Michael's Bathroom from years ago, maybe even 20

                  Michael's  Bathroom   ©

                       

                                by

                          Michael  Casey

         Six months previously Michael had decorated his living room,  he

had to, the white walls had turned to a nicotine stained yellow in places

such  was the downside of having a South facing living room.  Now it  was

  

the turn of the bathroom again.  The bathroom was very small,  not  even

  

enough room to swing a cat,  it was about 7 foot by six foot,  which was

  

just big enough for the bath,  the sink and the bog. Why did people want

  

big bathrooms anyway? You weren't going to hold dinner parties in there,

  

or  go  jogging,  yes Michael was used to and by now satisfied  with  his

  

small  bathroom.  However it always seemed to need decorating,  he  just

  

needed to open the window more often and let the steam out.  Michael just

  

loved to wallow in the bath like a Hippopotamus,  he had a radio on  the

  

windowsill  so he could listen to Heart FM while he shaved and bathed  and

  

watched  the spiders.  There were spiders galore in his  bathroom,  his

  

mother  always said spiders brought money with them,  perhaps  snared  in

  

their webs,  Michael even looked under the bath behind the panel just  in

  

case  the spiders had indeed brought gold with them,  sadly all he  found

  

was yet more spiders and their webs.

        Years ago at work the offices were tarted up,  so new carpet  was

  

laid  in  the reception,  so Michael had begged for the off  cuts,  and

  

persuaded Paul Robinson to give him a lift home with it. Once home though

  

it was late Michael got out some very sharp scissors and laid the carpet in

  

the bathroom, he'd have a posh bathroom now, no more cold lino for him.

Actually  he did make a good job of the carpet fitting,  there  was  some

  

left over too. Now the bad thing about ordinary carpet in the bathroom is

  

that it gets manky,  firstly because Michael splashed a lot in the bath,

  

his mother had always told him off for splashing in the bath since he  was

  

a child,  she was afraid the water would leak though the ceiling into the

  

living  room below.  He did not have that problem now in his own house,

  

why, because he had a concrete floor. So the carpet got wet, due to the

  

splashing in the bath. Michael was also a bad shot, so he'd occasionally

  

piss  on  the floor,  when he came rushing home dying for  a  piss  after

  

having too many shandies.  Also if you spill domestos or other bleach  on

  

carpet it changes colour.

         As for the ceiling and walls,  they needed cleaning and painting

  

every  now and then because of all the steam and Michael not  opening  the

  

window  often  enough.  So Michael would go up the road to Fads  and  buy

  

five litres of white emulsion for a fiver, then scattering newspapers all

  

over the bathroom he'd attack the walls and ceiling. He soon got high and

  

had  a headache with all the paint fumes,  even though the window  was

  

wide  open,  the  radio  was blaring too,  he  always  had  music  on

  

constantly,  whether he was painting,  eating, washing shaving  or just

  

picking his nose. Michael's painting had more attack than finesse to it,

  

splash it here, splash it there, quantity more than quality, his father

  

had always told him to use a small amount on the brush,  a tiny amount,

  

but Michael always overloaded his brush,  paint was cheap after all,  a

  

tin  of paint only cost the price of a couple of pints and a bag of  chips

  

after all.      

  

         Once finished Michael was splattered in paint, his grey hair now

  

turned white,  his painting clothes,  now more paint than clothes,  his

  

watch  had a white thumb print on it,  his underpants had paint on too,

  

for  no  matter  what  he  did  he  was  always  hitching  his  jeans  and

  

consequently he had paint everywhere.  Michael stepped back to admire his

handiwork,  but being as the bathroom was so small he bumped into the bog

  

and ending up sitting on it.”It'll do” was his usual comment,  and it

  

would  have too,  he couldn't afford a real decorator. A fiver to do  his

  

bathroom,  but a decorator would charge 100 times that and take days, it

  

took Michael an hour and a half tops,  he'd finish in time for Star  Trek

  

and that was important,  he had his priorities right.  So looking at his

  

splattered  watch,  Michael gathered up the paint  splattered  newspaper

  

which was protecting his fancy carpet.  The only trouble though was  the

  

fact that his shoes were stuck to the newspapers,  so Michael had to  sit

  

on the bog and pull the newspaper off his shoes,  invariably a spot or two

  

of  paint  stayed on the carpet.  So Michael had rub hard  to  clean  the

  

carpet,  and  take his shoes off so that he  wouldn't  leave  footprints

  

everywhere. ”Ah it'll do,” repeated Michael as he looked back at  the

  

bathroom from the safety of the kitchen,  he'd then strip off and put all

  

his  painting clothes into the washing machine, invariably the light  was

  

fading now, so Michael had the kitchen light on, so his neighbours would

  

be  treated to the dubious  privilege of seeing Michael naked  and  paint

  

spattered standing in his kitchen.

