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Outside First

Monday, 19 December 2016

Outside First

Outside First ©

By Michael Casey

We’ve all seen that great cartoon Inside Out, they do in fact use it in the classroom at school to teach psychology, my daughter just an A* that’s 90% plus in her mocks, which is expensive as I give her a tenner for every A*, if only she were stupid then I’d be richer.

I’m not talking about psychology today, though indirectly I am, I will be talking about house hunting instead. The first thing when you are looking for a house is to look for the NEGATIVES, my brother told me that a very long time ago. It’s easy to fool yourself and end up buying a rubbish house that leaks. So think NEGATIVE.

Today I had a look at house that had possibilities, they all have possibilities don’t they. I had a wander around the roads where the house was, checking for level of litter and dodgy people, not to mention the level of shoddy parking. If an area looks like a tip it won’t suddenly get nice if you deign to live there. If there is a prostitute chewing gum by the bus stop, or men angrily screaming in the street then it may be wise to cross that area and that house off your list.

If you have a chip shop as neighbour, that may be nice but when the potato lorry delivers your parking space may be blocked, and do you really love the smell of frying chips all day everyday, not to mention a posy of pussies trying to break into the dustbins to get at the fish.

These are basic things that you investigate before you look inside a house. Is there a school nearby, that may be handy if you have school age kids, but nasty parents blocking the entire street while they pick up their beautiful children, noise and mayhem twice a day, and if you are a shift worker who needs his sleep.

And what if the kids are visiting that chip shop at dinner time too. Or what if Brenda the sexist prostitute in the area lives about the chip shop. Cries of passion while she batters her client above while the fish are being battered below in the chip shop. Local colour maybe, all right in Islington in yet another photocopied Hugh Grant film, but in real life?

So don’t drive to the house and look and buy without walking around the area. You may be spending the rest of your life there, so make sure you want battered fish from the chip shop and even from Brenda above the chip shop, but also make sure you don’t get battered, assaulted and battered by local criminals.

I know lots of busy Yuppies never walk anywhere but this fat writer of one million words DOES walk everywhere, so be observant, as observant as you are with whatever belief you have, be careful don’t buy rubbish, a wife or girlfriend may be easy to change, but a house is a much more difficult proposition, and propositions you’ll get in plenty if you end up living next door  to a chip shop with a battering prostitute living above it.

Now that I’ve taught you all the pitfalls I hope you realise that shoe leather is the most important part of house hunting. Look at the pretty picture of the house on www.rightmove.co.uk then immediately check the map, you need to know where you will be living. Then check google earth and satellite view, walk around your new neighbourhood, and see what you can see. If you are afraid of the Dead then don’t buy a house by your ever so quiet neighbours, if everything seems ok then look at the pictures of the interior of the house.

Then if that seems ok go and look at the outside and check the neighbourhood out, there may be a right of way, a path outside that leads to a Scientology meeting hall, so you have 1000s of them walking by your house. If you are a Tom Cruise fan that may be interesting, but otherwise it may not be your cup of tea, or you may love Dune.

So now I’ll finish, I hope you all realise God is good, but house hunting is the work of the Devil as it drives you mad and ruins relationships, so you may decide go back home and live above the Chinese takeaway with the girl of your dreams. Rather like me and my Shanghai surprise, my egg fried rice, and me her Panzi.  

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Taxi Drivers

Taxi Drivers ©

By

Michael Casey

It’s the Sunday before Christmas, so that’s 18Dec2016 if you are keeping track, I was thinking about what to talk about today when I noticed a Toyota Avensis taxi outside, they are built like a tank and are so great for taxis. I did want my wife to buy one a few years ago when we changed our car but she insisted she was not a taxi driver. So she got something prettier instead.

So what can I say about taxis and taxi drivers? Well I did have a taxi home from work every night for a year, and I did run the taxis for 3 years when I worked at the hotel. So I think that gives me some experience, I don’t remember seeing the film Taxi driver with De Nero though I did enjoy the comedy Taxi with Danny de Vito.

So what can I say about taxi drivers, they are very sensitive and shy and unassuming, who would not say boo to a goose. And if you believe that you’ll see pigs flying pulling that sleigh in a week’s time. Though my graveyard taxi tended to be quiet as it was 2.30 in the morning when I finished work, I used to have them pick me up but after a couple of weeks I decided to walk down the road to the taxi office, then I had to wake them up so they could take me home.

If you don’t drive and don’t even have a car then a taxi is like a luxury, a bit smelly, nearly 20 years ago smoking hadn’t been banned in taxis, by passengers or by drivers. The roads were quiet at nearly 3am, apart from huge trucks delivering to supermarkets, we did nearly get totalled a couple of times by a supermarket lorry on a narrow stretch of the road. Iced by an Iceland truck, at least our bodies would have been preserved.

