The Real Thing

The Real Thing ©

By Michael Casey

What you see is what you get, my old boss DW said that about me  back in1999, and it’s true, I never pretend, perhaps I’m too shallow to pretend, you can judge for yourself if ever you do meet me. Now as I was saying on G+ I had to visit Aldi, I’m sipping their version of Horlicks as I talk to you, as well as listening to Vangelis, from the other room my wife is half having  a conversation with me about Customer Service.

The Horlicks copy is watery and very sweet, so I won’t be buying it again. If I had liked it I would have bought 10, and it would have lasted me for months. I allow myself one treat drink a day, otherwise I follow a strict regime. Post my unplanned quadruple heart bypass, I had to do something, so that’s part of it. Now The Real Thing was how they advertised Coca Cola years ago, if you are as old as me you’ll remember the advert on tv.

Do you want the Real Thing or will anything do? You go down your local street market and you can get bargains galore, you are not expecting the real thing. A Rolex for 10quid, only 10 year olds believe that, or their big brothers whose IQ is 10. No what you see is what you get, we know it’s not the real thing, but it is in our price range, so we got away happy. You can get really good things cheaply, for example Alien Works watches on Amazon, automatic ones too. Go look for yourself.

My dad used to say “if you buy rubbish you buy twice” and he was right, especially furniture, you can go down your local high street and see rubbish galore. Pay a bit more and you’ll have at least 10 years of good use from your furniture. You may even conceive your children in that rocking armchair, see I’ve got you thinking now, 4am is a good time too……

Everything IS budget, and now thanks to the Internet we can all search high and low and get a bargain, sometimes in the most unexpected place, such as Argos for furniture. We got a three seater and a two seater for £440, so go hunting for value on their website. Or just go to John Lewis as they never sell rubbish whatever it is you are after, and they give 2 year and 5 year guarantees on various stuff.

Food is important, we are what we eat, and it’s always nice to have nice food. I’d rather have cheaper something else so that I can have nice food. Going back to Aldi generally their “copy” brands are good, they taste good and they are cheaper by far. Yes somethings are not as nice, but for us Aldi is the closest store. When we win the lottery, or I die and the insurance pays out, then the family would go to Sainsburys or Waitrose because they are so nice to shop in and the stuff is beautiful to eat. Though with my regime, I cannot or should I say shouldn’t eat lots of stuff, as its “naughty but nice” to use Salman Rushdie’s phrase from his fresh cream cakes days.

So we may want the real thing but life prevents us, that’s why Birthdays and Holidays and great, we can break our fast, we can come together as a family and share our joy and eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die, or we might if you have any fat people in your family who really should give a few things up, don’t have too much of the real thing but avoid that heart attack. 

Its all in the mind

It’s all in the Mind ©

By Michael Casey

I was thinking about styles of writing, and how some writers are more explicit than others, and some just cannot write anything, they are bad writers. Selling millions does not make you a good writer, some readers will accept badly written words because the story is good. Me, if the storyteller is bad I just don’t want to know, I have to put the book down.

So let me try and write something and see if I can put pictures in your mind, without actually being explicit, if you like a blind man telling a story.

When I first met Annette she was the love of my life, I just had to A her, and in reply she just had to B me, so we Aed and Bed  for a few weeks as we got to know each other. Then it got deeper, I Ced her and she Ded me, I then Eed her on her neck and she Fed me all over my, my, well you’ll have to imagine it for yourself.

Then the landlady threw a bucket of water over us, as if we were dogs in the street, though we were of course nothing like that at all. So we went back to her place to dry our clothes off. We hung our clothes on the fireguard in front of the fire. We were almost Ged, but not quiet. But as I looked at her and she looked at me, Nature decided to joint in. I Hed and she Jed, we were both embarrassed and happy at the same time, Nature is Nature after all, you don’t need a subscription to the National Geographic to know that.

So removed what was left of our clothes, we were now proudly naked in front of each other and the steaming fire guard. We Ked to the floor and she began to L and I Med, Led and Med over and over. Steam was coming from us now, not just the fire guard. We stopped to N, it’s important to N, so we Ned, before we Oed, and Oed and Oed again. Oing is Oing, all with toing and froing.

We stopped for a pint of Stella Artois, two in fact, a third we poured over our bodies. As the steam rose we continued, Peed as farts we continued, Qing and Qing, slow, slow, quick quick slow, we Qed and Qed. Then we Red, and Red, we needed a little rest after all, so we Red and Red.

Then we Sed and Sed with renewed vigour, started again with renewed vigour. Then we hit a T, so we Ted it, we knocked it high in the air and chipped it, a tee shot, which was a birdie. The we tried a bit of U, just for variety we Ued and Ued again, we were giving it the full alphabet after all. Then we Ved, we just had to V, a V is essential in a full relationship. The steam from the washing on the fireguard rose even more, as did the steam from the Stella Artois on our bodies.

