Stories 2015 by Michael Casey a Christmas 2017 bonus read only.

Stories  2015 ©
By Michael Casey
the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham ENGLAND
 beware of imitations with similar names

THIS BECAME STILL ALIVE 2015 AND YOU CAN BUY IT ON AMAZON

https://www.amazon.com/MichaelCasey/e/B00571G0YC

I WROTE THIS AFTER MY UNPLANNED QUADRUPLE HEART BYPASS

Here’s even more stories ready for my next collection.

Don’t forget IF I found a backer we’d publish my stories in groups of 40 with facing page translations plus my Audio.

Then we could teach the world to speak English the easy way, with laughter.  At least 1,000,000,000 potential students/sales.

We could produce a series of at least 10 books, plus usb stick with my audio on.

For the rest of us, with English as our mother tongue my stories will continue to be available in collections like these, this will be my 9th book.



Explaining Politics To Children ©
By Michael Casey
Imagine you have to explain Politics to kids, what would you say and how would you do it? All Politicians are Liars and Bastards could be a good opening to begin with and grab their attention. Politics is all about Public Service, could be another line, just make sure you don’t say pubic service by mistake or you’ve lost your audience forever.
So what exactly is Politics, “the art of the possible” is one famous quote, you get a stale 2 week old Easter egg if you know who said that, no cheating on Google. Will kids in today’s world believe you if you said the Liberals were once a major force in politics and Labour is a new party, relatively speaking. Would kids have heard of the Whigs, and where exactly did the Tories come from as a name for the Conservatives, “nobody knows  Sir, they are just bastards” may be one interjection from Clegg at the back.
So you start by explaining what Democracy is, the kids say that this lesson is so boring and vote that they go and play football outside instead. So then you have to explain that teachers are dictators, so can they all sit down again and put the ball down. Such is modern day teaching, having taught myself this writer can vouch that it is even worse than that.
So you start the simple way, you’ll explain each party in turn. So you start with the Labour Party, so some wag at the back says it’s a party for pregnant women. So you reply that it’s an ever growing party as their numbers grow every 9 months. Then you talk about unions etc, the kids think this is so boring, until another wag says the students union is the best one, as the beer is so cheap, and he cannot wait to be a student. Was Tony Blair’s policy all about getting millions to drink cheap beer? I suppose in the end you do get a degree as well, I’m told 41% gets you an engineering degree, but the maths is so hard, could Prince Harry have passed engineering maths?
You try explaining Liberals next. The class is ahead of you and say they are all wear anoraks and smoke skunk, that’s why they wear sandals as laces would just be too much on shoes, besides laces become snakes if you take too many legal highs. As for yellow being their colour, it’s because they eat too many curries, but Birmingham is the best place in the world for curries, did Sir know that? Liberals like jointing things, such as Cameron’s government,  in fact they’ll join anything,  it’s the only way they can make friends.
Moving on to the Conservative, the clue is in the name, conserve, keep steady and not change too much. Aren’t they just rich bastards Sir? So you have to explain they have their own businesses and work hard, that’s why they move to nice areas. So they don’t have to mix with the likes of Smith and Jones, Sir, comes from the back. So you ask a rhetorical question, imagine you win the lottery, where would you go and live? I’d live in a nice house with those rich bastards the Conservatives, Sir.
UKIP, is next on your list, does anybody know what UKIP stands for? They don’t even know themselves , Sir, comes from the back. So you explain, United Kingdom Independence Party. And no they are not a Real Ale appreciation party. They are more than that, though judging by the leader, there is a large element of truth in that statement.
Scottish Nationalists, what exactly are they? Well they are Scottish and they are in fact a Separatist Party. They hate the English or so it feels, they are very clever because the educational standards are higher in Scotland. If only I could teach in Scotland bemoans the teacher as he kicks the football and it hits Clegg on the back of his head, but at least it makes Clegg pay attention.
All of the parties do have one thing in common, they love the sound of their own voice, they love being interviewed and getting a few quid every time they are on telly. The food and drink in the Houses of Parliament are great and cheap, that’s why a lot of M.P.s become alcoholics or just fat, that’s why they lean back and sleep in the chamber. The story of microphones imbedded in the furniture is just a myth they are just a bunch of old sots.
Now students I do hope I’ve explained the political system to you, we do have such a bunch of wonderful people ruling us. You can watch The Ruling Class the 1972 film with Peter O’Toole as homework. Don’t forget as you can now vote at 16, thanks to Prime Minister Miliband, don’t forget to go out and vote on Thursday. Now let’s go outside and play football.  Sir’s been smoking skunk again laugh the kids, Sir must be a Liberal.



This Love is for Eternity ©
By Michael Casey
This Love is for Eternity
This Kiss is from my Heart
This Touch is full of Warmth
This Sigh shakes more than an Earthquake
This Whisper crashes Louder than the Sea on the Shore
This Caress is Deeper than Thunder
This Look is Brighter than Lightning
This Desire is greater than the Grand Canyon
This Song sings louder than birdsong
This Hope reaches beyond the Stars
This Love is mine freely given to the one I love
This Love is yours freely returned like the Tide itself
This is us, not one but two, but one again
This is all I can offer, this is my Prayer
This Love is all I have, my heart is Empty now
As I look to the Stars I hope my prayers have been enough
For this Love is Eternal
For it is my very Soul




Why do we do it?
By Michael Casey
I was just watching Elementary on tv, it’s one of the shows I watch, Suits, Blacklist, Grimm, Dr Who are the others we watch in our house, not forgetting my daily fix of News. So why am I talking about Elementary? There was a line spoken tonight that got me thinking.
To be honest Sherlock explained why he did not want to be a dad, why he did not want to continue his line. In the episode a sex partner had been asked by his dad to breed, so that Sherlock’s dad could be a grandfather. The girl stated that Sherlock was remarkable and his talents should be passed on to the next generation.
However what Sherlock said in reply was revealing about Sherlock’s state of mind. Sherlock said he was an investigator not because he was noble , quiet the reverse, he was an investigator because he had to be. If you  like investigating was his therapy, otherwise his skills, his abilities would overwhelm him. He was good not for goodness sake, but for the sake of his sanity.
I mentioned this to my big daughter and she said it was very philosophical, it is a very thought provoking concept. I was once told by the niece of a famous Irish writer John B Keane from Listowel that he wrote because it was in him. This was in his bar maybe 20 years ago, I then thought that was a simplistic answer.
Now I know better, my own parents are Kerry people too, so it may be in the water, or in the breast milk that has turned me into a writer as well. We do things because we have to, it’s in our nature, it’s in the breed which is what my dad used to say to explain why certain things happen. The gene pool bubbles away, just as the soup my Shanghai wife brews in her pots for days, then finally something emerges, even if it’s not the Loch Ness monster, though Google may know more about that than any of us.
So something within has to come out, it’s a primeval thing, just like the urge to breed, though Sherlock did not want that responsibility, in fact he had a negative self-image. This was sad in fiction like tonight’s Elementary, and in real life it’s tragic too. We have to accept ourselves, warts and all. None of us is perfect, but life is all about honing our skills and making ourselves a better person than when we arrive on this earth.
Today on the news we had a tragic case of a girl dying because of poison pills she bought on the Internet, diet pills which killed her. These and legal highs are in fact illegal lows which kill, which destroy families and leave pain and sorrow behind. Perhaps this should be an Election issue. This girl had something in common with Sherlock, her self-image caused her pain which led in the end to death.
Sherlock has all these skills, and he uses them to help the NYPD,  it’s a symbiotic relationship, he is the little bird pecking away at the rhino’s bum, it gives him a purpose and keeps insanity at bay. But what of you and me? Why do we do it? What makes us help out at the charity shop, what makes us play golf in the rain. Why do we teach English to refugees. Why do we vote SNP or even Tory?
Pleasure is the answer to all these questions, it’s not as pleasurable as sex or alcohol or rock and roll, but it gives us pleasure. What gives us pleasure? The thing that makes us feel fully alive, the thing that makes us feel wanted, the thing that makes us feel wanted. Why do we visit the sick in hospital, why do we go to our church and clean it on Tuesdays. Why do we raise money for charity by doing sponsored events.  There are many many more examples, you can pick your own.
We get a kick out of doing good, whatever our small talent may be, it’s when we use that talent that we feel fully alive. Look at me I’ve been writing since 1987, I’ll never be famous or make any money from it, but I’ll still bore you all with my stories.
Other people have other skills, such as the leader of the choir who spends a lifetime teaching music.  Betty Williams is one such person who can be found at Saint Hilda’s, then there are the lolly pop ladies/men who shiver in the cold keeping our kids safe. There are many more examples I could give but you can pick your own from your own communities.
So why do they do it? I suppose in the end its Love. Love of whatever their skill is, and love of their community. It’s not any Big Society, or any fancy political words from the Left or Right. I think people do it because it’s in them, it’s in the breed. We are all individuals, we are all pieces of a jigsaw. What we do holds this jigsaw together, and without all the pieces the picture is not complete.
We have to play our part, otherwise we are just a jumble of shapes on the floor, without meaning, without hope. But when all the pieces are place together and locked in place, then we have made love, and we are complete, one connected with another.


Picking the Winner ©
By Michael Casey
Well it’s 18th April and the Election is less than 3 weeks away so I thought I’d help you all choose a winner. I was in fact a trainee betting shop manager in one of my previous existences, so I should be able to help, well so much for the theory.
When you pick a horse you can go on form and how glossy the horse’s coat is. You can see who the jockey is and the jockey’s win rate and so forth, you can go on the pedigree of the horse, its parentage and so forth. And if all else fails you can pick your lucky number or the colours the jockey is wearing.
But what of Politicians? They have pedigree too, they are all bastards, that’s what we can all agree on. Though some guy or girl can be a right bastard, but would be a great M.P. he’d fight your corner, he’d be a great man of the people or woman  of the people. If you read chapter 9 of my novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker you’ll see my view in full, there M.P. means married to a people, and an undertaker wrote all the election speeches.
Now who do you pick? The guy in the nice suit who smells nice, cK1 and all, or the grubby one in the crumpled suit. Or the nice lady in the coloured shoes, with the skirt showing off her legs, legs so much better than her party’s policies. Or would that be a non PC thing to say. Or the man who looks at his reflection all the time, who can’t wait for his leader to lose so that HE can become leader, this election is just a stepping stone, HE is showing his legs metaphorically, he’s just waiting till he can run for leader.
There are blunt M.P.s and candidates, who you wouldn’t mind to spend an hour down the pub with, who are really interested in you and your area. There are the professional politician types with the glazed over eyes, who are looking at their watches all the time, but do make good speeches. The question you have to ask yourself is would they take their jacket off and help change a tyre for you if you broke down. It’s always best to judge people by their actions.
Women have intuition; they can tell if somebody is “nice” this is what we should all be doing as we see this guy or that guy on the tv or on the radio. On the doorstep, we just tell all of them to  “piss off” as we are watching Corrie, we take their leaflet and say we will vote for them as we rush back to Corrie. So the figures are skewed while any soap is on tv, as we all lie just to get rid of them, soap beats politician hands down, any time.
This election more than any we are all already bored by it as it’s been going on for too long, so in the end we will all rush to the Left or to the Right at the last minute; though I would always say use your vote tactically, just so those looking at their own reflections and who are little robots get a kick up the backside.
Vote for somebody you’d enjoy spending an evening with. I can actually reveal that maybe 45 years ago I did attend a political meeting, I even bought a raffle ticket to win a glass ashtray to raise funds for that party. If I had stayed maybe you could be voting for me today, in this election. Michael Casey M.P. what do you think about that?     



Over The Garden Fence ©

By Michael Casey

It was very sunny here in Birmingham yesterday, so as I was home alone, my wife and daughters are in Paris, I decided to annoy my neighbour. If you are wondering why I wasn’t in Paris too, then I should remind you that I had an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass a couple of months ago etc.

My neighbour was digging, so I asked my neighbour was she going to plant potatoes. Mary replied that she was not, her Irish accent growing stronger, I had annoyed her straight away. She joked that she might hit me with the shovel, so not be annoying her, as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Mary is sophisticated that way, the perfect foil to her rugby playing doctor boyfriend. She digs potatoes, while he breaks limbs on the rugby field, but sets them afterwards, he is a doctor after all.

I mentioned to Mary that the garden fence was flapping in the wind and it could come flying off and hit me. Mary leant on her shovel and spat on a worm that had wriggled to the surface. A bold magpie swooped down and had the worm a la spit, a perfect snack for a magpie. “I’ll add it to me list” she replied.

I have the knack for improvising, years in a computer room and in a hotel makes improvising second nature. So I told Mary I would help fix the fence, I went back inside my own house and returned with some elastics. “Is that knicker elastic?” laughed Mary. It did look somewhat similar, in fact it came from a mattress topper. Now it would fix the fence and save it from flying off and hitting me.

So I threaded the elastic through a hole in one of the fence boards, then I told Mary to tie a knot in another not knicker elastic, and finally in a 3rd piece of not knicker elastic. Once this was done we tied it around a fence pole. Hey Presto the fence panel was secured and thanks to the not knicker elastic the gap in the fence disappeared.

I gave Mary a cup of tea over the fence as a reward, only I put sugar in it, I’m diabetic screamed Mary clutching her throat. I’ll ring for an ambulance I said. Then she started to laugh, she liked pulling tricks on me. I decided I had enough sun and Mary for the day so I went back inside, besides Sky News was on, I couldn’t miss that what with the Election being on.

Funny or Not ©
By Michael Casey
I just read in the DT that it’s so hard for comedy writers at the BBC, there has to be a committee to decide what is funny or not. Though this is really a PC committee, God Help Us. I know a little about the subject, as I try and write humour in the main. Oh No You Don’t I can hear in reply, in best Panto tradition.
Humour is all about timing, and I know about that too, Oh No You Don’t I can hear you all mutter as you chew on your Easter eggs. I also know about pain, thanks to my Arthur and my Triple Heart Bypass. You deserve all that pain, just for posting all that “humour” I can hear you mutter as chocolate dribbles down your face this Easter Sunday.
Let’s assume I do know what I’m talking about, don’t choke on your Easter eggs, on second thoughts do, I can’t talk to you while you are sniping. So as I sit here talking to you, a few spasms of pain rippling through me, you are quietly choking on your settee, so I’ll just say thank you for not interrupting.
I spent 3 years at a 4 star business hotel, the CPNEC, so I had plenty of time to practice talking to people. Robin would always lean over the reception desk and ask “what did you say, why are they laughing?” Then when I explained what I’d just said he never quite got it. Why? Because of the timing, you have to be there to understand otherwise the “moment” is lost. It’s all in the timing. Some unkind people on the desk said “Michael’s doing his routine” it was no routine it was personality. You can continue choking on your Easter egg, I will not be interrupted any more.
I saw and maybe spoke to 100,000 guests during my time at the hotel. So that’s why I can boast, or rather state I have experience. I started writing back in 1987, so my view on life goes back to then, prior to the writing I spent 20 years listening constantly to BBC Radio4. I would encourage any parent to glue their child’s radio to BBC Radio4.

Writing is all about observation, some may not see the humour in the world around them. I was in the queue at Iceland yesterday there was a very tall lady paying for her frozen peas. It wasn’t frozen peas but it reads better and funnier by saying frozen peas. Anyway she gets her purse out and what’s on her purse? The design is giraffes, a tall lady with a giraffe purse. I told my wife and small daughter when I got home and they laughed. Now if you are not smiling at the very least then all I can say is that you really should choke on your Easter egg, because you are already dead.
We all go about our daily lives with our eyes closed, if we open them we can see the humour all around us. Look in the mirror do you laugh at yourself? I do. Look at your family and see God’s gift to you, it makes me laugh, I had stood by the fridge and cried and prayed for a family, and what did I get? You can google me and find the family photos for yourself, just google “michaelgcasey” Then you can see God’s sense of humour.
As for words and stories they build a picture and can bring laughter, lots of laughter. You just have to be slow about it, give the words space to breath. There is nothing worse than being too fast, than a smart Alec interrupting and killing the flow of the story. At this point in time in our family, the wife has a new car, my daughters are getting a kitten, and what did I get?
Triple Heart Bypass surgery. Thanks God. But seriously I should thank God because I’m still alive and can see my children grow up. I used to sing and scream out the song Blasphemous Rumours by Depeche Mode when I was on the night shift maybe 25 years ago. The line in the song goes “And when I die I’ll see God laughing” And you know what? I bet that’s exactly what will happen.


We are expecting a kitten ©
By Michael Casey
Before Christmas I joked that my girls could have a cat if I had a heart attack, and a dog if I died, I then had an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass. So now they are getting a cat, we will be calling it Totoro, or rather my small daughter who loves all things Totoro has decided to call it Totoro. And all because of God’s sense of humour, and my weak heart, which I didn’t even know about, but God must have, because I’m still alive. Or maybe God just loves cats.
A friend of my big daughter has just had 4 kittens, so 4 loving homes are required. My girls came home with pictures of the cats on their phones, so finally the witch, as my wife is known, agreed to have a cat. I had already given in once I’d come home from hospital, now finally the 2nd parent had agreed. I picked the spotty cat, so long as it was male, girl cats have no morals, they always have kittens, always out late at night and hanging around on fences, howling and so forth.
It turns out that Totoro is a male cat, so once he is weaned off his mother’s milk he’ll find a new home with us. Totoro is Japanese as all you studio Ghibli  fans will know, but our Totoro will be hearing Chinese and English, so he’ll have to be a bilingual cat.
This morning me and my small daughter went up the road to the shops is search of all things cat. When I grew up we always had a cat at home, Jean was her name, we had her 20 years. She knew when it was Sunday, not because she was a Christian, but because she always had the giblets from the chicken on a Sunday. Or dogs had a good life too, dying and going to dog heaven, as we were a big family so the dog always got something.
Today me and my small daughter went in search of a cat collar and basket. We tried the plastic shop first, so called as it sells all things plastic. I led my small daughter up and down the aisles, it was like an Aladdin’s cave, but without the gold, just lots of plastic items and other such stuff. We spotted baskets in a variety of sizes. We also saw large plastic storage boxes which could be used instead of baskets. Just add a small blanket. There is so much to think about when you are having a kitten, meanwhile a neighbour is due for her baby. I saw her boyfriend bringing in a stack of nappies, just who will be busier?
Pleased that we had discovered where the wicker baskets were we went on to our next port of call, the market. We were lucky as today 31st March is a Tuesday so the market is open, its old fashioned and closes on Wednesdays. In The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker my comic novel it opens on a Wednesday, early closing, but that’s another story.
So me and my small daughter examined the market, we found the wool section, which Totoro would himself enjoy should he get to visit, it must be kitten heaven all those brightly coloured balls of wool. Going around the corner we discovered a second hand furniture section, it was not there the last time I was in the market. £5 for an office chair, I’ve paid 20 times that for the chairs I sit on while I talk to you all. Though to me they do seem a bit manky, but if £5 is all you have then buy one from our local market.
Turning around another corner we found the pet section, the dog and cat food section. There was a nice cat collar with a bell and reflective too, years ago girls had a thing for fashion, a dog collar it was called, my sister one, but that was 40 years ago. We didn’t buy it, we still had a 3rd shop to look at. Poundland.
Poundland  has all kinds of everything, but no assistants called Dana, we found 2 cat collars for a pound. Then we bought 2 bottles of disinfectant, to tidy up any accidents. I’ve told both my daughters that they are in charge of all pooh and pee that comes from Totoro. We found scented bags of the litter tray, then there were flea collars too.
We were very happy future kitten parents, so we went to the till, we decided not to buy the 2 collars for a pound, so we discarded them, on a pile of energy drinks. The rest we did buy. Walking back down the road we decided to get the fancier collar from the pet section of the market. Our Totoro would be ringing a bell and stand out in the dark, see we love our kitten so much already.
The weather was so windy today, I had to hold my small daughter to make sure the wind did not blow her away, she would make a perfect kite in her bright red coat. We got home happy and my small daughter told her bigger sister all the kitten preparation news. So it’s just the basket we need to get. It’s almost as exciting as Christmas, and that’s when I made my promise, and we all know what happened next.


Return Of The School Run ©
By Michael Casey
This week marked the Return Of  The School Run, my small daughter asked could I take her to school again. I had stopped due to the inconvenience of the Triple Heart Bypass, I have started to go walkabout already, doing the morning school run would double my walking each day. I should add that I was walking 20 miles a week prior to discovering I needed an unplanned heart operation, but now I was doing 20 to 30 mins a day walking, less than half than what I used to do.
My daughter had waited till 10pm at night before asking me could I resume my school run duties the very next morning, so of course I said yes. She skipped up the stairs happy, clutching Totoro to her heart. The next morning was very busy, as all four of us were in the queue for the bathroom and the cooker.
I also had to take my morning meds, all 6 of them, I have a groaning carrier bag full of meds hanging on the back of the pantry door. I have to have them with food, so I have to make my toast while my dissolving asprin dissolves. The pain killers I have to take have a strange side effect, you cannot go to the toilet, so you have 3 spoons of laxative to be taken twice a day. All this medication continues to save your life, post op, it also leads to man boobs, or so I’m told.
So me and my small daughter resume our journey down the road and around the corner and up the hill to her school. One more term and she’ll be going to secondary school with her sister, but for now she’s daddy’s girl. Bonding is the fancy word for all this, Loving like a Dad, like only a dad can, is what I call it. Dad is James Bond as far daughters are concerned, you hurt my little girl and you’ll be shaken and not stirred, any dad will tell you this.
Today was the 3rd day of my return to school run duties, I was reminded of Jack Rosenthal the writer as we walked up the hill, why? Jack had said he did the school run because he heard so much that it was great material for his plays.
As we walked my daughter chatted away, as happy as a sand boy, or should I say girl. She said it would be great if you could donate sleep to those who needed it. I need a sleep donation every now and then as the pain wakes me up. She did say that donors would be rewarded, it sounded like they got candy floss in return for each donation, but I might be wrong as I had to pull my hood up against the cold, I have to make sure I stay warm post operation.
So we continued up the hill and she triggered ideas for stories with each step we took. In 300 and Not OUT one of my 8 books you can read lots of stories inspired by her and her sister, not forgetting the Witch as we call my wife. By the way Juliette in Grimm on tv has turned into a witch, well worth watching.
A child’s mind knows no barriers, this can connect with that, and the impossible does not exist as everything is possible. So maybe she’ll be the famous writer, and illustrate her own works too. Maybe that’s why God, Fate, Luck, or my daughters’ prayers saved me this year, so I could be there for my small daughter doing the school run.



Vote for me I’m 19
By michael casey
I was going through the newspapers, as is my  habit, I’d have been a History teacher or Journalist if my life had gone differently. Though we do have a political editor/journalist on the Chinese side of the family. Anyway I thought this is sad, running for Parliament at the age of 19. The two lads happen to be running for Labour, but I’d be against it no matter what party they’d be running for.
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/meet-teenagers-standing-mps-2015-5351001   is the link that leads to the piece in the Daily Mirror.

At 19 you still have spots, some may not have had their first serious girlfriend, though if “Politics is your Woman”, then that is truly sad. Where I live you can smell the stunk on the bus when people of that age bracket pass you by. At that age you are going up Broad Street on a Friday night, hoping to get lucky or just out to get bladdered. Certainly all the lads I worked with 36 years ago were doing all that and more, much more. None said they were going into Politics, though they did write a computer game and sell it for 10K maybe  30 years ago.

So to find that two 19 year olds want to go into Parliament just does not seem right. What experience do they have? Does their family have  its own business, have they learnt things from the nipple, so they actually know something about something. I started watching Sir Robin Day when I was 8 to 10 years old, so I was politically aware from a young age, but I would never run for Parliament at 19. So why have they been picked? Sacrificial Lambs, wild throw of the dice, or parachuted in?

Are they like Sir Richard Branson was when he was their age? Do they have his drive and ambition? Me, I wouldn’t vote for anybody that age, no matter which party. Come back in another 19 years, when you have passed your degrees and started your own business. When you have married and had a few kids. Then you have some Life Experience, nothing beats the school of hard knocks. I know all about that, I passed Magna Cum Laude  and I wish I didn’t.
But I did so I can judge, as can DT readers because they have lived life and survived it. So come on 19 year olds go up Broad Street or live life for at least 19 more years, then I might consider voting for you.

******Now Labour Voters will no doubt say I’m Tory Scum and so forth, to which I reply at least I don’t exaggerate 13 times over***********

Love Beyond Reason ©
By Michael Casey
There was an item on the news about Love, or rather MRI scans were being used to see what happens in the brain when we are in love. You get lots of different colours in the brain, meaning this and meaning that. But, we all know that Love is Beyond Reason, it is unfathomable, its Love after all. Poets have being trying to describe it for thousands of years, so a MRI scan does not have a chance, not unless MRI is the name of some rapping poet.
In Ireland it is called “the urge” this is when the desire to breed, to have a family comes upon you. In Star Trek Spock took control of the Enterprise as the urge or was it called farge overwhelmed him. I just tried to google farge and could not find it, so ask any Star Trek devotee to get the correct word. So Love or is it Lust overwhelms us, our hormones are everywhere. Anybody with teenagers in the house will know this well.
You get  past the blast from your hormones at teenage then you get a job and work hard trying to climb the ladder in your job. You may do this for 5 or 10 or more years, love, sex and the urge have no place in your heart. You are a well-respected member of the team, of the crew, whether you work in McDonalds or are a cleaner, or work in the Path Lab or at a major laboratory. Your work is your life, you are saving up for your house, your car, your anything.
Then one day below the horizon she arrives, she’s junior to you, she may be senior to you, she may be your age, she may be ten or even fifteen years younger. But one thing is for certain, just one look melts the glacier that is in your heart. You may have had a broken heart, so you freeze dried those dangerous hurting emotions. Or you may have never had any emotions, it was just a door you never opened because you were too busy with your career.
Then she arrived, Doreen, the girl with the red crinkly hair and the Irish accent, or was it an Edinburgh accent, you were always useless with accents. Was she very pretty with the perfect figure and fish net tights, no, not even in your dreams. She was small and dumpy with her makeup badly done, but she had power over you. It was her twinkling eyes and the way she laughed, and the way she always held your gaze. You didn’t know it, she didn’t know it, but she was the one.
How did this happen? It was the urge, it was time, everything has its season, and the now was the season, for both of you. Your heart skipped a beat every time you saw her, or her Charlie perfume wafted towards you. You made a mental note to make sure you bought her some Ck, and make sure she got it at Secret Santa in a couple of weeks time. If she didn’t like it she would give it to you and you’d wear it yourself.
So looks became more looks, she touched your hand as she passed you a cup of coffee from the drinks machine, your heart had skipped a beat, skin on skin. You wanted to hold her in your arms and kiss her in the kitchen, so you just closed your eyes and bit your lip. You would have to wait till Christmas and the Mistletoe.
This is the power of the urge, you are all grown up but the hormones have started to surge. As for her, you were tall, fat yes, but tall too, she always liked tall men like Tom Selleck, perhaps you had a hairy chest too, that would make her scream with pleasure. The urge was upon her too. The next step would be buying new under-ware at Marks and Spencers.
So all this goes on, it’s all hormones, a clock ticking within us all, why is it so powerful, because it has to be. If we weren’t programed to love, to breed, to have sex, then we’d all disappear in one generation. Love is blind, love lifts us up, and all those phrases that were sung in Moulin Rouge when they were on that roof. It is true. What attracts X to Y and A to Z?
Everybody has to find a home, a fit, a place of rest, a place of safety, a place of fun, a place where a family can be made and grow up. There is no reason no rhythm to it, the Pied Piper plays the tune and our bodies follow it until we come home to each other, until our bodies fit, literally, and we are at peace.   


The Internet What a Story ©
By Michael Casey
The Internet is a big big thing, I remember when people were impressed when you said you worked with computers, I started in 1978, yes 37 years ago, its 2015 now. I stumbled into computers as my brother said give it a try, I applied for one job and got it, I stayed 21years. A disk drive was as big as a washing machine and vibrated just as much, and punch cards and magnetic tapes were used too. Now a usb stick can hold 100s or 1000s times more data than when I started back in 1978.
Back in 1999 I got my first home computer, in actually fact it was the Sky keyboard, a blue thing with batteries in. I still have it upstairs it’s an antique now. Then I upgraded to a PC, so that we could talk to grannie in Shanghai, I think it had 4 gig on it. You are all laughing in disbelief now. Technology moves on and kids have phones which are really computers, Star Trek has become reality now, Spock died last week so we will all miss him too.
So now that we are all connected, it brings great opportunities, and nuisances, because if we all have computers and phones which are on the Internet too, then salesmen send us rubbish. The General Election 2015 is upon us here in England and the big idea is to use the Internet to spread the word, vote for X, Y or Z. Now in America people may respond to such pleas, that’s how Obama won so we are told. I think it’s just preaching to the converted, over here in England people will just take the mick out of such offerings. Political advertising is illegal on UK tv, on the Net it’s allowed, but I think our political parties are wasting their time thinking anybody will watch and be influenced by such things. People will take the mick, but your average Joe won’t even know about it, I’m a news junkie that’s how I know.
The Internet has spawned massive advertising for everything, ok let’s call it by its real name, JUNK. I get 10 every single day, I even get emails frommichaelgcasey@zipperdzapperddo.com and other such exotic variants of my own email address. The number of Barrister John Does from Nigeria or the number of widows dying of cancer who want to leave me millions is unbelievable. Unbelievable is the word. I am very quick at deleting everything.
You also get people who stumble overwww.michaelgcasey.typepad.com orwww.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com or even    http://my.telegraph.co.uk/michaelgcasey/  and then leave comments, which are really adverts for their washing machine company in India or China, it makes a change from people dying of cancer who want to give me money. If anybody wants to give me money great, or if you are so rich buy me a house in Harborne here in Birmingham, £500,000 would be enough.
As I am a writer I also SEO services offering me the benefit of their skills, all the way from India or other far flung places. Then there are the Americans, you really must go on this course or that course to be such a better writer. And if you don’t go on their course you are a philistine, you can always learn something, especially if it is their course, and its only $500.
Sometimes for sport I reply to such junk emails, I send them my Elevator Ad as the Americans call them, I never get a reply, you can read it on my site. Though every few months I clear down my sites and put new material up, old material is collated into a new book, I have 200 pages ready so far for the 2015 volume.
Just to remind anybody who does not know, I spent 20 years listening to BBC Radio 4, 20+ hours a week, before I picked up a pen, my radio listening started when I was 10 or younger, 46 years ago. I picked up a pen in 1987, so I have been writing for 28 years now. That’s why I’m confident in my writing ability and why I am dubious, very dubious of the “we can teach you to write brigade.”
The Internet does have some treasures too, like the BBC website, it has load of stuff to help with homework. If there was one thing to tell you though it would be learn how to interrogate Google. My daughter is researching History for example and she cannot find exactly what she wants. It’s all about knowing how to ask questions, just like a real barrister in court.
Appeasement in the 1930s for example, ask the same question in different ways then you’ll get more results. Or you could just ask your dad, I would have been a History teacher if my life had taken a different route. Then read around the topic, too many students just cut and paste, teachers spot this and you’ll get an F. If any of you are doing History at the moment then you can see modern parallels in today’s world.
The thing about short form writing like this is the freedom you have, a novel will take a year of your life, bearing in mind the fact that without my Triple Heart Bypass operation in Jan 2015 I could have had no life,  you now know  I don’t want to waste time any more. So I’ll finish.


Managing The Image ©
By Michael Casey
I don’t have 2 kitchens, I have a narrow galley kitchen that feels like ½ a kitchen, at the end of it is our bathroom, perhaps I should ask Ed Miliband can he donate a kitchen to us. The Election has all but started hence the reference to what was in today’s paper.
Image is so important in today’s world or so we are told, Putin likes to act the action man, getting his chest out at every opportunity, he has more front than a page 3 girl. Though in today’s paper they say he is ill, we’ll find out what is really happening in due course.
Politicians will be posing in all sorts of costumes, in all sorts of venues, like a Peter Sellers  on Skunk, though only one political party officially approves of it, though what they all do in private is another matter. You only have to use your nose to smell the truth.
Babies will be kissed and almost dropped, politicians will do anything to get elected, they are of course men of the people. They do allow women in their party too, they even have them drive a bright pink van, just like a SkoobyDoo van, but without any dog driving.
There is the balance between being a serious woman, speaking seriously about serious things, and having the right lipstick on, and making sure they look good for the cameras. They are still women but it is twice as hard as being a man in politics, being equal means being twice as good at least, or they are just ignored.
Down the pub a politician can relax and have a pint, or a half if he is from a certain political party, bacon butties can be eaten, but remember the cameras are always on you, you don’t want to be on the front page, again. Making sure your flies are done up is essential, and splash marks must never occur, perhaps a political intern could go to the toilet for you instead, or adult nappies could be worn during the election campaign.
They say that people who talk a lot have bad breath, so the Speaker must have a ton of extra strong mints under that huge chair he sits on. As the MPs file in the Speaker hands extra strong mints to them, that’s why they are so respectful to him. The power of the mint, not a lot of people know that as Michael Caine might say.
Accent gives a lot away, it tells us where people are from, and vocabulary can reveal education, or lack of. Though some said my dad sounded Welsh as he worked with Welshmen in the steelworks in Smethwick. You can use a lot of fancy words, and still say nothing, or you can use a round of F&&**s and still be much more eloquent, and definitely more powerful. I take after my dad on occasion.
But what of Politicians? They parachute in lads who have done PPE at Oxbridge, so they can be representatives of Northern constituencies. They have read books, they are page turners,  they have no idea what a real turner does, they can do Powerpoint for head office back in London. And still people accept this, or they did, now we have political ferment.
There is a real man, a real bloke who people would vote for, his name is Mr Stone, a former builder, he represents a constituency in the Black Country, Old Forge and Singing Anvil is his patch. His election agent is a poet and undertaker called Percy. Though now I’m talking about The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker a work of fiction, my novel, but isn’t Politics all a work of fiction? 




