From Tramp to Male Model

From Tramp to Male Model ©

By

Michael Casey

As you know I had a haircut, so now I look like a male model, I am available for bookings, so long as I can keep all the clothes. I am 5 feet 10 inches with a 46 inch chest, with a 29 inch leg. And I’m 114kilos or there abouts. I look 20 kilos lighter, as its tight fat not loose fat. Oh and I like Rayban Wayfarer sunglasses. So that’s my advert, and before I forget I like Polo stuff too. Not that I’ve bought any clothes lately, you may have noticed from the photos I attach to my writing.

So why do we attach so much to appearances? A man will be lazy and not shave so he looks like a tramp, or maybe an A lister film star, you decide for yourself. A haircut or lack of one can change your own self perception, or certainly how others see you. If you just brush your hair it does make a difference, as does brushing your eyebrows into order and facing the same direction. Dan Dan the disparate man, combed his hair with the leg of a chair and washed his face in a frying pan. Yes really it was Michael Casey, the nursery rhyme was changed, and it did not mention my trail of dandruff across the carpet.

So a bit of spit and polish does make a difference, spit can be used to tame those wild eyebrows. Though I did cut my eyebrows off, I was 4 years old and I found the scissors. Maybe that’s why they are the way they are today. Though when I was 13 I plucked my eyebrows off while I was acing backwards and forwards learning French for a test. I went to school the next day with painted on eyebrows thanks to my sister’s skills with a mascara brush. The lads never noticed, whoever on the 2^nd day with my painted on eyebrows they did. Anybody else would have been mocked, but as I was the largest lad in the year nobody dared. I said a Chemistry set had blown up in my face, and that was the end of it. In fact I had been given a Chemistry recently.

So as you can see my appearance has always been of great importance too me, and the photos bear this out. As I grew up I swapped my school uniform for another uniform, jeans and a shirt and tie. I looked like a member of Status Quo, I did listen to Caroline loads of times as I studied for my school exams. So that was my evolution.

Then when I ended up in a Hotel CPNEC Birmingham I had to wear a suit and shave for 3 years, or my approximation. My waist is large as is my derriere, just as Donald Trump’s is, that’s why he wears baggy clothes. So for 3 years I had to wear a suit and a rubbish tie, which means that nowadays I almost never wear a tie. Because of my age and silver hair a lot of people thought I was the Manager, I was 20 years older than the Front of House crew. It’s all down to the bearing and the booming voice. I should also add a Big Thank You, to Jonathan Walker my first General Manager. I wonder did he become a writer too, or open a distillery?

Clothes Maketh the Man they say and it’s true, because people react to you differently. Having a shave and a slash of deodorant does make a difference too. Unshaved I look like Lee Marvin in Paint Your Wagon, no doubt it’s on Utube. But shaved I get Sir, instead of mate or being ignored. So try it and see for yourselves. Obviously when I’m in drag every 2^nd Saturday night I get looks, lots of them due to my hairy legs and short short skirts exposing my scars, don’t be jealous Lech, Boris and Gregorgi.

I need to finish now as my friend Arthur my arthritis has been playing up while I’m talking to you. However I hope you get the picture, clothes do make a difference as does grooming. The irony is that we all dress up so well and try to look our best and why? So that we persuade the one we love to get undressed, slowly or quickly whatever way pleases us both. I am right am I? Maybe I should write about how to undress seductively, I was a female stripper once…

From Ides of March to Saint Patrick's Day

This is me holding my pot, Pot Of Shamrock.  I have more growing in the yard but the cold and snow has killed it off but it will regrow it always does.

As for the Ides of  March will Putin's cronies kill him off, so they can keep their money in London and around the world. Strange things have happened. And yes we all think the terror in Salisbury was a diversion and and aid for Putin's election campaign.

As for us,  we spotted another house today, so we'll be looking at that on Paddy's Day 17th March.

Mine is still for sale if you want to buy the former home of the writer of all these:-

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

A quick thank you 14 mar 2018

Its nice to see my readers worldwide reading my stuff. I still wish I had a spot in the media, your country included. Imagine my stuff in Ukrainian and Russian, not just you translating for your friends, or using Mr Google. I hope you liked tonight's piece Ken Dodd, Steve Hawking and Me. I do have a love for the surreal, it is my favourite word in fact. I did have a couple of surreal things happen on Monday night into Tuesday am, but I won't tempt Fate by mentioning them. Though it does further explain why my reality is so left of field, or rather the comedy it inspires.

Spring is coming though Winter may have one final spit at us, so I hope it improves everybody's mood the world over.

