Desktop Background

Desktop Background ©

By Michael Casey

I thought I’d better write something new as it is a new month, 3^rd June 2015 is today’s date, so I’ve decided to write about Desktop Background. How do I decide what to write about? I have written over 600 stories/articles now, so I have covered a lot of subjects.

Well I had the Eiffel Tower as a desktop background, my wife had taken the photo at Easter when she and the girls were in Paris. I missed the trip as I’m still recovering from surgery, as you all know. So I was bored with it and was thinking about changing it, so hey presto my new topic presented itself. Desktop Background.

Yes, it’s as easy as that, then I sit down for an hour or so and it’s done. It’s a little challenge for myself, can I write on the given topic. In England we have a radio show called Just a Minute, which has been going on for 50 years I think. You can research it yourselves. The people on the show have to speak for just a minute without deviation, hesitation, or repeating themselves, repeating themselves, I said that already. So if you like my short pieces are like the radio show, spontaneous.

As we all have families, we tend to have silly photos as our desktop backgrounds. I like silly photos, I hate the pretentious  and cold ones that Royal families used to take. So I have a family picture as my desktop background then when I tire of it I replace it with an even funnier one.

Each time I post I try and add a photo so that the readers can see just who is this Michael Casey or should I say michaelgcasey. It’ll help if ever they want to buy my 8 books on Amazon. I image you are all the same, you get a sillier photo so it just has to go on the desktop background. We are like Modern Family on tv, we’ve only recently discovered the show by the way. So we all have thousands of photos, digital cameras have a lot to be blamed for, so we are all spoilt for choice.

What does your desktop background say about you? Or your screensaver for that matter. Do you have naked models? It used to be the Pirelli Calendar, now the whole of the Internet can provide all kinds of everything. Is it smoking hot Firemen, holding a hose. Is it a country cottage, or a snap from your holiday in Provence? A picture of your mum, or the stone shack where she was born in Kerry Eire? A picture of a shire horse ploughing the land.

Our choice or choices give so much away, and Sherlock will easily know what lies beneath, such as if we are a secret nudist, I of course would need everything ironed. Our desktop background is in fact a key to our very heart. What we truly love is framed on our computer screen. If you see screens with selfies on then that is worrying.

Generally it’s the puppy dog we loved as a child, or the pet we now have. Boyfriends can change, but puppy love lasts forever, just ask Donny Osmond.

So desktop backgrounds are the modern memento, we carry our computers and fancy phones with us everywhere, they contain all our memories. As I’m sat here at the computer I look around and see photos scattered all over the shelves, books some even in Chinese, a heap of coats on the old sofa, our piano with the angel playing the flute above. These things are home. But as we all travel and go to work we cannot brings these things with us.

So desktop backgrounds and screensavers, these are our home, they suckle us just as much as our mothers’ breast did. With these images on our screens, on our computer screens and on our phones we are safe, we are home. We may be far away in Shanghai we may be in Palo Alto, we may even be here in Birmingham, the real Birmingham the one in England.

Wherever we are we are home, we are family, we are safe and happy and not alone, the images stored on  desktop background and screen savers are Love, they are dad holding our hand when we were afraid. They are mum giving a consoling hug. They are that fireman we met the other month, the one who, well you know, the one who drenched you. You can be in Osaka far far away, homesick but determine, yet you are not alone because you have the desktop background and screen saver to remind you of all the love.

The Beatles sang Love is all you Need, I’d say have a desktop background, its smiles better.

The Luck of the Irish?

The Luck of the Irish? ©

By Michael Casey

They say things happen in 3s, but who knows perhaps that should be 33s. So it was my daughter's Birthday and we stayed up and had a midnight feat at 2am, this was about the time she was born. The midwife who I swear was really Joyce Grenfill, and reminded me of a girl I once chased, and now my smaller daughter acts like Joyce Grenfill too on occasion., anyways the midwife has come in and said "lets put the sexy lighting on" as she switched off the daytime glare. So the midwife had a feel and concluded my big daughter needed to be induced, that's why it was 1.30 when my daughter had been born. I had had kebab and chips while I waited, followed by pizza, then finally Joyce Grenfill decided to call the crew.

