The Ballet Dancer who met the Belly Dancer

The Ballet Dancer who met the Belly Dancer ©

By Michael Casey

Now they say that Truth is stranger than Fiction, so the Tale I’m about to relate is 100% true, especially the unbelievable bits. There was once a girl I was chasing, and she introduced me to Ballet. I had got a buy one get one free offer from the Hippodrome here in Birmingham, it was actually on the anniversary of my mother’s death. So was my mother pulling strings from beyond the grave?

Anyway we went to the ballet, and so when I went on holiday to Barcelona in the Spring I noticed a sign saying Russian Ballet and it was £10 which is cheap for ballet even back then. The night before the ballet was due to be on I was in a bar in Las Ramblas, I noticed a girl with really pretty chestnut hair, so obviously I spoke to her. She turned around and had a strong American accent, and a broken nose to match. She said she was a student.

I staggered home to my hotel in Pallell Ley, I had managed to relearn my Spanish by doing 15 mins of study every day for 3 months prior to my trip to Barcelona. It was 25 years since the exam and I’d never been to Spain. I was really pleased with how my Spanish worked. Now I was going to go to Russian Ballet in Barcelona. The next day I got to the theatre early and we had a selection from the Nutcracker. Two days ago I took my 2 daughters to see it here at the Hippodrome, the Birmingham Royal Ballet now has its home in Birmingham.

The Russian Ballet had 2 giant speakers but no orchestra, but it did have great dancers. As I watched I noticed a girl with great hair and as she danced closer and turned I could see she had a broken nose, it was the girl I had met in the bar the night before. I told my friend the story when I got back to Birmingham, we both laughed. There was a giant ballet set for the Arena off Broad St so we decided to go there. Yes who came dancing across the acres of stage, only the Russian with the broken nose. I laughed, my friend was overwhelmed by the men in tights, I’ll say no more than that.

My friend stayed a friend, but years later my second daughter reminds me of her, the same mannerisms, 12 going on 80. Now later that year I met my future wife, and yes you’ve guessed it, she was a ballet dancer. Well only in a photo that her mum had back in the flat in Shanghai. However my wife had a friend who WAS a ballerina in the Birmingham Royal Ballet. Yes Really. I was in fact positively vetted by Lai, we met in a straight pub in the gay quarter, the Queens Tavern up the side of the Hippodrome. Lai was wearing a bomber jacket, as if she had landed her plane on the roof of the Hippodrome. In Chinese Lai questioned my wife about me and my prospects. In the end it was the fact that I was a Christian that swung it for me.

Now I am married to a Shanghai girl, who looks 20 years younger than she is, I look as old as Santa Claus, with a quadruple heart bypass and painful arthritis, and we have 2 very clever and pretty daughters. It’s God’s sense of humour, ugly dads have beautiful daughters, and let’s not forget what my mother once told me, Love will Conquer All.

So now my girls have discovered the Birmingham Royal Ballet, at least Subway around the corner from it IS cheap, I was there 2 days ago before and after The Nutcracker, and I can say the two lads running it are very nice, as is the food. So dine at Subway before and after the ballet. You may bump into us at Beauty and The Beast and at Subway.

Ballet is very graceful, and yes I am more like a belly dancer myself. As I watched the Nutcracker I shed a gentle tear in the dark as I looked at my 2 daughters beside me, last Christmas could have been my last Christmas but for the Grace of God. As we all know Ballet Dancing is God’s Belly Dancing.

Pulling Your Leg

Pulling Your Leg ©

By Michael Casey

We all love to laugh, especially when times are bad, a joke lifts the mood and lightens the load. There is even a term for it, Black Humour or Graveyard Humour, or even Gallows humour. A laugh can break the ice when you don’t know what to say. I can remember maybe 30 years ago in my computer room days when Richard came back after his dad had died. He had a neckerchief on and I said he looked like one of the Rice Chrispie kids, look at your cereal box and you see what I mean. It broke the ice and we all moved on, we were all young lads so we didn’t say “we love you”, we probably said it was his round next down the pub.

 hug, a physical hug does make a difference, we hug our kids when they fall over, we kiss our auntie, or we break convention and hug our neighbour when they share their bad news. We also hug when good news is shared. There is something special about a hug, though the English are renown for their lack of public hugging and kissing. I think we should copy the  French and Italians, I’m sure we are just as hot blooded as them, more so, they just boast about it more.