          Star  Trek  was great as usual,  Michael  only  recognised  the

  

metaphors  after the show,  but he really enjoyed the show,  he'd  been

  

watching it for 30 years now, the original and then the follow on shows.

After  his  dinner Michael ventured back into the bathroom, ”Who  needs

  

decorators,  the  thieving bastards".  Michael was satisfied  with  his

  

handiwork,  it'd do till the next time.  The next time came,  when  the

  

carpet was manky,  so Michael threw out the carpet and searched under the

  

bed in the spare room,  that’s where he kept the rest of the carpet.  As

  

luck  would  have  it there was just enough to cover  the  bathroom  floor

  

again. So once more he got out the dangerous scissors and cut the carpet  to

  

shape,  and yes he did do a good job of it, carpet fitting he could do,

  

it was painting he was useless at. Jackson Pollark, the artist who threw

  

paint  at  the canvas would have been impressed by  Michael's  bathroom,

  

anybody else would have said, ”was there an explosion?"

        So time passed and the carpet was manky, so Michael threw it out,

so what would he do next?  He hit upon the brilliant idea of painting the

  

concrete floor.  It only took half an hour and then ”hey presto" he had a

  

redecorated bathroom,  only he hadn't thought of one thing. What happens

  

when you paint a floor white? It shows all the dirt, and it shows up all

  

the spiders that are not spiders,  if you know what I mean.  So  Michael

  

improvised,  he was good at improvising, 20 years as a computer operator

  

and he'd leant to improvise,  if nothing else.  So he painted the  floor

  

blue,  that colour wouldn't show up spiders that weren't spiders. And he

  

was  right.  He had another problem now,  because  he'd  used  ordinary

  

emulsion,  when it got wet, it came off, so soon the soles of Michael's

  

slippers  went  blue,  and soon the blue was spattered with  white,  as

  

toothpaste and soap suds stained the blue floor. Michael persevered, he

  

painted the floor blue every couple of weeks or so,  blue paint was  more

  

expensive than white,  but the one tin enabled him paint it ten times or

  

so. Eventually the walls needed painting again,  so Michael thought  he'd

  

try blue on the walls,  only it was too dark,  he didn't like it,  and

  

more to the point he ran out of paint halfway through.  So he went up  to

  

Fads again for white,  though he was nearly tempted  into buying a  soft

  

coloured paint as it was half price, but after a bit of soul searching he

  

stuck with white, five litres for a fiver.

         Another  problem reared its head,  if you try  painting  over  a

  

strong colour, the colour underneath shows through. So on Boxing Day 98

Michael spent the day painting, or smearing as his mother used to call it

  

,  he spent the day smearing two coats of white over the blue. And yes it

  

did look dreadful.  New Years Eve came and Michael's bathroom was covered

  

in copies of the Telegraph,  it was a good read with great coverage, why

  

just one copy was enough to cover all Michael's floor, he'd have to write

  

to  the editor to thank him.  So Michael got drunk on New Year's Eve  and

  

ended  up dancing with his friend Dave,  Dave being a Helmult  Khol  look

  

alike.  Once home with a hangover,  Michael realised that in the morning

  

he'd have to give another coat or two to the bathroom.  Michael could see

  

the  light  at the end of the tunnel,  or rather the bottom of  the  five

  

litre tin of paint,  once he finished the tin, the job would be finished

  

whether  it was finished or not,  the job would be finished.  He'd  had

  

enough, and he had a massive headache due to the paint fumes.  

  

       “Finished,  at last,  thank God,” yelled Michael, yes he

  

had come to the bottom of the tin, so finished or not, it was finished.

