Face Value

Face Value ©

By Michael Casey

We all discriminate, we all  look the other way to avoid Mrs Smith or Mrs Jones, because we don’t like the way they look. Or in Mrs Jones case how she smells, it’s either the lack of water in her house or the buckets of £2.99 a litre perfume she uses, and I don’t mean Jeyes Fluid either. There are some ladies perfumes that ARE beyond the pale, Jack and Jill would go nowhere near them.

WE discriminate because he’s a rambling old fat  silver haired guy who annoys us when we are busy on the till in Aldi or any other store he shambles into. Its normal its natural, but once we interact, such a posh word for actually talk to each other, then barriers do come down. How else would we breed the next generation, without barriers coming down.

It can be that somebody is Gay, and we never talk to gay people do we, don’t want our friends to think we are weak or even a closet gay. We don’t to Asians or Blacks or men with pony tails, not unless he owns a strip club, then it’s different, isn’t it. We don’t talk to the old, because they are boring and have an old people’s smell, and they repeat themselves, and they repeat themselves, and they repeat themselves ad infinitum, doesn’t ad mean something about asvertising? God knows what infinitum means, only really strange people know Latin, or that blonde haired guy on tv, Boris or is it Norris something, lost his job in London, but still he bores everybody about his shampoo.

So on it goes, we really hate somebody, there is even a Mike and The Mechanics song from years ago, about somebody always hating somebody. We can hate people in wheelchairs because they block the pavement, we hate fat people in mobility scooters who nearly run us down as the speed on the pavement, perhaps we should have speed bumps on the pavements to slow them down.

Then there are people with walking sticks who swing and swagger as they move along, why can’t they only be allowed out at certain times to free up the pavement so normal ordinary people can get to Greggs for their morning food rush.

Did you spot yourself amongst  all the negative people. I hope you didn’t, perhaps the lady with Jeyes Fluid dabbed behind her ears, is the only one we might all be tempted to hate or avoid. Now what  brought on today’s piece? I read in the DT about a lady who was going to have twins via a surrogate, she has and still suffers so much because of an accident. I’d never heard of her before until I read the DT. I say God Bless Her and her husband.

The adventure that is called Parenthood is the biggest thing in her life, and her husband. All the business experience and even being in the House of Lords is frankly worthless compared to what is to come. So I know she’ll enjoy it so much, she can hold her babies up and show them the stars in the night skies and remind them to reach for the sky and the stars beyond.

Reach for the Sky was the title of a book about Douglas Bader the pilot with tin legs in the war, in today’s world would he have been despised? The lady I mention uses a stick and has fought tremendous battles with her health, there are millions of us who fight battles with our health, or against prejudice, just because of the colour of our skin, think back to Ali. Or because we believe this or that because of Face Value.

So as Fr. George, who used to work on the track at Longbridge before becoming a priest, who had a very thick Brummie accent once said in a sermon, put yourselves in others’ shoes, the Augustinian way, think 360 degrees, and then maybe we’ll all be in the shoes of the fisherman. And won’t judge on Face Value, you may even make loads of friends.

2016 The Year of the Dead

2016 The Year of the Dead ©

By Michael Casey

Mohammed Ali died today, it’s all over the news, he was part of my childhood, and part of people’s lives all over the world. He did in fact come to Birmingham and such was the crush at the old Bull Ring that the escalator broke under the weight.

2016 seems to be the year of the dead, famous people are all dying all over the place. It’s sad because through them we remember our own lives, when Prince sang Purple Rain we were doing this or that. When Bowie was dressing like a clown we were going through grammar school, or sitting our finals before we became an MD, or just joined the Navy, now we are a Navy Seal with a guilty secret, we are a Bowie fan. Whatever we are or were it is punctuated by the celebrity whose music or films we were watching.

I used to work at CPNEC Birmingham in a variety of roles, maybe 10, I literally did everything. One day on a quiet weekend Henry Cooper strolled in, actually he was Sir Henry by then. Now whey do I mention him? Because he was the British fighter who knocked Ali on his back, and only because Ali’s glove split did Ali get a break and win the fight. It’s all on Utube somewhere no doubt. So if you like my memory is touched by the eternal memory because I happened to be on reception that day.

Alice Cooper was a guest too on one occasion, so I actually met and talked to him, this was 25 years after his song Schools Out for Summer first hit the charts. So if you like my life was touched again by the eternal memory. I even met Eric Clapton and went to the wrong end of the car, worth twice my house, in an attempt to carry his bag. So I said sorry the wife drives a Skoda, which made Eric laugh. So if you like you and me, ordinary people can be touched by the mega stars of today’s world.

Why do we care when the Stars die? It’s because part of us die too, they are the stitching that holds society together. Of course they are not as important as our mum and dad, and 20 years ago in a matter of weeks I nearly lost both parents, read Padre Pio and Me for details. My point is that celebrities are like our clothes they stop us from being naked, without their gifts enriching our lives we are a little naked, they add something to our lives.

