Thursday, 4 October 2018

Lech, Boris and Gregorgi save Christmas

Lech, Boris and Gregorgi Save Christmas ©

Michael Casey

The cousins had decided to buy and trade a few old Army Surplus materials. Putin has updated his army so there was a lot of old kit being thrown away. So obviously the enterprising cousins decided this was their chance. There were all kinds of everything for sale at rock bottom prices, such as Arctic gear, and even parachutes and an ancient flame thrower or two. Junk to you or me, but to the cousins it was an opportunity.

Sometime what is discarded becomes the most important thing, like a broken heart healed by love, or the dream of a dead mother on the feast of Saint Francis, that comes to heal and strengthen. But I’m talking about the Slav cousins, and their wives just laughed at them, they were just so stupid, but that made them love them the more. So as the wives sharpened their knives ready for the Christmas preparations, which meant death for some of the animals, but it for good purpose, to celebrate the feast of Christmas.

Amongst the junk was an old military radio or two, so the cousins’ children were allowed top play with one. To their surprise they were able to contact some other children, so soon there was a radio friendship. It turned out that they had discovered School 76 in Novablizt, which was a fair distance from where they all lived. It was a boarding school for children of army officers, really they should not be talking to outsiders. But it was a military frequency on an old channel, so that’s how the wall came down.

As Lech, Boris and Gregorgi rummaged through their treasure their children were enjoying the radio. It turned out that the parents of School 76 were in reality Space Engineers, they would not say more than that, but it was interesting to say the least. Now Christmas was approaching fast and the cousins had managed to sell boots and coats and the like, so they were content, they had at least made some money. There was the Christmas feast on the horizon and their wives were glowing, happy and so deeply in love. However when all the cousins’ children explained all the anticipated fun and love that they would have to the children of School 76 they were met with sadness.

You see at School 76 the parents would be working far away, launching satellites into space for the highest bidder. Christmas was lost to them, duty came first, if only they got to see a fake Santa, it would be fun amongst all the books. Now Lech, Boris and Gregorgi were saddened when they heard this, Christmas without even a fake Saint Nicolas, this was too much.

Their wives looked at them and all the children looked at them. We need to talk to your fathers said the three mothers. So the three mothers took the three cousins to the 3 bedrooms. It is always best to discuss things in a comfortable environment. 6 hours later, the mothers emerged smiling, and the cousins emerged too. It had been decided, the 3 mothers would sacrifice their 3 cousin husbands for Christmas. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi would bring Christmas to School 76.

Now School 76 is not on any map as it was classed as Military even though it was just a boarding school. So a map reference was sent and Lech marked it on a map with Rudolf’s nose, that was all the map they would need. They loaded their snow plough with items they might need, and what could they bring the students? Boiled eggs painted and some English chocolate, Cadburys of course, and some Oranges. There was some vodka too, but that was for any stray teachers or caretakers. It was the thought that counted, there would not be any other gifts as such, or so was the plan. You see the school was in a remote area and Lech, Boris and Gregorgi may have to walk in the last leg.

When School 76 heard the news they erupted. They would not only get one fake Santa but three. Carols erupted from School 76, but the could not tell the teachers, the caretaker staff as it was still technically called a Military establishment. So with a final kiss to their wives, who were probably pregnant by now, what do you think they were doing for 6 hours, knitting? So Lech, Boris and Gregorgi set off to bring Christmas to School 76. As they dove away a fancy 4x4 passed in the opposite direction, paths had been crossed.

In the 4x4 was Mikhail Mikhailovich who you will remember was the Spaceman who had a visit from the Archangel Saint Michael, by sheer chance he was driving through Lech, Boris and Gregorgi’s village.Now there is no such thing as coincidence, there is only the will of God. Mikhail Mikhailovich went into the inn and had some food and a rest, he was going to plough on and get home for Christmas himself but then the Heavens opened and it was a Whiteout, a mountain of snow had fallen. So he just knew he’s be spending Christmas there, Mikhail Mikhailovich was soon telling tales and enjoying all the company. His eyes popped open wide when he heard what Lech, Boris and Gregorgi were up to, he had studied at School 76 himself in his youth before he became the world’s greatest Cosmonaut and then the world’s greatest storyteller.