At night the crew was 4 people, the anaesthetist  I swear was a sailor, he was not doing the hornpipe but he WAS covered in tats, then I had to dress up in theatre gear, all those years trying to get Shoplife on the stage and now this was the theatre, the theatre of my daughter's birth. Afterwards me and Joyce Grenfill washed my new daughter, then I had to go home at about 3am to tell the news to my visiting and non English speaking Shanghai mother in law.

So that is the background, oh I should mention I thought I heard pencils being banging on my bedroom wall, i  did know about all this Black Magic stuff in the newspapers, to do with pencils. But in our house it could just have been chopsticks clicking in the kitchen below. So now you know.

My daughter's Birthday dawned, we'd both been back to sleep after out 2am Midnight feast, I'm turning on the kitchen tap and guess what the top came off and a gyser  errupted, I get soaked. One daughter is hanging out the washing and the other is upstairs holding court on her phone, so I scream more and more asking for help. If I was having a heart attack I would have got even less notice, though I have had a triple heart bypass as you all know. Finally Rip Van Winkle arrives, the story was written by an American while he was in Birmingham by the way, so I throw a towel over the tap then direct my daughter to where to turn the water mains off.

Small daughter comes into the house from the garden and laughs at me, a half soaked dad is a great sight. So I ring my sister around the corner and get the name of a plumber from her. The plumber comes and he soon fixes the tap, he also sorts out the toilet tank overflow. So I’m pleased by the fast service, though not the price, tell your kids to forget The Law or Medicine, be a plumber they’ll make more money.

We had had the washing machine on, now we get a huge noise coming from it, like the wall of death that motorbikes do at fairs. So we hit off and the man and the motorbike fall over, then we hit start again and the noise has disappeared. At least the washing machine is ok, then my daughter shouts from the bathroom, the shower is not working properly. Nothing to do with 30 min showers most day, my electricity bill, my electricity bill, o me misermum.

So we let the shower cool down, me too, and then we try again, after calling on all the saints to intervene, the shower is saved, alleluia. Totoro our  takes a flying leap at my legs, my scared legs where my veins were donated to my heart, I scream, oh goodness gracious, as Derek Nimmo would have uttered in Oh Brother.

Next Saturday Totoro won’t be leaping, Totoro will be Neutered when he gets his first kitty needles. Only I also discovered that Totoro is not a boy, he is in fact a she. So I don’t live with 3 girls, I live with 4 girls, o me misserum, as Frankie Howerd used to say when he sat on that cold rock in Pompeii, by the way when I was in Pompeii 20 years ago I did of course do a Frankie Howerd impression.

So sink, toilet and shower problems all in one day, plus a Ninja kitty as my daughter calls Totoro, not forgetting the washing machine. At least the shower seems to have survived.

The next day the boiler man from Baxi came, I spotted a drip under the boiler, its only 18months old. The Baxi man was very nice and he investigated. The boiler is ok, but the drip was coming from some tap thing. This was a relief. The Baxi man tested my pressure, no not my blood press, the gas flow pressure.

Then then curse of the pencils, or was it chop sticks, he discovered my gas meter had a hairline crack on the nipple. I have similar nipple problems myself, my left nipple/boob is very sensitive after my surgery, and will remain so for up to a year. In the case of my gas meter this meant the Baxi man switched and sealed off everything. 

Then he called out the emergency gas people at Transco.

So instead of having no water, now I had no gas, though Totoro our new kitten could supply the whole of Europe on his own.  The Baxi guy left, but I was glad he could  had saved us from a potential gas explosion. So I have nothing but praise for the Baxi guy.

The Transco man came in about an hour, he literally took out my gas meter and replaced it with a brand new one. If only the prices are lower with a new meter. As for my daughters, I had sent them around to their aunt’s so she could give them breakfast, it was all a big adventure for them. When they returned they could see our new nice posh gas meter.

So have I just had the Lucky of the Irish? Or should I find whoever  was tapping pencils on my bedroom wall and put chopsticks up their pigu?

How does God Talk

How does God Talk? ©

By Michael Casey

Well I had an Italian heavy metal band discover me today, follow link google.com/+BurnAfterMe

They gave me an idea for today, how does God talk and what kind of music would he like. Music of the Spheres perhaps, or Wagner or maybe even Mozart. I’d say Mozart for sure, but Heavy metal like my new Italian friends?

