Tuesday, 27 February 2018

Some Words from 2015 I stumbled over tonight

Tuesday, 18 August 2015

Disconnected

Disconnected

Disconnected ©
By Michael Casey
There are many kinds of disconnected, from faith, from hope, from love, from reality, from pain. Today I feel nearly all of them, my chest and arthritis pain have decided to come out to play, I’m breathless with pain and it’s hard to think straight. Relax, I’m not going to bore you with all this, the disconnected I’m going to talk about is far more important, disconnected from the Internet.
I can hear you all scream, or your children scream at least, how can kids live without their internet. How can I live without the internet. For kids it’s everything, anybody with kids will tell you that, I have two daughters so I know all about it. Phones are in fact little tiny computers, this connects your daughters with the world, their world and not the real world. Their world is Tumblrand Instagram and Postit or is it Pinterest, anyway it’s a load of stuff most people have never ever heard of. Some 20 something girl on UTube who has millions of followers, which makes her millions, she is pretty vacuous but her bank manager loves her and holds the door to her Bentley open when she comes by.
Homework is forgotten and vids just have to be watched because they are so good. My girls are great students so far but other girls are probably much more addicted to the joys of Mandy or Brandy or Candy explaining everything to her millions of fans. I hope I don’t sound envious, I did make a little video and put it on my writer’s page on Amazon. I have an audio site, www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com but I don’t have millions of fans yet. I’m more Radio than anything else, so how could I possible compete. I’m also a writer www.michaelgcasey,wordpress.com so words are my medium. Perhaps I should make loads of small videos, but that would need the internet to load them to.
Only I don’t have any internet, I’m internet free, I’m back in the Stone Age, well today at any rate. I cannot get my desktop to connect to the Internet, my daughters can connect via their phones, my wife can connect on her tablet, but me and the family computer, I’m frozen out. It’s like being barred from the nudist beach because you have the wrong sandals on. You are so eager to frolic and relax and let it all hang out, and to feel the breeze on your, on your, but you just get a message saying cannot connect. I suppose it really is like a form of contraceptive, a kind of wall, a firewall of sorts, I just cannot get on the internet.
The Internet is great for everybody, you can chat and email and read the Daily Telegraph, especially if you can get past the paywall, and there are ways. It’s a bit like voting in the Labour Leadership Election, everybody wants to do it, just to screw up the Labour party, and a few actually believe in this new Messiah. Though for balance some may say voting Tory has already screwed the country for the next 5 years. Perhaps I should mention Liberals, but they are too few to mention. As for the Scot Nats, I think the canny Scots will have the last word, and that will surprise everybody, especially the Scot Nats.
Yes I like reading my DT, though I do look at several papers online, or should I say I normally. Today has been a quiet day, well apart from the pain. It feels like a fridge which is empty, I go to the fridge and it is empty, just like Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Without my internet, without my daily routine, I’m a bit at a loss. I miss deleting all the emails from companies telling me of their sales, the emails I delete without opening. I miss deleting those mad emails from scammers, as if anybody would leave me 2,000,000 in any currency. As if I’m impressed by Dr, or Barrister in the title. In America you are a Dr for 10USD, these emails are just from fakers in Africa and USSR.
I also get people from search optimise companies, so I thank them for their email and insert a silly photo and return their email with my Elevator Ad. I also get companies in China advertising their wares, so I reply I have a Shanghai wife and I send them my Elevator Ad as well, but all the best with their marketing.
Today none of this to punctuate my day. I went on my daily walk with no internet to fill me, to amuse me, to set me thinking about what I could use as an idea. All I need is a seed and away I go, I can provide my own water, and with the state of my kidneys I’m a frequent waterer. I suppose I could have used this as a day of prayer, but Oh God take this pain away is today’s only prayer. Yesterday was a good day, today is medium to bad day, it’s like the curves on a woman’s body, beautiful but also very dangerous, it can either be pleasure or pain. I could use a male metaphor for balance but if I described my own body you would all heave, so I’ll not mention pain any more in any metaphor.
So I tried loads of things to get my internet back, but no dice, as the wife was making egg fried rice. So I went and had a nap, with Totoro scratching on my bedroom door, she likes sitting in the windows. When I got up, and this involves going from naked to covered up, as Totoro is a Ninja cat and if she scratched my scars I’d be in agony, when I got up I thought I have one last try at getting my internet back.
Still my internet did not work, but I had another idea, I’d write a story called Disconnected, and explain my pain, the pain caused by lack of internet, and this is what you have been reading.

A Life with Printers

A Life With Printers

14/08/2015 A life with printers ©
By Michael Casey
Our Kodak home printer died today, so I’ve left it outside in the street for street burial, this is like sky burial but the scrap guy comes for it, and not an eagle. The Kodak really worked hard, though it was a bit noisy. The amount of pages per ribbon, or should I say cartridge was really good. That’s why I bought it in the first place. I had used it to print all my handouts when I was teaching Esol English.
We upgraded to Windows 10 on launch day, a couple of weeks ago, so I had to play with my Kodak software, to make sure everything was ok. It was, but then the Kodak decided to die. I had tried to explain to my teenage daughter how you problem solve printer problems. Her idea is to replace the ribbons immediately with new ones. This is great if you have lots of money, even though Kodak cartridges are not too expensive. I was trying to teach her what I learnt in computer rooms back in 1978 onwards.
Finally in the end we had to give up the ghost, we could not fix the old Kodak, so it went into the street for sky burial, or street burial. I should add that I call printer cartridges ribbons because in the old day that was what printers used. It was more like a scroll with ink on it.
My first memory was standing in between two barrel printers which had scroll ribbons, I had to try and stack standard continuous special paper. We were printing research forms for contraceptives, our main work was market research into alcohol sales, but we also covered contraceptives. And as people were covering each other and using contraceptives, we did the market research for that too.
I also remember Al saying that Alcopops would not catch on, this was literally when they first appeared on the market. I was scared of Al he was the same build as a troll with matching moustache. In reality he was a very kind man, though I was always scared of him.
I spent years stacking paper in a noisy computer room, we were in the same room as the printers and their dust. Years later we had a separate print room built, we also had self-stacking printers. This was a big big deal, we were very impressed. With all these volumes of paper the morning team in CAD as it was called were more like CID, working out which paper matched which run sheet.
After 21 years with ACNielsen as we had become I went and worked the graveyard shift for city hall in Oldbury, the story was we were built on a former graveyard. I worked till 2.30 and then I went home. I printed the payslips for the council workforce, including my own. The toner was like an artillery shell I seem to remember. It was very old kit that had been bought 2nd hand. The print room was new as big as a school gym.
Let’s say my time there was eventful, I even got married while I was there. I walked down the street at about 3am and got a taxi home every night. So by the time I went to bed it was 4am. Though one good thing did result, we conceived our first daughter, fertility rates must be high in the wee small hours.
My taxi driver died of alcoholism as well, and we both could have died as we were nearly totalled by a huge lorry delivering to the supermarkets in the wee small hours. It’s all very strange in the predawn hours, I should add I have done over 14 years of night shifts.
I was offered a 2nd one year contract, but I decided not to, as my daughter was due and I wanted a normal life, no more night shifts. So I ended up working for a 4 star deluxe business hotel, CPNEC, no printers involved but plenty of carrying. My chest size went up two inches and my neck size went up one inch, and as the hotel food was so good my belly went up 2 inches too. It was the best 3 years of my life.
I did get back to printers when I ended up as a life insurance underwriter non-medical, this involved printing loads of forms and posting them out to potential clients. What diseases do you have, what dangerous sports do you enjoy, if enjoy is the correct word. Which recreational drugs do you use, and so on. I hated this job as I was sat down all day in front of a PC apart from when I printed a very intrusive questionnaire. At the hotel I was walking around all day, maybe 5miles every day, just to get to the train station was 2 miles every day, 1 mile each way.
I promised myself I would leave that job once we came back from our Florida holiday to meet my wife’s uncle, the patriarch of the family. So I came back and left. The job was not for me, it was not for many people as the staff turnover was very high and they had 5 trainers constantly training.
I ended up at a law firm, they were a great company to work for, I was in the print room, back with my printers again. These were industrial size photo copier. Five beasts which were as long as a sideboard. They had hoppers for 1000s of pages of paper, and stackers for thousands more. We never sat down in the print room, we just kind of perched, it could reach 30 degrees once all the printers/copiers were all fired up. Our room, the print room was next door to the law library, it so quiet and us so noisy, so I hid a copy of my comic novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker in amongst the law books.
The best thing about the print room was the scrap paper, as if the paper got creased in any way it could not be used in the machines so it was recycled. I asked and was allowed to take some scrap paper home, and that is why my daughters are such good artists, because of the kindness of the law firm, and all the scrap paper.
I am a writer so that involves paper too, though I just want people to buy paper, books that have my words on. Nine books on Amazon now. Our cat Totoro like paper too, if you scrunch up paper she comes running because she can play football with the paper. If you scrunch up a banknote she will come running too, a writer’s cat loves paper. I just hope one day I sell my stories, so that the cat can come running to the sound of banknotes.

Wednesday, 5 August 2015

All Wired Up

All Wired Up ©

By Michael Casey

I was all wired up for a day, no nothing to do with 50 Shades of Michael or any other colour, I mean wired up for an ambulatory cardiac monitor. Its 6 months since I had my unplanned triple bypass, and it turns out that it was 4 grafts, so it was an unplanned quadruple. Anyway thanks to City and QE hospitals here in Birmingham. Now what does ambulatory mean you are all asking. I remember 1st year Latin, ambulo, ambulas, ambulat  and we all know the word ambulance, so ambulatory means walking.

So you go to the hospital and a nurse shaves your chest, it seems every nurse wants to shave my chest. Then they attach 3  jump leads, they are not jump leads, but they do look like them, they are sensors. You are have a little machine with it, as big as an alarm clock, you put that in your pocket and then you go home. They also give you a piece of paper so you can write a  diary of your activities.

I was tempted to write rock climbing, and base jumping, followed by horse riding and marathon running. It would make it more interesting for consultant when he views the results. Michael Casey must be an Olympic athlete he would say. When I worked at CPNEC ten years ago we had an Olympic athlete staying, so every time we had a guest enter the gym I’d say as used by Olympic athletes.

Instead on the diary you write, having a pooh ten mins of training or straining, but that’s Olympic athletes again. You write went  to the corner shop, 10 mins.  Went to Aldi half an hour.Reading 2 hours, I do read a lot on the computer, Daily Telegraph and a smattering of Daily Mail and the Daily Express, and a look at the Sun and the Mirror, even the Guardian too. If any of these people have a corner on their websites I’d be more than happy to fill it. Though the editors might say I’d be like a cat, leaving mess in the corner. People can be so cruel, until you are popular and then they wish they’d stroked that cat and have it purr for them.