I actually drove past them, will they be safe? They are like Polar Bears replied the three wives, besides we’ll kill them if they don’t come back, as they brandished their knives. Besides we are all pregnant so they will not abandon an unborn baby at Christmas. How many weeks are you pregnant asked Mikhail Mikhailovich? About 15 hours not weeks came the proud reply.Mikhail Mikhailovich blushed, this was like one of his stories, but true.

Mikhail Mikhailovich took out his satellite phone and recited another story so that Radio Russia would have a new story over Christmas. Then the military radio crackled, it was Lech, Boris and Gregorgi. Well we are 20k short of our destination, the snow plough cannot go any further so we will walk. We have skis and a sledge, it will be fun. Everybody looked out the window and saw the snow, it was deadly dangerous.Mikhail Mikhailovich took the microphone, hello I’m Mikhail Mikhailovich can I help in any way? We love stories replied the 3 in unison. I was meaning help in getting to your destination? We think we will be ok, we have vodka to keep us warm and multiple layers too, we have got old USSR army kit, so we should be just fine.

Mikhail Mikhailovich looked about him, these fine people deserved their own Archangel, so he took out his satellite phone. In seconds he was talking to Chuck from the USA, his friend Tim Peak who was back in space again, and Petrov a fine Russian cosmonaut. Mikhail Mikhailovich was talking to the Heavens Above AKA the Space Station. Hello guys, do you want to test that new thing you have. In seconds it was decided, it was a method of tracking Polar Bears, but now it would be tracking 3 polar bears called Lech, Boris and Gregorgi.

The only problem was their was no radio tracking device on a collar, just a vintage USSR radio. Looking around again, Mikhail Mikhailovich rung his good friend Esther, the mother of the zillionaire space satellite magnate. Shalom he began, and then Mikhail Mikhailovich explained, Esther would help he knew it. Ester put her cards down she was playing poker in Vegas, the winner chose which Charity got the pot, 10million had been raised just through her poker habit, if you can remember back to the Malta story. A phone rang in the situation room at the Pentagon, the ring tone was If I were a Rich Man sung by Topol, an actual one off recording just for a ring tone.If you are zillionaire then you can have such things.Sorry said the zillionaire turning to General Jim Mathis, mom insisted on the ring tone. In seconds all was explained and Esther went back to her poker, she wanted to win.

The zillionaire looked around, I wasn’t going to show you this yet, but a friend wants a favour. So with General Jim Mathis looking on the zillionaire brought up the satellite image. It was not perfect but through the snow Lec, Boris and Gregorgi could be made out. We’re guiding them through the snow to School 76. So the zillionaire spoke to Mikhail Mikhailovich and then he guided the three cousins.

In deep deep snow they went up and down and around and around , and this way and that way, leaving a trail as they dragged their sledge. High in space the zillionaire and brought a couple of other satellites into play, it was Christmas after all, they were not the three Magi, but they had friends in high places, very high places. But then disaster, the radio broke down, at minus 20 even a thirty year old USSR radio had to come to the end of their life.

All we can do is watch and pray, said General Jim Mathis as he looked up from the book Esther had sent him, first edition of a Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.So watching from on high they all watched and prayed. Three cousins, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi would go around and around until the cold killed them. From space they tracked their route, then the zillionaire spotted a pattern. Marked in the snow was PAX VOBISCOM, or Peace Be With You. Then through the snow the satellite could see a sledge drawn by enormous reindeer, there was a giant of a man on board. The giant waved at the sky as if he knew the satellites were all watching him.

Santa Claus himself had come to rescue them, if the Archangel Saint Michael had saved Mikhail Mikhailovich why shouldn’t Santa Claus save three Slav heroes called Lech,Boris and Gregorgi. And that is how Christmas was saved by Lech, Boris and Gregorgi or rather how Santa Claus saved them. School 76 had the best Christmas ever, 3 fake Santas plus the real thing. Now if you think this story is far fetched, just watch Norad track Santa this and every Christmas. And if you still don’t believe me, why are there photos of the Real Father Christmas locked in General Jim Mathis’ safe with a signed copy of a Christmas Carol on top.

Marked 25 levels higher than TOP SECRET.

