Nearing The End

Nearing The End ©

By Michael Casey

Well its approaching that time of year again so I have cleared down my site ready for new stuff in the new year. This year has been the worst in my life. My very own Annus Horribilis

But I'm still alive and  I plan to see my daughter become a Dr  3 100% and a 96% in her school exams, so I know she has the brains for it. Though I tell her not to become a Dr, as its way too hard and who wants to lance a smelly old man's boil on his bum. Being a Dr is NOT glamorous.

My other daughter will be a writer such is her skill already. As for me I'll be launching Undiscovered Words in 2016. We all really really want to move house...., so cross those fingers for us. Our cat Totoro has become central to the entire family, even if she does dart up the stairs and hides then sleeps under my bed in the daytime. Thankfully she is house-trained.

So I'll wish you all an early Very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year, as for the hackers and comment leavers, please get a life as I don't allow anybody to see them , they just get deleted en mass by me, so you are wasting your time.

Otherwise to the few who do read my stuff thanks for your support and make sure your pets are looked after during the festive season.  And most importantly of all while you are at Midnight Mass pray for my Health, and make sure your cat does not get the turkey while you are doing that.

Pax Vobiscum Michael Casey
www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
p.s. 6 numbers for the lottery would be appreciated

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 29 years of writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 57 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 17,755 views on Funny or Die for a sample.

I have 370,000 + views on my Google Plus  

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 680+ shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 207 of them so far, 10 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  9 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.

As I have written 650+ 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 680+ shorts, 10 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  

   

9 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books

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

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.