We loving teasing those we love, in fact it could be called proof of love, we wouldn’t tease a stranger. A tease is something personal, we are making gentle fun of those we love, it’s using insider knowledge to make somebody uncomfortable so we can laugh at their expense. But it’s all done with love. Then you make up, or share the sweets or cake afterwards.

A strip tease is something else entirely, it’s a way of heightening sexual tension and arousal. Either at a lap dancing club, or in the comfort and privacy of your own home or bedroom. I am of course an excellent stripper, just imagine a Sumo wrestler doing an ever so slow and seductive routine, I am Michael but I knock spots of Magic Mike. 

Though I should remind you to close your curtains or the neighbours will be in for some sex education, and some Sumo wrestling moves with a bit of Haka thrown in for good measure. Or I could just be teasing you, it’s all in the imagination after all, 50 Shades of Michael’s Grey Hair could be the title for my 11^th book. 

My Friend Andrew Dixon

My Friend Andrew Dixon ©

By Michael Casey

So you know you are sure you know what you are talking about? Andrew tapped his nose knowingly. What does it say on my donkey jacket? Andrew Dixon. Andrew smiled knowingly, and adjusted his horn rimmed glasses on his nose.

We were going to a huge car boot sale, Andrew assured me we’d make a killing, and his fee, he always called it a “fee”, he was posh like that, his fee was as much ale as he could hold down the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil. So we tramped around a muddy field, in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, Big Sid the butcher was there doing a pig roast. This was a posh car boot sale after all.

So what do you think its worth? Andrew took his specs off and put them on again, before pausing for a moment, it was a pregnant pause, until he let out a large rasping fart. Andrew always hung out with Guiseppe from the Pizza Palour, and pepperoni was his favourite free pizza, need I say more, Andrew had his own central heating, permanently.  Give him 5, we can make 10 when we sell it on. So I gave him a handshake and gave him 3, I wasn’t made of money after all.

Andrew was full of advice, and wind, in a proportion of 5 to 2, 2 parts advice and 5 parts wind.  We always got a discount just to make us move on and not pollute the objet d’arts. So we plodded around the muddy field, stopping to get some pork from Big Sid, our Tesco plastic carrier got fuller and fuller.

How much do you think we’ll get for all this? Maybe 80 if you take it to that blind art dealer on Hope Street, or a bit more if you use adjectives. He just loves to hear adjectives. Sounds like a good idea, it’s started to rain now, let’s get to the pub, the Trader.

That donkey jacket is good, you don’t seem to be getting wet at all, and it has your name on too. Tell the truth it’s not my name at all. There was this skip outside the BBC full of them, so I grabbed this one. We could have made more money if we just stole from the skip. There was one donkey jacket with David Attenborough on the back, but it was covered in bird pooh, a really good design I think. Not unless it really was bird pooh.

So if you are not Andrew Dixon, who are you really? Sergeant Dixon is my real name, my parents had a sense of humour.  So it’s one thing hiding another, like having one Mona Lisa on top of another. Sounds like some  saucy late night film on Channel 4.   

Dear Santa

Dear Santa ©

By Michael Casey

Well it’s that time of year again, so here’s my list Santa. I have been a good boy, I ate vegetables, I even gave up meat. Trying to stay alive a bit longer after what turned out to be a quadruple heart bypass. I suppose the operation, was your Christmas present to me last year. So can I have something nicer this year. What do you mean, isn’t the gift of life enough?

I suppose you are right Santa, at least I’m not like the Sherlock actor demanding a light sabre, and he’s so nasty about you. How about giving him a copy of Winter Song by Lindesfarne. It’s the Spirit that matters not the big list, a bar of cheap chocolate from  Poundland is the best thing of all if it comes with love.

My mum used to say if they got a hard-boiled egg or an Orange at Easter or Christmas they considered themselves lucky. If you look at the picture of her home, my mum was born in a Manger too, and lived there for 12 years. The glue that holds the family together is the laughter, I know some families only allow Poundland presents to be exchanged.

Ok Santa, can I ask for something simple, you don’t even have to give me anything. Peace and Goodwill to all men? Not exactly Santa. Just some words, that’s all I want. I’m so proud of you, you really share my values as Santa. So what exactly would you like me to say, or do you want me to sing Silent Night in German to you?

