Its All in the Stars a love story for Valentines

                       It’s All In The Stars 2016 ©

                         

                              By

                         Michael  Casey

          Louise  just  loved  to  read her stars  in  the  papers,  but

gradually  she  became disillusioned,  they were  too  inaccurate,  too

 

general,  she wanted more detail,  a personal touch, she wanted to know

 

how her life would be.  Not "you'll have a happy day today,  a  surprize

 

could be on its way." She wanted more, so she went to see a clairvoyant,

the  clairvoyant   was a gypsie who had pitched her caravan  in  the  Bull

 

Ring.  Louise happened to be there buying new knickers for herself outside

 

Saint  Martins  church when she spotted the sign saying "fortunes  told,

 

cheap prices, under a fiver to know your future. "

 

           So grasping her knickers in the carrier  she climbed  the  four

 

steps into the caravan.  The fortune teller looked like a rugby player in

 

drag,  but that’s normal for fortune tellers,  so Louise wasn't afraid.

 

She  had  30  mins before she had to get back to  Stats  and  some  report

 

writing  for  Derek  the boss.  The bells of  Saint  Martin  peeled,  a

 

lunchtime service was about to begin, as for Louise she held her breath,

 

what would the future bring ?

       Michael also wanted to know the future.  He read his stars avidly

 

in the papers,  he'd buy his shopping in Safeways, then once through the

 

checkout he'd read his stars in all the newspapers, before discarding the

 

papers  and leaving with just his shopping,  the papers in a heap at  his

 

feet. He always hoped the stars would tell him when he'd meet the love of

 

his life,  what he failed to notice was that while he had his head in the

 

newspaper,  pretty  women were standing right next to him  browsing  the

 

womens magazines. If only he looked up from the stars. 

 

           Fate would bring these two together, in fact they lived in the

 

same street, but their paths had never crossed, Michael lived at number

 

19  and Louise lived in number 25.  Michael had been a computer operator

 

for 20 years but when the job ended he took the first job that came along

 

, so now he was a security guard, not one of those thick ones in uniforms

 

,  no he was a guard in the new Travel lodge hotel on Broad street,  the

 

biggest hotel in the city.  He wore a suit and had a nice badge with  his

 

name  on  it,  and he had a nice slim radio.  So he was an  upper  class

 

security guard.  It was the perfect job for him because he liked  meeting

 

people and having a gossip.

           The fortune teller had told Louise,  that she'd meet  somebody

 

strong  and  reliable,  though perhaps a little  boring,  things  would

 

happen suddenly and she'd be swept off her feet.  Louise liked strong men

 

why  she'd  been to see the Chippendales four times,  so  she  smiled  to

 

herself as she left the caravan,  clutching her carrier of knickers.  The

 

months  passed  and still Louise hadn't found her Mr Reliable,  she  got

 

offers  of course,  she enjoyed strutting her stuff in pubs all over  the

 

Black Country her and her friend Mary.  Only the offers were always  from

 

men just past their sell  by date, men who would buy you a pint and a bag

 

of  chips and then want to feel more than your hips as she danced  to  70s

 

Glamrock.  So Louise said "Sod It !", as she slapped another man across

 

the face.  Why couldn't men be Gay without being Gay,  you know Gay  men

 

treated you like a lady and didn't grope. Just why couldn't one like that

 

turn up.

 

         Michael finished another 12 hour shift and was wandering  around

 

  his  flat  naked,  scratching his bum and drinking another 2  litres  of

 

  coca cola.  He switched the telly on and surfed teletext, his HiFi was

 

  on too playing Genesis,  he always read the news on all channels before

  

reading his stars on ITV channel 4, channel 5 and Sky. His whole working

 

life involved working odd hours with even odder people, so he'd never met

 

anybody  who would put up with his lifestyle. Now 40 was on the horizon,

 

was  he  clutching at straws hoping against hope by reading  his  stars  to

 

cheer himself up. Jo from the kitchen had given him a Xmas card saying "I

 

hope  the  girl of your dreams find you in 98 ",  and the year  was  half

 

over. Michael sighed, at least he could have a quiet cry while he watched

 

weepies  on  Sky and the other channels.  Little Women  was  perhaps  his

 

favourite film,  the ending where the Professor says he has empty hands

 

& he has nothing to give,  but the girl gave him her hands and said "now

 

they are full".  His own father had nothing when he met his mom, yet she

 

married him, and yet he married her and her false teeth,  and they went

 

on to have six children.  So Michael watched and wept, at least there

 

was refuge and solace in prayer, he had taken up regular prayer when he'd

 

read about Padre PIO, and when  his mother died, and to his surprize  his  faith  got

 

stronger.  But still he longed for company, to talk with, to laugh with, 

to cry with,  and to wake up with. So he prayed and read his stars in

 

equal doses.

