THe Washing Line

The Washing Line ©

By

Michael Casey

Ok, are you ready? I’ve had a shower, ok a sheep dip, I am big and hairy with lots of nooks and crannies, crannies, not Grannies, are you all deaf, DEAF. If I could hang my body hair on a line to dry then I would, like a Golden Fleece, ok a silvery old man’s hairpiece, no I don’t have a wig, its all soft and silvery. If ever you get me in your bed you can stroke it, MY HAIR.

See you all think one thing when I am saying the other, Gill was right, you are all going up the garden path on your own. I hope Gill is well I’ve not seen her in maybe 10 years. Now did you all take the one hour challenge? Did you write a story called The Washing Line in just one hour. If you did not then STOP, don’t even look at the screen, just walk away, walk away from the keyboard, SECURITY I have an idle journo here, can you come and collect him.

Yes female journalists exist, and without the spacing you have journalistsexist which gives you SEXIST, but I stumbled over that so I put it in, which if you mistype is PUTIN. Ok I’ll stop with the discoveries in mistyping, a guide for dislectics, yes I left it there mistyped just for the clever dicks to bitch about.

There is thought behind these pieces,or do you think I just sit here and rattle them off. And yes Rattlethemoff, is a Russian Nudist and Concert pianist and part time ballet dancer. Which reminds me there is a real ballet dancer in my next novel Tears for a Butcher, but I may never write that as it would take a year. Not unless I can get Nick from the today programme to take dictation, he got plenty from Alex Salmond after all.  

Where was I, being hung out to dry on the washing line, Ronnie Corbett on acid, you are so cruel, he only ever had pear drops, and I am a pineapple chunk kind of guy. See 356 words already, that Editor can go and take a flying leap, after I finish the test piece, write 1000 words on The Washing Line, and he’s making me do it on a typewriter. The one Rupert Murdoch left in The Sun’s safe roof where all the naughty files are kept. So how did our leader at the Daily Sploge find this Michael Casey anyway, the SOB.

So here’s my piece for the editor, and if he doesn’t like it he can give Michael Casey my job and my one inch column.

The Washing Line is a very ordinary thing, its in every back garden, but what is on the washing line is evidence to who we are and what we do. On my washing line there are lots of girls knickers in a multitude of colours, then besides them are my flags, so big in contrast to the girls’ knickers. I do live with 3 girls after all, the wife and our two daughters. My pants decorated the washing line in Shanghai when I first went there nearly 20 years ago. We used them to navigate our way back to the mother in laws house. In fact in Shanghai you have a giant bamboo pole with you bright blue acre size pants hanging from them. Rather like a national flag.

So that is my memory from Shanghai. Looking up and seeing my pants on a pole on the ten floor of the tower block where they lived.

In the olden days people hung their washing on hedges, maybe that’s how the first laundry begun, a farmer’s wife with a steam and a stone, and her husband busy planting hedges as business expanded. They got a bigger stone when the village got bigger. And when the farmer’s own family got bigger they bought a windmill, to make flower but also to hang the washing from the sails on the windmill. Yes Don Quixote was a pain, tilting at the windmills and stealing the washing as his lazy servant Sancho Panza never did the laundry. But Fr.Brain, now Bishop Brain did used to call me Sancho Panza maybe 45 years ago. So I have a soft spot for Sancho Panza, the laundry thief, and now me wishing to be 1% as good as the Author of that book, the book thief not the laundry thief, I got missed up.

Don’t tell the Editor that I sneaked off to the kitchen for a tea, don’t tell Nick on Today either, he’s such a gossip, he’ll tell anybody who cares to listen, why does he always wear ear warmers all the time? Did Alex Salmond buy them for him, it can be cold in Scotland.

I can remember looking out the back bedroom window and see birds on the washing line, watching not part of it, just observing, is the sentence that came to me back then 30 years or so ago. On a washing line you can be a sentry while the other birds have their dinner of words, or is it worms in Michael Casey’s back garden.

