When I'm Cleaning Windows

When I’m Cleaning Windows ©

By Michael Casey

Its Saint Patrick’s Day 2017, and I’ve been cleaning the inside of the bay window where I sit and watch the world while I write and study, ok I just read the newspapers and watch the news. That’s where some of the ideas come from, looking out the window and tangential ideas from the Press. I was glad though that I cleaned the inside of the bay window, George Osborne may watch on Google Earth as I’ve sent a job request to him at the Evening Standard.

I don’t want him to think I’ve got dirty windows, first impressions last after all. I was thinking now that the Evening Standard is getting a new broom he may sweep me up and let me write for London, from my chair here in Birmingham from behind my newly cleaned widows. It’s worth a try I have written my 1,000,000 words now, so give us a job I can do that. Besides my Shanghai wife might finally be impressed by my words, and then the Chinese might be kind to the Evening Standard, as everybody loves a Panzi, it means Pig or FAT FAT boy as I was originally told until my bilingual daughters told me the correct translation of my Chinese name.

But back to my windows, literally, I need to wash the outside too before all the rose bushes grow back fierce and dangerous, not forgetting our cat hiding below. You funny looks from people when you wash your windows, is he the fat owner of that house. Or rather I didn’t know George Clooney had moved into the neighbourhood, and fancy him driving a van that does bathroom sanitation.

As I climb the ladder and hope it can still take my weight after 30 years, it sways a little until I push down the top bit that holds both sides together. Little old Irish ladies and their Polish friends pass by and enjoy the sight of my large posterior in my mighty tight trousers. They are getting a performance without me really realising it, have I become a sex object at my age, as I stretch and reach to clean the window.

I spot them in the reflection in the window so I slowly wriggle and do a reverse pelvic thrust for their benefit, instead of a round of applause I just get laughter. Then as I finally descend the ladder, my Arthritis taking over now, the cheeky granddaughter reaches over the garden wall and pinches my behind. This would never happen to George Clooney, nor George Osborne, he would write an angry piece about it. I just hope I don’t get a bruise.

George Formby sung a song, when I’m cleaning Windows, perhaps I should learn how to whistle that.000000000000000000000000000 Mr Woo what shall I do, as I have a view from Birmingham full of laughter which I wish to share before I reach the hereafter. Well that’s my pitch I have to see what my daughters want for their tea, maybe chips, always a change from Chinese rice.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day from the Wordsmith son of a County Kerry Ireland Blacksmith

A pot of flowering Shamrock

Happy Saint Patrick's Day from the  Wordsmith son of a County Kerry Ireland Blacksmith

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POLISH too stupid for words Zbyt głupi słów © Michael Casey

Zbyt głupi
słów ©

Michael Casey

Witam mam swoją nazwę od ściany WC w Gent, wierzę, może trzeba z naszych usług. Kim jesteśmy? Oh my umysłowo Corps, tak to jest francuska nazwa brzmiąca. Pomagamy tym, którzy nie mogą sobie pomóc, och, co robimy? Jesteśmy Szaserzy des Pogotowia tak inna francuskie słowo, wszystko brzmi o wiele lepiej po francusku.

Słyszeliśmy, że miał spór z Butcher o wielkości swoich petard, powiedział, że były one tak duże jak bagietki piekarza, YES kolejny francuskiego słowa. Ale mówiłeś, że prawie miałem wizytę Undertaker powodu jego petard. Tak, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, brzmi jak tytuł książki Michaela Casey pisarz Birmingham kimkolwiek jest.

Teraz z tego co słyszeliśmy w panowie, choć było dość głośne, ponieważ stary Jack farting dala w 3 kabiny, co jest jego ulubionym, jak to ma okno, aby mógł mieć oko na jego Skuter kiedy zrzuca się, i mógł być tam przez dobre 15 minut, jeśli Elsie dokonał jej pasztety mięsne. Zresztą słyszeliśmy o swoim problemie, więc jesteśmy tutaj, aby pomóc.

Możemy napisać paskudny list w Twoim imieniu z dużą ilością wielkich słów, grożąc Big Sid rzeźnika gdyby nie oferuje natychmiastowe petard zamiennych. Ale wolisz spokojną słowo z nim sam. Nasze wielkie słowa są bardzo długie wiesz, o wiele dłużej niż rozmiar petard Big Sida.

Wielki Sid nie da się zastraszyć przez wielkich słów, jego tasak jest długi na pół metra, a jeśli on nie rozumie słów zawsze może przejść przez ulicę i zapytać Percy Undertaker lub pani Kemp, matka Patryka w prawie.

Nie chcesz restytucji? Nie, nie należy wierzyć w to co jest wypisali na ścianach toalet. A poza tym przedsiębiorcę w Old Forge i śpiew Anvil jest dużo lepszym pub. Ja mam żadnych znajomych, którzy poślizgnął się na skórki bananów lub podniesione krawężniki, lub miał kogoś pierdnięcie blisko nich w windzie. Tak Winda, brzmi o wiele lepiej, jeśli używasz amerykańskiego terminu do windy.

Mogę tylko wkurzyć, bo to brzmi o wiele lepiej w anglosaskich. Cichej słowo jest zawsze lepsze niż długi list, francuskiego pisma i francuskiego pocałunku mogą być lepsze niż odmiany angielskiego, ale poza tym można Odwal Ci Foolish Pogotowia Chaser.

Too Stupid for Words

Too Stupid for Words ©

By Michael Casey

Hello I got your name from the wall of the Gent’s toilet, I believe you may need our services. Who are we? Oh we the Imbecile Corps, yes it is a French sounding name. We help those who cannot help themselves, oh what we do? We are Chasseurs des Ambulance, yes another French word, everything does sound so much better in French.

We heard, that you had a dispute with your Butcher about the size of his bangers, he said they were as big as the Baker’s baguettes, yes yet another French word. But you said you nearly had a visit to the Undertaker because of his bangers. Yes, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, sounds like a book title from Michael Casey the Birmingham writer whoever he is.

Now from what we heard in the Gents, though it was rather noisy because old Jack was farting away in the 3^rd cubicle, which is his favourite one as it has a window so he can keep an eye on his mobility scooter while he dumps away, and he could be in there for a good 15 minutes, if Elsie has made her meat pies. Anyway we heard about your problem, so we are here to assist.

We can write a nasty letter on your behalf with lots of big words in, threatening Big Sid the butcher if he does not offer immediate replacement bangers. But you would rather have a quiet word with him yourself. Our big words are very long you know, much longer than the size of Big Sid’s bangers.

Big Sid wouldn’t be intimidated by big words, his cleaver is half a metre long, and if he doesn’t understand any words he can always cross the road and ask Percy the Undertaker or Mrs Kemp, Patrick’s mother in law.

Don’t you want restitution? No, you shouldn’t believe what is scrawled on toilet walls. And besides The Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil is a much better pub. Have I got any friends who have slipped on banana skins or on raised kerbs, or had somebody fart near them in an elevator. Yes elevator, it sounds so much better if you use the American term for lift.

Can I just piss off, because it sounds so much better in Anglo Saxon. A quiet word is always better than a long letter, a French letter and a French kiss may be better than the English variety, but other than that can you Piss off you Foolish Ambulance Chaser.