Debate You, Debate Me ©
By Michael Casey
I’m not going to talk to you, I just cannot abide you, you are such a liar, ok you are economical with the truth, everybody knows that. MY figures are perfect, I never exaggerate, what I say is Gospel, though I am an Atheist, how can I believe in something  that is not there, that would be like believing in YOU.

I’d just punch you if I had to share the stage with you, you are your shiny suit and your just perfect tie that your wife or mother or boyfriend chose for you. So you’d look perfect on the debate. So I will just make a statement to Andrew Marr and smile nicely, I think he supports me secretly, I am such a kind man after all.

Then it’ll be your turn to with Andrew Marr, and don’t try bribing him with a 40 year old malt whisky, you are such a low life, anything is possible, you have such a lust for power. Nodding your head and agreeing with him, touching his knee as if HE was Terry Wogan, you are such a little S*&^, you’d do anything to get that little bit of edge.

I won’t even watch your 90 minutes with Andrew Marr, I have better things to do, much more important things to do. I’ll be tidying out my attic and re-grouting the bathroom. Far more important than listening to your bare-face lies.

Why did they decide to give you equal time with me? I am the sitting PM, it’s just not cricket to let an upstart like you try to talk the pants off the country. Everybody knows your just as slimy as that guy in Bridget Jones, the one who gets punched by what’s his name who got the Oscar for whatever it was.

So the vote was last night, and I’m still the PM. Post Mortem supervisor at Birmingham Medical school, I’m in charge of all the stiffs.     















Be Honest With Me, Do I Look Fat? ©
By Michael Casey
As you all know I’ve had a Life Changing Experience, I found 2 quid in the street and bought a lottery ticket with it. No, don’t be daft, I had a Christmas time experience, no not a snog under the mistletoe, I had the revelation that I needed a Triple Heart Bypass, less than 2 months after having a tiny dose of angina. 3rd Jan 2015 was the night I was told this, I would have preferred Lords Aleeping or some French Hens or any other of the 12 days.
So it got me thinking about diets and so forth, I was told this morning than my cholesterol was now 3.5, I’m swaggering with pride as I tell you this. I’m now 106 kilos as I stand naked on our bathroom scales, please banish that mental image from your minds by having an Irish Coffee or three. This means I’m ½ way to my target of 100kilos. Though my Shanghai wife has moved the goal posts now, but in 2 months I’ve lost 6 or 7 kilos, in real money about 16.5 stones.
Girls look in the mirror with their breath held in and ask their best friend do they look fat, and do their thighs rub together when they walk. You are really fat if your thighs DO rub together, and does your bum stick out too much, and if you buy a size too big will it hide your colossal bum. Now as a man I can empathise with fat bottomed girls to quote just one Queen song from long ago. Why? Because my own bottom is huge, I am related to gorillas after all, there is one photo of me in PJs that reveals this, you can find it on the Internet. Generally though the Diet industry focuses on girls, you cannot find men’s diet magazines in WHSmiths.
Girls suffer, they have to make the effort, but boys don’t bother its character if they have a belly, a beer belly, but a girl she has to be perfect, it’s just not fair. A girl will starve herself for months so she can look good in her bikini, so she can wow her lad in her bed when they are in Benidorm. All he’ll do is try and find the football on the tv while she is trying to entice him. Only after the final whistle will he whistle at her and give her his total undivided attention, if he hasn’t had too many cans while watching the football.
It’s been a great holiday, and she gets home and finds she’s pregnant, luckily they really love each other. Typical you spend months forcing your body to be perfect, just as all the magazines insist you should be, so you can have perfect sex with your perfect man. Perfect man, a beer swilling idiot who wants to watch Man United, instead of feasting his eyes on you.
He may be a beer swilling idiot but he does love you, and he will marry you, not like what happened to some of her friends. Now she must hurry so her baby bump won’t show. Normally its £15,000 for a wedding. Can she, should she diet while pregnant? There’s the dress and venue and so much to think about.
Her big brother turns up from nowhere, the one with the scar, he loves his little sister, so what does he do? He grabs Romeo by the throat and “asks” does he love his little Louise, Romeo faints as Derek has applied a little too much pressure to the jugular. When he comes around Derek says he does love Louise. Which is the only answer he could possible give.

Big brother reaches for his wad and slaps 20k on the table, a big brother will always do that. Louise’s brother has his own Import Export business, which is another way of saying he is a thief, you can export things in a freight container, lots of things.
So the Wedding Day comes around fast, and Andy is the DJ, he’s the best gay DJ in town, gay bar’s always have the best music, he has a residency at the Peekaboo. Louise’s best mate Sarah said Andy would be great, and he was, he was also Sarah’s brother.
Everything goes with a swing, Louise and her Romeo sneak off to the Honeymoon Suite, she’s hot, so very hot, her baby bump does not show, only there is European Football on the tv. As she leaves the bathroom, dressed to thrill he is watching Man United, again. Now the baby, his baby decides to make a statement. Call it Morning Sickness, or Wedding Night sickness, Louise pukes all over Romeo.

Six Weeks After a Triple Heart Bypass ©

By Michael Casey

It’s a long walk to the bus stop and then off the bus
 to the inside of the QE Birmingham

1st I had a blood pressure and weight.
My scores were “almost perfect” said the nurse

Then I had an Italian nurse do an ECG, he said thin people had heart attacks too.

Then I had an Xray

Then I met Roger the posh gentleman from the hospital, we were in at the same time.

Had to wait until nearly Noon , I arrived at 9.30. I didn’t mind had a good natter with Roger

Then I saw one of the Cardiac team

He said I was doing so well.

He examined my chest and pressed on it.

It will take up to a year to heal total where its tender.

Otherwise I’m doing great.

Do not pick my leg scabs he said.

Then he discharged me, no need to see me anymore.

I told him there would be chocolate in the future.

I have bought a stack of chocolate for the cardiac crew but it’s too heavy to carry, but they will get it.

I also have to give a stack of chocolate to D5 and all the other folks that did all the week of tests before my op, at City hospital Birmingham.

So that’s all my news. My sister and the ladies who are as old as my mother would be, maybe 90 year-olds have also been wearing out the Rosary beads, not to mention candles lit and prayers said on 2 or 3 continents. So I thank them all. I’ve also been told that cranberry juice is great, so I’ve been trying that.

All I need now is to win the lottery so we can move house and I get my own bathroom. But that would be too cheeky to ask God for, God is Good, but he is not an estate agent, though there are many mansions in Heaven.






























Growing Up, Growing Old ©

By Michael Casey

Well today in Birmingham and maybe all over the country the secondary school places are allocated. I had an email saying my small daughter had got into our preferred school, the same one her big sister already attends. This is good as it’s just up the road literally, about 15mins from the house.

This proves that my small daughter is growing up, though she takes after her Shanghai mother in size and looks, so she is small in build, though her big sister takes after me in build and looks, Nature’s balance if you like. Though the small daughter has my personality, and the big daughter my wife’s personality, again Nature’s balance.

This also means that I am getting old, even if I persist in thinking I am 20, mind you after an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass operation only weeks ago in Jan 2015, I am happy that I am still here, even if I am aging disgracefully. When my small daughter returns from school I’ll tell her the news, she’ll be very happy and want to drag me to the uniform shop to get her uniform ready for September, even though it’s only 2nd March today. She has already said she wants to beat the queues that her sister encountered a few years ago.

She will be wearing an old skirt of her sister’s, probably reaching to just underneath her armpits, so it’s only fair she gets nice new everything else for her new school. It’ll make me sigh and think that the baby of the family is getting bigger. However I can now look forward to her and her sister getting their PhDs, they are half Chinese after all, when a few weeks ago things could have been much much different.



FEBRUARY 28TH, 2015 18:05
Pain and Carers ©
By Michael Casey

Well this will be the last post of the month. It also marks an anniversary, as on this day in 1988 I finished writing my 1st book, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, a comedy drama for all the family. So that’s 27 years ago, though to be exact the anniversary is only every 4 years, as I finished on Leap Year’s Day 1988.

A lot has happened since then, joy and pain and rejoicing, and Mandarin on a daily basis, not to mention sharing a bathroom with 3 girls. Pain has put in an appearance too. Tennis elbow induced from carrying a heavy bag full of work for my Esol English students. That pain lasted 9 months then disappeared as quickly as it arrived. I even had acupuncture for it.

I had hurt my back while working in the print room at a law firm, but it cured itself after a few days, only to return spasmodically just for “fun”. Then  years later my left leg, no not my left foot, that was somebody else’s story/life, well it started to hurt. This was my Arthur saying “hi”. Six months after it started I had an injection into the left hip, and everything was fine.

Only the right hip decides it was not getting enough attention and went out in pain sympathy. Sounds like a union, simple solution you think. No, now you have tests and then a Chinese doctor scans you but won’t inject you as he cannot find the seat of the problem. You are left with your pain, which was six months at that point. So he suggests another scan.

You have the next scan, this says it’s a problem in your back which is radiating out the pain. All I want is &*() pain relief you say to yourself. Instead you keep on taking the Movelat, which works and won’t destroy your kidneys as pill probably will.

Then one Saturday, the 3rd Jan 2015 to be exact both of your hips are murdering you, you are screaming in pain and slapping on the Monvelat gel. This works, then you eat and feel much better, only the pain returns. Plus a very tiny tickle to the side of your left nipple.
You are home alone as the wife and kids are in London meeting a cousin from Shanghai, so you ring your sister and she comes around. She suggests having a lie down. In the end you ring 999.

The guy tests you and cannot see a heart attack, but you did have a bit of angina  very recently, and you did have a scan. So to be on the safe side you are taken to City Hospital. Tests are done, you remind them about the recent MRI scan of your heart. This was taken on 20th Dec 2014, so they dig it out.

The doctor comes back with news that will change your life, something has to be done. What exactly, a Triple Heart Bypass.
So I was kept in for a week of tests before being transferred to the QE for the operation. I never knew my heart was in such a state, so you could say my Arthritis saved my life.
To be continued….


Small Kindnesses ©
By Michael Casey
I was in Aldi today, it’s part of my cardiac rehabilitation, its 30 mins walking, up the road and around the store and back home again. I cannot carry much as my chest is tight after being opened up and then sown up again. So I wander around and then bring home what I can carry. Today it was salmon steaks from Norway, which are cheaper than the smoked salmon, cheaper and you get 20% more. I also tried low fat Greek style yogurt.
Now as I struggled for the change the pretty Muslim girl on the checkout helped put my shopping in my Lidl shopping bag. It’s a joke I play on Aldi, I use Lidl carrier bags to take home my shopping. Previously I shared a joke about Tasers with the shop manager, the machine she uses to count stock looks like a Taser, she has a law degree you know, or so I have been informed by the bodybuilder who stacks the shelves.
Now this is maybe the way shops used to be 40 years ago, or my local Aldi just has nice people working there. I did in fact write a play called Shoplife years ago, it was accepted for the stage though not finally produced, it is on Amazon.
Now to the point, the point is that simple kindnesses do make a difference, you can brighten up a person’s day, just by sparing a little time. Time to chat, to share a joke, or just help them with their shopping, or hold a door open. I was a concierge for 3 years in a 4 star deluxe business hotel, so I have practiced what I preach. I’m speaking from experience.
Now as I have been forced to slow down, and I can only just about put my socks and shoes on as bending is painful and sometimes impossible, I really do appreciate the small kindnesses. The little things do matter and they do make a difference, they are a smile, a ray of sunshine, a reassuring hand, a steadying hand. Being forced to slow down does make you look at things differently, just as being in a wheelchair either temporarily or always makes your perspective different.
So thanks to everybody who has been offering me small kindnesses, the old women, 90 plus in age who have been praying for me, they are my mother’s contemporaries, I went to school  with their children. To those who don’t even know they have helped me, because kindness is in their nature. Obviously a big thank you to the NHS, I will bring the chocolate to the wards when I have enough strength to carry it down the longest hospital corridor in Europe.
That’s all for today, I get tired more easily so I have to cut my computer time down, though the house is quieter as the girls have gone back to school. We finally let the cat out of the bag and told my wife that I had bought my small daughter a new coat  as the one grannie in Shanghai had given her was way too big. It will be used eventually, in a year or two when she is in Year 8. We did enjoy speaking in Spanish behind mum’s back, saying that she still hadn’t spotted the new coat, but yesterday we let the cat out of the bag, six months after the holidays to China.


18/02/2015
Sudden Hospital Visit ©
By Michael Casey
Well my heart rehab is/was going well. But yesterday I ended up in hospital. Until I started screaming in pain. It was to the left of my chest, past my nipple by a few inches. After a few screams spaced out in time I dialled 999, or 911 as you call it in USA. I was told to use the under the tongue spray, I must have sprayed twice so I collapsed on the floor. It lowers your blood pressure so much. Anyway as I’ve just had the Triple Heart Bypass I was taken in. I had bloods and an Xray. I also screamed a lot in casualty. They gave me pain killers twice while I was there for 3 hours or so. MY HEART IS FINE. They did a couple of ecgs as well. As you know I have Arthritis or Arthur as I call it since 2013, it just appeared and mugged me. The doctor had a look at me but I had stopped screaming by then. Then “luckily” I screamed while he was stood beside me.
The result
http://www.everydayhealth.com/pain-management-photos/treating-musculoskeletal-pain.aspx
It’s all down to Muscular skeletal pain. So it was a relief it was not my heart. I may have stretched too far and triggered it all, you have to watch yourself if you have a heart bypass. So finally after my Xray and my bloods were looked at I was allowed home WITH super strength pain killers. The irony was that during the day I had not needed the regular post operation paracetamol, in fact I was pleased with myself. So I am wondering did I trigger it. Though this past month I have had random pain, a stab and then it disappears. But last night maybe 20 such stabs. It really does make you scream, and scream JESUS, God, or whatever else you may believe in. I must thank my sister for her support and taxi service. I had told my wife to stay home with our young daughters, seeing dad collapse and holding his hand while the ambulance arrived was enough for the night, so I thought it was better for my 3 girls to stay together.
In the morning my small daughter said she had a dream. I was in hospital and the nurse said I was going to die, then an Angel came down and breathed on me.
Well I’m back home, and this morning I had a letter, an appointment from the Royal Orthopaedic  Hospital for my back/arthritis problem. Today is Ash Wednesday, we remember that we are dust and to dust we will return. This I know only too well, I hope I can use my extra time to have a happy family life, maybe I’ll write 8 more books. Pain I know all about, if I can make people smile and laugh with my stories then I’ll have used my time on this earth well, before I return to dust.




50 Shades of Michael ©
By Michael Casey
I first met Michael at the bus stop, he was back combing his bushy eyebrows in the reflection by the bus time table. Applying a bit of spit on the them as well to hold them down. How could I an impressionable woman resist, it was all too much for me, I started to have palpitations. I had to hold onto the bus stop for support. The eyebrows were just so, so magnificent, he reminded me of a werewolf, so manly, so handsome, how could I resist him.
On the bus I followed him and sat next to him, I was intoxicated by his manly aroma, a mixture of Brut and sweaty socks. I gave him the once over as the bus trundled along the road in the rain. His broad shoulders and his even bigger belly were so overwhelming, I could barely breath, he was irresistible.
My breathing became laboured and heavy, Michael looked at me, with concern in his hazel coloured eyes, the eyes the eyes, he was the man with the child in his eyes. He was too much, I just had to have him. I started to breath more heavily, I was having an asthma attack, brought on by pure lust, how could Michael do this to me.
I reached into my bag for my inhaler, I placed it between my lips, but it was Michael who I wanted and needed, he and he alone could give me what I wanted and needed and MUST have. He asked me was I ok, speaking to me sent my pulse rate soaring. My head spun, he was speaking to me, he was speaking to me, it was all too much. I fainted and my body slumped against his.
I could feel his pulse against mine, Michael whispered in my ear, he asked could he do anything? He asked could he do anything. YES YES YES. Kiss me I whispered, so he did. I was in Heaven, a man a real man was kissing me, a man who wore Brut and had sweaty socks, not to mention the shoulders and the brushed back eyebrows, topped off with the Winnie the Pooh like tummy. I was tingling all over as he kissed me.
We got off the bus together in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, he knew what I wanted and I would not take no for an answer. I gave him my business card Tracy Rogers, lingerie designer. He told me he was a cross dresser and did I make his size, I laughed, he was so funny. He then told me he was a film reviewer for Hungry Wolf a lads magazine.
We went into the Trader for a pint and a natter, I explained my job and he explained his. We felt at ease with each other, as if we had known each other for years. He was everything  I had ever wanted in a man. He said looks did not matter, so long as I could make him laugh, though designer lingerie did help.
It was wanton, I had never picked a man up at a bus stop before, but life was short, my last boyfriend had ran off with the girl from the takeaway. I had never suspected, though he always seemed to get extra rice. So now to find a real man was too much of an opportunity to pass on.
In the bedroom, socks and pants littered the floor, but at least the sheets were John Lewis Egyptian cotton extra soft ones, and they were fresh on that day. Michael had a washing machine and knew how to use it. He also knew how to use what God had given him, and boy oh boy was I glad of that. As for me, he liked what I gave and gave and gave again and again.
Three hours later we stopped for some tea and crumpet, sex had made us hungry, and Michael did have Warbuton’s crumpet and PG  tips. So we had crumpet after we had had crumpet, and we share sex tips while we had our PG tips. I glowed and Michael was just Michael.
So we carried on again, it was as if Michael had Duracell batteries in him, long lasting and never fading. As for me, I was glad I had taken a chance at the bus stop, he was an animal, but the kind I wanted and needed and must have. 50 shades of Michael, I had heard there was some obscure film called 50 shades of something or another, but I had 50 shades of Michael which was much much better.
I told Michael I enjoyed all sorts of things in the bedroom, so he smiled and poured a bottle of Guinness  all over my body. I thought it was beer shampoo or something, until he started to lick it off. It was the first time I’d done such  a thing, it was wanton but I loved it, we both loved it.
I told Michael that he was my best lover ever, that we were so wanton, he could do anything he liked to me. As I said we were so wanton he went to the kitchen and made wanton soup, we fed each other soup, and what spilt on our bodies was licked off by us. Prawn crackers were spread over our bodies and we ate from our bodies. So much better than anything from Sex and the City.
We had so many plans, things to do, things to eat, we’d never use plates again. It was prefect, perfect lust, and perfect food. 50 shades of Michael, I was such a lucky girl, such a lucky girl.
Then I woke up it had all been a dream, but why did I smell of Guinness and have prawn crackers in my hair? 
Dear Stephen, I still love you, lots of cuddles from God ©
By Michael Casey
Well Stephen, you really did have a go at me didn’t you? I know the world is a sad and bad place, but I did give it Free Will. But everybody still blames me, that’s if they believe in me.
I would go and see an analyst, only Freud is so busy, it’s impossible to get an appointment. What would I say anyway, Stephen Fry doesn’t believe in me. But you don’t even believe in Santa any more, do you Stephen. I suppose being so large and breaking Santa’s knee when you were 10 did change your life so much.
You are clever I’ll give you that, but not as clever as you think, I was having a pint in the bar with Shakespeare the other night, the other Midsummer’s Nights Eve  to be exact and he did mention you in passing, he asked who were you, he liked your performance in one of his plays. So you are known here in Heaven.
Everybody moans and says just how unjust I am, I had it all the way back to Noah, so Stephen you are not very original, at least you won’t be needing an umbrella like Noah.
Just be nice and niceness will come back to you is what I always say, put on a happy face, dance, laugh and have a nice glass of wine. Cana is my favourite by the way. Then life is so much better, if all you do is scream at me you’ll just end up with high blood pressure, and as you are so tall already who knows where it will all end.
I could always send you a dream, of Michael Casey and www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com he is looking for a business partner. Now wouldn’t that be such perfect punishment, Stephen Fry reads Michael Casey. The sheer indignity of it all. Or would that be giving you ammunition to fire at me again, an evil and vindictive God.
No Stephen, you have got it all wrong, as usual, but I still love you. I spend nights crying my eyes out, tearing my clothes and howling at the moon. It’s heart-breaking being a dad, I just want to give everybody a cuddle and push them on the swings, only they hate me or blame me.
People are too sophisticated, where has all the innocence gone, well Eve knew the answer there. I just want to be your best pal, yes Stephen, your best pal. Only I’m not modern enough for some.
Modern, isn’t the Universe modern enough for you. Or does everybody want the Sistine Chapel version of me, Michelangelo has got a lot to answer for. He’s whitewashing the toilets in the angels’ bar in paradise this week. But Stephen what I’m trying to say is that there are bigger people than you in Heaven and we all get along, can’t you just try and fit in?

Templeton Letter
Hello, I stumbled over you today while I was on the computer. At the moment I'm having my Nobel moment. My Nobel moment is the same as Nobel's own Nobel moment. For Nobel this was when he read his own obituary, but it was his brother who had actually died.

The shock of this let to the Nobel Prize being inaugurated. Me at the moment I've just had an emergency triple bypass heart surgery. I thought it was just my Arthur, my arthritis playing up. It led to me being admitted on 3rd Jan and then after a load of tests on 13th Jan I had my operation. I ended up being operated on by the Professor, an  Italian guy, I intend giving him my old battered copy of Don Camillo as a thank you when I go and see him in a few weeks time.

As you can see from this message so far I do have a sense of humour, but I also respect learning, and the love which is behind everything.

Me I try and write comedy or should I say humour, which is comedy but with less laughs, or should I say more serious overtones. I am also self evaluating, I have been very lucky, I met and married the cleaner from the old people's home and now thank God I'll live another 20 years which means I'll see my young daughters grow up. My wife is a Shanghai girl by the way and our daughters are bilingual. I am also teaching my girls Spanish so I can talk to them so my wife cannot understand, its revenge for me  not being able to speak any Mandarin.

One of my many ideas is a book with one page in English and facing page in Mandarin or Spanish or any other language. So you read a book of short stories with facing page translations in your own native language while listening to my audio. Its a very simple idea, and as I have written over 550 stories already and recorded over 200 of them already it a ready to go idea.

All I need is a backer, and yes you are not in that line of work. However I'll tempt you with just one poem. Then I'll remind you that Templeton is all about fostering peace, love and understanding. So using English via comic short stories spreads the English language, which in turn tears down those walls of Jericho which leads to peace love and understanding,

Thanks for reading this you can find me at www.michaelgcasey,typepad.com and www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com  or google "michaelgcasey" I'm the fat guy in shades, I also have put 8 books on Amazon Kindle, all I need is readers or somebody with vision, maybe going under the name of Templeton.

Let There Be Light ©

 By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers





Thanks for reading this, my comedy/drama novel is The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker which is in  fact set in an area where I grew up, and in a way is a reflection or a social history of that area, though my priest just called it a Jolly good read, my pharmacist called it "brilliant".



Cheerio from Birmingham England  Michael Casey

From the Eastern Side of the Kitchen
01/02/2015
From The Eastern Side of the Kitchen ©
By Michael Casey
My wife has decided that I need to follow her diet, the Shanghai rice with everything diet, the I’ve had 2 kids ad still only weight 6 stones diet, which is 38 kilos if you understand kilos. I think my right leg weighs that much alone. So now I’m out of hospital 12 days I have not eaten any pork nor beef, I’ve also been reintroduced to rice too. There are so many tastes and varieties of rice. As a child all I knew was the rice pudding we sometimes had out of a tin as a treat on a Sunday.  Now I’m revisiting the Chinese side of the kitchen. I had baked or grilled everything for decades, I even gave up my weak milky coffee after 50 years yes 50 years, But now, I’m  turning Chinese I really think so. WE have to find a low fat spread or marg to replace our beloved Clover, we’re trying Olivo from  Aldi but I don’t really like the taste, If I have to be healthy I do want to enjoy what is passing through my lips. So Love might be sampled next. I had a plate of Chinese food today, it was nice maybe I should have photo’d it. So this is my future, the wife wants me to hit 100 kilos. I have got a thinner face now after my time in hospital and my unexpected 3 way bypass operation. And no I never smoked in my life, but I did work in print rooms for decades, so maybe that was a contributing factor. I am lucky I was spotted and had an emergency operation. My small daughter tried her hand at cooking cake from a packet with instructions today, It was perfect, I was even allowed to sample a small piece, she just walking past me here at the computer, her spoon banging against her bowl as she finishes off her haute cuisine.  This is my family future, a change of diet, a Shanghai wife and our two bilingual and impossibly thin daughters. So spare a thought for me as this adventure unfolds. Alcohol I hardly ever use so I won’t miss, bacon and beef may never reappear on the menu again, so as you scoff all your favourite things tonight, just look to the star rising in the East, in Birmingham.


I’ve got the hippy hippy shakes
30/01/2015
I’ve got the hippy hippy shakes
By michaelgcasey
If you remember that phrase then you are as old as me. Though for me I’m trying to get my mind off my hips, because today they really do hurt like hell. It was my hips that led to my heart bypass I suppose, my old arthur starting the pain that led to this and then led to that.
I’m hoping the weather will warm up a bit so I can do my bit of exercise, though I’ve just slapped Movelat on my hips in the hope the pain will go away then later on I can go for my walk.
Makes me sound 93, Outside the sun is shining and we have a blue sky in Birmingham, do you remember Mr Blue Sky the old ELO album from 1977 I think. Well think of that instead of your own arthritis, then we can play loud music together to drown out our pain. As its Friday maybe some of you will be having fish and chips, like in the old days. Happy memories to kill the pain of Arthur.

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Strange Brew
29/01/2015
Strange Brew ©
By Michael Casey
Strange Brew indeed was a track by the Cream, many a year ago. My brothers listened to Cream when I was growing up. Now Strange Brew is the list of medicines I take after my Triple Heart Bypass operation. I was given a carrier bag of medications when I left hospital.
I’m in between times now as I build my strength and do a few things around the house. I also sneak out to the shops to build up my strength and stamina. I used to walk 20 miles a week, so that’s my target. It was so cold today what with the 2015 snow that I did not leave the house. A very good neighbour did drop by to construct a new computer chair, so that I can have comfort while I am on the Internet. My stamina has to build before I can get back to all my writing and news watching. BUT a big thank you to Brian for all his help.
I have put a few bits and pieces together and posted them, yet the flow has not yet returned,  it’s like the flow of a river that has been blocked by beavers and the natural flow changed. So I await for my own natural flow to return. I do have such a large back list that I can post from, my 550 item back list, some things are worth repeating too.
My daughters say I should write an autobiography, but I think that would be boring. There is enough biographical material in all my short stories already. I think the commonality in the stories makes them perfect for a worldwide audience, for in the end family is family, it’s just GPS which is different, family is family.
Energy levels are different at the moment, coupled with motivation, everybody needs to push themselves a little so that they do not become lazy or stale. Having an unexpected Triple Heart Bypass does slow you down a little. Though if ever I could borrow a Legal Secretary I would just sit here and dictate my next novel, Tears for a Butcher, I am motivated to do it, though not just now, though not just now. By change there is a surgeon in the book, he actually appeared in the first book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. Then Big Sid the butcher came to a medical lecture theatre and cut a side of beef. The perfect butcher’s display. Then surgeons gave lectures, afterwards there was a BQ.
In Tears for a Butcher, Big Sid is shot 3 times at point blank range, it is his friend the surgeon who is there to save his life. In fact a medical convention was taking place, so the butchers save a butcher. It’s all very dramatic and will make great tv lots of drama and pathos. It has been brewing inside me for years now, maybe now that I’ve had my own surgery experience I’ll be able to write with much more emotion. Now that’s what’s brewing inside me. If it’s a Strange Brew only time will tell, there will be plenty of comedy too in the sequel, I am a much better writer now compared to when Old Forge and Singing Anvil first sparked across the page back in 1987.

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Bill Gates and Me
29/01/2015
Read the link first of all
https://uk.news.yahoo.com/pretty-stupid-bill-gates-reveals-big-regret-220148355–finance.html#Wxtlzs7
Bill Gates feels stupid as he cannot speak a language, I’m sure when he gets to Heaven, everybody will understand the language he speaks, CHARITY. And Charity has its own reward.
On another topic, Bill could use short stories to learn English the easy way, or in his case to use my original short stories to learn any other language. I’ve said it befoe but maybe it’ll take Bill Gates himself to see the value of my idea. If you learn a short story you enjoy learning and it is easy. Hence if you have 540+ short stories in English plus my audio read in clear English English, it is totally idiot proof. One page my English original story, mainly humorous, with a facing page translation in any other language. So you read my story and listen to my audio with a safety net in your own language in the facing page. If somebody forwards this to Bill Gates and tells him to go tohttp://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR 5o examples of my audio…
Its very simple and he won’t feel like a dummy any more. If he used a Spanish translation he’d be good at Soanish in 3 months.
By the way 25 years after my Spanish exam I did relean my Spanish by just spending 15 mins a day, but every day with my Soanish book, reading ALOUD.
OK Bill here’s your chance to laugh and learn and invest in me, and to stop being a dummy.
 .
p.s.Bill though I have a Shanghai wife I never got around to learning Madarin, though our daughters are bilingual. I have started teaching Spanish to my daughters, so that my Shanghai wife cannot understand us.
All the best Bill, when you get to  Heaven can you start praying for me.
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Compression socks and all that
28/01/2015
JANUARY 28TH, 2015 14:15
Compression Socks and all that
By michaelgcasey
Well I’m continuing to gain strength. I have now also reached a full week without meat, no meat, no weak.  The sexy new  thing we do is put my compression socks on. I cannot manage on my own, so the wife helps. There is also a trick with a plastic bag, You slide the socks on over a plastic bag, Such fun, first/last thing in the day.
I’ve also braved the icy cold to get my daily exercise and buy some fruit. It’s more like Dudley Zoo in our house now. You cannot believe just how cold Birmingham was. At another point in my life I’d be readying for a snowman.
I have also been wondering how to describe the surgeons, In the end I think their job title is wrong. They should be called POETS, because what they do puts the vim and vigour back into people’ lives. So please call them POETS and not surgeons. Mind you LIFEGIVERs is another title. I think we should just ask their mums. Do you want your son to be called a MR, a MISTER or wouldn’t POET be so much nicer, and make old MRs Smith so jealous, her son was just a QC…..
 photo is me before I got a decent mike. I have written over 550 stories and recorded 200 of them so far. you can hear me read 50 plus stories athttp://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
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Had an emergency triple heart bipass operation
22/01/2015
Luckily I made it, thanks to our NHS. I’ll put some detail down another day.
If I could compare the Love and skill ther NHS has then I’d compare it to the sculpture  Pieta. In the sculpture Mary holds Jesus’s crucified body in her arms.
If you look and see and receive HHS care that is to know what La Pieta is all about.
In fact the original, is just a lump of rock, True Pieta and Love is NHS
I hope folks realise the NHS is LOVE, so thanks to the 100 people who looked after me during my near 3 week stay at City Hospital Birmingham and the Queen Elizabeth.
Michael
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The House a story for children of all ages
03/01/2015
JANUARY 3RD, 2015 16:08
The House © a story for children of all ages
By michaelgcasey
my daughter asked me to write a children’s story so here’s what I’ve written so far, any children;s publishers out there do get in touch
The House ©
a story for children of all ages

By Michael Casey

Pretentious Preface
Sorry for being Pretentious but my small daughter, Eve asked me to write a book for children. I told her I’d written 100s of stories about children, but she said she wanted stories FOR children. I blame Roal Daol and David Walliams for being just too good and influencing her too much. So I will be trying my best to produce something just for her and for children of all ages. So that is why I’ve put a pretentious preface. Now on with the book, it’s 3rd January 2015 and its cold and damp and my 3 girls have gone to London to meet a Shanghai cousin. So I have a few hours peace, just me and Arthur in the house, as I begin my tale…..
 One
I suppose I should tell you just who is Arthur is, he is not real, he is not a ghost either, though he does make me scream. Arthur is in fact a pseudonym, which is a big and difficult word to spell. Ok, it’s a pen name, or a nom de plume, but not la plume de ma tante if you are doing French at school. Arthur is in fact a disguise, it’s a name for a  BASTARD, go and ask your grannie should you be reading that word at your age. If she says it’s ok then please continue reading. If you no longer have this book then maybe you’ll be allowed to read it next year.
Well grannie it looks as if I’m writing for grannies now and not children. Though if I reveal that Arthur is the name I call my arthritis then I know you will agree with me that Arthur is a BASTARD. If you are laughing grannie maybe your granddaughter can have her book back now? I’ll try and be civil with my tongue, your granddaughter will let you know if I say any more bad words further along in the book. I don’t think I will as my wife would throw Bibles at me, we have 4 in the house, some are even in Chinese. And you have your own special words for your own arthritis, and what I said is holy by comparison.
Ok, so we are back together again children, but at least you know how gran feels and why she smells funny. It’s the liniment and spray she uses for her own Arthur, which can be confusing as her husband is called Arthur. So when she is cursing her Arthur she is not cursing her Arthur, but her Arthur. I hope that is crystal clear for you. One tip though, tell her Movelat is fast working and has a better perfume than Deep Heat.
Talking of perfume why do old ladies use too much perfume? It’s to cover the aroma of Deep Heat, this is obvious, even a child as young as you will know that. I’m being to sound like Lemony Snicket, if you have read his books you will know what I mean, if you haven’t read him yet then you are in for a treat.
Sorry for the pause, oh you did not notice, well I went to the kitchen for a cup of tea, I have to keep my mouth lubricated as I talk to you. But I’m reading, stupid, you calling me stupid and I’m sat here in a cold house with just my Arthur for company. I’m going to ignore you and finish my tea, I may not bother talking to you again with that kind of attitude.
See I’ve started a new paragraph, left you abandoned on a raft of a paragraph, so you can’t me stupid any more. I’ve even put my tongue out at you, oh no, I’ve just spilt hot tea down myself now. You don’t think of all the trouble the writer goes to, do you. There you are just a selfish reader, I should make you give the book back to your gran.
Ok, another new paragraph now, I’ve calmed down and changed my clothes, but there is a damp patch on the carpet in front of the computer. What I was trying to say was that a good book should be a conversation, a talk, a chat. You are not reading you are listening, that’s my style. If you have to get a dictionary out after every other sentence then it’s not fun. Though it does expand your vocabulary.