 

        Louise slammed the door of her flat, and rearranged her  blouse,

that bastard had more hands than an octopus, he'd left his thumb print on

 

her boob too,  and the bra strap was broken too. She have to go down the

 

Bull Ring on Monday and get herself a new red bra, and new red  knickers

 

too, it was a matching set after all. She flicked on the telly, Central

 

Weekend was still on, Russell Grant was on,  so she didn't switch off.

 

He was saying that a proper reading involved study.  Louise examined her

 

bruised boob as he talked,  still listening she practised her  undressing

 

technique,  it'd been in Mary's Cosmo three months before, so she'd been

 

practicing it. Once she met a Gay man who wasn't Gay, he'd have the full

 

benefit of it,  it was all about pleasing him,  so to please yourself,

 

that's how Cosmo explained it.  So there she was naked before her telly

 

with just Russell Grant smiling at her,  "And it’s about  examining  your

 

potential and optimizing your best  bits ",  Louise was examining her  boob

 

again,  and her bum, she found another bruise there. So it was standing

 

naked before Russell Grant and a studio audience that she decided to do it

 

herself, she'd go to the library and dig out some books. She'd form her

 

own future, she'd caste her own fortune.

          Michael dried the tears from his eyes, and switched the tv off,

scratched  his bum,  then got into bed.  If only a millionairess would

 

stop at the hotel and fall in love with him,  well it  happened  in films

didn't it?  His stars had been contradictory as usual, so  he  just

 

believed the nice ones. Louise had  switched off the telly when she'd

 

glanced out of her window,  only to see a naked man get into bed. Michael

 

was afraid of the dark you see,  so he always left a chink in his curtain

 

and Louise by chance or was it fate ? She had seen him, he was fat and

 

very hairy, but at least he had a big chest, she just loved men with big

 

chests. So sniggering Louise headed for her own bed.

          The following Monday Louise dashed up to the Library and got as

 

many do it yourself Horoscopes books as she could find.  There were five

 

in fact. She'd read them all then photocopy the best bits on the  works

 

photocopier.  No more newspapers for her, she'd do it herself, she had

 

five minutes left of her lunch hour so she went and got a new matching bra

 

and knickers from the Bull Ring, and some grapes too,  she just  loved

 

grapes. Somebody was selling a telescope too, so on impulse she bought

 

that as well, it was only a fiver. She be able to gaze up at the stars.

          Michael had a nice day at the hotel, people seemed to like him,

well in five minute doses that is, a millionairess did stop at the hotel,

only she was a bitch, who knew she was rich and beautiful and intelligent

 

and she  wanted the whole world to know it.  If only she had a dose  of

 

humility that'd change her thought Michael, would  be perfect for this rich millionairess,

  a dose of humility was  a good  thing, but Michael smiled and carried all her shopping

 

and put it into a waiting taxi,  as she swore at him for not being  quick

 

enough. But his stars had said "You will be mixing with the  rich  and

 

famous", and so he was, by carrying her bags. 

 

 

             Louise dashed home with her carrier full of library books,

 

she'd know her future tonight, she was a bit impetuous at times, so she'd

 

work out her future tonight.  She saw the light go on in Michael's flat,

 

and  she did have a telescope,  so she gave into temptation and spied  on

 

him. e was nice,very nice, then she nearly dropped the telescope, he

 

had a horrid birthmark on his left shoulder, a brown stain all covered in

 

hair. He was a bit like the elephant man, Louise laughed, and then went

 

back to  her  books.  As for Michael he put the Disney channel on and

 

watched Beauty and the Beast,  he could empathise with the Beast,  he'd

 

been called a beast himself because of his birthmark,  girls had run away

 

from him because of it. They could put up with him being fat, but not the

 

birthmark as well, that was too much. So Michael watched Beauty and the

 

Beast and cried and cried, some say a man should not cry, but  Michael

 

knew that was bollocks, it was good to be in touch with your emotions, a

 

good cry  cleanses  then system. Recently he'd  started  listening  to

 

Classic FM,  cos one of the cleaners had told him about it, and that made

 

him cry too, how could just a few violins and so forth touch your soul in

 

seconds. But it was nice, besides they'd never be anybody there to see

 

him cry, so he could be true to his soul, and cry and cry.

