Vote for me I'm 19

MARCH 19TH, 2015 14:20

Vote for me I’m 19

By michael casey

I was going through the newspapers, as is my  habit, I’d have been a History teacher or Journalist if my life had gone differently. Though we do have a political editor/journalist on the Chinese side of the family. Anyway I thought this is sad, running for Parliament at the age of 19. The two lads happen to be running for Labour, but I’d be against it no matter what party they’d be running for.

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/meet-teenagers-standing-mps-2015-5351001   is the link that leads to the piece in the Daily Mirror.

At 19 you still have spots, some may not have had their first serious girlfriend, though if “Politics is your Woman”, then that is truly sad. Where I live you can smell the stunk on the bus when people of that age bracket pass you by. At that age you are going up Broad Street on a Friday night, hoping to get lucky or just out to get bladdered. Certainly all the lads I worked with 36 years ago were doing all that and more, much more. None said they were going into Politics, though they did write a computer game and sell it for 10K maybe  30 years ago.

So to find that two 19 year olds want to go into Parliament just does not seem right. What experience do they have? Does their family have  its own business, have they learnt things from the nipple, so they actually know something about something. I started watching Sir Robin Day when I was 8 to 10 years old, so I was politically aware from a young age, but I would never run for Parliament at 19. So why have they been picked? Sacrificial Lambs, wild throw of the dice, or parachuted in?

Are they like Sir Richard Branson was when he was their age? Do they have his drive and ambition? Me, I wouldn’t vote for anybody that age, no matter which party. Come back in another 19 years, when you have passed your degrees and started your own business. When you have married and had a few kids. Then you have some Life Experience, nothing beats the school of hard knocks. I know all about that, I passed Magna Cum Laude  and I wish I didn’t.

But I did so I can judge, as can DT readers because they have lived life and survived it. So come on 19 year olds go up Broad Street or live life for at least 19 more years, then I might consider voting for you.

******Now Labour Voters will no doubt say I’m Tory Scum and so forth, to which I reply at least I don’t exaggerate 13 times over***********

Love Beyond Reason

Love Beyond Reason ©

By Michael Casey

There was an item on the news about Love, or rather MRI scans were being used to see what happens in the brain when we are in love. You get lots of different colours in the brain, meaning this and meaning that. But, we all know that Love is Beyond Reason, it is unfathomable, its Love after all. Poets have being trying to describe it for thousands of years, so a MRI scan does not have a chance, not unless MRI is the name of some rapping poet.

In Ireland it is called “the urge” this is when the desire to breed, to have a family comes upon you. In Star Trek Spock took control of the Enterprise as the urge or was it called farge overwhelmed him. I just tried to google farge and could not find it, so ask any Star Trek devotee to get the correct word. So Love or is it Lust overwhelms us, our hormones are everywhere. Anybody with teenagers in the house will know this well.

You get  past the blast from your hormones at teenage then you get a job and work hard trying to climb the ladder in your job. You may do this for 5 or 10 or more years, love, sex and the urge have no place in your heart. You are a well-respected member of the team, of the crew, whether you work in McDonalds or are a cleaner, or work in the Path Lab or at a major laboratory. Your work is your life, you are saving up for your house, your car, your anything.

Then one day below the horizon she arrives, she’s junior to you, she may be senior to you, she may be your age, she may be ten or even fifteen years younger. But one thing is for certain, just one look melts the glacier that is in your heart. You may have had a broken heart, so you freeze dried those dangerous hurting emotions. Or you may have never had any emotions, it was just a door you never opened because you were too busy with your career.

Then she arrived, Doreen, the girl with the red crinkly hair and the Irish accent, or was it an Edinburgh accent, you were always useless with accents. Was she very pretty with the perfect figure and fish net tights, no, not even in your dreams. She was small and dumpy with her makeup badly done, but she had power over you. It was her twinkling eyes and the way she laughed, and the way she always held your gaze. You didn’t know it, she didn’t know it, but she was the one.

How did this happen? It was the urge, it was time, everything has its season, and the now was the season, for both of you. Your heart skipped a beat every time you saw her, or her Charlie perfume wafted towards you. You made a mental note to make sure you bought her some Ck, and make sure she got it at Secret Santa in a couple of weeks time. If she didn’t like it she would give it to you and you’d wear it yourself.

So looks became more looks, she touched your hand as she passed you a cup of coffee from the drinks machine, your heart had skipped a beat, skin on skin. You wanted to hold her in your arms and kiss her in the kitchen, so you just closed your eyes and bit your lip. You would have to wait till Christmas and the Mistletoe.

