you work out what your number is and then against your better judgement you put it in.

Then there’s more, more invasive questions, you half expect rubber gloves and a command to bend over to come from the online form. Then finally the end, and you see in the corner, so small that you need a magnifying glass that you have to pay them 4 quid a month subscription to “win” prizes. So really it’s a con, and it’s a misrepresentation, you have not won anything. They are just data mining you, and on top of it all they are charging you a monthly fee for the privilege.

They you go back to your email and you are supposed to make one final click, why, perhaps to accept them stealing the monthly fee from you. So you don’t do the final click. So you send them an angry reply, “leave me alone and never email me again.”

So you have saved yourself from their rubbish and them helping themselves to your money. Do they take it from your phone balance? Then you see right at the unsubscribe link, so you click on that too, for good measure.  And what does that say? It says you have unsubscribed, but do you want a chance to enter a competition to win some more stuff, and it offers two chances.

Sounds like offering life insurance at a funeral, just as tacky, so please leave me alone, you know who you are. 

I'm not just an object, I have feelings too!

I’m not just an object, I have feelings too! ©

By Michael Casey

Morning 79, morning 87, morning 99, morning 110, morning all. It’s a bit nippy today, don’t you think? Yes, it’s really nippy today, all the ice and damp, it’s bad for my loft. My gutters are a bit blocked too, the rain just leaks down my brickwork, making me look so bad, it lingers too, encourages all that horrid moss, I just hate moss.

Look out it’s that crow again, I hope he does not land on me, nor me, nor me. Too late, he’s pooped on my brand new double glazing, I hope that cat in 49 eats the swine. Tell me do I look bad, just tell me straight, how bad do I look.

Terrible, like a Red Indian with war paint on, but not as bad as the Goth Girl from no 95, sniggered the other houses. It’s going to rain later on so you’ll soon be clean.

She needs to go on a diet, she’s so heavy on my flagstones, added the pavement. And when she walks in those high heels, she gives me a headache, it’s like having acupuncture, make me feel like a pin cushion. The houses raised their gutters in agreement.

Could be worse, you could be a lamppost, said the lamppost outside no 94, I have dogs to contend with. The lamppost wriggled his light in disgust, the things dogs did to lampposts, dogs had no shame at all. The houses fluttered their upstairs windows, it was their way of having a shiver down their spines.

Children ran by on their way to school, dropping litter as they ran, and spitting out chewing gum. The pavement began to cry, he was always being picked on, nobody had national anti-bullying week for pavements. He was spat on, and littered on, and peed on by dogs, and far worse when night descended. Then why did people wear heels, they just gave the pavement tummy ache. If only he could have some fancy new cobbles, like he had 100 years before.

So the day passed with the houses talking to each other while their owners were out for the day. Sometimes the hedges and the rosebushes joined in the conversation, but mainly they surfed, surfed the breeze. Hedges and rosebushes were just old Hippies, peace and love was all they thought about, must be all the roots they have.

The telephone wires tingled, as calls and internet went through their wires, they told the houses what messages were being passed. It would be boring just being a telephone line hanging in a street, but they could listen in and share the gossip with the houses. And why did number 95 always buy so much plant food, he never put it on his bush.

The sun faded in the western sky, the houses got excited, soon the owners would be coming home. Houses got lonely if their owners stayed out too long, people were company for houses. The streetlights started to come on, except outside no 84, there was a fault, so soon Hope Street was all lit up, except for a dark patch outside no 84.  Kevin the lamppost was scared of dark, so he started humming to himself, it stopped him from being afraid.

Derek, that’s one of the owners not another lamppost, he saw Kevin humming, so he went up to him and kicked him. Kevin felt bruised, but then with a flicker his light came on. Derek was an electrician, so he knew where to kick, with a smile Derek went inside for his dinner, Kevin smiled too. Kevin would stand sentry all night long, but he did not mind, his light was on now.

Picking my Piece

Picking my Piece ©

By Michael Casey

I haven’t written a new piece for a while, I got side-tracked with a bit of sudden angina, where that came from I don’t know. It was as sudden as waking up with Arthur, no there was no man in my bed, I’m not like that. I mean arthritis, which arrived just as suddenly and unwantedly.

So I had a rest from the writing and didn’t feel like writing something comical, I had an idea or two for a more serious piece, but I remember what a reader at the hotel once said, my series pieces are not as interesting for a passing reader.

So what should I write about? I thought “Who am I to judge?” was a good title, but 70 year old virgins dictating to the real world was/is more tragic than comic. I could have used the title to write about prejudice, I don’t like him because he’s too tall, I cannot abide tall people.

I just detest people with a common accent, I am from Birmingham, so that would have made everybody laugh. Though in fact I have a posh Birmingham accent, or even no accent at all, as I had to speak clearly for my Shanghai wife. Judge for yourselves at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear my audio.

Then I could say I detest smokers, and I really do, I’m making no joke now. If anybody walks past me with a fag in their hands it makes my chest hurt, literally, so I really DO hate smokers. So is that a prejudice, or common sense. I remember the smokers room in my mum’s house, it was like treacle or honey if you touched the ceiling. Or at a bad restaurant where the tables are not cleaned, don’t get me started on restaurant practices.