Being all wired up is no problem at all, that is until it’s time to go to bed. I sleep in the nude, ever since I left home many years ago. Pause, take a deep breath and have a stiff drink if the thought offends you. So where do I put the electronic box of tricks, I need something with a pocket and I want keep the wires under control. So the answer is to wear pyjamas in bed. My sister bought me some 6 months ago when I was in hospital, they are nearly worn out in the ar(***    as I toss and turn in my sleep.

My bedroom is like an oven as the way our central heating works the radiator in the room always gets some heat even if you are only heating hot water. Being South Facing adds to the heat, so if you are then wearing pyjamas and you are a nudist like me it all feels like a sauna. In a sauna I’d be naked, but as I’m wearing a cardiac monitor I’m just a pig sweating. A good looking pig, but a pig none the less. Ok, you can decide for yourselves what I look like, metaphor away, be my guest.
So the night passes and I awake every 2 hours. I used to sleep on my belly and then move about like a chicken on a rotisserie, but as I have a 12 inch scar on my belly from my heart operation I cannot sleep in my preferred position. I tend to sleep on my right side, they say sleep on your back but I’ve never been good in that position.

I got up for a drink and I wondered should I write that down in the diary, does your heart beat change when you go downstairs to the fridge and  back upstairs again? I didn’t put that down, maybe I should have. I did have a few minor twinges so I put them down. Sometimes I scream in the night but that’s from my scars on my legs where veins were harvested. Or if I’m stupid and brush the sheet again my left chest, then I scream and the neighbours can hear it. Mind you they may think it’s the local Sadomasochism Club. Though sometimes I have had a day of pain, or several days of pain, it’s the chest healing where it was cut in half.

In the morning it’s time to remove the sensors which are stuck to my chest, remember just how sensitive it is. Gingerly I remove them, and then I write down the time I got out of bed and removed them. Now I can have a wash, did I tell you, you cannot wash for 24 hours. So you have a 2 day shower before breakfast and going back to the hospital and handing in the cardiac monitor.
The moral of the story, eat your greens and have a balanced diet. I was walking 20 miles a week before this suddenly can upon me. I am now walking 10 to 15 miles a week. I have given up meat and frozen food since I came out of hospital in January 2015. I live on chicken and salmon and eggs, I have lost maybe 10kilos.I never smoked in my life and was almost teetotal, all our lodgers were alcoholics, hence alcohol never interested me. However you can still get coronary heart disease through other factors.

I have extra time now, so I don’t want to waste it, so if any opportunities come along I will grab them, but being able to see my daughters grow up IS the greatest gift. The gift of life itself.

Saturday, 1 August 2015

Customer Service for All

Customer Service for All ©
By Michael Casey

Before I start let me tell you that I speak from experience, as a worker and as a teacher. So I hope you have an open mind, and that you really want to polish your skills to be even better.
If you are like me you watch everything around you, you are a people watcher, as well as a tv watcher or a film watcher. By observing you can learn so much. So what makes you happy when you watch a film, a good actor, a pretty actress, lots of action, or all of these things?
Customer Service, Great Customer Service does make a difference. By watching a Duty Manager in a Hotel you can observe just how polished he is when he handles people, when he communicates with people.

The secret is LISTENING, let the customer TELL YOU WHAT THEY WANT.
Then you can give the customer what they want. If they ask for trousers you don't tell them about hats. You tell them about trousers.
You never say NO to a customer, you say LET ME FIND OUT, I'll let you know.
Example1: The customer wants black shoes, BUT you don't have any.
What do you say?
We don't have black shoes bye, and you end contact with customer.
NO, what you say is SORRY we don't have black shoes at the moment, but we do have some nice brown shoes, and various other colours.

WHY do you say this?
Because if you just say NO all the time you'll never make any Sales.
BY saying SORRY and OFFERING an alternative you MIGHT still make a Sale.
ALWAYS OFFER ALTERNATIVES. ALWAYS BE VERY POLITE AS IF THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND IS ON THE OTHER END OF THE PHONE OR EMAIL.
Why is it important to be POLITE ALWAYS?

Because TODAY everybody can BUY everything from ANYWHERE in the World.
IF you are RUDE then the Customers will vote with their feet, they will SHOP Elsewhere. Also it is a SALES FACT, if your Customer Service is BAD then the Customer will tell TEN (10) People that YOUR COMPANY IS RUBBISH. This will lead to lack of sales and in the end YOUR COMPANY WILL CLOSE and you have no JOB and no MONEY.

IF you offer GREAT CUSTOMER SERVICE then the company will get BIGGER and there will be more jobs and WAGES for the Workers. ALSO the Company will get a bigger Reputation and the Customer will tell FOUR (4) Friends to Shop with your company.
As you can see BAD customer service  is advertised times 10.
Good Customer Service is advertised times 4.
That's why you should NEVER give Bad Customer Service.
Bad news travels faster.

Example 2 A customer wants black shoes and would like something else but has not made up her mind what.
So you say that we have socks that can go with the shoes and you tell the customer what kind of socks we have. By knowing your stock you can HELP the customer buy more items. If we have a SALE of certain other items then you can GENTLY LEAD the shopper towards the SALES items.
We also have trousers and shirts in Toddler size, your toddler can dress just like Prince George in England. Is what you MIGHT say.
You LISTEN to the customer and IF they are interested then you can LEAD them towards more ITEMS.

It is like fishing, you have to be gentle and patience, never FORCE the customer, this way the CUSTOMER will not REGRET what they have bought.
IF you have LISTENED then you have increased the sale from one item to several.
AND THEN THE CUSTOMER might tell all her friends just how great your company is, and they will buy more things from the company.

Example3 Problem Solving
If you have PROBLEM, what do you do?
Ignore it, hope it will go away.
NEVER.
SORRY, I cannot help you at the moment but I will CONSULT with my colleague, I apologise  for the inconvenience, I'm very SORRY, I will CONTACT you as soon as I have an Answer.
YOU SHOULD NEVER BE BLUNT, Remember there are 1000s of companies on the Internet why should the Customer waste their time on a RUDE and LAZY person who does not want to BOTHER to HELP the customer.
The fancy way of thinking about it is HOW WOULD YOU WANT TO BE TREATED IF YOU HAD JUST WON £10,000,000 ON THE LOTTERY and it was you who was buying clothes for your child.
WOULD YOU PUT UP WITH A RUDE AND LAZY PERSON WHO WAS CHEWING GUM ON THE PHONE AND YAWNING AS THEY SPOKE TO YOU, OR WAS LISTENING TO LOUD MUSIC AND NOT TO YOU?  

You would expect to be treated like an Emperor or the President of your country. So if you expect that then you should treat ALL your customers as  if they are the President or the Emperor.
Sweet Words Always
Your  favourite singer is pretty and speaks SO NICE, would you listen to her or him if he sounded like a thief and spat in the street all the time. Your tone on the phone and in emails DOES MAKE A DIFFERENCE.
Who would you like to listen to? A rough voice who sounds like a thief or a sweet voice who you'd like to marry.

For FUN you can try closing your eyes and listen as you each try different voices and see which makes you Laugh, or be Afraid, or which is Sweet. By doing this you will realise the IMPRESSION the customer gets of YOU over the phone. A bad voice is more like something from a Horror film. A good voice will be REASSURING and fill the Customer with CONFIDENCE.
Try it for yourself in the office, then you will realise I speak from EXPERIENCE. I can reveal I did win awards for my Customer Service.
For the company we want it to succeed and expand.

How do we do this?
WE listen. We are never Blunt. We are kind in the way we speak or Email.
We treat the Customers as if they are our own Grandmother.
We offer Alternatives, we Politely tell the customer about offers we have and extra items that might compliment what the customer is already buying.
We are never rude and blunt, always remember the customer is paying our wages.
Customer Service means putting the Customer first ALWAYS.


**************
I've written this in Janet and John style for somebody who needs a push.


 


Wednesday, 29 July 2015

Windows Eight Doors Two

Windows Eight Doors Two ©

By Michael Casey

Today is 29th July 2015 its Windows 10 rollout day, so Bill Gates is sat at his PC answering emails and cut and pasting the new operation system into each letter, so that when he replies the world population gets their free copy. His fingers will be bleeding by the time he finishes, that’ll teach him to be not so popular. He could have employed a few of his friends to answer all those emails and cut and paste Windows 10 into the emails and hit RETURN.

He could have had a Windows 10 party, like a Sleepover, but for geeks. He could have invited his Google friends over too, they’d tell him just how trendy he was, though the idea of Bill Gates being trendy is a bit beyond belief. I’d spend a bit more on clothes if I was him, and get some that are a better fit, not the bargain bin from Macys. Though I am like a pot calling the kettle black. However since I’ve lost all this weight after my operation and giving up meat and frozen food I can now fit into clothes at the back of the wardrobe, it was like Narnia back there.

It is exciting I suppose getting Windows 10, and for FREE, it says  worth 100quid on the icon, or 99 something, which is 100quid in real money. Perhaps I could pay in Bitcoins, if I had any, though silver paper covered chocolate may have higher value. I have got up early to switch my computer on and be ready, like a kid waiting to go on holiday. A computer is a very important thing, I use mine to write on, as my penmanship as Americans call it, is so bad being able to type is a godsend. I’m hoping the music function is great, I have background music constantly.

I’ve got Crowded House playing, I’ve got 4 hours of their music, so they will be there to welcome Windows 10 to our house. Totoro our cat is dancing around the house, chasing some scrunched up paper. A writer’s cat adores paper and comes running if you squeeze paper, sounds daft but it’s true, my cat just loves paper, if I scrunch up the till receipt when I come home from Aldi then Totoro loves to play football with it.

Windows Eight Doors Two, that’s the number of windows in our house, I just spotted another one so I’ve just changed the title of this piece, I had forgotten the window above the front door, and as for doors we have two. I was going to write in one direction and I ended up going in another. That’s the joy of writing you can start one way and then take it another way, like being pollen blown by the wind, or the windmills of your mind, which is my favourite song.

So Bill I hope your day wasn’t too tiring, a couple of pints of Stella Artois to wash down your chicken dinner should sort you out. Just get Melissa to walk all over your back, but make sure she takes down the washing from the indoor washing line and scrubs down the kitchen table first. Otherwise while she’s walking on your back while holding onto the washing line she’ll bring down your Y fronts on top of you. And if she if she hasn’t wiped the kitchen table first then with all the extra virgin olive oil on the table you’ll just slip off the table.

All the best with “God’s work” Bill, my nine books may amuse you and your kindle, if not you can use them as kindling, but don’t get too close to the fire or you’ll burn with all the extra virgin olive oil on you, just like a modern day witch.


www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com 

www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com 

9 books on Amazon

Saturday, 25 July 2015

A Typical Saturday in Our House

A  Typical  Saturday in Our House ©
By Michael Casey

Today 25th July 2015 is a Saturday, its Totoro our cat’s 4 month Birthday. My chest pain is reminding me that heart bypass has a price, to make me well, to stave off a potential fatal heart attack I had the Triple Heart Bypass 6 months ago now. Only I was told a few days ago that actually they did 4 grafts. I felt perfectly well before the op, I was reading Don Camillo. Now I feel 50% the man I was before the operation, then there is the chest pain. However in the end I’m not pushing up the daisies. I’m telling you all this as it’s hard to concentrate when you are in pain, and sometimes your very breath is taken away. So forgive me if I stumble as I tell the tale.