Then when the coast is safe you can drop down and eat some words or worms whichever taste the better. As for Totoro she is asleep in/on or under a selection of 4 beds, she’s had dinner with at least 4 different owners. She has two bells and the Best Bitch medal around her neck, the birds would hear her so they are off the menu. Besides our gay neighbours at the bottom of the garden have recently installed fairy lights, so Totoro is intrigued by them, the lights that is.  

Close pegs are very dangerous things that hold your clothes to the washing line. The quality of pegs is not strained, that surfeiting they break and a spring goes in your face and gives you a scratch.

You’ve been scratched by your cat, or is it the wife, your friends all ask as you are down the pub, they examine your face and take photos and put them on FB and Twitter. In an hour it trends, washing line injury, or problems with the washer woman?  

Somebody even rings up local radio. BollocksTalkFM the new radio station for the Islington Crew. Several Sky and BBC Press Preview listen laughing as they listen, drinking green tea in the green room before the Press Preview starts. Thankfully a bottle of Polish Vodka has infused the green tea.

First item on the Press preview, in the Daily Express, front page picture of a washing line. Are clothes pegs dangerous, new EU regulations, are they trying to tie us up with red tape before Brexit, or should we hang them out to dry. The anchor just looks at his watch and says, I use a hair dryer myself.

Well Mr Editor I broke my best finger nail writing this for you and its well over 1000 words. So can I have my one inch column back or are your giving it to this new Napoleon, Michael Casey from Birmingham, the centre of the washing line universe.

Morning all

pain night these past 2 nights, lying down hurts, cannot get into a good sleep position, i'll leave it there.

I did think of a theme yesterday when I WaS SAT IN THE in the garden catching some sun.

The Washing Line

see if you can write your own essay in one hour starting from now.

the best essay can buy all my books on amazon

https://www.amazon.com/MichaelCasey/e/B00571G0YC
that was Irish Logic for you.

After I've made my trip to the bathroom I'll write The washing line, so you can compare yours to mine, that's not a literacy device either.

as for me I have also been rummaging in my files, and that's why lots have appeared.

if you go to my wordpress account you'll find over 125 stories
and if you click on the box in the top tight hand corner it TRANSLATES
https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/

its very quiet in the house today as i've not felt like  having any music today, apart from the drone of the fan in the desktop by my feet
and to any new people reading this, it does sound like radio because the plan would be to read all my stories out on the radio, about 1100 of them if you exclude translations, but I'm going to give up counting them any more. Its 1,061,433 words the counter in word tells me. so you'll get a word count. 60,000 words is a 200 page book. 300 words on a page and 300x200=60,000 see easy.
My big daughter is doing her mock Pure Maths GCSE today, so God help her.
that's it for now, the pain has lessoned if only the droning from the desktop at my feet stopped.

To the Very Gates of Hell

I’ve had this idea as part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher for a few years, it may not make it into the book if ever I get around to finishing it. A book is a year of your life. Whereas a story is an hour, a big difference. Now read on.

DECEMBER 11TH, 2014 13:02

To The Very Gates Of Hell ©

By Michael Casey

Mrs Murphy watched in horror, just yards in front of her Fr. Dan was going to be slain, the Columbians had him surrounded. Their guns were drawn and there was no Hope, he’d be as dead as a doornail in seconds. He was her favourite priest no he’d be gone to meet his maker. She could see his face, his eyes were fixed on hers, Pray for me he begged.

Fr. Dan  was not afraid of the Columbians, but he was afraid of his Final Judgement, he has killed two men in anger when he was younger. He had confessed this to Mrs Murphy when telling her that her soul was spotless as driven snow compared to his.

Some thugs had teased him and tortured him, trying to make him say bad things about Mary, the Virgin Mary. They had carved curses on his back with knives, but he would never say bad things about Mary. When his chance came he broke free and used all his Martial Arts skills to survive. Only he killed 2 of them and crippled 2 more with the other 2  running for their lives.