 

         Louise looked up from her books, she'd spent five hours reading

 

the future was hers,  she picked up the telescope again,  this time  to

 

look for Uranus, but the sky had clouded over. So she watched Michael's

 

bum as he got into bed.  Louise spent weeks reading and watching naked Michael

she even went  to West Bromwich library in search of books, she was confident,

she knew she’d always be ok for money,  and that was all that mattered as far as

she was concerned,  so long as she could pay the bloody mortgage and could  feed

 

her cat Sam.  One night Mary couldn't come on the razzle, strutting her

 

stuff with Louise, and as Louise had a bit of a cold she stayed in  and

 

watched the telly.  Elephant Man was on, the music was good, but Louise

 

hated the black and white,  and was going to switch it off,  but it  was

 

compelling in a horrible sort of way.  As she watched she looked out the

 

window and could see naked Michael, she laughed, then looked back at the

 

Elephant Man, then she laughed "Elephant Man lives over the road, Sam",

then the music touched her, she felt guilty,  a silent tear fell. She

 

couldn't bear her guilt so she got up and switched the telly  off,  she

 

didn't  have a remote control. She put Heart FM on loud to cheer herself

 

up, but her eyes were drawn over the road towards Michael's back, so she

 

picked  up the telescope.  "It's not that bad I suppose, if I were  his

 

girlfriend I'd shave it." Then she dropped the telescope, and  reached

 

for  her chocolate, and soon forgot him, Heart FM was great.

         Hazel had the flu, so would anybody like tickets to see Phantom

 

of The Opera. So as it was free Louise had it, she liked classical music

 

too as well as glam rock, so it would be a night out for her and Mary.

The Phantom was great, a bit like Disney's Beauty and the Beast really or

 

even the  Hunchback Of Notre Dame,  about  love  crossing  insurmountable

 

barriers.  Michael had once said to his mom, that he wasn't good enough

 

for anybody,  and his mother had chided that of course he  was,  Love

 

Conquers All was her message. And so was the message of Phantom. Louise

 

ate her chips on the bench outside the Hippodrome,  her mind troubled,

 

Mary thought  she was a bit quiet.  Louise lied and said she  was  only

 

tired.  But once home she got her telescope out and watched Michael's back

 

as  she played the CD of the show that she'd bought. Guilt  overcame  her

 

and she cried, she cried just like a little girl.

               Now sometimes fate cannot wait no longer it bursts on the

 

scene, it  demands attention.  Louise was returning the books to  the

 

library, she had just bought more knickers from the  Bull Ring. It was

while she was crossing the road at the top of Hill Street that she  nearly

 

walked under a bus, had it not been for a strong hand pulling at her bra

 

strap she would have been dead.  "Pervert" was on her lip, as she fell

 

backwards but the noise and shadow of the bus drown her words.

"I could have been killed," she stuttered, as she got to her feet.

"That's why I grabbed you, your bra strap was what saved you," replied

 

Michael.

Louise looked up to see who had saved her, she looked deep into his eyes

 

,his child like eyes.  She screamed and fainted, he caught her in his

 

strong arms. A full minute later she opened her eyes.

"But it’s  you,  I've never seen you with your clothes  on,  "  stammered

 

Louise.

"Pardon? " replied Michael not knowing her guilt secret.

"You see,  we are neighbours in Miracle Road Qangleton,  "  explained

 

Louise.

"Here's your knickers," replied Michael as he picked up her carrier and

 

it’s spilled contents.

"But, you  saved my life,  " said Louise,  before smothering  him  in

 

kisses, he had saved her life after all.

"Let's go for a coffee in Dunkin Donuts," suggested Michael "you  have

 

had a shock after all.

        And so that was how they finally met, it was all in the stars, I

 

think they went on to have twelve children and lived happily ever after,

 

you get a lot of family allowance with twelve children after all.

 *******

I actually wrote this for a girl in the office 20  years ago 96 to 98 maybe that was in my computer room days, we were part of ACNielsen for a finish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sunday Papers

Sunday, 12 February 2017

The Sunday Papers

The Sunday Newspapers ©

By Michael Casey

Well its Sunday 12^th Feb, just in case you are keeping track of these conversations. I’m having a look at the newspapers on the Internet, that way I don’t get black newsprint all over my fingers nor all over our carpet. There is a feel to paper, a nice feel, having worked in a print room for years it is something I know a little about. Getting loads of leaflets through our letter box also adds to the paper feel experience. I am missing something just by using the Internet for my newspaper experience, and experience is the over used word that sales people use. Though they all hate being called sales, as it’s such a common word. They are all customer service people.