Well music is for all occasions, I like a bit of everything myself, Jean Michel Jarre is nice for dramatic occasions. When I visualise in my head a chase scene then Revolutions is playing. Or at the end of Tears for a Butcher my next full length comedy drama novel, I have Eric Clapton letting rip, some of his Pilgrim tracks.

Though I have had this book in my head for over 10 years, getting around to writing it is another matter. When I get Talk to Write software then maybe I’ll polish it off. Then there is the little matter of getting it turned into a film. I have been close but no cigar all of my life. However having had my unplanned triple heart bypass any time is special time. I’ll keep on writing until my time is over, even if media ignores me.

Imagine Lucifer battling Saint Michael the Archangel, violins would not do it justice, it would have to be a Cream track, or Black Sabbath, it would have to match the clanging of swords. Saint Michael has 2 swords, both Samurai swords, and a 3^rd one a spare one up his back between his wings. Crocodile Dundee stole the sword up the back idea from Saint Michael.

Saint Michael’s swords have names, I heard Saint Michael whisper those names once but I cannot remember them now, maybe my new Italian friends are writing a song about it right now. Lucifer knows their names and he leaves a trail of fear, as he flees, Q guitar riff.

As for God himself he has all kinds of music, that is how he talks and speaks. Shakespeare’s or Donne’s sonnets are like babbling baboons with piles by comparison. The flow of water in a stream, the ebb and flow of tides, the lap of water on Lake Garda, all these are simple examples of God’s music, and God’s words. Language, words are just nothing by comparison.

The movement of the stars in the heavens is God’s music too, sadly we cannot hear it, but sometimes we have a dim dim understanding, and then maybe at the moment of our death we hear the celestial music. Our tiny minds are just that, tiny, we cannot comprehend the beauty and music in space and time.

Cavemen ate one another and as they banged the bones on the skull of the eaten loser they discovered music, they discovered the beat. Yet even now on 26^th May 2015 we are still that caveman by comparison. Look up to tonight’s night sky, imagine the angels singing and playing their harps. See the shooting stars, feel the earth rumble with another earthquake, maybe it’s God’s indigestion.

Music does set us free, we dance and are happy, but can we possible imagine just how good it really is? I always look up at the stars most nights, I’ve never heard any music, apart from my neighbours. 

However as I look back in time I hope that someday I will be able to dance with stardust, to sing with angels, and you know what it will be heavy metal as Saint Michael the Archangel shows how he can use 3 swords simultaneously. I can reveal the names of his swords, Faith, Hope and Charity.  

Turning Points

Turning Points (c)
By
Michael Casey

I think Turning Points was the title for George W Bush's book, so this may turn up in a Google search next to his stuff. A turning point just arrives by accident, well this has been the case so often in my life. One such turning point was when I finished one job and had nothing lined up to follow.

My dad was the same age I am now, 56, I can remember him shaving in the kitchen sink and saying all would be well. It may have even been his 57th Birthday. I feel young at 56, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say I'm 12, sadly my body would say I'm 95. A triple heart bypass does that to you.

Before the operation I was well, but could have just dropped down dead or had a major heart attack. So to save me I had to have the operation. So that has been a major turning point.

Back to when my dad was shaving in the kitchen sink, our bathroom was so cold after all, soon afterwards my eldest brother said "try computers" this was 1977/1978. So I applied for one job and I became a computer operator back in 1978, when I was still a teenager. This was when computers were as big as wardrobes, 37 years ago, and magtapes were still used, as well as punch cards.

I stayed with the same company for 21 years, it paid for my house, I only left when I was made redundant. It was mad and fun, 20 year olds with the keys to a building in central Birmingham, overlooking the Chinese Quarter and a few night clubs. This was before Birmingham's Broad Street was even thought of.

I can see the funny side now, I was overlooking the Chinese Quarter all those years, then finally I meet a Shanghai girl, we now have 2 bilingual daughters, that's them in the Profile pictures, the photos are a few years old.