Jesuits know how to put the Fear of God into bad people, but   Fr. Dan feared God too, he had committed a mortal sin, thou shalt not kill, and he had killed twice. Now he was afraid, afraid for his soul, at this moment of his death he was afraid. His eyes were beseeching, Mrs Murphy would witness his death and his soul would burn in Hell’s fire for all eternity.

Mrs Murphy wanted to charge the Columbians down and run at them, but they had their guns ready, the situation was hopeless. Mrs Murphy did have Faith though, the Faith of a Child, as the bullets flew her heart broke, her womb exploded in love and fear, she lost her mind, but she kept her Faith.

I’ll go to the Gates of Hells and I’ll jump in the way, like jumping under a bus, I’ll catch Fr. Dan’s soul and stop it going into Hell. I’ll wrap my Rosary around the Gates of Hell, keeping them closed. God is good, God is good, it cannot be the end for Fr. Dan he’s such a lovely priest.

In Hell it was so dark and cold, the deepest of deep space, she couldn’t really see further than her hands holding her Rosary. If only she had her friends with her they would weld the gates of hell closed, nobody would burn in hell ever. She knew how to pray, she knew how to pray.

She felt heavy cold as ice breath on her neck, she could hear mocking laughter, but she could not see anybody. She tried to say her Rosary only her lips stuck together it was so cold, she tried to move her fingers though the beads, her mind was numb, it was like being turned into an ice cube. There is no love in hell, no love at all.

Mrs Murphy stumbled to her knees, the laughter, the icy laugher increased, the cold, the numbing cold went down her neck and to her very core. She had to force herself to remember why she was there. She was there to save a soul, she started with the Our Father. She continued with the 1st Hail Mary. Fr. Dan was a good priest, he had refused to say bad things about Mary, they had tortured him, they had tortured him.

Jesus, Jesus forgive him, Mrs Murphy wanted to scream but it was so cold, so very cold. If only she had somebody saying the Rosary with her. The Gates of Hell cannot withstand the Power of The Rosary, he mother and her grandmother had told her. Mrs Murphy was using her best beads, the  ones that had been repaired when she was praying for Big Sid when he was shot. But now she was praying for a soul, not just a life.

Mrs Murphy managed to move her lips, it was just so cold, so very cold in the dark space of hell. Hope sprung from her lips, Jesus, Mary and Joseph she managed to scream, a scream that would be lost in the dark cold depths of space that was Hell.

Mrs Murphy’s head was spinning, her womb had exploded, she had lost her mind, she was dizzy, she wanted to vomit. But she had to pray on, she reached the 2ndHail Mary on her Rosary. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she could hear her grandmother praying, she could hear her old dear friend Mrs Casey praying, she could hear Mrs Noonan praying.

On she prayed, it was just so dark and cold in the deep space of Hell. But then in the very distance she saw a light, a tiny tiny flicker, like the lights in the window of houses in Cromane at Christmas, like the lights in Dingle over the bay. Help was on its way, help was on its way.

Warmth seeped into Mrs Murphy’s body, the Darkness flickered and with an explosion of Love the cold and dark of Hell disappeared. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and caught Mrs Murphy as she fainted. I thought it was all over she said, Michael laughed, it’s never over, it’s never over. Mary, Mum heard the Rosary so she sent me to investigate. Every Rosary everywhere is felt by her, by her womb. He hasn’t got a chance against the Rosary, never has, never will. And is he wants the argue he’ll have to talk to my sword said Michael as he brandished his sword.

But, Fr. Dan is dead and his soul must be heading to Hell, Mrs Murphy interrupted. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and cried at the same time. God is good, and as you know his mercy is infinite. Come now I have to put you back together. But Fr. Dan’s soul is in peril, he must be shot and dead in the gutter by now insisted Mrs Murphy not understanding.

