Pennies from Heaven

 michaelgcasey  Uncategorized  13/09/2019 4 Minutes

Pennies from Heaven ©

By

Michael Casey

Pennies from Heaven is the name of a famous play here in England, it was written by Dennis Potter, Harry’s bigger and much cleverer brother. I had to Google his name and it said tv show in 1978, so I’m even older that I thought I was. I do remember the writer being interviewed by which time he was dying of cancer and was sipping morphine from a container as he was being interviewed. Now the strongest thing I take is paracetamol and Movelat painkilling gel. I cannot take other stuff as it does not mix with the ACE inhibitor for my heart, which stops my heart racing to 320RPM as it did after my bypass. My point though is that I’m not “high” on anything, I have something else, an IMAGINATION.

This is just an introduction, I really am going to talk about something else, chocolate cake, and no not the Crowded House song either, and I can remember a radio host introducing us all to them many years ago. I lied it’s just that my sister spotted a cheap cake so she bought it, and we are slowly eating it, as it’s just so rich. So if I stop talking it’s because I’ve gone to the kitchen for yet another slice. I had not had any chocolate for days and was tempted to tackle the hill to get some when my sister arrived with the cake. We are very close, I ring her just as she is about to ring me, and vice versa, this time it was chocolate cake. See Siblings DO have their uses.

But I’m still lying because I want to talk about something else, am I like your sad old uncle who’d forget his arse if it was not tied onto him. My Aunt in Ballyheigh used to send her husband to the shops and that was a bit of a drive away. Did you remember to bring the Ham she’d say, but you didn’t ask me, but you should have remembered that I’d forget and you should have brought it anyway. How can I remember to bring it, if you forget to ask me to bring it in the first place. And on the conversation would circle. But Michael is here from England you know I’d need some ham, for the salad, my Aunt would continue, so you should have remembered that I’d forget and you should have brought it anyway. My uncle would play with his cap, and on the conversation would go. We would just collapse in a heap laughing, and that is why you go to Kerry, so that you can remember to forget things. Simple isn’t it, or have I forgotten part of the story?

Which brings me to what I really really was going to talk about, I’ve remembered now, it’s a bit like a French song, une ronde where it goes around in circles, like Frere au Jacques. What do you do if you think you are going to get some money? You share it out, my dad used to say if he won money he’d buy everybody a house. And he would. I have my own plans too, should such a miracle happen.

So today I said to my girls we share any win, 3 ways. So one daughter would get the hundreds, the other the tens, and I as dad would get the pence.So if its £140.20, it would be 100 to big daughter, 40 to little sister, and 20pence to me the dad, who should have kept his mouth shut and pocketed the lot. Instead I get 20p which is enough for a chew or a lollipop, to keep my mouth shut.

But a dad shares things, that’s what I was taught and that’s what I believe in. It’s called Pie in the Sky, or building Castles in the Air I think my mother used to call it as dad was slumped in his chair in the living room or sneaked off to the front room for a lie down. It’s a family trait, if you haven’t got any money you at least have your dreams. If those Pennies arrive from Heaven then you’ll be ready. Though now at my age it’s all down to which relative dies first, that’s if the local cat’s home doesn’t inherit before me. I always assumed  I’d last the longest being the 2nd youngest, though now I just don’t know. So save 2 pennies to put on my eyes when the grim reaper gets me, and a few more to pay the ferryman, my Pennies for Heaven.

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Blade Runner 49 was a disappointment

Blade Runner 49 was a disappointment

I did not watch it all in one session, but otherwise 6/10

I would not watch it again.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write about FILM

it could be a comedy, or an essay  piece

we'll find out tomorrow Friday 13th

the weather is generally getting  colder, but now we'll have a few

Indian Summer days.

I've managed to improve the sound on this old tv that I use as a monitor so

that's good, more luck than judgement

here's something from 6 years ago till I write a new film piece in the morning

Casey Film School ©

By

 Michael Casey

Now in our house we watch loads of films, 5 a week and more maybe, and with Sky+ box you can record many more. I watched loads as a child too, in black and white in them days. I think I was 25 before I bought a colour  tv for the family. Children nowadays won’t watch anything not in colour.

I saw a documentary on tv with Keanu Reeves, the programme was all about Film, as in the physical piece of material that goes through the camera. It was comparing film to digital. There always is a “look” to a film, I used to say you can tell if a film is rubbish just by the credits.

