We need a bigger house now

We need a bigger house now

Its that time in my life that I need a bigger house, as does the whole family so feel free to buy loads of books then we could move house. Thanks
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, 49 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.
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 800+ shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 207 of them so far, 11 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  10 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 800+ stories this would be a series of 20 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 207 of my 800+ shorts, 11 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
10 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books
http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

In the Dolls' House

In the Dolls’ House ©
By Michael Casey

A dolls’ house is a thing of beauty and a token of love, Grandpa Alan had given a huge fancy one to his granddaughter, my niece many years ago. Now years and years later I had bought one for my small daughter, she had a nice plastic one already, and had of course played with her cousin’s dolls house. My daughter was so small and her cousin’s dolls’ house was so big that we used to say she was in the dolls’ house. So now it was time for an upgrade, so I ordered one and we waited for its arrival.

The dolls’ house came flat packed and I had to bring it upstairs where it would take up position in my daughters’ room. This was a lesson in building for me, the screws were so small as well, but with the help of my daughters we built it. Having built several pine beds I was sort of DIY qualified in building if you like, it was also the last time I’d ever try building anything. My unplanned quadruple heart bypass came along, so when we look back at the photos that we took we have bittersweet memories. My small daughter loved me to bits once I had constructed her house for her dolls.
The occupants of the small plastic dolls’ house  moved  into the new 3 story wooden house, they were so happy, I was not so happy as I had to buy more furniture and other stuff to kit out the new house. Other than that we were a family of happy bunnies, I staggered away to have a hot Radox bath, I’d been bent double for a couple of hours as I built the thing.

That night the dolls’ house held its first after hours, not that stuffed toys and other plastic creatures drink much alcohol, they normally spill it over the carpet in front of the dolls’ house. Big Totoro the stuffed version sat on the roof, always a night on the tiles, literally. Dollar the bear sat next to him, Dollar had an embroidered dollar on his leg that’s where his name came from. Stupid bear finished the line-up, Stupid just looks stupid that’s why he is called Stupid. Inside small creatures with beds and tables and baths lived a life of luxury, they even have a fire place with a real battery operated fire glowing in the dark. So all was perfect, until a year later they hear a purr.

Yes Totoro the cat came to live with us, and for Totoro a dolls’ house was an invitation to be nosey. The toy Totoro was neglected for a living breathing cat, this hurt toy Totoro’s feeling no end, but I took the toy to one side and explained about puppy love, I told him that whereas he spoke Japanese, Totoro the cat only understood English, well and a lot of Chinese too. I told toy Totoro that he was so important to us and he had a seat on top of the dolls’ house, just like Theresa May having the best seat in the cabinet, I did explain to toy Totoro that a cabinet was a cupboard, yes almost like a toy cupboard.

Totoro the cat was able to squeeze in and sleep in the dolls’ house, a bit like a squatter, toy Totoro knew what a squatter was I did not have to explain that. Totoro the cat liked stealing the plastic family and moving them all over the house, we’d trip over Mrs Mollycuddle or whatever her name was as we walked down the stairs. So as soon as we returned the family  member to the dolls’ house then Totoro would transport one to another part of the house the whole house that is, it was like standing on the transporter in  Star Trek  and you’d appear somewhere else, though it was Totoro who did all the transporting.

As Totoro grew she grew bored with the dolls’ house, she liked chasing till receipts instead. Though when my daughter got a camper van, which looks like the van from Scooby Doo, then Totoro had something else to chase. The camper van allowed the owners of the doll’s house to travel all around the Casey house stopping here there and everywhere for tea and toast, and they never cleaned up the toast crumbs either. Totoro enjoyed annoying the Mollycuddle family, in fact she went too far once, and bit the head off one of them. I had to intervene and use superglue, otherwise we’d have a ghost in the house, though my small daughter does enjoy writing horror stories, so if ever you read any of her stuff, watch out.

Now if you have to improvise you can make a good doll’s house from shoe boxes, Clarks are best of course, but you can also use cereal boxes, and if you save the tins from biscuits you can have square or round turrets. Your dolls’ house can be as simple or complicated as you like, your toys can be safe from your cat too, just squirt a little Brut that your grandpa uses on the back of the dolls’ house it keeps cats away.