Watch the cat, or he’ll sneak out, so we shut the back door, so she’ll not sneak out. Our cat has confused gender, we were told she was a he when we got him, but he was not a him, but a she. If you find and count the nipples under the fur you have the final proof, Totoro is a girl.

Who wants tea, I ask like a dirty spoon chef,  no reply so I ask again, nobody answers me, none of my 4 girls. Then the cat sneaks up and rubs himself, sorry herself against me, this both frightens and alarms me. I have scars up both of my legs where the surgeon harvested veins for my heart bypass. They are still very tender even after 6 months.

My left chest is still extremely tender too, if I brush the sheet against it while in bed then I scream. Getting up in the night means getting out of my bed naked, then getting dressed in pyjamas to avoid a Ninja Cat assault when I go downstairs. Totoro has discovered the fridge, she jumps on top of it so that she has high ground, 6 feet, from where she can pounce on anything that comes downstairs in the night.

But now it is morning and I’ve made my own breakfast, I am in fact chewing the 1st piece of my toast as I pop my 7 morning pills. You have to have them with food so my pharmacist told me, it’s a morning ritual now, a bag full of pills. My wife chirps up, can you give Eve her breakfast, she wants French Toast. Yes Daddy, you make it better than mum. And what are you doing? I ask. I’m reading the Bible is her reply, and so she is a big green covered on, printed in Mandarin. Converts will be the death of us.

So I get my daughter to get 2 eggs from the fridge, the cat having vacated her high vantage point. Then while she gets a bowl to mix the Polish eggs in I wolf down the last of my toast which has a covering of garlic and herbs mixed in the reduced fat cheese spread. The Polish eggs are like the Maltese eggs, the yolk is very bright yellow, not anaemic like some supermarket eggs.

My small daughter is pleased as she can now reach higher into the cupboard, in fact soon the cupboard door will hit her on the head, this is great news as it proves she is finally growing, at 11. Now I have the tools so I can get on with the job. French Toast for one, crack and whisk the egg in the bowl, add a splash of milk and a dab of butter. Then just stir.

Being a Shanghai Birmingham family once the bread is soaked in the egg I put it into the wok for cooking. We only had wholemeal bread in the house, so it was a new experience of French Toast a la wholemeal. Luckily my small daughter liked it, otherwise she would have been lumping it.

Twenty different conversations going on at the same time, the girls are off singing at a wedding later on, so a few lines of this hymn and that hymn. I’m just happy that my small daughter is getting taller, the plan is for my wife to be the midget of the family, my small daughter just has to out-grow her.

I think they sound worse than seagulls, another protected species, so I take refuge in the Italian barbers. I decided to give the Russian one a miss and go back to the Italian. I had tried the Polish barber before as well, I even had the mad witch Shanghai wife cut my hair a few times too. If only I could be Rapunzel, and not have to cut my fast growing but fine hair, which is everso everso silver.

The Italian was busy with a customer so I had to wait my turn, it was only 10.30am. It’s always interesting to listen in to conversations, you are sharing, or even stealing part of somebody else’s life. The Conversation Thief could be a future book title of mine, while I have that thought in my mind The Book Thief, the book, is the greatest book I have ever read, I would just love to have a pint of Stella Artois with the author.


So the customer was talking about Sky packages and how he nagged them and got a few deals out of it. His gripe was that long serving customers did not get the new deals. Which reminds me, Sky I’ve had you for 16 years plus now. It was the fact that my satellite had Phoenix Chinese tv which encouraged a young girl to come to my house.

So I should “blame” Sky for my wife and 2 bilingual daughters. Anyway Sky how about giving me, our house a free package of Sky. I’ll even write for Sky too, though Rupert will have to pay me for my words.www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR 50 examples.

But back to the barber, a half bald guy had his hair washed and cut before it was my turn. I told the Italian to shear me like a sheep, it’s the quickest way. He was very quiet at first then I told him my tale. He may not have seen me for a year. It turned out that his mother had died back home in Italy.

So I offered sympathy and suggested that he talk to her photo on Sundays, which was the normal time he phoned her back home in Italy. She was 98, but as he said , your mama is your mama, even if she was a million years old. He showed me the photo of his mama on his mobile phone. This was a touching moment for him, and me too. This week a family friend a contemporary of my dad has just died, aged 90. The older generation, the war generation, the better generation, is dying out.

I came home shorn of my hair, looking years younger, apart from the fact that I needed a shave. So I had a shave and trimmed my eyebrows, we have a scissors with teeth in the bathroom. It’s a very dangerous thing, but I survived.

Aldi is next on my list, I have to shop everyday as I cannot carry tons of stuff anymore. It’s also a way of getting my exercise, a trip up the road and see if I can raise a laugh from the staff on the tills. Aldi staff really really work hard, that’s why they have “high” rates of pay. I asked the guy on the till was the manager slumming it by working the till next to him.

Then I get out my conversation starter purse, yes purse. A GorJuss  purse, with a girl riding a horse printed on it. My daughter gave me it when my wallet sprung a leak. I always say it’s my daughter’s purse but my money. I did have my wife’s purse, then I said it’s my wife’s purse but it’s my money. Before that for years I had a plastic 35mm film canister, see how I have progressed, and digital cameras have taken over.

The guy on the till is smiling, so my mission is complete, so I balance out the weight of my shopping and prance home just like the horse on my purse. My dad, a blacksmith and a steel worker had a purse too, made from tick material, so I suppose it’s a family tradition.
I get home and cat jumps down from the fridge giving me a fright, if she ever gets inside the fridge it will be her having the fright. Then it’s the madness of getting ready for the Wedding, and reminding mum they need a lift to the church, its 2 miles away.

They drive off and the morning madness is over, just me and Totoro the cat home alone. Totoro decides to go and have a sleep in her basket, I feel tired too now, so I have a rest. Totoro purring in her sleep and me talking in mine. If only Sky gave me a free package and Rupert used my 9 books over 2901 pages, him paying me, now that’s something to sleep on.

me and my clarks shoes




Friday, 24 July 2015

A new Beginning, sounds like Hobbit Talk, but I am in Birmingham, the home of the Hobbits

Here's my Elevator Ad as they call them in USA, I hope it makes you laugh.
Clarks Shoes of course!


THIS IS MY ELEVATOR  AD  

Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for Radio and all other media

I grew up listening to the radio, we all used to hide under the blankets and listen when we should have been fast asleep. Radio did change my life, a lodger gave us a radio when he had to go back to Ireland to look after his sick mum. In fact he left all his stuff and caught the first boat home. Months later he came back to see us and said me and my brother could have his old Bush radio. I spent 20 years listening to radio. That and being afraid of Mr Gallagher when I was 8 changed my life, and improved my intellect.
Today after 20 years of radio and 25 years of writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 55 now, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say 12.
I met my Shanghai wife in the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad's room. I was positively vetted by a Chinese Ballerina  from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters. I am the token male and English speaker in the family.
Now here's a few samples, what I'd like to do would be to read my shorts/blogs on your radio. Each piece is about 90 seconds long, 90 seconds with Michael is the idea, simple idea. I have gained 19,208 views on Funny or Die for a sample  
1st chapter of Tears for a Butcher which will be my 8th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 530+ shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 207 of them so far, 11 hours plus of audio. I have nearly 150,000 views on Google+ as well
I have started recording all my Shorts and have put 50+ of them onwww.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  I have a new mike now too, so listen in reverse order.
My  7 books are on Amazon Kindle
 and  www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com   is my site.


Here's the samples for radio or print.
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(michaelgcasey) 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 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.

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
           
                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
     

 


Sleepover©
By
Michael Casey
Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.
Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in your house.
Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room, dad? Especially mine.
Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.
Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.
You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for suggesting it.
So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.
After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on  their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.
Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.
So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or half waking up and forgetting where she was.
So remembering to put on your dressing gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear, its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.

How do Men Shop? ©
By Michael Casey
There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.
If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all  in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.
This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion.  A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.
As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football  while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.
This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why  your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.
The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

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.
I was an Esol English teacher and gained
2 Excellents and an Exemplary on my external Assessment
As I have written 550+ 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 200 of my 550+ shorts, 11 hours plus of audio.
some can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
Cheerio, Michael Casey 
 to hear 50+ stories
8 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books


Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man

Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man ©
By
Michael Casey

Somebody else used that title, a guy in Ireland, but I think you’ll find that my writing is far far easier to understand, and maybe much more fun. Who would you rather study at GCSE? I did of course try and read the other guy’s book but 40 years ago and more I just found it to be a right pain. So now that tomorrow marks the 30th anniversary since I finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, perhaps I should go back and read the other guy’s book. In fact I’m lying as tomorrow is 28th Feb 2018, when in fact it was 29th Feb 1988 that I finished my masterpiece or is it master of the pees?

A lot has happened in the past 30 years, I met and married in improbable circumstances. I had a wedding day and a class reunion for 25 years on the same day, great time management there. Including doing chemical equations on napkins in MacDonald’s with a PhD in Biochemistry, not me, my bride and my best friend. Then on to a bar and telling my nice postman that I had been Shanghaied literally.

My hair had got more and more wrinkly and silver in colour just like my own mother, you may even think my mother is me in drag should you see the photo. I used to be very strong, almost half as strong as Lech, Boris and Gregorgi my imaginary Polish, Ukrainian and Russian cousins who appear sometimes on my page. Ok, I’m lying 1/3 as strong as the likes of them, but very strong compared to Birmingham folk. The Trio have looked up from their spot at the bar and given me the thumbs up, or I think it was the thumbs up, you can never tell with them. They are warming themselves up before going out into the snow, they drive snow ploughs, what else do you the think they would do. Sit at home playing Ludo and Snakes and Ladders? No the Trio have to be out being useful it is their nature.

These past 30 years have gone so fast, what else has happened? I discovered sleeping in the nude. The Trio have just puked and headed out into the snow storm. But when you have your own place for the first time there is no need of pyjamas. This is great freedom. Then you get married and have daughters so you have to start wearing pyjamas again, or a dressing gown around the house.

Having a quadruple heart bypass means you have to wear PJs in bed again. Why? Well because the scars on both legs and chest can be so sensitive that the bed-sheets rubbing against them makes you jump and even scream. Yes, even 3 years later my left nipple is so sensitive. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi just tapped at the window, but now they have driven the snow ploughs off into the blizzard. Pray that Saint Michael himself looks after them, I’m sure they are his favourites.

What else has happened these past 30 years? Well I’ve gone past 1,260,000 Words now spread over 15 books on Amazon. But remember I am not the Monk, nor the Irish guy, no not James Joyce, but somebody sharing my name. Just look for my silly face and then you’ll find me and my 15 books. 15 Down is my latest, though a 15 down duvet would be very good in this weather.