I’m more careful now about things, everything in general now, as I grow older and closer to the exit, I am less tolerant of things, I have not mellowed. What you may ask, and my answer is that I’ll just vote with my feet.

I was talking about picking my piece and I’ve strayed into not holding my peace. I suppose having two young daughters has turned me into Attila the Hun as far as their safety and wellbeing is concerned. Phones are a real Godsend, especially if you are on a cheap tariff like Lyca mobile because calls between phones on the same network are free. So I can keep an eye on my daughters from afar.

Back to my piece, I hope our grass dustbin is emptied in the morning as I tidied up the front garden by cutting everything back, so there is nothing left. It’s all in the garden waste bin so I want the bin men to take it away. Then in the Spring I’ll have a brand new garden display, in the Spring there will be growth as Chany Gardinier might say, if you remember Being There.

So I could write about films, they are such a great family thing in our house, we watch films together at the weekend, we might save up a few films on the Sky+ box and then watch them. No we don’t have the movie channels, but there are 15+ other film channels, 315 to 328 and other numbers. Sounds like picking from a Chinese takeaway menu, which makes us smile, as the wife is a Shanghai girl.

I could talk about antiviruses 360 Total Security is a Chinese one which is free, and there is a browser too, based on Google Chrome. Have a look at it for yourself, the tidy up feature is good, but be careful, otherwise give it a whirl. There are also free Kindle ebooks that you can get too, some are 0p, totally free so you could download them for your teenage daughters.

So I haven’t really decided what to talk about, so I’m talking around in circles, and that’s the important bit, I’m talking to you, I’m not really writing, I’m talking. I hope you all spot the difference. I need to get a magnifying glass so I can read the Alistair Cooke book, the print is just so small. He talked and talked well, if only I could be Postcard from Birmingham with Michael Casey. 

Now that would be perfect peace for me.

What are your kids to you?

What are your kids to you?

By Michael Casey

My small daughter always gives me a hug and a kiss before she goes to bed. She’s 11 now, her bigger sister just blows a kiss to me, she’s 13, so too gig to give hugs, but I treasure this kisses. My small daughter has also taken up the anthem we had when I was a child 45 years ago, when I was her age.  “Nighty, nighty” she recites and waits for me to reply “Pyjamas, pyjamas.” It’s very simple and  silly, but now it will be passed down the generations.

It would have been my dad’s Birthday today, 11^th November, so I smile and thing back and think forward. At the end of this century my daughter’s grandchildren will be saying “Nighty, nighty” and waiting for “Pyjamas, pyjamas.” We have Chinese and Irish blood in the family now, what  more will be added to the mix only time will tell.

We were watching the show on tv about compulsive cleaners and how they are matched with the really really dirty hoarders. Tonight they cleared a children’s bedroom, it made us smile. If they had a Chinese mum they would never ever get away with having a tip for a bedroom. Bad habits have to be broken and in fact they should never be allowed to begin.

I was talking to my small daughter about her reading and did the other kids at school read as much as her. She is part bookworm. They don’t have the time was her reply, too much Xbox and computer stuff, no time for reading. Parents have to switch these toys off and even switch the family tv off, and make their kids read. My small daughter reads 100pages a day in the main. Which is a lot, even if you consider the fact that children’s books have less words per page than a regular book. So if she can do it, why can’t every parent do the same?

Making hot chocolate for my girls, which has to be made in the correct mugs, the cat with the mouse on its head is my small daughter’s mug, the princess mug for my other princess. Simple little things while they are doing homework or just reading, dad keeps them watered while they are studying.

Kids need things, like school shoes or school blouses or just “things” so as a dad you have to go online to seek out what they need, and what their hearts’ desire. Then you say it’s a race to see if this will arrive before that. Online shopping is easy, you end up knowing all the couriers. We have a mum courier who fits in her work between the school-runs, she works for all the couriers.

When this or that arrives your daughters will give you a hug, she has got what she needs, or a bit of extra treasure. Kids also make noise, but the alternative would be a quiet house, kids are a heartbeat to a home, just as a grandfather clock is.

 At the moment one daughter is learning all about the heart, coinciding with me suddenly and unexpectedly getting a bit of angina. The bigger daughter is thinking about GCSE choices, she has a Science brain like her cousin, my generation had Arts brains, so I cannot really help her on these subjects. And where did the science come from? Well grannie was the bus company accountant in Shanghai, and my wife has a bio-chemistry degree.

As for my small daughter, she just loves David Attenborough, and wants to be an animal biologist whatever that it. She just adores his voice, and Barry White’s voice too. So this is a snapshot of what my kids are like, I just hope I am ½ as good a dad as my dad was to me, Happy Birthday dad.

Follow Me, I'm Your Leader

Follow Me, I’m Your Leader ©

By Michael Casey

I always knew I’d be a leader, it was my destiny, I had to be what was ordained, so I seized the opportunity with both hands. People are fickle, so why no exploit it. I got in on the ground floor when mobiles first appeared, they were like a brick with a wire attached.