This is the power of the urge, you are all grown up but the hormones have started to surge. As for her, you were tall, fat yes, but tall too, she always liked tall men like Tom Selleck, perhaps you had a hairy chest too, that would make her scream with pleasure. The urge was upon her too. The next step would be buying new under-ware at Marks and Spencers.  

So all this goes on, it’s all hormones, a clock ticking within us all, why is it so powerful, because it has to be. If we weren’t programed to love, to breed, to have sex, then we’d all disappear in one generation. Love is blind, love lifts us up, and all those phrases that were sung in Moulin Rouge when they were on that roof. It is true. What attracts X to Y and A to Z?

Everybody has to find a home, a fit, a place of rest, a place of safety, a place of fun, a place where a family can be made and grow up. There is no reason no rhythm to it, the Pied Piper plays the tune and our bodies follow it until we come home to each other, until our bodies fit, literally, and we are at peace.  

    

Managing The Image

Managing The Image ©

By Michael Casey

I don’t have 2 kitchens, I have a narrow galley kitchen that feels like ½ a kitchen, at the end of it is our bathroom, perhaps I should ask Ed Miliband can he donate a kitchen to us. The Election has all but started hence the reference to what was in today’s paper.

Image is so important in today’s world or so we are told, Putin likes to act the action man, getting his chest out at every opportunity, he has more front than a page 3 girl. Though in today’s paper they say he is ill, we’ll find out what is really happening in due course.

Politicians will be posing in all sorts of costumes, in all sorts of venues, like a Peter Sellers  on Skunk, though only one political party officially approves of it, though what they all do in private is another matter. You only have to use your nose to smell the truth.

Babies will be kissed and almost dropped, politicians will do anything to get elected, they are of course men of the people. They do allow women in their party too, they even have them drive a bright pink van, just like a SkoobyDoo van, but without any dog driving.

There is the balance between being a serious woman, speaking seriously about serious things, and having the right lipstick on, and making sure they look good for the cameras. They are still women but it is twice as hard as being a man in politics, being equal means being twice as good at least, or they are just ignored.

Down the pub a politician can relax and have a pint, or a half if he is from a certain political party, bacon butties can be eaten, but remember the cameras are always on you, you don’t want to be on the front page, again. Making sure your flies are done up is essential, and splash marks must never occur, perhaps a political intern could go to the toilet for you instead, or adult nappies could be worn during the election campaign.

They say that people who talk a lot have bad breath, so the Speaker must have a ton of extra strong mints under that huge chair he sits on. As the MPs file in the Speaker hands extra strong mints to them, that’s why they are so respectful to him. The power of the mint, not a lot of people know that as Michael Caine might say.

Accent gives a lot away, it tells us where people are from, and vocabulary can reveal education, or lack of. Though some said my dad sounded Welsh as he worked with Welshmen in the steelworks in Smethwick. You can use a lot of fancy words, and still say nothing, or you can use a round of F&&**s and still be much more eloquent, and definitely more powerful. I take after my dad on occasion.

But what of Politicians? They parachute in lads who have done PPE at Oxbridge, so they can be representatives of Northern constituencies. They have read books, they are page turners,  they have no idea what a real turner does, they can do Powerpoint for head office back in London. And still people accept this, or they did, now we have political ferment.

There is a real man, a real bloke who people would vote for, his name is Mr Stone, a former builder, he represents a constituency in the Black Country, Old Forge and Singing Anvil is his patch. His election agent is a poet and undertaker called Percy. Though now I’m talking about The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker a work of fiction, my novel, but isn’t Politics all a work of fiction?   

this is my 600th post so my records tell me, you can buy my books on Amazon, paper books and ebooks just look for my face

The Internet What a Story

The Internet What a Story ©

By Michael Casey

The Internet is a big big thing, I remember when people were impressed when you said you worked with computers, I started in 1978, yes 37 years ago, its 2015 now. I stumbled into computers as my brother said give it a try, I applied for one job and got it, I stayed 21years. A disk drive was as big as a washing machine and vibrated just as much, and punch cards and magnetic tapes were used too. Now a usb stick can hold 100s or 1000s times more data than when I started back in 1978.

Back in 1999 I got my first home computer, in actually fact it was the Sky keyboard, a blue thing with batteries in. I still have it upstairs it’s an antique now. Then I upgraded to a PC, so that we could talk to grannie in Shanghai, I think it had 4 gig on it. You are all laughing in disbelief now. Technology moves on and kids have phones which are really computers, Star Trek has become reality now, Spock died last week so we will all miss him too.