Justin is singing in the background, Timberlake is a strange name for a plumber, but he is very good even if he chews his strawberry bubble while he works. He’s pulling his waders on, he’s going to go into our septic tank to sort out the blockage we have, his 24 hour service is really good, and his prices are reasonable, it’s just his singing that puts some people off.

Back to newspapers, I’ve give Justin a cup of tea with honey in, he cannot do a thing until he’s had his tea, so let’s leave Justin Timberlake in his waders in our septic tank while I read the newspapers. The newspapers have so much celebrity news in them especially on a Sunday, Justin has to explain it to me once he’s gotten his waders off and I’ve thrown 3 buckets of luke warm water over him, with a hint of Jeyes Fluid included.

Today a woman who was a man is having triples, which is what he/she always wanted, though she has split from her partner because he has left her for an opportunity to appear on a reality tv show, based in a meat processing factory. Meet the Meat it is so interestingly titled. Justin says he’ll definitely be watching, he doesn’t have many friends because he is always on call with his plunger and waders. I feel sorry for him, I know a nice girl who works in the chip shop I may introduce them, it’ll be perfect for Valentine’s Day.

Back to the newspapers, somebody who spent 29 days in the outside loo is being given an award by the Guinness book of records, not because of the 29 days, but because he only used one roll of economy Tesco toilet paper. See the newspapers are really full of *&^% and you get an award for it. In the old days yesterdays’ newspapers were used to wrap up fish and chips, or cut up and used as tissue paper in the outside bog.

There is a bit of Politics in the newspapers too, right wing, left wing and confused all have their opinions and spread all over the Sunday Press. Somebody who once was a nobody, pontificates about this and that, and though he/she has never been elected they are an expert on this or is it that and given a half page spread, because they were at school with the publisher. This means the editor does what he is told.

Twitter is a goldmine for newspapers, not just because of Mr Trump, it just is free info that the newspapers can repeat and not have to pay journalists to find out. The new thing is the Slap Down on Twitter, where Mrs X slaps down Mr Z. Or so the headlines scream, as if WWIII is about to begin. Mr Z declares that red wine is served with fish and chips, and the ever so viscous slap down from Mrs X is that she serves malt vinegar herself, and it is so so much cheaper. Then you have the war between them over it.  

For me this is so so boring, vacuous people are given miles and miles of ink and photos. New material is given no space, if you look at several papers as I do you can see the sea of ink circulating, much ado about nothing as my mate Will Shakespeare might say. Will and Justin are going to double date the chip shop girl and the girl from the cobblers, I managed to get them a table at the table at the local kebab shop and restaurant. I taught the manager English a few years ago, so he’s squeezing them in for Valentines, and they’ll get free garlic bread.     

Yes, I am jealous of all the free coverage for the vacuous and reality tv wannabes, if only there was space online or on the radio for some of my 1,000,000 words. But maybe being me isn’t enough, I have to be more photogenic and have absolutely no talent except a smile and a cleavage. Should I show off by bypass scar with a shirt opened to the navel? Ok I’ll do it, if I can get my teeth fixed then I really will be a star, for 15 minutes as Andy Warhol said when I met him in Aldi last week. 

Having a Rest

Having a Rest ©

By Michael Casey

Well I’ve had a run of lots of words so I needed to have a rest, especially with the pains from my Arthur and the chest wounds coming out to play, so now I need to think about what next to talk about. I’m having a blood test on Valentine’s Day so I may print off my poem and hand it in to the medical team at my GPs. You could all copy it out in your best hand writing and give it to the one you love. Poetry works I’ll just say that to you….

Rest really is important, proper rest not what you think is rest. If you come home from work and then spend hours on the phone or Facebook and then fall asleep in the chair just like a drunk I think it’s safe to say you are NOT getting enough quality rest. Stop working and do something different, totally different. If you fall asleep in the chair you are burning the candle at both ends, which is better that falling asleep at the wheel of your car on the motorway…..

I of course work as a female stripper because it’s totally different from my day to day life and it relieves all my stress, all the pain killers have given me man boobs which help with the deception. This explains the stream of exotic dancers coming around my house to discuss dance moves. And if you believe that then I must be a really great writer, The Full Monty is on tv again this weekend.