I had shares in Apple, the Beatles one, but I quickly dumped them and got the core value ones, the Tech ones. If people wanted to follow me they had to buy a phone, it was their uniform, so they could all appear so uniform and follow me. I made a killing with the shares and the concession stores. They were giving me money to have the uniform, or rather the phone, then they were part of the hip and groovy set, followers of me.

Who am I , no not Denny Crane, but Kevin H.P. Twerp. I added the H.P. it read better, as far as Americans were concerned, I also liked the sauce which started in Birmingham, as did I. Though nobody knew that, I was posh Scottish from Edinburgh, that’s what my Wiki page said. And everybody believes Wiki, and Julian Assange.

So once I had followers what did I do with them? I fleeced them of course, they had to attend my induction courses, which cost 1000 Dollars a pop, or 1000 Euros or 1000 pounds, it made the accounts easier to fiddle if I kept the 1000 unit.

They had to spent 10hours at each induction, there were 3 of course, and they cost 1000 for each. It is hard being a leader so the money paid for my 5 star stays all over the world, and the property portfolio in Malta. Malta is nice so that’s where I hide my money.

What happens at the induction? Nobody knows, the bottled water, and it does have to be bottled water for my followers. The bottled water was 10pounds/dollars/euros a bottle. The water having been laced with something, I cannot say what but it does make the 10 hours go faster, and their brains are blank afterwards. But they do worship the ground I walk on.

Then they have to dress like me, I did a deal with a haut-couture  fashion house, I got shares too, so my followers do look good. Just like me, why have an unwashed rabble in Tshirts when they can wear designer clothes, and look so nice.

I had a deal with a perfume house too, in fact I created the perfume. So my followers look good and smell even better.  A long way away from eau de Jeyes Fluid in my caretaker days when I had to clean the bogs. Though it did motivate me to dream up my pompous vacuous Cult, as my detractors call it, or did I mishear them?

I tour, big stadia, just like Alice Cooper and U2, though I don’t pay as much tax as them, in fact none at all. It’s worth investing in a corrupt accountant, he’s worth his weight in gold. He doubles as my chauffeur, I don’t want to ruin my manicure on any steering wheel. Besides I can watch him from the back seat of our Rolls Royce, specially made of course, only 5 in the world. I have one on every continent; I have to stay unique after all.

It can be boring looking at spread sheets, 4.79billion dollars or is it pounds now? That’s my ill-gotten gains, my accountant  cum chauffeur is demanding 20million as his share, the cheek of it. 20 million is more than what I paid for a new marina in Malta, near the Hilton. I said I’d give him 15, he accepted, I threatened to blackmail him, it’s always good to have a safety deposit box.

What’s happening, why am I in this prison cell, and why am I dressed in cheap women’s clothing, not even designer. I should have never have drunk that bottled water.

this is me in Hotel Achat Offenbach outside Frankfurt great hotel, we were upgraded to a suite 2008 it was

Alistair Cooke

NOVEMBER 4TH, 2014 21:01

Alistaire Cook

By michaelgcasey

I’m a happy bunny. go to the works, a uk cheap book shop.
www.theworks.co.uk  I found Alistaire Cook’s Letter from America and Alistaire Cook’s America for 9quid. A bargain. 800 pages of high quality journalism . And its 6 quid cheaper than Amazon. I listened to some of his stuff as a child and growing up. He was writing and recording for 60years. When he died aged 90 odd, somebody stole his body to sell off some body parts. Yes really I’m not making it up. SO go buy his books. And if you enter REINDEER you get free delivery. After you have read all his stuff, you can read mine. A postcard from Birmingham if you like.

p.s.Telegraph Readers know about him already, I put this on my google+ page, yes I’m annoying folks there now. 10708 views in a matter of weeks, I have no idea why either. I was thinking of putting my 200 audio letters on Spotify, if Taylor Swift has left perhaps I can fill the vacuum

Halloween Horrors

Halloween Horrors ©

By Michael Casey

There was a knock at the door at 9.30pm, while we were watching the Blacklist. Its Halloween tonight and it’s so dark outside now that the clocks have gone backwards for the winter. So just for fun I sneaked to our front door and screamed “DEVIL” and went away laughing, back to the Blacklist on TV.

Only the knocking returned but I ignored it. Our next door neighbour had but up a welcoming Halloween balloon, so that could have attracted trick or treaters.  My girls had a look out the window and think they saw a man with a parcel getting into a van. I was only told this after the van drove off.

I am waiting for a parcel, so was the trick on me. When roused from the Blacklist I saw the van stop at the end of our street and a man get out and have a fag. Smoking to steady his nerves perhaps. Parcel delivery drivers don’t deliver at 9.30pm in the dark on Halloween do they? A parcel man would stick a note through my door. Not unless he was a witch or warlock moonlighting.

I finished watching the Blacklist then I decided to have my own Halloween prank. I drew an evil face on my next door neighbour’s balloon. She did say she was going to be a witch in the woods tonight, so I wonder will the face on the balloon scare her.

If you hear a blood curdling scream in the middle of the night, it must be my next door neighbour.

this is my writer's poser's pose