Time is just a joke as far as God is concerned, explained Saint Michael as he gathered up Mrs Murphy. He had to get her back to Earth and save Fr. Dan’s life in moments. Brandishing his sword Saint Michael flew through deep space on his way to Birmingham.

The observatories noticed a bright light from the deepest deepest part of space, it was moving fast, too fast. Many times faster than the speed of life. It was heading for Earth, if it hit earth it would be the end, the end of Civilisation and everything. It was impossible, where had it come from?

Michael did an orbit of the moon and had a look at the space station, one lonely astronaut had lost his love of life, Michael could feel the lack of love. So Michael waved at the astronauts before heading for Birmingham. Birmingham the centre of the universe, well for this one night.

Saint Michael gently lay Mrs Murphy down, her body and soul and heart united again. Saint Michael strolled towards Fr. Dan the Columbians had pulled the triggers, the bullets were flying, the bullets were flying. Saint Michael winked at an unbelieving Fr. Dan, Michael wrapped Fr. Dan in his wings and started singing, Ave Ave Maria, it was all angels’ favourite song.

God is good Dan, said the Archangel, and Mary said she was so proud of you too, she’s never stopped praying for you. You have many decades of work to do, just don’t be too hard on yourself. And as for the Columbians, they have no idea what’s going to happen next.

 &&&&&&&&

 ok folks, this is part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher which I haven’t even finished writing. I may never get around to it either. This would be chapter 12

 I’ve written 1.5 chapters so far and have ideas for the book, really I want to dictate it, IF I had the software OR had access to a legal secretary who would be fast enough to type it for

Alterntive Swearing

Posted on May 15, 2012 by michaelgcasey

Alternative Swearing ©

By Michael Casey

Swearing is the norm nowadays, but if it defuses anger and prevents physical violence  then I’d say it’s a good thing, it’s a safety valve. In the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe “Belgium”   was the worse thing that could be said. Nowadays everybody swears in films, American TV is very strict so that when it comes to films all the swears that could not be said on tv are said on film. I remember watching Saturday Night Fever when it first came out and thinking they don’t need all this swearing, and later the film was edited so that it got a lower certification and more people could enjoy John Travolta, as you all know I am Birmingham’s answer to John Travolta.

Now how to we prevent the air going blue, so that the ladies don’t blush and aren’t offended by all the language. I was talking  to Bernard Manning the other day, well in my imagination anyway, and he gave me loads of ideas, as did Lennie Bruce, they share a cloud together in Heaven, it’s a blue cloud of course. You aren’t calling me a “flowering petal” are you? I’ll be very angry if you are,  “you’re just a custard cream anyway” Now don’t look at me with that tone of  voice or I’ll “dip  your biscuit in my tea” and there won’t be any “sugar in it either” Are you calling me a “Politician, take it back you  table you” ok, so we’ve all calmed down a bit.

“Politician” is the rudest word of all in the alternative swearing dictionary, though don’t broadcast this but I was once called “A lollypop lady”, I nearly used a “liquorice” on the person who called me it.  Our local MP is a bit of a “custard pie” it must be true it’s written on all the bus shelters. Tell me why he is a custard pie, that I cannot deny, he really IS a custard pie. What do politicians, real politicians call themselves?  Honest as the day is long is what politicians call themselves, but in reply the press corps  call them “A bunch of Daylight Savings, fiddling with the minute hands” which sounds about right. Just a moment I can hear my phone ringing, no not another metaphor, my phone really is ringing.

I’m a bit flustered, that phone call was the worst I’ve ever had in my life, an hour of heavy breathing, then the lady called me, I can’t bring myself to repeat what she said, it was so shocking, an hour of heavy breathing from a lady I can handle, but she just called me a “political WRITER”.

 

Data Dump Today

 I was transferring stuff to my wordpress account and to my surprise I got 303 posts put online over there
I DECIDED THAT WAS TOO MANY SO ITS 125 NOW
ALL  MY COPYRIGHT

so if you want to read back as far as 2009 when I had my Pinsent Masons job then  go to


https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com

if you click in the box on the top right hand side it will TRANSLATE for you.