The delivery driver whistles a song or sings along as he drives and comes up the garden path with that parcel, the music helps his day. Music helps all our days, that why music is on the radio everywhere. The parcel may be a few cds of Elvis or the Cure or the latest X factor sensation. It could be your Polo or Vera Wang clothes, it might even by your Beckham perfume, though JP Gautier is my own choice, or even a little Ck.  So it is the products that you like which are the things that make you happy and make you you.

So when the creator of your style, clothes, music, perfume, or even homewares dies you take it personally. Where will you get your stuff again? Alexander McQueen was a great talent and sadly too sensitive for this world so with his death we lost a very sensitive person and an outstanding fashion designer. So we mourn him for what he was and for what the future his future could and would have been. If only his friends were able to save him from his grief, there are lessons to be learnt there.

With Ali we mourn more than a fighter, we mourn a multifaceted man, Ali lifted spirits worldwide, he had the gift to do that.  So many famous people lift us up by their gifts, music or words or creations in art and fashion. So they are worthy of tears because their lives enriched ours.

But the obvious thing to remember is that we too, all of us can do the same, we won’t touch millions, I’m not naïve enough to think millions will one day read and be touched by my words, but each and every-one of us can reach out and touch one person at a time and change their life, or even save their life. So reach out and touch today and together we’ll be remembered when we die because we loved one person at a time.

Don Camillo and Me

Don Camillo and Me ©

By Michael Casey

Just a quick note to say that I stumbled over a 1951 film of Don Camillo it was in English too, kind of made my day. My History teacher Mr Trout said take a look at the Don Camillo books so I did back in 1975 or so, I read them all. I reread them a few times. Before my Unplanned Quadruple heart bypass I read them again prior to the actual op, my surgeon leader was a Prof. Pagano so it amused and impressed him when I showed him what I was reading. That was Jan 2015.  Today I watched Don Camillo on UTUBE I really enjoyed it, though the books are better. So can I point you all in the direction of Utube. I also got an email in Italian from Microsoft, so I google translated it and then decided to send them my idea of teaching English via humour. 40 stories with 40 facing page translations plus my audio. I have recorded 200 of my 740+ stories, you can hear 50 at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com   SO if only I got microsoft as a backer, they could turn it into an App. Such is my dream, then I could move house and live happily ever after, so goes the theory anyway.

I also discovered that on 23rd May somebody read 110 pages of my comic novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, on the Amazon read thing if you are a Prime person, I think. I hope they enjoyed it, please tel all your friends whoever you are. I think they got as far as when Patrick the Milkman was seduced by Carol Sampson a lawyer. Patrick in the end finds true love with the girl from the dog pound, who thinks he's gay. You'll have to read the book to discover the rest. It was the ending which is very dramatic that a film producer had a peek at, sadly he did not take it up. But its still available, I called it In Search of an Indian Princess.
If I get my hands on a legal secretary I'll write Tears for a Butcher the follow on novel, I could just sit and dictate it, the great dictator, which was Chaplin's famous film. Anyway goodnight to you all, and don't forget to pray for my health.

All Alone in the House

All Alone in the House ©

By Michael Casey

Well I’m all alone in the house, apart from Totoro who is asleep upstairs somewhere, maybe under a bed, or on a comfy duvet, or sneaked into a wardrobe, you’ll know all about this yourselves when a cat adopts you. The girls have gone out to the woods for a half term picnic with friends, more like the feeding of the 5000 for 5. And yes as this is England the 1^st day of June, its damp and over-caste, but hopefully they’ll find a try spot somewhere.

All alone in the house is not the same as home alone, I’m far prettier than Mac Mac or whatever his name was/is I’m just here at the computer thinking how my future will be, girl less, when my girls go off to University, and yes I detest the term Uni. One wants to be a doctor, the other has not decided yet, though at 12 there is more than enough time to decide. To be honest the amount of pain I get makes me think I won’t be here when they graduate. I’ve been honest with them about that, why lie, we should enjoy what we have and don’t be surprised. Obviously I want to live till I’m 100 and screw the pension fund into the ground.

At home all alone, means I can get to the bathroom without too many girls in the way, though the cat on occasions will use the bath as a toilet, I think she is just posh. When you have the house to yourself you realise why you got married, to have some noise in the house, form a Christian family if you want a little Peace said Padre Pio. Though for balance you can change to the Faith or none of your choice, some people may even worship toilets, so long as they flush I don’t care.

So by creating noise, you get a little peace, wasn’t that a Euro song long ago, a German girl sang it if I can remember, you can all Google to see if I’m right, remember I’m not a journalist researching before I write, I just write and hope I’m right. You certainly get noise, a baby’s cries and you get smell too, pooh galore until they are potty trained, for us 2 years a bum. Then you save money as you don’t have to buy nappies any more.