Wednesday, 3 October 2018

God is Good as my mother always said

God is Good

too tired to write a new piece so here’s something from 7 years ago

God is good, and he is our “daddy” not a cold and strict Father, so in the end he wouldn’t turn his back on anybody, we are his creation, there may be some sort of penance. But I like to believe he’ll cry tears for us so that we’ll all be let in for the party. Angels and Saints and our own mum’s pray for us so in the end we’re all invited. Think of Hell as a black hole without light or heat or love. Total absolute darkness, no light, no sight, no smell, no touch, no taste, no sound. Nothingness, like being paralyzed and not being able to communicate, just total fear, madness your only companion. If the thief on the cross can be pardoned then I think you and me will sneak into Heaven. And if I’m wrong, none of us would be able to say “I told you so”, because Hell is a Black Hole.
BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in Hebrew BBU in Arabic 300 و BBU Russian Translation microsoft word BBU in KOREAN BBU German BBU French 50 Spanish Examples KOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015 The Polish Translations Spanish BBU 아직도 살아있는 2015

heads up 3rd Oct 2018

I'm borrowing wifi to post a few things.
I hope you like them
I have an Idea for a Lech, Boris and Gregorgi story I may write it down soon. But really it is a Christmas story so I should not reveal it till December

In the world of Politics everything is going mad, I've been watching Politics for 50 years, so I'm over 50 though I now lie about my age. I am now 25, in my head I'm 20, though my wife says I'm 12.

here's a piece from 3 years ago for all you Monks out there

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 Tumblr and 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.

Tuesday, 2 October 2018

My sinister battle with Brett Kavanaugh over the truth from the Daily Telegraph

Ambrose Evans-Pritchard

Ambrose Evans-Pritchard is International Business Editor of The Daily Telegraph. He has covered world politics and economics for 30 years, based in Europe, the US, and Latin America. He joined the Telegraph in 1991, serving as Washington correspondent and later Europe correspondent in Brussels.

2 OCTOBER 2018 • 9:24 PM BST

Illustration by Kerry Squires

Twenty-three years ago I crossed swords with a younger Brett Kavanaugh in one of the weirdest and most disturbing episodes of my career as a journalist.

What happened leaves me in no doubt that he lacks judicial character and is unfit to serve on the US Supreme Court for the next thirty years or more, whatever his political ideology.

He was not a teenager. It related to his duties in the mid-1990s as Assistant Independent Council for the Starr investigation, then probing Bill and Hillary Clinton in the most sensitive case in the country.

Brett Kavanaugh sits behind Kenneth Starr during his testimony before the House Judiciary Committee regarding the possible impeachment of President Bill Clinton in 1998CREDIT: DAVID HUME KENNERLY/GETTY IMAGES

To my surprise, the incident has suddenly become a second front in his nomination saga on Capitol Hill. Senator Dianne Feinstein, the top Democrat on the Senate Judiciary Committee, has accused him of violating secrecy laws by revealing the details of a federal grand jury.

“Disclosing grand jury information is against the law,” she told Politico. She said it also showed he had misled the Senate by assuring categorically that he had never leaked grand jury material to journalists.

Sen Feinstein released a ‘smoking gun’ document from the archive files of the Starr investigation. It shows Mr Kavanaugh’s efforts to suppress a news story about his wild cross-examination of a witness, including a wayward discussion of “genitalia” that particularly worried him.

This piqued my interest since I am named in the document and the witness – Patrick Knowlton – was in a sense ‘my witness’.

Sen Feinstein is doubtless unaware of the larger, surreal story behind that week, and what it might suggest about rogue operations at the heart of the US federal system.

Brett Kavanaugh shakes hands with President Bill Clinton on board Air Force OneSOURCE: WHITE HOUSE

The document is one of hundreds of papers released by the US National Archives this year. For me it has been a strange journey back in time, like reading your old STASI file in East Berlin. There is one handwritten note by a Starr prosecutor stating – obliquely – “Ambrose about to go off the deep end”. OK, nobody is perfect.

There were debriefing memos of clandestine meetings I had with federal agents and prosecutors. One from Shoney’s restaurant in Little Rock, Arkansas; another from a dinner at the Occidental Grill in Washington (my old haunt).

Mr Knowlton had been called to the grand jury because of a story in the Telegraph. Little did I know then that I was about to turn this brave man’s life upside down.