Getting home at 3am meant you could never sleep straight away so you have to unwind and have a drink and a snack before going to bed at 4am. I went to bed at 4am for a year, just like Sinatra no doubt. When I left that job, my wife was pregnant, it took me 3 months to deprogram my body to sleep before 4am. Though if any of you are hoping for a family 3am to 4am might be worth a try.

It cost a lot of money having a taxi for a year, lucky on the Friday I tended to get a lift from one of the crew at SMBC. I moved on and it was at CPNEC Birmingham that I ran the taxis. We had a great restaurant, then it was Brian Turners, but still the guests wanted to try other things, so I’d arrange the taxis as well as local food options. All I’ll say is that you have to be quick, very quick to keep the flow going, keeping the customer happy. If a guest wanted another pint  then I’d try and move up the taxis so my drivers didn’t have to wait 30 mins. You have to mix and match guests and drivers.

And yes I was very good at all this, the drivers were very sad when I left because I looked after them. If I looked after them, then they looked after the guests, so it was a win win situation, common sense really. In hotels the evening rush is something which has to be seen to be believed, there is a buzz you get, but you thank God when it is over.

You really do have to peel off your uniform and make the dash through the NEC to the train station, then the bus, then the walk home. I did this for 3 years, but if you have 2 toddlers you do what you have to do, standing up for 12 hours a day makes your legs strong, is that the irony, that’s why I had good veins for my quadruple  heart bypass 10 years later.

Another irony that I’ve just remember, Michael is the name of the old taxi driver in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker and it is he that leads the charge to save the life of an Indian corner shop’s daughter. You have to read the book for yourself. So circles in my mind lead to circles in my life. We had a neighbour called Mr Mann who was bigger than Jabba the Hutt who drove an old Humber taxi, when our lodger was drunk and fell and burnt himself on a gas cooking plate it was Mr Mann who drove my dad and a screaming Barney Rooney to the hospital.

Of course as it was Christmas Mr Mann was plastered and drunk himself, he had not expected to be an ambulance after all. But he did get Barney to the hospital, Barney lived another 40 years and drank and smoked like a trooper, and died the day after his 83^rd Birthday after my dad and sister gave him a Birthday card in hospital. Mr Mann did offer to drive dad home, he lived 3 doors away, but dad decided to walk home, I seem to remember him once telling us that they were nearly totalled as they steamed down the main road, they were steamed up, or drunk after all.

So I’ll finish for now I have to go to Aldi, no alcohol required, 12 pints a year is about my limit, if you grow up with alcoholic lodgers you see what a waste it is. Which brings us full circle, my regular driver died, alcohol was to blame.  

Into the Light

Into the Light

Well this is me 17 Dec 2016. going into Heaven as my daughter says. The watch is a cheap Precimax one, if ever I have money I’ll get a Cartier Diamond Bleu Automatic, but I’m more likely to die before that ever happens. But if anybody out there wants to send one to me in return they can have a photo of me  wearing it. My Prayer for Everybody this Christmas is that they have no pain, physical, mental, or spiritual, or relativesal, Life should feel like a warm bath and a soothing drink. So if your life is not like that its time to change something if you can. If you cannot, then remember Labore Est Orare or/&                Pain may be Counted as  Prayer too if you are too sick to properly pray.
Don’t forget to put those strings vests on, and to layer up your clothes, it really does make a difference. And if you hear some screaming in the night it may be me or some of your own relatives, so be kind to them. Remember Long Life to those who honour their sick relatives. Or if you know whats in the Will………

The Lies We Tell

The Lies We Tell ©

By Michael Casey

Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat, the cat is ravenous so seal the cat flap. We all tell lies, to our girlfriends and to our wives and then to our Priests in confession. It can be very confusing depending on how many wives and girlfriends you may have on the go at the same time, and even more confusing or even dangerous if your wives meet your girlfriends.

We all seen stories in the News of The World or National Enquirer, a fat silver haired man in shades with bad breath and body odour is somehow some sex dog, and dog is the appropriate word even though I just mistyped it instead of god. Hey I think I may have just described myself, or rather if you see my photo you may think of what I’ve just typed, you are very very cruel and hurtful, I’m telling my priest on you. You could have at least lied to save hurting my feelings,

Which brings me to my theme, we all lie. Obviously I don’t because I am a writer, I save my lying for the page. Writing is lying on paper after all, and the better the writer the greater our belief in his lies. So if you don’t like my writing it must be because I’m such a bad liar, and such an innocent. Or on the other hand because I’m such a good liar on paper you’d like to find out am I News of The World material, or not, as the case may be. I hope I’ve made that all as clear as mud, as my Latin teacher  Mr Proctor used to say in our 2 hour Latin class last thing on a Friday afternoon, see I have suffered so how about some sympathy.

I was in Aldi earlier on today, they can email me and I’ll reveal which one. Anyway as its cold I was wearing a bright red top, with my matching white hair. So I looked like Santa doing his last shop before Christmas, wearing shades so that children did not recognise him, or is that me. So I said to a couple of toddlers that I was Santa and I would grow my beard back in time for Christmas, I threw in a couple of HO HO HOs.

