Wednesday, 21 February 2018

Small Thoughts

Small Thoughts from Birmingham.

Well it was ironic that after writing that piece about pain I was later in so much pain I thought it wise to go to hospital.

Now today I am kind of jet lagged as I was awake for 28hours till I got  home.

At least the stabbing pain to my left shoulder has gone. Only for a different kind of pain to appear elsewhere. But I will get an appointment with an Orthopedic specialist, so I can talk to them about it. Though my mother had arthritis and my dad the heart trouble, so I've inherit both from them. Close families are good, if  only you don't inherit the diseases.

I'm glad that when I put a substitute story on the page you all seem to like it wherever you are in the world. It's like having Pele on the bench to come on and dribble my words all over the page while I have a rest.

I have 1600 individual stories including repeats to draw upon. And I can and 7 more new stories a week.

It's too late to write another new story today but come back in the next 24hours and I'll be rested enough to produce more.

Though did I tell you who I saw in the Charity Shop today? It was the Queen,she had the Corgis with her for protection, she buys all those hats she wears at my local charity shop, we have 13 charity shops to choose from. My daughters do a bit of volunteering in them. I did tell them to invite the Queen home for tea and biscuits. She could also use our toilet before the drive back to London.

Billy Graham died tonight, so good luck to him as he has the entry interview to Heaven. He has to get up even earlier to milk those cows as they do like their tea in Heaven, coffee is not allowed. I'm sure he'll be great at getting the teas made for all the Angels each and every morning  in Paradise. You see you greatest talent is used the most once you get to Heaven.

So what would I be doing in Heaven, assuming they let me in. I have cleaned toilets professionally when I worked at CPNEC Birmingham, I did do 10 different roles regularly. I carried far too much paper in my computer room days. No need of paper in Heaven, telepathy would be used. So what could I do? I can write stories and tell stories. But what if AI was in Heaven, I would not stand a chance.

I'd have to resort to Prayer, Dear God help me, I don't know what I can do to be of service to you. Then Billy Graham would come along and get me to help with the milking. My family back in Kerry Ireland were farmers after all. I even have a cousin who still farms the Casey farm in Carker Scarthaglen. So Maybe with the Help of God and two Policemen as my mother used to say I'd be allowed to milk cows for the Angels' tea in Heaven. I'm sure Billy Graham would show me the ropes.

Speaking of ropes, I could be the bell ringer in Heaven, though I heard only tears and prayers moved the bell, no ropes required. So I'm wondering what all of you my readers  in 26+ different countries think I could do in my future Heavenly future.


I'm sure Lech and Boris and Gregorgi have plenty of ideas about what a writer  such as I could do in Heaven. Though they might just say try being a better writer on earth, before I even think of Heaven. So maybe I'll do that and in the morning The Best Has Yet to Come, failing that you'll have to put up with my usual rubbish, or God might just hit me with a thunderbolt, and tell me to go to Hell.

Lech, Boris and Gregorgi  and laughing their socks of now, I think God sent me this Trio of friends as a punishment..



















Political Statements v Fashion Statements

Political Statements v Fashion Statements ©
By Michael Casey

Well what a week we are having in Politics, it’s been an interest of mine since I watched Robin Day with my dad on tv, nearly 50 years ago now, where have all the years gone? We’ve also had news about Posh Spice being bailed out by Beckham, which is the more important you can decide for yourself, if you are female no doubt the size of IDS’s lapels is of extra ordinary importance, it makes your eyes water just thinking about them. The size of somebody’s lapels may or may not be connected to the size of their majority, or hands, if you know what Trump is on about.

In England people, or rather politicians say something without saying something, or even anything. Then they go on political interview shows to say the same thing over and over again, without even saying anything at all. They never want to be nailed down to say anything just in case they cannot deny it in the Future. On Fox news in the USA they’ll say he’s a SOB, but in the quaint nice way Southerns  say things, I do have a soft spot for the Country and Western way they speak.

As for Fashion, everything is a statement, it screams and shouts, and lets it all out, especially now that we have FAT models, though they are too pretentious to say FAT models, and yes I am still livid because I was not chosen to be one.