Then we Wed, we had enough energy left so we Wed, we were breathless, we were Xed, totalled Xed, we were exhausted. Then we had another pint of Stella Artois before we went for the Y, a Y just had to be done, why we Yed I’ll never know. We did it, we had reached nirvana, we were exhausted and smelt of Stella Artois. Our clothes were dry, so we covered our nakedness, but not before we had a quick Z, I Zed her and she Zed me, we were so happy.

Thus concludes, it’s all in the mind, I was just teaching you all the alphabet, so I hope you will not need a repeat lesson, the A to Z of whatever it was you were thinking of, me I have no idea what you were thinking of.

 On y soit qui mal y pense as the French say.   

The Voice

The Voice ©

By Michael Casey

A vocation is called a calling, a voice talks to us and then we listen, sometimes finally listen, then we embark upon a journey, it can be a spiritual journey, a physical journey, or a literal journey. How many people have a vocation nowadays? How do you know you have a vocation in the first place? You can be pushed or pulled into something, your family may encourage you, or put a gun against your head to force you to have a certain vocation.

The Irish in America became cops, my own cousin is a cop in Boston, being a cop is a good job, a steady job, and the police force is one big family after all, so it IS a good vocation.  What do cops’ kids become, they become cops too, or if they are girls their dads’ may encourage them to be lawyers, its safer and warmer too.

Why do we need this voice to call us? If we are to sacrifice or donate our lives to something we should have a pull towards it, it’s not just a job, it’s not just any job, a calling , a vocation IS our life.  We may all work in a call centre at some stage of our lives but it is not our life, yes I agree for some girls and in the main it is girls call centre work is their life, it suits them. What makes the vocation call out to us? 

In the Bible there is the passage where God calls out to the boy, 3 times God calls out and finally the boy after talking to his master waits and listens and replies to God, “here I am” or words to that effect, you can Google the Bible for yourself. So a vocation is like a magnet it pulls us towards it, and once we are attached, we are glued to it.

A vocation is like a lover or a wife, it’s our passion and it bears fruit, it is everything to us, me I write as you all know. Others may teach music to the choir in church, Betty teaches choir at my daughters’ church, she is 84 and still going strong, her passion for music keeps her alive, she pours music into all whom she teaches, it’s this kind of sharing that answers the call.

Learning to listen for the vocation, for the call,   is important too, life can be so busy they we cannot hear the call. We need to step back, to step away and let the force touch us, whatever we want or should I say whatever we could be will be revealed. Yes I know most of us do a job to feed and clothe us, only the lucky few do what they enjoy. As you know I write because it’s in me and I’ve not made a penny from it,  but I’ll always write because it’s my vocation.

 So after you’ve read this make some quiet time, have a pint of Stella or a mug or Horlicks and just get all mellow, listen to Barry Manilow or whatever gets you in the mood, and let rainbows fill your mind and fill your heart, and listen just listen to the whispers that’ll grow into a roar, for your vocation is calling  you.

 this piece is from a few years ago, you can find my 9 books on amazon, just look for my fat face on most book covers

Where I want to be buried

Where I Want  To Be Buried ©

By Michael Casey

Well I've decided where I want to be buried, though I'm in no hurry to be buried. Last time I was buried was when my brother buried me in the sand on a beach in Wales. By the Sikh temple is an old Christian church, Trinity Road Church, and next to that is the Post Office sorting centre, you look across the dual carriage way and the rail track and the canal then you see the site where my dad used to work in the steel works, Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. At the back of the post office you can see into the distance. There is also the Job Centre. 

Not very romantic but if you go there for yourself you may feel what I feel. The Peace. It may be the power of the prayer from the Trinity Rd church as well as the power of the Sikh Temple combined, or my dad's sweat of 40 years  in the air. But seriously if I were allowed to be buried there, then that's where I could be put. In front of the church looking over towards Rolf Street Train Station. So there you have it. I don't expect to become a famous writer after I die, but the train station and the other transport routes means that plenty of people could come and visit my grave.

Sex Tips for All

August 20th, 2015 21:34

Sex Tips for All

By michaelgcasey

What Makes a Man Sexy to a Woman(C)
By Michael Casey

I have all my albums loaded to the computer so that while I work I can listen to the albums, over 1600 tracks, I let the music role and I didn’t know Michael Bolton was next. So when he popped up I thought HE was a woman’s favourite, but anybody can listen too. I did get me thinking though.

Is it his hairy chest, is he tall dark and handsome, or is it the way he moves, the way he grooves, is it his smouldering eyes? Women as you read this tell me what YOU think.

And what of me? Am I sexy? Is it my hairy back and my hairy arms, my bushy eyebrows, does all this make women swoon? Is it my big chest and my even bigger belly. Is it my hazel eyes, Chinese folk have brown eyes, so my eyes are a novelty to them. Is it the British accent, does it sent a shiver down the spines of women. Michael Bolton is singing “back on my feet again” as I talk to you. Do I knock women off their feet. And not because of my smelly feet, which I inherited from my dad, a father of six, and those smelly feet have passed to the next generation, to my Birmingham/Shanghai children.