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Fact is Stranger than Fiction
02/01/2015
Fact is stranger than fiction ©
By Michael Casey
Well I wrote Vote for Me and posted it and then what happened next. A Labour Politician said exactly what I’d written the very next day in an interview. I once said to my  big daughter I write something then it really happens. So she said WRITE YOU WIN A MILLION AND THEN YOU BUY ME A PONY.  So lets see if that really happens next. I win a million and buy her a pony. More likely I have a heart attack and die. Or should I delete that. Mind you Tempting Fate is another story. Speaking of which my small daughter wants me to write a children’s book. David Walliams will be worried. Should take 3 months work, and be about 100 pages. which is 200 pages in children’s books as the font is so large. Or 30,000 words for those sad people who count words. Oh did I upset editors just then.  I’ll let you all know how its going.
p.s. My nephew was around today, he thinks I can write, he was suggesting I should teach,
        what is the next question.

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Vote for Me in May 2015
30/12/2014
Vote for Me in May 2015 ©
By Michael Casey
I am of course from the landed gentry, my family goes back 500 years, that’s in County Kerry Ireland of course. So I am from the bogs, somebody switched the lights out so I was stuck in there for hours. I am the son of a blacksmith, which proves my working class credentials, so you will of course vote for me.
No don’t vote for him vote for me instead, I live on jam and bread I’m so poor, but I love being poor it’s where my heart is. I love living amongst the rainbow coloured people, I don’t drink lots of tea nor smoke a pipe, I haven’t even got a wife. Just vote for me, I am a man of the people, people love me and my sandals and the faint smell of weed, I didn’t inhale, maybe I just splashed myself not weed myself.
I am a self-made man, nobody gave me anything, I did it all myself, and not because I don’t have any friends, so vote for me. I can lead and I can make money, that’s why I have 8 houses and 5 jaguars. Which is twice as many cars than that man who always had eggs thrown at him. Though not as many houses as that former politician, you know the one that smiles a lot. I’d be smiling if I was ½ as rich as him. Just vote for me, I was at grammar school.
No don’t vote for any of those, just vote for me, I have no policies nor vision, I do like a good pint, which proves that I’m the real man of the people. I just hate a few things, my candidates hate a few things too, but when we find out just what I expel them.
So this is my vision, vote for me. Yes I’ve never had a real job, I did go to Cambridge and do PPE, then I was a political assistant at central office before being sent up north to be an MP for a working class constituency. They’ll believe any BS up north and just keep on voting how they have always voted. I do hate my constituency and  their  little funny accents and cloth caps, not to mention their “culture” but it’s the cross I have to carry. They don’t have decent wine in the pubs and clubs up there, but thankfully I’m so busy with constituency work in London I hardly ever have to visit.
No, that guy is just a fool and a fake. I live in my constituency and enjoy country sports, I’m goosing ½ the constituency ladies, and they and their daughters are ever so grateful. I’m a real county man, and I wear real wellies, apart from when I’m in bed with the Major’s wife, or is it daughter?
See they are so shallow, they’ll never save the planet, if everybody wore hemp sandals the world would be a much better place. We have a Trade Fair sandals and coffee shop, saving the planet is so trendy. I met a couple of really great students, said they were with Greenpeace, then I awoke in their bed the camcorder was switched on. I then had a call from The News Of The World asking did I have any statement to give. I told them to publish and be damned.
Nothing was published, nobody would believe somebody in my political party would have it in him. The other lot yes, but my party no. We lack credibility, if only I had lied it could have swung the election for me. A swinger would attract attention and votes, but I missed my chance. I’m no Russell Brand believing in nothing and getting lots of press.
Just vote for me, I’m the bloke down the pub, why walk the streets like a prostitute, I mean politician, or did I really mean prostitute? Just vote for me, you know it makes sense, we hate the same things don’t we, so just let’s stick together. Whose round is it next? And can I have some crisps too?
So with politicians like these perhaps Russell Brand will get elected. You get what you deserve they say, so be careful who you vote for.
I would just love to go to Burger King and have a really good conversation with Jeremy Paxman and Norman from the BBC as well as a few other cynics. John Sopal is now in USA  so I really miss his contemptuous style, he would call it probing, I call it treating the politicians just how they should be treated.
Love thy Neighbour as Thyself it says in the Bible. Politicians should never be treated that way. I’ll leave it there for this year, if Lord Archer has room for me at his table in Burger King then I’d love to chat with him too, though I’d love one of his posh dinners in strange places. Though WE could have a posh dinner at Burger King Birmingham, just bring caterers in, I’d vote for that.

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Christmas was Cold
22/12/2014
Christmas Was Cold ©
By Michael Casey
Christmas was cold, and Kevin did not like it, he didn’t like it one bit. The agency had said they had a job for him , it was a temp job and it involved a lot of travel, and it paid well, very well.
So Kevin took it like a shot, he’d been unemployed for a while and he wanted to bring some money in so he could go on holiday to someplace anyplace warm. They had said he’d get a free holiday as part of the package IF he took the job.
He arrived at the port and went into a warehouse, he’d be interviewed in there said the agency. He looked all around and he could see nobody, nobody at all. Then he heard the sound of boots echoing behind him, he spun around to see and elf approaching. He laughed, the man in the costume looked so silly.
Only it wasn’t a man in a costume, it was a real elf, only Kevin was too stupid to realise it. He’d never seen a real elf in his life. The elf looked Kevin up and down, he half smiled. Kevin was fat, very fat, the kind of fat where his belly was bursting his belt, it wasn’t overhanging his belt, that would have been disgusting. No Kevin was fat, perfect fat, for the perfect job.
The elf asked him did he know why he was here, and did he have his passport with him, the usual stuff when you apply for a job nowadays. The elf walked away with Kevin’s documentation in his hand.  Kevin looked around the warehouse it was empty, full of nothing.
Full of nothing as far as stupid people could see, if Kevin could use his eyes then he’d see that the warehouse was brimming with people and every kind of thing. This was Christmas warehouse. The elf returned holding a Santa suit in his hand, Kevin laughed, so that was the job, Santa at a store. Well he needed the money so he put the suit on.
Kevin felt dizzy, he had to lean on the elf for support, he had stars in his eyes, he was seeing things. The elf took a glass of water out of his pocket and Kevin drunk it willingly. Noise and fireworks appeared in the empty warehouse. Kevin fainted.
Kevin awoke in another world, in Santa’s world, now he could see that he was in Santa’s workshop, there were elves everywhere. He must have been drugged, he rubbed his eyes and felt his face. He had a beard, a long white beard. He’d been drugged and transformed into Santa, suit and all.
The elf explained, that only a man with a perfect belly could stand in for Santa at Christmas. Kevin was the chosen one, he was the man, he was Santa. The real Santa had broken his leg while skiing in Birmingham, so Kevin was the standin.
The elf went through the Health and Safety rules, HO HO HO, always 3 HO HO HOs, other than that there were no Health and Safety rules. The reindeer would explain everything. Kevin looked around he could see no reindeer, the elf led him outside to the dock.
A submarine surfaced and the sleigh and the reindeer emerged, reindeer can hold their breath for such a long time.  They are waterproof or seaproof too, the sleigh has water repellent paint on it too, made in the paint factory in Birmingham, you know the one just down the road from the reindeers friends in Ladywood Fire Station.
Kevin was impressed this was more like James Bond, he high fived the reindeer, they licked his new beard, that’s what reindeer always do to Santa. The elf smiled he was sure they’d get on well. The elf answered the unasked question, why the submarine?
The submarine was to get into countries where Santa was not welcome, North Korea was one of them. A sleigh would be spotted on radar, so Santa would sneak in and shower love and happiness and hope amongst the people.
Kevin shed a tear, he was Santa now, so his heart felt the things Santa felt. The submarine levitated and turned/merged into a bigger sleigh, a very large sleigh. Eat your heart out James Bond, Santa has much better toys, literally.
Kevin shook the reins and away they went into the night sky, Kevin ho ho hoed his way around the world. His fat belly was too big to get down a lot of the chimneys, but that’s where the reindeer came in, they formed a team, a tug of war team and pulled him up and down the chimneys.
The reindeer could of course get down all the chimneys, they held their breath and wriggled their bums, it was easy for them they had been doing it for centuries. That’s why your Christmas trees get nibbled in the night, it’s the reindeer, its hungry work flying around the world with Christmas presents.
Kevin, or should I say Santa realised why he needed the beard, it kept him warm, it got cold, very cold flying high in the sky. They did stop on the River Po, just to say hello to Don Camillo, he was a priest but sometimes he was on the naughty list, and sometimes he came off the naughty list, depending on what he and the mayor had been doing.
The sleigh/submarine had a never-ending supply of presents, Kevin, I mean Santa got into the swing of things, the reindeer sung carols, 1000s of them in lots of different languages, they were a carol jukebox. Some brought tears to Santa’s eyes.
Dive, dive, dive they had to sneak into a country to bring Hope and Love, no presents just a loaf of bread. The reindeer didn’t nibble on any trees, as Christmas trees and Christmas itself were banned. The reindeer cried, but there was always Hope.
High and Low, Up and Down the sleigh went over the face of the earth, Santa HO HO Hoed, tonight Christ was born, a new light had entered the world.
The work was done, the world had been crissed and crossed, the reindeer headed back to the warehouse. As the sleigh landed Kevin’s beard dissolved, he was Santa no more. He looked around the warehouse, the elves were dissolving into nothingness, the reindeer trotted away still singing Rejoice Rejoice Emanuel.
Had he been drugged, was this all an hallucination, it couldn’t be he felt Love in his heart, he had been Santa for a night. As he walked out of the warehouse his footsteps echoed into sky, Kevin looked up and could see Santa in his sleight, his crutches besides him, and the reindeer still sung Rejoice Rejoice Emanuel. 

All Things Bright and Beautiful ©

By Michael Casey

I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while, so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it. They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an absolute Fashion Must.

Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3 stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one, although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair. As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.

I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it “Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener said “in the Spring there will be growth.”







Cheese and Chorizo ©

By Michael Casey

The thing about girls is that they steal your stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.

Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were  the ones I really like, its always the ones you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing. JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me  where the biscuits were, a new hiding place, that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.

Shoes are a big thing, so our small daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they can cut them down to make a dress  or even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family, DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.

Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall, as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it  disappears.  When do I find out? Never, or nearly never, until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s my clothes.

So if you want to keep the clothes on your back, don’t have daughters. If  you want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies, don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you look before you sit.







From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked Sink  ©

By Michael Casey

Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For us the Sat Nav debate continues. In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He’d done the Knowledge and it was all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it 30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.

Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.

Bus drivers know their route, so once they’ve done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes because that can lead to strange directions.

Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.

So basically we all know what we want and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai

Or was it me, his grandson who got there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and more ago.

Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay, no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off, if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has to do is copy them down, in English.

She’s  busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.



My other idea is a book of shorts, 40 stories with 40 translations

on facing page plus 40 audio of me reading my stories on usb stick.

Perfect to teach English as a 2nd language, via humour.

As I have written 530+ stories this would be a series of 10 plus books

So we could have Mandarin/Japanese/Urdu/Spanish/Hindi/Russian etc

This would be a world wide hit, angel investors needed

Thanks for reading this, that’s if Junk did not get it. I have come close and not got a cigar many times in my life, so I decided to try you. Radio is the medium for my words, 90 seconds with Michael, could go nationwide, it’s a simple idea, with great words, mine if I can be boastful. I have already recorded 180 of my 530+ shorts, they can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com listen in reverse order I have a new microphone now.

Cheerio, Michael Casey

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com

www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  to hear 50+ stories

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

8 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books

http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1








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 2nd Hail 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.




Doctor Laughter ©
By Michael Casey

Now here's what I've been thinking about regarding Humour. Why do we laugh? We laugh at differences, we laugh at the unexpected. Events happen and that way they unfold gets a reaction. Nowadays people are too Politically Correct, you shouldn't laugh, it’s almost a sin to laugh. I'll give a few examples.

Look there's dad said my brother on our way home from serving the early Sunday Mass. So I run up behind this man and I was going to slap his bald head, or just say boo. Then the man turned around, it was not dad at all. So my brother ran up the street laughing.

So is that funny, or are you unamused.

In the old days it cost an old penny to use the public toilets. So we were on holiday somewhere so my mum was asking a man for some change so she could take my sisters to use the toilet in Rhyl or somewhere. The man gave her a big old copper penny and said "have one on me."

So is that funny or are you unamused.

My dad saved the undertaker's son's life, so when dad died years later the undertaker made my dad look 10 years younger in death. He looked like his own brother.

So is that sad or amusing or both? In fact I put the story about dad saving the undertaker's son's life in my comic novel
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker.
Fact is stranger than Fiction after all.

Comedy that is based on fact is far funnier, situation comedy if you like. A great British comedian Eric Morecambe once said if it works it works, don't over analyse it

When I write I know where I'm going, but I don't know how I'm getting there. Should I make a joke about this or that?
I have a blind boy called Barry in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, how did he get in the book? I have a dominoes set in the house, they belonged to the man who bought me my first watch when I was 11, for passing the 11plus exam which meant I could go to grammar school.

AS I had the set of dominoes in my house when I was writing the idea came to me that at the dramatic end of the novel the heroes would be playing dominoes. They could not be playing cards as that's associated with gambling and in the story the hero's daughter had been kidnapped. So they played dominoes to stop themselves from going mad with fear for the daughter.

So when Barry comes along he joins in, he even asks them to put a mirror behind one of the other's back so that he the blind man can cheat. He may be blind but he still has his sense of humour. He also can hear the fear and tension in their voices, he knows there is something wrong, seriously wrong. So he the blind man is trying to help them.

Now some may say I should not have that line in the book, but if they do say that then I'd say, it’s them who are blind.

So you can have pathos and humour cheek by cheek. In another story of mine "I want to be a radio star" it’s no 127 onwww.michaelgcasey.typepad.com you can hear me read it. Well in that piece I'm poking fun at myself. I always used to say I'd end up as a security guard when I was working in a computer room for 21 years at the same company.

 So in that story I am a security guard, and Doris, which is a kind of comedy name in England, a previous generation Christian name for a girl. Only she has faith in me. It’s a comedy piece. It has a happy and silly ending. I also wrote a story called It’s All in The Stars where again I'm a security guard and in that story I meet a girl who follows her horoscope all the time. In the end she falls for the security guard, he literally saves her as she crosses the road.

So humour can be used to laugh at ourselves, and it always has the underlying pathos. I know all about pathos too.
Find Padre Pio and Me by Michael Casey it’s on the Internet, you'll see real pathos and tragedy there. However there is a very happy ending. Yes that's how I met my wife, really.

So I hope if you have time to read the pieces mentioned you'll see that I'm more than the fat and boring writer with arthritis/Arthur from Birmingham. I've seen pain and had pain, that's why I want to create laughter and smiles with my writing.
Because Laughter is the Best Medicine.

Hanging Out The Washing ©
By Michael Casey
Well Winter is here, Christmas will be here in less than 3 weeks too, but what do we do with the washing, it still has to be done. Hail and sleet and snow may come and go, or just old boring rain, but still the washing has to be done. We are lucky I suppose as we have a small back garden, so we can hang it out on our two washing lines.
My blue flags are the most distinctive part of the washing, as my Shanghai wife calls my pants. When I first went to Shanghai they were hanging from a bamboo pole from her mother’s balcony high in the sky, they were a landmark so I knew where I was. It’s very strange being in a country that does not use a Roman Alphabet for the first time, so my flag was something comforting if you like.
Back to now, and marriage and family and kids and washing hanging out in an English country garden, or rather our patch of green grass out the back. I hang clothes one way and the wife hangs them another way. I suppose its East v West, though my things tend to be 3 times the size of my 3 girls’ things. Their knickers are more like postage stamps, or handkerchiefs with shoelaces attached, if you have girls in your house you know what I mean. Mine as I said are like flags.
When it’s raining what can you do? Well you could use a tumble drier if you had one, though that is very expensive. Or if you can work out how to use the tumble drier feature on your Indesit washing machine. No like everybody else we put the washing on the radiators all around the house, socks here and socks there, and tights here and tights there as we have 3 girls in the house. Then there are school uniforms to be dried ready for school on the Monday morning. My stuff gets relegated to the upstairs rooms, I haven’t been at school for 40 years.
One radiator is a double one so it can hold more of a load, don’t forget the bathroom radiator too, no radiator is left uncovered, the bathroom has a shelf so a pants mobile, or rather a mobile holding pants is pressed into service hanging from the shelf above the radiator. One day it could win a Turner prize.
Steam rises everywhere so windows have to opened to allow the steam to escape, the scent of our washing powder fills the house. It really is a Chinese laundry with Shanghai wife and bilingual daughters included. My job is to turn the items, like a fish fryer in a chip shop, sadly none of the items can be eaten.
When items are dry, and we do debate as to what constitutes dry then they are whipped off the radiators and folded so they can be taken upstairs out of the way. My stuff is never paper dry as I prefer, so I take it upstairs and unfold it and put it on a radiator upstairs. Later I can remove and fold it again, without the wife knowing, or so I hope.
As we pat ourselves on the back the sun appears, unexpected Winter sunshine, we could have left them out all along, but that wouldn’t have been as much fun. The Shanghai laundry mistress would have never been able to wag her finger at us, as she gives orders and I reply “sorry I don’t speak Chinese” in my best schoolboy French.

Being Blunt ©
By Michael Casey
What exactly do I mean by “being blunt”? Well I mean saying it as it is, not prevaricating, just saying it. Why dance around the houses, when what is needed is the plain simple truth,  HONESTY in other words. Some people just cannot tell the truth, even if it’s as plain as the walrus drink induced nose on their face.
People are afraid to tell the truth and shame the devil, as my mum used to say, tell the truth and I won’t beat you kind of truth. Double glazing salesmen and central heating installers come to mind. They will sit in your living room doing a pantomime, a calculator is even used, as if it will impress you. Then there is the discount afterwards, and then as if they are doing you a favour they will announce £3K or £2K or whatever.
Then you say thank you and show them the door. They may think they have another load of commission coming their way, my deadpan face gives nothing away. In fact the air is blue afterwards, what a &*((& I may say. No way will he ever get my order, my money. I always look dumb, but my brain is switched on. You learn more by pretending to be stupid.
As for doctors, they don’t say “you’ll be dead in a week, cancel your newspapers and season ticket for Manchester United” They um and ah and it’s very hard for them, they are healers not shareholders in the local undertakers. Though I could add that I could have been hit by a private ambulance this morning, killing two birds with one stone if you like.
People offering a service will go on and on and on, just how great this service is, and I’m not talking about the Vicar boasting about his carol service. I’m talking about maintenance companies, who’ll clean and power wash your gutters and even drains, and then charge £200. Me I gave a bloke a tenner and he sorted my gutters. If he had asked for £20 I’d have pushed him off his ladder, well almost. There is power in cash.
It’s so good for your child to do all these after school activities, it broadens their mind, more likely broadens the backside of the lady who sits there reading Hello magazine while your kids run around, or maybe that’s play places attached to pubs.
Please can people be honest and blunt, cos I can and will be blunt if people think they can talk down to me, and not get to the point, and I don’t mean priests on Sundays either. Sounds like I’m ranting, no I just want facts, I don’t want political speeches or their ilk, just give me the facts. I’m big enough to make up my own mind, and I haven’t got money to splash about in the wider educational interests of my child.
This is code for a school trip because the teachers always wanted to go there themselves, but their own parents could not afford it. While I’m talking about teachers it amuses my children that they get higher marks if they use more florid languages, score 2 extra points if you use alliteration. Me and my kids look at each other and say “alliteration is for people who cannot write.”
Have I been blunt enough, have I rambled, if you are blunt with me you will say I have rambled, but rambling with words is my exercise, exercise for my mind, and at least it does not leave sweaty soles, or souls.

Getting Ready for Christmas 2014 ©
By Michael Casey
Well my small daughter asked could she put the decorations up, it was 1st December yesterday. So she went rooting in the back of the pantry under the stairs and came out with a plastic sack, this contained the all silver Christmas tree. Christmas would take up residence in the girls’ room. She also decorated the dolls’ house as well.
Later she brought down the small green tree that would live behind the tv till Christmas and turkeys were finished. I also dug out the crib, the one brought back from Bethlehem, though now a bit dishevelled, I dropped it a few years ago and it broke in half so it had to be glued back together. It also has glitter glue all over the roof, as if a star had crashed on it. So really I suppose it’s more accurate than a pristine Hollywood production. It has a lived in look.
I had a look online for free ecards, you can have fun with cards nowadays. So I sent a silly one to our neighbour, though it could just end up in the junk mailbox. I was going to send another even sillier one, where you can cut and paste your own face onto a card. They even make a mini video of you all as elves throwing snowballs. Really funny, but then they try and sting you for 2 dollars, so I didn’t bother. I’m sure if you google “free ecards” you’ll find many more which are really free.
You have to find addresses for long lost relatives, and send appropriate Christmas cards. Santa on the toilet is not suitable for your maiden aunt, nor drunken reindeer all with red noses due to all the whisky taken. So you send Holy cards to your Holy relatives. A box of cheap Christmas cards, in both meanings of the word for work and school or college. Then a really nice one for your priest who helped you out during the year, and you used to think he was a right (*&&&&&&, but somehow HE managed to surprise you, so now he is your best friend.
You stock up on nice food to keep you going during your marathon tv watching sessions, you have to have “snacks” while you watch your favourite Christmas horror films over the Festive Season. And tissues too for when you watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the zillionth time, it always makes you cry. Don’t forget to hide some supplies, the kids will steal your Pringles or Terry’s Chocolate Orange, just when you need it most.
Drinks are important too, if your are a drinker then a stash of larger at the back of the panty is useful. In our house, fizzy pop and orange juice, blackcurrant squash are what hits the spot. So we’ll have 10 litres ready, not forgetting the ice cubes too.
So we are all about ready now, did I forget something? Yes, baby Jesus with his mum Mary and dad Joseph, the Holy Family in a smelly manger, with animals for company, sharing the warmth. It’s the warmth and love of Family, that family and our own which is what Christmas is all about. It’s about the Future, the future of us all, 2000years ago, yesterday, today and tomorrow and for all Eternity. 

You have won!!!! ©
By Michael Casey
You always delete junk emails, you always do but this time you didn’t, you don’t even know why, but it said you had WON £1000 of vouchers for B&Q or This&That or even for Whatis&Thingymabob. So against your better judgement or maybe you were just tired because of the pain from your arthritis or piles or whatever. So you started filling in the form.
It asked your name and address and so on, and then it asked a load of other rubbish. DO you want this do you want that? Are you this age or that, do you want to book your funeral or do you want to go on holiday, and please specify which of 4 possible destinations, assuming you weren’t heading for your grave, or was it just pre-booking it, as you love your family so much and you don’t want to leave them with the bill, because you are so considerate.
Then it sends you through a maze or slide of other offers and promotions, it even asks you for your mobile number, which you don’t know because you never ring yourself. You only have a phone so you can keep in touch with your daughters when they go out singing in the dark, or after dark. Finally you work out what your number is and then against your better judgement you put it in.
Then there’s more, more invasive questions, you half expect rubber gloves and a command to bend over to come from the online form. Then finally the end, and you see in the corner, so small that you need a magnifying glass that you have to pay them 4 quid a month subscription to “win” prizes. So really it’s a con, and it’s a misrepresentation, you have not won anything. They are just data mining you, and on top of it all they are charging you a monthly fee for the privilege.
They you go back to your email and you are supposed to make one final click, why, perhaps to accept them stealing the monthly fee from you. So you don’t do the final click. So you send them an angry reply, “leave me alone and never email me again.”
So you have saved yourself from their rubbish and them helping themselves to your money. Do they take it from your phone balance? Then you see right at the unsubscribe link, so you click on that too, for good measure.  And what does that say? It says you have unsubscribed, but do you want a chance to enter a competition to win some more stuff, and it offers two chances.
Sounds like offering life insurance at a funeral, just as tacky, so please leave me alone, you know who you are.

MRI and Carpet ©
By Michael Casey
Well I was minding my own business in bed when the wife came up with the phone. Its great modern phones, you are not attached to a line. I'm old enough to remember when only rich people had house phones, before mobiles were invented. So it was the hospital saying they had a cancellation and could I come in for a MRI on my back.
So that was good as you can queue for 2 months or more. So my wife drove me down to the hospital in her "madwoman" clothes, a bright red apron with Korean writing on it, this was on top of her pjs. As we are a Chinese family we don't get dressed unless we are going out somewhere. she wasn't going anywhere , just dropping me off.
When I got there, Carry On Doctor was on the tv in the waiting room. They ask you a load of questions before you go into the machine. Because the MRI is so powerful it can be affected, or you can be affected by all the magnetic power.
So I changed and took my watch off. Inside the donut is a tight squeeze and a little claustrophobic. It also took 15mins and is quite noisy, so they give you headphones to listen to music while the machine works. They also give you a panic button. So I heard several Christmas tracks, before I was done. I have to wait 2 weeks before my GP has the results and then maybe I'll get some pain relief for that side of my body.
Getting dressed I dropped my watch and the minute hand fell off, but there is a tiny clock at the bottom so I can still tell the time, so long as the hour hand does not jam the works.
The lady on reception and the 2 radiography lads were very nice and professional. I had spotted donuts for sale at the cafe at the entrance so I was going to buy some for my girls, only the wanted £1.15 each. So I left them there. I could get some at Aldi instead. So I had an unexpected morning.
I went off to Argos next once the wife had driven me home. Got a XL sized rug, to cover up the bad bits in our carpet. About £46, a new carpet for the entire room would cost 10 times that at least. I bought Axminster 25 years ago, now with my herd of elephants at home it is time to replace it. There is a slight problem though. My girls don't like the colour that I chose.  I said it'd go well with our new sofas, but I live with 3 girls so you can imagine what they think. So watch this space.

20/11/2014
I’m not just an object, I have feelings too! ©

By Michael Casey

Morning 79, morning 87, morning 99, morning 110, morning all. It’s a bit nippy today, don’t you think? Yes, it’s really nippy today, all the ice and damp, it’s bad for my loft. My gutters are a bit blocked too, the rain just leaks down my brickwork, making me look so bad, it lingers too, encourages all that horrid moss, I just hate moss.

Look out it’s that crow again, I hope he does not land on me, nor me, nor me. Too late, he’s pooped on my brand new double glazing, I hope that cat in 49 eats the swine. Tell me do I look bad, just tell me straight, how bad do I look.

Terrible, like a Red Indian with war paint on, but not as bad as the Goth Girl from no 95, sniggered the other houses. It’s going to rain later on so you’ll soon be clean.

She needs to go on a diet, she’s so heavy on my flagstones, added the pavement. And when she walks in those high heels, she gives me a headache, it’s like having acupuncture, make me feel like a pin cushion. The houses raised their gutters in agreement.

Could be worse, you could be a lamppost, said the lamppost outside no 94, I have dogs to contend with. The lamppost wriggled his light in disgust, the things dogs did to lampposts, dogs had no shame at all. The houses fluttered their upstairs windows, it was their way of having a shiver down their spines.

Children ran by on their way to school, dropping litter as they ran, and spitting out chewing gum. The pavement began to cry, he was always being picked on, nobody had national anti-bullying week for pavements. He was spat on, and littered on, and peed on by dogs, and far worse when night descended. Then why did people wear heels, they just gave the pavement tummy ache. If only he could have some fancy new cobbles, like he had 100 years before.

So the day passed with the houses talking to each other while their owners were out for the day. Sometimes the hedges and the rosebushes joined in the conversation, but mainly they surfed, surfed the breeze. Hedges and rosebushes were just old Hippies, peace and love was all they thought about, must be all the roots they have.

The telephone wires tingled, as calls and internet went through their wires, they told the houses what messages were being passed. It would be boring just being a telephone line hanging in a street, but they could listen in and share the gossip with the houses. And why did number 95 always buy so much plant food, he never put it on his bush.

The sun faded in the western sky, the houses got excited, soon the owners would be coming home. Houses got lonely if their owners stayed out too long, people were company for houses. The streetlights started to come on, except outside no 84, there was a fault, so soon Hope Street was all lit up, except for a dark patch outside no 84.  Kevin the lamppost was scared of dark, so he started humming to himself, it stopped him from being afraid.

Derek, that’s one of the owners not another lamppost, he saw Kevin humming, so he went up to him and kicked him. Kevin felt bruised, but then with a flicker his light came on. Derek was an electrician, so he knew where to kick, with a smile Derek went inside for his dinner, Kevin smiled too. Kevin would stand sentry all night long, but he did not mind, his light was on now.

Picking my Piece ©
By Michael Casey
I haven’t written a new piece for a while, I got side-tracked with a bit of sudden angina, where that came from I don’t know. It was as sudden as waking up with Arthur, no there was no man in my bed, I’m not like that. I mean arthritis, which arrived just as suddenly and unwantedly.
So I had a rest from the writing and didn’t feel like writing something comical, I had an idea or two for a more serious piece, but I remember what a reader at the hotel once said, my series pieces are not as interesting for a passing reader.
So what should I write about? I thought “Who am I to judge?” was a good title, but 70 year old virgins dictating to the real world was/is more tragic than comic. I could have used the title to write about prejudice, I don’t like him because he’s too tall, I cannot abide tall people.
I just detest people with a common accent, I am from Birmingham, so that would have made everybody laugh. Though in fact I have a posh Birmingham accent, or even no accent at all, as I had to speak clearly for my Shanghai wife. Judge for yourselves atwww.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear my audio.
Then I could say I detest smokers, and I really do, I’m making no joke now. If anybody walks past me with a fag in their hands it makes my chest hurt, literally, so I really DO hate smokers. So is that a prejudice, or common sense. I remember the smokers room in my mum’s house, it was like treacle or honey if you touched the ceiling. Or at a bad restaurant where the tables are not cleaned, don’t get me started on restaurant practices.
I’m more careful now about things, everything in general now, as I grow older and closer to the exit, I am less tolerant of things, I have not mellowed. What you may ask, and my answer is that I’ll just vote with my feet.
I was talking about picking my piece and I’ve strayed into not holding my peace. I suppose having two young daughters has turned me into Attila the Hun as far as their safety and wellbeing is concerned. Phones are a real Godsend, especially if you are on a cheap tariff like Lyca mobile because calls between phones on the same network are free. So I can keep an eye on my daughters from afar.
Back to my piece, I hope our grass dustbin is emptied in the morning as I tidied up the front garden by cutting everything back, so there is nothing left. It’s all in the garden waste bin so I want the bin men to take it away. Then in the Spring I’ll have a brand new garden display, in the Spring there will be growth as Chancy Gardinier might say, if you remember Being There.
So I could write about films, they are such a great family thing in our house, we watch films together at the weekend, we might save up a few films on the Sky+ box and then watch them. No we don’t have the movie channels, but there are 15+ other film channels, 315 to 328 and other numbers. Sounds like picking from a Chinese takeaway menu, which makes us smile, as the wife is a Shanghai girl.
I could talk about antiviruses 360 Total Security is a Chinese one which is free, and there is a browser too, based on Google Chrome. Have a look at it for yourself, the tidy up feature is good, but be careful, otherwise give it a whirl. There are also free Kindle ebooks that you can get too, some are 0p, totally free so you could download them for your teenage daughters.
So I haven’t really decided what to talk about, so I’m talking around in circles, and that’s the important bit, I’m talking to you, I’m not really writing, I’m talking. I hope you all spot the difference. I need to get a magnifying glass so I can read the Alistair Cooke book, the print is just so small. He talked and talked well, if only I could be Postcard from Birmingham with Michael Casey. Now that would be perfect peace for me.

