2020 Words (c) by Michael Casey

the story so far 2020 Words I've written this much in 4 months, 150 pages

I'll launch this by Christmas 2020,  when it should have doubled in size

this is all I can do, write silly stories. It keeps me happy, and readers in 80 countries the world over read my stuff. The Butcher The Baker and the Undertaker has even been read in  10 languages on the same day via my Wordpress, for as we all know Britain is A Nation of Shopkeepers, which was the original title.

2020 Words ©

By

Michael Casey

It’s 30^th Jan 2020 now as I begin my 20^th book, Brexit Day in the morning. I hope you enjoy this book as much as my other rubbish. I have readers in over 80 countries via my Wordpress and Blogger

And up to TEN separate Translations are being read, for my 1^st book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, on the same day. So my words do travel, but maybe only foreigners like me, should I have stayed in the EU? Ha Ha Ha, I have watched Politics as a Blood Sport for over 50 years now. I spent 20 years listening to BBC RADIO 4 before I started writing in 1987, so that is 33 years. So over 50 years in love with words, Sir Robin Day is no doubt to blame.

The Menu in my Head (c)

By  Michael Casey

Well I noticed today that I first started here on WordPress 10 years ago, which has been a busy period for me. I became a house husband and more of a full time writer, or any other W word you would like to call me. I also started to get PAIN, Arthritis, then post Quadruple Heart Bypass pain, and yes bore you all about it. I’ve even got a chest hernia, which 1% of heart op people get. But enough of that for now.

I launched my 19th book, The Final Cut of The 19th Hole the other day, which turned out to be the same  day as my dad’s Quing Ming day. So how did I get here, well I knew I could do something and stumbled into writing over 30 years ago now. And where do the  words come from? It’s like a menu in my head. I pick A20, or H34 and out plops a story or a poem or a chat. It’s simple really, I just add sauce as required. I’m a kind of old fashioned Juke Box, or  story machine. When I check my readers it’s nice to see which old piece you are all reading across the sites. Some bring back memories, others I have forgotten, can the girl in the take away remember everything?  It’s nice too to see your reaction to new stories.

What else can I do anyway with Tinnitus as my bed fellow, Tinnitus is neither a Roman slave nor a Korean dream, it’s just a horrid noise that does not stop, and seems worse at night. Sometimes me and Tinnitus are awake all night, but not having fun. I will launch into my 20th book soon, this will be the first piece in it. I hope you all enjoy the variety.

So what can you expect? God alone knows because I never know, it’s more fun for me  that way. I do wish I could write Tears for a Butcher,  it would be a 600 page stand alone sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker but then again I doubt if that will ever happen. But God is Good as my mum always said. So stick around in 2020 and see where I stumble.  I pray to God that Trump resigns, as he really is corrupt, he hides  everything,  and not out of modesty. And the news says NO WITNESSES, this is a sad day for USA, and folks are lazy and don’t bother to vote, so 25% of the population who have voted control what happens to the other 75%.  SO VOTE.

Ok enough of him. Always look on the Bright side of Life, as Monty Python sung, because if you let sadness get you it will bring you down. Just pause,  scream, shout, and get back on the  laughing rocking horse. That’s my only advice. Others say sex, drugs, rock and roll, I’d say 2 out of 3 ain’t bad. So forget the drugs always, just have an imagination, that’s all you need.

So can you prove you ARE a Writer? (c)

By Michael Casey

Well it’s nearly Midnight on 1st Feb 2020, and I want to write a bit before bedtime, and if I’m extra  tired I may sleep through my Tinnitus.  So what did I do today, I spoke to my man about hanging my curtains, then I realised old fashioned plastic tracking is in itself hard to track down. Everything is a Pole, but in the end I found what I wanted so I ordered that, then  my man can get up his ladder and install it. Then the neighbours won’t see me sat in the window at night working on my next 1,500,000 words.

So how can I prove I’m a Writer, for that’s what I tell folks I am. Well 1,500,000+ words and 2000 plus stories, now spread over 19 books, just go to Amazon and buy some. But you never do, but you do read my stuff for free here on WordPress and on Blogger. I’ve got through the 80 Countries barrier now, and up to TEN  Translations in one day of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker being read. My readers map is greater than the British Empire Map. So I tell  folks this via random emails in the vain hope that ZTE or anybody in the East will use my comic words to help teach English.

Ok, you’ve heard all that before. Do I have a Monet or was it a Mona Lisa on my wall? Do I have a fleet of fast cars? No I have a bus pass, and an old print in an old plastic bag my Yfronts came in. Do I have a fancy writing desk list Charles Dickens? Well I did think of splashing out on one, but in the end I have this white desk with black computer. As you’ve seen from my beautiful photos. Do I lean my chin on my head? Never that’s for Pretentious People, I just have my fat bum with a cushion underneath and me grinning like an idiot. I just hate all these posed people in poser land, so I go the opposite way, and what you see is what you get, as Derek Willins once remarked, in our outer office, the pub, maybe Easter 1998. Then then next year we the band of brothers were all scattered, I really was so lucky working with such a bunch, Barry, and Wooly and John G and JC, and many many more. I was the one locked up in the computer room in those days.

I did write a story called The Czech story the week after when I had returned from Czech, and it was then that everybody realised. Michael CAN WRITE, I wrote a page, then a page more, and sent it to Louise my friend on the 4th floor, and I was on 3rd, overlooking the Chinese quarter. Finally it was finished and it was passed around. People could read the pathos and comedy combined, and that was when I was confirmed as a Writer, but only to a select few in the office. So 10 years after I started, 20 years ago now, I was officially a Writer, in an unofficial way. None of them got to read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. But 7 years later Claire was more than happy to say I was a “lovely writer” as she read most of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. She really was kind to me, she looked like a biker chic with  tats, she was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Though if she disagrees with the description, she might give me a slap, though I rather we had cake and tea at Druckers in town by the cathedral.

So do you have to have some form of praise before you can call yourself a writer? NO. though praise is nice. You have to be honest with yourself till you realise, I can really write, and you are not lying to yourself. I once managed to speak to a radio producer called Mary at the BBC. By using her Christian name I got connected. Her advice was read more, so I looked at books and noticed where the punctuation was. As for reading technical books, I did not bother. I just worked out where to put the punctuation. And carried on. In my opinion, basic punctuation is enough. People don’t need to get lost in the sentence or paragraph. What is the point? Keep the story rolling, and don’t hide it, and don’t make the paragraphs so long people get tired or confused.