So Michael went and watched Star Trek on the satellite.  The bathroom took

  

forever to dry as it was Winter and the atmosphere was cold and wet.  So

  

it  was  a  couple  of  days before  Michael  could  finish  the  bathroom

  

transformation.  He found some old curtains he had in his pantry, he had

  

originally  bought them for the kitchen,  but once he got them  home  and

  

tried  hanging them he was annoyed to discover they were too  short,  so

  

they  had  ended up in his pantry on a shelf next to his  iron.  To  his

  

delight the new curtains were just the right length for his bathroom, and

  

they were nice and bright too.  So what to dod next?  Michael pulled the

  

panel out from in front of the bath, as luck would have it he had a spare

  

plastic shower curtain ; so he wrapped the panel in a new shower curtain,

  

a  flowery pattern on it,  and it would match the shower curtain he  had

  

already up. Finally as he had to lay the lino, the lino he swopped a new

  

pair of shoes for. His brother had some spare lino, and Michael as usual

  

had  a  spare  pair of shoes in his shoe mountain at  the  bottom  of  his

  

wardrobe.  So he got the lino,  and his brother got the shoes as a  Xmas

  

present,  they  had both laughed as they struck the  deal  during  their

  

regular  weekly   telephone conversation.  Their dead mother  would  have

  

approved too, ”look after each other" was her motto. There was one snag

  

though, Michael couldn't find his scissors, so how could he cut the lino?

So  he improvised with the bread knife,  a flash of the knife  here,  a

  

flash of the knife there, it was hard work, he was soon covered in sweat

  

but after 45 minutes he was finished.  So he just had to slip the freshly

  

covered  bath panel back in position.  So kicking it back in  position,

  

Michael  had finally transformed his bathroom.  Michael stepped  back  to

  

admire his handiwork, accidently knocking the bread knife down the toilet

  

but  he didn't hear the splash,  as the radio was blaring out a Nat  King

  

Cole  song ”Let there be Love".  Michael looked at his  freshly  painted

  

bathroom,  walls and ceiling had been painted,  new bright curtains were

  

hanging  down,  and the lino was new and bright too,  he had even put  a

  

layer of plastic and newspapers underneath to act as insulation,  and  he

  

had a little mat too that he could step on when he got out the bath.  Yes

  

it  was an utter transformation,  the best it had looked in the 12  years

  

he'd  lived there.  All this activity had made him really hungry,  he'd

  

bought a loaf from the bakery,  an old fashioned big tasty loaf,  all he

  

had  to do was cut it into big slices,  now where had he left  the  bread

  

knife?

                               End  

  

  

  

having a lazy day today as the pain is coming and going, met a nice man in the street called Trevor, he's a great storyteller,so I stood and listened. 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

May Sunshine

May Sunshine ©
By
Michael Casey

Bright Skies and Fat thighs wobbly flesh and tight vests.

Summer has arrived and people strip, though you wish they didn’t.

Hairy chests and string vests, sandals with socks.

Fresh air and sunshine with body odour, oh so refined.

Sunglasses with mirrors on, oh so cool, but only in their imagination.

Women’s sunglasses worn by men, anything goes as the sun is so hot.

Tights discarded, flesh as blindingly white as snow revealed.

Varicose veins and mangled toes are released into the sun.

Old men roll up their trouser legs and sit on garden walls.

Bald old men use handkerchiefs to cover their bald spot, even if snot

Included, but their bald spots must be covered snot or not.

Old women sit on park benches legs spread to catch the air.

Young girls pass by in their under-ware, or so it seems to the old.

Lads in ripped Tee shirts screaming loudly at each other

Big bad dogs running wild, surely to kill a child.

Its sunny and Summer is here, everybody queues for overpriced ice

Cream, but licking fingers must be done as Summer is here.

Back yard barbecue sends smoke and food poisoning into the air.

Old women mutter and bring in their bloomers and all their washing.

Noisy rubbish music murders the Summer sun, party time has begun.

Loud too loud conversation, or talk of relegation tears the blue sky

You have a headache because you sat in the sun too long, your wife’s

sunglasses and your snotty handkerchief on your head failed you.

You retreat to bed as the karaoke begins, its punishment for your sins

Later you wife comes to bed and you slumber like sea lions.

Outside the generous neighbours send smoke signals to all

Later their is alarm, they have set fire to their garden fence.

The sea lions laugh, their old tired flesh wobbles like jellies.

The fire brigade run a hose through their house to put out the fire.

You thank God for sprinkling holy water on the noise makers.

So finally the old sea lions can rest in peace, but its too hot to sleep.

So the old don’t do karaoke they do the hokey cokey instead, the lying

down version, they may be old but the sun has made them young

Again.