If we rewind till when I was 8 or 10, 48 or 46 years ago it was around then that me and my brother inherited an old Bush Radio. This radio was a turning point as me and my brother propped it up in bed beside us and we listened to Radio Four. The World Tonight with Douglas Stewart Reporting followed by the Book at Bedtime. It was because I was exposed to all this "cultural" radio that my intellect improved.

I spent 20 years listening to radio, 10 to 20 hours a week. If you work shifts and have days off in the middle of the week  what can you do? You listen to radio. Plays and News and Intelligent Conversation.  Not Shock Jocks who are in love with themselves.

So when I started to write, in pencil on paper, I had 20 years of Radio listening to help me. It did take me a year to learn how to write but Radio helped me so much. Now its 28years later, I have 8 books on Amazon, I need readers and an agent, not to mention a publishing deal.

Google Plus, which I still don't understand might allow me to meet people who know people so that I'll get more exposure for my words. Then a publishing deal, and radio. But I'm not holding my breath.

You write because it’s part of you, only 0.01% make any money. That figure is probably even smaller. Turning point would be meeting that editor, stuck in a lift together so that, so he'd hear your Elevator Ad literally.

Moving on, kids are turning points, potty training and all that. Our neighbour is having a baby so it got me thinking back to when our girls were born. We have a kitten too, so that's similar to a baby, litter training and so on. You will have 2 or 3 dustbin bags full of nappies, I remember putting the rubbish out every week. It’s such a delight when your girls or boys know how to use a potty.

Our girls were quick, 2 years or so and they were potty trained. Some kids take 4 years before they are trained, compare this to a kitten, 2 weeks. Then the dustmen are so happy too as they don't have smelly sacks to take away. Before I forget, save all your plastic sacks that you get from your shopping, they are perfect for nappy disposal. If you are a cricket fan you can see how they throw the ball and the wicket keeper stumps out the batsman. Taking off a used nappy is a similar action, though with the nappy it is bagged and thrown outside.

So we have turning points in our lives, things that happen that change us, sometimes they are planned, though in my life I've tended to stumble over things. MH  once said I was a happy stumbler, and maybe he was right.

I'd say it's always better to make plans, but life really does not have satnav, it’s how you react to things which makes the difference. If you are quick on your feet then you will survive and ultimately thrive.

Body Language

Body Language ©

By Michael Casey

I was wondering what to write about today when I looked out the window and saw a parked car, inside a woman was on her phone, she was arguing. Not because her passenger had made her stop before using her phone; I just wish everybody followed her example instead of trying to kill me when I cross the street. No I could tell she was arguing because of the way her free hand was moving, shaking about, stabbing the air angrily.

So despite me being inside I knew what was happening outside in a parked Mercedes, a lady was angry very angry. A few minutes ago she drove away, swearing and ranting as she went, I never knew women, could swear like that, I had to look up three of the words in a dictionary.

You can see body language in action everywhere, when a new person meets me and I mention I am a writer you can see the arms go up and cross the chest. As I carry on I see the arms going down, this means he knows I was not BSing him. So the conversation ebbs and flows and the body language moves in sympathy with the level of trust in the conversation.

If you have ever watched farmers haggle at a market, you’ll see the buyer move away and half turn his back on the seller. Then the buyer will half turn back and make a higher offer, the seller will say he feels insulted by such an offer and then he will half turn away. Can you meet me half way says the seller, and the buyer takes his cap off and scratches his head before putting his cap back on. They move closer and a price is agreed for the 3 calves and a milk cow. They spit on their hands and the deal is done. We’ll go for a pint says my Uncle Henry, and so it goes on.

If you see a girl that you like there is other body language, Nature’s body language, if you don’t know what I mean then ask you mother, who’ll probably throw a bucket of water on you. Girls tend to stroke their hair, you both move closer, your eyes dilate. She may touch your arm, you’ll straighten your tie, or just puff up your chest. If you were a bird you’d show your display of feathers, anything and everything to prove you are interested.

People lie to get what they want, to get that girl, to get that boy, politicians even carve things in stone, a la Moses if you like. You can tell a liar because they lick their lips or look skywards as if their script is written on the inside of their eyeballs. They cannot look you in the eye, Hitler however could look you in the eye, and look what happened to him. And to Us.