Relax by watching tv news, or joining a choir, or getting a job delivering pizza leaflets though letterboxes in your neighbourhood, anything that takes your mind off whatever is your day job. Putin and Trump deliver milk and bread all around the diplomatic quarter in DC, that’s DC comics that’s the only DC I know of and that can fit into my imagination. Trump thought they should offer really fresh milk so Putin rides bareback on a cow and together they milk the cow to offer really really fresh milk. They made a lot of money this way but Trump still refuses to disclose his taxes.

There are many many ways of relaxing with your girlfriend and it will take all your stress away, just make sure your wife does not find out about your girlfriend, but if you have a really really good relationship with your wife, she still behaves like your girlfriend. Me I still behave like a 20 year old even though I’m a lot older, and as for the rest I’ll leave it to your imagination, I have to fix the Pole in my garage, no I’m not doing any pole dancing, nor am I doing anything with a Polish person, no the pole I use to support the washing line, I need to superglue it back together. The heavy washing and a high wind broke it.

I will give you one clue though if you do any pole dancing in private, private dancer like Tina Turner, use a bit of glue on your hands or wear gloves like the Queen’s as you gyrate on your Pole, that way you won’t slip off. The audience will be very impressed too, but make sure you watch The Full Monty in full before you start. Then you will really help the audience forget all their troubles, pack all your troubles up in an old kit bag and smile smile smile as they used to sing in the war.

Now I do hope you have had a good rest by reading this stuff of mine, and if you think in cartoons as I do then you really do need to go see your doctor and have a blood test. I hear Nurse Dracula will be there on Tuesday…..

*************

Now for the writers out there you can see how you misdirect and lead people one way then go the other, a Pole is not a pole, a man with breasts caused by too many pain killers could in theory become a stripper or pole dancer, its all about imagination, magic tricks in the mind.

I May Be

I May Be

I May Be ©

By Michael Casey

I may be old, fat and white

I may be black or any other colour

I may be very sexy and full of curves

I may even be a woman

I may be a man with a great jaw line

I may have a body women and men purr for

I may be Oriental and men lust after me

I may be Western and Cowboys want me

I may be tall, or too tall for doorways

I may have sexy curly red hair

I may have distinguished silver hair

I may have designer stubble

I may have a title

I may have lots of rich and powerful friends

I may be a sad loner with just a car for company

I may be educated I even may have written 12 books

I may be barely able to read

I may be quite spoken

I may scream and shout like a whore

There are many many may bees

I may even live in a wheel chair

I may be unable to leave my home

Everything and Anything May or May not  Happen

But one thing is certain, when you close your eyes we are all equal

You cannot judge in the dark

You cannot hate if you cannot hear

You cannot be uncomfortable if you cannot smell

You are isolated if all you have is fear and ignorance

If you take off the shades of stupidity

Then you can see clearly

A man in a chair is not an abstract thing

He could be you he could be me

A girl with a speech impediment is not stupid

Take time to talk to her to know her

Being a different colour is not a crime

Being fat is not a mortal sin

Supporting the Sharks or the Jets does not make you enemies

Ginger people are not the spawn of the Devil

Writers should not all be burnt at the Stake

Maybe Political Journalists

Sorry Politicians that line is removed

We are all people, and when we turn out the lights and make whoopee

We are one, then we forget all our differences

So next time you see all kinds of everything, black and white, young and old, fat or thin, healthy or sick, rich or poor. Why judge them harshly?

Because you should see them through others’ eyes, what if in the night God came and poured your soul into a beggar’s body. What if in the night you were suddenly white or black or Oriental. What if in the night you became a woman with a woman’s curves, would you respect women more. What if you became a man and had to shave and you always had sweaty feet.

Its only when you look through others eyes and touch with other’s souls that you become aware of how different we are. And yet we are all so very much the same. That guy in the chair may have been a sprinter once, don’t talk to the chair talk to the man within. That woman may be a PhD, don’t assume she’s a housewife just because she looks like a Fox News reporter with a very very bright dress.  What I’m saying is give everybody a chance a break, one day you’ll need a hand up don’t be arrogant in your health and wealth and beauty, or intelligence or humour.

You will always be surprised by what you learn by leaving your mind open, and leaving any prejudices behind, even be nice to Fox News reporters. Shepherd Smith is nice though, I hope he’ll appreciate it when he guests in my next novel, he turns down the chance of a Pulitzer Prize, in order to save 10,000s of bottles of vintage whisky.  

Though we are different we are the same, it’s always the spirit that matters, as I hope Shepherd Smith will agree.