The Thief, The Old Lady and the Girl with The Scar

The Thief, The Old Lady and The Girl With The Scar ©

By

Michael Casey

Old Maggie was old, but she was still a nice lady, despite many things. So as she pottered about she had a smile here and a smile there, everybody knew her in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, Mrs Murphy herself was one of her oldest and dear friends. So as she bent down to pick up her heavy shopping bags she was startled to see Christian behind her, in fact Christian was not a very good Christian or anything in fact. He was about to steal her purse, so Maggie grabbed his hand and squeezed, as she had been a bit of a golfer in her day Christian squirmed. Maggie’s grip was stronger than Trump’s grip, and Christian could not escape her.

This was the turning point in Christian’s life, he was about to commit his first crime, if Maggie had shouted for help the Gavin Twins all 4 of them would have come running, Big Sid would have come running his meat cleaver in his hand. Christian would been praying like a good Christian should, and Percy might have put down his poetry book and look from his Undertaker’s. Today was a good day to be a Christian or any other great Faith, but to have an unchristian thought or act in his heart, that was not a good idea. Maggie squeezed harder, harder than the Maggie would have squeezed Trump’s hand. There could only ever be one winner, Maggie of course, handbag not required. So Maggie sized up Christian in an instant.

Come carry my bags for me they are heavy. Maggie lived just around the corner but she made Christian walk 2 miles with her before arriving at her house. It was like a game of golf but without any cheating Trump, just a repentant Christian carrying Maggie’s handbag, sorry I mean heavy shopping bags. When they arrived Maggie invited him in. Christian felt like a a Christian invited into the Lions Den, he felt as if he was going to be ate alive. But what could he do, he just had to trust in God, but Christian had no Faith, but Maggie had plenty, she was Mrs Murphy’s friend after all so what would you expect?

Inside Theresa was ironing Maggie’s clothes, Theresa was Maggie’s granddaughter, she was beautiful beyond compare, though she had a scar on her face, on her left cheek. How it got there we  won’t talk about it as it would make Theresa cry. So we’ll leave it there on her face. Maggie shouted I’ve brought a boy with me, so immediately Theresa tossed her hair to hide the scar, she always hid that cheek, turning the other cheek to her meant hiding the scar side. Then she continued with the ironing.

Maggie put the kettle on and told Christian to sit, like a lion tamer making the lions wait before eating the Christian alive. She whispered to Theresa, I’ve brought you a boyfriend. And indeed she had, Maggie knew Christian was just a stupid boy, well all boys are stupid anyway. But as Maggie squeezed the life out of Christian’s hand in the street she had felt a funny feeling, and it was not his knuckles breaking. She’s been praying for husband for her granddaughter, and it was now or never.

Over tea Maggie asked Christian had he a job, she knew he had not, why else would he be about to steal her purse. Christian squirmed, and as he squirmed Theresa fell in love with him. She felt something too, this was no Kdrama this was love, a gentle breeze of love, here in Old Forge and Singing Anvil in England. So carried on ironing Maggie’s bloomers, and as the gentle breeze of love blew Theresa discover she had put her hair up, all her face was on show. Maggie watched and silently prayed as Theresa and Christian’s eyes met. He did not even notice the horrible scar. All he saw was the girl before him, Theresa, and May was the month of Mary as Maggie would tell you. So was May the month Theresa got her man. A man of for Theresa in May?

Maggie repeated the question, do you have a job Christian? Christian looked at the kitchen floor.No. I, I, I can’t read so how can I get a job. I can barely fill in an application form. Lots of people had laughed in his face when he told them. But Theresa just put the iron down on Maggie’s bloomers and came over and held his hand. I can teach you to read, I’m a classroom assistant in a school. Theresa looked pleadingly into Christian’s eyes, Maggie thought she’d have to have  a Mass said in the morning. Theresa and Christian twinkled, like binary stars together, Maggie knew she could start planning the wedding already. But he still needed a job.

The smell of burning bloomers awoke them all from their Kpop dreams. Theresa ran to rescue them. Maggie just laughed, what did a pair of scorched bloomers matter, she’s found her granddaughter a husband. Maggie looked at Christian, do you have a criminal record? Christian gulped, today was his first attempted criminal act. No, I was tempted once because, but sometime stopped me. You mean I stopped you, replied Maggie. Theresa was shocked, her hopes dashed. I swear I’ve never done anything ever, it was just today, but then I met Maggie. Shall I go asked Christian getting up to leave.