Totoro has woken up and  jumped  on my lap, her two bells jingling from her flea collar, she wants a cuddle, before she’ll attack her food bowl, so forgive any typos as I switch to one handed typing. At least Vangelis is not put off as he plays for me, he’s a regular visitor to my house, via his music. I’ve topped up the cat bowl, so forgive me if my words smell a bit cat foody. These little things break up the silence of being alone in the house, just as the tick of our clocks marks and breaks down the silence of Time.

The clock in the other room chimes One, so I’m starting to think of my belly, it’ll be Orange drink from Iceland, 2 litres for 69p on special offer. A bit of silence does help when you are writing stuff though I tend to be zoned in when I’m writing, just background music as I write. Then when I’m finished more music but this time much much louder.

The day seems slow without the sounds of children in the home, even if they are upstairs and all I can hear is muffled sounds and laughter, the house our home is not complete without them. I think I need to put some loud music on to compensate for their absence, growing up in part of a large family leaves its mark on you and that mark is, you hate the sound of silence,  not the album,  but the real thing, and I don’t mean Coca Cola either.

Waiting for Words

Waiting for Words ©

By Michael Casey

Well I’m waiting in for the parcel man to collect something the wife misordered, she’s small so when she orders stuff it looks perfect on the model but on her, on 5feet 1inch her, it’s too big. So I have a relationship with the courier guy who comes to take it back again.

As for writing you have to wait for the words to come, or the idea to come, then the words will take care of themselves, that’s how it is with me. If I’m too tired I cannot write to order, I’m no journalist, I’m more of a wilting flower, overlooked at today’s Chelsea flower show.

I just need a spark and the explosion I can provide myself, I eat far too many beans and eggs no doubt, I even eat scrambled egg with beans it, no need for central heating in our house. So I wait for a title and away I go. I was waiting for the parcel man, I still am, I have to get to Aldi before the girls get home from school. Anyway the word Waiting arrives in my mind, so that’s the spark and the parcel man is here, so wait please.

It’s one week later now, no the forms are not in triplicate, I just got tired and the half term arrived, if you have school age kids of your own you will understand. Hang on its Totoro our cat miaowing in the background, she got out the other day and came back very tired, the joys of free love for a cat who cannot have kittens, now she wants out again, sleeping under beds is not as good as having Tom from next door.

So back to waiting for words, it’s not as bad as waiting for Godot, which we all suffered at school 40 years ago, no, the right words just have to be chosen. I never use a Thesaurus even if Roger is very kind to sit on my bookshelf to my right in his yellow jacket, such a fashion conscience person, my sister gave me an old copy of hers. I see it this way if I cannot use a good selection of words to tell a story at my age, then I should just give up the ghost. I did listen to BBC Radio4 for 20 years before starting to write 30 years ago.

So that’s why I write the way I write, I’m a story teller just like Jeffrey Archer, though he is £300,000,000 richer than me, I have zero and he has all the money in the world. Though I do know he is a nice man, prison education stuff and so forth. I did contact him once, I had hoped he’d send me a photo copy of his Monet in a cheap frame, better still he’d get confused and send me the real thing, though he’d probably just send me a bottle of diet Coke with a photo of his Monet attached. Hope he is smiling, I know people  have belittled his writing, but he had balls and look at him now.

So words are important, they help tell the tale, me and my small daughter joke that alliteration is used by writers who cannot write. Her English teacher adores her, but she is just writing to order in the style they expect, horror and mystery just drips from her pen. As my wife is a horror movie fan I suppose it’s inevitable that it’s in the genes. I do tell her that style is the most important thing, I just cannot read anything that is badly written or in a style I hate. Advertising speak is the worst form of words possible, some people think that writing like that is prose, it’s just junk. I once had an American radio station say they loved my style but not the content, maybe sending a piece to a Hip Hop radio station was not the right target audience.

So do I choose words for my audience? I just tell the tale and hope they enjoy it, to make them smile during  a busy day at work. Or while they sit on 3^rd and 7^th diner they have a look at my latest story and smile, who is this Limey anyway, that’s why I attach a photo to most things I write, so they know who I am. Maybe I should just attach a photo of a male model, instead of a mature security guard like image of me, the real thing, or just a picture of a diet Coke, with a Monet in the background.

Words can fail you in some situations, you get tongue tied or just cannot believe what is being said, but on paper, this is my ice rink, I can glide and slide and even pirouette and jump high and land perfectly, just like in The Bishop’s Wife with Cary Grant and David Niven all those years ago. And no I don’t waste my time rewriting and polishing, I know Jeffrey Archer can rewrite 13 times or so, for me that would be torture like waiting for trail and execution. I’m talking to you and my fingers put my words on the page for you. Life is only one chance, don’t waste time on polish, go out and eat Polish bread and meat from your local Deli, enjoy it washed down with Stella Artois, don’t wait for words, just make love to life.