Our bodies deceive us, we quiver in fear, or swell with pride, we jump for joy or slump in a heap. People talk with their hands, I do so myself, though I have to be very engaged to do so, but if you see me gesticulating, and they cannot touch your for it as Eric Morecambe would say, then you know Michael Casey is really interested in this subject.

If me or anybody else is just like a puppet without the strings, then you know the Duracell battery of Life, of Hope has not been inserted. Somebody inserted a Duracell into David Cameron and look what happened to him.

Body Language can win the girl, win the race, win that contract, keep that factory order book swelling. So use your body well, learn to dance like Ed Balls, learn presenting skills, be honest, look people in the eye and say let’s make love and in the Spring there will be growth, just like Chancy Gardinier predicted. 

Pain Hurts Like Hell

Pain Hurts Like Hell ©

By Michael Casey

I don’t know what I’m going to write till an idea presents itself and then I throw the bucket down the well and we all see together what the day has brung. That’s the way I write and talk to you. Today Pain has come to the top of the list, and if it was a person I’d have thrown the bastard down the well and drown it.

Many people have Pain, all sorts of people and even children too, which breaks our heart, we would willingly take the pain on their behalf. Somebody I love had a major operation 2 years ago, my prayer then was “I’ll take the pain, let her not have any pain” And guess what? I had the pain and she did not. My Arthur turned up unwanted and unannounced 2 years ago and boy oh boy did it hurt, but the one I love, she had no pain.

So was God a Literalist? Did he have a sick sense of humour just like the song Blasphemous Rumours, the Depeche Mode song? And when we die we’ll meet God and he’ll be laughing. I used to sing that song at the top of my voice on the night shift in the computer room. Little did I know God would have the last laugh.

Now I’ve just had a triple heart bypass, and you get months of pain afterwards as your body recovers. One doctor on the surgical team said my chest would be tender for up to a year. So I’ve been taking up to 4000mg of Paracetamol a day for months now. I’ve been reducing it as the pain allows.

Sadly recovery is not a straight line graph. Some days I can get away with just 2 painkillers, which is great. However on other occasions once you go to bed the pain monster awakes and makes sure you do to. Then just for fun other parts of your body join in, such as your scars on your legs, a sharp scream inducing scream. Or you roll over in bed,  or not even that, the sheet brushes the scar on your chest, that makes you scream and frightens the pigeons off your bedroom roof.

My Arthur, my arthritis decided to get in on the act too, so you have a spasm of pain from your back and hip area. Now is this God having his Depeche Mode Blasphemous Rumours moment. Am I a sinner who deserves all this pain? Some schools of thought do believe this old school stuff. Yes, you do pray, you do scream in prayer when you are in pain, perhaps priests should beat us to make our prayers better.

Again I don’t believe in this Medieval school of thought, as I talk to you my shoulders hurt and I’m getting a spasm from my ankle. My chest scar is a foot long I suppose and the scars on my legs go from my ankle to well above my knee. I have to spread my legs in bed so that my scars don’t rub each other, or my neighbours would hear me scream.

Last night at 2.20 I came down for a pain killer and some peppermint tea, Totoro our new kitten decided  to get frisky so I had to make sure he didn’t attack my bare legs. Wrapping my dressing gown around me for protection I put the kettle on. I then had to get the fake fishing rod out so I could entertain our kamikaze cat, he does have a Japanese name after all. Peppermint tea in one hand and fishing rod in another, me Michael Casey the overgrown garden gnome, fishing for a kitten in a living room in the middle of the night.

I

t was nearly 3am when I went back to bed, my pain subsiding and the cat finally settled. Kittens are like the balls in a pinball machine, they bounce around everywhere. This morning after the school run I have to rub painkiller on both shoulders, my Arthur has spread to there now, it may be due to the restricted sleeping positions.

I think if I could get a free trip to Malta at the Hilton the sunshine would help no end, so Paris if you are reading this, a family room would be perfect, plus breakfast. There is an underground supermarket nearby too, so you could push a trolley for us. Saint Julian is the bus stop I seem to remember.

Well I made myself smile then, Paris Hilton in heels pushing a trolley around for me in a subterranean supermarket. Seriously though folks, do go to Malta if ever you get a chance, its great and best of all they sell Deep Heat painkiller spray.

