Tidying Up

Tidying Up ©

By Michael Casey

If you have kids then you know all about tidying up, I can hear the wave of comments being directed to me here behind your computer screen, or on your phone you are reading this on a phone. It all starts when you and your lady give in to Passion, Barry White is booming in the background, then 9 months later the tidying up begins, and does it ever end?

The trick with babies is to learn how to remove the nappy fast and wipe and replace in under 60 seconds, the soiled napped is flung into a plastic bag and removed from your house. It’s a bit like cricket or baseball where the ball has to get to the catcher as soon as possible. In sport this helps you win a game, with nappies or diapers as you call them in USA, it’s to remove the pooh smell from your house before the dog grabs it and buries it at the bottom of the garden. The dog’s nose is 1,000,000 times more sensitive so to the dog a nappy full of pooh is like us being dunked into a cesspit.

A baby has more luggage than a film star, 9 months previously it was a quiet intimate moment, just you and your man and Barry White, alone in a treehouse, he did say he was Tarzan and you were his Jane after all. Now the baby has luggage galore, and why did your friends all give you so many cuddly toys. You sneaked out in the night and left them on the door of the children’s home. So this is what happens when you let him play his Barry White music, you are his baby but he gives you a baby, and a ton of stuff.

You spend years tidying up all the baby stuff, the nappies, the toys, the clothes when will it end? Never, once a parent you are always a parent, my own dad still called me BOY when he was 80, and I was around 40. As your baby grows there are less nappies and the big day arrives, they are potty trained. You are so happy it’s like your team won the FA Cup or Superbowl, or Trump won the election, one of those is absolute fiction, we’ll find out in 7 weeks time. 

You ring your friends and arrange to go out for a drink, it really is a Cosmic event, potty trained, on a par with housetrained for your 5 Alaskan huskies. Our own daughters were 2 when they were finished, and we were so happy, you save a lot of money and your home smells so fresh now.

Your kids grow and they discover Drawing, so you have crayons everywhere, and pieces of paper everywhere. You fridge has turned into a colourful magazine, it’s impossible to find the door and get milk for your coffee, instant coffee with milk but no sugar, yes folks we are really disgusting in England, that’s what I drink, and tea too.

You walk across your living room to the sound of crunching, to the sound on slipping. You slide and slip on wax crayons and paper, your girls think you are Moon Walking, so daddy really did teach Michael Jackson to dance. I used to work in a print room and was allowed to bring home scrap paper, so you can imagine the state of our house.

Tidy Up are words that ring around the house for years, it’s like Autumn always in the house, or The Fall because  of the leaves of paper everywhere, multi-coloured paper that goes swish because of the sweets hidden amongst it. When I try to complain, I’m told I did stand by the now disguised fridge and pray for a wife and family, so blame myself.

The years progress and books are discovered, if you have teachers galore in the family what do expect as presents. I used to buy books from a remainder shop and give them to my nephew and niece, my niece now has a 1^st in English and has just done her Masters. The books I got for her, well 10 years later my brother returned them for his nieces. Books everywhere, a staircase is a perfect bookcase, and in the dark you never know what monster will jump out at you on the stairs. Or in my case slip sliding away, or things that go bump in the night, or me sliding down the stairs like at a Carnival, books as surf boards.

The girls had read everything from the local library, they could practically tell you the position on the shelves where the books lived. Ask your librarian friend if you don’t believe me, just look me up, as they always say.

I tamed all the books in our house by buying 3 bookcases from Argos, ha, see if they can fill those I thought, only my girls read like dredgers, they trawl and read everything. 3 full book cases, a few hundred books. So then I decided to take the nuclear option, I bought an Amazon Kindle. The floorboards in our house rejoiced, high fives everywhere. Saint Jeff Bezos rejoice for you have done well, you will go through the eye of a needle, just give Trump a push through first, God loves everybody after all, apart from the Inland Revenue perhaps.