So that’s what I do, I even have been complimented on my paragraphing. Tell the story and let it flow, let it blossom let it grow, and yes I’m listening to Eric Clapton from 1974, that’s why that sentence slipped. It’s like a joke, don’t kill the punchline do, like some idiots who interrupt me while I speak, I have a style, it’s deliberate, so don’t interrupt, it’s well practised. I did speak to 100,000 people over my 3 years front of house at CPNEC Birmingham, a 4 star deluxe business hotel. So I do know what I’m doing. MIAOW

So its 00.22 on 020220 now so I’ll marry my words to the page and try not  to sneeze, a Historical reference for all you diggers of words. So am I a Writer, yes I am, though I’ll probably never make any money from it. And If I do the plan is to give most away to  PAIN relief, with that I’ll go to bed. Just pray for Health, the only thing worth having.

Inner Strength ©

By

Michael Casey

As ever I did not know what to write about, but today’s events forced this idea to the top, so this is what you get today. I never plan, though very occasionally I do, like for Tears for a Butcher ideas, but you’ve heard all that before. So today I’m going to talk about inner strength. I don’t choose the topics they choose me, which sounds stuck up my own rear end, and I was going to use the A word. But here’s what has percolated to the top, and me an instant coffee drinker.

My parents were incredibly strong, physically and mentally, Irish farming stock, so what do you expect, just the best from Kerry, the Kingdom. When mum died in 1996, dad said of her that she was as strong as a horse, high praise indeed from a Blacksmith. He nearly followed her just 8 bare weeks later, it’s all in Padre Pio and Me, which is on my site. However as he was strong as an Ox, he survived, and the rest you know if you’ve read Padre Pio and Me.

When on 11^th Nov 1977 when my life was trashed, unfairly, but that’s another story, I can remember my dad shaving in the kitchen sink, the bathroom upstairs was too cold, and we used our electric central heating sparingly. When God Made Time He Made Plenty Of It, dad explained, then I had 6 fallow months until I got into computers on the ground floor in 1978, that’s 42 years ago now. It was his 56^th Birthday so I remember that day forever.

I was lucky I had parents who loved me and a mother who could pray like the Devil, so to speak. Mum used to watch Dallas, and her pinny pocket would be jumping as she watched, she has a Rosary on the go as she watched JR. Later she’d go upstairs to say her prayers for an hour, I still have her battered Prayer Book stashed away somewhere, with Holy Pictures littering it, even prayers cut from newspapers within. So this is my Legacy, it’s been poured into me. When she died I did not shed a tear, she said no tears for years, so I obeyed her. Any Faith I have comes from her, it’s secondhand, though with such a teacher I’ve done well. She used to go to Mass daily at Saint Patricks, opposite Dudley Rd  hospital, of City as the now unglamorously call it. And yes she had 5 priests say the Funeral Mass.

Does this mean I’m Holy, no not at all, I can and will curse like a Blast Furnace Man, if the occasion arises, dad did start as a Blacksmith in Kerry and then spend 40 years at The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. You have to be tough to work there, 400 degrees, lose half a stone in sweat every day. So dad’s refrain to the idle rich on tv always was, did they sweat? BOLLOCKS. And other such words as the occasion demanded. But his kids went to Oxford and Cambridge, so “posh” folks could kiss his arse.

And no he did not behave like an oaf, he was a gentle gentle gentleman, who washed his hands in washing powder because the grit got the dirt from the furnace off. Mum called him soft, she would lash offenders with her tongue should the need arise. A perfect mix of ying and yang. Mum gave dad her £300 and he gave her 6 kids in return. I suppose I am the “failure”, 19 books, 1,530,000 plus Words, readers in 80 countries, and up to 10 Translations in one day being read from my Wordpress and Blogger. My map of the world is bigger than The British Empire one. But still no money, so if you judge by money, I am a failure.

However I never ever give up, did they give up on the Long March, or pushing the Nazi scum from Mother Russia, or getting to the Moon? No they did not, you never never give up, and yes The Pen is Mightier Than The Sword. So if I can persevere and thrive, so can you. If you read a pretentious self help book you may learn stuff, but experience is the best and harshest teacher. Just imagine me in red Lycra, skin tight with a feather duster, threatening to tickle you to death.

I just threw in that line to see if you have been paying attention. But the point, does there have to be a point? IS. Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England, is strange, as strange as British Humour. And the point is, that my Inner Strength is humour, humour will save you, as it has saved me. I’ll finish now as I want to watch the late news, and as I do so I remember my dad, as I can hear his echo, did they sweat, BOLLOCKS, they can kiss my arse. For I am after all a son of Kerry parents, and we are as good as ANYBODY. And so are YOU.

Thursday, 6 February 2020

Therapy and Totals

Over on Wordpress 8 languages and 7 countries reading my stuff

On Blogger Hong Kong and the Philippines are reading my rubbish

You are all most welcome as I listen to Crosby Still Nash

I've also supervised my small daughter build a book case for the corner of her

room, her reading tastes are very eclectic, I just buy them, so it's not me

reading them. She had a trip to a real book store and really enjoyed it,

 so I'll be financing that in future. Hudsons in Birmingham was really good,

maybe 40 years ago during my book buying era.

I cannot be very physically active due to the scar on my chest having a bulge

coming through it. To be fixed/operated on soon, I am one of the 1% who

 gets this post heart bypass "bonus".  I remembered building her dolls house,

when I was even fatter, prior to my heart op 5 years ago.

  Though I think I am heavier now, but less fat,

 I weight more than the  World Heavy Weight Boxing Champion,

 but I  don't have a scales any more.

 Decades of physical work means I have lots of muscle density. I also have a very strong grip after years of screwing  on mag tapes in the computer room, I  also have my very fast fists of fury. Just in case you are too cheeky. Though my running days are long over. I may write a story story tomorrow after I chase down my curtain man, then it will be curtains for my study.

So stay pure and keep on reading, message all your Chinese friends, let them all read my books as they are stuck in their home.

I pray for my Chinese family in Shanghai and all of China too, let this curse be lifted. The world needs China just as China needs the world.

Peace Happiness and Health to all of Our Land China

 

Just be Yourself, Gay, Straight or Any Which Way

 michaelgcasey  Uncategorized  07/02/2020 2 Minutes

Just be Yourself, Gay, Straight or Any Which Way (c)

By Michael Casey

As you all know I am a Gay Dad, which means you know about FASHION, as far as sex goes I ONLY ever look East, at women only. I do have Shanghai wife as you all know, presently stuck in Shanghai due to the virus situation, while I hold the fort back here. So Courage My China, all will be well, just Pray Hope and Don’t Worry. As for me, I’m not nice enough to be Gay, as a rule Gay people are nice. So I knew Shep Smith was Gay for years, he really Is a great News Guy, and today here on Tv a Brit came out, but he is so nice, he must be gay.