The Cat's Miaow Heralds Christmas

The Cat’s Miaow Heralds Christmas ©

By Michael Casey

Yesterday was 9^th May 2015, a day of celebration in our house, Christmas had arrived early, over 7 months early. Yesterday was the Day of the Cat, or Totoro Day, forever etched in our memory. Yesterday my 2 daughters finally got their cat. They had begged for a cat for years but yesterday was the day they finally got their wish, their hearts desire.

I had to have my Triple Heart Bypass before I relented, now the cat had landed. It was a confluence of events, a friend of my big daughter had had kittens, or rather her cat had had kittens, four in fact. So she asked my big daughter did she want a cat. So I agreed, so long as it was a boy cat, a Tom as we say here in England. One reason being that I wanted another male in the house, I have been the token male in this Shanghai/Birmingham family for years. Now with a Tom cat the number of males in the household would be doubled, girls 3, boys 2.

I also did not want lots of future kittens all over our house, so a Tom cat was better than a girl cat. He would never be neutered either, I don’t want to give my wife any ideas. So Saturday 9^th May arrived, the collection day. We had bought a cat box or jail, so at 11am prompt both my daughters skipped merrily around the corner to the friend’s house, the cat box swinging in their hand, they did bang it on the front garden wall, but Totoro was not inside yet.

Around the corner the kitten was placed in the mobile jail and transported back to our house, my girls singing Elvis’s Jailhouse Rock as they carried Totoro to his new home. Once home, our house is his home now, 7 weeks old and now he is adopted and has a Japanese name, he will hear plenty of Chinese from my Shanghai wife. He was going to be named Maomi, which is the Chinese for cat but our small daughter overruled us. Totoro is his name, after the fat cat from the Studio Ghibli films.

Totoro sniffed around the house, we had his basket ready, a wicker one that was ½ price from B&Q. Inside was an old rugby shirt of mine, then 2 blankets, so he would have a soft bed, a 3^rd blanket arrived from my sister when she came to view the new kitten. A scratch post was ready in a corner, it’s a bit like a pole dancing post for strippers, only its cat size and covered in rope. At the top is a wrecking ball with marbles in, though no Miley Cyrus attached.

We’d been shopping for cat food, we had Aldi tinned food ready, the girls decided to top this up with cat treats and Whiskas, which is the top brand here in England. The girls also bought cat milk, how on earth do you milk cats, perhaps elves or fairies go from mother cat to mother cat and steal the milk while they are asleep.

Whatever magic is used all I know is that in our fridge is a tiny bottle or two of cat milk, if you listen carefully as you pour it into a saucer you can hear it go “miaow.” As for Totoro when he eats he makes a noise like a machine, an eating machine.

As for the girls their joy is something to behold, Xmas really has come early. I told them they must ring their uncle and thank him, he gave them a large donation of pocket money which came just in time to allow them to splurge on the cat. So Totoro Casey the cat is now a member of the family, it was a big job getting the girls to go to bed last night.

In the middle of the night at 4.30am or so I came downstairs for a pain killer and to see how Totoro was getting on; he was happy, burrowed under all his blankets. I was concerned that he hadn’t done his pooh yet, or pee, even though he had been fed and watered. I had a slice of toast before going back to bed.

I was glad Totoro hadn’t activated the burglar alarm in the night. So I switched the alarm back on and headed back to bed. Only I did something wrong, and the alarm went off, making loads of noise. Totoro looked up from his basket, he didn’t need to say anything, he knew humans were morons total morons, didn’t I know cats need their beauty sleep, 16 hours a day of it.

It was 5am now, I went back to sleep, my pain assuaged. In the morning when I got up it was just me and Totoro in the house, I was home alone, plus cat. When my wife came home from church she told me that Totoro had done his business in a corner of the living room.

Our small daughter had cleaned it up, it was our coalition like deal before cat. I was relieved, not as much as the cat but I was relieved, the kitten of the family had made his first pooh at our house. Then Totoro decided to show just how clever he was, he peed in the corner where hours before he had poohed. I laughed, didn’t they know cats like corners.

So that’s the beginning of Totoro’s life with the Shanghai/Birmingham Caseys, the cat with the Japanese name who’ll soon be bilingual. Miaow.