He was a crime scene witness in the death of Vincent Foster, the White House aide and ex-law partner of Hillary Clinton. At the time this was a mystery case, a big story during my tenure as the Sunday Telegraph’s bureau chief in Washington.

I had tracked down Mr Knowlton and discovered that the Starr probe had never spoken to him, even though he had been the first person at the Fort Marcy death location and had highly-relevant information.

I showed him his FBI ‘302’ witness statement from the earlier, superficial Fiske probe. He had never seen the words attributed to him before.

Mr Knowlton was stunned. It contradicted his express assertions. He said the FBI had tried repeatedly to badger him into changing his story on key facts. Each time he refused. Now it appeared they had written in what they wanted to hear. He agreed to go public and accused the FBI of falsifying his witness statement. This was to court trouble.

As soon as the print edition of the Telegraph reached Washington, the Starr investigation issued a subpoena calling Mr Knowlton to the grand jury. He was to face questioning by Brett Kavanaugh.

Mr Kavanaugh was then a cocky 30 year-old from the affluent WASP suburbs of Northwest Washington, very much the country club boy with a high sense of his status, and Georgetown Prep and Yale Law School behind him, though only with a humdrum Cum Laude. If anybody was going to wind up my hard-scrabble, salt-of-America witness, it was this child of privilege.

What happened first was an eye-opener. Before testifying, he suffered two days of what appeared to be systematic intimidation by a large surveillance team. This was observed by two other witnesses, including Chris Ruddy, now the powerful chief executive of NewsMax.

Mr Ruddy called me in shock from Dupont Circle to recount what he saw. A deeply-shaken Mr Knowlton contacted me from his home several times, until his phone was cut off.

Mr Kavanaugh, as aide to Independent Counsel Kenneth Starr, during a meeting in the Office of the Solicitor General in November 1996SOURCE: DAVID HUME KENNERLY/GETTY IMAGES

Veteran intelligence agents might recognise a method. It had the hallmarks of a boilerplate softening-up operation. In my view – unprovable – the objective was to frighten him before his grand jury appearance. It smacked of police state behaviour on the streets of Washington DC.

I informed Mr Starr’s office that their grand jury witness was being intimidated. So did Mr Knowlton’s lawyer, who asked for witness protection. Nothing was done. Mr Kavanaugh brushed it off, saying the Telegraph was behind all this mischief in order to “sell newspapers”.

When Mr Knowlton appeared at the grand jury – thinking he was doing his civic duty – he says he was subjected to two and a half hours of character assassination by Mr Kavanaugh. There was little attempt to find out what he knew about the Foster death scene.

Could it be that the witness was distraught and imagined much of this? Possibly. But Mr Knowlton and his lawyer later filed a federal lawsuit against FBI agents working for Brett Kavanaugh, alleging witness tampering and a conspiracy to violate his civil rights. This eventually reached the US District Court in Washington DC. The quixotic case was impossible to prove. Yet it was the action of a man who clearly felt wronged. To this day he blames Mr Kavanaugh personally.

Thousands of documents from the Starr probe are still secret. Others are redacted. It is impossible to know whether Mr Kavanaugh was linked to any intimidation or obstruction of justice, but there is no doubt in my mind that he failed to protect the rights of his own grand jury witness.

This is not the place to revisit the Foster case, the electric third rail of US politics. But it is worth noting two points that touch on Mr Kavanaugh.

Few people are aware that the US federal prosecutor handling the death investigation at the outset, Miquel Rodriguez, had resigned earlier from the Starr investigation after a bitter dispute.

His resignation letter – later leaked – said he was prevented from pursuing investigative leads, that FBI witness statements did not reflect what witnesses had said, that the suicide verdict was premature, and that his grand jury probe was shut down just as he was beginning to uncover evidence. An informed source told me his work had been sabotaged by his own FBI agents.

The nub of the dispute was over compelling evidence of a wound in Foster’s neck, which contradicted the official version that Foster shot himself in the mouth and had essentially been suppressed. The key crime scene photos had vanished and the FBI labs said others were over-exposed and useless.

Mr Rodriguez, by then suspicious, slipped them to the Smithsonian Institution and had them enhanced. One showed a black stippled ring like a gunshot wound in the side of Foster’s neck. This remains secret but I have seen it.