Stay at home Sleepover

Stay at Home Sleepover  ©

By Michael Casey

Last night my girls had a stay at home sleepover, were they too lazy to visit their friends, or was it the usual Casey inspired comedy? A bit of both I suppose, as the 2016 Olympics are on and they have been staying up late to watch them.  So the girls fetched their duvets from upstairs and spread out on the sofas in the living room. Totoro thought this was fun and snuggled up under the duvet of daughter number two. Meanwhile daughter number one stretched out under her duvet on the larger sofa. As for me I was exiled to a corner sat on a hard wooden chair, though the girls did throw me a cushion to sit on.

The last of the chocolate was eaten by them, and I consoled myself with a drink of hot Horlicks, Totoro the cat just snored beneath the duvet. We watched the Olympics on tv and wondered did the bike riders have paper rounds to make a bit of pocket money for sweets,  it would be good training after all, killing two birds with one stone. Laura Trott having to deliver 700 newspapers a week, as part of her part time job.

 Obviously she can’t do this all the time, there are tournaments and Gold medals to win after all. So when she is busy she gets Sir Bradley to do her paper round for her, and if he is too busy then Sir Chris does the honours, they are like a family after all, and Sir Chris is the least busy after all, besides he wouldn’t want to get a fat arse with too much commentating, so he’d jump at the chance to deliver 700 newspapers a week.

Now  to speed things along the bike riders need to learn who to fling those newspaper onto those porches as they hurtle past, Sophie Hitchon has just won bronze at the hammer so she of course gives expert lessons to the bike brigade, so the newspapers land on the porch in just the right place. This is of course cross training,  once fully trained the bikers will also be able to hurl their bikes back on the rack too, just like in fairy tales where everything happens as if by magic. It’s all about running rings around the opposition, running Olympic rings around the opposition.  Nigel Farage claims credit for it, but it’s nothing to do with him, ask  Jimminy Cricket sat on his top lip.

Back home in our living room, my girls were enjoying their late night at the Olympics, so I went to bed after making sure everywhere was locked up first. Upstairs I opened my bedroom window as we were having a minor heatwave. It was too hot to sleep, I could hear the tv downstairs, about 2am the synchronised elephants climbed the stairs, no not a metaphor for the gymnasts , nor that Dutch doctor who fell of the swing thing, my girls my very own elephants. They decided it was too hot downstairs so they climbed the stairs, or rather invaded them judging them by the news. The cat ran up after them sounding like a mad bell ringer, Totoro has a bell on her collar so we know where she is.

With a leap and a bound Totoro was along the landing and did a vault to and through my open bedroom window into the roof outside. She only got 7.5 for artistic impression si she won’t be in the contention for a medal. Then we all grabbed a torch and shone them on her in the dark of the night, my  small daughter was tempted  to climb out the window after our escapologist cat. I persuaded her to go outside into the night instead while me and her big sister held the cat transfixed in the light of the torches.

Small daughter managed to get out the back door before the cat scarpered into the jungle of back gardens, then as she scrunched paper, Totoro is a writer’s cat after all, so loves the sound of paper, especially if its money. Then small daughter leapt, just like the girl did in that race, instead of running over the line. Though in our case you have to be careful not to be garrotted by the washing line in the dark, anyway Totoro was brought back inside the house by 2.20am. As for our neighbours they thought a UFO had landed, what with the torches and lights moving about, why Aliens spoke Chinese probably mystified them too. But if you have a bilingual cat only Chinese is strict enough to scold naughty cats. Miaow

So today, Totoro has been told to write out 1000 lines, and what did Totoro  say to this?

Do you want it in English or Chinese? Then she said On your bike, I’m not doing that.

Another Normal Day

Another Normal Day ©

By Michael Casey

I was wondering what to say then I remembered, “suddenly from out of nowhere”, which was the opening for a story I wrote for Junior Free Handwriting in 1969, it was sponsored by Brook Bond Tea, I still have the certificate somewhere, I was 11, I am now 20, my mental age that is. 

You see today’s piece is my 800^th according to the tally, if you google tally sticks you find something interesting to amuse the kids with. I have Phil Collins singing in the background as I talk to you, he is such a noisy person, all that drumming of his pencil on our glass coffee table. The song is another day in Paradise, which follows the theme of normality and nothing special.

What I’m trying to say is that, every day is normal, the same as the one before wherever and whoever you are, nothing changes, the tick and toc of life continues, boring really, well that’s what kids say over Summer Holidays. Go out into the garden and play this fine day, was what out dad used to say, the farmer in him saying don’t waste the sunshine, no we had no hay to turn and dry, but we could go outside and use the sunshine that was there.