My writing is simple, just like me, because I want as many people as possible to understand and like it. Not get confused by over long and pretentious sentences. Never talk down to people, just talk, as if you are in a bar with Lech, Boris and Gregorgi having a drink. Never be such a bad writer that people would rather go out and drive that snow plough. And no I didn’t bore the Trio.

Style in writing does make a difference. The Book Thief is the best book I’ve read in my life. Its a 10 and I am a 1 by comparison. Though I would say that some commercial writers may be commercial but for actual writing quality they can be rubbish. If the style is so bad I just cannot read a book, even if the plot is supposed to be good. Making people smile as they read is what I’m about, or if I’m being serious I want people to think, they may not agree with me but I hope that because of the style they will keep on reading. Or maybe you have stopped reading already. I can get Lech, Boris and Gregorgi to pay you a visit at your local pub. The bar bill would bankrupt you, so be nice to me.

Joking apart, the story has to flow, yes as much as the Japanese vodka did when the Trio won that singing competition. If you explain things too much then its boring, if the rhythm isn’t there then the story is bad. It really is in the telling, as Frank Carson used to say. Remember I had years practice telling stories when I worked in a hotel at the front of house. The front of house manager even said I had an “act” which is a bit cruel. But if I had 100,000 micro-conversations over 3 years then that would transfer into the writing. Everything you do or say or feel all goes into the soup that is your life. And when you write a story you are a dinner lady ladling out stories onto the page. Well that’s the way I see it, though I could just be my own mother in drag.






I want to be a radio star, a love story

Stumbling back here

Stumbling back here,its 27th Feb 2018. After 30+ years of writing I have yet to be discovered. Because I'm not on Anti-Social Media, and I'm not going to hawk books outside the local supermarket. Maybe I should, but I am not an American, a salesman. I just write the stuff and hope my readers like it too. Then when I have a load of stories I compile them into a book. 1300 to 1600 stories now. 1,260,000 words or so spread over the 15 books. My next book when it reaches 100,000 words will be called Sweet 16 and then I'll launch it on Amazon. Leap Year's Day 1988 was when I finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, half my lifetime ago. Sadly a life carrying stuff has caught up with my Health, so all I am good for is writing stories. Usually in one hour I'm done because I'm very quick. Then I take 30 mins to load to my sites and do my backup securities. SECURITY IS EVERYTHING. You have been warned. I was a computer operator most of my working life, so I speak from experience. I have readers in 26 different countries that's why I think my writing could be used to teach English as a 2nd language. I do have a Shanghai wife as well and I did do ESOL. That's as far as my sales pitch goes. And yes I really did get 21,000 Polish readers just by word of mouth in 3 weeks for a Translation of the Finale of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. Today its cold and snowing and sadly I can no longer go out and make a snowman, as I was able to do till I was 50. Now If I tried I'd be dead the snow.
I have recorded 207 out of my 1300 to 1600 stories.  But I've stopped recording until somebody in the world asks for more.Its 11hours of my voice and stories. Here  on this site you are spared, you just get 50 stories I think.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC   to buy an read my 15 books
10Jan2018

Monday, 26 February 2018

Its cold outside stay indoors and read my book

Ben Fogle said do something in 2013, how do you like to read this instead  

and now its 5 years later

By michaelgcasey

Ben Fogle said do something in 2013, how do you like to read this instead. Its the first chapter of my 6th book. Tears For a Butcher.

It’ll take me a year to finish it, not useless somebody donates a ParaLegal secretary, they can type at 100wpm you know. I could sit down and dictate, just like Barbara Cartland did. IF you like this 1st chapter then you can read my other 15 books on Amazon Kindle, only 2quid each.

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


I am available for hire as of 3pm this afternoon.
This is my copyright just so you know

A Nation Of Shopkeepers Book Two
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tears For a Butcher ©

by


Michael Casey



Chapter One ...Mrs Murphy to the Rescue
ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ


The next day found the street nursing a collective hangover , Mrs

Murphy being the sole sober person . It was her soul and that of her

infant grandchild which concerned her , so as usual she had got up and

said her three rosaries before going to early Mass . In the afternoon

little Shiela was to be Christened so Mrs Murphy at least was getting in

the right frame of mind . Mrs Murphy did stop to light a candle in front

of Saint Anthony as thanks for help in finding Jaswinda , after all wasn't

he the saint in charge of lost things and you might call Jaswinda's

kidnapping a form of being lost , lost from her parents and friends that

is . Fr Shaw had privately offered the Mass up in thanks for Jaswinda's

safe return , even he had felt humbled by Mrs Murphy's faith in God . He

had noticed the lit candle by Saint Anthony's statue and the nod and smile

Mrs Murphy had given to a poster of Mother Theresa of Calcutta . So united

in prayer the Mass was celebrated .



When the Mass was over and Fr. Shaw had taken the vestments off

he walked down the side isle and sat on the bench in front of Mrs Murphy ,

leaning back he spoke to her .

"Well that was quite a night . I didn't have as much fun since the last

ordination I was at " , he said with a smile .

"It was grand , I'll agree with you there , BUT you do know that the food

we were "ateing" was for Shiela's Christening do " , replied Mrs Murphy as

she heaved her bussom indignantly .

"You don't begrudge Jaswinda and her family that do you ?" asked Fr. Shaw

trying not to smile .

"I do not , I enjoyed myself too ! It's just that Patrick doesn't seem to

do anything in the right order . I mean he fathered a child before he got

married , now he eats the food before the Christening " , sighed Mrs

Murphy .

"You don't mind being a grannie , I mean some women feel that they've got

one foot in the grave now that they are grandmothers " , said Fr. Shaw

teasingly .

"I do NOT , now that's the best thing Patrick ever did , and June is such

a nice girl . It was almost the will of God them meeting , fancy it being

her father who lent us that money all them years ago . Now we are one

happy family , APART from that mother of hers . I just hope I'm spared

long enough to see all my grandchildren grow up , I wouldn't want the

"English Grandmother" to influence them too much " , she rolled her eyes

at the thought .

Fr Shaw smiled broadly and tossed his head back , stiffling his

laughter out of respect . Mrs Murphy smiled too , noticing for the first

time the small piece of paper stuck to Fr. Shaw's neck, she'd have a laugh

at him too as well as herself .

"Is the work getting too much for you Father , not trying to cut your

throat are you " pulling the piece of paper from his throat and holding it

in front of him .

"Get away out of that , besides the Samaritans are ex directory around

here" he replied .

"Well I'd better go home for some breakfast , I'll see you this afternoon

with the "Pagan Grandparents" for the Christening " said Mrs Murphy as she

gathered herself and her handbag up .

"You could always try converting them ,I mean their daughter is Catholic

now " , said a deadpan Fr.Shaw .

"And how do I go about that " said Mrs Murphy as she put her gloves on .

"Well we don't have a statue like we have one of St.Anthony nor a poster

like the one of Mother Theresa " , Fr.Shaw paused, he could see Mrs Murphy

blush , she was embarrassed by her shows of faith .

"Don't you dare tell anybody " whispered Mrs Murphy as she fidgeted with

her bag .

"Anyway " said Fr.Shaw diplomatically " haven't you heard of St. Jude ,

she likes a challenge , perhaps the "Pagan Grandparents" would be right up

her street " a smile on his lips .

"St.Jude would be ringing the Samaritans then " was Mrs Murphy's reply as

she nodded towards the altar and headed down the isle and out of the

church .

"Lord grant me faith " , said Fr.Shaw . Then he smiled, he knew the saints

would soon be bombarded with conversion prayers .

In the afternoon Mrs Murphy , Patrick and June and baby Shiela

arrived for the christening . The "English Grandparents" were there

too , that's to say June's parents Mr and Mrs Kemp . Mrs Kemp was dressed

to the nines , with a big hat on her head and matching long gloves .Big

Sid , Mark and Gillian , Percy and Sgt Mulholland and Mathew were also

there , along with Amjit , Balbinda and Jaswinder of course .

"The Lord Save Us , if it isn't The Duchess of York Herself" whispered

Mrs Murphy as she walked up the side isle to the baptismal font . June had

to look down at the baby and pretend to wipe its nose to save collapsing

into giggles . Patrick just bit his lip , the pain would stop him

laughing.

"I'll just go and say hello to "Annette" " , said Mrs Murphy before

striding over towards Mrs Kemp .

"She's up to something " , whispered Patrick .

"I know , but what ? " answered June from behind her hand .

After a few moments they found out what . For Mrs Murphy returned all

smiles , giving a knowing wink to Patrick and June , well that's how it

seemed but in fact the wink was for the baby Jesus in the Virgin Mary's

arms .

"You know you were going to call the baby Shiela , then have Annette as

the middle name , after your mother over there " said a surprizingly coy

Mrs Murphy .

"Yes , we decided that months ago ," answered a suspicious June .

"Well "Annette" agrees with me it would be better if the middle name be

different , I mean Shiela Annette Murphy is a grand name , but the child

might think one grandmother is better than another , what with her name

coming second and that . Now we don't want favouritism do we . So

"Annette" thought that you could save her name for the next granddaughter

, which won't be long in coming , as you are such a loving couple after

all " continued Mrs Murphy .

Patrick blushed at this point , June just twinkled , Mrs Murphy was a

terror to be sure , but it felt alright , well as far as June was

concerned . Mrs Kemp saw Patrick blush and whispered to her husband .

"I bet she's talking about the next doxen grandchildren , and in a church

too . Well at least one will be called "Annette" , and NOT "Shiela

Annette" , she consoled herself with that thought .

"So what will the middle name be then ?" enquired a still red Patrick .

"Jude , of course , " replied Mrs Murphy .

"Jude , of course , " echoed June while pulling a face at Patrick .

"But she's the patron saint of " started Patrick .

"Hopeless causes , " finished June , who had recently finished a book on

the lives of the saints .

"Well it nice to see you're becoming a good Catholic , " smiled Mrs

Murphy beaming with pride .

"Us converts can teach you old ones a thing or two , " smiled June .

"But why Jude , mom ?" asked a puzzled Patrick .

"Well its a nice name , isn't it ? " she replied defensively before

walking towards Fr. Shaw who had emerged from the presbytery .

"What's she up to ? " said Patrick thinking aloud .

"Well you are a bit of a hopeless cause , or so my mother says " jested

June .

Fr. Shaw smiled when he heard what Mrs Murphy had to say , looking over

towards Mr and Mrs Kemp .

"Did you see that ? Fr.Shaw looked at mom and smiled , and he said

something too . It looked like" started already" . "

"I didn't know you were a lip reader . I'll have to watch out when I swear

at you in future " replied Patrick .

"Well only a bit , but what has she" started already" ? " continued a

an intrigued June .

"We can ask her afterwards , " was Patrick's reply , as he could see

Fr.Shaw was coughing and opening his prayer book , a sure sign that Shiela

was about to be baptised .