The photo was pivotal. It confirmed what several people who handled the body had originally stated. I interviewed the first rescue worker on the scene and when I asked him about the mouth wound, he grabbed me, and said with frightening intensity: “listen to me buddy, Foster was shot right here,” jabbing his finger into my neck. He said the FBI had pressured him too into changing his story and that official narrative was a pack of lies.

Mr Kavanaugh’s reaction to the findings of his colleague can be found in the stash of released documents from the Starr inquiry. One says in his hand-written notes: “startling discovery”, “blew up portions of photo – trauma to the neck on rt side”, “appears to be bullet hole”.

He was presented with a long analysis by Rodriguez that ripped apart the earlier Fiske report and called for an open homicide investigation. This had huge implications for the Clinton presidency and caused an internal crisis in the Starr office. A decision was made to shut down that part of probe. Miquel Rodriguez said he was “forced out”. It was the end of the only genuine probe of the Foster death – conducted under oath – that had ever occurred.

Mr Kavanaugh faced a choice. He choose to go with the establishment rather than stick up for his colleague. This proved good for his career. He took over the grand jury, by then a legacy showpiece. His treatment of my witness revealed his colours.

Mr Kavanaugh went on to write the Starr Report on the Foster death. But Mr Knowlton got the last word, literally. He filed a 511-page report at the US Federal Court with evidence alleging a pattern of skullduggery, and asked that it be attached to the Starr Report.

The three top judges did not agree but they ordered that a shorter 20-page version be attached at the end, despite vehement protest from the Starr office. This had never happened before in the history of the office of the independent council.

This summary asserts that the FBI had “concealed the true facts”, that there had been witness tampering, and that the report had wilfully ignored facts that refuted its own conclusions. There it sits in perpetuity, a strange rebuke for Mr Kavanaugh by his own fellow judges on the federal bench.

Where is the

Where is the ©

Michael Casey

I was wondering where, where is, where is the, love, the words, the rhyme in things this morning as I was waiting for the pain to ebb way. And what is the connection between Spirit and Pain, or anything. Well I could have just watched Breakfast TV instead, only I don’t get up that early after my nights of pain. So I’m thinking about how the Spirit copes, as I’m listening to music on the radio, how your Attitude is what really matters. Without Hope, you are soon dead. Dead in all senses of the word. I’m wondering how many of you have stopped reading now? You don’t like the serious pieces, you just want the Custard Pies.

If I insert a joke I’ll soon get your attention back, maybe gallows humour is the thing, Pardon Me I’m the President perhaps? If you are going to die you may as well have a laugh as you go. In a Carry On film I seem to remember as one guy faces the guillotine he gets a letter and says put it in my pocket I’ll read it later. The point is even at death’s door your spirit helps you along. And it is because you have a Sunny Outlook, that you survive when everybody else gives in to sadness. Positive or Negative outlook.

Personally I try and think of everything, cover all the bases, hope for the best, but prepare for the worse. Like carpet fitters refusing to move a few items of furniture, so you have to find somebody else at short notice. Or if you work in a hotel you can be a miserable person, or a positive person. You can do all the work, or you can hide in a luggage room, does that remind you of anybody you know?

Sunny Demeanor who happens to be Sunny Outlook’s first cousin is the best way to be in my opinion. Or jolly as my mother used to call me as a child. You can be a victim or you can fight. Tip if you are held hostage, fight, because they will probably kill you anyway, if you fight you at least have half a chance, which is better than none. However if you are Patty Hurst or from Stockholm you may have other ideas.

Satire works too, go watch Mel Brooks The Producers, and Springtime for Hitler song. So now it’s two hours later, was I right? Of course I was, so don’t thank me, thank Mel Brooks. I’ve made a fresh mug of coffee while you were all goose stepping, hello to my Korean and North Korean readers. Which brings me to how do we smile through the pain. In North Korea they just want food and decent tv, but how do they endure while the madness goes on? Look at the Rose Garden at the White House yesterday and you will have asked yourself the same thing.