What are your kids to you?
11/11/2014
What are your kids to you?
By Michael Casey
My small daughter always gives me a hug and a kiss before she goes to bed. She’s 11 now, her bigger sister just blows a kiss to me, she’s 13, so too gig to give hugs, but I treasure this kisses. My small daughter has also taken up the anthem we had when I was a child 45 years ago, when I was her age.  “Nighty, nighty” she recites and waits for me to reply “Pyjamas, pyjamas.” It’s very simple and  silly, but now it will be passed down the generations.
It would have been my dad’s Birthday today, 11th November, so I smile and thing back and think forward. At the end of this century my daughter’s grandchildren will be saying “Nighty, nighty” and waiting for “Pyjamas, pyjamas.” We have Chinese and Irish blood in the family now, what  more will be added to the mix only time will tell.
We were watching the show on tv about compulsive cleaners and how they are matched with the really really dirty hoarders. Tonight they cleared a children’s bedroom, it made us smile. If they had a Chinese mum they would never ever get away with having a tip for a bedroom. Bad habits have to be broken and in fact they should never be allowed to begin.
I was talking to my small daughter about her reading and did the other kids at school read as much as her. She is part bookworm. They don’t have the time was her reply, too much Xbox and computer stuff, no time for reading. Parents have to switch these toys off and even switch the family tv off, and make their kids read. My small daughter reads 100pages a day in the main. Which is a lot, even if you consider the fact that children’s books have less words per page than a regular book. So if she can do it, why can’t every parent do the same?
Making hot chocolate for my girls, which has to be made in the correct mugs, the cat with the mouse on its head is my small daughter’s mug, the princess mug for my other princess. Simple little things while they are doing homework or just reading, dad keeps them watered while they are studying.
Kids need things, like school shoes or school blouses or just “things” so as a dad you have to go online to seek out what they need, and what their hearts’ desire. Then you say it’s a race to see if this will arrive before that. Online shopping is easy, you end up knowing all the couriers. We have a mum courier who fits in her work between the school-runs, she works for all the couriers.
When this or that arrives your daughters will give you a hug, she has got what she needs, or a bit of extra treasure. Kids also make noise, but the alternative would be a quiet house, kids are a heartbeat to a home, just as a grandfather clock is.
At the moment one daughter is learning all about the heart, coinciding with me suddenly and unexpectedly getting a bit of angina. The bigger daughter is thinking about GCSE choices, she has a Science brain like her cousin, my generation had Arts brains, so I cannot really help her on these subjects. And where did the science come from? Well grannie was the bus company accountant in Shanghai, and my wife has a bio-chemistry degree.
As for my small daughter, she just loves David Attenborough, and wants to be an animal biologist whatever that it. She just adores his voice, and Barry White’s voice too. So this is a snapshot of what my kids are like, I just hope I am ½ as good a dad as my dad was to me, Happy Birthday dad.













NOVEMBER 5TH, 2014 14:07
Follow Me I’m Your Leader
By michaelgcasey
Follow Me, I’m Your Leader ©
By Michael Casey
I always knew I’d be a leader, it was my destiny, I had to be what was ordained, so I seized the opportunity with both hands. People are fickle, so why no exploit it. I got in on the ground floor when mobiles first appeared, they were like a brick with a wire attached.
I had shares in Apple, the Beatles one, but I quickly dumped them and got the core value ones, the Tech ones. If people wanted to follow me they had to buy a phone, it was their uniform, so they could all appear so uniform and follow me. I made a killing with the shares and the concession stores. They were giving me money to have the uniform, or rather the phone, then they were part of the hip and groovy set, followers of me.
Who am I , no not Denny Crane, but Kevin H.P. Twerp. I added the H.P. it read better, as far as Americans were concerned, I also liked the sauce which started in Birmingham, as did I. Though nobody knew that, I was posh Scottish from Edinburgh, that’s what my Wiki page said. And everybody believes Wiki, and Julian Assange.
So once I had followers what did I do with them? I fleeced them of course, they had to attend my induction courses, which cost 1000 Dollars a pop, or 1000 Euros or 1000 pounds, it made the accounts easier to fiddle if I kept the 1000 unit.
They had to spent 10hours at each induction, there were 3 of course, and they cost 1000 for each. It is hard being a leader so the money paid for my 5 star stays all over the world, and the property portfolio in Malta. Malta is nice so that’s where I hide my money.
What happens at the induction? Nobody knows, the bottled water, and it does have to be bottled water for my followers. The bottled water was 10pounds/dollars/euros a bottle. The water having been laced with something, I cannot say what but it does make the 10 hours go faster, and their brains are blank afterwards. But they do worship the ground I walk on.
Then they have to dress like me, I did a deal with a haut -couture  fashion house, I got shares too, so my followers do look good. Just like me, why have an unwashed rabble in Tshirts when they can wear designer clothes, and look so nice.
I had a deal with a perfume house too, in fact I created the perfume. So my followers look good and smell even better.  A long way away from eau de Jeyes Fluid in my caretaker days when I had to clean the bogs. Though it did motivate me to dream up my pompous vacuous Cult, as my detractors call it, or did I mishear them?
I tour, big stadia, just like Alice Cooper and U2, though I don’t pay as much tax as them, in fact none at all. It’s worth investing in a corrupt accountant, he’s worth his weight in gold. He doubles as my chauffeur, I don’t want to ruin my manicure on any steering wheel. Besides I can watch him from the back seat of our Rolls Royce, specially made of course, only 5 in the world. I have one on every continent; I have to stay unique after all.
It can be boring looking at spread sheets, 4.79billion dollars or is it pounds now? That’s my ill-gotten gains, my accountant  cum chauffeur is demanding 20million as his share, the cheek of it. 20 million is more than what I paid for a new marina in Malta, near the Hilton. I said I’d give him 15, he accepted, I threatened to blackmail him, it’s always good to have a safety deposit box.
What’s happening, why am I in this prison cell, and why am I dressed in cheap women’s clothing, not even designer. I should have never have drunk that bottled water.



















Halloween Horrors ©
By
 MichaelCasey
There was a knock at the door at 9.30pm, while we were watching the Blacklist. Its Halloween tonight and it’s so dark outside now that the clocks have gone backwards for the winter. So just for fun I sneaked to our front door and screamed “DEVIL” and went away laughing, back to the Blacklist on TV.
Only the knocking returned but I ignored it. Our next door neighbour had but up a welcoming Halloween balloon, so that could have attracted trick or treaters.  My girls had a look out the window and think they saw a man with a parcel getting into a van. I was only told this after the van drove off.
I am waiting for a parcel, so was the trick on me. When roused from the Blacklist I saw the van stop at the end of our street and a man get out and have a fag. Smoking to steady his nerves perhaps. Parcel delivery drivers don’t deliver at 9.30pm in the dark on Halloween do they? A parcel man would stick a note through my door. Not unless he was a witch or warlock moonlighting.
I finished watching the Blacklist then I decided to have my own Halloween prank. I drew an evil face on my next door neighbour’s balloon. She did say she was going to be a witch in the woods tonight, so I wonder will the face on the balloon scare her.
If you hear a blood curdling scream in the middle of the night, it must be my next door neighbour.
More Black Humour
29/10/2014
following on the black humour theme. today I bought my girls some clothes and a lot of books. I told them its their Christmas present. And their Chinese New Year present too. They are 1/2 Chinese after all. Then it gave me an idea for a story, not yet written. It would be about a hypochondriac who keeps on thinking he has this disease or that disease so spoils his children, each time he thinks he’s contracted this or that new disease. So you can imagine in the school playground the kids saying, I got this new top because my dad has piles, or I got these new shoes because my dad’s arthritis got worse. Or dad had bad tooth ache so he bought me new boots, etc etc I may very well write this story down. Though I should say I really do have a few maladies, but laughter is the best medicine.
Black Humour what’s your view
By Michael Casey
Black Humour. What’s your opinion on this subject?
I need to have my  heart checked out, its my age I suppose.
So I said to my young daughters, they could have a cat if I have a heart attack. AS they would just love a cat. I then added that if I die they could have a dog as well.
They immediately scoured the Internet for pictures of  cats and dogs and begged me to let them have one or both. So I love my girls so much. they have a great sense of humour.
I always say IF we had a bigger house then we could have a cat and a dog. So if anybody can send me 6 numbers for the lottery…. Or if my Premium Bonds come up, finally after decades then perhaps we could have a bigger house, and then could have a pet.
p.s. we were at the theatre on Saturday to see Blood Brothers, they have plaques on the seats, there was one on the back of my seat, it read “IN loving memory of dad”
200 UP
22/10/2014
Today I’ve recorded a few more stories. So now I have recorded 200 of my shorts, which is less that 20% of my output. I’ve written more stories than the Brothers Grimm, twice as many, though some card might say my stories are grimm, ha ha ha, they will laugh to themselves.
Anyways as I recorded more today I did remember that a few days ago a blind guy was looking for a reader, so perhaps I should send him my 1st 200 stories to listen to. As for the rest of youhttp://www.michaelgcasey,typepad.com has 50 or so samples. So far 10 hours plus of recorded material.
It’s an ill wind that blows no good
20/10/2014
They say its an ill wind that blows no good. Today 24 hours before my pain killing injection the hospital rung to cancel it. Its nearly 6 months since my 2nd hip started to hurt, now I could be waiting another month. So that’s the ill wind. Mind you there’s a storm due to hit Birmingham and UK big time in the morning, so I suppose I won’t be drenched as I won’t have to go out in the rain. Though as I’m not going to hospital I’ll be doing my usual school run instead, so I will be drenched but slightly less so. Which reminds me how did I meet my wife, one reason was because she got food poisoning and missed her flight to Germany, so she came to Birmingham instead. Such is Love and Fate and etc.




OCTOBER 17TH, 2014 11:21
School Shoes
By Michael Casey
School Shoes ©
By Michael Casey
Shoes are shoes, are shoes, right? No, shoes are not shoes, they are school shoes, which is another thing entirely. And as for children’s shoes, don’t make my cry. They are something even more tearful, to the parent that is, the cost is so enormous.
You or me we got to the shoe shop and try them on and in 5 minutes you are out the door, you may even be wearing the new shoes and your old ones are throw in the bin. Shoes are expensive, leather shoes that is. Plastic or any other material tends to be cheaper.
The school year started a month or so ago, now ½ term approaches, and small daughter tells me she needs new school schools. She has small feet, size 2 or less, so normally she does not get through shoes as fast as her sister, who is a size 5.
So you look at the shoes and agree they are ready for the bin, so now you have to replace them. You can’t just give her any old shoes, they have to be school shoes, which have a special, almost magical quality, the fit, not the fit for the foot, but the fit for the school rules. Yes, school rules. They must be black and be plain, as if fit for the Amish or Quaker temperament.
Our cheap and cheerful shoe shop has closed down, and the other one is expensive, so the Internet beckons. We look at Clarks, they have nice shoes, in nice black leather, but I wince at the price. Small daughter doesn’t mind non leather shoes, so we agree to look at other websites. She does not have sweaty feet like me and big sister, so we can try non leather shoes.
We browse here and we browse there, then hey presto we find £15 shoes, which fit the bill, and fit her feet, and fit school rules. So we buy 2 pairs which we hope will last till the Summer, and save £15 if you can follow the logic.
So dad is given a congratulatory kiss, and small daughter skips away happily. Only to return half an hour later to remind you that the Seasons are changing and really she needs some new boots to wear to school in the bad weather, but once at school she’ll put her cheap new school shoes on.
So together we look at the boots, size 2 boots, at least there are no rules to conform to here. So we go to Clarks and they have a sale, and we put a pair in the basket, before opening a new Window.
We look at Amazon and Debenhams, and compare the boots. Are fluffy warm boots good enough, are the boots too tall, which would get in the way of small daughter’s running activities in the playground, or are they just right. I feel like Goldilocks looking for boots instead of a bed.
Then we find the just right boots, only they are not just right, as my small daughter decides they won’t match her clothes, when she’s wearing them not just for school. So we have to search again. Finally we settle for some mid- calf length boots with fake fur on the inside and thick soles  to keep her feet out of the puddles and snow this coming Winter.
So now she is a happy bunny and away she goes to play with her dolls’ house, at least I don’t have to buy shoes for all the inhabitants of that house, or I’d be in the poor house.

Pain and Fear Oct 2014©

By Michael Casey

Just so you know I’m talking from experience, not airy fairy philosophy, only my own philosophy learnt the hard way. I’ve talked to a few people now about Arthritis and pain. My own Arthur as I call it, arrived unannounced in March 2013. By the time I went through the health system it was 5th October before I got some proper pain relief, for my left hip.

Then such is the nature of the beast that my other leg, hip and everywhere else decided to go out in sympathy. Now after maybe 4 to 6 months I hope that’ll be sorted too, finally.

I always say I don’t want to pop pills for the pain as I don’t want to turn into Michael Jackson, the name Michael is all we share in common. I don’t want to be addicted to anything, besides which my kidneys don’t allow me to pop too many pills. So I use Movelat gel instead. It works in 5 mins and doesn’t smell like Deep Heat.

So that’s my background, I have met people who suffer much much worse and for years. So should I should shut up, or grin and bear it, and have a stiff upper lip, the British way.

Personally I think stiff upper lip is bollocks, when you are in pain you are in pain. You are not even looking for sympathy, but a little empathy does go long way. I’ve met people who say their kid or grandkid or nephew or whatever has this disease or that disease. As if it’s a competition in pain. It’s not a competition, and I do pray that others do get a bit of relief from their pain.

The other thing I say when people are offering one up-man-ship in pain, is does the sufferer have a sense of humour. This takes the wind from their sails, and they even think I’m being unkind. Some even miss the point, if you have a sense of humour it deflects pain away, it lessens it. Humour got us through the War, if you can laugh at something it is not your master.

Fear of something is greater than the thing itself, Churchill knew that, so we should all remember that too, whatever pain we have. He also said Never Never Surrender. That’s true too. I have seen people give up through pain and sorrow, it just leeches away the soul. So the answer really is Always Look On The Bright Side of Life.

It does not mean that I or anybody else is a comedian, and all singing and dancing comedian. A kind of Bruce Forsythe but on speed, or any other substance. Your outlook on life colours your life itself. If you give yourself a crucifix to carry then you will weigh down your soul. I’m sad because of this or because of that, my Life is Over, this mentality is a Cancer.

I don’t say we should be like Patch Adams, we can all heal ourselves, medicine helps, but it is ourselves that help ourselves the most. Give yourself a kick up the bum when you are feeling glum. So you did not get that job, that girl ignored you or slapped your face.

Life moves on, and we have to move on too, or we are drowned in the sea of life, time and tide waits for no man. I had a Birthday and this means I am now the same age that my dad was when I was at the lowest point of my life. It was my dad’s Birthday and I’d lost a job and I could see no hope on the horizon.

I can remember my dad shaving in the kitchen sink, saying sagely that something would turn up. I never knew if he really believed what he was saying, then or now. But I believed and loved him totally, which I hope every other son everywhere does. And if you don’t then you don’t have a Kerry Blacksmith for a dad as I did.

So I lived in hope and my brother said try computers, so I did, so I applied for one job in computers, and got it. That job lasted 21 years and laid the foundations for my very life. My fears were banished and I had a secure job.

How did I repay my dad for his confidence in me, I visited him every single  day when he was in the old people’s home, for 3 years, 20 years later. It’s all in Padre Pio and Me.

The pain of loss is a great big thing, I know as my mother died, then 8 weeks later my dad would have joined her, but my brother did CPR and saved our dad. So we had 5.5 years extra time, time to show our dad our thanks for his great life and influence over us his children.

When mum died I shed not a tear, not one, as she had ordered us not to cry for her, and not to fight. This was her mantra for years before her death. To be honest, she was worn out from her large family.

When dad died finally, a week after I’d found another new job, escaping the scrap heap again, I was in pain. I howled like a puppy dog being beaten with an iron bar. Grief does that to you. History repeated itself, I had found another great job. I was working for CPNEC Birmingham. Hotel work is hard work but great fun. I really did excel at the hotel.

So I’ve talked about real pain, as in Arthur, emotional pain as in losing a parent. I nearly lost 2 in the space of 8 weeks. So which is the worse.  Emotional pain always trumps physical pain. The heart feels pain more than anywhere else. So when your friend is going through a divorce or her bloke cheats on her, be there for her. A few words here and a few words there can and do save lives and souls too.

Some may think you are a stupid sod, but if you shine sunshine into a life as the clouds gather and the walls come crashing down, then, you will save a soul. You may also make a friend for life. The clever people don’t know what to say, or they are too posh or too polite to say anything. This is Wrong.  A hug is worth more than any amount of pills from a busy uncaring doctor.

You may wonder why I try and write humour most of the time, and not more serious posts like this. Well the answer my friends is blowing in the wind. Music is therapy too, that’s why your neighbour was playing Barry White all night long for a week. Until either the Police raided his house, or he realised there are as good a fish in the sea that ever came out of it.

You Only Know When You Are Dead ©
By Michael Casey
There is something similar between Paul Merton and Alfred Nobel, no Paul Merton does not have an explosive delivery. The thing I see in common is this, they had to have a death before they realised what people really thought of them. Alfred Nobel read his own obituary, then he changed. Paul Merton only discovered after his parents’ death that they admired his success.
Which has set me thinking, what do people really think of us. Will they only tell the truth behind our backs, or do they have the balls to tell it as it is to our face. I once said of somebody that he was “shallow” then a week or so later when we were all down the pub, as was our company’s religion, I was confronted by him.
I heard you said I was shallow. Yes, and yes you are. Do you want another pint I asked, so I got a round in and no more was said. In those days 20 years ago and more the company was more like a social club, but, everybody did work very hard, very hard indeed.  We have all scattered to the 4 winds now, but I’m sure when we all look back we all look back not in anger, but with laughter.
When I left the company I’m told they had the largest leaving collection ever, though that could have been like Cecil D Milne’s funeral, not because he was liked but  everybody wanted to make sure he was really dead. However, as I look to my right I have a painted water-coloured copy of a Burne-Jones hanging on the wall, the angel is playing a flute, below is our piano which my eldest daughter plays on. We saved up for years to buy it, and now the fruits are being to show.
Why are people afraid to say what they mean and mean what they say?  Perhaps I was born blunt, or honest as I would say, there is nothing worse than asking people what they want to eat and then they change their mind, or moan afterwards that they really wanted something else.
Whenever the kettle is boiled in our house I’ll ask do my girls want a drink, tea, green tea or hot chocolate. So I don’t waste the gas. My youngest is the one who says no, then says yes just as I’ve sat down again at the computer, just as I’m in mid-sentence.
Though I should not complain as they always give me inspiration to write something new, 550 short stories, pieces like this is my tally so far. Take a peek at Amazon Kindle if you want to read some. Slice of life, as the NY poet Elaine Polin would say.
When you are dead and in your grave its only then you realise that a coffin and a grave is just like being in a submarine, such a small space to sleep in, though you’ll never again come up for air. In your grave you’ll hear the grass being mown above you. You’ll hear lovers make love in the sunshine above. The laughter of children as they steal the flowers from your grave before giving them to their teacher in the school next door to the cemetery.
The rain beats down on your headstone, tears merge with the rain, somebody has come to pay you a visit, only the sound is muffled six feet under, they should have left your hearing aid in when they put you in your box. They put shoes on your feet, but a hearing aid would have been more useful.
You strain to hear who is crying, who is lamenting your passing. Its none of your family, it’s the cleaner from your office, you gave her some advice to help her son read. Now he’s passed the 11 plus, all because you spent a few minutes chatting every night to his mum. She forced him to listen to Radio 4 and to read a quality newspaper, and then there was that book list you gave her. It was nothing really, but it was enough to change her son’s life. Just as BBC Radio 4 had changed your own life.
There’s laughter above, two drunks are sitting and spitting as they drink cider as they sit on your grave. You wouldn’t mind a drink yourself, it’s a bit boring just lying here all stiff 6 feet under, if only there was cable tv in the grave. At least you have time to think, and you are not rushed off your feet any more.
No need to visit my grave you had said, I’m with you, I’m in you, I’m your dad, I’m your husband, your boyfriend, your secret lover, your boss your friend or whatever else you may have been. No need to tramp though the rain to lay flowers. That’s what you said, but secretly you wish somebody came, its cold and lonely in a grave.
So on it goes for all eternity. If you were a Poet maybe people would come and you’d hear laughter and listen to your own poems being read back to you. But you were just you, and sometimes its only when you are dead that you know just how much or how little you were loved.
So love now, not tomorrow, because tomorrow you could be dead.





WEDNESDAY, 1 OCTOBER 2014
You are always better than yourself ©
 By Michael Casey

You are always better than yourself,
because you have the love that made you,
so that’s 3 to start with,
then there is the love that you gain as you create friendships,
and find a partner too,
so you are never alone,
you are forever growing,
add Faith too,
so we are all Eternal.

Michael Casey

*** I stumbled over this on my PC then I deleted it by mistake, then I though I’d never find it again., So I was glad when I finally found it in a dark corner of my PC. I just  hope you all like it.



Theatre ©
By Michael Casey
Theatre, or drama what is it? Its life with the boring bits taken out, though you can stumble over a bad production. I’m going to take my daughters to see Blood Brothers, it should be great, I saw it years ago so now maybe 20 years on I’ll be taking them. If you get to the lift quick you can get to the bar real fast, and then have a pint of Stella for me and ice cream for them. This is the Birmingham Hippodrome.

I did take my girls a few years ago, we saw Fame. I think they’ll enjoy this show even more. They can prep by looking on UTube, I looked at Barbara Dickenson singing “Tell me it’s not true” last night, her singing was so powerful. Both my daughters are singers, my eldest daughter has got her Dean’s Award, which is a musical singing and theory exam. So I fully expect them to learn the songs and sing them incessantly when we get home.

I started going to the theatre when I was in my twenties, I went for a number of years. In those day’s people used to dress up when they went to the theatre. I once saw Anne Diamond in a long evening dress in the circle of the Hippodrome. I used to wear my black velvet jacket when I went to the theatre. Nowadays I dress for comfort, though I’ve reached an age where I don’t wear jeans anymore, so I don’t look like a member of Status Quo sat in the circle.

Before you are married you can sit in the best seats and please yourself, post marriage you have to think about the price of kids’ shoes. You can get out of the habit of theatre. My Shanghai wife was introduced to theatre, or should I say Panto, some of which she understood, the rest was totally totally strange to her.

So marriage and a different culture led to different things. Such as Chinese food in the Chinese Quarter, just outside the Birmingham Hippodrome. Though when I first met my wife I was positively vetted by a Chinese Ballerina from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, which is based at the Hippodrome. A friend of a friend is called “Chimp” and he works as a stagehand at the Hippodrome, he even toured China with the Birmingham Royal Ballet. So you could say there will always be some form of connection between the Hippodrome and my life.

Now a show is just that a show. You are captivated and controlled by the production, you are one with the production. I once saw the Conterfeit Stones at the Alexandra Theatre, the performance was amazing. The imitations and the singing were unbelievable, I’d tell Sir Mick to go take a look at himself. This is theatre at its best where you are carried along with the show.

I used to see bands perform at the Bell and Pump, this was mainly Folk, then I’d see Jazz at the Waterworks Jazz Club the next day, this was mainly Trad Jazz. That must have been 30 years ago, for a number of years. It’s because of this exposure to music that I can spot a good singer when I hear one. At a folk club there is theatre too, the way in which the band or solo artist holds the audience. Mad Jocks and Englishman were beyond compare, they must be all retired now.

Eddie Izzard was at the Hippodrome once and the way in which he rocked the audience back and forward, literally holding them in the palm of his hand. He did a joke about Engelbert Humperdinck and it was like watching a cat play with a mouse, such total control of the audience. Ken Dodd is totally different but he really is a Master of Mirth, control and avalanches of material, and a 4 hour show if you are lucky. He just never stops, you always get your money’s worth.

Theatre, does entertain, the Roman’s knew that, bread and circuses keep the Plebs in check. When done right the emotion on the stage spreads and touches everybody to the core. People can be helpless with laughter, crying with laughter. Some say it’s like a religious experience. The best play I ever saw in my life was Candide at the Birmingham Rep, it was standing room only.

There was a funny pitched circular stage if I can remember correctly. Period costume and riots of laughter. I imagine like the performances at the new Globe theatre in London. I have Taming of the Shrew on my Sky+ box, I need to sit down and watch it. My point though is that theatre IS better than film or your tv, it’s right there breathing on you.

When done right theatre is a conspiracy of the stage and the audience, especially something like Candide. There are no barriers, no tv screens nor silver screens getting in the way of you and the story and the performance. And yes my play Shoplife was accepted for production but not finally produced, so I still dream what if my play was on the stage.

So I hope that now my girls are older I can watch their faces as we see Blood Brothers at the Hippodrome, I hope the spark will be passed on between us. Who knows one day they may be on the stage, singing, performing or as the writer of a new play.
















Confessions of an Art Lover ©
By Michael Casey
I like Art, I suppose in a way I love it. My mum bought a picture printed on cardboard, it’s a street scene in snow, cost her 10p at a jumble sale. I still have it, it’s hanging over my bed, I’ve had it for 46 years maybe. That one thing has influenced my life till now and forever.

I even bought a book on Art while I was on holiday in Exeter with my brother, it was a 3 day weekend with hotel and car hire thrown in. He had named a locomotion engine and the holiday was the prize. So if ever you see “the graduate” that’s the train named by my brother. The art book was on sale and we got another quid off because there was a mark on the front inside page. I still have that book, it’s behind the telly.

I was just watching Andrew Graham-Dixon on tv, his programmes educate me. He’s been talking about artists from 100 years ago who were trail blazers, England’s version of Picasso if you like. Though that’s a very large over simplification.

The thing with art is its art, it’s not a photograph, it has many more meanings than a bare polaroid. Artist love the female form, the female nude is everywhere in art, and the internet in today’s world. Artists get bored with just one version of anything, so they stretch and strain the images. Look at some of Gaudi’s work for example, then look at Picasso’s, the form, the image on the canvas is changed and mangled even.

It’s as if the artist is drunk or looking through a kaleidoscope, or looking at a refection an image through a broken mirror. Nothing is as it seems it’s all been changed. The female form was corpulent and fat long ago, it was the tradition, then with time and different schools of art the nude was presented differently.

Everything, the landscape, the way of painting everything has changed, we had Constable so millions of copies of the Haywain adorn millions of homes. We had Turner with a blob of spit in the centre of an angry sea swell. We had the Pre-Rafaelites too with their almost cartoon bright colours, by the way Birmingham city gallery has a great collection of them.

Time and Tide wait for no man, ditto the artist. That’s why I need my guide Andrew Graham-Dixon to explain it all to me, and to help make the penny drop. Some may follow Man United, some may follow Formula One, others follow the still a Brit Murray at the tennis. Me I did play rugby at school, but I’d just love to sit down to dinner with Andrew Graham-Dixon and a 60 inch HD4 tv set beside us.

As we enjoy our meal, cooked by AGD’s Italian friend I could be taught the History of Art, I have a large stomach so I could be deeply educated. The length and breadth of art, as well as the 16 course menu that would cover the table as I look up and learn my Art.

Perhaps I am just naïve, but a painting on the wall does turn a house into a home, and if you understand all the nuances of the painting then so much the better. It’s like being on holiday abroad and being able to understand the language. Art is more than pretty pictures, it is a language, which is even better if you understand it.

Recording Star ©
By Michael Casey
I’ve been recording my short stories recently I recorded 4 more today in fact. As I record them the memories come flooding back, some of the stories are 3 years old, so as I record them I smile and sometimes laugh. I also want to add an extra line or two, it’s really hard sticking to a script.
There is a difference between a writer and a reader or a radio speaker. As a writer I want to change things, so recording my own words is like being on a train, I have to follow the tracks. As some of the stories are 3 years old events have moved on, so I want to change or give an update to the story. So it’s very hard for me just to read the words on the page.
I used to read the Lesson from Bible when I was young, over 40 years ago. You cannot ad lib when you are reading the Bible, or jazz it up, it is what it is. Though sometimes at Mass a priest may read the shorter version of the Lesson, you have to be disciplined. So I have to be disciplined as I record my back catalogue, I reached 194 today. I have recorded 194 out of 540 short stories.
They say Video Killed the Radio Star, if you remember the old song, so maybe I should be putting all my stories on Utube instead. Though I do think Radio is my medium, I did listen to BBC Radio 4 for 20 years before I started to write back in 1987. Words should be heard and listened to, and enjoyed, pictures can get in the way.
Recording makes you “announce” your words, the flavour is different, the comic timing has to be correct as you read. I was also thinking today as I listened back to my recordings that I could learn a lesson from Sinatra. Yes I do everything my way, I write in my own style, but if I recorded His way then it would be better. Clear enunciation, crystal clear enunciation, though you have to have a balance, I don’t want to sound like a BBC radio announcer from after the war. Having said that my daughters say I sound like a news reader, which makes me smile as my wife says I look a bit like Huw Edwards.
So on I go recording my shorts using my microphone which has a blue lcd light in it, makes me feel important, I suppose my very own studio live light. Its tiring too, all this recording, I hope that finally I can get my words on the radio. My other idea is to sell a book of shorts with facing page translations with a usb stick attached with my recordings on. Would you like learning English by reading my words and listening to me too?
I suppose in the end I may just be talking to myself, but isn’t that what radio is all about? Talking to yourself, in the hope that others are listening to you and smiling as they hear your words on the radio. I’d be happy either on the radio or in print or cyberspace. All I need is the Help of God and Two Policemen as my mum used to say.








In my mind I have tears ©

By Michael Casey



In my mind I have tears

In my eyes I have fears suppressed for years

In my breath I have pain was everything in vain

In my mouth I can taste the regret for not reaching

In my nose is the perfume of failure

In my hair is the grey of not getting there

In my gait   is the weight of things carried too far

In my stride my steps are small no more strength to carry all

In my laugh is the experience of rejection

But in my heart is Hope and Faith beyond reason




What’s your skill?
04/09/2014
What’s your Skill ? ©

By Michael Casey

I was talking to somebody the other day via the DT and he made me think, in fact he’s given me the idea for this piece, though he doesn’t know it yet. Yesterday’s piece “I have children” was inspired by going to the cupboard while making a cup of tea and when I opened the cupboard  what I saw made me smile and thank God, because I have children. An hour later I’d written the piece.

So today I was thinking about skills, trades, talents, flairs, not the old trousers from the 70s either. Some of us are gifted or talented in one direction or another, at school the school report said I had a flair for French, the truth was we were tested every week for 4 years, 20 questions. So it was the teacher Mr Notzing who made me good, I just did what I was told. So my generation of Casey siblings were good at languages.

Little did we know that we’d all marry foreigners, so my girls are bilingual in English/Mandarin. The next generation, our kids, seem to be going into science, my nephew has decided to do Bio-Chemistry at York, because it has a big lab there, I did mention that my own wife has a degree in the subject, my friend from grammar school has a PhD in it, that made him smile. My daughter is heading in that direction too.

But where does the knowledge come from? It’s partly in the genes, and not the Levi Strauss ones you are wearing. Grannie in Shanghai was the accountant for the bus company after all. So gifts or flairs or even talents can come to you via the genes. The greatest gift is your looks, ugly parents have beautiful children and beautiful parents have ugly kids, its God’s sense of humour and balance after all. My own kids take after the wife, thank God for that, I wouldn’t want them to inherit my hairy back.

I’ve gone off at a tangent but that’s the way my mind works, and it’s fun to see if people stay with me, or drift over to the bar, or go and fetch an iron bar to hit me with, it’s never happened yet, but you never know, you never know. So a talent, what is it? A talent is something that you are very good at, better than your experience level, if you like it’s a plus 20% and more that comes from somewhere else, maybe the ether.

People can be jealous, and snide about a talent. Oh, he’s just gifted, he didn’t have to work at it like the rest of us. Beckham had to practice to be able to bend it, he’s having elocution lessons next, he wants to be an announcer on Radio 4, well in my imagination he is. Rooney practiced his heading technique too, maybe that’s why his hair fell out, but its grown back, must be the shampoo he’s using, I hope he puts it on his website then we can all buy it.

You do still have to work at your skill, your trade, your knack with this or that, you’re knackered by all your hard work, and because you’ve put the hours in then it seems so easy to an onlooker. Perhaps firemen would be good pole-dancers, all the sliding down pole practice, ask any firemen friends you have. Which brings the obvious to mind, policemen would be good at bondage, all the handcuffs and so forth. I’ve gone off at a tangent again, are you hunting for that iron bar in the boot of the car?

Sometimes people are down on themselves and say they cannot do anything, I suppose girls are more sensitive and can be more self-critical. Image/size issues and so forth. I’d just say STOP. Yes you can, if I can steal Obama’s   saying. You just have to make good with what you have got.

Any organisation needs all of us, the cleaner, the guy at the door, the cook, the secretary, the lawyer, the general manager, the everybody. In my hotel days I was like a puppy dog, a 17stone puppy dog who greeted everybody within 15 seconds of them entering the hotel. Once our boss went to the Hilton over the lake, and nobody approached him for 20 minutes, which is enough time to have a meal and conceive a baby, but not simultaneously, not unless you are a chef. In fact a lot of guests thought I was the manager because of the silver hair, being 20 years older than the reception crew, and the lack of a uniform, because I was the wrong shape, ok fat for the uniforms they did have.

It takes all kinds of everybody doing everything, if I can mangle Dana, to make a hotel, or a law firm work. Yes you need the high skill guys, the university trained folks, but without everybody with their skills and talents, the jigsaw, the mosaic is not complete. Certainly at the law firm I worked at they knew this, everybody was looked after, anybody who did not fit the bill would never get through the interview process.

Carpenters are gods, ask Harrison Ford, he was one before he hit the big time. Chefs now they are gods too, and if you work in a 4star deluxe hotel you can to sample their creation, then you realise just how true it is. They also carry knives, lots of knives, so respect them, and did you know they live on biscuits and never cook at home, as they spend a lifetime in the kitchen, and yes gas is best.

Musicians are gods too, having been influenced by Eric Clapton from the age of 10 the power they have at their fingertips or with their voice is amazing. My claim to fame is that I once almost carried Eric Clapton’s bag when he stayed at our hotel. Only I went to the wrong end of his car, the boot was in the front. The car was worth twice what my house is worth. So I smiled and said, sorry sir, the wife drives a Skoda, but he did laugh.