So with family and friends looking on , Shiela Jude Murphy was

baptised , Sgt. Mulholland and Mathew being her Godparents . Mrs Kemp

rolled her eyes at the sight , to her it seemed like two "King Kongs"

standing over a small bundle , which was baby Shiela . Mrs Murphy would

later explain how only Catholics could be Godparents for Catholic babies .

Baby Shiela stayed asleep during the service , even when drenched , for

Fr. Shaw a baptism meant water and lots of it , no dabbing for him . Yet

the baby slept through it , June had taken a tip from Mrs Murphy , namely

a thimblefull of Irish Whisky in the baby's milk half an hour before the

baptism .

Back at Mark's cafe the baby's health was toasted , Mark and

Gillian having stayed up late to remake the eaten buffet . Jaswinda was

looking at her future playmate , and trying to work out when little Shiela

would be bigger Shiela , or big enough to play at any rate . Outside Amjit

was pacing up and down the pavement in front of the cafe and barking , he

wanted to be let inside the cafe .

"What on earth's that savage dog trying to do ? " said an alarmed Mrs

Kemp.

"He's only saying congradulations , that's all , " said a totally

unperturbed Mrs Murphy . Who then went to the counter to return with the

scraps .

"Jaswinder , do you want to feed little Amjit ? " asked Mrs Murphy ,

holding the plate out so Jaswinder could reach .

"Yes , please , " Jaswinder replied then with a hop and a skip , her one

pigtail bobbing she dashed out to feed Amjit .

"Is it safe , he might harm her ! " said an alarmed Mrs Kemp .

"I don't think so ," said a smiling Mrs Murphy .

After an hour of festivities , the people began to disperse ,

Mrs Kemp was about to leave herself , when she leaned over conspiratorily

and with a glance at Patrick whispered to Mrs Murphy .

"Shiela , it's Patrick's birthday next month and I was thinking of getting

him a nice watch , as I noticed his old one is a bit worn out . "

"More like , knackered , I'm forever telling him to take it off when he's

humping big loads of flour and the like , but will he listen to me ? "

,replied Mrs Murphy shaking her head .

"Quite , but he's changed since he's married MY June , so if I was to

buy him a nice watch then perhaps he'll take care of it ? " said Mrs Kemp

trying not to sound condescending , but failing as usual .

"Oh , to be sure , he's a real man , now that he's married to YOUR June ,

but then isn't he the image of his father , MY dead husband in heaven

who's no doubt having a drink with the angels to celebrate his first

grandchild's baptism into THE CHURCH . " , smiled back Mrs Murphy as if

butter would not melt in her mouth , while glancing over with pride at her

own earthly holy family , namely her Patrick and June and baby Shiela .

"Well , you do agree with me he needs a new watch , I mean we don't want

to end up buying him the same thing do we ?" , said Mrs Kemo , flashing

her best smile .

"Yes , you are quite right "Annette" , and can you tell me where you got

those luvly false teeth from ? They are grand altogether , or did you just

soak them for a week in Domestos ? " , replied Mrs Murphy the butter still

not melting in her mouth .

Mr Kemp came to the rescue , and ushered his wife out of the cafe , giving

a wink to Mrs Murphy , behind his wife's back of course , he had a sense

of humour after all , but he was not totally stupid though .

"I just hope she gets him a stretch strap , otherwise he won't wear the

thing . Mind you the watch he's got now isn't too bad , he's superglued

the glass back in , it could last a while longer . " mumbled Mrs Murphy as

she watched the Pagan Grandparents go .

"What's this about a stretch strap ? " asked June as she placed baby

Shiela in grandma Shiela's arms .

"Annette ,wants to buy your husband a watch for his birthday next month ."

"He could do with one , he told me those Russian one's seem to last him

the longest , the sweat gets in the others he's tried over the years .

Besides the one he's got now has a horrid picure in green of a man playing

a lute , the man looks as if he's just came out of a concentration camp !"

"I've seen that , it could frighten little Shiela here when she gets

older" , said Mrs Murphy as she stroked the baby's nose .

"I just hope mom gets a stretch strap , he hates the others they dig into

your skin when you work , he likes wind up ones too , he said he'd not

have got his present one if he'd realised it was a battery one . "

"I'm sure she'll get a nice one , I mean now there's a real man in your

family , besides she probably fancies him on the quite . " said Mrs Murphy

as she played with the baby in her arms .

"You're an absolute terror , you are ! " laughed June .

"It might be true , I was reading it in the Readers Digest at the surgery

when I was at Dr. Quaringa's for my blood pressure tablets . It said that

some mothers - in - laws have a fixation for there son in laws . "

"Well I'll have to get my figure back quick , and then start to seduce him

again !" laughed June .

"You'll soon have a brother for Shiela if you do that , but at least with

two children to look after , then Patrick would be too busy to notice your

mother's overtures . " retorted a deadpan Mrs Murphy before looking up at

June and throwing back her head to cackle like a hen .

Patrick came over to see what was up . The two women in his life just

looked at him and resumed their laughter with fresh vigour . Then his

daughter joined in to .

"The sooner I have a son , the better , then at least I'll not be

surrounded by mad women " , said a slightly indignant Patrick .

June and Mrs Murphy just looked at each other again and laughed till they

cried . Patrick was bemused , so he repeated his statement . "The sooner I

have a son the better ! " June wiped the tears from her eyes , before

kissing him . "I'll only be too happy to oblige , if you can wait a few

weeks " , she replied as she patted her still swollen stomach . Patrick

blushed as red as the bottles of ketchup on the tables , Mrs Murphy just

swelled with pride and whispered to the bundle in her arms " Little

Timothy won't be long in coming , a year at the most . "

Patrick was still blushing as June kissed him again . Mrs Murphy then got

up and handed the treasure back to June , before snatching a kiss from

Patrick and leaving the cafe , she had other matters to attend to .....


Mrs Murphy had walked to the end of the street when , she had to

stop and shake a pebble from her shoes , leaning on a wall as she did so .

When something cold and wet shoved itself into the back of her leg she was

naturally frighten for a second . Spinning around she saw what it was .

"God blast you , the Devil carry you , Amjit you hairy thing will you

leave me alone . " She screatched at the innocent dog .

Amjit lowered his head , and offered his paw , so they could shake hands

and be friends again . It was then than Mrs Murphy noticed her umbrella ,

hadn't she left it in the cafe and Amjit had brought it after her .

"Sorry , Amjit , but you did frighten me . Here shake hands . "

They shook hands , then with a woof , and what could easily by mistaken

for a smile Amjit was off his tail high and proud . He too had other

business to attend to , if only he could remember where he had buried that

pig's head that Big Sid had given him , Amjit knew there was another meal

or two left in it , if only he could remember where he'd left it .

"Thank's again , Amjit " shouted Mrs Murphy after the hairy hound . Amjit

stopped to bark again , then with a burst of astonishing speed he was off

, he'd probably seen the Post Office cat and Amjit wanted to talk to that

moggie . It started to rain , and thanking Amjit with a "Bless Him" Mrs

Murphy opened her umbrella . She had hardly opened it when old Michael

pulled up in his taxi .

"Do you want a lift , I've earnt my diesel for the day . "

"Well could you take me to Weatherfield Rd ,the one by the Rover's Return

past the old clothing factory ? "

"Hop in , but why are you going over that way ? "

"Me and Mrs Lynch are looking after Mrs Powulska , she's still weak after

her operation , so we take it in turns to keep an eye on her . Her sister

is coming ower from Poland for a month , she will be here in a few days

so I've got to tidy the place up a bit . "

"I like the Poles they are a great lot , I was with a lot of them fellas

in the war , they are sometimes called the Irish of Central Europe , they

have suffered let me tell you . " said Michael as he moved up the gears

and sped off .

"Yes they did suffer , first the Nazis , then the Communists , but they

led the way for Europe to be free , and after all isn't the Pope himself a

Pole , so you cann't beat that . " said Mrs Murphy her voice showing her

passion .

As Mrs Murphy left the taxi , Michael who'd just had 10

minutes on the persecution of the Catholic church in Poland was numbed by

the outpouring . "Is it really true , they built a church themselves cos

the government built the town without one . And that in Albania they shot

a priest dead for babtising a baby ? "

"Yes " was Mrs Murphy's simple reply though her eyes betrayed her anger

and passion .

"The Bastards , I fought a war for them , what are they afraid of ! "

"The Baby Jesus " mumbled Mrs Murphy as she walked away .

"Let me know when your Polish friend arrives , I'll drive you to the

airport " shouted Michael after Mrs Murphy . She just waved in

acknowledgement , her mind was elsewhere .

Mrs Murphy did the vacuuming , and dusting for 2 hours before

stopping to make cup of tea for herself and a hot meal for Mrs Powulska .

She proped Mrs Powulska up in bed , before putting a tray down in front of

her , she watched as a still weak Mrs Powulska ate .

"So which part of Poland , does your sister come from ? " asked Mrs Murphy

as she sipped her tea .

"Oh the south , a little place , a university place , its called Cracou "

Mrs Murphy's cup clattered against the saucer , she put her tea down for

fear of dropping it . To her it was as if a trumpet had sounded to herald

the entrance of an angel .

"That's where the Pope comes from !" she jabbered .

"Oh , of course , he babtised my sister's children . This food really is

good , you could almost be a Pole , Mrs Murphy . " replied Mrs POwulska as

she ate heartily . Mrs Murphy finished her tea fast , she'd have to give a

final sheen to things before she went . After all wasn't a friend of the

Pope's coming . She had seen the Pope in Coventry , sneaked in with the

handicaped thanks to Fr. Shaw , but now to meet with a friend of the Pope

, Mrs Murphy hadn't been this excited since her confirmation .


Mrs Murphy took it upon herself to meet Mrs Powulska's sister at

the airport . On the drive in Nanska the sister , told an awe struck Mrs

Murphy all about "Carol" , which was what the Pope insisted his old school

chums call him , his reasoning being that's what his mum called him , so

they must call him that too . Michael cocked half an ear to the

conversation , after all it wasn't often that he had a V.I.P. in the back

of his taxi . Mind you he had had the odd Lord Mayor or two who did think

that they were important , Michael knew from his own experience that the

really important people tended to be the quiet ones , they knew that they

were the guardians of gifts , however bizarre or seemingly useless , yes

the truly important people were the quite ones that was for sure , ask any

old taxi driver mused Michael as he pulled up outside Mrs Powulska's .

"Thank's Michael , come inside for a cuppa , I'm sure Nanska will not

mind . " chirped Mrs Murphy .

"Yes , Shiela is taking the words from me . " continued Nanska who was

now as a sister to Mrs Murphy . The sisterhood of the faith , was a bit of

a beneign conspiracy . A pair of rosary beeds and pictures of

grandchildren in a bag and there you had it , instant sisterhood no matter

what nationality , it was the mothers that gave birth to faith , and it

was meer men that said the Masses . The Pope himself knew that , that's

why he insisted on being called Carol by Nanska and all his old school

friends .

