Photos of Triple Heart Bypass

As I've written elsewhere I had an unplanned triple heart bypass operation on 13th Jan 2015, without it I coul have just dropped down dead. Luckily I was spotted, but prior to Christmas 2014 I didn't know I had heart problems. So the photos are the souvenirs you get. Now read my advert and buy some books, I need the money.

THIS IS MY ELEVATOR  AD  AS  THE AMERICANS  CALL  THEM

Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for Radio and all other media

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 of writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 55 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 Ballerina  from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters. I am the token male and English speaker in the family.

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 18,685 views on Funny or Die for a sample  

1^st chapter of Tears for a Butcher which will be my 8th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 530+ shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 207 of them so far, 11 hours plus of audio.

I have started recording all my Shorts and have put 50+ of them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  I have a new mike now too, so listen in reverse order.

My  7 books are on Amazon Kindle

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

 and  www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com   is my site.

Here's the samples for radio or print.

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(michaelgcasey) 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.

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

           

                The Dead and The Living (c)

                           by

          

                     Michael  Casey

     I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not

 

     to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the  laughter

 

     has left them, the sparkle has gone from their eyes, the worry has

 

     been lifted from their shoulders, and their voice has vanished  to

 

     eternity.

     In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the  twinkle  of  the

 

     stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and

 

     the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.

     

     I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,

 

     though I find the deceased are always more polite. My father also

 

     had a few words to say about the living.

     He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul ,  yet

 

     they think their existence is everything, that they know everything

 

     because they experience many things with their senses.

     What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short  and

 

     when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls  continue  without

 

     them, without their strong, without their weak, without  their

 

     beautiful or even ugly temporary form, to where I cannot say, only

 

     that it is a better place.

 

     Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin, the soul was free

                          THE  BEGINNING

     

 

Sleepover©

By

Michael Casey

Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.

Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in your house.

Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room, dad? Especially mine.

Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.

Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.

You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for suggesting it.

So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.

After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on  their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.

Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.

So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or half waking up and forgetting where she was.

So remembering to put on your dressing gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear, its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.

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.

My other idea is a book of shorts, 40 stories with 40 translations

on facing page plus 40 audio of me reading my stories on usb stick.

Perfect to teach English as a 2nd language, via humour.

I was an Esol English teacher and gained

2 Excellents and an Exemplary on my external Assessment

As I have written 550+ stories this would be a series of 10 plus books

So we could have Mandarin/Japanese/Urdu/Spanish/Hindi/Russian etc

This would be a world wide hit, angel investors needed

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. I have already recorded 200 of my 550+ shorts, 11 hours plus of audio.

some can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com

Cheerio, Michael Casey 

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com

 www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com

 to hear 50+ stories

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

8 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books

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

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.