I should write more but I have to tidy myself up after 3 days of pain, then once shaved I’ll take my walk and stop by Aldi to buy a few things, the fridge is so tidy it’s almost empty, I have to get chocolate for my girls. But before that I have to tidy all the shoes that are littering the house, how can women have so many shoes, and why do I always trip over them? Mind you there is a nice red pair of high heels, I may wear those to Aldi…..

   

a picture is worth a 1000 words they say I've reached 920,000 words now

Michael's Bathroom a true story from 20 years ago

As I'm still having a pain day here's another old piece

Michael's Bathroom ©

by

Michael Casey

Six months previously Michael had decorated his living room , he

had to , the white walls had turned to a nicoteen stained yellow in places

such was the downside of having a South facing living room . Now it was

the turn of the bathroom again . The bathroom was very small , not even

enough room to swing a cat , it was about 7 foot by six foot , which was

just big enough for the bath , the sink and the bog . Why did people want

big bathrooms anyway ? You weren't going to hold dinner parties in there ,

or go jogging , yes Michael was used to and by now satisfied with his

small bathroom . However it always seemed to need decorating , he just

needed to open the window more often and let the steam out . Michael just

loved to wallow in the bath like a Hippopotamus , he had a radio on the

windowsill so he could listen to Heart FM while he shaved and bathed and

watched the spiders . There were spiders galore in his bathroom , his

mother always said spiders brought money with them , perhaps snared in

their webs , Michael even looked under the bath behind the panel just in

case the spiders had indeed brought gold with them , sadly all he found

was yet more spiders and their webs .

Years ago at work the offices were tarted up , so new carpet was

laid in the reception , so Michael had begged for the off cuts , and

persuaded Paul Robinson to give him a lift home with it . Once home though

it was late Michael got out some very sharp scissors and laid the carpet in

the bathroom , he'd have a posh bathroom now , no more cold lino for him .

Actually he did make a good job of the carpet fitting , there was some

left over too . Now the bad thing about ordinary carpet in the bathroom is

that it gets manky , firstly because Michael splashed a lot in the bath ,

his mother had always told him off for splashing in the bath since he was

a child , she was afraid the water would leak though the ceiling into the

living room below . He did not have that problem now in his own house ,

why , because he had a concrete floor . So the carpet got wet , due to the

splashing in the bath . Michael was also a bad shot , so he'd occasionally

piss on the floor , when he came rushing home dying for a piss after

having too many shandies . Also if you spill domestos or other bleach on

carpet it changes colour .

As for the ceiling and walls , they needed cleaning and painting

every now and then because of all the steam and Michael not opening the

window often enough . So Michael would go up the road to Fads and buy

five litres of white emulsion for a fiver , then scattering newspapers all

over the bathroom he'd attack the walls and ceiling . He soon got high and

had a headache with all the paint fumes , even though the window was

wide open , the radio was blaring too , he always had music on

constantly , whether he was painting , eating , washing shaving or just

picking his nose . Michael's painting had more attack than finesse to it ,

splash it here , splash it there , quantity more than quality , his father

had always told him to use a small amount on the brush , a tiny amount ,

but Michael always overloaded his brush , paint was cheap after all , a

tin of paint only cost the price of a couple of pints and a bag of chips

after all .

Once finished Michael was splattered in paint , his grey hair now

turned white , his painting clothes , now more paint than clothes , his

watch had a white thumb print on it , his underpants had paint on too ,

for no matter what he did he was always hitching his jeans and

consequently he had paint everywhere . Michael stepped back to admire his

handiwork , but being as the bathroom was so small he bumped into the bog

and ending up sitting on it . "It'll do " was his usual comment , and it

would have too , he couldn't afford a real decorator .A fiver to do his

bathroom , but a decorator would charge 100 times that and take days , it

took Michael an hour and a half tops , he'd finish in time for Star Trek

and that was important , he had his priorities right . So looking at his

splattered watch , Michael gathered up the paint splattered newspaper

which was protecting his fancy carpet . The only trouble though was the

fact that his shoes were stuck to the newspapers , so Michael had to sit

on the bog and pull the newspaper off his shoes , invariably a spot or two

of paint stayed on the carpet . So Michael had rub hard to clean the

carpet , and take his shoes off so that he wouldn't leave footprints

everywhere . "Ah it'll do , " repeated Michael as he looked back at the

bathroom from the safety of the kitchen , he'd then strip off and put all

his painting clothes into the washing machine ,invariably the light was

fading now , so Michael had the kitchen light on , so his neighbours would

be treated to the dubious privilege of seeing Michael naked and paint

spattered standing in his kitchen .