 IF YOU WANT TO FOLLOW MY PATH THEN TAKE A LOOK


I'M UP TO 1200 PIECES OF WRITING NOW, INCLUDING TRANSLATIONS I'VE POSTED.

1,060,000Words and NO MONEY.

I was in pain a lot of the night, and I still don't feel too hot,
so this could be my Nobel and Me moment.

and yes do buy my books on amazon.


https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael%20Casey/e/B00571G0YC

I want to leave something for my daughters, other than the the 2 pennies to cover my eyes.

and/or to pay for any future nursing care when I get older.

Michael

A Message from Your Writer(c) by me Michael Casey

a note from a few weeks ago, I did get 21,700 Polish readers in a couple of weeks just by word of mouth.


A Message from Your Writer(c)  by me Michael Casey

Well I hope you all liked the Babushka story from today. I hope you are not bored by my talk of pain as well, but sadly this writer is falling apart physically. Heart, Kidneys and Arthritis.
My imagination is huge and no that’s not a metaphor. Donald  Trump never used that line.

It seems I’ve doubled my writing tally in 3 years, as I write more often now. I just hope you all like it.
Its a wonder that Poland likes my stuff, though it could just be some clever kid faking all the figures just to play a trick on me. 11,000 views to date in just a couple of weeks. It could just be a bored Russian guy pretending to be in Poland. I just don’t know for sure. What is reality after all?

Anyway there’s a load of Translations on this site to please several different language groups.
I was tempted to add a Translation site just to keep them all in one place, and leave my site as an English only site. Maybe I will, if I do you’ll be the first to know.

 https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com
 click square button on top right to Translate

I really don’t know what I’ll write from day to day, though I do know it would make great RADIO, as I did listen to our BBC Radio 4 for 20 years before I took up a pen 30 years ago.  Yes 50 years from start to now. Yes I was a   precocious child, but that’s another story. I was thinking of writing the autobiography after the other family members died, as I’m the near youngest, but then it was me who had the unplanned quadruple heart bypass.

Perhaps that was God’s advice on writing that book, or maybe he thought my writing needed a rest. I’ll ask him when I see him in 40 years time, I did always say I wanted to live till I was 100 after all. I’m laughing now, my wife and daughters will live that long but me, if  I get to 3 score and 10 I think that’ll be an achievement, 10 more years or so, when my girls should have graduated with their Phds. Only God will know. It would be more that enough time to write another million words, another 1,000,000 words.

If you follow this link you can buy all my words on Amazon Kindle in English, but if any of you do annoy you local MEDIA maybe I could get my words on the Radio or Online, and get a Polish actor work reading my words out in Translation. Or just a pretty Polish girl dressed as a man speaking in Polish and pretending to be me from Birmingham.

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

Wiadomości od Writer (c) przeze mnie Michael Casey

 Cóż, mam nadzieję, że wszyscy lubił historię Babushka od dzisiaj. Mam nadzieję, że nie nudzi mojego wystąpienia bólu, jak również, ale niestety ten pisarz rozpada się fizycznie. Serca, nerek i stawów.

Moja wyobraźnia jest ogromna i nie ma to nie jest metafora. Donald Trump nigdy nie używał tej linii.

Wydaje się, mam podwoiła moje pisanie zgadzają się w ciągu 3 lat, jak piszę częściej teraz. Mam tylko nadzieję, że wszyscy go lubią.

Jego dziwnego, że Polska lubi moje rzeczy, choć może to być tylko niektóre mądre dziecko udaje wszystkie dane po prostu grać trick na mnie. 11.000 odsłon do tej pory w ciągu zaledwie kilku tygodni. Może to być po prostu nudzi Rosyjski człowiek udając się w Polsce. Ja po prostu nie wiem na pewno. Jaka jest rzeczywistość po wszystkim?