So we are bored because nothing ever happens, we are bored with our lives, with our friends, with everything. We long for change or for adventure, try the 95 bus after 9pm, that’s an adventure you don’t want to have. Or walk down Simpson Lane as far as Trump Cul de Sac, that’ll blow your mind, and not in a good way. Or visit the late night Chemist on Low Lane, you’ll meet people you wished didn’t exist. These are some replies you can give to people who long for adventure, who yearn for change, who hate the status quo.

What makes our day different, finding the last carton of cranberry juice at the back of the freezer in Aldi, that’s a triumph for me when I have a thirst. Getting a smile from that really hot boy, or that amazing girl with the red hair, now that is something to make anybody’s day, you can insert your own object of desire. Something that makes us glow inside, such things are great things. Something ordinary such as a mum walking past your window with her toddlers in tow, this is nice this is family. Believe me, speaking as somebody who yearned for a family, seeing something as ordinary as common place as that makes me thank God.

So what else gives us a glow, winning the Lottery, getting a couple of quid so you can buy sweets and reluctantly share them with your offspring, dad you are not a child share those sweets or we are calling the Police. Just because I’m an adult doesn’t meant I stop liking sweets, kids are so one dimensional sometimes. Buying a potted plant instead of a lottery ticket, and watching the plant grow gives pleasure, watching all the pretty flowers, this is good. Judging from the Police helicopter at night somebody else is growing pretty flowers too, but not the kind that wins prizes at horticultural shows.

So another normal day dawns and you don’t expect much from it, until you bend down to pick up a pound in the street, and a pretty girl jogging falls over you. Only the pound has been glued there by the kids in no.96 they are making  a UTube video of their prank.

The girl swears at you, but as you both get up its love at first sight, she fell over you, and now she has fallen for you. She has great red hair, your weakness, and you are fat with silver hair, which is her weakness as she fell in love with Santa Claus as a child.  

Your wires are crossed literally, as you headphone wire from your Beats is tangled in her Sony wire, you start to untangle the wire but it’s too much for both of you, you kiss, you just had to kiss, as they say in for a pound in for a penny, or rather a glued pound to the pavement. Those cheeky kids with their UTube prank are getting more than they bargained for. And so a family is formed, because of those Utubers. 

Well that’s how it happens in Fairy Tales, I have reached story 800, more than the Brothers Grimm, will I be remembered like them or will my life be another normal day. 

Being a slob

Being a Slob ©

By Michael Casey

I am of course not a slob, though today you may have thought otherwise, due to the state of my beard and hair, and the fact that I was wearing women’s size 20 pyjamas, a nice blue pair with pink and green flowers everywhere.  There was a sale in one of the shops so I bought some. I did spend  decades in the nude, but marriage and having daughters means you have to wear at least a dressing gown around the house. I revert to being as nature intended in the privacy of my own bedroom. The only suit I wear there is my birthday suit, I must remember to put some new curtains up or the neighbours will be frightened once more. I do resemble a saddleback gorilla, now that all my body hair has grown back after my surgery shave prior to my quadruple heart bypass.

Now where was I, yes slobbing around the house, a lazy Sunday after a pained night, sorry to bore you all but pain is part of my life so I mention it. So there I am eating my brown bloomer toast, though I am not wearing bloomers myself, just women’s PJs, not the underwear, just so you know, I am not Eddie Izzard you know, and why should I dress like him since we broke up as friends. I have an eye out for Totoro our cat she will steal anything and make a break for the fridge if you leave it open more than a nanosecond. The fact that we have a 6months supply of Whiskas under the kitchen table is irrelevant, she is a big game hunter and loves to hunt, our breakfast.  She used to steal the bread and bring it upstairs to eat, so now you know.

I used to drink coffee, weak instant coffee for 50years then I gave it up for maybe 3 years, to help my health, now about a jar ago, I restarted my coffee drinking, as I want something nice in my life, but I am strict and only have 3 weak mugs a day. I keep a written record on the microwave along with a note about the other pills I take, especially pain killers cos they can kill if you are not careful. So there I am in the kitchen in my floral pyjamas, with my small man boobs, caused by pain killers, looking like Les Dawson after a night out with Roy Barraclough down the Legion after their drag act, with my pussy  Totoro trying to steal my chicken, which sounds like a metaphor but is not.