Star Trek was great as usual , Michael only recognised the

metaphors after the show , but he really enjoyed the show , he'd been

watching it for 30 years now , the original and then the follow on shows .

After his dinner Michael ventured back into the bathroom , "Who needs

decorators , the thieving bastards" . Michael was satisfied with his

handiwork , it'd do till the next time . The next time came , when the

carpet was manky , so Michael threw out the carpet and searched under the

bed in the spare room , that’s where he kept the rest of the carpet . As

luck would have it there was just enough to cover the bathroom floor

again. So once more he got out the dangerous scissors and cut the carpet to

shape , and yes he did do a good job of it , carpet fitting he could do ,

it was painting he was useless at . Jackson Pollark , the artist who threw

paint at the canvas would have been impressed by Michael's bathroom ,

anybody else would have said , "was there an explosion ?"

So time passed and the carpet was manky , so Michael threw it out,

so what would he do next ? He hit upon the brilliant idea of painting the

concrete floor . It only took half an hour and then "hey presto" he had a

redecorated bathroom , only he hadn't thought of one thing . What happens

when you paint a floor white ? It shows all the dirt , and it shows up all

the spiders that are not spiders , if you know what I mean . So Michael

improvised , he was good at improvising , 20 years as a computer operator

and he'd leant to improvise , if nothing else . So he painted the floor

blue , that colour wouldn't show up spiders that weren't spiders . And he

was right . He had another problem now , because he'd used ordinary

emulsion , when it got wet , it came off , so soon the soles of Michael's

slippers went blue , and soon the blue was spattered with white , as

toothpaste and soap suds stained the blue floor . Michael persevered, he

painted the floor blue every couple of weeks or so , blue paint was more

expensive than white , but the one tin enabled him paint it ten times or

so .Eventually the walls needed painting again , so Michael thought he'd

try blue on the walls , only it was too dark , he didn't like it , and

more to the point he ran out of paint halfway through . So he went up to

Fads again for white , though he was nearly tempted into buying a soft

coloured paint as it was half price , but after a bit of soul searching he

stuck with white , five litres for a fiver .

Another problem reared its head , if you try painting over a

strong colour , the colour underneath shows through . So on Boxing Day 98

Michael spent the day painting , or smearing as his mother used to call it

, he spent the day smearing two coats of white over the blue . And yes it

did look dreadful . New Years Eve came and Michael's bathroom was covered

in copies of the Telegraph , it was a good read with great coverage , why

just one copy was enough to cover all Michael's floor , he'd have to write

to the editor to thank him . So Michael got drunk on New Year's Eve and

ended up dancing with his friend Dave , Dave being a Helmult Khol look

alike . Once home with a hangover , Michael realised that in the morning

he'd have to give another coat or two to the bathroom . Michael could see

the light at the end of the tunnel , or rather the bottom of the five

litre tin of paint , once he finished the tin , the job would be finished

whether it was finished or not , the job would be finished . He'd had

enough , and he had a massive headache due to the paint fumes .

"Finished , at last , thank God , " yelled Michael , yes he

had come to the bottom of the tin , so finished or not , it was finished.