The old fashioned Technicolor as in Robin Hood, had colours so rich it was as if a child had used wax crayons. Then there are washed out colours for effect, to give a feel and a meaning to a film. Some films are so dark you can hardly see a thing. Alien the first one seemed so especially dark.

Most films I’ve seen on tv, we do have a good tv, I spoilt myself 20 years ago and got a good tv, I was earning good money then and I had interest free credit for a year. Toshiba is all I will say, just go to John Lewis, get free 5 year guarantee and get a Toshiba. Our current Toshiba replaced the old one a few years ago.

Now does the average person notice all the nuances of the cinematography? I’ll say no, though I’m still on a learning curve myself. I’ve watched a ton of films and as my girls grow up we  talk about Film in the advert breaks, 3 mins on satellite, but if we have recorded the film we zap through the ads.

Do  you like the way the actor does this or does that, could you see where the scary bit was going to happen. Could you see how something was telegraphed? Telegraphed things are probably the most we’ve talked about. I hope I don’t spoil the joy of the thing with all this “Casey film school” material.

When you have seen Matila, or Willy Wonka or The Mummy, all versions, then you too will become a little film buff. We really hate it when ITV4 cuts the bit from the Mummy where they haggle for O’Connor’s life, just before he joins them.

Getting back to the documentary, can modern digital technology be trusted to give a good look? Technology gets better and better and will be good enough for everybody in 10 to 15 years time. This is what I’m guessing after listening to the experts. You also have to save some of the machinery so that in the future you can actually read the film in whatever technological format it has been shot.

Modern cameras, digital cameras are so light that you can go anywhere with them, Danny Boyle was talking about one of his films and he had 10 cameras for one section of one of his films. I didn’t know that normally film cameras only have enough film in them for 10mins of acting normally. Then they have to cut.

So imagine the actor has to get himself all worked up and in the zone then the film camera has to be reloaded. How can the actor get back to where he was emotionally after being stopped in mid flow.  It’s like having a streaker in the middle of an event, it would certainly put the vicar off his matins. So how can an actor be expected to get back to where he was.

Now with digital the actor, male or female or both, can keep on performing without fear, it’s not as if mom is knocking at the bedroom door demanding entrance, while sonny is with Cher doing the same. So digital allows uninterrupted performance.

The look and feel of the film is almost the same as Film, because digital is improving so much. As an audience we may hate the look however filmed because the film may look too trashy, or too slick, and so on. The director and the cinematographer must have loads of discussions on how to get it right, but when it IS right it really IS right.

But this now brings me on to the most important thing of all, THE WRITING, speaking as a writer, awaiting news on my 1^st screenplay for a film, I think it’s the writing which is the most important thing. If the story is weak or badly told then no amount of pretty looks will save it.

It will look like a commercial, a bad commercial. Film scripts as such are very bare, mine isn’t it gives plenty of direction. I’m hoping its idiot proof and that the director and cinematographer can just tell the actors “say the words” and if they follow their nose WE will have a success.

Perhaps I’m a little naïve, a virgin on the bed of cinema. However a writer is taking a chance that the film of his book &/or script matches what was in his head and was put on paper. In a way the writer writes the score and the director then has it in his head. And just like a conductor the director is getting actors and cinematographers and everybody else to play their instruments, their bodies if you like, so that the result is Mozart.

When it works it really works, just as Amadeus really worked, the look, the style, the music, the words, the everything. A director has to be like a general, a prostitute or a pimp, just to squeeze out the right performance.

It all starts with words on a page, then with pictures and together you have FILM.

p.s. 6 years ago about the time I wrote this piece I had a low budget film director look at my book , but that did not happen then. But it's still available as I am.

It's Time

It’s Time ©

By Michael Casey

It’s Time, as opposed to IT time, there is a difference, a big difference. It’s Time can mean, time for Execution, your Execution. Watch the Green Mile by the way, a really great film. It’s Time, can fill you full of dread, time for exams to start, or Time being called and you have to put down your pen, and Pray literally Pray you’ve done enough to Pass and get to the University you so desire to go to.

When God made Time, he made plenty of it was what my dad said, his Birthday in 1977 was a very low point in my life, but 6 months later I got into IT, or computers as it was then called, and I found a safe harbour. So Time and Tide are relative, and your Luck can change. The snap of the house, the stone building is from Cromane Lower Killorglin County Kerry Eire, just near the slipway. This is where my mother was born and raised, 9 people all together. This is where her Time began in 1920, so this is where I look back, to another place and to another Time. It is one of the most beautiful places on God’s Earth as the saying goes. Opposite is Dingle where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed.