It all goes back to, putting on a happy face and smile smile smile, how did folks here in UK survive back in WWII, it really was the back against the wall time? It all goes back to Spirit. You can be in a super-max jail buried half a mile underground, but you are still free, because of your spirit. The jailers are the prisoners. You could pick Mandela as an example, then the corrupt politicians follow on from him. Pick another place and another superhero. I could say the same with Religion, how it starts Holy but is then corrupted by mortal men. Look at the Catholic Church as just one example.

Now I could sidetrack myself at this point, but I hope my readers are grown up enough to look in the mirror and see wrongs, and also grown up enough to look in the mirror and change, unlike Michael Jackson. So what makes a spirit special, where is the love, where is the kindness? In my own case I would say it was poured into me by my mum and dad. No I’m far from special, but I do claim I do know how to write, or talk to you all.

A caring person, is not Donald Trump checking has everybody got a drink, which is hostess stuff which any of his hotel workers do every single day. A caring person genuinely cares, which is different to photo opportunities. There is Love in their eyes, and music in their spirit. The times I seen Shona people sing at Mass this is when I’ve felt it first-hand.

Beggars in the street as a rule look lost, but sometimes when you give them something to eat, you can see the spark reignite. Like when the lady from the local store sneaks out with a mug of tea for the beggar. You can see her spirit by her actions, though I know she’d be embarrassed if I named her. So you can see good spirits by their actions, and it is because they have this good inside them that they can survive when bad times come.

Chronic pain, is a curse, and you are all cursing because I’m not sharing any jokes today. When you spend the nights unable to sleep, not until you are so exhausted that you fall asleep. That is when a radio or some form of music is a life raft in the darkness, or the BBC World Service. As you try and find a less painful place to sleep in, your mind wanders. Sometimes Prayer comes along, and sometime saying the Rosary does lead to sleep, as your mum used to say, say the Rosary if you cannot sleep is what she used to say. However sometimes the pain is just too much, here there and everywhere, which was a song, was it by Peter Paul and Mary, or some other Evangelists?

Yes pain killers are available, and the Pain Clinic can advise, but if you find you don’t like the fizzing in your head if you take the Epilepsy pain killers, they discovered they worked for pain too, so you have to stick to the paracetamol. Though a super dose, of Epilepsy pain killers at night kind of works, but you still wake every two hours, then in the morning 12 hours later you feel all drugged up. So you abandon the Epilepsy pain killers. Not unless you want to join the Opioid club, and lose your brain. So that’s my own personal Catch 22.

So that’s why I am the way I am. You do have to fight with whatever strengthen you have, to keep your spark lit, your hopes going. You have to do what you can do, you used to be able to walk 5 miles without thinking about it. Now you have a rest in the bus shelters as you go along. Some days you are fine, some minutes you are fine, then with the sweep of the clock you are all pained up. Yes for me, it can be like that, I wouldn’t say my spirit is special, but I do know if you have a focus then you are not washed away with a Tsunami of pain or hopelessness.

Daytime tv, or watching the world go by, shouting at the radio, find an outlet, make love to the cleaning lady. Whatever gets you through the night, just do it. I noticed in the Press yesterday something about you can die in 3 weeks if you give up. We have all heard of Dying of a Broken Heart, I remember the look on my dad’s face when my mother died, that was a broken heart. You have to fight, and curse and howl at the moon, and I’ve seen many many moons because of my sleep patterns. One step at a time, like the AA motto, how I can make this day count. Do what you can do. Tiny steps are better than no steps.

I know it’s not easy, I speak from experience, hard won experience I wish I never gained, and in some things I have 50 years’ experience. You have to enjoy the small things, even what most people would consider mundane. Look up at the clouds, see the shapes they form, look at the stars at night, feel the wind on your cheek. You may be stuck in your home, but your mind is not. You may be in a prison cell, but your mind is not. You may be in a bad marriage and have a horrible job, or just hate where you live. But in your mind you can anywhere you want to be, in your mind you could even be in bed with me. Ok, a horror story finish, but the premise holds true.

You are as happy as you make yourself despite your weaknesses or failings, in your mind you are floating in space, not in that super-max half a mile underground. Sometimes the only super-max is in your mind, if you can break through the pain, the lack of love, or the lack of hope, then you can have a spiritual shelter inside yourself. I can only act as a signpost, a battered signpost, showing you yourself, your own inner light of eternal hope.