So we all need to remember that we all can do different things, though actors have to learn to do many, but they are acting after all. Think about a film, and I have yet to write a Hollywood Blockbuster, it could be a 20 year pregnancy though, but I live in hope.  After the writer writes the film or the book upon which the film is based it takes 100s of people to produce it.

Next time you see a film, stop and watch the credits, count how many people it takes to make a film. If it’s an action film there may be 50 stunt people alone, or if its Jackie Chan just himself. The maths is interesting though, a film can be relatively cheap, but the returns can be a factor of 10. So a 10m film could make 100m, which 1000% return, which is better than the 2% which you’ll get on your Isa. That’s why people invest in films, rich people gamble 100k each and if it works they could get 1m back.

So as you watch the credits look at all the different categories, the butcher the baker and the undertaker is the name of my 1st book, just as that is a collection of trades and callings so are all the folks who work on a film. So if I ever get lucky, then one person, me, I could give work to a whole host of others, and all because I balanced a typewriter on a stool as I shivered in my living room, sat on an old barn chair with a broken back in front of the gas fire, as I wrote The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. And best of all the writer gets at least 5% of the initial budget.





I have Children
03/09/2014
I have Children ©

By Michael Casey

I opened the cupboard to get a cup, crackers tumbled out, followed by straws, multi-coloured straws. I looked for a spoon only there were none. I went searching for spoons, only to find them magnetised in a clump on my girls’ bedroom floor. Magnets are very attractive to enquiring minds, so they had to be tested, just how many spoons could one magnet hold. As for me and my tea, I’d have to use a finger to stir it.

I retreated with spoons galore, I hid the magnet under a bed, they’d never think of looking for it there. A bit of toast would be nice, at least the knives were in the right place. Now where was the jam? I looked high and low, and in the end I gave up, only to find the empty jam jar in the bin, as I discarded my tea bag. Children eat your favourite things first, you may as well have a gannet in the house.

I’ll pop up the road to get more milk and bread, I have to be careful nowadays with weight of the shopping, too much sets my screaming and wincing. Relief comes at home when I squeeze out the tube of Movelat pain killer. Where does the milk go to? Its hot chocolate for my children, for my girls, and then there are Cheerios, their favourite cereal, or rather the cheaper Aldi version. I swear we should buy a cow, my cousin has a dairy herd, perhaps he should send one over from Kerry. I do like milk myself, but I blame my girls, my thief like girls, they drink all my milk.

I have children, there is the cascade of scarfs and gloves when I go rooting for my coat in the pantry under the stairs. Then there are slippers galore all over the floor as I try and negotiate my way to the door. As I head for the shops there is the shout for chocolate, why do children and girls especially love chocolate so much. Forget the bread, just bring chocolate. Or in our house, forget the rice, just bring chocolate.

I need the bathroom, I have to fight my way through our galley kitchen, past one obstruction, a wife with a cleaver and a wok. Only to discover 2 more in the bathroom, 2 girls, why is it always 2 girls in the bathroom? Go pee in the garden I am told, or use a clothes peg as a clamp adds my scientific wife. Just as my bladder is about to explode I am allowed to use the bathroom, don’t pee on the floor advises my wife as she brings down the cleaver, amputating a fish’s head. I leave the bathroom, relieved, and them nagged for getting in the way as the chef is at work.

I get to the living room, I stumble over books and jumpers, I want to watch the news, only Peppa Pig is on. If it was up to me Peppa Pig would be having her trotters removed by the Chinese chef in the kitchen. Then I sit down in my spot,  demanding my cushions be returned to support my back, I have children, so they throw Looney Chick at me instead. Looney Chick has been a great support since 2009 when he arrived in our house from Shanghai, a back support.

My daughter wants to be a vet so while I am eating she is watching a documentary, so I have to avert my gaze otherwise I’d need a bucket to be sick into. I am laughed at and shamed by my children, by my wife too. Three against one are the odds.

It’s a school day, nine is bedtime, or rather the time you want them up the stairs, out of the way, not watching Peppa Pig. So there is bedtime and preparing for bed bedtime, which usually means by 9.30 or 9.45 they are finally out the way, out the way of the tv.

I am alone with the wife, now she wants to watch Chinese TV, I turn to Looney Chick and start speaking French to him, occasionally Spanish. I can hear laughter from the door to the stairs, my children are listening and spying. Go to bed I command, but they need a drink so I have to relent, and give another kiss goodnight. I have children, I have children.



Customer Service for Beginners

By michaelgcasey
Customer Service for Beginners ©
By Michael Casey
Before I start I’ll ask you one question.
Why do we need customer service?
Answer:
We need customer service, GREAT customer service So that customers come back to us again and again.
BAD Customer Service means NO return customers.
Which in the end means WE ARE ALL OUT OF A JOB looking after great grandpa at home.
So please follow the ADVICE I’m sharing with you.
And before  you ask why should you listen to me, the answer to that is I’m paying you
and I had the highest praise ever for my customer service when I worked at my previous job.
I had maybe 100,000 guests,  I spoke to all of them.
Here’s the Advice, please commit it to memory so you know it as well as your favourite song.
1. Never say NO.
2. If a customer asks for black, and we don’t have it tell the customer what colours we DO have.
3. Then we don’t lose a sale
4.  Saying NO turns customers away and they look elsewhere.
5. So you ALWAYS tell them ALTERNATIVES, they can be
Persuaded, to make a PURCHASE, we have NOT lost a sale.
6. If you cannot give an answer for any reason, then tell the customer YOU WILL FIND OUT, Never say I don’t know.
7. Always be polite, especially with difficult customers, NEVER eat and drink while on the phone, they will think you are a PIG
8. Professionalism counts, so be professional, have a tidy desk and KNOW where to look on the computer, so you don’t APPEAR to be like a lost child.
9. Once you have an order ALWAYS REPEAT BACK to the customer what they have just ordered.
Eg. So you say:- shirt size 10, pants size 12, and the COLOURS they want too, and the QUANTITIES.
Most importantly their MAILING ADDRESS AND PHONE NUMBER
10. SO you have the order and ALL the details, what do you say before ending the CONVERSATION?
11. You say THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER PLEASE SHOP WITH
US AGAIN.
Never bad mouth customers as you hang up, because they WILL hear, and you should NEVER do it anyway.
12. ONE FINAL THING, BEFORE YOU HANG UP, Tell the customer we also have great offers on, whatever items there are offers on. AND tell them next week, or next month we will have more items. It would be EVEN BETTER if as you take their order you REMIND the customers about matching items etc.
13. Customer Service is all about giving the customer what they want, and if we don’t have it we offer ALTERNATIVES.
14. We wear makeup and nice clothes to attract a boy/girl , and we  try and make her/him happy. OUR CUSTOMERS ARE THAT GIRL/BOY.
15. If you are GOOD the customer tells 4 friends and we get more SALES.
16.If you are bad and lazy the customer tells 10 friends, and WE SUFFER and end up at home looking after great grandpa
SO SMILE EVEN WHEN ON THE PHONE AND ALWAYS GIVE GREAT CUSTOMER SERVICE, OFFER ALTERNATIVES ALWAYS


Dolls’ House ©
By
Michael Casey
Well the Vet books arrived so we covered them in cling film, or rather sticky film to protect them, so they would be protected while my 13 year old spends a few years mulling over whether to become a Vet or not. The sticky stuff also arrived in the post, as part of the preschool materials for my daughter.
I remember maybe 40 years ago when my French teacher at grammar school got us all to cover our text books in clear sticky back plastic. One of the class had done his book in it and Mr Notzing noticed and decided it was a great idea, so he arrived one day with squares all pre-cut ready for us all to cover our books. I mention this because thanks to Mr Notzing I was good at French, a 20 question test every week for 4 years had also helped. So God Bless Mr Notzing, he died when he was about my age.
Now my small daughter had begged for a dolls’ house for a long time, she had one already but she wanted a bigger version. My brother had bought her the original dolls house as a Christmas present a few years ago. Finally she was allowed a cream coloured one, available from Sue Ryder via Amazon, and naturally made in China, but she is ½ Chinese herself.
We watched the post for it to arrive and then finally it did, my small daughter was delighted. So I just looked at my watch and said she had to read for 2 hours first and then do 15 minutes piano. She would be very good at piano but bored of it, but now at this moment the dolls’ house had power, so I used it.
Then I had to drag her away from the piano as I carried the heavy bundle upstairs to her bedroom. It looked as if it was all covered in sticky clear plastic itself, but it was no book, it was a dolls house. So we used a box cutter to get all the wrapping off, then I laid out all the pieces like an undertaker laying out the dead.
Front and back, roof and floors and so forth, I got my small daughter to count all the screws so we could know if we lost any. Then we began, I had guessed it would take an hour and a half to do, only I forgot about my bad back and my Arthur, my arthritis. So in the end it took 3 and a half hours.  Some of the screws were so small and fiddly so I could not fit them into place. So both my daughters did the small finger parts.
The new Sue Ryder dolls house was 4 times bigger than the original dolls house, and actually 25% cheaper in price, made of wood and not plastic too.  You have to use logic and spatial awareness, to work it all out. I was trying to explain it to my daughters as I went along, my big daughter did think about architecture as a career, before being a vet roared into her mind.
So we did the base and screwed the sides on, then we slotted in the 1st floor, we were on a roll. The 2nd floor came easy, we tightened it into position. Soon the roof would be on and the house was taking shape it looked so good already. Then we realised the 2nd floor was on back to front, the pictograph was the evidence. So we had to undo all the screws and rotate it before putting the screws back into position.
Then we placed the 2 sets of stairs into position, the thing was taking shape. So I went downstairs to the fridge for a celebratory drink of cold blackcurrant and a visit to the bathroom. The back roof went on next, followed by putting the 2 attics on the front roof. So everything was coming up roses, my small daughter was getting happier and happier. As for my back and thighs, they were beginning to hurt, scrambling around on a bedroom floor exacts its price, especially if you have arthritis.
So we only had the front to put on, with hinges, and the front roof with more hinges. This is when things get tricky, the screws were tiny and my pork sausage fingers were not tiny. So the hinges were the girls’ job to do. I just supervised, as I went downstairs for another drink and to squeeze some painkilling gel on my back and hips. Building a dolls house has a price to pay for dads with Arthur, but a dad has to do what a dad has to do.
Then we worked out how to put the double jointed roof hinges on, though to be honest one was back to front so we had to redo it. Finally the roof was on, I would have done a victory lap around the bedroom, only my Arthur would not let me. The front had 4 hinges plus a magnet to close the front 2 pieces together. We managed to do it, even when we discover we were missing a few screws. Luckily I had a few spare in my stash of tools and screws. But we still lacked 2, my small daughter said it did not matter, but I insisted. I found a long thin nail and it was pressed into service, and with a few more blows of my hammer it was turned into a screw. But we still lacked one screw, one screw was missing. So we used a large drawing pin.
We closed everything, we had done it, we now had a super dupper dolls house, in fact it looks like one of the dream houses that I  look at on www.rightmove.co.uk If only I could win the Premium Bonds then I’d move to such a house. We decided on one more thing, the hinges could be helped if we added clear sticky back plastic to them and along the entire edges of the opening parts.
We moved the new dolls house into its final resting place, just in front of the girls’ wardrobe, which could now only open with one door. That did not matter, only the doll’s house mattered. My daughter gave me a big hug, it had taken 3.5 hours. I went downstairs to lie on the settee, while my daughter filled her doll’s house with all the Sylvanian family furniture.
We had done it, I would of course extract a price for this new dolls house, more piano and more reading. Though to be honest my small daughter does do loads of reading already, but if I can redirect her back to the piano for 15 minutes a day then that will be a victory for both of us. So we had a victory toast of fizzy orange Fanta, and then I rubbed my pain killer on my Arthur.












FRIDAY, 22 AUGUST 2014

Shanghai Pink
Shanghai Pink ©
By
Michael Casey

Well my girls got home yesterday morning, a groaning taxi arrived with them and all their treasure. I was standing on the doorstep as the black taxi tuned the corner, perfect timing. I had been watching flightaware so I knew all the details of their two flights from Shanghai, if you google it will tell you all about Daniel Baker the founder.

It’s so much easier if you fly from Birmingham, no waste of 3 hours going to Heathrow, and more especially when you return tired from holiday. However you do have to take a connecting flight, but at least you are not so tired when you get home.

Once home all the cases are dumped  in your clean home. I did actually vacuum and tidy up before their arrival, before my 3 girls came home to me. After 3 weeks, I needed too, I even did all the washing up too, and put all the cups and plates away, and I washed the kitchen floor too. None of this was noticed as my wife went online to tell her mum she had arrived safely, not to mention catching up on all her messages. Sometimes I think she needs a social secretary.

My small daughter was triumphant, she had a souvenir for me in her hand. A lucky cat, a fat cat on a red cushion with a bell around its neck, this now lives behind me, on top of the  bookcase next to the hifi. My small daughter also gave me a tiny rubber in the shape of a tiny white lucky cat. So I have 2 lucky cats now.

Next the bags are opened and the contents spill everywhere, and everywhere really does mean everywhere. They were allowed 69 kilos, so they brought back the full allocation. Ma, as I call grannie in Shanghai, sends things she’s saved. Such as 2 old shirts of mine and 2 pairs of nonmatching socks, and one old pair of blue underpants, all this saved for more than a decade, from my first ever visit to China.

How and why these were saved I cannot remember, it may have been part of the leave something behind, which would mean I’d have to come back for my future bride. I did have to leave the Eurythmics  album 17 behind, I still play it often. The album returned to me many years ago, but the shirts and socks, and the blue pants must have been overlooked. The shirts would never fit again as my chest size is 2 inches bigger and my neck is an inch bigger, thanks to 3 years working in a hotel.

More treasure spills over the floor and covers the 2 settees we have in the living room, then the phone calls begin. My wife is very popular, so she has to catch up on 3 weeks news, but she had not seen her mum for 5 years, so there was lots of catching up to do.

Then slowly slowly, like a tide too slowly retreating all the stuff is unloaded from the suitcases and those plastic/canvas blue stripy bags that Chinese travellers use on their travels. Next all the packaging is thrown to one side, luckily I emptied the dustbins the day before. Where does all the stuff come from, ask anybody with an international wife and they will say the same.
This takes a period of hours, in between the phone calls, so the tide of unpacked suitcases retreats, with pockets of wet sand here and there, or rather piles of clothes balanced and slipping from the arms and backs of the twin sofas. Meanwhile twin dustbins are filling with stuff. Grannie has send loads of stuff back  to Birmingham, some of the stuff I don’t see as I take refuge in the front room, my PC being my saviour.

We stop for family pizza, my big daughter had decided to puke on the Shanghai to Paris flight, so she was starving now, though the Paris to Birmingham flight was nice. So my Shanghai/Birmingham family have pizza, it’s a change from 3 weeks of total Chinese food.

The washing machine is switched on and the first load is started, luckily I emptied the washing machine 2 days ago, I anticipated this. 90 minutes later the first surprise, a duvet set emerges, only its camouflage green, it’s what you’d use to hide a tank with, have we got Putin’s luggage by mistake?

So I hang out all the washing, ready for the next load. As I hang the camouflage green duvet cover, with matching pillow slips and mattress cover on the line I laugh. Ma, has sent this all this way, 5000 miles just in case we could use it. It’s very Irish really, not just Chinese, my own mum would have done the same. I hang out more washing only to discover that several items are now Shanghai Pink, an old red jumper that my wife had 10 years ago has landed up in Birmingham, mixed in with all the washing. So several items are now Shanghai Pink.

The washing was left out overnight, then early this morning I switched on the washing machine ready for the day’s sun, and the second load. As least Shanghai Pink would not be repeated. Then I went back to bed for another hour, I would rise with the rising sun, and get our 2nd load done. We never use the tumble dryer, radiators yes, as they are free, tumbler dryer no. My wife has developed an English love of the Weather Forecast, sunshine is free too.

I rise and discover my wife on the phone, so I hang out the 2nd load of washing, laughing at Putin’s washing as I take it off the line ready for the next load. I hang out another duvet set, Ma has sent this 5000 miles too. She did have her place redecorated a year or so ago and so we are getting her caste offs, though it turns out that the second duvet set was a new set, that was stuck at the back of the wardrobe, for 10 years.

Then Shanghai Pink reappears, where is the offending item this time? There are no red jumpers in the pile, but there are 3 sets of long-johns, what looks like a child’s long-johns, 3 tops and 3 pants. They are in fact the wife’s long-johns.  The Shanghai Pink is bigger this time, my wife comes outside to laugh. Thanks to her long-johns she never freezes in Winter, and always wonders why I’m cold, and tells me off for putting the heating on.

The sun shines and the 2nd load of washing blows in the wind, even if  some of it is now Shanghai Pink in colour, inside the house gradually the tide of clothes and suitcases disappears, at least its only in one room now.
I remember I have a can of lager in the fridge so I enjoy that, upstairs there is noise, my wife has decided to have a tidy up. There’s no room in the wardrobes for the new stuff, so old stuff is exiled to downstairs. Just as I thought the house was tidy, the tide, the 2nd tide of the day takes over, this time old and unloved clothes will be transported to the charity shop. But first they will mount up in plastic bags behind me, it’s my job to carry them to the charity shops.

Sadly 2 of the charity shops close by have closed, so I have to walk farther away to donate/ get rid of our old stuff. If you have daughters and they are under 16 they are still growing, so the amount of clothing that ends up in the charity shop can be quite large. I do have one daughter who takes after me, and the smaller daughter takes after my wife as far as build goes, which means more trips to the charity shop for me.


I could go on but I have to cook for the family now, so we are having pasta, Aldi pasta, two packets full in one big saucepan. I switch on, make sure it doesn’t over boil, and in 15 minutes I have fed the family. One thing is sure though, my pasta won’t be Shanghai Pink.

















I want to be a Ghostwriter
15/08/2014
I want to be a Ghostwriter ©
By Michael Casey
I’ve decided to be a Ghostwriter, it might be easier just to adopt a pen name but I think I’ll go all the way, there has to be a first time for everything. I mean if I am a ghostwriter nobody will know who I am. I can write horrible things about the man in the chip shop, he never gives me enough chips. I can write about that lolly pop lady who lets cars kill me, oh sorry love I did not see you. I wear bright red and I have silver hair.
But that’s more about the joys of having a pen name so you can be truly invisible, and really dig the knife in, all those people you hate, that man at the bus stop, or all those driver bastards on mobile phones while you cross at the zebra crossings. Not to mention those who overtake a queue of stopped traffic at a zebra which you are crossing, just so they can try and kill me. It’s happened at least 5 times.
Well it’s good to get that out of my system, though I would like to vaporise all those bad drivers in the neighbourhood. I speak as a lifelong pedestrian and non-driver. So what would ghost writing be like? Would you meet lots of interesting people? I did when I was a concierge, would they have lots of good stories to share? And I’d get paid to tell them, for a good fee of course.
How much should you charge? £50 an hour and a minimum fee of £1000 up front, just to get rid of time wasters. How would they communicate their stories to you? One idea would be for them to record them then copy them to a usb stick which they’d post to you, with a cheque. If you like the story then you agree to write it for them. If you don’t then you keep the usb stick, and charge a £100 fee just for evaluation costs. If you like it they have to pay the £1000 up front.
If you google “fees for ghost writing” I’m sure you’ll get much higher costs. You can also add on a 10% share of any book sale profits, plus if it’s optioned for a film you can ask 25% of film rights. It’s your writing that made the story interesting after all. So much for the theory, but did you know a film script writer gets 5% of the film budget, and a profit share, or so much for the theory.
As for the writing, the ghost writing itself, it must be a story worth telling, you don’t want to be some sort of glorified copy typist. When I was copy typing my novel to have it on my computer, that was the most boring thing in the world, so instead I rewrote it and it doubled in size, humour and pathos.
So assuming you get a reply to your advert in the Daily Telegraph, it’s not really an advert, you posted a comment in the comment section and hoped somebody noticed. Then you make contact with somebody, or rather they contact you, and you sit there listening to the usb stick story. Every other word is, “you know, or init or erh, or I, I and I” people have to learn how to speak before they can learn how to write. Though I could teach people to Speak as well, see I am doubly gifted.
The trouble is people “think” they can speak, and then they think they can write. The truth is they cannot. To stand up and talk and hold and engage an audience does require training. I learnt to do it properly back in 1998, and the writing took me 1 year of doing it, with 20 years of constant listening to BBC Radio 4 BEFORE I picked up a pen.
I’ve gone sideways, so back to the ghost writing. You get a usb stick and you play it on your hifi, so it doesn’t get a chance of giving your computer a virus. You sit there with a can of Stella Artois in your hand, as you listen. You hear the accent and the tone, some accents are hard to understand, some just hurt your ears, like chalk on a blackboard, though I’m probably the last generation that knows about chalk and blackboards.
If the story is good you’ll put down the can of Stella and listen harder, as you listen your professional ear kicks in. When you watch a film, you enjoy the story and the way it’s acted, and you spot the telegraphed items. At the start is superglue, so that later in the story the superglue returns to save the day.
So the story is good, you just need to take out the cursing, yes it’s needed and it’s the way the story is, but less is more. Some kids think that saying %$£^ is clever, but when repeated 1000 times its just BORING. Same goes for the sex, less is more, if that’s a contradiction in terms. Jackie Collins is Jackie Collins or 50 Shades of Grey. So you listen and you see through to the heart and soul of the story. The teller may not be able to write nor even talk, but the ingredients make a very powerful story.
So you finish listening, you may have another Stella Artois or their new Cidre, then you sit in the chair thinking. Then you go to bed and sleep on it, literally. In the morning you write for an hour or two. You read it back, you’ve taking their story, their life and you’ve made it better, it’s a good piece of writing now.
As I write this I can remember once being asked did I ever write for others, I cannot remember when, that could have been my ghost writing chance. I was asked by a lawyer did I ever teach how to give a talk or was it writing. NOW today if either of those people is reading this I’d like to try both, but they are gone like ships in the night.
So back to the ghost writing, then you have to ring up or email the teller and ask them what they think of your writing. Have you make their life good, do you do justice to their story, to their life. It’s at this moment you either get £100 for the evaluation, or they send you £1000. You never do a stroke more without payment. I have a friend a translator in Shanghai who was fleeced for a technical translation he had done. There are thieves out there, so trust nobody, this is work, even if it is work you love, you must be paid. And in advance.
Some people can write about anything and anybody, axe murderers and junkies, who don’t use trains but buses, all kinds of stuff. Or the life and times of the village organist. It can be either end of the spectrum. As a ghost writer you could be writing about anything, the guy interviewed on the BBC claimed he got 3 offers a day. If he’s that lucky he can be choosey, very choosey, it said his books have sold 10,000,000 copies.
How choosey would you be, would you be like a bar, open long hours to everybody, for everybody. Me, I wouldn’t be like that, I wouldn’t want to put up with an idea or a person for 3 months while I wrote the story. It’s like shop staff they have to put up with the likes of you and me, while they are working. Once outside the shop they can cross over the road to avoid us. So a story is like a uniform that you have to wear at work, you could really hate it. I had to wear a pink tie while I was a concierge, I hated that tie.
You have to either like or at least tolerate the story and the teller, while you are ghost writing. Then once the work is done their name is on the front of the book, not yours. If you are lucky you may get a tiny credit. That’s why you must have a proper legal contract so that at least you get the money if not the praise for all your hard work.
So I hope all you would be ghost writers, and I include myself, have had food for thought by reading this piece. And as I said before I am available to teach public speaking and as a virgin ghost writer.

Ghostwriter Available
14/08/2014
 I just saw this guy being interviewed on “Meet the Author” on the BBC, I forget his name,but he is a Ghost Writer after all. So it got me thinking, perhaps that’s what I should be. People may like my style but not the content, so perhaps I should just sell my style. I did actually get a radio station, a hip and trendy one, say “we like your style but not the content” Other Radio stations DO like my stuff, but getting a slot in a format driven Radio World is very hard, but I do keep on trying.
As for the Ghost Writer idea, if anybody out there wants to contact me then just send me an email with “Ghost Writer” in the subject line. Now if you want examples of my writing you can click on http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  and  there in actual fact you can hear me READ OUT 50 or so examples. If you want to read more then just click http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC  I have 8 books on Amazon. Just look for my face.
I do have an idea for a comic post about wanting to be a Ghost Writer, that’ll be called “I want to be a Ghostwriter” So watch out for that.
p.s.I’m a writer I’ll never call myself author




We are all related in Paradise
10/08/2014
We are all related in Paradise ©

By Michael Casey

Summer is the time for holidays, summer is also the time for delays. My wife and mother in law and our 2 daughters were stuck in Osaka due to the Typoon. Now they are about to land in Shanghai where they’ll finish their holiday. How China Eastern Airlines looks after stranded passengers is another matter, I won’t dwell on it, for now.

As for me I’m home alone in Birmingham so I’ve been using the internet to track the storm and to see how flights are affected. A few messages to the departure lounge and their camp bed made up of seats. I suppose afterwards my daughters will think it’s been a big adventure.

Back here in Birmingham we were awaiting the leftover hurricane Bertha, Big Bertha. My sister is planning to go to Chicago, so that’s to the West while my family is in the East the Far East. How would my sister’s planned trip be affected by the left over storm, she already had to wait a year for this trip.

Then I got thinking about my mother, she used to keep a bottle of Holy Water behind the side door, where the bread bin used to be, next to shoes and a row of coats hanging up, this is 45 years ago now. So if the storm was too much and she was afraid it would damage our roof she’d open the door up and sprinkle Holy Water, commanding the weather to calm down. Yes, Faith of a Child, it was this which I inherited when she died, because I needed it. And I never cried when she died either. My dad, I cried like a puppy dog beaten with an iron bar.

So in Paradise my mother is watching over us and sees the storm, Bertha is bearing down on England, mum’s youngest child’s holiday plans could be delayed. She has to get to Dublin first for the Chicago flight, the weather could delay her. So imagine what my mum does, any mum would do.

Reaching inside her smock, the blue one she always wore around the house, the smock she was wearing the last time I saw her alive, mum brings out a ten gallon container of Holy Water. Freshly filled that morning from the stream that runs through the garden of Eden. Paradise is the garden of Eden, didn’t you all know that. Mum drenches Bertha from on high and says, that’s enough, be still now. As I speak Birmingham has sunshine.

Besides mum a Chinaman appears and knocks her elbow, he apologises, my mum answers in perfect Shanghai dialect. The Chinaman is impressed, how did she manage that? He is speaking in a Kerry accent, a strong one at that. They both look confused, then they smile. God does work in mysterious ways after all.

My daughter is going to Chicago, my daughter is bringing my 2 granddaughters to Shanghai. Mum looks down and smiles. They continue speaking, mum in Shanghai dialect and the Chinaman in a very thick Kerry accent. The Chinaman reveals that his daughter has a Birmingham husband. My mum says she lived in Birmingham. They exchange pleasantries as mum magics up tea and Madeira cake, our Sunday treat when we were small.

It’s then that mum realised they are her granddaughters too, she jumps for joy, she never ever saw them when she was alive, she died too early for it to happen. She has 2 granddaughters, her son got married and had 2 daughters. Why didn’t she know that before? She reaches into her smock and produces 2 ten gallon containers of Holy Water, together they pour them over the Typhoon over Japan.

My dad appears, he’s had his bacon and eggs breakfast, mum shouts excitedly, we have 2 granddaughters, ½ Shanghai granddaughters. I know said dad, I held one in my arms before I came to join you here in the Garden of Eden. Why didn’t you tell me? I forgot.

Paradise is a strange place, it’s like a bouncy castle for kids, everybody is so happy and there is fizzy pop too, and Cadbury’s chocolate everywhere, Cadbury’s Crunchie is everywhere, growing from the trees next to the apples.

So the Chinaman calls all his relatives over, did they know they all have Irish relatives. Mum calls over all the generations of the Kerry family, and did they know they had Chinese family. Everybody is happy, the Chinese all speak with really thick Kerry accents. All the Irish speak Shanghai dialect. Everybody is happy, they have thousands of years of family stories to share. Mum pulls out a 20 gallon container, this time it’s Poteen, another type of holy water.

They all look down, 2 storms have abated, so they can enjoy their drink. What do Chinese/Irish family talk about? They talk about their grandchildren of course, and best of all you can drink as much Poteen as you like and you don’t get drunk, happy yes, drunk no.
Another day in Paradise.




Autism The World Needs All Kinds of Minds
06/08/2014
AUGUST 6TH, 2014 18:18
Autism The World needs all kinds of minds
By michaelgcasey

There was an interview on the BBC 5 O’Clock news it was about Autism, the interviewee said just google Temple Grandin

So I did and I was very impressed and touched by the video. I’ll be googleing more now.

But for all readers of this just click the link, it could change your life

http://www.ted.com/talks/temple_grandin_the_world_needs_all_kinds_of_minds


Absence makes the heart grow fonder
04/08/2014
Absence makes the Heart Grow Fonder ©

By Michael Casey

I can remember when my mum went back to Ireland for a trip in 1973, I really missed her. She had really missed Ireland and had not been back in ages so she went taking my two sisters and her own sister I seem to remember. The Jesuit priest who married her was disappointed when they arrived to visit him in Killarney and I was not with them.

I mention this because my 3 girls are off on holiday right now, my wife has not seen her mum for 5 years, so she’s saved up for the trip. Not being a smoker/drinker/gambler does help save the pennies, and having a good travel agent/bucket ticker seller also helps.

I’ve got into the spirit of things by using this Yu Mincho font, it looks really nice, I don’t know how it’ll look when I post this piece though. I’m turning Japanese I really think so, or turning into Totoro in my small daughter’s case. She is mad for all this Totoro, so today she bought a cushion in the shape of Totoro, yesterday she had bought a small toy Totoro and today the cushion.

I may be back here in Birmingham but I get a status report every afternoon UK time, or night time Japan time. The wonders of technology means I can see my daughter running around holding her new toy, her new joy, her new love. Now that she has a Totoro cushion the little Totoro toy looks like its baby. So the obvious question is, who out of the two stuffed toys she brought all the way from England is the father. Is it Tony or is it Fudgy? If you remember the piece Stuffing Tony then you’ll know what I’m talking about.

My wife got a bargain a fancy dress for a knockdown price, the last one the market had, it looks very posh like an evening dress maybe. Like a long skirt with a miniskirt on top. You’ll have to ask your wives and daughters to explain, that’s the best explanation I can come up with. I am not a Fashionista, just the token male and English speaker in the home.

So then over the Net I have to give a verdict on this dress, and do they match the shoes too, see a husband has to work very hard if he has a Shanghai wife.

Then the mother in law walks into shot and I say hello with my usual greeting in Mandarin, I cannot write it here, but it’s the traditional greeting in our Shnaghai/Birmingham family.

My other daughter bounces across the screen, a big big smile on her face. The Japanese spot cream really really works, so the trip to Japan has been worth it, just for the spot cream. There is also the matter of the eyebrow clippers too, they really really work. My daughter has been blessed with my eyebrows and derriere, with the clippers she can improve on one aspect.

Her face she cannot change, for me it’s like looking back in time and seeing my own face looking back at me, though obviously she is a female version. For her though the trip has been great. At the weekend they move to China and Shanghai and chez grannie. So they are enjoying all the space in the hotel. Grannie has never been to Japan before either, so 2 Shanghai girls and 2 ½ Shanghai girls are eating everything in sight. Remember Chinese people love food.

So this is how this home alone dad is not totally alone, I keep a fatherly eye on proceedings with the help of technology. Having said that its now 5am in Japan, they are fast asleep, me, I’m a bit peckish, so I make sneak out to the Chinese takeaway.

When in Rome do as the Romans do, or so they say.


SATURDAY, 2 AUGUST 2014
Exploding Eggs and Broken Panda
Exploding Eggs and a Broken Panda ©
By
Michael Casey

As I said yesterday I’m home alone while my girls go off to Shanghai to visit grannie, with a side trip to Japan as well. And yes it’s so quiet here. So how is the home alone dad coping? I’m fine, I’m perfect, it’s not as if I never looked after myself before.

I had bought some extra eggs as my wife believes in going to work on an egg. Then I noticed the best before date, 6th August, or so I thought. I had 27 eggs in the fridge. 27 to 1, when normally it would be 27 to 4. So I improvised and boiled 7 of them. I don’t eat eggs regularly myself, they come and go off my eat list.

Microwaved eggs are a quick and easy meal for hungry daughters, if you can get them to come downstairs from their “penthouse” suite upstairs. Just remember to stir halfway  through, and don’t overcook or like a soufflé they can burst. While the microwave is cooking you can get the toast done, as I tell my daughters cooking is all about finishing at the same time.

So yesterday while they were at Birmingham airport I was hard boiling my 7 eggs. By the time they got to Amsterdam for their connection to Japan I had started on my breakfast of hard boiled eggs in garlic wrap. My daughter popped up on the computer screen, zooming in on her 13 year old spots. Then she asked me, what was I eating? So I showed her my breakfast and she said I was disgusting. All of you with 13 year old daughters will understand, the rest of you will just have to wait for your own girls to get bigger.