A place has meaning, and it has Love and Memories, those days are long gone, but yet it has a draw to all of us. WE dream of the Home in another Land before we made our home where we are now. In USA millions feel a link to Ireland, or scores of other places where our mum and dad came from, or our grandparents, or however many generations before it was that they came. And yes it was the Chinese and the Irish that built the Railroads, and don’t forget how badly they were then treated. Nowadays we thank God for both of them, or so we should.

It’s Time can mean it’s time to go for a beer, to go for a meal, or get out of the house to go to Church or Temple or Mosque. Though for some their house of Prayer is a bar, and it’s time to recognise that good people come in all shapes and sizes of all Faiths and None, smelling of beer and sweat, and not always in a freshly pressed suit, “asking” for donations to their Mega Church, which does not even have a Crucifix in, as it would clash with the decor.

It’s Time, also means it’s time for bed, get some sleep and be fresh for school in the morning. And yes use that App to switch off the Wifi so that kids really do sleep, or all “toys” must be left in the old battered brown cardboard suitcase at the top of the stairs, like the Cooler in a Speakeasy when the Kennedys were making their money. Everything must be surrendered for the night, and Grandpa Walton sticks it under his bed in that suitcase, the one he used when he left Ireland all those years ago. So that Peace reigns and he is not disturbed by the noise of toys. Grandpa could have gone to USA, his sister was going to send him money from Chicago, but he had just bought a ticket to England with Thomas Cook, so he ended up in England in 1944. And that is why this Writer does not speak with an American accent.

It’s Time to understand this and that, to sit the kids down and explain, that nagging about switching the light off is not just nagging. Everything costs money, or your dad’s Sweat, you are making dad work another day or two or three, because you could not be bothered to switch the light off. He could spend the money on ice creams for them, if only they switched lights off, or put a jumper on instead of the central heating. Central Heating is a joke, I grew up without it, sheet ice on the inside of the bedroom window in bad winters. In 1973 we got central heating, because the city council forced us to, via clean air legislation, so our coal fire disappeared. Yet just yards away in another Council area they were allowed to carry on.

It’s Time has many many meanings, all in all it’s about growing up, literally and metaphorically. The biggest journey is the Interior Journey, this may take a little time, or an entire life. In my case 10 or 11 was when I grew up, family events helped that, I was a precocious kid too. Some people say “you are treating me like a kid” or teachers talk down to kids, or students, or now you even have teachers trained to use  “gender neutral”  expressions. I’ll just say sometimes Henry Ford was right, “you can have any colour you like, so long as it’s black”

It’s time to Marry or have a relationship, or just to get your leg over. But then was it all worth it? How do you feel afterwards, did you rush Time, because everybody else did this or that or the other? Everybody has their own season, their own season in the sun, their own reasons, their travelling done, until they find a safe port or harbour.

So Life goes on, time for this and time for that. Sometimes there is no time to think, we too busy being Twitter people, though a good decision is always a well thought out one, a well planned one. Don’t give in to Lust, whatever the situation, he’ll still be hot and eager next week, or actually not at all, you’re glad you have “Wait till Tomorrow” as your motto, or “It’ll Keep, throw salt at it” as my mother  used to say. A decision takes Time. Not unless it’s a child walking into the path of a car, then you’ll save her instinctively. When God Made Time, he made plenty of It, that’s what my dad used to say. My mother had a saying for every occasion, that was her knowledge, she left home at 14 to go work for a farmer.

As your life moves on you are slower, and spend your time looking at the hands of the clock waiting for your next meal. Until you have your final meal. My dad’s was breakfast, and he was asked did he want another boiled egg, when the old people’s home owner came back with the 2^nd boiled egg my dad was dead, God had called time.

Then no doubt God will ask how did you use your Time, though in my dad’s case he had been given 5.5 years extra time thanks to Padre Pio’s intervention. So all of you reading this, think how you use your time, can you spare a minute for your old infirmed dad, or time to play ball with your kids, or to make a phone call, to touch base with your sisters? Or time to make love to your boyfriend, or are you so tired you have no time for him. So he runs off with the office cleaner.