So you can just imagine the looks I got from them. Their children were amazed, don’t forget just how big I am when all dressed up in my winter clothes. I told the Irish checkout girl the real Santa never came to my own house as I had central heating.

We lie to our kids because it keeps them quiet, we have power over them, especially when Santa is due. Rooms are tidied and you can actually see the carpet as the sea of paper and crayons has been tidied up, as if Moses had banged his staff. We say a huge fat man will fly around the world in one night and deliver presents to all the  good kids.

Sounds like something only a politician would say, not unless the dear leader of North Korea is really Santa Claus, now that explains a lot, the Hermit Kingdom is really Santa’s workshop and all the toys are shipped to China for made in China to be stamped on them before they are sent to all the good children.

Now that is the truth but don’t tell your children, continue those lies about the North Pole and so on. Though in Birmingham around Aldi little children think its me, or my brother, now his beard is bigger than Santa’s every day of the year, whatever you believe don’t forget to HO HO HO when you switch off the lights at night, or Rudolf won’t know where to land, its all the HO HO HOs which are his SatNav, and that’s no lie.  

Wrapping Paper

I remembered this piece it should go well with the previous Fences Piece, have a think about both.

Wrapping Paper  (c) Oct 24, '09 8:07 AM

by Michael Casey

I was in Aldi and I spotted Winnie the Pooh wrapping paper, my smallest girl just loves all things Winnie the Pooh, so I got the paper. I wasn't sure whether to wrap her Birthday present in it or just let her have the paper. In the end I gave her the paper to play with. She was delighted, immediately she wanted to use the wrapping paper to wallpaper the walls with. As I've said before she once said she liked Winnie the Pooh because his belly reminded her of my belly. Such is a child's love, unflattering but love.

It did get me thinking though, why do we need wrapping paper? Packaging is part and parcel of ordinary life.  Easter eggs are the thing with the most packaging, so much packaging and then so little chocolate. My mother gave up on Easter Eggs because of the cost, there were so many of us Caseys after all. So we had bars of Cadburys chocolate instead, the Cadburys  factory is just a couple of miles from where I'm sitting. Easter came and we devoured the Cadburys bars, cheaper than the Easter Eggs but so very tasty.

People have wrapping paper or layers all around them,we can all remember what Donkey said to Shrek, so many layers like an onion. At the moment I'm dressing up in the wrapping paper called a "suit", so that I can get a new job. So people can see me at my best, hide my tummy and hope they forgive my premature white head of hair, as for my bushy eyebrows God alone knows what they may think. You can judge for yourselves by clicking on the photos on this site. How much do you reveal, how much do you hide as you have an unnatural experience that is called an interview. 

Perhaps interviews should take place in a coffee shop, as you may know LLoyds of London started in a London coffee shop 100s of years ago. Even better interviews could be held in a bar. You have two pints to prove your worth, so don't spill the peanuts over the interviewer's haut couture dress. Perhaps then at the 2nd interview you have to sing karoki with the 2 interviewers, and IF you can sing My Way word perfect then you get the job. It sure would be more fun.

More wrapping paper is used when we are embarrassed or too shy to explain things to our doctor, we waste 5 mins talking about the weather and the Fall leaves before we finally blurt out that its a boil on the bum or something below the waistline. And why is it that on these occasions the doctor on call is one of the opposite sex, why can't it be your usual doctor.

Wrapping paper is used an awful lot in Faith, we lie to ourselves and our God/Gods by thinking we don't have to do this or we don't have to do that. Faith can become a Buffet, we lie to ourselves and God, this bit does not matter, so we'll show God only so much of ourselves. A bit like cheating in an exam. I'm sure  God's smiling as he watches us, perhaps the Saints place bets on who will finally come clean, clean being the operative word. The Saints queue up ready to intervene, which 999 or 911 call will come though so that a Saint can be dispatched. 

I know in 1996 when my mum had died suddenly and then 8 bare weeks later my dad was given 1 week to live, we actually picked the hymns for his funeral he was so bad. Then all the layers, all the wrapping paper was off, Padre Pio came to the rescue. So that I met my wife in the old peoples' home, 3 years after my dad came back from the dead. Dad lived long enough to hold his granddaughter in his arms, 5.5 years after that massive heart attack.

The ultimate wrapping paper is love, its hard to say you love somebody when your heart has been broken so many times before. Its hard to take a chance when somebody might laugh in your face. Slowly you reveal one thing, then another, then another, yes I can see  the idea of a Monty Python joke as I write this. I do write comedy after all. But when 2 strangers become friends, when 2 become one, then all the wrapping paper is off. She may not mind your hairy back or fat stomach, he may not mind her big feet or whatever she feared. It can turn out that  what one thinks is ugly your Love may find attractive. Love is Blind after all, Love conquers All, Love is all you need. Together naked, the wrapping paper is discarded.