I know the Gay community may want to punch me for speaking like that, but my point is, as a rule Gay people are nice. The problem is in some Societies, Gay people are treated badly, or even murdered, which is WRONG, those Societies need to Grow Up, and be Tolerant. As a rule here in UK, we live and let live. Sure it’s not a Gay Paradise, but we are a great place for anybody to live. So if you are Gay, Straight, or Any Which Way, come here if the BASTARDS in your own country won’t leave you alone. I could go down my usual Comedy Rabbithole now but I won’t not today anyway.

I’ll just finish with  a film Tip, watch  Stardust the Fantasy film, where De Nero is a Pirate Captain, who is secretly Gay, but has a hard man front. When his secret is revealed, the hard man crew, stand by him, and say we always knew you were a PUFF, or other such words, but they still and will always love him their Captain. So let’s all love our Captains, and spit on the ignorant  “cavemen”, Michael Casey never nice enough to be really gay, Just a Gay Dad, fashion expert.

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2020 Skill Set (c)

By

Michael Casey

Ok, so tomorrow is another day, and God I really know the meaning of that at the moment. So what’s this got to do with skills? Well you never know how your Yellow Brick Road life leads you, and what Rolling Stone material sticks to your shoes. The used to say have a boring a predictable CV, but for some jobs they like “Oddballs”, yes you’ve guested it I’m going to work at No.10 for Boris.

I did have my working life in reverse, as my lawyer sister in law observed, as she stopped me from having 3rds or was it 4ths at her house. I’ve worked in computers when people used to be impressed by the very notion, 40 plus years ago. I’ve carried tons of heavy paper, continuous stuff not the 500 page A4 stuff you are used to, that’s for girls. Though if Ang is reading this, she’ll say crawl away out the way, let a Woman deal with it, but that’s another story. Paper is heavy.

I’ve been a Trainee Betting shop manager, a Life Insurance Underwriter,  non medical. A lost adjuster note taker. Hotel General Manager, that’s what guests thought, though in reality I did 10 other role almost daily. You learn a hell of a lot in a hotel, the job, the guests, the people. Best job I ever had, though it was the hardest work physically. My chest grew 2 inches and my neck 1 inch, due to the carrying and non-stop talking for 3 years. I only gave it up because the hotel went one step too far regarding my shifts, so I wouldn’t see  my toddlers as much, so I left that job.

One moment I’d be cleaning toilets with Vicky, then I’d put my jacket back on and straighten my tie and be holding my own talking to millionaires, it was a business hotel after all. Great fun and very hard work, but I loved it. I had tried out the new uniform, which actually fitted me, instead of my own DIY suit, that’s why folks thought I was the General Manager, I did have the looks then too. But then I left, 15 years ago now.

Who you mix with, and what you pick up does add to your skill set. I’ve always watched workmen, 50 to 55 years worth, so I can see their skill and know how to do such and such a job. But obviously not be able to do it myself. So when I hear BS, I just smile, if only inwardly. Me and Roger used to hear a fair bit of BS, then Roger would turn to me and whisper BS.

So I’ve had all my working life, adding to my knowledge, I am heavier than I look, both in intellect and weight, I was 120kilos yesterday fully clothed, the shop assistant in the store insisted I keep my clothes on. I could have Life Posed on the counter for her, me and my quadruple heart bypass scars, up my chest and down both legs, they harvest your veins after all.

If you listen actively to Radio for 50 years you can learn a lot too, I don’t just mean the Chart Show, though my dance steps are impressive, BBC Radio4, the best  radio station in the world, period, as the Americans say. All your Life at every moment you are growing and learning, not directly, but subliminally. Then when the occasion arises you can jump into action. You did First Aid training, on the Annie doll, so save a life in the street. In my brother’s case he saved our dad’s life long enough to get dad to hospital. Though 8 bare weeks  earlier he was not so lucky, as mum died in his arms as he held her in the marriage bed, with dad looking on.

So life goes on and you learn stuff, or you lie on a CV, until a Czech trucker arrives at the factory and your Czech does not exist, the Trumps are ½ Czech you know. As for me I learnt French and Spanish at school, but never Chinese, though my kids are bilingual, Shanghai wife and all that. Though now my small daughter says she hears more Korean than anything as I watch all my Kdramas on tv.

So life goes on and you accumulate knowledge, or 50 years worth of tv and radio news, one of my addictions. My daughter did a quiz and only she knew the answers because, she heard it all from me and the BBC. The other teenagers looked at hear in disbelief, who is Robin Day anyway? As my life has gone on, and could have ended  too, I’ve morphed into  a writer, I try and be humorous but on other occasions you get what you are getting today.

So 33 years ago I started writing, I can remember writing in pencil on paper, now its direct Brain to Screen and nothing in between. Leap Years Day 1988 was when I first finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, so in 2 weeks or so it’s another Leap Year, I  forgot we were having one, so 2020 Leap Year’s Day means its 32 years old. Then you have the other 18books, all on Amazon. I also have stuff on my sites, just in case I die, so at least somebody reads my rubbish.

All in all what does this mean, as I have to finish as I’m expecting a man at my door soon, it means I may look like a stupid fat silly man with brilliant silver hair, ok dandruff man 2020. However I have lived a life, and I did it my way, and I always analyse even if at the moment you think you have won, for I will come back and bite you on the bum. Which may be a kinky way to start a relationship, but whatever gets you through the night, enjoy it and do it.

The Courage to Sing (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s 16^th Feb now, and the Red Shoe’s Ballet at the Birmingham Hippodrome was great, the music induced a tear. Today the pain monster in my back/hips is inducing near tears, and loads of pain. That’s the sine curve of pain, totally random pain, on randomly chosen parts of my body. As I sit here in my chair, I wanted to write something new, and not just post a repeat, and as Celine Dion started to sing, the choice of subject rose its head from the barricades of pain.

You do have to have courage to sing, so as Les Mis comes to both our minds, you can start singing that to yourself, as I talk to you, above Celine’s voice. To sing is to doubly praise as Saint Cecilia says, though in S&G’s song was Cecilia a bad girlfriend or worse? Then Cecilia broke hearts, if you can remember the song. A good song sung well can break hearts, can touch as much as the music from The Red Shoes touched me yesterday. Or in a play, you can shed tears as the play unfolds. We saw the theatre version of The Lovely Bones recently and I was shocked to by core by the performance and sat with tears falling, I had forgotten the film version, so I was not prepared.