Inside the tears flowed into the tea , Polish words and songs

rang out from the heart to the heart , there in central England , Mrs

Murphy looked on , she knew that but for the miracle of Poland breaking

the chains of Communism , this happy scene would never have happened . It

was at times like these that a good Irish drink was called for . So

reaching into the bottom of her black bag , she produced Poteen .

"Will you take some in your "Tay" ? " , she said but without awaiting an

answer she was pouring it .

"What is this Poteen ? " asked a curious Nanska , sitting up straight and

straightening her hugh , black clad bussom .

"Vodka " was Michael's reply , repeating the word in Polish , it was one

of the few words of Polish that he could remember from the war , the

others words he knew were certainly not fit for ladies such as these .

So tentatively sipping at the cup , Nanska tried her fortified tea .Her

face changed colour then slowly changed back again , rather like traffic

lights changing , only traffic lights don't breathe heavily and fan their

mouths with their hands .

"It's good " said Nanska with a tear coming down her eye .

"It's fresh if I'm not mistaken " added Michael who was a bit of an

authority on these things .

"It was made three weeks ago , Sgt Mulhollands family send it over "

mumbled Mrs Murphy a tear now coming down her own eye .

So the three ladies and an old taxi driver got quietly and quickly drunk

, on tea strengthened with Poteen . Michael even remembered a whole song

in Polish that he'd learnt . It's wonderful the power of good alcohol , it

brings back the memories to the old and banishes the cold of loneliness .

As for the song , it was as bad or as good as the one Mrs Murphy had sung

at the do for the childrens's home . The two Polish women laughed till

they cried , Michael sung it even louder and was made repeat it seven

times , and all the time he hadn't a clue for the life of him what he was

singing ....


The next day Mrs Murphy took Nanska on a trip around town to show

the sights , Mrs Murphy really liked flashing her bus pass like a police

man , in fact Starsky was her favourite . The two ladies stopped off for a

cuppa at a little cafe by the bus station . Behind them was a park and a

wood , it reminded Nanska of home .

"I feel at home here , with these woods , with a friend by my side " ,

she squeezed Mrs Murphy's hand , as she gazed towards the woods .

" We have woods like that back home , when I was in service in the hotels

in Killarney I used to walk in the woods . Its nice to see something so

tall and strong reach up to the sky and grow . Then you have the low

branches with their leaves leaning down and touching your hair . It always

gave me a thrill . " said Mrs Murphy as she followed Nanska's gaze .

"It was such a thrill , the soft earth underneath the trees , the bouncy

ground , the squirrels chattering away and jumping like acrobats from tree

to tree , the magpies too , oh it was all so grand , just think what its

like to be young ." continued Mrs Murphy in bewteen sips of tea .

"It was the closest we got to sex . " smiled Nanska

"Yes , I suppose you are right - then we realised trees are more

dependable than men . " laughed Mrs Murphy .

They laughed together , a shared love of trees , a shared faith , a

shared hope , they laughed as only the old can laugh , they laughed at

themselves .

"Come on , let's walk in the woods " said Mrs Murphy jumping up and

nearly knocking the table and chairs over .

A smiling Nanska , eagerly joined in this nonsense , oh to be young again

, youth was wasted on the young , they wasted so much time , life is for

living and loving and hoping , not sitting around and saying " I'm Bored"

all this went through both their heads as they strode towards the wood .

Not that they actually strode , in their hearts they did , but they

progressed towards the woods arm in arm .....

They must have been in the woods for a half hour , before Mrs

Murphy felt the call of nature . So making hissing noises , and gestures ,

she ushered Nanska on , while she did a country pee . This is how Mrs

Murphy described crouching behind a tree with her dress held up about her

head so she could let nature take its course . It was while nature took

its course that it happened . A fact of human nature to be prescise ,

greed . Nanska was mugged . Mrs Murphy heard the screams and came running

, or rather huffing and puffing with her drawers still not fully pulled up

"What's up ?" she demanded as she rearranged her underwear .

"A bandit take my bag " was Nanska's reply as tried to contain her heaving

bussum , such was her shock and heart rate .

Mrs Murphy looked feverishly around her hoping to see the mugger , but

there was no chance . So taking Nanska's hand to comfort her , Mrs Murphy

led Nanska out of the wood . On the way out they found Nanska's handbag ,

there was a trail of Nanska's poccessions .

"So we are lucky after all " said Mrs Murphy trying to console Nanska .

"Yes , but he did frighten me , he pushed me to the ground " replied

Nanska as she crouched about picking up her belongings .

"Bad sest him , the divil carry him , if ever I catch him , I'd tan his

bare arse ," said Mrs Murphy as she struggled about picking up Nanska's

belongings .

"I have everything now , he must have thrown it down when he realised my

money was Polish kind . Sadly I miss the gold cross and chain that The

Pope gave me . " sighed Nanska .

Mrs Murphy's ears pricked up as she heard this , nobody , no cheeky

spotty youth was going to steal from her friend , she'd catch this

"person" if it was the last thing she did . Her head raced with anger , as

the two of them continued out of the wood , towards the bus station . Now

how would Starsky deal with this she wondered , then she wondered was

St. Anthony the one for muggings too , after all she wanting help in

finding that cross . She was awakened from her throughts by the

"Chugg,chugg" of Michael's taxi .

"Jump in ladies , where to ? " he said quietly , as his head had not

recovered from the night before .

"You better go to Mark's , WE have been mugged . " said Mrs Murphy .

At Mark's , Mrs Murphy and her soul mate , were the life and

soul of the inquest into the mugging . Concerned looks , and dire threats

of what they'd do to the culprit were the order of the day . Patrick his

hands covered in flour came running .

"Are you alright , are you alright ? " he said , scouring his mothers face

for signs of harm .

"Of course , I am . Only the spotty faced monster made me wet my knickers"

"You were that afraid ? " said a worried looking Patrick .

"Don't be so soft , you overgrown egyt , I was taking a country pee ,

when I heard the fuss , then in my rush I wet my knickers ." said Mrs

Murphy with a look that said "What kind of idiot have I for a son " .

"So we've wet the baby's head last week and now your knickers this

week ! " said Patrick who couldn't resist the chance of a joke .

"I'm not too old to tan your bare arse , Patrick ! " snapped Mrs Murphy

before she saw the funny side and started to shriek with laughter .

"I'm going to catch that cheeky monkey , I don't mind my knickers getting

wet , it's just that Nanska a visiter to our country should not get

treated like that , it ruins the reputation of the place , they'll think

we are all totally uncivilised . " Mrs Murphy sounded more than indignant

, she had that look in her eye . Then by way of afterthought she added

"Besides , the little bastard stole a cross and chain given to Nanska by

the Pope himself ! "

Patrick knew it was definately a waste of time trying to persuade his

mother that she hadn't a chance in hell of finding the mugger . He looked

about the cafe trying to think of something useful to say . Outside Amjit

barked and put his nose to the window .

"Well Amjit can help you , " said Patrick trying placate his mother .

"Well I'll take him home with me then . "


The next few days Amjit found himself under house arrest at Mrs

Murphy's . She was training him with the aid of a hurling stick and ginger

nut biscuits , if he had a soul Amjit would have sold it for a ginger nut

biscuit , wasn't Patrick the same only Rolos were his weakness . Amjit was

a clever dog already , but Mrs Murphy didn't quite trust him as he had

ran after a squirrel while saving Jaswinder . She was an old woman she

didn't want to be attacked while souring the town for the mugger . Amjit

already knew English and a bit of Indian but now the Gaelic were to be his

command words . Mrs Murphy did not want anybody to know what was coming .

"Well , you seem to know your stuff , so we'll go for a walk in the woods

then ."


Walking in the woods was a joy for Mrs Murphy , a harsh word

in Gaelic was all that was needed when Amjit started to trot , having seen

a squirrel ahead .That and the odd ginger nut .She thought she'd only have

to walk into the woods and then the mugger would come out with his hands

up , but neither life nor love is like that . The first thing that Mrs

Murphy came across seemed to be a body , she couldn't quite see so she

sent Amjit ahead , just in case it was dangerous . Amjit crept ahead and

sniffed at a white rounded thing , his cold nose touched it . There was a

startled scream , followed by a girl's laughter . Amjit had disturbed a

pair of natural lovers . Mrs Murphy brought up the rear , averting her

eyes from the naked lovers .

"I'm sorry if my dog disturbed your husband at his "Work" , " the

laughter in her voice , hadn't friends of hers done the same fifty years

ago in the woods of Killarney , in a crowded house a wood can be a thing

of wonder and recreation if not procreation .

"He's only my boyfriend !" came a laughed reply from the girl , while the

boy blushed .

"You should only do that if you know , he'd be a good father to a baby !"

was Mrs Murphy's moral retort her eyes averted still .

"Oh , he will be , I want lots of children , we are just getting some

practice in , " was the final remark before the girl got the boy to carry

on with a job well done .

Mrs Murphy was going to say something more but then thought of Patrick

and June , so she just laughed and laughed , they were true lovers just

like her Patrick and June , so what if they were early starters . And they

wanted lots of kids , anybody who loved children was ok in Mrs Murphy's

book .

Further into the wood teenage children were swinging from a

rope tied to a tree . When they saw Amjit they scattered , screaming

"Police" . They had been playing truant from school , the sight of an

enormous dog had only meant one thing to them - Police . It took Mrs

Murphy a while to realise this . Then she realised she had a new problem

now , how to make Amjit invisible .

Mrs Murphy thought long and hard on how to make Amjit

invisible , it would be easy if she was Paul Daniels the tv magician , but

she was just a poor widow woman , as she insisted to her son every time

she wanted to extract a favour . Saint Francis was roped in to help but

this only gave partial success , what was needed was something to slow the

hairy beast down . Mrs Murphy even thought of attaching the old last to

Amjit's collar , she ruled this out though , something much heavier was

needed , something that would make Amjit slow down and so make him keep

his distance and so be invisible . Then while watching the tv she saw a

blacksmith , a light went on in her mind , now an anvil would be just the

thing to slow Amjit down . It was then that Saint Francis spoke up , she

couldn't be so cruel to a dumb animal especially after he had saved

Jaswinder . The picture of Mother Theresa looked down the wall and said

"have faith ".Mrs Murphy looked at Amjit lying at her feet like some form

of long haired rug and smiled her own saintly smile , they were only

thoughts , meer passing pagan clouds . She threw Amjit a ginger nut , the

"rug" awoke and caught it , licked his lips and wagged his tail ; he liked

her , it amused him how she threatened him with a hurling stick , he let

her think she was in charge , after all he really would sell his soul for

a ginger nut .

The door bell rang , Saint Francis had sent a helper , no last

this but a human anvil who would really slow Amjit down , it was Mathew .

Mrs Murphy smiled , those saints really loved playing games with her ,

they could really drive her to distraction , yet they always came through

in the end , even though if sometimes they puzzled her despite her

fathomless faith .