I finish my breakfast and head for the bathroom and am nearly finished my business when the doorbell rings. I dash to answer as it be important, I don’t even have time  to wash my hands. An over eager preacher is at the door, it is a Sunday after all, he takes my hands and shakes them profusely. He tells me he is spreading the good news, he doesn’t notice my women’s pyjamas at all,  I’m told I look a look like my mother, silver hair included, but mom never had 3 days of stubble, or any in fact. I thank him for sharing the good news and as I close, ok, ½ slam the door I wonder what I have spread from my fingers.

I wash my hands thoroughly and then head for the computer and the Daily Telegraph, it is my paper of choice, and if I switch browsers it is always free. Totoro comes and jumpers on the computer chair and then my lap, she wants a cuddle and a stroke. Either that or she loves the Cartoons and Corbyn coverage in the DT, maybe she’ll become a journalist when she is bigger, or just the chicken expert in the Lifestyle section.

So I spend happy hours while the kids are at church singing in the choir, my own church is around the corner, but wherever there is prayer I am amongst you said somebody far greater than me. Tea and dilute blackcurrant from Aldi keeps me going during the day, and going is what I do too, it’s nice just to have a lazy day and watch Sky and BBC on the computer too, not forgetting bit of Spotify, I pass by my sites to see who has been reading my stuff. It’s nice to know that somebody is reading my words, maybe they’ll finally buy my 10 books on Amazon too. And here is the link below.

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

When your daughter tells you that you look like a tramp, or worse, and children do say worse things to dads, then you have to rise from your computer chair and head for the bathroom to shave. And why is the water so dirty after 3 days of not shaving, I’ll never allow my girls to date anybody with a beard.  Why Corbyn has a harem following him everywhere I do not know, not unless he wears women’s PJs at home like me that would make him irresistible.

Once shaved I am sent out to Aldi before it closes on a Sunday, chocolate must be bought for my girls, I have to finish my daily walk too, so I kill two birds with one stone. Once home I can return to my slob clothes, to my women’s PJ with the flowers on, though I don’t always wear those PJs. Do I have men’s PJs? A pair somewhere, but I do have 2 other pairs of women’s PJs, there was a sale on you see, and men’s designs are so boring, I always like to surprise the postman too, Pop it in Pete is a Nudist, he used to deliver for Larry, Larry Grayson.    

  

  

Can I touch you there

Can I touch you there? ©

By Michael Casey

I asked the kids today which kind of story do they enjoy the most, the funny ones or the more thoughtful ones. When I finish writing a new story I tend to read it aloud so the girls can judge it. Then I post and backup my words, my new words. I am fast approaching my 800^th story, not forgetting the 600page comic novel and the plays and essays. So as I write I hope I can touch you all, make me sound like Casanova, or a petty thief stealing from your purses.

I do want to touch you and make you laugh most of the time but I hope I can touch your hearts too, my own heart has been touched literally as I had a quadruple heart bypass, so you could say my surgeon and the crew have touched me more than I can ever touch you.

Though if you live somewhere with thin walls, you may hear the words, can I touch you there, and it’s not Michael Bolton singing, it’s a couple making love for the first time, or it could be a doctor examining a 90 year old woman. Context makes all the difference and sounds various kinds of sounds let you know if it’s the 90 year old being examined with a cold stethoscope, or is it the young couple enjoying each other’s bodies.

Now at this point Max Miller a kind of Lenny Bruce in Britain in the 1930s, would ask do you want the White Book or the Blue book, the Blue book containing the blue or naughty material. As my writing is not interactive I cannot stop as I talk to you and ask what kind of story do you prefer. I would say shades of Grey is what you may get, which is a Monkees’ song if I remember correctly, though blue, the colour blue is my favourite colour, and I am talking about colours now, see you are making up your own jokes.

I was touched this morning by the Eagles, no that’s not a metaphor either, I stumbled over Spotify and their Long Road Out of Eden album. There’s a track on it that really gets me, it’s called Waiting in the Weeds, and no that’s not about substance abuse either, well as far as I know anyway. With all the heart medicine I take I have more than enough substances in me, as ordered by my doctors. Joking aside how has this track entered into my head and had an effect on me?  A sound a selection of noise can touch the emotions, and make us turn the volume up.  A sound can get us in the mood, for love or even for war, it touches us in a certain place or space in our heart and all armour is cast away. So you end up on the shag pile carpet playing wargames, make of that what you will.