So Art, can and does touch the parts that only some lagers do. If you have  a pint or three you will be inclined to sing, but otherwise you have to have a good spirit before you can sing. You cannot sing when you are sad or dealing with a crisis, just as I cannot write if I’m sad, or yet another USA shooting horror overwhelms us all, nobody wants to sing at a funeral.

Yes great songs can be sung at at funeral, and the Lazarus reading usually read at funerals is very touching, Jesus wept. Generally to sing you have to  be happy. If you are happy and you know it clap your hands, if you are happy and you know it stamp your feet, and so on as the song goes. Songs are ways to defy tyranny, they unite and bind us, from union songs, to slave songs and all manner of songs, from sea shanties to songs of war.  To rallying cries and more, from I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy to Over There to the Yanks are coming, or here in Britain We’ll Meet Again.

But Out of the Depths I Cry to Thee Lord, may be the start, when we are flat on our back, when we are crawling like worms in the dirt, when there is no hope, when we are battered and broken, and beaten. By life, by lack of hope, when we are at the end of our rope,, when we might be tempted to use a rope. Then a song, a noise, a hum, a voice might cut through our darkness and give a glimmer of hope, somebody or something offers a rope ladder out of our pit of despair. Then the only way is up, just like the song from years ago.

We have the courage to begin to sing, to hold that hand that reaches down to the gutter, and lets us look at the stars, Oscar or David, or whoever it is. We have the courage to sing, it can be anything, away in a manger, if it is Christmas, or a rugby song, a spiritual, or a really obscene song, it does not matter. The point is it lifts us up, there is a song that we love and whenever we hear it we feel better. My favourite song is The Windmills of Your Mind, from the 1968 Thomas Crown Affair. I just love it, and if you’ve read some of my 1,500,000 plus words you can understand. I was Sancho Panza and my master did tilt at windmills after all.

A song is a shock to the heart, it makes us skip a beat, or kick starts our emotions, our feelings, if we have no feelings then we are dead already. So a song, and being able to sing is evidence of life and hope and love. We sing to our children to reassure them, to keep the bedbugs away, or whatever. It brings joy and happiness to them. We sing in the darkness as we wait for the power to come back on. To sing is to have a heartbeat, they say you should keep on talking to a coma victim. But you should also sing to yourself to whistle while you work.

I have music surrounding me all my life, and now with Tinnitus coming out  to play and attack me for 18 months and more, music and song is so important. In the dark of the night I have no Cecilia, just music playing till exhaustion gets me, then I sleep. You can make up your own Cecilia references. I hope you recognise that when you are down and nearly out, you do need a bridge over troubled water. And that bridge is song, a song will inspire, and ease your weary bones, it will come on baby light your fire, just little little embers being blown in the wind, but it is the answer.

So sing to somebody, have a sing song, whistle while you work, be the sparrow singing in your family, in your neighborhood. Then rejoice rejoice Emmanuel, because you have learnt to  love again. The shadows of sorrow and pain have been banished, by a simple song of sixpence.

Weather Vane ©

By

Michael Casey

Now, Storm Dennis has been a Menace, just like the kids cartoon of the same name, our 2^nd storm in as many weeks. So after I ventured out past the barricades, Virgin Media are digging up the pavement outside, I sit here and think what shall I write about, sorry talk about, today. Then Weather Vane comes to mind, though I may not actually talk about the weather, I’ll leave that to pundits, I hope I’ll write something more interesting and better, though you’ll be the judge, as ever. So Settle Down Now, as an old comedian used to say, as Eric Clapton sings for me as I talk to you. Clapton lounge singer, though I did meet him once, but I’ll save that story.

Clapton is drowning in a river of tears. We all can when events overwhelm you, when bureaucrats put paper before people, you’ve all had your own battles, but what I want to talk about today is how do you overcome them. Events blow, and we are that battered Weather Vane on the roof, we spin and shake and may almost be blown away from our place on the roof, on the committee, in the family, at work or anywhere, or even amongst safe old fashioned church politics.

So how do we survive, we may pray, pray like crazy, or just have a good old session with the local ride, in all senses of the word. Or we visit Nice Nelly, who is such a good listener, she is blind but she can see far better than authority. She is also very very fat, and her dog Dougal too. How do you reward a blind lady? You give her food, the very best of food, and even arrange for a sighted cleaner to come twice a week. Nelly listens, she does not miss a heart beat, her sightless eyes, and wonderful ears, as good as any dogs, listen and dissect. She’ll solve your problem, she is patient and kind, and has all the time in the world. She used to be a Litigator in another life but a random act of violence took her sight away. But now though sightless she feels God has given her the chance to do something useful with her life. She is a listener, and thanks God for the opportunity to be of use to the world. Before she used to extract blood from a stone, for profit. But now she extracts Love, Hope and Charity, and spreads it all around. She is better than any therapist.

We all have such a person somewhere in our lives, it may be a friend, a relative, or a random stranger on a bus, paths cross and wisdom is revealed, and you never meet that stranger again. Was it an Angel, an angel with a dirty face, a smelly fat silver haired man in shades on the bus to Birmingham? Was it the man or young girl you thought would rob you in the dark. But a big smile shone out of the darkness, in every sense of the word and saved you, saved you from stepping into a giant puddle, and saved you from your dilemma.

Life blows us, sometimes there is a gentle breeze on our face on a summer day, sometimes there is blinding freezing hail cutting our face as we walk uphill home from work. The weather vane spins, but with hope, friends and love we get back to our True North. So what I’m trying to say is that, you’ll be swamped and even almost Water Boarded by Life, but you can and will survive. You don’t have to be a Hero or Legend, two very over used and over rated words, no you just soldier on quietly. Dig out your own Nice Nelly, and cherish her and her dog. Simple unassuming ordinary or even boring people are the extraordinary people in this life, and I’ve been very lucky indeed to meet some in my life.

Let the wind blow, but know this my mother used to Bless the Wind and tell it to be calm. Just as some other guy you may have heard of used to do when he was out fishing with his mates. The storm may batter the weather vane, but there is only one way up. 

The Navvy (c)

By

Michael Casey

Now as Donald Trump flies off to India I was thinking what to talk about today, then as I looked out the window the answer lay there. The Navvy, you see Virgin Media are laying cable everywhere, its suppose to be the fastest and the best, according  to the reviews. Sadly out of my price range, but if you are reading this Richard, feel free to give me the whole package for free, and I'll thank you in pectore if I spelt that right. But obviously that'll never happen, not unless it's him in American Samoa who is reading me. Though it's probably a desk clerk bored with porn who is reading me.