"Hello Mathew , come in I'll make some fresh tea , I've a favour to ask

you " , she said casting a sideways glance at Mother Theresa on the wall.

The next day Mathew and Mrs Muphy were on the street , a trail

of ginger nuts seperated them . The plan was for Mrs Murphy to call Amjit

and make him advance slowly along the street , picking up the ginger nuts

one by one , Mathew was the braking device to prevent Amjit wolfing down

the lot . This did the trick , as Mathew was heavier than any last or

anvil .

"Follow " commanded Mrs Murphy from up the street . Fifty

yards away Amjit eagerly obeyed , why shouldn't he after all , wasn't

there a trail of ginger nuts in front of him , he was only a dog , albeit

a very large and hairy dog , but he wasn't stupid . The pavement was a bit

wet and slippery after the early rain , and such was Amjit's pulling

power that if Mathew were wearing skis he could have water skied along the

pavement , but since Mathew wasn't then that wasn't a possibility , but it

was a near thing . Amjit proceeded up the road after Mrs Murphy licking

his lips all the way , now this was fun he thought , even if he did have

to drag Mathew after him . After half an hour the supply of ginger nuts

was exhausted . Jaswinder came skipping out with a couple of packets of

ginger nuts , her father like everybody else on the street had been

watching with interest . So patting Amjit hello and goodbye Jaswinder

skipped away , her mission had been accomplished . Amjit again followed

Mrs Murphy at a distance , still weighed down by Mathew , to be honest

Amjit was getting bored , even though it was his duty to do Mrs Murphy's

bidding , it would be a shame to waste all those nice ginger nuts wouldn't

it ? "Now lets see if he'll do it without the bribe , " yelled Mrs Murphy

to Mathew . So Amjit followed her at a distance , almost inventing

pavement water skiing at the same time as he dragged Mathew along . Amjit

followed three times without reward . "Well he seems to have leant it then

doesn't he ? " beamed a happy Mrs Murphy . Only to be disappointed

immediately , Mathew had let go of Amjit , so a disgusted Amjit dashed

off. It wasn't fair was it , Amjit had been tricked , he had obeyed out of

duty hadn't he , the ginger nuts had nothing to do with it , it was the

principle , wasn't it ?

In the cafe Mrs Murphy had a well earned cuppa while she treated

Mathew to a banana milk shake . Where had that turncoat Amjit got to ,

just when she thought he had learnt his lesson .

Amjit too was having a break , he'd dug up a favourite bone and

was chewing on it , pondering on the morning's fun as he sucked the marrow

from his bone . It was while Amjit was chewing that he had an idea , but

he finished his bone first before he put his idea into action .

"I've got an idea Mathew , what if we gradually reduce the

amount of ginger nuts , then even that stupid dog will understand , "

sighed Mrs Murphy , who was tired and feeling her age .

"Like Barbara Woodhouse did on the telly last night do you mean ? "replied

Mathew as he blew bubbles into his milk shake . Mrs Murphy realised what

an old fool she had been and it was Mathew of all people who had made her

realise this .

"Come on then , I'll try and whistle the devil back to us , " she said as

she leant on the back of a chair to lever herself up .

Outside Amjit was sitting with his lead in his teeth , his tail

was wagging , he was pleased with himself and the bone he'd just eaten no

doubt . "Your stomach not full enough is it ? " scolded Mrs Murphy . Amjit

just barked and skipped in front of her just like a puppy . "You better

grab him , before the rascal runs away . " Then in front of them they saw

the fruits of Amjit's chewing the cud or rather chewing his bone . Along

the pavement placed at intervals were fragments of bone ! Amjit thought

Mrs Murphy had ran out of bribes , so he had supplied his own , in

readiness for more fun .

"You'd teach this grandmother to suck eggs wouldn't you ," she

again scolded , as Amjit jumped about like a very excited puppy .

"But I thought we were just teaching him to follow you at a distance , and

how can a dog suck eggs , or do you mean carry eggs like Police dogs can

do , like I saw on - "

"Barbara Woodhouse last night , " interrupted Mrs Murphy . She looked at

Amjit and then Mathew , then she smiled , some would call them dumb

animals yet both had shown her a thing or two . There was no doubt in her

mind , St.Francis was making a fool of her . She shook her head then she

let the laughter out , at her age she had no time nor need of anger ,

laughter was all she wanted , that and to die in her sleep and to convert

the pagan grandparents of course . The shopkeepers who had again been

keeping half an eye on proceedings came out to see what was the cause of

all the laughter , Mathew having started off too , a braying echo of Mrs

Murphy's earthy laugh , Amjit barking for joy too , which would soon start

off all the dogs in the neighbourhood . A look along the street to see all

the bones soon explained things . So the whole street joined in the

laughter . When sanity returned Amjit proved that he'd already mastered

the trick of following at a distance . If the truth be know , Amjit had

worked things out pretty soon , but he hadn't the heart to admit it to

poor Mrs Murphy , besides it was great fun , if she wanted to leave ginger

nuts along the pavement then he wasn't going to stop her . After all a dog

was man's and old ladies' best friend .

Mrs Murphy resumed her search of the woods with her newly

trained Amjit , but to no avail . So she went and had a bun and a tea from

the cafe in front of the wood . It wasn't fair , she'd spent all this time

and energy ,not to mention wasted prayers and still no sign of the mugger.

While Mrs Murphy was having simple fare , on the other side

of town Mrs Annette Kemp was treating herself to Black Forest Gateau

washed down by real coffee and cream all served by pretty young girls in

uniforms similiar to those Mrs Murphy had worn fifty years ago when in

service in the hotels on the lakes of Killarney . Mrs Kemp was pleased

with herself , she'd just bought Patrick his birthday present , a very

nice Rolex with clasp strap . So pleased was she that she had the watch on

her table so she could admire it while she had her gateau and coffee , and

she of course congradulated herself on her good taste , if only some would

rub off on Patrick . Then she smiled to herself , hadn't he married HER

daughter , so if that wasn't good taste , then what was ? She overlooked

the fact that some of her "friends" would have called it a "Shotgun

Wedding" ; but now that SHE was a grandmother those kind of "friends"

could go to hell as far as she was concerned , in many ways she was

already like the other grannie - Mrs Murphy .

Outside on the street somebody else was admiring the Rolex , a

spotty faced youth with a skateboard under his arm , a "class war" badge

on his jumper , next to a gold cross held on with a safety pin . As far as

the spotty youth was concerned here was one of the enemy , flaunting

wealth , that one watch would more than pay for a years poll tax , that's

if the spotty youth didn't feel poll tax was immoral . Not that stealing

was immoral , for that's was what he was about to do .

Mrs Kemp finished her gateau , had a last sip of her real

coffee , then she put the Rolex away , into a dainty carrier with Rolex on

it . She floated outside , with the air of the Queen Mother about her ,

she was happy and content , it had been a nice morning , a very nice

morning . So when a sneering spotty faced youth shouted in her face

grabbing her precious cargo she was to taken aback . She just couldn't

comprehend the situation , it was like stealing one of the three gifts

from one of the three kings , or slapping an angel's bum and asking for a

bit of slap and tickle . It happened to other people but never to you , it

was as likely as a man breaking into the Queen's bedroom . It just did not

happen . Then Mrs Kemp's face fell , it had really happened and to her ,

just as it had happened to the Queen , even the Queen .

"Stop thief , catch that little BASTARD ," she screamed . She hailed a

taxi and ordered "Follow that skateboard . " Only the taxi driver laughed

"It's too late for April Fool's Missus . " This really annoyed Mrs Kemp ,

being called "Missus" , and by a taxi driver . So she ordered him to take

her to the street , her daughter at least would give her some sympathy ..

"So you see the spotty creature grabbed the bag and made off on

his skateboard , I doubt if he could tell the time , unless it was on one

of those horrid digital watches , so why on earth should he steal a

"Timepiece" like the Rolex ? " mused Mrs Kemp to her daughter , as she

sipped her tea in Mark's cafe .

"So Patrick won't be getting his birthday present then ? " said June , who

was holding her mother's twitching hand , the shock only now sinking in .

"No , he'll have his watch , no little hoodlum is going to ruin MY plans

after all , Patrick is family now . Though you will come with me to the

shop to buy him another , I wouldn't feel safe on my own ."

June looked at her mother , she suddenly seemed old and vunerable , the

hard real world had never dared encroach on Mrs Kemp , and now there she

was holding June's hand , looking vunerable , June was the mother and her

mother was the little frightened child .

"Of course I will , but you need not go to the expense , after all it is

the thought that counts , " concern in both her eyes and voice .

Outside there was a screech of brakes ,as three orange VW vans pulled up .

Out jumped eight Indians in turbans and saffron coloured robes , long

swords dangling by their sides . Behind the Indians came Mrs Murphy , like

an honour guard they heralded Mrs Murphy into Mark's cafe .

"Nine teas , please , and some cake too , " flashed a pearl white smile .

Mrs Murphy sat down , her boys surrounding her . It was only then that Mrs

Murphy noticed a crestfallen Mrs Kemp .

"Are you alright ? You look down today , Annette , " Mrs Murphy enquired .

"Mom was mugged , just a while ago ," answered June .

"Jesus , Mary and Joseph it's an epidemic . Didn't somebody have a go at

me , only a few minutes ago ! "

"What , somebody tried to mug you , dear God , Shiela what's the world

coming to ? " a startled Mrs Kemp replied .

"Oh , I'm ok the mugger just pushed me to the ground . You see the bus

conducter was in a funny mood so he wouldn't let me take Amjit on the

bus , so the poor dog had to walk the two miles home on his own . Then

what with the dirty bus windows I couldn't see where I was and got off at

the wrong stop . So this young lad jumped out at me . But luckily my boys

happened to be passing so they jumped out of their vans and chased him

down the street . I think he got the fright of his life , mind you he's a

very fast runner , he just tucked his skateboard under his arm and ran

like he'd just seen a banshee , " Mrs Murphy gave glowing looks to her

boys .

"Well , when we saw Mrs Murphy we were going to give her a lift , as it

was we ended up saving her from God knows what ," said Amajit the one with

the pearl white smile .

"This is Amajit , and these are his brothers , Bamajit , Camajit , Damajit

,Hasajit ,Jamajit , Nanajit and the little one is Pamajit , " said a

proud Mrs Murphy as if they were her own sons , and in fact she would love

them to be sons of hers . For they were all fine strong lads , only they

were sons of India and not of Kerry .

"And how did you you get to know such fine young men , " asked Mrs Kemp

forgetting her own indignatities , for Amajit had the looks of an Indian

screen idol .

"She stopped me from walking under a bus when I was a child , so it is my

duty to honour her and treat her as a mother , " said Amajit flashing his

smile straight at Mrs Kemp . Mrs Kemp very nearly swooned , a smile like

that had never been given to her , never . Mrs Murphy winked at June ,

wasn't this proof of what she had said , Mrs Kemp was after a toy boy ,

and if Patrick was unavailable then Amajit would do fine , very fine .