Once Fashion has gotten over its fixation with Black, which is just a ruse to hide FAT, then it IS much more interesting. Some of the Fashion really are works of Art, there was a show on tv that explained it all to me, and yes I was converted, I think it was Karl Lagerfeld who has the different coloured gloves from when he is working to his normal day wear. My own daughter wears her old horrid glasses when she is studying and her fancier ones when she is trying to look fashionable, the frames she stole from me, but that’s another story. Judging by the scores she gets, the method really does work.

So we have the idea of bright and brash fashion, and the dull politics we have here in England, though if you are a Politics Nerd then this weekend is like 4th July, or should I say Bonfire Night 5th November. So what if  Karl Lagerfeld got his hands on our Politicians.Cameron is wearing a pair of clowns  shoes and a see-through shirt split to the navel to display his six pack, with skin tight trousers to display his plump derriere, with a blue, very bright blue Bolero jacket, he is a Tory after all and blue is his colour. His hair is in a Mohican style, with all the colours of the rainbow sprayed on, we are all in this together after all, the colours represent all the strands of society.

Jezza Corbyn has been first dipped in sheep dip,  Karl Lagerfeld refused to touch him without that first being done. Jezza Corbyn has had his beard dyed and clipped, he looks like Van Dyke now, not Dick Van Dyke with a fake London accent, but the painter. He has a designer T shirt, with a hand painted design on it, “Winner”, what that really means Karl Lagerfeld refuses to say, and he’s not the kind of person you annoy by asking such questions to. Jezza has  red cords on, he stubbornly insisted on these, so Karl Lagerfeld has hand painted windmills all over them with the Haywain stamped on both back pockets.

As for the Scots Nats, they are all wearing Manchester United shirts, which may or may not have anything to do with football, or it could mean they are sulking and taking the ball back home with them.  On their trousers is a graph of oil prices, it ends in the turn-ups, with the word Black Hole hand painted on.

All in all quite a fashion show, our clothes define us, and hint to what we really are. As for me, you have all seen my photo attached to my pieces of writing, not just vanity but I hope you like seeing just who wrote this or that, nearly 1300+ pieces now, not forgetting the 600page comedy drama novel too. So I said to Karl, and yes I do call him Karl Get The Lagers In, and he does give me a pint of Stella Artois, he just drinks Perrier water by the pint, so I said Karl how about dressing me.

When Karl stopped laughing he changed his gloves, not to his work gloves or any of his exotic pairs, he put a pair of sterile surgery gloves on. Three hours later he said I could open my eyes, you are dressed better than an Emperor he intoned.  I looked into the huge mirror, and indeed I was dressed in the Emperor’s New Clothes, I was naked, but spray painted in gold.


****
this is an old piece to keep you going while I have a rest.





Tuesday, 20 February 2018

If I were a fashion writer

If I were a Fashion Writer, what would I write  ©
By Michael Casey
Nov 10, '09 3:24 PM