No Santa, all I want is 6 numbers for the Lottery, 2, 4, 7, 9,18, 59 for example. Santa looked sad and even began to cry, his tears freezing into his long white beard. Santa I’m sorry, it’s just that we need a bigger house now that the children are growing up, and I’d like to be able to walk around my bed. And I don’t want to share a bathroom with 3 girls, and a female cat who always watches me use the toilet. Revenge for her having a cat litter tray.

Santa refuses to budge, he starts gathering up the reindeer who’ve been grazing on my living room carpet. Dancer who used to have a slots gambling addiction, whispers to me as the take up their position on the sleigh, why not use those numbers you gave as an example to Santa,       2 4 7 9 18 59 . But Santa never spoke those numbers so they’ll never win. Dancer had an idea, Santa are 2 4 7 9 18 59 the first houses on the list?

2 4 7 9 18 59 mused Santa as he looked at the scroll, No you got that all wrong, its 59 18 9 7 4 2 which are first on the list. Dancer winked at me as they pranced into the Christmas sky. So I’ll be trying them on the lottery, if I can find some coins down the back of the settee. Though George Osborne  found £7,000,000,000 down the back of his settee in the Treasury to pay for the Tax Credits. I wonder did he get his sofa from Argos like we did.

Santa is real and I should know cos, he aint that heavy cos he’s my brother. He washes his beard in Persil, and to get the suit to fit so perfectly he wears it in the washing machine as his beard and himself too is washed on setting 28 of the local Chinese laundry. Santa can hold his breath for an awfully long time, he has to as he is so high in the sky there is no atmosphere at times.

Anyway Santa is so dizzy when he comes out of the washing machine, he has to have 3 litres of Dr Pepper to counteract the dizziness. If you look up into the night Christmas sky and hear the sonic boom as Santa goes about his work, it is in fact Santa burping after all the Dr Pepper, and why is Santa so quick? Because he’s using the bathrooms, he did drink 3 litres of Dr Pepper after all.

So Sherlock a very Merry Christmas to you, and if you promise to be good my brother Santa may, just may let you have his very own copy of Lindesfarne’s Winter Song, its Santa’s favourite he plays it in the hifi on the sleigh as he travels the world, in between burping. Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men, and thanks to City Hospital and the QE, may God Bless you One and All. 

The First Christmas Card

The First Christmas Card ©

By Michael Casey

I was having a pain few days so when I got my first Christmas card of the Season it cheered me. It was from Martina my cousin’s wife in County Kerry, the memories flooded back as I opened the card. I’d spent 3 Christmases in Kerry in the 1970s, it was so much fun and plenty of feasting, I remember putting on a stone, 14 pounds as the Americans call it, or 6+ kilos if you are metric, in just 2 weeks. I was a teenager then, and not a single white hair on my head.

 The Christmas card evoked memories of times past, of doing The Dying Fly Dance on the floor of a cousin’s house, it was a big thing from Tiswas, my big hearted Auntie Delia jumped down on the floor to accompany me, Delia was 17.5 stones and only 5feet something tall. She was and is the best Auntie ever, 30 years on she is still remembered with love and laughter by all of us.

She once even prevented a jail break from Killarney Police station.She had a cleaning job there and one of the tourists who was backpacking decided to make a break for it in the morning after been arrested for having drugs. There was only one Policeman on the very early turn, so the backpacker made a break for it. So Aunty Delia helped the Police by rabbit punching the backpacker, 17.5 stones of punch, so saving the day.

Christmas cards from Kerry have very pretty stamps on, religious ones, angels and so forth, you can feel Xmas when you see the cards sticking out your letter box. They have a tradition of leaving a lighted candle in the window too, so as you drive in the dark all over the Dingle Peninsula you can look over the bay and see all the candles in the window, guiding you with Hope and Love.

Some say Christmas cards are a waste of time, a waste of paper. We used to have washing lines full of Xmas cards hanging in the living room, plus every shelf had cards on top of them. The card total would reach 150 to 200 cards when both my sisters still lived at home. All manner of cards and all manner of designs. The Holy ones came from Ireland and Irish relatives in USA, while the modern silly ones came from England and younger friends. I’m sure you can judge a person’s character by the design of the card they send. All are welcome.

You can send free ecards nowadays, which can have dancing elves where you put your own face on the elf. See how technology has changed the face of Christmas. Whatever kind of card you send, just send them with love and a few lines of news for your relatives, for a card is all about love, and love is what we all need in today’s bad world.

 this is where my mum was born and lived till 12 years old with 8 other siblings, so we have advanced in one generation.