So now that we are all connected, it brings great opportunities, and nuisances, because if we all have computers and phones which are on the Internet too, then salesmen send us rubbish. The General Election 2015 is upon us here in England and the big idea is to use the Internet to spread the word, vote for X, Y or Z. Now in America people may respond to such pleas, that’s how Obama won so we are told. I think it’s just preaching to the converted, over here in England people will just take the mick out of such offerings. Political advertising is illegal on UK tv, on the Net it’s allowed, but I think our political parties are wasting their time thinking anybody will watch and be influenced by such things. People will take the mick, but your average Joe won’t even know about it, I’m a news junkie that’s how I know.

The Internet has spawned massive advertising for everything, ok let’s call it by its real name, JUNK. I get 10 every single day, I even get emails from michaelgcasey@zipperdzapperddo.com and other such exotic variants of my own email address. The number of Barrister John Does from Nigeria or the number of widows dying of cancer who want to leave me millions is unbelievable. Unbelievable is the word. I am very quick at deleting everything.

You also get people who stumble over www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com or www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com or even    http://my.telegraph.co.uk/michaelgcasey/  and then leave comments, which are really adverts for their washing machine company in India or China, it makes a change from people dying of cancer who want to give me money. If anybody wants to give me money great, or if you are so rich buy me a house in Harborne here in Birmingham, £500,000 would be enough.

As I am a writer I also SEO services offering me the benefit of their skills, all the way from India or other far flung places. Then there are the Americans, you really must go on this course or that course to be such a better writer. And if you don’t go on their course you are a philistine, you can always learn something, especially if it is their course, and its only $500.

Sometimes for sport I reply to such junk emails, I send them my Elevator Ad as the Americans call them, I never get a reply, you can read it on my site. Though every few months I clear down my sites and put new material up, old material is collated into a new book, I have 200 pages ready so far for the 2015 volume.

Just to remind anybody who does not know, I spent 20 years listening to BBC Radio 4, 20+ hours a week, before I picked up a pen, my radio listening started when I was 10 or younger, 46 years ago. I picked up a pen in 1987, so I have been writing for 28 years now. That’s why I’m confident in my writing ability and why I am dubious, very dubious of the “we can teach you to write brigade.”

The Internet does have some treasures too, like the BBC website, it has load of stuff to help with homework. If there was one thing to tell you though it would be learn how to interrogate Google. My daughter is researching History for example and she cannot find exactly what she wants. It’s all about knowing how to ask questions, just like a real barrister in court.

Appeasement in the 1930s for example, ask the same question in different ways then you’ll get more results. Or you could just ask your dad, I would have been a History teacher if my life had taken a different route. Then read around the topic, too many students just cut and paste, teachers spot this and you’ll get an F. If any of you are doing History at the moment then you can see modern parallels in today’s world.

The thing about short form writing like this is the freedom you have, a novel will take a year of your life, bearing in mind the fact that without my Triple Heart Bypass operation in Jan 2015 I could have had no life,  you now know  I don’t want to waste time any more. So I’ll finish.

Debate You, Debate Me

Debate You, Debate Me ©

By Michael Casey

I’m not going to talk to you, I just cannot abide you, you are such a liar, ok you are economical with the truth, everybody knows that. MY figures are perfect, I never exaggerate, what I say is Gospel, though I am an Atheist, how can I believe in something  that is not there, that would be like believing in YOU.

I’d just punch you if I had to share the stage with you, you are your shiny suit and your just perfect tie that your wife or mother or boyfriend chose for you. So you’d look perfect on the debate. So I will just make a statement to Andrew Marr and smile nicely, I think he supports me secretly, I am such a kind man after all.

Then it’ll be your turn to with Andrew Marr, and don’t try bribing him with a 40 year old malt whisky, you are such a low life, anything is possible, you have such a lust for power. Nodding your head and agreeing with him, touching his knee as if HE was Terry Wogan, you are such a little S*&^, you’d do anything to get that little bit of edge.

I won’t even watch your 90 minutes with Andrew Marr, I have better things to do, much more important things to do. I’ll be tidying out my attic and re-grouting the bathroom. Far more important than listening to your bare-face lies.

Why did they decide to give you equal time with me? I am the sitting PM, it’s just not cricket to let an upstart like you try to talk the pants off the country. Everybody knows your just as slimy as that guy in Bridget Jones, the one who gets punched by what’s his name who got the Oscar for whatever it was.

So the vote was last night, and I’m still the PM. Post Mortem supervisor at Birmingham Medical school, I’m in charge of all the stiffs.       

Be Honest With Me, Do I look fat?

Be Honest With Me, Do I Look Fat? ©

As you all know I’ve had a Life Changing Experience, I found 2 quid in the street and bought a lottery ticket with it. No, don’t be daft, I had a Christmas time experience, no not a snog under the mistletoe, I had the revelation that I needed a Triple Heart Bypass, less than 2 months after having a tiny dose of angina. 3^rd Jan 2015 was the night I was told this, I would have preferred Lords Aleeping or some French Hens or any other of the 12 days.