So Michael went and watched Star Trek on the satellite . The bathroom took

forever to dry as it was Winter and the atmosphere was cold and wet . So

it was a couple of days before Michael could finish the bathroom

transformation . He found some old curtains he had in his pantry , he had

originally bought them for the kitchen , but once he got them home and

tried hanging them he was annoyed to discover they were too short , so

they had ended up in his pantry on a shelf next to his iron . To his

delight the new curtains were just the right length for his bathroom , and

they were nice and bright too . So what to dod next ? Michael pulled the

panel out from in front of the bath , as luck would have it he had a spare

plastic shower curtain ; so he wrapped the panel in a new shower curtain ,

a flowery pattern on it , and it would match the shower curtain he had

already up . Finally as he had to lay the lino , the lino he swopped a new

pair of shoes for . His brother had some spare lino , and Michael as usual

had a spare pair of shoes in his shoe mountain at the bottom of his

wardrobe . So he got the lino , and his brother got the shoes as a Xmas

present , they had both laughed as they struck the deal during their

regular weekly telephone conversation . Their dead mother would have

approved too , "look after each other" was her motto . There was one snag

though , Michael couldn't find his scissors , so how could he cut the lino?

So he improvised with the bread knife , a flash of the knife here , a

flash of the knife there , it was hard work , he was soon covered in sweat

but after 45 minutes he was finished . So he just had to slip the freshly

covered bath panel back in position . So kicking it back in position ,

Michael had finally transformed his bathroom . Michael stepped back to

admire his handiwork , accidently knocking the bread knife down the toilet

but he didn't hear the splash , as the radio was blaring out a Nat King

Cole song "Let there be Love" . Michael looked at his freshly painted

bathroom , walls and ceiling had been painted , new bright curtains were

hanging down , and the lino was new and bright too , he had even put a

layer of plastic and newspapers underneath to act as insulation , and he

had a little mat too that he could step on when he got out the bath . Yes

it was an utter transformation , the best it had looked in the 12 years

he'd lived there . All this activity had made him really hungry , he'd

bought a loaf from the bakery , an old fashioned big tasty loaf , all he

had to do was cut it into big slices , now where had he left the bread

knife ?

End

Personal Image finished version

Personal Image ©
By Michael Casey

Well as promised last night here’s a new piece, Personal Image, I hope you like it. I have tidied up my site to make room for new material if you are wondering where did my stories go, they will form part of my 11th book Still Smiling 2017. Follow link to buy the first ten books.
http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Now as I sit here naked in front of the computer with the keyboard on my lap to hide my embarrassment I try and think of words to amuse you, or rather I think of this and that, but not the other. Ok I was lying I am wearing my battered old dressing gown, you’ve seen the photos, so you know which one. It’s all part of my Personal Image.

We all have an image or style, this says who we are, and it projects our look, our persona. As you know I have a Shanghai wife, so her look dazzles everybody, people will copy her look hoping to have the same stardust. That’s how marketing and fashion magazines work. And how Trump is winning the Election in USA, just vacuous marketing.

I fell in love with her not because of the model good looks but because she made me laugh. If you spot the old original photo of us in our kitchen you‘ll think that was another person a very scruffy person, and so she was. I’ve just remembered she came and cooked for me and guess what I had to go to the shops 3 times before I had the right ingredients, we ended up laughing, and the rest is History, and Michael Jackson is singing that on Spotify as I talk to you. Really I had the right ingredients already without going to the shops, but don’t tell her that or she’ll steal my wallet.

So we all have an image or look, but we also have our own interior self- image, and there is a difference in that. As I sit here talking to you, I consider myself to be a good writer making you all smile, but if I was an angel standing behind me what would the angel think. Having just said that I look over my right shoulder and guess what there is an angel hovering behind me, though hoovering behind me might be more useful.

You’ve seen the photo of me at the computer keyboard and my big daughter, the Dr or MD wannabe at the piano keyboard, then on the wall is an angel it’s a Burne-Jones painted copy, you can Google him. As well as that angel there is a much smaller one on a shelf, saved from a Xmas card. So I have 2 angels watching over me as I talk to you all.

Do they say he should really shave more often, or he should write less profane and more holy stories, as I talk to you Michael Jackson chips in with Man in the Mirror and make a change. See I get Literary Criticism from the Ether, so no matter what I think about myself I get snipping from angels and from a performer who should have listened to his own lyrics.