W każdym razie nie ma ładunek Tłumaczenia na tej stronie, aby zadowolić kilka różnych grup językowych.

Kusiło mnie, aby dodać witrynę Translation tylko utrzymać je wszystkie w jednym miejscu, a opuszcza witrynę, jak tylko w języku angielskim miejscu. Może będę, jeśli ty będziesz pierwszy w kolejce.

I naprawdę nie wiem, co będę pisać z dnia na dzień, choć wiem, czy miałoby to wielkie radio, jak ja słuchać naszej BBC Radio 4 przez 20 lat, zanim wziąłem pióro 30 lat temu. Tak 50 lat od początku do teraz. Tak było przedwczesne dziecko, ale to już inna historia. Myślałem o napisaniu autobiografii po śmierci pozostali członkowie rodziny, jak ja jestem w pobliżu najmłodszych, ale wtedy to ja miał nieplanowane poczwórne pomostowania tętnic wieńcowych.

Może właśnie rady Boga na pisanie tej książki, a może myślał moje pisanie potrzebował odpoczynku. Poproszę go, gdy widzę go w ciągu 40 lat czasu, ja zawsze mówię Chciałem żyć, dopóki nie było 100 po wszystkim. Śmieję się teraz, moja żona i córki będą żyć tak długo, ale ja, gdybym się do 3 punktów i 10 myślę, że będzie osiągnięcie, jeszcze 10 lat lub tak, to kiedy moje dziewczynki powinny ukończyło swoich doktorów. Tylko Bóg będzie wiedział. Byłoby więcej niż wystarczająco dużo czasu, aby napisać kolejny milion słów, kolejny 1.000.000 słowa.

Jeśli zastosujemy ten link można kupić wszystkie moje słowa na Amazon Kindle w języku angielskim, ale jeśli którykolwiek z was wkurza Cię mediach lokalnych może mógłbym dostać moje słowa w radiu lub w trybie online, a otrzymasz polską pracę aktora czytając moje słowa w Tłumaczenie. Albo po prostu ładna polska dziewczynka ubrana jak mężczyzna mówiący po polsku i udając się do mnie z Birmingham.

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

The Pearl Of Great Price

The Pearl Of Great Price (c)
By
Michael Casey

I was hunting around on the computer and the Internet today and it reminded me of several things. The Pearl Of Great Price, The Widow's Mite,and the story of the search for the lost one dinare coin.
You can ask your own Priest to explain it to you.
Remember I was a Reader for 5 years and an altar boy for 8 and I've attended Mass all my life, I have slipped a bit these past 2 years, Pain and so on makes it difficult to attend. But if To Work is to Pray, then maybe To Be in Pain is another kind of Prayer. You can Discuss that with the bloke in the queue at the chip shop.

So I was wondering should I be a Sermon Reviewer, or just hold up a score card like in Strictly Come Dancing. Or should we all have a button in the benches and press it when we'd had enough of a boring sermon.
A sermon, can meander and end up confusing folks. Its not a change for the priest to bore the flock, who may head for the mint sauce,or even the wolf. Nor to show he went to seminary for six years, he is a Dr or PhD, or something, a BORE. Yes a BORE, a Sermon is for one thing only, to Share and Explain the Word of God.
Not bore us with his personal life, we know he lives alone, apart from the his housekeeper. Who would marry him anyway, people mutter outside when they have a post Mass fag.
Now if any of this hits a cord with you, then you have to tell your Priest to his face. Some priests are like Marmite, people either Love or Hate it, ditto the priest.
So what can we do to help them, maybe all get up and light a candle simultaneously. The extra money from the candles can buy Stella Artois for the priest and his housekeeper. So after dinner the whole congregation in church and start ringing the church bells. The priest comes running out to see what is happening.
i was having my dinner, and the Stella Artois was nice too.
Glad you liked it, but WE would like to have OUR dinner on time, so keep those sermons short!
So there you have it, a humble priest who keeps his sermons short is indeed like a PEARL OF GREAT PRICE.