Use your Time, don’t squander it on rubbish, like Twitter, don’t be a twitter person, read a book, listen to Radio 4 news. Think for yourself, ignore all the Politicians. Make a better life for yourself and your family, by using time, having quality time together, watching Strictly  Come Dancing and taking the Mick out of all of them as you pass around the Cadburys chocolate as you have 10 different conversations

Simultaneously. Strictly may be on but you are all ignoring it as you have Quality Time with your family. This is what time is for, it’s to be enjoyed to spend time together as you twitter about important things, like who is that strangely gorgeous fat silver haired man in shades who lives next door. Oh, him, he’s Michael Casey, he’s from Birmingham.

a Joy, a Life an old post until I write a new one to add to the 2000+

A Joy, a Life ©

By

Michael Casey

I ended up watching a documentary about Judy Dench, or M from James Bond you may remember her as. It was interesting and reminded me of when I used to go to the Theatre quite often. I was sitting in the good seats and my boss and his wife was in then cheap seats. I once remember seeing a local newsreading celebrity sat in the Hippodrome and wearing an evening dress. Nobody wore those kind of clothes any more, though in the past people used to dress in Sunday best when going to the Theatre, well in England anyway. I don’t know what they do in Brazil, I had a Brazil reader again today so hello to them.

The thing is though if you find something that brings you joy and you can do it for you lifetime, then you are a very lucky person, just like Dame Judy Dench. I was of course a nude model in a female only art class, I could have done that for life but gravity came. And the girls didn’t want to photograph me nude with my scars after my quadruple heart bypass. I have a Pirate scar all the way down my chest, as well as scars down both legs from my naughty bits to my shin bone. So that career has ended.

It did get rather cold so sometimes I kept my socks on, just my socks. I kept a bar of crunchy in my socks, posing naked can be very tiring so I needed a sugar rush. My writing has taken over full time, though I can be found just in my dressing gown as I sit here and talk to you all. But enough of my real life posing, what about the rest of you?

Finding your Joy and turning it into your Life is a great thing. I can remember doing a bit of Presenting in the office over 25 years ago and thinking this is great, I even have a photo of me standing up in front of a blackboard explaining something. A decade later I did my one year as an Esol teacher. I could still do that if you are a millionaire and could afford my fees. Well in my imagination anyway. Not the fees, the Esol I could still do. I hope that all over the world wherever you all read this you find the English clear and hopefully too.

I suppose being a dad is a job for life, my own dad still used to call me boy and I was over 40. Being a dad was the thing I always wanted, even more than women are supposed to long for family.So now I have a young wife and 2 teenage daughters, plus a female cat that sneaked into the house because I though Totoro was a tom. So you could say I have my heart’s desire. But and there always is a but being married with kids and a female cat can be very hard work. It is your life’s work trying to be a good dad, and teenage daughters can be a challenge.

Hey Brazil what do you do with your teenager daughters? Yes you send them to Samba school.If they are dancing they don’t have energy for anything else. I do sneak out at night to get some quality dad time. I am a pole dancer in a Gentlemen’s Club, well I thought the cardio-vascular exercise would be good for me. It also give the girls from the Art college a chance to catch me at my best. Hanging and sliding and gyrating from my Pole and all covered in Cadburys’ chocolate.

Do you need a bucket, the very idea of me naked and covered in chocolate and on a Pole, may be enough to make you sick. Then again I may just have proved to you that MY Joy and Life’s work is telling tale tales to amuse you all. Though Lech, Boris and Gregorgi are puking their guts up into a small bucket. Which is my revenge after they buried me in Warley Woods again. So goodnight everybody 2 tales in a day, that’s a lot, but best of all I can hear applause, well the sound of Lech, Boris and Gregorgi puking into a bucket. 

I dreampt this last night

I saw Paul Daniels the Magician sat on a upvc/leather bench

So it muct have been in a waiting room, not a house

He said I was a good writer

I said are you going to help me with my humour to teach English idea

No, he replied

But I want you to do this.

Then I woke up

I could not remember his name, yet I did mention him in the Spaceman story

I reached to google Magicians, I could remember his wife's name but not his

Just as I was about to google, his name reappeared in my head

So anybody with a dream dictionary work that out

The pain monster has reappeard today, so you may not get a new story today

there are 2000 on the website so have a click, also over on wordpress it must be 1000s of

Translation downloads have happened, out of the 15? languages available

So you are all being corrupted worldwide

here's the story where Paul Daniels got a mention

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel ©

By

 Michael Casey

Mikhail Mikhailovich was a spaceman, a cosmonaut as the Russians  call them, he’d been in space forever, he held the world record already, he was testing himself to see if Man could make it to Mars. He and Tim Peake had had a lot of fun in the space station, but now Tim was gone. So Mikhail was lonely, in fact Mikhail was having a dark night of the soul, flying high in the sky orbiting the world. He was on the edge, but bear a bear of a man he told nobody, if only his wife Katarina was with him to make him strong, but he was floating in space and she was back in Saint Petersburg.