On the matter of clothing, we have out slob look which we would never be seen dead in and never open the door in. We are chilled in our bunny slippers and women’s PJs, and I’m talking about myself now. Then when we leave the house, we wear our silk PJs with dressing gown surrounded by bunnies, and now I’m talking about Huge Heffner. So we have our formal and informal wear.

I used to look like a member of Status Quo for years, jeans with a shirt and tie, then I changed to trousers with a shirt and tie, but always with brown shoes as they are cheaper, but they were always Clarks. So that was my own personal image, until I discovered bright, very bright Polos, I could have been on a Trump golf course. By the way Donald my old pharmacist is a good golfer, so why not send him a free weekend at your new place in Scotland.

So our image our look evolves with age and wealth, if we can afford nicer clothes then we’ll wear them, especially if we are a woman. Our wealth is a mirror of our style, with the obvious exception of Bill Gates, does he send his maid with 100 bucks and say get him a full outfit. Has he never had his inside leg measured? No that’s not a metaphor either, you are trying to misread me, don’t be naughty the angels are watching. His trousers are always too long, maybe one day I’ll meet him and then I can encourage him to go to Mountain Warehouse, or just have his inside leg measured, or am I pulling your legs?

Once we have our style we believe we are just so cool, so hip and trendy, we won’t believe what people say behind our backs. Nobody ever told Michael Jackson that silly white socks were just that SILLY. It’s a bit like the Emperor’s New Clothes, the Emperor does not know he is naked, he thinks he’s the bees knees wearing really expensive clothing, it takes a child or simpleton to point out the fact. And then everybody laughs, the dam has been breached, a bit like Politics, the fig leaf gets smaller and smaller until finally people see the Truth, no amount of Image or Clothing can hide that.

The Whistling Kettle

The Whistling Kettle ©

By Michael Casey

The kettle is more than a kettle it’s a symbol, I’ll just put the kettle on, or come in for a cuppa means something, it represents family and friendship. The sound of a whistling kettle represents so much more than the actual sound itself it’s like a heartbeat to a home, as is the ticking of the old grandfather clock. Simple things do make a difference.

Back in Ireland at my father’s place they had a huge fireplace, so big you could sit inside it beside the fire itself, it must have been 10 feet wide. Hanging from the crane hung a huge black kettle, twice as big as the biggest one most people see in their lifetimes. Or when the kettle wasn’t hanging there a huge pot with something cooking in it.

This is my memory from 40 years ago. Dad was one of 10 children, and his brother Dan had 10 children of his own, so you needed a huge big kettle. It all makes sense and it also reminds me of the Love that was there in Carker Scarthaglen where the Casey Clan all grew up. Dan’s wife died and so Willie his brother came back from Birmingham to help raise all the children.

A whistling kettle means everybody can stop for a cup of tea and maybe some biscuits or Madeira cake on a Sunday. Our own kettle was a huge thing holding a gallon of water, enough for all the tea and then enough left over to do the washing up afterwards. This was before electric kettles became the norm in the 80s. In fact in my parents’ house we never used an electric kettle.

While the kettle is boiling you can have that chat, and share a secret or two, and hunt other members of the family out of the kitchen while advice love and mentoring can be administered. The world’s problems can be solved at the kitchen table while the kettle whistles, and the dog howls in the background.

My sister had the worse class of her career and my mum just started to laugh at that kitchen table. You just have to treat it as a game was her advice. The head teacher even said it was the worse class in her 25 years of teaching. Needless to say my sister won. And a few years afterwards she got the highest compliment of her teacher career. She was down the hospital, dad had had a heart attack or something. Out of the darkness at 3am in the morning a 13 year old appeared. I know you, you were my teacher, you were the best teacher I ever had, and then she disappeared.

The tea has been had and all the biscuits are eaten, so it’s time to go, your mum has her back to you, you say goodbye, she’s putting the kettle on the stove, that’s the last time you see her alive. The kettle won’t whistle any more, not for her anyway, but the love and laughter remains.