Its nice to see Indonesia and Canada dropping by  for a read and a coffee, the North and the South and the East and the West of planet earth. Look out for the Light show in tonight's atmosphere due to sun spots or something. You may just see Steve Hawking flying into the sky following ET to that spaceship, I heard he does not believe, but if you read tonight's piece you know Einstein and God have a nice surprise read for him.

So with that I'll say Good Night and don't led the bedbugs bite. And enjoy me and my new haircut.

14 mar 2018

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

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

Sir Ken Dodd, Steve Hawking and Me

Sir Ken Dodd, Steven Hawking and Me ©

By Michael Casey

Well Ken Dodd died, I did ask you all to pray for him the other week but God decided to give George Burns a break from the Paradise Club, so Ken was called to the stage. The smoke from George Burn’s cigars was getting on Gabriel’s wings so George was ushered to one side. As for Steven Hawking, he’s just had the shock of his life, God does exist.

Einstein was there to greet him by blowing a raspberry, he was wearing a Told You So Tee shirt. I myself did look like Einstein when I was in hospital overnight, as I said to a doctor, The Einstein look without the Intelligence. I was also unshaven and bedraggled, but today after visiting my Pakistani barbers I now look like a 60s astronaut, my hair, not my age, though I am docking with that age this year.

My barber was happy he has had his religious batteries recharged after being on Pilgrimage, not the Haj but a smaller version, he did say the word but I’ve forgotten it. I was looking at his picture of Medina on his barber shop wall. So I mentioned I’d been on a Christian pilgrimage. Though if you go to Lourdes you also get food and alcohol and cafe life.

Now back to Ken and Steven in Paradise, will Steven Hawking get a suit just like John Travolta’s and start dancing all along the Yellow Brick road. Personally I think he will, he’ll be dancing till he drops, which is forever if you have reached Paradise. Drop splits and high kicks galore, he’ll kick his specs into orbit too. Though I think he’ll keep his own teeth and not favour the Trump sparkling white teeth.

You make me feel like dancing to the tune of the Old Grey Whistle Test. Limbo dancing too, because he is Free at Last, Free at Last. I’m sure he may even try Pole Dancing because he was a fan of Stringfellows after all. And it is Einstein’s Birthday today too.

Meanwhile Ken is giving his first 5 millennium show, which thankfully for the angels lasts but a blink of an eye. God does have a sense of humour after all, he even has all the Depeche Mode albums, well that’s a rumour I heard. Ken is given a haircut and American Pearly White teeth, as a lesson in humility, perfect teeth. But God does have a soft spot for Ken’s humour so he gives him A Big Bang stopwatch to time his act with. It is graduated in billion year markers, Ken is so touched he sings better than Andrea Bocelli for 3 million years, which is 10 hours on God’s time scale as God does like Ken.

So what am I talking about today, have you all cracked the code?It is as ever simple, I am a simple man, ok a simpleton, I’ve said it before you all say it. What I’m talking about is Freedom, freedom from pain, from old age and from prejudice too. Steven Hawkings is breakdancing with Einstein while God sniggers in the background. They both know nothing about Physics, its just a magic trick the Angles invented when they were not playing the harp.

We should all laugh and dance and fight for fun and life throughout our lives. We should never let people say you cannot. You are ugly with bad teeth and hair or marooned in a wheelchair. We can all do our best even if only baby steps are all we can manage. We have the right to be whoever we want to be, look at the stars and not at our feet Hawking said. Though if he had time for Oscar Wilde he would have said I may be in the gutter but I am looking at the stars.

Never let people look down at you, you are and always will be as good as anybody, as my mum would and did say. Break those chains of ignorance and spite that can occur, just because you are different. If I can become a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham then anything is possible. Everybody has a talent, even if it just making tea, or just the sympathy. So go out and dance and amaze people.

As for me I’m hoping the Guardian gives me Miss Hanson’s column now that she is in Heaven too, if I show them the size of my back list their eyes will water. And I can go on for hours just as Ken Dodd did, and I don’t mean the singing. So I have high hopes as the song goes, and if I say my prayers tonight perhaps Steven Hawking will ask as his free wish for a new arrival in Heaven, that Michael Casey get’s his column.

Though he might suggest it is stuck up my Black Hole till it disappears. Though I could pole dance from the column, and maybe that would impress him. Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer and Pole Dancer in shades from Birmingham .

Hope does always spring Eternal.         

Renewal or Let Me Try Again

Renewal Or Let Me Try Again ©

By

Michael Casey

Renewal is a good thing, it makes things better, as good as new even. As Barry White sings , you are the answer to all my dreams, because we can try again. That bunch of flowers, stolen from the nearby cemetery begins a renewal in your relationship, your girl was going to leave you, now she’ll stay. Luckily the card from the flowers, We’ll miss you Darling Granddad, falls off as you hand them to her and you kick it under the sofa. So the pair of you snog on the sofa as granddad looks on in spirit from under the self same sofa.