And then they were gone. So I finished my breakfast in peace. I still had 3 eggs for today. This morning I shelled the last eggs and put them in the microwave, I even put a plate on top to cover the bowl of eggs, see I’m domesticated. But not domesticated enough, the eggs exploded and blew the lid off the bowl and scattered egg everywhere.
I laughed and started to clean the inside of the microwave out, as we have a galley kitchen I leaned on the sink as I cleaned the microwave out. Only this was a mistake, I leant on the plastic cutlery drainer thing. This sent our Panda flying through the air and onto the floor, the Panda was dead. No not a real panda, but a panda mug, the one I usually use to make scrambled eggs in. So exploding eggs and broken panda.

So much for my intended breakfast, so I had toast and Aldi marmalade instead, and 2 cups of tea. As I ate this, up popped my family, and grannie too, in Osaka at a banquet. My wife’s friend had driven them to the mountains near Kobe and his house. While I had toast, 3 slices, they were having 5 star Japanese/Chinese food. Even the dog, a beautiful Labrador had better food than me. How did I know, they showed me it online. Daughters can be cruel sometimes.

They are 8 hours in front of us there, so while I had my toast my wife had a banquet, she and my 2 daughters and Shanghai grannie who’d popped over to enjoy the fun. They’ve finished teasing me with food now, so they are returning to the hotel, it’s an hour’s drive away.


15 friends and family, one banquet in Osaka/Kobe, dog included, while I have toast in Birmingham. So thank you very much, no seriously, thank you for the most kind hospitality. One bizarre thing though, some of the teenage female guests think  that I am “cool” and good looking, it must be the breadcrumbs covering my face.

FRIDAY, 1 AUGUST 2014
For Bankers in Japan
AUGUST 1ST, 2014 18:06
For Bankers in Japan

By michaelgcasey
Did you know that in Japan they don’t take DEBIT CARDS, they prefer Credit Cards. Not a lot of people know that, as Michael Caine would say.
So if you are fiscally good, they think you are bad, and will refuse payment from a DEBIT card, they will direct you to the post office where you will get cash from a machine, which is then accepted.
How do I know this? My wife and 2 daughters are on there way there as I speak, so I’m Home Alone, just me and Arthur my arthritis. Just squirted Movelat on my pains. So BEWARE bring something else.
We discovered this 48 hours before the trip, we were SO HAPPY NOT . Luckily my wife could parachute into the middle of the Pacific and within 5 minutes 2 or 3 nuclear submarines would surface. USA, USSR and it feels like USSR once more, plus CHINA and all three would offer dinner, just as James Bond would pass by on a speed boat. She’s very networked, I think her name may really mean lucky.
SO JUST BEWARE, DEBIT NOT LIKED IN JAPAN.
My daughters told me on route that they felt so tall next to the average Japanese, my 13 year old said she was a giant in comparison, though she is 5’4″ now.. My small daughter has brought loom bands with her for the journey. She refused to continue learning piano, though big sister will soon reach Grade 2, she was thinking of the Saxophone, copying Bart Simpson no doubt. Would this be a good instrument for a 10 year old? I did say she’d have to practice in the entry. So any musical people out there please leave a comment. You can only imagine the Chinese Mum reaction to dropping the piano. So I’ll finish there for today.


Can I help you, Sir?
Can I help you, Sir? ©
By
Michael Casey

So you have a problem so you fill in a contact form or send an email, it’s easy, its simple isn’t it? You just write everything down you even put it in order, in bullet points, so you’ll get a helpful answer immediately.

Only Customer Service never reads your email, they just repeat what you told them already. You are told to do XYZ, then everything will be ok, but you told them already, you’ve  put it all in your email or on the contact form, you’ve put it down for a 5 year old, you’ve done XYZ already.

Only a 5 year old would have understood, you did XYZ already, their system does not work, they need to change the system. But the system never fails, it’s impossible, it’s the height of technology. Which is where the system fails, because they won’t even believe that their system can be improved.

So you have a series of emails back and forth, until they hope you will give up. And have a nice day too, they always say. American companies always say “have a nice day”, don’t they realise over here in England we think this is corny, worse that corny its meaningless because the people don’t mean it. How can you have a nice day anyway, their system does not work. I could segway into the Parrot Sketch from Monty Python…..

I was talking to somebody recently and guess what he had the same thing, in the end he had to email the CEO to get his simple issue sorted. I’ve done it a few times myself, don’t waste your time with the organ grinder’s monkey, talk to the organ grinder himself, though I may need to explain this for any American readers.

I should remind anybody who works in customer service that I did work in a 4 star deluxe  business hotel for 3 years, so I do know how it should be done.  The thing you do is get a result for the customer, if you haven’t done that, then you haven’t done your job.

However you can be honest and say you will get somebody to help who really can do it. So long as the customer gets a result then you have done your job.


It’s too hot to write any more, bad customer service just saps your strength, like the heat, though sometimes it is tempting to throw a bucket of cold water over them. Maybe there is an App that can do it.



this is my hotel look CPNEC 2002 to 2005

POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 08:19 NO COMMENTS:
MONDAY, 21 JULY 2014

Summer Sale 99p each for 5 of my books
5 books for 99p each,  Summer Sale so be quick


http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1


3 other books also available


me and my girls 9 years ago

POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 02:37 NO COMMENTS:
FRIDAY, 18 JULY 2014

The Dead and The Living
The Dead and The Living (c)
by
Michael Casey
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living , only the laughter
has left them , the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders , and their voice has vanished to
eternity .
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the
stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter .
I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living ,
though I find the deceased are always more polite . My father also
had a few words to say about the living .
He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul , yet
they think their existence is everything , that they know everything
because they experience many things with their senses .
What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short and
when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue without
them , without their strong , without their weak , without their
beautiful or even ugly temporary form , to where I cannot say , only
that it is a better place .
Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free
THE BEGINNING
POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 12:31 NO COMMENTS:
WEDNESDAY, 16 JULY 2014

180 and Counting
180 AND COUNTING
By michaelgcasey
I decided to do more recording today. I’ve recorded another 10 of my stories. So I have 180 recordings now. I have 530 stories in total so that’s another 350 to record, I'm a third of the way through. Though I’m still writing new material all the time. Some i’ll have to rerecord but I have enough to impress any radio station should I get past their gatekeeper.
Perhaps I’ll be discovered at 55, and finally get my slot on the radio, I could be a feature, like something in a garden. Though buried under  the patio is more likely. www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com has 50 or so samples, so tell all your friends. Or force your children and grandchildren to listen. If you are at Eton it could be some kind of punishment, very harrowing punishment


my pretentious writer's pose
I am available for after dinner speaking

POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 05:47 NO COMMENTS:
TUESDAY, 15 JULY 2014

Can I be a Minister?
Can I be a Minister ? ©
By
Michael Casey

I’ve just being enjoying the news about Cameron’s new Cabinet, I am a news geek, I can remember watching Sir Robin Day on tv, me and  my dad together nearly 50 years ago now. Perhaps I should have done PPE at Cambridge,  then I could try for a Cabinet post.

White male and over 50, would that get me a post in Cabinet? I heard they want more females in the Government, to try and entice voters to vote Tory in the next election. I could always wear a dress and shave my legs, arms, and back and all other places too. I would make a better woman than Danny la Rue, I would have to shave twice a day though,  those BBC news studio lights are so unforgiving. Eddie Izzard could give me fashion tips, I know he is a Labour man/woman but us transvestites should stick together.

What qualities can I bring to Cabinet? I have a posh Brummie accent, I look distinguished or is it extinguished with my mane of silver hair, I’m not slim so that makes me normal. Voters would like me, a Brummie version of Tom Jones, but without the singing voice and wearing long-johns, poking out from the bottom of my trousers.

I watch Sky tv too, so that makes me a man of the people, I don’t know anything about sport as I cannot afford the Sky sports channels, but I can always glance at the back page of the Sun and pretend. I do know about films as we watch loads of them, me and my 3 girls, though we cannot afford Sky movies package either, though there are 10 free film channels if you like.

I go to church or should I say Mass on Sundays, but I can lie and say I’m C of E then I’m sure I’ll win votes. Though if I was really pretending to be a man of the people I’d say I use Sunday to sober up after lots of drinking on a Saturday night, me and my friend Nigel, I cannot remember his surname but it begins with an F and sounds French, rhymes with garage. I will of course say that I hate the French too, doesn’t everybody? 

I won’t tell anybody I have a place in the south of France, and one in Italy too, I’ll say I go on package holidays to Benidorm, me and my friend Ed and his friend Ed who talks a lot of b_.

So please Dave, and everybody will be told to call you Dave again, up until the Election again, please Dave can I be a minister now. I promise not to steal your wife’s lipstick again, nor steal her stockings when I was pretending to use the loo.


Its time you had a Brummie transvestite, ex rugby play, yes I really was, 40 years ago, a transvestite would really swing it for you, swing it both ways all the way into the Tory camp. Think of the adulation, think of really being a Tory PM, without those Liberal losers cramping your style, just do one thing for me though, don’t leave the toilet seat up any more.
p.s.I could tell everybody I have Arthur, my arthritis then we'd get all the Express readers on our side too.

THURSDAY, 10 JULY 2014

Needle and Song
Needle and Song ©
By
Michael Casey
Today was a big day, a busy day, we all had lots to do. My small daughter had a day off as the Nutters were on strike, the Nutters was the title the union was given back in the 60s, so I’m remembering my own school days, just in case any striking teachers think I’m being offensive.
My big daughter was singing in her Gospel choir, she may or may not have been let out early, not for good behaviour, but because of potential strikes at her secondary school. The Show would go on come what may, they had a tent all rigged up for the show.
My wife was busy with her new job, as for me I had to have a needle up my bum, well not quite there but near enough. As you know I’ve got Arthur, my arthritis, which has decided to spread elsewhere, mainly my right leg. So I needed a pain relief injection. I was due to have it on Monday but there was a mix up, so today Thursday was the big day.
The mix up was partly due to the fact that our answer machine was not working, but the silver lining was that I dropped into Asda and bought mint chocolate ice cream. My big daughter had been off on Monday as the staff had a training day or something. So I came home still in pain but with the ice cream. I also got a baguette, which tasted fantastic, I think Henry only invaded France for the baguettes.
So today Thursday arrived and everything was planned. I would take my small daughter with me to the hospital orthopaedic outpatients, with a knapsack on her back. When I had my left hip done  nearly a year ago the injection and so on took a few hours, so I assumed, wrongly as it was that my daughter would be hanging around. So in the knapsack was a drink, a bowl of freshly cut and chopped melon, a polish ham sandwich, and 2 packets of baked chedders, the Aldi version. And I forgot a fresh book by Jacqueline Wilson.
At Dudley Rd, though they like to call it City Hospital nowadays, you go up an escalator to the 1st floor, then they must have run out of money, because you then have to use the stairs to get to the 2nd floor. The guy on reception had a watch very similar to mine, so good or is it bad taste is not just confined to me.
I met a really nice lady in the waiting area, she works at a disability centre in Coleshill, so God Bless her and more power to her elbow, looking after people  with disabilities.
I was able to take my daughter with me when it was my turn, she sat outside  reading while the physio gave me the talk and then did an examination. Examination means twisting your leg until it hurts, I did quip about torture, but they have to know the state of your pain so they can then inject you.
They have a feel until you winch and then they know that is exactly the spot. It’s a bit like the old place the ball competitions, though there is no hissing sound as the air goes out of the invisible ball. Instead where you wince is where the needle goes in.
Now before I had my pain relief injection, we rung home to see how big daughter was doing, only the answer machine did not kick in.  I was pleased that this time with this leg it was a very quick procedure, I had assumed they’d be injecting straight into the hip, this time it was just very high up the leg. No x-ray machine and nurses with lead blouses, no local anaesthetic, no ride in a trolley, just jump on the bed.
Perhaps I should have been a boy scout, be prepared and so on, so we got the bus home, the return fares were £6.75 which is a lot of money, you can buy 4 packets of Aldi crispy chicken and a bottle of pop for that. So I gave the ticket away to a lady on the bus, at least somebody could get more value from it.
We got home and decided to check out our answer machine again, this time sat in front of it. The answer machine was dead, though the fancy white phone worked. The phone had been making some “farting” noises for a few weeks and we couldn’t quite work out what was wrong. I’d be sat here talking to you all while the phone farted on the shelf  behind  me and the piano.
So big daughter came home, she hadn’t been let out early after all, we had ½ hoped she’d come home early then her little sister wouldn’t have had  to go trekking after me. We even texted her a couple of times and made one call to her mobile, for if she had come home early it would have coincided with my departure time. Only there was a problem with all that, big sister never has any credit on her phone.
So in an hour big sister was turned around, fed and watered and changed into her street cred clothes in black, all ready for the Gospel Choir. As for me and small sister, we went up the road looking for a phone. I had found a cheap nice one and even reserved it. Only when I got to the shop they couldn’t find the reservation. So I picked it out again, only it was not in stock, hey Argos your system failed there.
Anyway I picked another one, even cheaper, and gave my daughter the change. So a good day all around. Then it was off to Pound Land for Loom Bands, these are the biggest thing in kids toys at the moment. We also got batteries for the fire in the doll’s house, every member of the Casey family big and small was looked after.
Once home we plugged in the new phone in, they are only as big as mobiles, hey presto our house was P O S H. Then you play with the sounds, which is the nicest, there was only 5 on this model, I have 20 on my cheap mobile, the one under my bed which I use as a radio, the one whose number I don’t even know.
Mum came home, so the wok came out, we had an hour to turn her around and send her to pick up big sister at the school. As for me, I showed her my bum, or rather my thigh, so she could see where I was injected. I moved away before she could poke me with the chopsticks. So I did something useful, I bagged the old phone and left it outside for sky burial. Within the hour the phone was gone, somebody would have a nice new white 10 year old second hand phone, without answerphone.
Now once mum and little sister left to pick up big sister I had time to play with the phone, I liked the sounds and was happy, all my girls liked it too. So it was a good buy. Remember if you live with 3 girls everything is questioned.
Now big daughter sings in the choir on Sunday, with her little sister as well. Me and my brothers were altar boys, I even read the reading for 5 years plus, a sister is in the same choir for 46 years. Big daughter also has piano lessons, she’s even won a Deans Award. So why am I mentioning this?
Because big daughter wants to sing a solo, she’s not a pushy girl she’s not one of these over confident pain in the butt kind of girls. She’ll get 90% plus in various subjects but never boast about it, that’s the way we like it. Humility is Strength if you like.
BUT IF YOU WANT TO SING A SOLO YOU HAVE TO MAKE NOISE, TELL THE WORLD, DON’T BE A MOUSE. Will she do that? If she does I’ll let you all know. I remember once showing a poem to somebody and the reaction is “YOU WROTE THAT?!” So I can tell her that Life is not Just, you may be the best singer and performer but unless you stand up for yourself then it won’t happen. So, dear daughter be pushy or forget about it.

The same goes for writing, 50 Shades of Grey has sold 30 million now, how many copies of 300 and Not OUT, or Quick Stories to name but 2 of my books. Life is strange, encouraging my neighbour said “maybe you’ll be famous when you are dead”, I am trying my best to stay alive despite my weaknesses.
As for the writing, that keeps on coming, if ever the Arthur, my arthritis prevents me typing then I’d cry, but then I’d get new technology, speak and type software.
The night did finish with laughter, my wife waited for 30 mins but the concert did not finish. So she went and complained to a black lady, “can you tell my daughter I’m here” A small Chinese lady asking for her daughter, her non solo singing daughter in a Gospel choir.
Only there are no Chinese girls in the choir, our daughter looks totally Western, apart from the great hair, or if you look really closely into her eyes. So the black lady was surprised that our daughter had a Chinese mum, an irritated mum, who had been kept waiting.
Melon was on offer once big daughter came home, though dad had to be persuaded to go around the corner for chips, my Chinese girls do like chips, it’s a treat, it makes a change from rice and chicken. So we ate the chips as an act of solidarity with our non-solo singing daughter.
As we ate the chips I started singing  just like Topol, “if I were a rich man, you could sing solo in a Gospel choir.”



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 15:58 NO COMMENTS:
MONDAY, 7 JULY 2014

Politics
Politics ©
By
Michael Casey
I was reading Dan Hodges in the Daily Telegraph and 2 things struck me, the passion he has for his subject and how he is an interesting writer. I have to declare an interest, I am a news junkie. I only found out today that he was Glenda Jackson’s son, his dad I couldn’t really find anything about, I only did a quick Google. I am saddened how he lost an eye, but this proves his passion and belief.

Politicians are those toy windmills we give to our kids, they blow this way and that in the wind. I wouldn’t want to be one. I also read about Obama, now the worst President ever, according to polls. I do think there was a bit of latent racism against him, but the piece I read today comparing Obama to a movie trailer that did not live up to expectations IS true. Which is sad as everybody was wishing him on.

Politicians offer Hope, but reality is a nasty thing, it does bite you on the bum. Obama did get one of the c****est watches too, I don’t mean the Jorg Gray which the Secret Service bought him, I have one myself, no I mean the world situation has been dire.  The silver lining may be that after his Presidency he may do good work. I’ll let the experts argue over that, I’ll just start the fire, you can all add your own petrol.

Back over here, we have “stars” of our own, you don’t have to like them personally but you can applaud their work. I have a few names on all sides I could praise, but I don’t want to be tarred with the brush of being this or that. I could also praise a few reporters who I love because they treat Politicians with the “contempt”, that’s too strong a word. They put the politicians in the gutter with the rest of us, then let’s look at the stars together. And  yes I was a Paxman fan.

Now that Tony Benn is gone I can say I have learnt one thing from him, drink lots of tea, it’s good for you. He lived to a ripe old age and that’s one thing I’d like to emulate. The hecklers are a feature of the Houses of Parliament, a good heckler is a great thing. Though sometime the Speaker might wish he had a Heckler and Koch, to keep order with, metaphorically speaking.

I can also say I like the notion of hand written notes on fancy stationery just to say “thanks” or offer condolences.Though in today’s world an email or a voicemail is good too. They do have plenty of bars in Parliament, which is good as a pint is always nice after a hard day at work. My dad worked in a steel works for 40 years so he enjoyed a refreshing pint.

I like the idea of the Speaker living under Big Ben too, he won’t need an alarm clock either, his kids must love it too. You can really name drop when you are on holiday, I live under Big Ben. A Rolex or an Omega, or a Seconda, no I have Big Ben, the real thing.

Bob Hope was once asked would he run for President, he said he couldn’t stand the drop in salary. As for me, tomorrow is Tuesday, that’s when I give Obama his bowling lesson, ever Tuesday, just me and him, and oh I forgot 150 Secret Service.






POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 11:53 NO COMMENTS:
SATURDAY, 5 JULY 2014

In the Nick of Time
In the Nick of Time (c)
By
Michael Casey

You save a life in the nick of time, my brother did it twice. I was trying to swim at Monument Rd swimming baths, when you start you need a push off from the side then you can swim. So I decided to try jumping in and then seeing if I could swim without a push off from the side. It did not work and I started to sink beneath the waves, or rather the water in the pool. My brother saw me and jumped in and pulled me to the side. Would I have drownd? I'm just glad my brother was there.

Thirty years later my brother was in the right place at the wrong time, he gave CPR to our dad and saved him. This way 8 bare weeks after  when he gave CPR to mum but she was already dead/dying. That act saved dad and led to me getting a wife and family, its all in Padre Pio and Me. So I know from experience just what "In the nick of time"  really means.

Today somebody wants to connect via a website, just as I'm leaving that website, too many scammers, I think I'm being targeted. So he could be a genuine connection that could lead to all kinds of everything, if I quote Dana., but I've just left.
I remember Fiona once saying you don't know what's around the corner, Julie Dangly also said that to me, Dangly was her comedy name, she really was wise and good beyond her years. I haven't seen either of them in 15 years, Life moves on and doors close and revolve. So events in Life happen and can change our very lives, and hearts. I was watching

Fame, the 2009 weak version on tv last night with my daughter.  One life was saved in the nick of time, then the dancer realises he has to start again, he'll just be a dance teacher, never on the Broadway Stage, but he'll be the best dance teacher he can possibly be back home at his parents dance studio.

In the nick of time we can realise this or that is the wrong decision, she's the wrong girl, he's the wrong boy, straight or gay or any other combination. Life, a stranger's comments, an overheard comment, can make us realise this is the wrong path, we may not yet know what is the right path, but this is the wrong path. Somebody once said to me that she thought short stories or poetry was the thing for me. That was 25 years ago and more, she happened to be a female priest I'd stumbled over, I tend to stumble into things, Mark H once said "you're a good stumbler."

Another way of viewing "stumbling" is its guidance from the aether or the Fates or God, if you believe in any of that, most don't nowadays. The old film Sliding Doors covers this topic, I've not seen the film yet. It could be our 6th sense that stops us from doing things. We sense somebody is looking at us, so we look over the road or up to a window, are these messages from "inner space" ? We're lost in a changing world, Genesis just sung that line on my speakers, so I won't take credit for it.

Its our primitive past that still connects to our technological present, technology doesn't have all the answers, though Google tries its best. The wiring in our heads and between us all will always be better than Google, because it is the beat of  time in our inner minds.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 07:04 NO COMMENTS:
FRIDAY, 4 JULY 2014

Just add Water
Just add Water ©

By Michael Casey

I was walking up the road to Aldi, wondering how many yards I’d do before I’d start to limp, I have another Arthritis pain relief injection on Monday. Anyway a truck came sailing down the road with a portaloo strapped to the back, it made me smile. Imagine there was somebody inside doing his business, perhaps it’s a ring and poo service, like the ring and ride bus service. Or it’s  an on demand service, just put your hand out and spend a penny.

In the old days it was a penny, a big old copper penny bigger and thinner than the current 2p, if you excuse the pun. My mum was on holiday and needed a penny to pee, so she was asking for change, so a man gave her a penny, it had Boodica on it I seem to remember, anyway he gave mum a penny and said “have one on me.” That must be 45 years ago now.

The title of today’s piece or perhaps I should say pi**, if we go with the theme, is because I was thinking about how stories are dreampt up. As I said 20 minutes ago I was on my way to Aldi and I saw the portaloo. Now I see the potential humour straight away, I hope everybody does, it’s just that I see things differently and not because of weak kidneys either. It’s because of my Writer’s Eye.

So that means I improvise when I see things, my daughter says already that I’m great at improvising in general, I did work in a hotel for 3 years and 20 plus years in computer rooms. So you see a situation, and then you just add inspiration, hence the water in the title. You are putting rubbish in your recycle bin and you break up a cardboard box so you can fit more in, then you think this piece of rubbish would work as a doorstop.

Most people just throw all their rubbish in, with recycling before recycling, but if you have young kids in your house you have loads of rubbish so you really do have to squeeze all your rubbish in. No, I don’t climb in and stamp on in all, with my weight the thing would break, though it would present my wife with great opportunities to sit on top and trap me inside.

A child’s imagination is a great thing, especially if they have a dolls’ house, I know my smallest daughter often climbs into the dolls’ house, I should show her the film “Honey I Shrunk the Kids” she’d love it. Simple things please a child, but they also present opportunities for comedy too.

There is the telegraphed joke, which Americans like the best and there is the more elaborate joke. Life presents things to us, it doesn’t take much to turn them into humour. Today the Queen launched a new boat, the dignitary said to her, while still on mike “such a small bottle of Whisky on such a big ship.”

As for Alec Salmond, he had tears in his eyes, such a great waste of a bottle of whisky, if it were champagne he would not have minded. Ok Alec, that’s a joke as seen through a humour writer’s eyes here in Birmingham, but, if you do read this my priest loves a wee dram it takes the mind off his aches & pains. I do have another friend who loves golf, any chance you can get him a free round at Saint Andrews?

These are just simple quick examples from today 4th July 2014. I have to do  the school run now, my 10 year old daughter is waiting for me.  Thank God, I hear you all say, sometimes I think I’m talking to myself, but I do want to be on the radio, so then that would be true.





POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 08:17 NO COMMENTS:
WEDNESDAY, 2 JULY 2014

Try a Free Trial
Try A Free Trial ©

By Michael Casey

I’m trying to get noticed as a writer as you all know, I have a website and I regularly post, in the vain hope of finally getting noticed. I even had a low budget film producer say he’d put my Pitch to his backers. Sadly nothing came of it.

There is Mandy.com which has all kinds of everything on it, that’s how I stumbled over the film producer, a year ago. So you can all try that. There are job agencies too, for Media with a capital M. I got an invite today to try one, a week’s free trial, but you have to enter your bank details first.

So I just sent him my Linkedin Profile and CV piece as well as my elevator ad,  90 seconds with Michael, cartoons for radio. I hope it amuses him, perhaps he’ll post it on his site for a week, and then I’ll finally get noticed and start making a living from writing. Ok, I can hear you laughing at the back, stop it or I’ll tell your mother.

You can even get a free trial of Jonathon Cainer the horoscope guy, I don’t begrudge him a penny he does have a large family to bring up single-handedly. I was at Mass on Sunday and there was a family with 5 children just like Jonathon, at Mass they were all under 9 years old. It made me smile I was from a family of 15 if you include the lodgers and the cat and dog.

Free trials are great if they really are free, like the samples you get at Costco or Sainsbury’s but that’s food. You could always bring your family along and be like gannets enjoying the biscuits or sliced ham or whatever it may be. Move from shop to shop till you have fed the kids. Though some steal the produce from the dustbins behind the big store, we’ve all seen it happen.

Broadband is the biggest free trial we all get offered, Virgin was cabled our street so you get big red envelopes offering all the deals. Or so you used to, people just threw them in the recycling bin. So Virgin got clever and posted them in big white envelopes, so people would at least open them. This kind of marketing is 3% effective so I was told in my market research days. So now the envelopes are opened, and then thrown in the recycle bin.

BT itself also has direct mail offers, free offers, to you John Doe and your sister Jane. Thanks to computers the same letter can be tailored to fit all kinds of names. Special offers just for you, only you in your street, just you and not even your next door neighbour. My neighbour just updated her broadband, we’ll discuss it over the garden fence when I bring the washing in. Anyways broadband IS an essential service. The Government thinks so, because they can tax whatever business is generated.


Free trials of films straight down your internet connection, free trials of Times Newspaper straight down your internet. I did ask could Rupert give me a column in one of his papers, I have a back list well over 520 shorts. Then you’d all get me as well as the Times. He hasn’t replied yet, but I’ve been waiting all my life, maybe when he reaches 100, then he’ll give in, 18 years to go then.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 05:25 NO COMMENTS:
THURSDAY, 26 JUNE 2014

PPI and all that
PPI and all that ©
By Michael Casey

I’ve just had yet another nuisance call, it starts with silence, as the caller is busy chewing gum as he calls you, or looking at the sports pages. I’ve already judged him, zero for customer service and 10/10 for chewing gum. I worked at Front of House in a 4 star deluxe hotel, so I was trained exactly how to do things. Chewing gum was not on the to do list, quite the reverse.

It’s always best to listen and not speak after you pick up the phone, if you speak the automated PPI kicks in, and then you are trapped. It does say on the recording that if you press this number you will NEVER get any more calls, but this is just a LIE.

So I’m weary and wary of phone calls, it’s not as if we are in the phone book. If ever you do an online competition they say they will not share your phone number, but I’m dubious.

So you answer the phone and ask who is calling, but they won’t tell you, are you Michael Casey they ask, but if you ask them who they are it’s a State Secret. So you ask them a 2nd time, and they ask you if you are Michael Casey, again. So you say you’ve asked THEM who they are twice, but they just say they have asked you who you are twice defiantly. So I hang up. They don’t hang up because they have to PRETEND, they are making a call, from their call centre, so the boss thinks they are so good annoying  potential customers with the benefit of double glazing in Summer.

A friend once said he put somebody on hold for 15minutes, and only then did the nuisance caller hang up. My wife says I should never answer the phone until the answer machine starts, then the automated calls are screened out. Should I miss her call telling me to hang out the washing or put the rubbish out, now that would be another matter entirely.

Perhaps I should never enter any competitions, then our ex-directory number would not be circulated to people who promise never to share it, that’s a Politician’s promise. Though I should thank the man with the Manchester accent, or up North accent, at least he gave me the idea for this piece.
One of my ideas IS to teach Customer Service by using my play Shoplife, by standing it on its head. Never do what the characters in the play do. All the cold calling does at least give me as many ideas as annoyance, so its balance as my Shanghai wife calls it. Though I’d love for the cold callers to catch a cold, and then they wouldn’t be annoying me.


Ring, ring the phone is ringing, I better answer that, no on 2nd thoughts I’ll leave the answer machine enjoy it.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 04:48 NO COMMENTS:
SUNDAY, 22 JUNE 2014

The Trouble with food
The Trouble With Food ©

By Michael Casey

The trouble with food is that we all eat it, if we didn’t eat it there would be no problem, but we’d all starve, so we eat it. In our house we have East meets West cuisine, Birmingham to Shanghai food. As you know my wife is a Shanghai girl, so our two bilingual daughters  have “bilingual” diet too, though to be honest they eat Eastern diet 80% to 90% of the time.

The Shanghai diet involves lots of chicken and fish and of course 50 shades of rice. Which means my daughters are very slim, they have not inherited my Irish big build, I hope it also means that they live very long lives.

I used to say as a child that I’d love to live till I was 100, with the Chinese connection that would be very useful, as my wife will live another 60 years and my girls another 90 years. I just hope there is enough money in the pension pot, though I have very high hopes for my girls so I think there will be. My youngest daughter has already decided she wants to live in a cottage and she has reserved a rocking chair by the fire for me already.

But back to food, snacks are a big thing in our house, my Shanghai wife has a sweet tooth, so if you are eating the right thing all the time you can indulge in snacks. Be warned though, Eastern snacks can be either very very sweet, or totally bland to our Western tongue. Sometimes you do need a degree in Oriental languages to know exactly what is in the fridge, on the Eastern side of the fridge, or in the biscuit tin.

Korean snacks can be very nice, I must confess, we did actually have a priest called Fr. Jacob who was Korean. Then there are Chinese and Japanese snacks, it really has opened my mind and taste buds to a whole new dimension. Here in Birmingham we have a few great places to shop for Far Eastern food, as well as the best curry houses in the world if you just want Eastern and not Far Eastern cuisine.
Behind me in the living room the smells of chicken and rice fill the air, they have just finished watching The Hunger Games, now they are eating their rice and chicken. And yes the sauce is everything.

Ten years ago when Ma the mother in law was here for the birth of our daughter, she came for both births, a local very rich Chinese lady hounded her for her chicken recipe. Chinese love their food, the rich lady could afford anything, but the one thing she wanted most of all was Ma’s chicken recipe.

Food fills us all up, it brings smiles and it deepens friendship and love, so it’s a great thing. Food to fill us, but more importantly food to share and enjoy. If I’m lucky I’ll get the slops from my 3 girls, I had my own dinner earlier so really I’m not allow to have any of theirs.

Food is a voyage of discovery, it’s like discovering you have a tongue, when you did never had one before. Well for me it was like that, moving on from kebab and chips to all kinds of Chinese stuff.


My wife did actually cook for me on my Birthday, though I was sent out 3 times to get more ingredients, the spice of life I suppose, without any actually spice. I think she cooked egg fried rice for me but with tomatoes in it and something else. That led to marriage and children and family, so be careful what you eat.

FRIDAY, 20 JUNE 2014

Formal This or Formal That
Formal This or Formal That ©

By Michael Casey

We all send off applications for jobs, or we write to complain about this and that. We all meet people for the first time, so how should we write and react? Me I think just be yourself, I’m in part two of my life now, or part ¾ even, so I refuse to suck up to anybody, not that I would in the first place.

If you were held hostage would you fight, or beg? Me I’d fight because they are going to kill you anyway, so at least you have a slim chance if you fight. Or would you beg and be a Uriah Heep, I don’t mean play heavy metal either. It’s all about attitude, how do you handle people?

Jim was a great man, we worked together at Crowne Plaza Birmingham NEC, CPNEC for short, his customer service skills were great, he was also a character, he could say things that could get the average person sacked, but he had charm, he was a rough diamond.

He taught me so much, as did Phil on security, Phil was my phone a friend, if I did not know I knew a man that did, and that was Phil. It was thanks to them that I was great at my job. We were the friendly hotel, and the food was great too. 2002 to 2005 were the best years of my life, though very tiring and a lot of hard work.

Now as for words on paper I think you should always be yourself, and be clear with words. Never try and be clever, because in the end you won’t impress, you’ll just be a fool with a dictionary. Yes be polite, but don’t be unctuous, or a brown nose, I won’t use the English expression, I’ve said enough already.

Please Sir, I have a great idea, and only if you deign to help me would I ever be able to for fill its potential. This is wrong, but don’t be Del Boy Trotter either. Me, I have 520 short stories, if we packaged them in 40s with a facing page translations plus my audio in clear English, then we could make millions. Teaching English as a 2nd language, by using humour.

Now should I bow down in an attempt to get an angel investor, no, have faith in your own ability, it may be that it’s an idea whose Time has not come. A nice lady actually said that to me, you have to get somebody to see what you see, to believe what you believe. Simple ideas are ideas that work.

Now what about when you complaining about something?  I always tell my daughters that “The Pen is mightier than the sword” and I can use my words to wound to get companies to honour their word.

Companies are so conscience about their image, so if you use a dose of hard words and sarcasm it really does work. This does not mean being abusive, it means you remind the company that they are NOT living up to their image on their tv adverts.

They will jump to attention and sort out the problem for you. There is actually a website with CEO email addresses on, so always write to the organ grinder and not his monkey. The power of words is an important thing to teach your daughters.


Now I have sent many emails to many people advertising my words, they are for sale for all readers everywhere, just go to Amazon Kindle. I realised too that my words would be good as a teaching tool, I was an Esol teacher and I do have a Shanghai wife as well.