Now a Navvy is a misspelling of Navy, no Donald it is not, word blindness is a bad thing, it slows you down, you get tenses wrong, P for B and so on, and yes I do all that, but maybe it's because I'm too fast. So let's hold hands Donald and tip toe through the Tulips, just watch of for Tiny Tim, you know the boy from a Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, the British Writer who pees all over Twain, leaving his Mark on him. But enough of the friendly Literary Rivalry. Charles is best period as you say over there, though over here a period is well, a period.

Now as you also know a Navvy was/ is the guy who digs things, not the fab and groovy, hey man what was in this cigarette, or fag as we say over here in England, not that kind of “dig” but the dig as in digging, not to be confused with Mick Diggings who used to live in Cromane Kerry if memory serves. I hope you are keeping notes Donald, didn't Kim  give you a souvenir, no not that Kim of the curves Kim, but the short fat and bad haircut rocket man Kim, before you became BFFs and pen friends. Anyway back to Digging. The Irish and the Chinese made America, and they still look after America. The Irish are the Cops, and the Chinese make everything sold in America, such as the iphone.

The Irish and the Chinese laid America, by which I mean they laid the railroad tracks, any other  kind of laying, must be something to do with eggs. One of the streets where I live is named after the chicken farm that used to be there 100 years ago. Yes it's called Chicken Lickin Street, nowadays we have roads named after the Brewery that used to be there. I used to hop, as I could smell the hops, as I went down the hill, and yes it's been all down hill since then I can hear you exclaim, you are so cruel, at least Donald make such remarks, maybe because he thinks this is Abbot and Costello, but no it's Gerald Wiley, go google NSA.

So the Irish Navvy and the Chinese Navvy linked America from coast to coast by building the Railroads. And AMTRAK was born so to speak. I did have an Uncle, no not the man from UNCLE, by my mother's brother who worked for Amtrak in Boston, his son is a Cop there, he's Irish or son of Irish, so obviously he's a Cop. If he were Chinese then he'd be a business man or run a restaurant, or run a factory building iPhones. Though the Chinese connection is this side of the Atlantic via my Shanghai wife. I hope you are keeping up with all this Donald, or we'll get Kim to spank you with a rolled copy of the failing Washington Post, by Kim I mean the curvy Kim, though I'm sure your BBF would jump at the chance.

As the railroad advanced people died, so they were buried at the rail side, no doubt Mark Twain would comment, and curse Dickens for being on the train behind, touring Dickens was a great big hit back then. Before TED talks were invented, and how did Roosevelt persuade a bear to talk I just do not know, but it ended in a film, but maybe Donald knows more about film than I. He was in Home Alone, after all, well apart from the Canadian version.

Early photos captured the back breaking toil of the Irish and the Chinese, without them Casey Jones would not even have had a job, and no he's no relative of mine,  Casey is my surname, my family name. There is a Genesis song on the We Can't Dance album about Navvies. And remember too, who dug the Canals in England 100s of years ago, they were the motorways of their time. I'll pause now for Movelat  painkiller gel, which was not invented back then, so no doubt the Chinese massage was the best alternative back then.

Buy shares in Movelat Gel, it works fast and stops me from screaming in pain, I know it's you the readers who are in the most pain, from listening to me. You are so cruel. I was going to offer you a cup of tea and biscuits, and no that's not a metaphor, what kind of boy do you think I am? I did give my navvies outside tea and biscuits, and a couple of apples from Portugal too, as they  dug the Virgin Media trench, I know how hard they work, my dad used to sweat for 10 to 16 hours, if he got overtime in the steel works, The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. Years later Betty who taught  my girls piano revealed she used to teach in the Primary School in the same road. Small world, and obviously you couldn't put a piano in front of a furnace, that would be ridiculous.

So Navvies come in all shapes and sizes and are ridiculously strong, they have to be, you and me would just drop down dead if we tried to do their job, so when you get the new superduppa  Virgin Media, spare a thought for the navvy who brought it to you. So I'm going to finish now as my belly needs feeding, I heard that Trump, it looks overfed already, you are such a card, and I'm not talking about your golf score card. Just spare a thought for the navvy as you ride the rails, without them, you'd be stuck at home with your mother-in-law all. You couldn't go and visit the ballet, or the bowling alley, and all the other bs there are, so spare a thought and say a prayer for some soul buried there by the tracks. Irish and Chinese we salute you.

Now if you think this piece is too Robin Williams, then really it's more Robin, Batman's boyfriend or is it boy and friend, and Williams, Andy Williams, so as I moon over a river, I'll say a pray too as Internet Mass is next for me.

Simple Sarah (c)

By

Michael Casey

Simple Sarah, was well simple, or so folks thought, in fact she used to teach languages, very strange languages to very strange men. They all respected her, she used to slap their knuckles with a plastic ruler if they made any mistakes. She was no ordinary ESOL English teacher, but in reverse if you know what I mean. She was the best, the very best in her field. When she announced she was to retire early, while there was still some life in the old dog, everybody at the “school” was sad. You’ll miss the bitch, or Miss Bitch, I know what you call me behind my back. Then she laughed like a drain, and everybody joined in. She always told them after slapping knuckles with a ruler, one day you’ll thank me. And indeed they did, indeed they did.

They didn’t give her a clock as a leaving present, they gave her a watch and a parrot. As she had told them all that Parrot Fashion was the only way to be when speaking a language. She also  told them a friend of hers used to own a cafe and he had a parrot that always said “shut the bleeding door” and yes that’s a true story, because this writer’s dad used to go there on High Street Smethwick many years ago.  So Simple Sarah retired early, with a parrot and a Mickey Mouse watch, though it was no ordinary Mickey Mouse watch.

So Simple Sarah settled into living in her Agatha Raison style village. Soon she knew everybody and she knew everything, she cycled everywhere with an old grocer’s bicycle with it’s basket at the front. Simple Sarah was a big strong girl, in fact she once had a French student in her class, he complained about being hit with a ruler, so she slapped his face so hard it was red for an hour. She believed in discipline, and so did her students. The French man never complained after that, in fact a year later he returned with a gift of wine and cheese. All he said was, you saved my life, and went away with a tear in his eye.

So Simple Sarah soon became the village gossip par excellent, she knew things only your priest or doctor should or could know. If you were sick, or needed cheering up she was there. A cheerful chat, disgusting really disgusting jokes, that you’d need confession after hearing them. Or a kiss and a hug, and a gift of jam left at your door. She had a friend called Mrs Douglas who made cake so a cake made with love from Mrs Douglas would find it’s way to you. Carried in a basket in front of the bicycle, Simple Sarah really was the best, simple the best, better than all the rest. Flowers were grown in her garden and shared with love. Simple Sarah had green fingers up to her elbow, she received seeds in the post from her “boys” as she called them fondly, even if they called her “Miss Bitch”, she laughed at the memory.