A teenage daughter may think that a bathroom is a water sports arena, thus sparking a few family disputes. But when you have diarrhoea because of small daughter’s cooking, all will be forgiven just so long as you can get you bum sat on that throne. And when the teenage daughter throws more Andrex through the half opened door, then all is forgiven. And when you are in there so long that you could murder a pint of Stella Artois and that is rolled through the bathroom door by the small daughter, then you have a family united in love. United by a dad sat on his smelly throne, a can of Stella Artois in his hand surrounded by bathroom destruction, with his pants round his ankles.

These are just two examples of renewal of love. When your sister tells you she doesn’t think your poems don’t stink, and that it’s alright to wear flowery shirts that too denotes a family on the mend. Though if big sister knew you had read all her diaries, and were going to use them as source material for an epic 12 poem calendar of immaturity then she might just castrate you instead. The usual sibling slanging match.

Family is the thing that saves us, despite all the heartaches it can bring, because we are made to match and to fit into one another. Pain can come, when mum’s false teeth are left on the sofa and Sarah her son’s new girl sits on them and gets a love bit right on her bum. No more short skirts of bikinis for her for months. She was so angry she threw them on the fire. Only Rex the family dog jumped and caught them and swallowed them. Sarah was so full of remorse she offered to walk the dog for a week with a poohper skooper, so she could catch mum’s teeth when they finally exited the dog. But these events bonded Sarah to your family, she wasn’t a stuck up B____ after all. She even bought some Jeyes Fluid to wash the false teeth in, before mum put them back in her mouth. Mum’s bark was never as big as her bite after that.

I’m sure you all have your own family stories, even if they are not as true as the examples I’ve given. We are are made of of collections of families, of love and hate and argument. But we’ll kill anybody who mocks our own Adams Family and its values. You have to renew and remake your family as it grows and  strides forward, ok, maybe you just stagger to the next pub or Bingo Hall, or May Ball if you are posh.

And why am I talking to you about this tonight? Well while I spent a night in hospital again last night, with my pain problem I did have time to think and I realised, as annoying as a wet bathroom floor is the most important thing is the Love that binds us. I did pretend to be Gene Kelly and dance Singing in the Rain in the bathroom, and I could hear my mother’s words, get out of the way or I’ll hit you with the mop.  

Lucky 13

Well I'm shattered but happy, our central heating is fixed. It was not the Baxi boiler, which is fine but the condenser outlet. Which is NOT covered by he insurance. So read the small print. And make sure you have a network of Plumbers/Builders/Electricians up your sleeve. Luckily we know such people.

So a major thank to our plumber. Just for information he says Baxi has broken down less than Worcester boilers from his experience.

I'll write something new later today.  but in the meantime  here's something from the vaults.

A Winter’s Day

By michaelgcasey

     

As I look from my window I see the blue blue sky. Birds dive and soar better than any circus acrobat, they are painting a picture with their wings. Tiny tiny whisps of white cloud remain, like left over candy floss on a childs face, like white whiskers on a very old woman’s face.

Curtains are pulled open and windows are  inched open too, daylight and fresh air to bedrooms shuttered down against a cold winters night. People stand  and yarn and scratch too as they struggle to wake up fully. Then one or two realise they don’t wear any pyjamas so they hurry away from their windows, their wives, their husbands, their lovers laughing at their stupidity. At least old Mrs Jones may have had a thrill.

The sounds of morning, of daylight rise. Slowly the sound of the milk float, the sounds of milk bottles clinking together as the milkman does his rounds, this way and that. The sound of of Mrs Murphy walking her dog, the dog panting in the cold winters air. He doesn’t have a sheepskin coat to keep him warm. He has his own fur coat but this winter is a cold one, so Goldie the dog could do with an extra coat too.

People dance down their door steps to  their car, nagging children to hurry up as

 its cold. Children write their name in the frost on their neighbours’ cars before being told off. John the neigbourhood jogger rushes past, the kids stick their tongue out at him, he does the same, they all laugh, only for John to miss his stride slip on an icy patch and fall to the ground hurting his elbow as he does so. Still laughing the kids get in the car and are taken off to see grandpa, John is rubbing his elbow and his bum as he gets ups gingerly.

The lads, we are so hard, appear from their homes to noisily attack the day, Sunday is for shouting, but not too loud, as they have headaches and hangovers, did they really chat up that ugly fat girl, but they gave her his brother’s mobile number and not his own. They stride off to the news agent for The News Of The World, just for the sports pages, their mums can read the scandal section and the horoscopes.