So I will continue informally asking people to invest in my words. They can always forward my emails to all the people they love to hate, and then maybe my Time will arrive. Or maybe I should just buy a new watch.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 10:50 NO COMMENTS:
TUESDAY, 17 JUNE 2014

The Letter
The Letter ©
By
Michael Casey

A letter is a thing of beauty, a hope, a prayer answered. It’s also a joke. I can remember in 2nd year running out of money on the school trip to Romsley, it was a geography field trip that lasted a week. I must have sent a note home. I got a reply from my brother “ After an all-night sitting of the Security Council, it has been decided to send you 1 pound. I wouldn’t say it’s quiet around here without you, but they are holding the SALT talks here. I bought ice lollies for myself and a couple of friends.

A letter can be a plea for help from a relative, send money or say some prayers as I’m sick, at deaths door. I was expecting a letter myself, and the contents of the letter were very important, so I was relieved when the big white envelope came through our door this morning.

Relief is the word. A letter can have such great importance, an email does not have such strength. Maybe it’s because a letter has a physical side to it. There are the stamps that tell you if it’s from home or abroad, you can recognise the writing on the envelope. There may even be perfume coming from the letter, it’s your old Aunty from Chicago, or you best friend from Australia.

Letters have to be opened and the paper taken out and unfolded, it’s a process, it’s better than just a click. The handwriting gives a lot away too, though in my own case I type everything as my penmanship really is terrible. Then you read the news.

You might be getting Shamrock for Saint Patrick’s Day from your aunt in Ballyheigh, or a crisp 10 shilling note from your uncle John in Cricklewood. I remember buying a tortoise with the money my uncle John sent. That was 50 years ago now. But you always remember letters.

I do love emails too, but today I’m just talking about letters. A letter is like a photograph, it can be touched and looked at, it can be read and reread. You are not going to login and read and reread your emails.
A letter shows you really care, it costs money to send a letter, stamps are so expensive now. Though in defence of email you can send photos and video or your latest book via email.

But letters are a thing, and things can be loved. You may have your long dead mother’s prayer book that you can look at and it reminds you of all the love she had for her brood. And letters are just the same, you cannot love something in cyber space.


So surprise the ones you love and send them a letter or a postcard, sent with love.






A more interesting photo, prize for the one who has the best caption and/or knows what I’m doing.
POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 04:12 NO COMMENTS:
THURSDAY, 12 JUNE 2014

Linkedin Profile and CV what do they really mean?
LinkedIn Profile  and  CV ©
By
Michael Casey
We’ve all been on Facebook and LinkedIn, we get to know people and make “friends”. On LinkedIn it’s more about connections and maybe business connections. So we have to rely on the Profile, my LinkedIn profile tells my story, as I am a writer. But how accurate are these Profiles?
I am a born leader.
Means he was the firstborn boy in a family of 11 girls.
I created the supply chain structure.
Means he decided to use a clipboard and notepad instead of just his memory.
I optimised the sales among target audiences.
He chatted up all the girls, he was kind to seniors and went to church.
I was inventive and creative in gaining new sales.
Means he designed a flyer and went street to street delivering them.
I was never afraid of going the extra mile for the business.
Means there was a street gang chasing  him after he was at  the bank
I am great at communicating the business message.
He just would not shut up, so the boss got him to tidy the fruit outside the ma and pa store.
I always try and improve myself.
Means he has no friends so he reads a lot.
I created the new scheme to optimise the business cash flow.
Means he took the store’s cash and put the money on a horse.
I am now looking for new opportunities to excel
Means he got fired, cops not called as the owner married to his sister
I created a great new idea for centralising purchasing delivery.
Means he was a guard for the money delivery company, crash helmet and visor.
I created my own start-up company
Means he stole the money from the cash delivery company and started his own company.
I am now on a learning sabbatical before resuming my career
Means he is in jail, working in the library.
So when you read those LinkedIn profiles or reading a CV or resume think what do they really mean. Check the photos out too, the reality can be far different. Just like actors, photos can be 10 or 20 years old, and they are. Dig deeper.

Me, I google and check people out, as far as you can on Google. Google me and my sites and think for yourself. I am on a sabbatical myself, no I’m not in a library, thought we have plenty of books in the house, no it’s called Arthur, my  arthritis, which comes and goes and makes me scream sometimes. But at least I can sit here and make some of you laugh, as I Google everybody.





 photo is Hotel Achat Offenbach Frankfurt Germany 2008


POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 03:15 NO COMMENTS:
TUESDAY, 10 JUNE 2014

Things that go bump in the night
Things that go bump in the night©
By
Michael Casey
D-day 6th June 2014 commemoration was very emotional, probably the last one, the lads are so old now. 30 years ago I happened to be in Normandy, 1984, so I was able to see the parades and so forth. So that’s the time line. Max Hastings wrote a great piece about it all, so I won’t even try to comment today.
So what am I going to bore you all with tonight? Well I’m going to talk about things that go bump in the night. We had great weather over 6th June, this percolated thunder and lightning. Before the thunder and lightning arrived there was a big crash and a big boom.
I awoke to discover my bed had broken in two, and no nothing to do with flatulence, my bed had collapsed beneath me, or rather one side of the bed had snapped in two. I had a new bed nearly 3 years ago, and there was a tiny crack in it, but I’d built the bed in 90mins so I was not going to un-build it. Everything would be ok, I was a bloke so I would not send it back.
The thing about cracks is that they spread, and over time if you toss and turn in your sleep as I do, and you weigh as much as me, what will happen, you awake with a bang in the night.
So that bang in the night set off a whole train of events, firstly I had to prop up my bed so I could finish my night’s sleep. Luckily I had an old plastic sack full of family photo albums, from 30 years ago and less just behind my bed. So I used them to prop up the bed for the remainder of the night.
Then an hour or so later the rumbling and the tumbling and lightning began. I can confirm Nature made more noise that my breaking bed.
Though I have to confess this is the 3rd bed I’ve broken. The first breakage happened 8 years ago as I tripped over the duvet as I put my daughters to bed, so my full weight came down and destroyed the bed. Then when  I retired my old original bed after 20years of service, so I thought I’d try a silver coloured metal bed. However with my weight the bed did the splits, so I used the photo albums to keep the bed up. When I decided to replace it I put the splits metal bed outside the house, where we have “Sky Burial” it was soon picked up by a passing welder who was very happy with his treasure.
So I decided to get a really posh Lecco bed, that was nearly 3 years ago. It was really nice, and I am good at bed jigsaws. So in an hour I had a posh and very sturdy and heavy new bed. It did have a tiny crack in it, but I thought all would be well. I liked the Lecco so much that when my daughter wanted a new bed I got her the single bed version.
Then the bump in the night, 7th June 2.40am, things have changed since I last put a bed together. Arthur my arthritis has arrived. First of all I decided to dismantle the Lecco, and so have the room ready for a replacement bed. You can do physical things, but afterwards you pay a price for it, your body makes you pay the pound of flesh.
So what do you do with your broken old bed? Well the header and footer as they are called, look like an old fashioned farm gate. Then there was a gap in our garden fence, so with a bit of ingenuity I had improved the fence, thanks to a recycled bed.
So I went and had a look at beds in my local store, I wanted a really strong one obviously. However the price of a good one looked too high. So I had a look online, picking one from Argos for a finish.
I slept with the mattress on the floor for 2 nights, until today the new bed arrived. I nearly forgot that my daughter decided to decorate my room while I making a fence in the garden with the recycled bed parts.
We had a bit of paint left over too, so we splashed a bit of paint here and a bit of paint there. So my room was now all tarted up. Though it’s like working in slow motion really. The room does look 10 times better now.
 As for the door with drawings scrawled all over it from when the girls were younger, I decided to keep that. If ever they become famous artists I will sell that door and buy a new house with the proceeds.
The new bed arrived and it was huge, one section would not go up the stairs, I had to use a box cutter to remove all the packaging before I could get the bed parts up the stairs. I was all grunts and groans as I got the parts upstairs. Everything seems to take longer now, it took hours to construct my bed. I had to have a rest too, though it was a hot day as well.
Today was inoculation day for my daughters, ready to see grannie in Shanghai, so when they returned the could see the results of my labours. They complained that their arms hurt, I replied that at least they have some idea of what Arthur does to my hips and back and a variety of other places.
As for the bed it really does look the bees knees, very posh like a hotel bed, so I’m exhausted and pleased. So that’s today’s story, and the proof will be in the sleeping, Nite Nite Everybody.





POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 15:26 NO COMMENTS:
SATURDAY, 31 MAY 2014

Beat the Clock
Beat the Clock ©
By Michael Casey

So you are dying and have not much time left for this world, so what would you say? You’ve got 30 minutes to say what you should have said, I Love You. Her train is coming and then she’ll be gone, how would you change her mind, even if you were not dying?
Famous last words, or words that could be the beginning of a whole new line in a Royal family, or any old family, your family. How can you stop Time itself so that you have a chance, a new beginning. Any beginning.

It’s hard its difficult, its 25 minutes before Midnight, before the beginning of a new Season. What would you do? Would you hold her tight and kiss her, would you try your puppy dog eyes like Nicolas Cage, or the cat in Shrek.

I’d try and make her laugh, she’s not interested in looks, she didn’t choose you in the first place just because of looks. If you make somebody laugh they remember you, they look forward to seeing you again, over and over again.

There’s only 20 mins before Midnight now, the train, the plane approaches, whatever words you have must count now, those words are Life Changing words, so speak up and be plain.
Only you stutter, you always stutter when you are nervous, she laughed at you and then fell for you two seconds later. So now you pretend to stutter before you start to sing. Right there in the waiting room you sing to the girl you love. You have to make her stay or make her want to come back anyway.

So you sing badly, deliberately badly, so she laughs and everybody else in the waiting room laughs too. But that does not matter, she remembers the first time you sang to her. It’s a memory, its love, she can’t refuse you anything.

Her heart melts, she’s yours, she’ll always be yours, she kisses you. Everybody in the train station applauds.

So she’ll go now, but she’ll be back soon. Singing for your supper, for the meal that is life that is love. You’ve beat the clock, she’s yours and always will be.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 15:53 NO COMMENTS:
FRIDAY, 30 MAY 2014

Radio Head No.1
Radio Head  No.1

By Michael Casey

Well if that Allan Bennett can do it on tv it should be easier on radio, no pictures to get in the way. Radio is louder than tv anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard. I know he’ll be licking his lips now as he gets ready to pounce, to slice and dice what passes for my intellect.

He can’t see my face as this is radio, so he won’t be able to read my body language either. So that’s him sorted, like putting a suitcase on the shelf in the concierge room. I’ve attached a label too, if he loses his ticket then he’ll stay up there on the shelf gathering dust, like a long lost library book.

So we know HE is clever, I just try and hide amongst clever people then I appear clever, a bit like a zebra hiding on a zebra crossings. This is good cover until people pretend they are the Beatles and take photos, so I the zebra have to gallop, ok more like waddle away. But I have lost half a stone, just by drinking less fresh orange juice, from concentrate, I’m not made of money, I’m not famous like HIM.

So you write a play, so I am a playwright too, ok not so famous, but I can still put it on my Linkedin, IF I were still on Linkedin that is. Or I could put it on my Facebook, Michael Casey Playwright, from Birmingham. Does HE have a Facebook page, telling of all the drinking and carousing he does on a Friday night up Broad Street, or up any street?

I suppose when you are as well-known as HIM you have little parties at home, you have a caterer come and pass amongst you, with smiles and trays to reflect all the smiles in. I do have an entry so if it rained and I was having a Summer Fete in the back yard we could all shelter in the entry. And talk about the old abandoned ladders hanging from the metal rungs in the entry.

And what about the actual writing? Well I always say my Shoplife is so much better than Trollied on TV. Mine was written back in 1988 when the Olympics were on. The it WAS called “sparkling, very real, great fun, hilarious, we could not stop reading it. We hope to produce it not this Season but next.” Did Allan Bennett ever get such praise? No, he got a Tony in 1963, when I was 5, and the list is as long as your arm, and two legs.

Good job, this is Radio, or he’d see my Green Envy, and the silent tears of If Only, If Only. Where does he get HIS imagination from, it’s not as if it’s on special offer in Aldi or one of those other discount shops. Though some of the things you see as you go up the high street would really open your eyes.

So I did write a couple of other Plays, seeing if I could, where would my pen lead me. Though I never use a pen, I’ve typed since 1978. Thank God this is Radio, or you’d have the camera pausing over my pieces of paper, and everybody would scream at the screen, “He cannot write” my penmanship is dire after all.

Thank you for your pieces of paper was the first put down I received, I’d neglected to use a binder, don’t laugh at me, I was young and just starting out, I was under 30 then, still in my 20s.
Pagination and Page numbering is a big thing I suppose, but you just want to pour the story out on the page. Puke it out more likely I can hear Allan saying, as he butters his crumpet and pours his morning Green Tea. But a beginning IS a beginning.

So you are writing a play and you think it needs a few more pages, so you go downstairs to make a cup of coffee and have a breath of fresh air in the garden. You see a sparrow on the washing line, next to your pants, but it gives you an idea, but not about pants. So you go back upstairs to your Atari 1040 and write “watching not part of it, like a solitary sparrow sentry on a washing line.”

I’m sure HE never got inspiration from his washing line, he probably has a Mrs Hudson who does all that for him. Though if I ever made a few bob from Writing I’d have a housekeeper, it’s a perk it’s a nice thing to have.

Sorry I can’t meet the deadline today or this week. I have to go to Costco to stock up on toilet paper, 48 rolls for £14, a bargain. Then I have to sew the hem on my trousers, and I really must do the vacuuming, I got so carried away with the play I haven’t vacuumed in 2 weeks. So you’ll just have to wait. I know you’ll understand. If ever I make a few bob like HIM, then I’d have a Mrs Hudson, just how my domestic life would change. Forget the awards, I could have a cleaner for 10 hours a week.

So is all this going through my fellow writers minds as we slave away over a hot computer?  Must  write another 10 pages so my agent gets his money worth, paid by the page, just like piece work and tonnage that my dad endured in the Steel Works, The District Iron and Steel, Brasshouse Lane, Smethwick.

So I think I’ve said all I wanted to say for today, I can see Allan reaching for the tea cosy to throw at the radio. Cheek and Insolence, the perfect driver and concierge team from a hotel.

Did I tell you I did actually work in a hotel, but I was a good boy there, really good. Employee of The Year, well almost, close runner up, very close runner up, read the citation. Even won a prize, a trip to Cambridge, never went though. The wife was not feeling so well, turned out she was pregnant with our comedian 2nd daughter.


So this is the end of my Radio Head No.1 piece, I hope Allan liked it, put that radio down Allan, don’t throw it out the window, you’ll miss the Shipping Forecast.





POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 05:54 NO COMMENTS:
THURSDAY, 29 MAY 2014

Study Methods
Study  Methods ©

By Michael Casey

My daughter is studying in the room behind me, she’s “driven” so says her school, which is good, because you can only do the work yourself, nobody will do it for you. It reminded me how I studied.

If I go all the way back I can remember my brother studying to get into University. He used to have a reel to reel tape recording of Cream music screaming out of just one speaker. I have that speaker in the room behind me, with some fake flowers on top. So it’s amusing that his niece is studying with the silent speaker near her.

Another brother inherited the speaker and took it to University with him. As for me, I just did a bit of the OU, though I did meet Eric Clapton himself, my brothers were the cream academically, but it was me who met the man from Cream.

I got a cassette recorder in 1973, we all went to Digbeth Civic Hall for an auction of household stuff, and it was part of the load my dad bought. We also bought a high stool with red seat. That was the stool that I perched a typewriter on when I started to write a decade later.

Now what did I do with the tape recorder? I copied Status Quo’s Caroline album to a tape and then listened to the tape while I did my homework. I also recorded my French and Spanish vocabulary to it, along with some History notes when I was getting ready for my O Levels. I think I was the last class to do O Levels before GCSEs were invented.

My brother had left home, so I was all alone in the homework room, or middle room as we called it, so music was company, along with my BBC Radio4 and Folk Weave on Radio 2.

There was a tv programme on that said don’t study too long, break it up, otherwise you forget what you have just learnt. My brother’s wise words were “a little bit often.” However in those days I played rugby, so Saturday was a rugby day. So I gave myself off that day, which meant I did all the work on a Sunday.

Now if I had listened to my brother I would have done even better, but I still did do very well. Now the next generation is studying. The girls have a fancy Blik Dab Radio in their room, I was able to buy it with some vouchers I had. It’s small with a great sound, so I donated it to them and I kept an old one.

So music and study continues in the Casey family, though Katy Perry and Capital radio is preferred to Cream and Clapton now. They say that Classical music is good for the brain and helps it work better, I’ll have to wait for the research into Katy Perry and brainwaves to come out.
My small daughter loves to read and she loves having a class of 40 soft toys lined up as she reads to them. This is her study method. When she grows up she wants to be an Animal Biologist.

WEDNESDAY, 28 MAY 2014

Oxbridge and Still Cannot write an Essay
Everybody is doing their A Levels including my nephew so I've brought this back

Oxbridge and still cannot write essays? ©
By  Michael Casey

I had been thinking about my latest  blog here on the Daily Telegraph and on my own site www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com then I spotted the article, so that’s why I’m writing this. My own brothers were Oxbridge, me CPNEC was my university along with the good old OU. So I’m saddened that nobody can write, if I were in charge of Oxbridge I’d do a Maths and an English test, and if they fail the test I wouldn’t let them in.

How can somebody 18plus not write a good essay? I was lucky because Frank Brown from County Tyrone was our lodger and he donated a radio, an old Bush radio to me and my brother. You all remember the Bush radio with the marzipan strip carry handle and the saucer size tuning dial, and don’t forget the domino size frequency buttons, and the huge battery inside. That radio was part of my education, we used to listen to The World Tonight, Douglas Stewart reporting, followed by The Book at Bedtime. I can still remember falling asleep during the Ghost and Mrs Muir. I must have spent 20years listening to Radio 4 constantly, and it was only then that I started writing myself, and it took me a year to get it right. Now I have 6 “masterpieces” on Amazon Kindle.

So why can’t students write? Is it too much cannabis or other Class As, or alcohol.No of course not. Is it too much time playing computer games? Too much sport or sex? Or didn’t they have to write an essay a week in English. We had to write an essay a week for Mr Noon, here’s the title, now go write two pages. We had a book list of 40 books we had to work our way through too. I was a natural reader, I read nearly everything on the shelves by my school desk in Primary school. I continued reading through my Grammar school days, then on through my twenties. Does anybody actually read nowadays?

I’ve done a bit of Esol teaching, I’m available right now too, but with Esol you encourage people to listen to Radio4, to practice ten new sentences a day, to read the free newspapers on the bus, to watch BBC news. Lots of simple things can help a foreigner pick up the language, one of our family friends is off to Oxford in the Autumn, her English is perfect, just like Helen Bonham Carter yet she was not born here, she is Chinese. So the obvious point is why can’t people born and raised here do the same.
Essay writing is all about a beginning, a middle and an end. You have to prove your argument too, why was this important, why is History really about Geography. History is Geography, because one leader wants to steal the other country’s resources, Hitler wanted living room, Napoleon wanted to conquer Russia too. In a History essay you’d make the bold statement and then you’d give proof, Facts, Detail, Proof, Latin as I once wrote down on a piece nearly 40 years ago. Once  you have proved your point you can then give lessons for the future, the past shows us the way NOT to go again, a do not enter sign. History repeats itself, is another phrase, we all chase the blond who’ll slap our face, but still we follow her. Monroe is, was, and always will be a honey trap, History shows us many Monroes, if we could control ourselves and keep our hands to ourselves then we’d learn the lessons of History, and we wouldn’t need living room, just stick to our own girl in our own bedroom.

It would be nice if people read and listened to the radio, I fear I’m the final generation of radio lovers, radio is great if only those Oxbridge students listened to radio then they might be better at writing essays. Or they could pay me £xx an hour and I’ll teach a few classes. I’d teach them to love words, to adore words, no not as good as having Monroe in your bed, but at least you’d pass your exams, and that would keep the Dons happy.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 08:17 NO COMMENTS:
MONDAY, 26 MAY 2014

Letter from a Scammer
Letter from a Scammer ©

By Michael Casey

First of all let me say I am not Michael Casey, my real name is John Doe Barrister, Mr. John Doe Barrister  and I don’t make coffee in any of those delicious but over priced establishments. Just email JDBarrister666@nosuchemail.com and all will be revealed.

Thank you most sincerely My Beloved, I could not answer earlier as I was having my life saving surgery. As I lay here close to death I have decided to choose you to  have all my worldly goods on the occasion of my death. And it will be an occasion with 1000 mourners all dressed in black, I don’t believe in this new thing of wearing colours.

So all you have to do is phone +44 5555 55555555 and ask to speak to Mr Kickthebuck Barriers at Barrister’s chambers in Barristers’ Row in London England, around the corner from the  High Court. But don’t tell anybody about the details of this email as its top secret. Everybody will want my billions, my £100000000, which I worked so hard for working in Las Vegas as a male stripper.

So just reply to this letter giving your full name, address and phone numbers at home and work, not forgetting your DOB, better still photocopies of your passport and all legal documents. Better still just put everything in an envelope and post to me.

I forgot my postal address is care of the Governor Wormworth Scrums Prison, London England. I have to go now, association time is over. But remember tell nobody about this email.


You will be a very rich man, soon.
POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 11:23 NO COMMENTS:
SUNDAY, 25 MAY 2014

Pray Like a Child
Pray Like a Child©

By Michael Casey

When you are a kid you believe, it’s only as you grow older you get cynical and become a don’t know. As a child mum makes you say the Rosary together, the family that Prays together stay together.

“Dear Baby Jesus, can I have a bike, Amen.” Then you jump under the covers and are fast asleep in seconds. Your mum tells her sister, and you get a scooter, one of those that you push with one foot while you stand on the thing. They are very popular again now, 50 years on. As for you the child, proof that prayer works.

You get older and exams beckon, so you pray with renewed vigour, or rather your prayer life is renewed, after falling fallow, but you dig out the Rosary beads and ask for help. You mum joins in and asks the Saints to make the examiner miss your mistakes on the exam paper.

You pass your exams and then prayer is forgotten again. You can’t find a job, so the prayers start again. Your atheist brother says why not try computers, so you do. This results in a good job with good pay for 21years.Is God having a joke? Or has your mum blackmailed the Angels and Saints. A bit of both really.

So life goes on, your mum with her hand in her pinny saying the Rosary as she watches Dallas. Next you need a house, so the prayer restarts. While taking the dog, Goldie, for a walk the dog stops to pee on a garden gate. You look up, the house is for sale.

When you get home you tell your dad, he jumps on the bus to see the house. Dad cannot contain himself so he bangs on the door of the dog pee marked house. He has a look around. He sails home triumphant, “Michael Buy That House.”

So I did.

Working shifts is hard work, lots of night shifts, 14 years of them. Get over it, is what ignorant people say, to this and everything. There is a bonus though, you get to see Dawn over central Birmingham. This really is God’s Creation, 14 years of seeing dawn, some only ever see it when they stagger home from the pub.

So life good on. Mum dies suddenly, 8 weeks later dad should die, but your brother saves him with CPR. Dad is given a week to live and he will not be resuscitated if he has another heart attack. We sit in my sister's house picking hymns for his funeral.

Now today 25th May would have been Padre Pio’s Birthday. Back then in 1996 I’d heard of him. So I prayed, I asked him to intervene. You are breathless, speechless, lots of things are in your mind, and there is nothing in your mind. Opposites. But there is also something else inside you, your mother has died but weeks before but she left
you something, she left you Faith, faith of a child.

I put a photo  of Padre Pio under dad’s pillow. 19 people on a heart ward, 18 died. My dad did not. My dad said he heard the doctor say “wheel him to the end of the ward, he’ll be dead soon.”

That’s when dad woke up, and the doctor dropped his tea in shock. Dad spent 3 months, 12 weeks in Dudley Rd hospital or City Hospital as it’s called nowadays. I wrote about it in full in an essay Padre Pio and Me, it’s on the Internet.

So prayer goes up and down, like the swell on the sea, prayer has tides just like the sea too. Pio used to say “the prayer I say tomorrow, will have helped you yesterday.”

Ian Botham was in the news yesterday about he’s attitude  to his own sick dad, I totally understand his point of view. With our dad I visited every single day, as did my sister and other siblings visited loads too.

Now you have your nice house, and you’ve always wanted a wife and perhaps a family. However all you do is visit your dad so you’ll never meet anybody. So you say your prayers and again you ask Padre Pio to help, as if he was a marriage bureau. Then after 3 years who do you meet? Your Shanghai wife.


Kids would be nice, so you get 2. So some will say this is luck or coincidence. I chose to believe Padre Pio is in Heaven having tea with my mother. Though the pair of them might be having a look at my sister in Lourdes today, Happy Birthday Padre Pio, thanks.




a photo from 9 years ago maybe
POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 06:43 NO COMMENTS:
FRIDAY, 23 MAY 2014

Backwards Talk
Backwards Talk ©
By Michael Casey

My small daughter and me love fizzy pop, my Shanghai wife is against this. So my small daughter has decided to backwards spell what she wants, so Dr Pepper becomes reppep rd. It’s hard enough for me to follow, the plan is that for my wife’s Chinese brain it will be impossible.

So the theory goes, but the wife and the Chinese are very very clever. So I have to sneak out without being spotted. Then come home victorious, hiding the pop up my jumper.

Come and have your medicine I call from another room, then conspiratorially me and my small daughter have Dr Pepper. I perhaps should explain one daughter is Western frame and looks like a clone of me. Whereas the other daughter is much smaller and much more Shanghai wife in size.

Our plan has worked we are enjoying the Dr Pepper together, only my small daughter gives the game away. BURP, she burps like a Sumo Wrestler, which is what  I’m compared to on occasion.

A dad’s job is never done, I am ordered to sneak out to the store for chocolate, fruit and nut by Cadbury’s is the current favourite, so again I have to sneak out like a burglar in reverse. Then I return like an all-conquering hero and do a lap of honour around the living room, as I break and share the chocolate.

My girls love chips as a treat, why? Because they follow Shanghai diet, which is rice with everything. There is also a lot of fish and chicken, white meat as it is called. So dad has to be persuaded to go to the chippie, or to buy roast potatoes that you bake in the oven.

I am a modern hunter gatherer, thought I don’t have a spear and a hide to cover myself with. My wife would tan my hide if she caught me ruining our girls Shanghai diet. So I have to sneak out.


In the interests of diet supervision the wife has to eat 1/4 of the chips and/or roast potatoes. So parenting is all about spelling snacks backwards, now GoGo, which means go to bed/sleep, though it could mean OGOG.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 11:26 NO COMMENTS:
THURSDAY, 22 MAY 2014

Building Memories
Building Memories ©
By Michael Casey

So do you build memories with your kids? Do you do anything so that your kids will always remember it? I hope you do, if you don’t you are BORING. Any little thing can be used to create memories, magic memories.

So the local seagulls flew over and dropped their bombs on my open bedroom window, SPLAT. Like a custard pie but much much worse. Yes we do get seagulls in Birmingham, the most inland part of the island of England. They come here just to dump on us.

So now you have a problem, how do you clean the window, the way it opens means it difficult to do. Then I think of turning it into an opportunity, just like in all those self-help and management manuals. Though this is much better fun and not as pretentious.

I dug out the water pistols and started to fill them with water, we would use seagull pooh as target practice. See inventive humour at work, just like my Linkedin Profile says. Only the water pistols leaked, and leaked over me.

I had hoped that by pushing my window even further open, the  rain would act as window cleaner, only that did not work. So the water pistol idea. So then I went to plan B, I am better than the chancellor as I do have a plan B, not about economics, but about cleaning seagull pooh from my bedroom window.

So I got my small daughter to close the bedroom window, while I filled a plastic jug up with water. As I flung the water in an attempt to clean the window she taunted me with her nose pressed against the bedroom window.

The first one or two throws hit the seagull pooh target, and my small daughter laughed, and taunted me in her newly discovered
Irish accent. Half the family is Irish so it’s funny to hear my ½ Chinese daughter practice her soft Irish accent.

I tried a few more flings but my aim got worse and ½ the water went over me, such is the geography at the back of the house. So I had another idea, my netball playing bigger and taller daughter.

So she came out and had a go. See I’m a good dad letting my daughter practice her netball shots, by flinging water from a jug at a seagull poohed bedroom window.


None of this really worked, I just ended up dribbling water back into our kitchen. BUT one thing did happen, I have created a memory that will live on after I die. Which won’t be for decades I hope. So don’t think I’m the stupidest person in the world, I am an inventive humorist, just as my Linkedin Profile says.




POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 14:48 NO COMMENTS:
WEDNESDAY, 21 MAY 2014

A half Chinese Girl Learning Spanish
A half Chinese Girl Learning Spanish ©

By Michael Casey

My daughter was going over her Spanish ready for a test, I was listening and was happy I could remember mine. I did the exam nearly 40 years ago, though I did relearn it in 1998/1999 prior to my trip to Barcelona. So it brought memories back.

Barcelona was my last trip away before I met my Shanghai girl, I spent 15 minutes talking to a girl I met in a Tapas bar, before she told me she could speak English. She said it was good for me the Spanish practice. I met another girl in a bar and she had an American accent, and great hair but a broken nose.

The next day who should come dancing across the stage, only a ballet dancer with great hair and a broken nose.  It was the girl from the Tapas bar, I had gone to see the Russian ballet in Barcelona and there she was dancing for me.

A few months later I was again watching the Ballet, this time in Birmingham with the friend who had introduced me to Ballet. There it was the massed ranks of the Ballet, loads and loads of dancers at the NIA. Who should I spot, only the girl from Barcelona.

When I met my Shanghai girl she told me that she had met a girl at church, the church next door to my old Grammar school. This girl was her friend and she would give me the once over to see if I was nice enough for my Shanghai girl.

So we met in a back street bar, The Queens Tavern, in the China quarter. Next to the Hippodrome which was the home of The Birmingham Royal Ballet, and yes you’ve guessed it she was a Ballerina. I was positively vetted by a Ballerina.

Which brings me back to Spanish, my daughters are bilingual, I am not. So as my daughter was practising we both had the same thought, we should teach her little sister Spanish. So then I would be bilingual with them, in Spanish. Then they could continue being bilingual in Chinese with mum. A perfect family comprise.

Life is a compromise after all, but if you have another language you can talk privately with your family while you are out. Nobody knows what you are saying, not even other Chinese as you are speaking Shanghai dialect.


So language brings families together and its fun, as for me I cannot wait  till my small daughter learns Spanish.



POSTED BY MICHAELGCASEY AT 11:43 NO COMMENTS:
TUESDAY, 20 MAY 2014

Spots
Spots ©
By
Michael Casey

Spots, now where shall I begin, when I started shaving perhaps, when I was 14, I am part gorilla after all. So I started shaving and made a mess of it, or rather my face. So I had cuts to the right cheek and for balance to my left cheek. So you put a styptic pencil on it and scream, and then pieces of toilet paper, or a strip from the newspaper.

Your face heals and the wounds fade, but the wounds are infected and you get a nice spot full of pus, which is so so tempting. So you squeeze it and decorate the mirrors around the house. The wound just will not heal, so it’s your duty to squeeze it, again and again and again.

It becomes a hobby, squeezing your spots. Eventually the wounds heal and the pus is drained and squeezed out of existence. The mirrors are polished to perfection by mum, pledge and cloth removes everything.

They say that only pubescent boys and girls get spots, this is a lie, to me having a spot is a badge of honour. I AM still young, even if I have reached part two of my life, the descent to the grave part. There is the joy of squeezing the spot, on a par with having an illegal fag in the bike shed.

You have to wait for the spot to be ready to be squeezed, it has to be plump enough, or the experience won’t be as good. You have to have self-control, like waiting for your first kiss, control yourself and the joy will be even greater.

After a day or two of self-control, you cannot resist it any longer, it does not matter if you are at work. You sneak to the bathroom, or the gents as we say over here in England. Then waiting for your moment you lean forward, as you would for your first kiss, but this one is all alone.
You take hold of the spot and squeeze, just at that moment half the office enters the gents, they all laugh and your zit goes all over your best shirt and leaves an almighty stain of pus and blood. Totally humiliation.

Later that afternoon you are giving a presentation, you put your name badge over the stain. The presentation goes well until the badge falls to the ground. So you improvise. You take your shirt off and dab the new cleaning liquid your company is marketing all over the stain.

Cheers and applause, and best of all, all those years of pumping iron and squeezing spots have giving you a look real men would kill for. The ladies in the room are smitten, good job you put a clean vest on that morning.
So the spot is gone, on your face and on your shirt, your spot in the presentation has impressed the client. Spot the difference it has made to your life. Spot on, and on the spot you have a new girlfriend, and yes you’ve guessed it, she is covered in spots.

MONDAY, 19 MAY 2014

Flowering
Flowering ©
By
Michael Casey

I put a photo of my pot of shamrock on my site recently, it was more than shamrock but some red flowering plant as well. Then also crammed into the pot were some sweet peas. The red flowers had almost died then now today they are reborn, 4 small buds reappearing in brilliant red.

This is a bit of colour to the room where I write, and scent too sweet pea are really smelly. Now what I really want to talk about is flowering of talent. My eldest daughter has developed an interest in architecture, so we watch the tv programme which has people building their own homes, their own grand design.