Theresa was always a thoughtful girl, never hurried anything, but at that moment her heart made her scream. NO, NO and NO. So it was settled then as Christian had never actually been a bad boy, he would be her lad, her good boy, never say goodbye good boy. She was sticking with him forever. Secretly Theresa had been praying for a husband and today the smell of burning bloomers had been like the smell of incense sending to prayers to high Heaven. Theresa had got her man even if granny had lost her bloomers.

All he needed now was a job, so Maggie rung the golf club, friends’ of friends and so forth. Christian could be a security guard at the end of next month. Only he had to learn to read and fast. Christian and Theresa had intense reading sessions, Christian was a fast learner and yes along the way a couple more of  Maggie’s bloomers got burnt. But Christian learnt to read and Theresa put her hair up, and he never ever noticed the scar. Love may be blind, but he could read now, and anybody could read the look of love between them.

So Christian got his security job, he was a natural, poacher turned gamekeeper perhaps, though he’d never actually been a poacher, Maggie’s golf grip had seen to that. Within 6 months the lovers were engaged, and Maggie said they should come live with her, she had such a big house after all, if they could stand the smell of burnt bloomers. So everything was decided.

Now the security company that Christian worked for had a works dinner, every 25^th January, after Christmas when the need of total security allowed a night off for the lads. So Christian and Theresa went and she had her hair up, she looked divine. Only in life there are always bastards, and one was called Russell who worked for the same security company. However Russell met his Waterloo, he was loudly saying have you seen scarface that ugly girl that guy on table 47 as he washed his hands in the gents. Only behind him appeared Jack, Mr Jack the owner of the security company who had also being washing his hands. When the were alone in the gents Mr Jack took out his mobile and showed Russel a photo of a little girl with a scar on her face. That’s my beautiful granddaughter Theresa, Russell di not know what to say buy Mr Jack did. I want you to guard Napoleon house, if you put your skates on you’ll be there in 17 mins. Mr Jack did not say any more, he didn’t need to. Napoleon house was where Russell had his Waterloo.In fact Mr Jack made him guard it for 6 months, then Russell was forgiven and nothing more was spoken of it.

Mr Jack strode to table 47, it’s Christian and Theresa please forgive me you should be at my table, then he led them to the top table. His brother Dave who was his right hand man just took his drink and his latest girlfriend with him to table 47. He could get drunk now, he was not on top table. For everybody else in the room it was like a scene from the Bible. You look so beautiful commented Mrs Jack as she passed the champagne. It really was a great night. Christian confessed how Theresa had helped him to read. Mrs Jack commented that a few of the guards could do with a bit of polish, had she ever thought of going into HR, so with a look to her husband that was decided. Jack’s Security was getting bigger it needed a bit more help.

It was a perfect night, Mrs Jack liked Theresa and Mr Jack liked Christian in a few years Dave would retire to the Canaries, so that night Christian was like the anointed one. Only life is not fair, when Theresa was coming back from the ladies she noticed that one of the serving staff looked familiar and she would have fainted, only Mrs Jack was with her. Now that man was the man who had given Theresa the scar when he attacked her.

Mrs Jack reached into her purse and pressed button B, it was a present from her adoring family. Then with her most gracious of Queen Mother smiles she kidney punched the bad man, before grabbing his hair and spinning him around and punching him straight on the nose, probably breaking it. When she first met her adorable Mr Jack he had taught her how to fight dirty and save yourself before you run way. She would have beaten the stuffing out of the bad man only Button B had been answered by then 15 hulking family members. Its him, the scar giver was all she needed to say.

Theresa was led away by Mrs Jack and given another glass of champagne. Don’t worry about him, lets talk about YOUR future in security with Jack’s Security. As for the scar maker. Christian had a word with him, Mr Jack watching on. This is what he said, maybe after you come out of prison you’ll meet a good woman, because the love of a good woman will change your life just as it did mine. Then much to his relief the Police arrived to take the scar maker away.

Mr Jack smiled, Theresa had not only taught him to read she had also taught him the truth of life. Love Conquers All as Mrs Casey once told this writer too. 




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

Nothing New today so here's an older piece

Nothing New today so here's an older piece

Sunny in Birmingham today, so had a lazy day.

Windows 10 April Update takes 8 hours too.

I did have an idea for a story.

The thief, the old lady and the girl with a scar

and I thought a bit more about it and could have written it down

but sunshine beckoned, and arthritis descended again

https://www.churchservices.tv/churches is a good site if you want to see what CatholicMass

looks like, choice of 40 churches I think. I really enjoy it, as I am a catholic, believe it or not.

I image all Faiths could do the same, simple great idea.