Michael the Arch-Angel had just pushed back Satan back into Hell and had sealed the gates with a pair of Rosary beads, now he was taking Mrs Murphy’s soul back to her body, he was in a hurry before her body died without her soul inside. At Saint Michael the Arch-Angel flew in space with Mrs Murphy’s soul safely tucked in his belt by his sword he felt Mikhail’s sorrow. So much sorry, he flew as fast as he could fly towards to space station, a soul was in danger, the space station was in danger, a man’s life and soul was in danger. Mikhail was on the verge of thinking of doing something mad bad and sad. Michael felt this and as an angel he must intervene, he spiralled directly towards the space station, he went straight inside and grabbed Mikhail’s arm.

An angel does not need to use doors, the spirit just walks through walls even in space, love knows no boundaries, and an angel is just that, love. Saint Michael the Arch-Angel gave Mikhail a bear-hug and nearly broke his ribs. Mikhail screamed in fear, Michael just laughed in his face and said he screamed like a little girl, was he going to pee his pants as an encore. Mikhail rubbed his eyes, there was angel in front of him, speaking Russian, in fact he sounded like his own old grandfather, with the same local accent. 

I could punch your lights out, but I’m an angel so let’s talk, have you got any beer, my wings are tired I need a beer, asked the angel. Mikhail laughed, where do we have the room for a barrel of beer in a space station? The angel reached behind him and two pints of Stella Artois appeared in chalices, so Mikhail took one and drank it, after such a long time in space it was heavenly to say the least. So Mikhail and the angel had 4 pints each, which is enough to wet their whistle if they were both Russian. Mikhail wasn’t scared any more, if this was a dream he was going to enjoy it. He’d love a big sandwich of Russian beef and bread with lettuce and tomatoes, so once more Saint Michael reached behind him and the sandwiches appeared. Is Paul Daniels behind you joked Mikhail, Tim the English spaceman had told Mikhail about Paul Daniels during his time on the space station. No replied the angel, but God is behind me, and in front of me and in all directions too, he has my back, and your’s too, that’s why I’m saving you.

Mikhail, looked at his feet, he’d felt a failure, he could have, but he didn’t, an angel had saved him. Michael the Archangel gave him another pint of Stella Artois, Paul Daniels was working overtime you could say. Why were you in space anyway asked Mikhail. I was returning a soul to a body, Mrs Murphy was risking her soul to save the life of her priest, or rather the soul of her priest. That’s when Satan pounced, so I had to give him a kicking, and then mum asked we to return Mrs Murphy’s soul to her body, before her body expired. Mum who is your mum? Mary is my mum, she’s everybody’s mum, she prefers to be called  ”mum” it’s  the highest title of all. Mikhail Mikhailovich started to cry, so Michael wiped his nose with his wings.

I wish I could be a father but being in the space program has put paid to that, I am a hero of Mother Russia, but my own wife cannot be a mother, we will never know the joy of children. Mikhail cried again, the angel gave him a huge hug, almost breaking the spaceman’s ribs and Mikhail’s face turned bright red due to lack of oxygen. A tear fell from the angel’s eye, it trickled down his face and splashed Mrs Murphy’s soul, this was enough for Mrs Murphy she was saying the Rosary in a nanosecond. Her body was dead by now, but at least she could pray for the spaceman.

Michael and Mikhail had some fresh fruit, bananas and grapes, washed down with more Stella Artois. Mikhail unburdened himself to the angel, all his hopes and dreams, being a spaceman was the last of them. Tim had told Mikhail about David Bowie and the two of them had put the face makeup on and sung the songs. Now Tim was gone and Mikhail missed him, but most of all Mikhail missed something he’d never have. Children. As a child Mikhail loved listening to stories, stories from all over Russia and everywhere else too, but then studying came along.

Saint Michael the Archangel has a secret, he loves stories too, he’s spent ages, literally Ages listening to stories from all over the world. So as they drunk their Stella Artois Michael told Mikhail some of the stories. First in Russian for the Russian stories, then he switched to Chinese for the Chinese stories, Indian for the Indian stories, and Japanese for the Japanese stories. Michael knew thousands of stories in told them all in all the native languages. The food and drink flowed, Paul Daniels really is a great magician, how he hid all of it in the space station ready to save a soul, a Russian spaceman’s soul we’ll never know, perhaps he’s just an angel.