Simple Sarah loved her life, her retirement, she could keep a secret too, so she was the confessor to all, she could easily have put the priest out of business. But she did not, she was a glue, a form or chattering cement  that bound the street as other women do all over the world do. Now when one day Sarah was not seen at the post office everybody assumed she was some place else. But she was not, she had in fact fallen down the stairs, carrying too many books and her mug of Horlicks.

There was a Frenchman in the post office, he wanted to buy a plastic ruler, he was  the very same Frenchman, all the girls swooned. He was hot, so very very hot, and yes he even had a moustache and a battered  beret with a Lourdes badge on. Then everybody pointed to the sky, there was a parrot flying overhead, it had something in it’s claws, it was a watch. It was Simple Sarah’s, she had told them all to call her simply Sarah, or Simple Sarah and had laughed when she first met them all. Hence Simple Sarah, and now the parrot was carrying her watch.

The Frenchman looked up, Miss Bitch he exclaimed, he recognised both parrot and the watch. Everybody in the post office gave him a filthy look, such language and to speak of the angelic Simple Sarah in such a way. The Frenchman ran outside and spoke in a foreign language, the parrot immediately descended and perched on his shoulder. The Frenchman looked at the watch, he pressed the special button immediately. Help will Come, Help with Come but this was not Narnia this was a little English village, near Herford.

The Frenchman spoke into his phone again in a very strange language, look after the parrot he commanded, and he was so very commanding, the French as so very hot, hot hot. All the post office ladies were aquiver. The rescuers will come, just tell them Jacques Cousteau has gone ahead, and then he raced through field in a direct attack, or should I say save. What’s going on, and why is Simple Sarah’s parrot here. Then the ladies looked at the Mickey Mouse watch, on the back was an inscription, from those who dare to speak.

They didn’t quiet understand what it all meant, but 3 military helicopters overhead and quad bikers swarming did give a little indication. Simple Sarah used to teach strange languages to even stranger men, and yes your life could depend on it, so you did have to speak just like a parrot. Or something deadlier than a ruler might hit you. And why was the Frenchman call Jacques Cousteau? Because he enjoyed a gentle paddle in water, if I explained any more somebody  might have to kill you, if you’ve read the first story in The Final Cut of  the 19^th Hole that might explain it to you, ok enough.

So Simple Sarah was saved and a helicopter took her to a Military hospital, as it was the closest, and they do look after their own after all. Though Birmingham’s QE  does look after many military too, and military nurses work there, as this writer can testify. All was revealed, well almost, Simple Sarah was a linguist, was it 15 languages she spoke, and they were the kind of languages “naughty boys” as she called her boys might need when they were out for a Friday night’s mischief. And yes that’s a metaphor.

All the post office’s supply of plastic rulers were bought up, the “naught boys” did have a sense of humour after all. So a vase of wine with plastic rulers sticking out of it like flowers  was placed by her bed in hospital. They did give her a very long straw as well.

Saturday, 29 February 2020

How's the past 32 years been for you?

as you know today marks 32nd anniversary of

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

I finished it 32 years ago today on Leap Year's Day 29th Feb 1988

It has been downloaded thousands of times for free

from my Wordpress, in many languages

My original English you can buy on Amazon

So how has the past 32 years treated you?

Me, I've experiences many many horrors and bucket loads

of pain, you've seen me and my bucket in photos

But I refuse to let that dissuade me

YOU  MUST CARE ON, AND START  OVER

Or you are dead in the spirit

Yes I moan and bitch, but if you've had my past 32 years

I'd like to see how you survived or would you have thrown

in the towel in many many ways

I'm very very lucky as I had great parents

and a great family to support me through the horrible times

and there have been too many

But the thing is I just never give up

Because I has a faith poured into me, I am just a cup

and I had love too poured into me, I am still a cup

I am very lucky I had two great girls, two daughters

now teenagers, forgive the old photos I post

So I never give up, even when racked with pain

so far all pain passes, even if it is like a thief in the night

and makes me want to scream, and sometimes I do scream

Writing is a focus, it may drive you guys mad, or  bore you all

but for me it's almost like a prayer, it gives me hope and a focus

to my life, when pain is upon me

No I'm not in pain all of the time, just enough of the time to

call it chronic pain.

So after 32 years there are 19 books now, 2 of which are omnibuses

I can say at the end of my days, at least I left something behind,

my legacy to mankind, which lives here on Blogger and Wordpress

and Amazon too, if any of you bothered to buy, and pay this writer.

My face hasn't changed much all these years, though my hair is far

whiter, and I have scars on my chest and both legs post unplanned

 quadruple heart bypass. Never mind any other metaphorical scars.

If God were to give me  my health back I'd marry again, a Korean catholic

girl and have 4 more children, and live till I was 100. 

 We could have a Kpop band or a martial arts school.

 And grow older all pampered by my 6 kids in

total. And if I actually made any money as I write the next 19 books,

 I'd donate 50% to Pain Relief, rising to 90% to Pain Relief

But sadly Yoona or anybody similar doesn't live anywhere near me in

Birmingham, & I'm not humble enough to receive more Blessings from God

So that's about it from my 1st 32 years of "professional" writing, because once I finished The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

that's when I started to call myself a WRITER,

 though you may choose another W word

such as Wa, Waiter.

Michael MANUEL Casey he's from BIRMINGHAM

As I look out my window again ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s 1^st March now, just to aid all you archaeologists of my words, am I that vain or conceited, or do I just have a sense of humour, just. I was playing with the font style a moment ago, this is a very big deal if you are a writer. As important as your makeup if you are a girl, or me on a Friday night when I dress in drag. Well I have to look my best or the bouncers won’t let me in, besides girls have more fun, so I dress as a girl.

Again I haven’t a clue what to write about, Sam Smith is singing behind me, I just wish he’d sweep up and wash the dishes, he’s really good at that. But he just keeps on singing behind me, who does he think he is? James Bond in his slim suit, now that I stopped him from eating all my bread and cheese. I just had to let Totoro our cat back in, so there was a dramatic pause in the writing, I also had a play with my fonts, which could be a writer’s metaphor, but in reality it means what it says.

Yes I’m chilling today, like sitting on a roundabout in the park, slowly looking about me and wondering which way I shall go, or shall I suddenly leap off and go to the sweet shop. The rain comes down so that decides everything for me. As I’ve just mentioned park and roundabout a story from 50 years ago comes by. We were all in the park, it must have been the Summer of 69, to name a song title.  My brother wondered what was that in the distance being blown around. Somebody jumped, it was a £20 note I seem to remember, whatever size note it was, 50 years ago that was an enormous amount. Somebody had lost it, but we found it.