So it got me thinking about diets and so forth, I was told this morning than my cholesterol was now 3.5, I’m swaggering with pride as I tell you this. I’m now 106 kilos as I stand naked on our bathroom scales, please banish that mental image from your minds by having an Irish Coffee or three. This means I’m ½ way to my target of 100kilos. Though my Shanghai wife has moved the goal posts now, but in 2 months I’ve lost 6 or 7 kilos, in real money I'm 16.5 stones now.

Girls look in the mirror with their breath held in and ask their best friend do they look fat, and do their thighs rub together when they walk. You are really fat if your thighs DO rub together, and does your bum stick out too much, and if you buy a size too big will it hide your colossal bum. Now as a man I can empathise with fat bottomed girls to quote just one Queen song from long ago. Why? Because my own bottom is huge, I am related to gorillas after all, there is one photo of me in PJs that reveals this, you can find it on the Internet. Generally though the Diet industry focuses on girls, you cannot find men’s diet magazines in WHSmiths.

Girls suffer, they have to make the effort, but boys don’t bother its character if they have a belly, a beer belly, but a girl she has to be perfect, it’s just not fair. A girl will starve herself for months so she can look good in her bikini, so she can wow her lad in her bed when they are in Benidorm. All he’ll do is try and find the football on the tv while she is trying to entice him. Only after the final whistle will he whistle at her and give her his total undivided attention, if he hasn’t had too many cans while watching the football.

It’s been a great holiday, and she gets home and finds she’s pregnant, luckily they really love each other. Typical you spend months forcing your body to be perfect, just as all the magazines insist you should be, so you can have perfect sex with your perfect man. Perfect man, a beer swilling idiot who wants to watch Man United, instead of feasting his eyes on you.

He may be a beer swilling idiot but he does love you, and he will marry you, not like what happened to some of her friends. Now she must hurry so her baby bump won’t show. Normally its £15,000 for a wedding. Can she, should she diet while pregnant? There’s the dress and venue and so much to think about.

Her big brother turns up from nowhere, the one with the scar, he loves his little sister, so what does he do? He grabs Romeo by the throat and “asks” does he love his little Louise, Romeo faints as Derek has applied a little too much pressure to the jugular. When he comes around Derek says he does love Louise. Which is the only answer he could possible give.

Big brother reaches for his wad and slaps 20k on the table, a big brother will always do that. Louise’s brother has his own Import Export business, which is another way of saying he is a thief, you can export things in a freight container, lots of things.

So the Wedding Day comes around fast, and Andy is the DJ, he’s the best gay DJ in town, gay bars always have the best music, he has a residency at the Peekaboo. Louise’s best mate Sarah said Andy would be great, and he was, he was also Sarah’s brother.

Everything goes with a swing, Louise and her Romeo sneak off to the Honeymoon Suite, she’s hot, so very hot, her baby bump does not show, only there is European Football on the tv. As she leaves the bathroom, dressed to thrill he is watching Man United, again. Now the baby, his baby decides to make a statement. Call it Morning Sickness, or Wedding Night sickness, Louise pukes all over Romeo. 

Six Weeks After a Triple Heart Bypass

Six Weeks After a Triple Heart Bypass ©

By Michael Casey

It’s a long walk to the bus stop and then off the bus to the inside of the QE Birmingham

1st I had a blood pressure and weight. My scores were "almost perfect" said the nurse

Then I had an Italian nurse do an ECG, he said thin people had heart attacks too.

Then I had an Xray

Then I met Roger the posh gentleman from the hospital, we were in at the same time.

Had to wait until nearly Noon , I arrived at 9.30. I didn't mind had a good natter with Roger

Then I saw one of the Cardiac team

He said I was doing so well.

He examined my chest and pressed on it.

It will take up to a year to heal total where its tender.

Otherwise I'm doing great.

Do not pick my leg scabs he said.

Then he discharged me, no need to see me anymore.

I told him there would be chocolate in the future.

I have bought a stack of chocolate for the cardiac crew but it’s too heavy to carry, but they will get it.

I also have to give a stack of chocolate to D5 and all the other folks that did all the week of tests before my op, at City hospital Birmingham.

So that's all my news. My sister and the ladies who are as old as my mother would be, maybe 90 year-olds have also been wearing out the Rosary beads, not to mention candles lit and prayers said on 2 or 3 continents. So I thank them all. I've also been told that cranberry juice is great, so I've been trying that.

All I need now is to win the lottery so we can move house and I get my own bathroom. But that would be too cheeky to ask God for, God is Good, but he is not an estate agent, though there are many mansions in Heaven.