Later today we binged on K drama

So that's my excuse  for not inflicting another story on  you all.

I did get an email out of the blue from a singer's website so I've sent her some poetry, an if

she uses it maybe I'll get Royalties. on verra as they say in France.

this is from 5 years ago

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.”

A Talent to Amuse

A Talent to Amuse ©

By Michael Casey

A Talent to Amuse was the title of a book I read 20 or 30 years ago, it was written by Sheridan Morley and it was about Noel Coward. We were watching the Italian Job on TV when I thought about the book, one thing connects to another and then hey presto you have a memory reload. So today I’m going to talk about what amuses us, we have amusement arcades and they are supposed to amuse us, but they just take our money for nothing, which is a name of a song too, but that’s another memory connection.

We find in our house that our youngest daughter amuses us the most, why, because she is spontaneous and so inventive. I think she must have come out of the womb with a Blue Peter badge already in her hand. She can make things out of paper and old cardboard boxes, she was given a dolls house for her birthday by her aunty, so that inspired her to make more dolls houses out of shoe boxes. Your own daughters probably do the same, our daughter is a comedienne too, her Chinese grandfather was always very funny, so we believe she inherited from him. She was actually in the womb, in Shanghai,  listening to him before she was born, sadly he died 9 months after she was born. However such a talent to amuse must have come from somewhere, so we thank him.

Children mimic and exaggerate their parents’ and uncles’ and aunties’ mannerisms, this always makes families laugh. However come the teenage years it’s the parents who imitate the sulks, the  moans and the its not fairs as teenagers slam doors and go to their rooms. Thankfully our daughters have not reached that age and stage, for it is an act, so I have something to look forward too.

Back to amusing though, at the concierge desk 10 years ago I had a minute to deal with a guests query, to sort them out and to keep them happy. You can read a guest by their body language, the trick is to know if you can be quick or be slow, are they happy or are the hurried. By keeping the guests happy they will come back and the hotel will be successful, which in turn is good for you. It was a new build hotel, a 4 star, we actually opened the hotel as they say in the business. We were known as a happy hotel, Roger, Jim and me were  the 1^st point of contact so it was up to us to break the ice and give guests a good experience. We’d crack a joke as we greeted the guests, this is important, why, because nobody wants to come into a funeral parlour, people like to have a good feeling wherever they are. Our manager once went to another hotel and stood there to see how fast the front of house team were. Twenty minutes later he was approached and welcomed, at CPNEC when I was on duty it would be 20 seconds, I was Employee of The Year, very close runner up after all.

Back to amusing, it’s not hard to lift an atmosphere, how do you do it? Smile, just smile and you will feel happier yourself. Imitation works too, as well as mime, or even Irish dancing. I have a teacher friend who does a jig if the students are turning off, then once she’s got their attention she goes back to the lesson. Actually in Teacher Training they ask what kind of teacher you are, Lion tamer  or Entertainer, as well as other styles. When I’ve done Esol English teaching I’ve been an Entertainer to get them interested, then you go through the work, but you have to like a boat on the water and react to the wind so to speak. Mix and match to circumstances, some even said they’d never forget me, I just told them to forget me, but remember their English.

Amusement does work as a tool, but you have to balance it out with knowledge. I wrote a play called Shoplife which was called “Spakling, very real, great fun, hilarious, we could not stop reading it, we hope to produce it, not this season but next” it’s on Amazon Kindle  by the way. Now that’s an out and out comedy which I hope somebody will pick up some day when they cancel Trollied perhaps.  Now on a Laugh and Learn basis, you can teach customer service by getting staff to read the play. Shoplife is a comedy and the customer service in it is terrible, that’s why it’s so funny. So you break the play down and say what customer service disasters can you see, what health and safety rules have been broken. All very amusing, but, as a  teaching tool far better than a boring list. You could package it with a dvd and  health and safety material, and yes I’ve thought about this for years, so that people are amused and they learn. Then after that perhaps in reverse order the play  finally gets on stage. John Cleese did have a training company once, so I can follow in his footsteps.

A Talent to Amuse is a great book it may be in a library somewhere, so please go and read it. As for me I’m no Noel Coward, but I do hope that like him I do have a talent to amuse.

 *****

this is from 2013, 5 years ago, before quadruple heart bypass and arthritis caught up with me, and CKd wasn't such a pain. What a difference 5 years make. I hope the writing is just as good or even better now. Malta in April 2013 was my last holiday. I'm telling you this for information.

 my family Malta 2013