So we all dashed back to the sweet shop on the Dudley Rd, was it called Jennings, or was that the other sweet shop? We all crammed in, me my brother, one of the many McNalleys and maybe 3 more. It’s my Birthday said McNalley and produced the note, so boxes of chocolate galore were bought, McNalley was confident he was already 6 feet tall, as was my brother, both early sprouters. 30 years later I met McNalley again, I was working in CPNEC Birmingham and he was a guest, now a businessman I believe.

I paused again, nothing to do with the cat, I went to Internet Mass, in Belfast today. I get to “travel”  to Mass, its easier than up and down our hill with my aches and pains and a hard bench for my soft behind. That was yesterday by the way, as a day and a night have passed before I resume amusing you, or not. I was just at the store and the kid was looking the vegetables, so I asked was he praying to them. He replied who would pray to vegetables, so I told him vegetarians would. Then he asked was I a vegetarian, so I said look at me do I look like a Vegetarian. I’m heavier than Tyson Fury I continued, but he can fight the kid in the store said. So I said so could I, I’d spit in Fury’s eye, then kick him. Though I’m not very fast at running away. The kid must have thought he’d given up a place at MiT, just to suffer “the fat silver haired writer in shades” How shopworkers suffer, and it’s me who make them suffer the most. But they can always read my play Shoplife, as somebody Japanese is doing so, right now. Or Still Alive 2015, as a Korean is doing so right now too.

This is a hobby of mine, bewildering the staff in the store, but Harvey is kind, he always says hello as he stands at the door. All I really desire is an escalator or moving pavement installed up the hill, then it’d be great. Though if Harvey was the other Harvey then I could sit side saddle behind him on his horse, that’d be a Victory. At this point any USA readers will have to research the references, but it’ll be good for your  soul. Speaking of Soul, as I watch the Hunters on tv I’m learning a tiny bit about Jewish culture, and a Rabbi’s saying. Basically perspective changes everything, and the more you know the more your eyes are opened.

As for Seoul  they seem to like my writing, though not as much as I like Kdrama, but it’s good for my ego to see the world, or planet or globe as trendy people call the “world” being shaded in as my words spread like spilt coffee from my mug. So at this point I need to refill my mug and fill my belly too, so that’s your lot, I was thinking with this virus thing, we need a world day of prayer. Then when I googled World Day of Prayer is actually due anyway, this Friday on 6^th March 2020. So whatever Faith you have or none at all, or even if you worship vegetables, or just your French Fries, do say a prayer for the world on Friday, or at any time.

Is Twitter worth my spit ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I’ve stumbled into Twitter again, only because of Tinnitus my Roman slave who shares my bed, till exhausted I fall asleep with a smile on my face, as for Tinnitus he is beaten or is Tinnitus a she or an it, or a  they if you want to be totally PC. Well Tinnitus is knackered. For foreign readers this might really confuse. But if you did Latin at school it might help, or have an old grannie who keeps on saying, What? Or Speak up, you know I have hiss in my ear. And yes HISS, nothing to do with grandpa’s leaky waterworks in her ear.

So I was in bed, hissing Tinnitus in my ear, so as I’m awake I play with my phone. Which led to me thinking why not Twitter Trump. So I pressed a few buttons and I was on Twitter. I did have a go a few years ago, but found it exhausting fun, not very productive. Writing a story is better use of my time. Twitter then was too much like flogging Tinnitus, and now I’ve returned I hope I might just direct folks to my sites where they can read my rubbish. But they will join readers in 80 Countries. Though they might prefer to flog their own Tinnitus, or just play with their Twitters, if they carry on like that they’d be both exhausted and blind, they should listen to Brown Own in the Guides after all, or they’d need a guide dog.

But back to the plot, I trolled Trump, but he never replied, I think he’s planning on Nuking the West Coast to save it from this virus. Just like Lex Luthor in Superman, is he buying up Nevada as we speak? Or using them as Lab Rats for 2 month ready vaccine, Seattle doesn’t vote for him anyway. If this virus is the new Black Death, then USA will have a Civil, an very uncivil Civil War, as everybody has a gun, 300 million of them in civilian hands alone. It’s my right to cough and spew, so (*&&* you, as they load up. Plenty to Twitter about there.

Over here I’ve been reading the Press, all the Powers needed just in case, BUT SUNSET CLAUSES MUST BE INSERTED, or our next Dear Leader could be a very nasty leader. But at least the trains will run on time, because there will be no passengers. The thing with Twitter it’s very ping and pong, and nobody thinks, or so it seems when I looked at it a few years ago. Everybody wants oven ready microwaved Opinion, which may remind you of our Election just gone, there’s not enough space to develop a theme. It’s like kids in the playground.

Silly photos rule, so obviously I’ve added my own in an attempt to direct people to my Words. But Writing or Broadcasting is Talking to Yourself, and Twitter is painting on walls, Graffiti, or even peeing up a wall. As kids we’d see who could pee the highest up the outside bog wall, and high praise indeed if you could actually pee over the wall. Is Twitter just like that, I don’t know what the female equivalent is, there’s a discussion to be had over a drink on a Friday night. Or you could have a hashtag for it *Peeingoverthewall I don’t even have a hash on this keyboard, # I just found it, #peeingoverthewall

So is that the sum total of the debate. Then of course you have Politicians all Tweeting, as if we want to hear their Drivel, whatever happened to a Statement that actually said something. It’s too much people joining in and piling in, as if they’d be the odd one out because they did not comment, and they’d be castrated if they did not comment.

Michael Casey did not comment of the fallen leaves blocking the drain, for 5 minutes, before a Hero, a True Legend, of a caretaker, or his own wife or mistress or bit of stuff or whatever, or just neighbour, unblocked a drain. We have melodrama because of what? 2 minutes delay for something inconsequential. And then you have the ping pong played out, on the merits of cleaning drains etc. Have people got nothing better to do. We have nonentities being paraded as heroes, and why? Because of Twitter.

Real heroes, the caretaker who does care and look after his school in all weathers, and the crossing lady, and you can add those you know to the list, the real list, they aren’t noticed by Twitter, or anybody or anything.

But I’ve twittered on enough, use Media to the best effect. But go deeper and find out facts, not more and more bite size, pieces of vacuous rubbish. Yes, I’m trying to get you to think, and think for yourself, Follow Nobody, just be your own Leader. Or we’ll have more “leaders” like Trump, who’ll let the Vultures eat us.