Is it something in the way I move, something in the way I pucker my lips, is it the way I look into women’s eyes, and men’s too. Do I have charisma like a pop star, or politician, and I a god.

Or is it that when women see me I remind them of Scruffy their first dog, the slobbering fat and drooling puppy who left puddles everywhere, the dog who wagged his tail when they were a mile away, but Scruffy knew their master was on the way, so Scruffy jumped and jumped and scrapped at the back door.

No I’m no sex god, I’m just a hound dog, chewing on blue  suede shoes.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
p.s. yes I am only joking, the only women who want me are morticians, as good bodies are very hard to  find

Disconnected

Disconnected ©

By Michael Casey

There are many kinds of disconnected, from faith, from hope, from love, from reality, from pain. Today I feel nearly all of them, my chest and arthritis pain have decided to come out to play, I’m breathless with pain and it’s hard to think straight. Relax, I’m not going to bore you with all this, the disconnected I’m going to talk about is far more important, disconnected from the Internet.

I can hear you all scream, or your children scream at least, how can kids live without their internet. How can I live without the internet. For kids it’s everything, anybody with kids will tell you that, I have two daughters so I know all about it. Phones are in fact little tiny computers, this connects your daughters with the world, their world and not the real world. Their world is Tumblr and Instagram and Postit or is it Pinterest, anyway it’s a load of stuff most people have never ever heard of. Some 20 something girl on UTube who has millions of followers, which makes her millions, she is pretty vacuous but her bank manager loves her and holds the door to her Bentley open when she comes by.

Homework is forgotten and vids just have to be watched because they are so good. My girls are great students so far but other girls are probably much more addicted to the joys of Mandy or Brandy or Candy explaining everything to her millions of fans. I hope I don’t sound envious, I did make a little video and put it on my writer’s page on Amazon. I have an audio site, www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com but I don’t have millions of fans yet. I’m more Radio than anything else, so how could I possible compete. I’m also a writer www.michaelgcasey,wordpress.com so words are my medium. Perhaps I should make loads of small videos, but that would need the internet to load them to.

Only I don’t have any internet, I’m internet free, I’m back in the Stone Age, well today at any rate. I cannot get my desktop to connect to the Internet, my daughters can connect via their phones, my wife can connect on her tablet, but me and the family computer, I’m frozen out. It’s like being barred from the nudist beach because you have the wrong sandals on. You are so eager to frolic and relax and let it all hang out, and to feel the breeze on your, on your, but you just get a message saying cannot connect. I suppose it really is like a form of contraceptive, a kind of wall, a firewall of sorts, I just cannot get on the internet.

The Internet is great for everybody, you can chat and email and read the Daily Telegraph, especially if you can get past the paywall, and there are ways. It’s a bit like voting in the Labour Leadership Election, everybody wants to do it, just to screw up the Labour party, and a few actually believe in this new Messiah. Though for balance some may say voting Tory has already screwed the country for the next 5 years. Perhaps I should mention Liberals, but they are too few to mention. As for the Scot Nats, I think the canny Scots will have the last word, and that will surprise everybody, especially the Scot Nats. 

Yes I like reading my DT, though I do look at several papers online, or should I say I normally. Today has been a quiet day, well apart from the pain. It feels like a fridge which is empty, I go to the fridge and it is empty, just like Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Without my internet, without my daily routine, I’m a bit at a loss. I miss deleting all the emails from companies telling me of their sales, the emails I delete without opening. I miss deleting those mad emails from scammers, as if anybody would leave me 2,000,000 in any currency. As if I’m impressed by Dr, or Barrister in the title. In America you are a Dr for 10USD, these emails are just from fakers in Africa and USSR.

I also get people from search optimise companies, so I thank them for their email and insert a silly photo and return their email with my Elevator Ad. I also get companies in China advertising their wares, so I reply I have a Shanghai wife and I send them my Elevator Ad as well, but all the best with their marketing.

Today none of this to punctuate my day. I went on my daily walk with no internet to fill me, to amuse me, to set me thinking about what I could use as an idea. All I need is a seed and away I go, I can provide my own water, and with the state of my kidneys I’m a frequent waterer. I suppose I could have used this as a day of prayer, but Oh God take this pain away is today’s only prayer. Yesterday was a good day, today is medium to bad day, it’s like the curves on a woman’s body, beautiful but also very dangerous, it can either be pleasure or pain. I could use a male metaphor for balance but if I described my own body you would all heave, so I’ll not mention pain any more in any metaphor.

So I tried loads of things to get my internet back, but no dice, as the wife was making egg fried rice. So I went and had a nap, with Totoro scratching on my bedroom door, she likes sitting in the windows. When I got up, and this involves going from naked to covered up, as Totoro is a Ninja cat and if she scratched my scars I’d be in agony, when I got up I thought I have one last try at getting my internet back.

Still my internet did not work, but I had another idea, I’d write a story called Disconnected, and explain my pain, the pain caused by lack of internet, and this is what you have been reading.