When sad news arrives we place a hand on the shoulder, or offer a hug, even in England, yes years before people were afraid to touch each other, to offer sympathy, now we are more Continental if you like. I think England was slow catching up with their emotions, though some may say footballers are a bit over the top, how they celebrate a goal is a bit much, how would it be if in daily life we were a touchy as footballers.

The butcher gives you an extra bit of meat when you are in the butchers, so do you jump into the air and punch the sky. Do you kiss him on the cheek because he gave you some pork scratchings. What would happen if you won the Xmas turkey raffle would you and the butcher go into the freezer for half an hour, steam coming out through the door as you rewarded him, and touched him here, there and everywhere to show your gratitude.

How would you thank the Undertaker if  he did  a good job of your nan’s funeral, would you send him a bouquet saying Thanks for the Slab work, and an ever so quiet three cheers for the undertaker. Or would you just give him a quart of Johnnie Walker, from experience I’d say the whisky is best.

We all like touching and being touched but it has to be in the right place and time. You don’t pinch your girl’s bum at your nan’s funeral, not unless your nan has left you her house in her Will. So I’d say, take those boxing gloves off, which may or may not be a metaphor, and reach out and touch as the song goes. Because a simple touch may be all that’s there between life and death, between hope and despair and we all know because we’ve been there. I wanna hold your hand was a Beatles song and it applies to all of us, don’t be afraid to reach out and touch because after a hard day’s night working eight days a week soon you’ll be 64, and then you’ll be dead and no more. So touch and be touched and touched again, by life, by love. And listen to Michael Bolton’s song too.

So Tired

So Tired ©

By Michael Casey

We are all tired today, we got up early as the cat wanted feeding and then we couldn’t get back to sleep so we got up early. 6am is early for us, especially at the weekend in school Summer holidays. The girls had to sing at a wedding later in the day so they showered and then went on the Internet till it was time to go out.  As for me I went back to bed and stayed in my stupor listening to the radio. Totoro followed me to bed, she jumped up on the windowsill and looked out at the world and the neighbouring cats.

Hours later I got up while Totoro snored from under my bed, my room is the warmest so obviously being a cat Totoro picks this as her favourite spot to rest. When you are tired you have to be careful with stairs, as you all know the stairs are the most dangerous part of any home, especially if the cat runs downstairs after you in the hope of getting some chicken from the fridge. 

Totoro recognises the sound of plastic wrapping being opened so will run faster than Hussain Bolt to the fridge, he is a very poor 2^nd compared to her. Totoro also recognises the sound of paper being crunched up, and will gallop much faster than Red Rum used to just so she can play ball with the crunched up till receipt. Obviously a writer’s cat because she loves the sound of paper.

Today we were all so tired, stopping up late watching movies is a bad summertime habit but films are the family weakness. When you are tired you stub your toe on the step into the bathroom, you never do it normally but when you are tired you do. You also don’t bother lifting the toilet seat before you pee, which is a cardinal sin if you live with 3  bilingual girls and a  bilingual female cat, so you end up both peeing on the seat, and the floor, and just for good measure on your own leg and pyjamas, or if you have put your trousers on the trousers, then you nearly guillotine your future, in your haze of tiredness as you pull your zip up.

Still patting your leg, as you are too tired to change trousers, you trip over the step in the bathroom again. Then you remember you have not brushed your teeth, so you go back to brush them only you drop your wife’s brush down the toilet, so you just put it back in her glass on the bathroom shelf, the toilet is clean, it automatically cleans itself.

So you just brush your own teeth, leaving a trail of Colgate down the front of your shirt. Instead of changing your shirt you will just wear  an old wide kipper tie, nobody will notice, besides women like the lived in look, instead of all these posers, that’s what you believe in your head anyway, besides you are so tired, so you just could not be bothered to change.

It’s time for breakfast but you have no bread, so you eat dry baby biscuit, Farley’s Rusks, you cousin left them last time she and her baby visited. You like the taste and ponder is it worth having another baby just so you can eat Farley’s Rusks again. You look at the clock and have to rush now or you’ll miss the bus to work. You cannot find your shoes so you’ll wear black trainers instead, why is the house in such a mess. It must be your children’s fault.

 Just as you are about to leave the house your girls come down and laugh at you, you turn and trip over your black shoes, who put them there. Dad its Saturday didn’t you know, they laugh at you the stupid dad. You don’t know what day of the week it is, you were just so tired. So you dash back upstairs to bed, maybe your side of the bed is still warm. And who knows if you are lucky Farley’s Rusks might be back on the menu in 9months time.