How long would it take to tell tales from all over the world, as long as there is food and drink on the table there will always be tales, and this angel doesn’t follow Logic, only Love. In Earth time 50 years had passed, or was it just a dream? Michael and Mikhail hugged, this time Michael could not breathe and he turned red. Mikhail had been filled with Love, and food and drink thanks to maybe Paul Daniels, so he was a big Russian Bear once more.

You are Mikhail Mikhailovich a Spaceman who did not fall to earth, you are the Storyteller from Space, you are a “father” to billions of children, and to your wife you are the best husband in space and on earth who gave her seven children, angels love the number 7, Snow White really did exist you know, but that’s another story. Mikhail snored, he been dreaming hadn’t he.

Michael flew off into space, for decades he’d been talking to Mikhail, it was a coincidence he’d spotted Mikhail, he thanked God. As Michael looked at his watch, by which I mean the rotation of the stars in space, he realised he’d actually gone back in time by 2.9 nanoseconds. Einstein had been livid when he’d got to Heaven to discover that Time and Relativity was just one of God’s jokes.

Mrs Murphy’s soul was returned to her body, but her 50 years of prayers so that Mikhail could have a family had not been wasted, and as for her priest well that’s another story, Tears for a Butcher by Michael Casey to be exact, if God gives me the time to finish it.

The next night Mikhail said he had a story for all the Russian children, so he told them about the night the angel came to the space station. This was an instant hit all over Mother Russia, it was so funny too, though he had to explain who Paul Daniels was, they liked the story a lot, not a little bit. The Indians wanted to hear the story so could he tell them too, so he did but Mikhail told them in one of the major Indian languages, and as each child hear the story they hear it in the voice of their own grandfather. Japan was next and they were astounded too, not only did know their language but the accent was perfect, Mikhail was like a United Nations, his stories perfectly told demanded silence, followed by tears of joy.

Mikhail spent another month in space, each night he’d tell stories to the world’s children. He was out of this world literally and in all other ways. When it was time for him to return he was an international hero, for science and for story-telling. Putin himself said he drive him from the airport to the Kremlin for a reception. When Mikhail came down the steps from the plane his wife jumped into his arms, Putin was dressed as a chauffeur, the election was next month and he know good PR. The president as servant of the people.  Putin did have to close the privacy screen in the Zil because the spaceman started on creating his happy family on the back seat of the Zil limousine.

So Mikhail got what he wanted a big happy Russian family, was the angel right in guessing 7, no he was wrong, Mikhail and his wife only had 3 pregnancies. Three being Mrs Murphy’s favourite number, three sets of triples. Mikhail set up his own Utube station to tell stories to the world’s children, he called it You’ll Like It, a lot. Then his friend Putin suggested he should run for president, so that’s how a spaceman called Mikhail became the President of Russia, because an angel came acalling, twinkle, twinkle.        

   

from Syria to Columbia

from Syria to Columbia on my Wordpress

https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com

I have readers reading my stuff

in Arabic and Spanish

they can download from the site too

So thanks for reading my stuff

It remains my copyright.

Where in the world will I make my Breakout moment?

Or should I just run for Parliament, I could be Speaker

You get to sit down all day.

Order, Order

I'll have a pint of Stella Artois please, John.

And John don't forget to read#

Chapter 9, M.P. Married to a Person, Married to a People

which is my take on Elections

from The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

Madonna calling Portugal

Madonna  calling Portugal

I was up late last night, so I'm dazed and tired

The Tinnitus lately keeps me awake till Dawn anyway

So I thought I'd kill 2 birds with one stone

Anyways, just a thought

I read Maddona lives in Portugal

I always get Portuguese readers a lot

So if it's you Maddona, HELLO

I remember when you came out in the 80s when I was in my computer room

days, Duncan called you "Slut Rock" I imagine you won't like that, but it was

a niche title then. Nowadays the "look" over the "rock" has taken over.

DISCUSS

Feel free to name drop me as well

I am

 "Michael Casey the  fat silver haired writer in shades
       from Birmingham England"

you could even have it as a "SLOGAN" on your stuff

Be Good and Stay Happy always

Michael Casey

p.s. Duncan used to fall asleep on the night shift as he could not sleep during the day, we were sat at a bank of computer screens, the old fashioned ones, and he'd fall asleep and his head would fall forward and and bang against the screen, which woke him up. He had to give up the job eventually, that's over 35 years ago, maybe he joined a head banging rock band?