June looked at the ceiling and bit her lip , Mrs Murphy was a rogue to be

sure . Amajit his smiling over , snapped his biscuit in two , and sipped

his tea . His brothers forming a kaleidoscopic imitation of him , as to

the echo they in turn snapped their biscuits and sipped their tea , if

there had been music it would have seemed like ballet or even opera .

"The lads are off to the Temple for a do , these are not their street

clothes , " answered Mrs Murphy seeing a question form on Mrs Kemp's lips.

"Speaking of which we must be off , " said Amajit looking at his Rolex ,

his action rippling out to his brothers as they in turn looked at their

Rolexes . So rising like a wave , with Amajit its crest the Khan brothers

were off , just pausing long enough to nod at Mrs Murphy , and for

Amajit's final smile to Mrs Kemp . So with a screech and three puffs of

exhaust , the VW vans with the Khan's in them disappeared . Though Amajit

would never disappear from Mrs Kemp's mind .

"He's such a nice man , and were they all wearing Rolex watches ? "

wondered Mrs Kemp trying to appear nonchalant . Mrs Murphy again winked at

June before answering .

"He's a nice lad , so are his brothers . They are worth a few million now

I suppose . Working sixteen hour days does have its rewards . They've

just bought the old pressing works , to expand their clothing business .

They have one sister too , but sadly she's a spastic , they love her to

death , they are building her a bungalow of her own , next to their

parents house , so she can be independent . It's nice that , they are nice

lads . The youngest boy is having a year off before he goes to Medical

School , he's going to go to Birmingham because its the best . "

" I am impressed , " replied Mrs Kemp raising her eyebrows .

"You'll be impressed more when I catch the mugger , " intoned Mrs Murphy .

Two days later Mrs Murphy had dragged a reluctant Nanska to the

woods , not in a last ditch hope to catch the mugger , they would be

more likely to uncover a teddybears' picnic than that , no , to quell any

lasting fears Nanska may hold for woods . They were of course accompanied

by Amjit , whose presence would strike fear into The Hound of the

Baskerville's , Mrs Murphy had more than prayers to be her guide .

"I'm very sorry we haven't been able to catch that mugger ,it really is

such a disappointment to me . Three old woman all attacked by one spotty

youth . I don't mind it happening to me , nor do I miss the fancy watch

that my son's mother-in-law lost , its just that you a guest in our

country , and not to mentiopn a friend of the Pope's should not be treated

like this , " said Mrs Murphy shaking her head , as if it were all her

fault .

"You do your best Shiela , he have the luck of the Devil , and he run so

fast as you tell me , " replied Nanska placing a consoling hand on Mrs

Murphy's .

They carried on walking through the trees , the veins in the leaves

looking like outstretched hands , begging hands , just as Mrs Murphy's

heart was begging the saints to help her and her Polish soulmate . Amjit

stopped and sniffed the wind . The woman looked , ahead of them a man

was relieving himself against a tree , Amjit began to growl softly , that

was one of his favourite trees , he'd often marked it , what was a mere

man doing to his tree . Mrs Murphy was on the point of scolding Amjit when

she noticed first the man's arm . He was far away , but she'd seen eight

Rolexes the other day and to be sure that was a nineth . Then Nanska

pointed , wasn't there a skateboard propped against the tree . Amjit's

growls errupted into one bark ,this made the man turn to see where the

sound came from . It was the worst thing he could have done .

"Bandit , " screamed Nanska slightly shocked at seeing the mugger again .

"He'll be wetting his knickers now , " shouted a delighted Mrs Murphy .

Before she could shout "Skither his Arse" Amjit was off , he knew that man

wasn't nice , how could he be , he'd used his tree , and he wasn't even a

nice bitch , just a mere man . Amjit howled , the birds scattered , the

squirrels raced up trees , the mugger peed on his own leg , caught himself

on his zip , and then ran like a bat out of hell . Only it would be no use

for a hound of hell was on his tail , no longer the creeping , the slow

the steady Amjit as bribed by ginger nuts , but the hound of hell , or

rather God's Animal making a good impersonation of a Hell's Angel . As the

mugger ran he could hear a jangling , this was Amjit's name tag , his our

lady of Lourdes medal and his Indian holy man medal , it formed a kind of

clanging or bell ring , and for whom did the bell toll , the mugger of

course . It was while the mugger was running for his life that he

interrupted the young couple , tha naked lovers who used the wood to

create life , in fact he fell over them . Seconds later Amjit placed a

cold nose on a bare bum , it was his way of asking which way did he go .

Without bothered to pause , a finger pointed the way , Amjit sped off

barking his thanks . Amjit was beginning to think what a good runner this

mere man was , then he caught up with him . So teeth first Amjit said his

hellos .

"We better try and catch up with him then , " said Mrs Murphy .

"Do you think your dog is fast enough ? " pondered Nanska .

A scream rang out through the woods , as if answering Nanska'a doubts , it

was followed by excited barking . The ladies looked at one another and

laughed . So picking up the discarded skateboard they made their way

though the woods towards the source of the screams . On their way they

came across the naked lovers . Mrs Murphy averting her eyes dropped her

son's business card beside them saying "If you need a flat give my son a

ring . " Her son's flat above the bakery had been empty since he built

his house , so to save the lovers from catching cold she left the card .

Meanwhile Amjit had let his quarry go , not so he could spit the

taste out before biting the mugger again , but more because it was fun to

let him go .Then he'd have to catch him again ,first Amjit ran away before

reappearing teeth first , rather like a toothpaste commercial , only one

with much more bite . The mugger was cowering on the ground squeezed into

a ball when Mrs Murphy and Nanska arrived .

"Amjit leave him be . As for you young man stand up ! " commanded Mrs

Murphy , having the full authority of Amjit's teeth at her command .

The man stood , he looked scared , not to mention tattered and bleeding ,

Amjit had enjoyed his blood sport .

"You can take off that watch for starters , and empty your pockets , "

continued Mrs Murphy .

In the woods behind them ,the lovers now clothed watched the proceedings ,

it appeared very strange . Two old ladies and a very big dog making a man

strip . For Mrs Murphy decided he might be hiding something so she had the

spotty man strip to his underpants , she was sure Starsky would have done

the same thing , so it must be right . While the man shivered , Mrs Murphy

searched the clothes . After a while she got up from her crouching

position , in her hand she held a cross , Nanska's cross .

"The one Carol give me , you are a detective Mrs Murphy ," beamed a

grateful Nanska .

Amjit barked his praise too , his tail moving like a windmill in a storm .

Mrs Murphy then turned her attention to the mugger . Behind in the trees

the lovers edged forward , they could sense the coming storm .

"So you think you're a bigshot attacking old ladies , and WIDOWS like me

and honoured visitors to our country do you ? " blasted Mrs Murphy .

"Well don't think you're too old to have your bare arse spanked , " she

continued with her Kerry accent getting stronger by the second .

"Turn around then drop your pants mister , " she was trying to sound as

hard as Starsky . She was getting worked up now , in fact she dropped her

handbag , the contents spilt everywhere . While she gathered up the

contents of her bag the mugger dropped his pants , he'd never live this

down . But worse was yet to come , for amongst the spilt contents of Mrs

Murphy's handbag was superglue , used to fix her favourite beeds . In a

second a wicked idea was formed in Mrs Murphy's mind . She grabbed the

skateboard , squirted the glue onto it , then used it to spank the mugger.

Only one spank , then while Amjit barked his approval she held the board

to the muggers behind .

"There you are , now see how dignified you feel , about the same as your

victims who you leave sprawled about ! " screeched a triumphant Mrs

Murphy as she took her hands from the skateboard , which remained stuck

to the mugger's behind . Nanska was silent for a second before bursting

out laughing , the old ladies hugged each other as they continued laughing

till tears formed in their eyes .As for Amjit he saw a friend ,another dog

that is to say , so with a bark of farewell he ran off to play . The

mugger made his retreat , with the old ladies laughing him farewell .

When the laughing was over the ladies continued walking out of

the woods , the lovers broke cover to run after them .

"Excuse me , but this card you gave us you weren't playing a joke or

something were you ? " asked the girl .

"Not at all , in fact we are going back that way now , so if you come with

us on the bus you can see my son about it ? " relied Mrs Murphy as the

last trace of her laughter faded , leaving just slightly curled up lips as

evidence of her revenge in the woods .

"My car is parked by the bus station , we'll give you a lift . By the way

we saw what you did to that man , it was very funny , " said the man .

"Bad cest him , he was a mugger , I don't think he'll be mugging old

ladies anymore , " said an indignant Mrs Murphy .

Back on the street in Mark's cafe Mrs Murphy held court , telling

and retelling the story . Everybody thought she was right to turn the

tables . When Patrick and June came in Mrs Murphy held up the Rolex before

throwing it at her son .

"There's your birthday present from your mother-in-law , I retrieved it

from the mugger , Amjit helped of course , mind you he's gone off after

some lady dog now . "

"It's nice , very nice , pity its not a stretch strap though , " said

Patrick as he examined the Rolex .

"Well as it happens I stopped off at Jimmy's , so here's my present for

you , " Patrick's mum then threw a stretch stap at him .

"Thank's mum , you were always practical , though it used to be boiled

sweets you threw at me . "

"Oh June come here I've a favour to ask ? " continued Mrs Murphy still

basking in the afterglow of fame . The two then confered , before June

looked at Liz and Keith before laughing , then with a nod of her head June

consented to Mrs Murphy's idea .June edged up to Patrick and gave him a

lingering kiss on the lips , making him blush , he hated being kissed in

public . He knew June was up to something , but what was it ?

"Patrick I have decided , or rather we have decided " she began .

"You and me ? Decided what ? " interrupted Patrick .

"Me and your mother , that we , " continued June , pausing to plant

another smacker on his lips . Patrick blushed again , and looked at the

floor in an effort to hide those blushes from all in the cafe .

"To finish ,we , and this time I mean you and me are going to rent out the

old flat to Liz and Keith over there , " she kissed her husband again to

press home her point .

"I suppose it is a waste to let it go empty , " observed Patrick trying to

appear in charge of the situation .

"Yes it would be . Besides we don't want Liz and Keith to catch a cold ,

oh and by the way I think we should have a walk in the woods next month ."

Patrick could see the glint in her eye , he did not understand but June

was good at explaining ......

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ITS SNOWING OUTSIDE SO WHY NOT CUDDLE UP TO THE COMPUTER AND READ THIS.
BY THE WAY I HAD JULIE WALTERS IN MIND WHEN I WROTE THIS AND WHEN I WROTE The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
JULIE WALTERS IS NOW THE RIGHT AGE FOR THE PART OF
MRS MURPHY.

p.s. If you have something better than a computer to cuddle up to, then cuddle that or he or she.

Portuguese Translations

Humour Writing by the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England read in 167 countries so far https://www.amazon.co.uk/Micha...