To begin with let me explain. I was trawling through the jobs sites when I came across an ad looking
for all kinds of everything for a Fashion Mag, non paid I might add. So it set me thinking. I do have a
Shanghai wife who sets heads turning, and I have to comment on all the fashion she wears. So after
more than 10 years I have learnt a little about Fashion.
I would no doubt be called Grandpa whenever I attended a Fashion Event, I have the same white
hair that the famous fashion designer has, I don't wear gloves with the fingers cut off though.
Though I do have thinsulate gloves in black and in red. Just as he has two colours. My waistline is
bigger, I'm as big as 2 models, though you would never see me in purple lipstick and covered in
rouge. Fishnet tights though, that's another matter, Men in tights and Pantomime is an English
tradition. Google Pantomime if you have not heard of Panto. Men dress up as women and women
dress up as men, perhaps as Robin Hood. Its fun for all the family. But I was talking about fish net
tights before I was side tracked. Fashion makes a very big statement. Some of the high end fashion is
not really fashion. It really is a work of Art. I saw a documentary once on TV and after watching the
man with the funny gloves and the white hair go about his work I realised it really was Art and not
just Fashion. Now what would I do at a fashion show? I'd drink the free champagne for starters, pity
they don't serve hot dogs too, then I'd be in heaven. Some of the designers destroy what they are
trying to achieve by too much hideous make up. The fashion really would be better served by well
dressed dummies. Smearing a beautiful models with soot just destroys the vision. The dead eyes
that you see when models walk the cat walk is terrible. Yes Fashion is King, but if the models looked
happy and you could almost believe that they all fought to get into the dress they were wearing.
Then you'd say, she looks so happy wearing that you can see the joy in her eyes. Then Fashion would
be better served.
There are other designs which are truly great but they are ruined because the colour palette is so
bad.
It’s like when you see 2009 Punk Rockers, I remember the original ones 30 years ago so today's
versions are just so passe.  You can go into a shop and as you look around you see 40 shades of grey
or 20 shades of black. It’s not even worth trying the clothes on. Ditto when you can see the clothes
are for 40 or 50 somethings. Colour is Great, so USE IT, life is in Colour so let’s see it in the designs.
Women are beautiful and the more intelligent 1/2 of our species, their beauty should be celebrated
and enhanced by fashion. Colour and Cut matched to sympathetic makeup will make women glow,
and allow women to wrap men around their little finger even more. Good fashion does this and I
know that when I look at my wife.


******
from 2009

A Brief History of Pain

A Brief History of Pain ©
By
Michael Casey

Well it is 2.30am on 20th Feb 2018, and after a good family day tonight I am all alone with just Pain for company. I’ve had to get up as I’m in so much pain and lying down just hurts. My left shoulder feels like I’ve been stabbed, after 5 or six such stabbings and screaming out in pain at the top of my voice I’ve decided to get out of bed.

I had been congratulating myself because its several weeks since I last had to get up in the middle of the night due to pain. I was thinking about dialing 999 but they’ll just say take pain killers. The pain is so severe some times you’d welcome the sight of the undertaker, yes it’s not Micky Mouse pain.

During the day nobody sees your pain, you just stroll like John Travolta to the shops and have a joke with the workers, ok bore them while they smile through gritted teeth at your inane humour. They don’t see you run out of energy like the bunny rabbit with the rubbish batteries in as in the adverts.

They don’t hear you scream for the Movelat, it works in 5 minutes you know. So this is my life. Not pain all the time, but too much of the time. Pain appears like a mugger at a time and place and location on my body of its choosing. Some days left hip, some days right hip, some days my back. Some days I have a limp others I do not. On good days I’m a very fast walker, as I used to be all my life till 2013.

It is all so random. That’s why it is so annoying, I never know when I’ll be screaming in pain, or just mildly discomforted. Its a merry go round of pain, up and down and around and around, with just a bit of Tinnitus as occasional accompaniment. Yes I do have many good days but I have too many days overshadowed by pain. Not forgetting the occasional stabbing pain to the heart which is not a heart attack, and when I did call 999 that time and spent a night in hospital, they did not really know the cause.

So as I wait for sleep to overpower me so I can chance lying down, please understand what it is like for me. But more importantly think about people in far more pain, like your old granddad, and try and have some patience and love for them when they are having bad days.

This has been a brief history of pain, I hope it explains choose to act the fool, especially when I write.




*******

a few hours after I wrote this my pain was so bad I had to go to hospital.
they were good and  looked after me.

Monday, 19 February 2018

19th Feb 2018 just a quick thank you to Russia

19th Feb 2018 just a quick thank you to Russia

It seems Russia has now been invaded by my Words,  so thank you.

My brother and his wife went to Russia 25 plus years ago on a language course,

one of my brother's is a bit of a linguist, and 4+ of us do speak good French.

It happened to be my brother's Birthday so the Hosts surprised him with a Birthday Cake

and singing Happy Birthday  in Russian.

I think China and India should be my next area for regular readers, so please tell all your friends to

take a peak at my words.

I want to take over the world, just with my silly words and stupid photos .

Here's a piece I hope my Russian readers will enjoy. And yes it would be great if Russia and USA

did more Space stuff together, I grew up watching Apollo etc.

Now here's a repeat while I get over this cold. In Russian and English

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.        


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.        

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