The programme highlights people following their own design dream. In fact the end result tonight was the best of the maybe 15 programmes I’ve seen so far. We all have a dream but here on tv we watch people follow their dream. Perhaps I should start singing “Climb every Mountain.”

Some of the self-build people or should I say self-design people nearly end up going bankrupt. With architecture you have to get it right and have to have deep pockets. Things do go wrong, even having thieves break in and steal the tradesmen’s tools.

In the end though we see the flowering of a dream , a home, a perfect home for the couple who have dreamed and strived so much. The end result is a physical thing, a house.

But what about non-physical things ? Talent is a strange thing, people are jealous if you have talent, you did not work for it, you have what they don’t have. It’s never that straightforward, even Pele had to practice,  as did Georgie Best. So talent is an ability to do something well, really well. It appears effortless because Pele or whoever have practiced and yes there is the God given bit as well.

A talent that is flowering has to be nurtured, it has to be watered just like my plant pot besides me. Now what is so wonderful is when you can see the progress, when you can see the improvement each time you observe.

We never let our girls have all those computer games we encouraged them to draw instead. So now after years of drawing and maybe 800 crayons and felts and other writing implements our girls can draw, really draw.

You may have a son who bangs a ball against a wall for hours, or practices with a basketball hour after hour. The skill, the talent can be seen growing every day, every week. Now sometimes this is a tragedy, because the child is being forced to be a tiny Tiger Woods or whatever. Decide that one for yourself.

When you write you know if you’v produced a good piece or an average piece, or if you missed it. Sometimes though you nail it on the head and  when you read it through when you have finished you know that’s one of the really good ones.

Form applies to writing as it does to riding a horse or dancing or doing gymnastics. You have to be “on form” and then you come up smelling of roses. The sense of satisfaction when you nail a piece of writing is like a sugar rush.

A parent with their own kids, all of us that is, are in a unique and perhaps holy place as we nurture our kids and see them grow as individuals with a flowering of skills. Learning to walk, to talk, to hold a crayon, to remember  things and so on. And to puke all over the parent along the way.

A teacher too is in  a special place as the teacher opens young and old minds to learning, the book is opened and the blank page is filled with learning. It’s when you can see the lights go on in students’ eyes, they understand. Then some actually thank you, if you remember the story of the 10 lepers from the Bible, only 1 came back to say thanks.

The flowering of a mind and the new connections it brings between you and your children, or you and your students IS the thing that makes your hard work worthwhile.

It just depends where you work as a teacher as to whether you are fighting a battle or leading like a merry Pied Piper. In my own teaching time I tried to be a Pied Piper, but if students misbehave, throw them out, 7 expulsions in one 3 hour session was my record, or rather their sad record.

Confidence grows and flowers grow, and as with flowers this attracts bees, who fly and pollinate the other flowers. A good buzz will ignite a class and great results can flow.

But back to family, time is the most important thing you give to your kids. In today’s busy world all I suggest is switch the tv OFF. Talk to your kids, spend time looking at their homework, encourage them to read, to watch intelligent tv. Peppa Pig is a reward it is not an excuse for being a lazy parent.
A child’s mind is a great great thing, and as Eric Clapton sang “Let it grow, let it grow, let it blossom let it grow.”

FRIDAY, 16 MAY 2014
Cover Letter
Cover Letter 2014 ©
By
Michael Casey

I was talking to somebody about cover letters today, I can see the irony as I talk to you, as I won’t be needing one myself any more. However Pitch Letters are a different thing, and I do expect to have to do some of those.

So what about Cover Letters, they are part of the job search process, without one you may not get a job, or it may swing it for you. So you have to write a cover letter. I looked at my old cover letter today and realised it was too long.

A CV should be two pages and no more, the cover letter that goes with it should be just one side. HR people and job agencies are always in a hurry, they won’t even look at a multipage opus. Into the bin it will go, literally or on their PC.

So what do you do? You iron out he rough spots, and raise the molehills to mountains, and vice versa. The Cover Letter is your chance to shine, it’s like your Facebook home page. Or your paragraph on the Dating Website. It’s all about you.

So you say what you were great at, you never say “I was a bit rubbish at X Y Z” followed by but. Your Butt would be kicked out before you even start. It’s a Positive Only piece, it’s your chance to get a great job, or any  job and be able to afford to pay the rent or buy a new set of golf clubs.

So tell them what you are great at, and think differently about yourself, put yourself in their shoes, the Saint Augustinian Way, and Sell Yourself. You may not think  that visiting the sick is anything special, its your good deed. This proves to an employer exactly where your heart is, he may be a hospital visitor himself, yes him in the £2000 suit.

You may be embarrassed by your kindness but it lets the employer know just what kind of person you are. Your Community Actions do make a difference.
I
n your job it may have been you who trained all the new people, and wrote the basic Bible for the job you all did. Nobody else could have been bothered, but you did it. So put it in the Cover Letter, you have Training Experience, so boast about it.

You may speak several languages, and the office staff may have poked fun at you for it, but it’s you who speaks to all the truck drivers when they arrive from all over Europe. Tell everybody as the Billy Joel song goes, you may even overlook it, because it’s only a few minutes. But only you can do it, so boast about it.

Write a list of everything you can do, and everything you do do, then write a flow chart of it, and join the dots with words. If you sell your house you put everything down in a positive way, so on a Cover Letter you do the same, but about yourself.

I am fat and have white hair, this describes me. In a Cover Letter it becomes I am distinguished looking with silver hair and a strong athletic build.  Ok the athletic may be stretching it too far. You are painting a picture, a pretty postcard showing just how great you are, so you get that job.


All this has to be done on one page, it’s a sprint and the winner gets the job, so don’t be shy give words a try.



WELL I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS CHRISTMAS BONUS READ

IT REMAINS MY COPYRIGHT AS DOES EVERYTHING I POST

I AM LETTING YOU READ, I AM NEVER GIVING AWAY MY COPYRIGHTS.

Dead Good Bonding

Dead Good Bonding ©

By

Michael Casey

Well after yesterdays events today was much much nicer. I am as you know Home Alone with my teenage daughters while my wife has a well deserved holiday in Shanghai visiting her mum. Today while queuing at the store a man said “gesundheit” when somebody sneezed, so I obviously asked was he Jewish or American. He looked a bit like a tidied up version of ZZtop, “NO” he replied, “British as far back as Saxon times.” So you have good vocabulary and like History was my reply. He smiled and did not reach for any imaginary axe. On leaving I though he’d like the BBC4 program about Sir Francis Drake. So reciting what I’d learnt from the tv History docudrama I said Sir Francis was Pirate. Mr Saxon ZZtop replied, “Yes but in the Service of the Crown” So I just told him to watch the show on BBC4 catchup tv.

Now Mr Saxon ZZtop is the kind of person I love to bump into, I’m guessing but I bet he’s a History whizz too. Anyway he’d given me an idea for a story, maybe I’ll write it tomorrow. What did I buy in the store? Well I bought cheap pasta sauce on offer and mushrooms, also on offer. This is because my big daughter wanted to make pasta for herself, and me I decided to join in to save cooking for myself. My small daughter is on a sleepover with her little Indian friend, so with 2 of the girls in my life away for the night its very quiet here. Apart from Totoro our cat jumping around everywhere.

Once home my big daughter was talking to Shanghai, my wife was telling us about her day with grannie. There is an eight hour time difference, my wife is still a bit jet lagged as her flight was delayed 17hours in Paris. She had managed to escape Birmingham’s snow only for to get delayed by a bird strike in Paris. Now she was telling us of her nice Shanghai time, while we prepared pasta.

Me an my big daughter ended up cooking together, it was not planned, I just wanted to make sure the mushrooms were cooked nicely before they and sliced chorizo were added to the cooked pasta. My daughter thought it was nice. I also tried the wife’s new cooking knives, the one’s with the Pac-man like figures on the side. I avoided cutting my fingers off twice, otherwise they are great knives. Then you cook the unwashed mushrooms with the chorizo. My daughter was disturbed by the lack of washing but my view is if you are cooking them so hot any germs will be killed. Remember my old Uncle Patrick used to collect mushrooms by cow pats in his fields for breakfast.

So we had our pasta and I poured a jar of on offer pasta sauce all over it, all in all a nice bonding exercise as we cooked and ate food. Though if anybody uses the word bonding to me I really would call them Pretentious. Afterwards my big daughter helped me tidy up some old papers I’ve had festering in my drawers for years. We had a bin,keep and tear session.

Now as you all know my daughter hopes to go to Medical school in 2019, so while we had a bin, keep and tear session through my old papers my daughter listened to some music. Well actually it was not music, it was a podcast. As I’ve told her she must do at least do 2 hours study a day, even on a rest day or holiday. 2 hours at least, 8 hours at least on study days. It’s here own choice to be a Doctor, so that’s the standard.

I impersonate my own dad and say in his voice “Michael, I have no education, I don’t know what to tell you to chose, do what you like,but DO YOUR BEST” I tell her that was what my dad said to me so I repeat it down the generations to her. My dad would have been a teacher if he did not have to leave school at 14 and then become a blacksmith in Rathmore County Kerry Ireland. So I tell my daughter she has to keep on studying that hard, but if she wants to work in a sweet shop I’ll agree with her. She should just do what she loves.

What was on the podcast? Well it was different with lots of machine sound effects. As we sorted though paper and binned or kept it, we listened to a medical podcast. It was a Post Mortem, yes a Post Mortem. Luckily there were no pictures or I’d have puked all over our living room carpet. Together we sorted paper, like undoing a jigsaw to put in a bin, while we listened to an actual post mortem on a podcast. It was very interesting, the lead doctor was a very jolly sounding woman.

Occasionally they stopped to saw and drill. We heard the head come off and a brain being taken out, breastbone being removed and broke. I had that done when I had my heart operation 3 years ago. We heard about Kidney problems too, so obviously that interested me. My GFR is 32 now, ask your own doctor what that means, its not good. So I drink citrus drinks now, as I read it helps.

It was a nice look into my daughter’s future, as she want’s to do Pathology. The doctor on the podcast actually said HE had learnt most from a pathology room. I just remembered when I bought my house years ago my lawyer was the Coroner for the area, he rung up somebody and asked didn’t they have a phone in the Pathology room. I can also remember looking from his office window at a butcher’s shop, little did I then know The Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker would be my first book a couple of years later. And now my daughter want’s to be a butcher, a “pathologist” though surgeons are called butchers in the medical world.  

Do you think God plans all this or does he just start the ball rolling? Well me and my daughter finished my paper autopsy as we listened to the real thing on the podcast. Luckily she does not play them on the speaker when she’s on the bus to 6^th form. She did say she’s love an autopsy on me, when I’m dead, she’s not going to attack me with a knife. I said I just want to be left alone and buried, Trinity Rd Church next door to the Sikh Temple is my chosen spot over the road from the steel works where my dad used to work. However the graveyard is closed and my wife would probably want cremation as that’s the Chinese way, they have 1,000,000 deaths a year. So my daughter’s friends would cut me up, before my wife would cremate me. Then I’d be put in some “ashtray”. But at least my daughter would be doing the job she loves. Either that or she’ll be a Maths teacher instead.

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel with Russian Translation at the end

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel ©

By Michael Casey

Mikhail Mikhailovich was a spaceman, a cosmonaut as the Russians  call them, he’d been in space forever, he held the world record already, he was testing himself to see if Man could make it to Mars. He and Tim Peake had had a lot of fun in the space station, but now Tim was gone. So Mikhail was lonely, in fact Mikhail was having a dark night of the soul, flying high in the sky orbiting the world. He was on the edge, but bear a bear of a man he told nobody, if only his wife Katarina was with him to make him strong, but he was floating in space and she was back in Saint Petersburg.

Michael the Arch-Angel had just pushed back Satan back into Hell and had sealed the gates with a pair of Rosary beads, now he was taking Mrs Murphy’s soul back to her body, he was in a hurry before her body died without her soul inside. At Saint Michael the Arch-Angel flew in space with Mrs Murphy’s soul safely tucked in his belt by his sword he felt Mikhail’s sorrow. So much sorry, he flew as fast as he could fly towards to space station, a soul was in danger, the space station was in danger, a man’s life and soul was in danger. Mikhail was on the verge of thinking of doing something mad bad and sad. Michael felt this and as an angel he must intervene, he spiralled directly towards the space station, he went straight inside and grabbed Mikhail’s arm.

An angel does not need to use doors, the spirit just walks through walls even in space, love knows no boundaries, and an angel is just that, love. Saint Michael the Arch-Angel gave Mikhail a bear-hug and nearly broke his ribs. Mikhail screamed in fear, Michael just laughed in his face and said he screamed like a little girl, was he going to pee his pants as an encore. Mikhail rubbed his eyes, there was angel in front of him, speaking Russian, in fact he sounded like his own old grandfather, with the same local accent.

I could punch your lights out, but I’m an angel so let’s talk, have you got any beer, my wings are tired I need a beer, asked the angel. Mikhail laughed, where do we have the room for a barrel of beer in a space station? The angel reached behind him and two pints of Stella Artois appeared in chalices, so Mikhail took one and drank it, after such a long time in space it was heavenly to say the least. So Mikhail and the angel had 4 pints each, which is enough to wet their whistle if they were both Russian. Mikhail wasn’t scared any more, if this was a dream he was going to enjoy it. He’d love a big sandwich of Russian beef and bread with lettuce and tomatoes, so once more Saint Michael reached behind him and the sandwiches appeared. Is Paul Daniels behind you joked Mikhail, Tim the English spaceman had told Mikhail about Paul Daniels during his time on the space station. No replied the angel, but God is behind me, and in front of me and in all directions too, he has my back, and your’s too, that’s why I’m saving you.

Mikhail, looked at his feet, he’d felt a failure, he could have, but he didn’t, an angel had saved him. Michael the Archangel gave him another pint of Stella Artois, Paul Daniels was working overtime you could say. Why were you in space anyway asked Mikhail. I was returning a soul to a body, Mrs Murphy was risking her soul to save the life of her priest, or rather the soul of her priest. That’s when Satan pounced, so I had to give him a kicking, and then mum asked we to return Mrs Murphy’s soul to her body, before her body expired. Mum who is your mum? Mary is my mum, she’s everybody’s mum, she prefers to be called  ”mum” it’s  the highest title of all. Mikhail Mikhailovich started to cry, so Michael wiped his nose with his wings.

I wish I could be a father but being in the space program has put paid to that, I am a hero of Mother Russia, but my own wife cannot be a mother, we will never know the joy of children. Mikhail cried again, the angel gave him a huge hug, almost breaking the spaceman’s ribs and Mikhail’s face turned bright red due to lack of oxygen. A tear fell from the angel’s eye, it trickled down his face and splashed Mrs Murphy’s soul, this was enough for Mrs Murphy she was saying the Rosary in a nanosecond. Her body was dead by now, but at least she could pray for the spaceman.

Michael and Mikhail had some fresh fruit, bananas and grapes, washed down with more Stella Artois. Mikhail unburdened himself to the angel, all his hopes and dreams, being a spaceman was the last of them. Tim had told Mikhail about David Bowie and the two of them had put the face makeup on and sung the songs. Now Tim was gone and Mikhail missed him, but most of all Mikhail missed something he’d never have. Children. As a child Mikhail loved listening to stories, stories from all over Russia and everywhere else too, but then studying came along.

Saint Michael the Archangel has a secret, he loves stories too, he’s spent ages, literally Ages listening to stories from all over the world. So as they drunk their Stella Artois Michael told Mikhail some of the stories. First in Russian for the Russian stories, then he switched to Chinese for the Chinese stories, Indian for the Indian stories, and Japanese for the Japanese stories. Michael knew thousands of stories in told them all in all the native languages. The food and drink flowed, Paul Daniels really is a great magician, how he hid all of it in the space station ready to save a soul, a Russian spaceman’s soul we’ll never know, perhaps he’s just an angel.

How long would it take to tell tales from all over the world, as long as there is food and drink on the table there will always be tales, and this angel doesn’t follow Logic, only Love. In Earth time 50 years had passed, or was it just a dream? Michael and Mikhail hugged, this time Michael could not breathe and he turned red. Mikhail had been filled with Love, and food and drink thanks to maybe Paul Daniels, so he was a big Russian Bear once more.

You are Mikhail Mikhailovich a Spaceman who did not fall to earth, you are the Storyteller from Space, you are a “father” to billions of children, and to your wife you are the best husband in space and on earth who gave her seven children, angels love the number 7, Snow White really did exist you know, but that’s another story. Mikhail snored, he been dreaming hadn’t he.

Michael flew off into space, for decades he’d been talking to Mikhail, it was a coincidence he’d spotted Mikhail, he thanked God. As Michael looked at his watch, by which I mean the rotation of the stars in space, he realised he’d actually gone back in time by 2.9 nanoseconds. Einstein had been livid when he’d got to Heaven to discover that Time and Relativity was just one of God’s jokes.

Mrs Murphy’s soul was returned to her body, but her 50 years of prayers so that Mikhail could have a family had not been wasted, and as for her priest well that’s another story, Tears for a Butcher by Michael Casey to be exact, if God gives me the time to finish it.

The next night Mikhail said he had a story for all the Russian children, so he told them about the night the angel came to the space station. This was an instant hit all over Mother Russia, it was so funny too, though he had to explain who Paul Daniels was, they liked the story a lot, not a little bit. The Indians wanted to hear the story so could he tell them too, so he did but Mikhail told them in one of the major Indian languages, and as each child hear the story they hear it in the voice of their own grandfather. Japan was next and they were astounded too, not only did know their language but the accent was perfect, Mikhail was like a United Nations, his stories perfectly told demanded silence, followed by tears of joy.

Mikhail spent another month in space, each night he’d tell stories to the world’s children. He was out of this world literally and in all other ways. When it was time for him to return he was an international hero, for science and for story-telling. Putin himself said he drive him from the airport to the Kremlin for a reception. When Mikhail came down the steps from the plane his wife jumped into his arms, Putin was dressed as a chauffeur, the election was next month and he know good PR. The president as servant of the people.  Putin did have to close the privacy screen in the Zil because the spaceman started on creating his happy family on the back seat of the Zil limousine.

So Mikhail got what he wanted a big happy Russian family, was the angel right in guessing 7, no he was wrong, Mikhail and his wife only had 3 pregnancies. Three being Mrs Murphy’s favourite number, three sets of triples. Mikhail set up his own Utube station to tell stories to the world’s children, he called it You’ll Like It, a lot. Then his friend Putin suggested he should run for president, so that’s how a spaceman called Mikhail became the President of Russia, because an angel came acalling, twinkle, twinkle.        

Spaceman и Arch-Angel ©

Майкл Кейси

Михаил Михайлович был космонавтом, как его называют русские , он был в космосе навсегда, он уже держал мировой рекорд, он проверял себя, может ли человек добраться до Марса. Ему и Тиму Пику было очень весело на космической станции, но теперь Тим ушел. Итак, Михаил был одинок, ведь у Михаила была темная ночь души, летящая высоко в небе, вращающемся вокруг мира. Он был на краю, но носил медведя человека, которого он никому не рассказывал, если бы только его жена Катарина была с ним, чтобы сделать его сильным, но он плыл в космосе, и она вернулась в Санкт-Петербург.

Майкл Арч-Ангел только оттолкнул сатану обратно в ад и запечатал ворота парой бусинок Розари, теперь он возвращал душу миссис Мерфи к ее телу, он торопился, прежде чем ее тело умерло без ее души внутри , У святого Михаила Арх-Ангел полетел в космос с душой миссис Мерфи, надежно заправленной его поясом мечом он почувствовал печаль Михаила. Очень жаль, что он летал так быстро, как мог летать к космической станции, душа была в опасности, космическая станция была в опасности, жизнь и душа человека были в опасности. Михаил был на грани размышления о том, чтобы делать что-то безумное и грустное. Майкл почувствовал это, и, как ангел, он должен вмешаться, он спиралью прямо к космической станции, он пошел прямо и схватил руку Михаила.

Ангелу не нужно использовать двери, дух просто ходит сквозь стены даже в пространстве, любовь не знает границ, а ангел - это просто любовь. Святой Михаил Архангельский дал Михаилу обнять медведя и почти сломал ребра. Михаил закричал от страха, Майкл просто рассмеялся ему в лицо и сказал, что он кричит, как маленькая девочка, собирался ли его штаны на бис.Михаил протер глаза, перед ним стоял ангел, говорящий по-русски, на самом деле он звучал как его собственный старый дед, с тем же местным акцентом.

Я мог бы пробить ваши огни, но я ангел, поэтому давайте поговорим, у вас есть пиво, мои крылья устали, мне нужно пиво, спросил ангел. Михаил рассмеялся, где у нас есть место для барреля пива на космической станции? Ангел потянулся за ним, и в чашках появились две пинты Стеллы Артуа, поэтому Михаил взял ее и выпил, после столь долгого времени в космосе было наименее, по меньшей мере, небесным. Итак, у Михаила и ангела было по 4 пинты, которых достаточно, чтобы намочить их свист, если они оба были русскими. Михаил больше не боялся , если бы это был сон, он получал удовольствие. Он хотел бы большой бутерброд русской говядины и хлеба с салатом и помидорами, так еще раз Saint Миха е л достигнуто за ним ипоявились бутерброды. Является ли Пол Дэниелс за вами шутку г Михаила, Тим английского космонавтом рассказал Михаил о Paul Daniels во время своего пребывания на космической станции. Никто не ответил ангелу, но Бог позади меня, и передо мной и во всех направлениях тоже у него спина, и у вас тоже, вот почему я спасаю вас.

Михаил, посмотрел на его ноги, он почувствовал провал, он мог, но он этого не сделал, ангел спас его. Майкл Архангел дал ему еще одну пинту Стеллы Артуа, Пол Дэниелс работал сверхурочно, что вы могли бы сказать. Почему ты был в космосе, все равно спросил Михаила. Я возвращал душу в тело, миссис Мерфи рисковала своей душой спасти жизнь своего священника, или, скорее, душу ее священника. Тогда Сатана набросился на меня, поэтому я должен был дать ему ногами, а затем мама попросила, чтобы мы вернули ей душу миссис Мерфи, прежде чем ее тело истекло. Мама, кто твоя мама? Мэри - моя мама, она все мама, она предпочитает называться « мама», это самый высокий титул. Михаил Михайлович начал плакать, поэтому Майкл вытер нос крыльями.

Хотелось бы, чтобы я был отцом, но, находясь в космической программе, заплатил за это, я герой Матери-России, но моя собственная жена не может быть матерью, мы никогда не узнаем радость детей. Михаил снова закричал, ангел широко обнял его, почти сломав ребра космонавта, и лицо Михаила стало ярко-красным из-за недостатка кислорода . Слеза упала с глаз ангела, она стекала по его лицу и плескала душу миссис Мерфи, этого было достаточно для миссис Мерфи, она говорила о Розарии в наносекунду. Ее тело уже мертво, но, по крайней мере, она могла молиться за космонавта.

У Михаила и Михаила были свежие фрукты, бананы и виноград, вымытые больше Стеллы Артуа. Михаил освободил себя от ангела, все его надежды и мечты, будучи космонавтом, был последним из них. Тим рассказал Михаилу о Дэвиде Боуи, и они оба надели лицо макияжем и пели песни. Теперь Тим ушел, и Михаил пропустил его, но больше всего Михаил пропустил то, чего у него никогда не было. Дети. В детстве Михаил любил слушать рассказы, рассказы со всей России и везде, но потом учился.

У святого Михаила Архангела есть тайна, он тоже любит рассказы, он провел годы, буквально в возрасте, слушая рассказы со всего мира. Так, как они выпили свою Стелу Артуа Майкл рассказал Михаилу некоторые истории. Сначала на русском языке для русских рассказов, затем он перешел на китайский язык для китайских историй, индийских для индийских историй и японцев для японских историй. Майкл знал тысячи историй, рассказывавших им все на всех родных языках. Еда и напитки текли, Пол Дэниелс действительно большой маг, как он спрятал все это на космической станции, готовой спасти душу, душу российского космонавта, которую мы никогда не узнаем, может быть, он просто ангел.

Сколько времени потребуется, чтобы рассказать сказки со всего мира, до тех пор, пока на столе есть еда и выпивка, всегда будут рассказы, и этот ангел не следует Логике, а только Любви. В Земное время прошло 50 лет, или это был просто сон? Майкл и Михаил обнялись, на этот раз Майкл не мог дышать, и он покраснел. Михаил был наполнен Любовью, а пища и пить, возможно, Пол Дэниелс, поэтому он снова стал большим русским медведем.

Вы Михаил Михайлович, Космик, который не упал на землю, вы Рассказчик из Космоса, вы « отец » для миллиардов детей, а для вашей жены вы лучший муж в космосе и на земле, который дал ей семь детей , ангелы любят номер 7, Белоснежка действительно существует, вы знаете, но это еще одна история. Михаил храпел, он мечтал, не так ли?

Майкл улетел в космос, на протяжении десятилетий он разговаривал с Михаилом, это было случайное совпадение, он заметил Михаила, он поблагодарил Бога. Когда Майкл посмотрел на часы, под которыми я подразумевал поворот звезд в космосе, он понял, что он действительно вернулся во времени на 2,9 наносекунды. Когда он добрался до Небес, Эйнштейн почувствовал, что Время и Относительность были всего лишь одной из Божьих шуток.

Душа миссис Мерфи была возвращена в ее тело, но ее 50-летние молитвы, чтобы Михаил мог иметь семью, не были потрачены впустую, и что касается ее священника, это еще одна история, точнее, слезы за Мясником Майклом Кейси, если Бог дает мне время, чтобы закончить его.

На следующую ночь Михаил сказал, что у него есть история для всех русских детей, поэтому он рассказал им о той ночи, когда ангел пришел на космическую станцию. Это был мгновенный удар по Мать-России, это было так смешно, хотя он объяснил, кто такой Пол Дэниелс, им очень понравилась эта история, а не немного. Индейцы хотели услышать эту историю, поэтому он тоже мог их рассказать, поэтому он это сделал, но Михаил сказал им на одном из основных индийских языков, и, когда каждый ребенок слышал эту историю, они слышали ее в голосе своегодеда. Япония была следующей, и они были поражены, не только знали свой язык, но и акцент был совершенным, Михаил был как Организация Объединенных Наций, его рассказы прекрасно говорили о тишине, сопровождаемой слезами радости.

Михаил провел еще один месяц в космосе, каждую ночь он рассказывал истории детям мира. Он был вне этого мира буквально и всеми другими способами. Когда настало время вернуться, он был международным героем, наукой и рассказом. Сам Путин сказал, что он отвезет его из аэропорта в Кремль на прием. Когда Михаил спустился по ступенькам с самолета, его жена вскочила на руки, Путин был одет как шофер, выборы были в следующем месяце, и он знал хороший PR. Президент как слуга народа. Путин действительно должен был закрыть экран конфиденциальности в б оскольку Зил космонавт начал на создание его счастливой семьи на заднем сиденье лимузина Зила.

Итак, Михаил получил то, что хотел большую счастливую российскую семью, был ангел в угадывании 7, он не ошибся, Михаил и его жена только 3 беременности. Три - любимое число миссис Мерфи, три набора троек. Михаил создал свою собственную станцию Utube, чтобы рассказать истории детям мира , он назвал ее «Вам понравится», много. Тогда его друг Путин предложил ему баллотироваться на пост президента, так что , как стал космонавтом назвал Михаил президентом России, потому что ангел пришел acalling, мерцать, мерцать.        

*****

Well I hope my Russian readers like this, I don't claim to be Tolstoy but Joy in words is all I can offer.
 I have 1200 stories at least at least.

So why not ask RT and the rest to give me a slot reading my stories out. A publishing deal too, to teach English to the Russia people...

and yes my mum really was born here and lived in this shack till she was 12 with her family of 9

   Cromane Lower County Kerry Republic of Ireland

If I were to die suddenly in the street would you miss me?

If I were to die suddenly in the street would you miss me?

December 14, 2017

If I were to die suddenly in the street would you miss me?

I ask because of what happened today in the street.

My wife's dad was actually hit by a bus and killed 13 years ago.

Today something happened in the street which  could have ended in tears or even my death, I have a weak heart as you all know...

So before I go to bed I just wondered would you all miss me?

Ok, not me, I'm just a boring old fart.

But would you miss the writing?
Or would you all have sighed and said thank God the old fart is dead, in multiple languages all over the world.

Was this my Nobel moment? Will Rupert Murdoch hire me before its too late.

The irony is the final post could have been

PEACE AND GOODWILL TO ALL MEN OR CHRISTMAS REVENGE?

Peace and Goodwill to all Men or Christmas Revenge?

Peace and Goodwill to all Men or Christmas Revenge?

By

Michael Casey

Christmas is nearly upon us, its 14^th Dec 2017 today, so we all think or start to think about Christmas. Though shoppers amongst you have done it all months ago. You ticked that box. You buy 40 crappy presents for your 40 crappy colleagues you work with, but would rather not. One of my sisters used to work in retail, or in a shop in real language. She always sent and received 40 presents, 40 years ago and more. It always baffled me why this custom went on. I quiet like Christmas cards, but the 40 crappy presents always seemed stupid to me, and it still does. I wrote a piece years ago reflecting in part on this, and the film The Bishop’s Wife which had Cary Grant as Dudley the angel and David Niven in it too. By the way if you can find The Moon’s a Balloon by David Niven its a great read.

My own attitude is always please yourself, if you don’t want to, then don’t do it. Peer pressure is a load of BS, if you are not strong enough to raise two fingers or one if you are American, to convention then you should not be allowed out at night on your own. Already I’ve divided my audience in half. Wouldn’t you rather put the money in a kitty and go to a bar, or out for a nice meal, instead of getting 40 crappy presents?

Nowadays we have the Mystery Santa, where 40 people buy one present each, so you all get one nice thing. Or you may just say only spent a quid or 5 quid, instead of the 40 or the 200 quid on rubbish. It can be more fun that way. The Mystery Santa way. As for cards, I prefer the Caravaggio style ones. Though nowadays as we all have computers ecards are a growing trend, and you can get them for free.

Back in 1978, yes 40 years ago when I started as a computer operator laptops were naked girls dancing, not a PC on your lap. And people used to be impressed when you said you worked in computers, IT was not even invented as a pretentious word then, and as for Ict, was that some form of yeast infection you went to the doctor with?

But I’ve digressed. Some people who’ll remain nameless deliberately give bad presents, things that should have been binned and not even donated to the Charity Shop. Is this a weird sense of humour? Like giving toilet paper to somebody who spends a lot of time in the toilet. Not caring or knowing the person has kidney problems, yes this really did happen. Though in today’s world of the Internet I get Funeral Plan offers from Birmingham Alabama because somewhere along the line, the title of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker comes up and so I get emails offering funeral plans. I also get Life Insurance offers too from USA. With my health status if I can be pretentious, nobody would cover me. Though Christmas and the New Year will bring many such offers. I am in Birmingham ENGLAND, so if you want a Test and Keep person I am your man, but you’d have to send it to Birmingham ENGLAND, as I told somebody in USA only last week.

Going back to presents, a pair of new oven gloves, large size would be really useful. So are any of you out there ready for Christmas Revenge, as they say Revenge is Best Served Cold, and Christmas is Cold after all. What would you send and to whom? A gross of red pens to your maths teacher, and in UK we say maths with an S on the end. A dictionary to your English teacher, though you’d glue the pages together. Enough of being called Moron or Cretin by the teacher, I think Brewer in my class nearly 50 years ago was called that. If I’m wrong Brewer you can always buy me a pint of Stella Artois. As for me in the same class I was always asked was I supporting the wall or asking a question, as I used to sit in the corner by the wall in 1B.

The best kind of revenge is success, so you visit your old school in a chauffeured Bentley and give cheap sweets to the teacher every Christmas and half terms. And a very large box of expensive chocolates to the janitor. You know the janitor will share his with the staff, as for the cheap sweets the janitor finds them in the rubbish unopened and takes them home. So the meek do inherit the earth, or sweets anyway.

Now cakes with curry powder in could be given, but that would be classed as poisoning, as tempting as it might be. Bastards do deserve their just rewards, but revenge is the Lords as they say. However Fr.Michael was a kind confessor, but as wicked as the devil if you crossed him. So when he heard about the toilet paper present he was incensed and he knew how to exact the Lords revenge.

On High Days and Holy Days there‘s lots of Holy Water to be thrown and people to be blessed. The incense is wafted everywhere too. Fr.Michael spotted Dennis sitting full of drink propped up in the last bench just by the door. Dennis had come in last as drunk as a bobbo, ready for his yearly blessing and Christmas look at the crib. Only Fr. Michael blessed everybody then decided to empty the last of the Holy Water pale over Dennis. Dennis was drenched. Later on Fr. Michael decided more incense was needed by the back door of the church to keep evil away, so Dennis was engulfed in incense.

Beer, Holy Water and Incense don’t mix,so Dennis puked. Earlier in the night his friends had said, Get It Down You, It will do you well. Now the Priest led the chorus from the Choir, Get it Up it Will do you Well, as Dennis puked. Fr.Michael’s aunt had kidney problems so when he heard that Dennis had given toilet paper as a present he was livid. He knew Dennis would never come to Confession, so Penance had come to him.

Well I’ll finish for today, and yes oven gloves are a useful present, if it were attached to a 4 bed house with two bathrooms, one downstairs now that would be perfect. Though Health really is the only thing worth having and I speak from experience, for as you all know I have total recall, but only for stories. So wherever you all are on the Map and it could be Singapore or Canada or any place in between, please be kind this Christmas and as many of the days of the rest of the year too.