One or two black people wearing their Sunday best pass by on their way to church, a throwback to decades before when people still went to church and when people still wore their Sunday best. People used to dress up to go to the theatre too, but now, but now.

I reach for the kettle and have my first coffee of the day, coffee with milk and no sugar, the way English people have coffee, not the American way, just the soft English way. My kids want toast and peanut butter, or cheese on toast, so my 3 slices of toast become one slice of toast as I feed my girls. I nag them to put slippers and socks on, yes we have nice carpet but in the winter’s weather they are always getting colds, so I nag them, I nag them. My wife nags them in Chinese too, or Shanghai dialect. The phone rings, its Germany calling, or rather my wife’s best friend who’s calling from  Germany, the cackle or hens, of chickens clucking is the noise these 2 Shanghai girls make, as they talk in Shanghai, when are we coming back to Germany is the message. Cluck cluck cluck.

The sky has changed the blue has changed to grey, will the snow return, its been a snowy winter over here in Birmingham, some parts of the country have had the worse weather in 20years. The children have quietened down, my wife has relented and put a nature program on the tv for them. As for me I was going to try and write a poem but instead you see what’s before you. I’m half listening to Mike and The Mechanics a cd I’ve loaded to the computer, “give me the simple life” he sings, I suppose my life is a simple life too. But if we can see  the poetry in life then we enjoy the simple things which make up all are lives. All our lives are  poetry if only we take the time to watch and listen, while we’re making toast for the kids

p.s. This piece was from last Winter.

Day of pain

Well the pain monster came out to visit today, chest pain, stabbing pain below shoulder and above nipple on the left.  Feels like I'm being stabbed from the inside. And our central heating has given up the ghost. A new Baxi boiler only installed just over 4 years. So I'll let you know the verdict tomorrow when the engineer arrives. Its been serviced every year too. But they don't work weekends.

It may be the chill in our  house that is aggravating my Arthritis. Don't know for sure, but it does hurt so much I've been screaming in pain.

Sadly I'e written a few pieces about pain, so as I won't write anything new today here's an old pain piece.

No it’s NOT Kinky Sex it’s just PAIN ©

By Michael Casey

Well its 3am and I’m screaming in pain, the neighbours think there is a Kinky Sex Club somewhere in the neighbourhood, but there is not, it’s just me screaming again, in pain. I wanted to use this title before but I held off, but now it seems so right. I’ve had a couple of pain killers and they are slowly beginning to work.

My dad was in the war and he never took pain killers, says one, or my child had this or that and she never complained. Well God Bless them, but I’ll remind you, there is no competition in pain, it just F**** hurts. So when your grannie or child or cat or dog IS in pain, do be a little supportive. Don’t say shut up, you are trying to watch the chart show on the myriad of rubbish music channels on Sky. Why are they so badly presented with really rubbishy graphics. Just give us the Music, Old Grey Whistle Test leads the way, or Jools Holland’s Later.

Veteran09 from the DT will no doubt offer his prayers, so thank you again, and a very Merry Xmas to you. Maybe the Queen will send you a Christmas card this year as you are so loyal, he is also very kind. Now the rest of you, how about adding pain relief to your Will, you could set up a pain relief centre here in Birmingham or sponsor somebody at the Medical School. I’m not a Brummie mad person, I’m just lazy, if you set up the centre here in Birmingham I’d just be a bus ride away from it, so I could jump the queue.

Pain Relief Centre does sound like a house of ill repute, you could have a competition to name the centre, and the best name wins the pot of money, hopefully here in Birmingham. Rich people DO leave money to good causes and they  frequently leave it in their own name. So could we have the Michael Casey Centre for Slapping on Movelat Gel, or the Michael Casey Slapping Centre for short. Though that does sound like a kinky sex club, though it is NOT. We have so much modern medicine but still pain persists. 

And by the way I have NO money, if any billionaire is reading this I’d love to have a nice big house, so think of me in your will. Assuming you have any money left after buying another football club.

So anybody out there reading this why not leave your money to this good cause, pain relief, and no I’m not suggesting a French Maid arrives to relieve pain either. I’m suggesting we study pain, and then kill it off. Obviously with my Shanghai connections maybe we could get a Chinese Dr to teach acupuncture here in Birmingham, as needles are far cheaper than pharmaceuticals.

Yes I’ve used humour in this piece, but I have grabbed your attention, you could call it the Frankie Howerd and Kenneth Williams Pain Centre, and have David Walliams as the visiting Professor, call it anything, just take the F****** pain away. It’s 3.35 now, time for a green tea and  hopefully the pain has ebbed before I go back to bed, alone, no French maid, yet……..