Un PC Political Comedy ©

By

Michael Casey

Here in UK, Labour lost our Christmas Election, because the Labour leader looked like a tramp, and workers voted for the brainy Toff  instead because they felt he was one of them, he was London Mayor twice as well. They also did not like our Political Classes who had ignored their vote for 3 years. In a nutshell that’s it.

Over in America, in USA you have a selfish egotist billionaire as President because he won the Electoral College, not the popular vote. A President who banned film and video and copied Kim in North Korea, by insisting only pen and paper were allowed. Because he was recorded a day or so previously being told off like a naughty ignorant child by CDC DOCTOR and expert in the field who explained it in 4th Grade style for the President. So the President more concerned for Optics than Protecting the People which he swore to do at his Inauguration, banned recording devices. Though this may have gone unnoticed what with Super Tuesday.

Yet some people still think Trump is King, which is what Trump believes in his own imagination, as he folds his arms around himself in an effort to control his temper. How many times is he hugging himself, just watch the pictures, sorry you cannot do that, or has he allowed cameras back into the White House.

So what will dislodge him, we need to use PC, Political Laxative, I know I said PC, but if you use the laxative then you will get the C, in PC, need I explain more. If Mel Brooks wrote Political Adverts what would he do? Charlie Chaplin made a film,The Great Dictator, perhaps somebody at SNL is doing so already. Perhaps I should give Mike Bloomberg a few tips, now that he has taken my advice via twitter to him, he’s going to be a supporter, because he’s a big man. Unlike a Big Man who is actually a little man, can you guess who, boys and girls. This might turn into a Panto, or Pantomime, which is British comedy slapstick theatre for the Christmas season. Go google and watch one, you will never never never be the same again. Have I just given Broadway an idea? You could just produce my play Shoplife, but I digress.

So lets say this is a Pantomime, or Political Cartoon advertising. People bore with attack ads, they won’t remember the FACTS, or they may not even watch them, because its FAKE NEWS. However if the show in 60seconds or half that is FUNNY. Then they’ll LAUGH, and come back to see it again and again, like Rocky Horror show, or better still my play Shoplife which was actually accepted for Production, but I digress.

So where do I begin boys and girls? You have a man coming down an escalator, singing Hello Dolly, in drag. I suppose I’ll have to give up this if I run for President. The drag artist rips off the dress to reveal himself in a suit with a very long red tie, touching the floor, it’s our Donald.

Run that commercial over and over, and put it on Facebook and Utube and Billboards.

You have a multitude of dancers in skin tight tops, with numbers on 1 to 17 maybe or more and more and more who appear, and disappear as cheques are passed out. Cartoon this or live action this.

Have a series of buildings going up, and falling down like puppets on a string. Have the Donald with the enormous tie, skip backward and forward trying to distract attention as buildings fall and rise again. The buildings could be in the shape of vampires rising from the dead.

Have Donald skip around banks, with doors slammed in his face. All with great Disco music being played. These are little snapshots that’ll make people laugh and watch over and over again. So in 30 seconds to 1 minute you show the real deal. No need for an hour on CNN or MSCBC showing the reality. You show it quick, and rock him and mock him.

Mel Brooks did it so well in the Producers, and the never version is great too. So this kind of humour cuts to the core. And you can keep it rolling, or bring out a new one twice a week, to keep momentum up. Donald is great at misdirection, and the USA audience has a very low attention span. But if you keep them laughing, then his core will slowly seep away, until finally crack.

You can have a whole serious of Great deeds of the Donald, and have the Dear Leader, or the Taliban or Putin, talk to the audience, just like in Panto or the narrator in Rocky Horror show. He thinks this, the reality is really this and so on.

You can have voter try and vote but it’s like a Treasure hunt, as obstruction after obstruction is put in the way. You can play King’s I have a Dream speech, and Kennedy’s Ask Not What, on a speaker as the citizen in search of a voting place struggles to vote. Finally the citizen puts his vote down. Stars and Stripes plays, or a marching band strides across the stage. Rejoice you have voted, or Ding Dong the Witch is dead from the Wizard of Oz.

There are many many scenarios, keep then short and swamp Trump, his trick is to spout so much rubbish you just cannot fire fight it. Every lie you hear from him just play a FART sound. COMEDY WORKS. So use it as a weapon. If more and more people are laughing at him, then his “message” of ignorance and spite can be washed away. And washing away is the key, the whole world is depending on folks getting off the sofa and voting. You can even cartoonize that. Why do Dictators dictate, because people don’t bother. Now is the time to register and vote when the time comes. Before it is too late. And my final thought, Defence has been a theme of Trump’s yet he had to repay $2,000,000 to a Veterans Charity. And CDC is part of the Biological Defence of the people, why was that trimmed to the bone. I sometimes feel here in UK I know more about what is happening in USA, than some Americans so. Trump is no joke, so vote him out, and start by mocking him constantly in a Tsunami of comedy/cartoon short. Starting with a Cartoon with him in a bunker surrounded by a wall made up of LIES.

OK> the DEMS will now be condemned for having a foreign adviser, Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England,   

The Old Irish Dancer ©

By

Michael Casey

Delia was, well she was Delia, no way to describe her other than that, she was herself and nothing else. She was old now, and a bit slower in movement, but she had strong legs. So when she was invited to a dance by her dear old friend Mrs Winston of course she’d come. Their combined ages over 160 at least, but nobody dared ask, for fear of a slap in the puss, for cheeking their elders.

Mrs Winston and Delia stationed themselves in 2 old chairs, battered like themselves, brought especially to the church hall tied to the roof rack. Don’t be thinking you can take me home like that strapped to the roof rack, said Mrs Winston her bosom shaking like an enormous bouncy castle. Delia said she didn’t mind being strapped to the roof rack so long as she was still sat in an armchair.

And that in fact was how she got home in glory.

Delia shuffled about leaning hard on her stick, a present from Mrs Winston for her 70^th Birthday, practical and much love. Mrs Winston had many many relatives, and they had friends and friends had friends. So the church hall was full, before the 70s theme started and Barry White could do his thing. The gospel choir did their thing, with all the boys looking on. Delia weaved her way in and out of the choir, like a sparrow hopping from place to place. Though like a bee pollinating might be a better description. The Delia sat next to Mrs Winston, they exchanged a knowing look.

Barry White started proceedings, always reliable. At the first interval, Delia stamped her stick, winking at Mrs Winston. Do you call that dancing? If I could have a little support I’ll teach you how to dance Irish style, it was Saint Patrick’s Day after all. So pointing her stick at the biggest man in the crowd she called him over, then she pointed stick at a shy girl, you too, come here. They were both cornered, so they came over. One on her left, one on her right supporting her weight, then with a wink Mrs Winston  bluetoothed the speakers, Irish dance music blared out.

Delia was on fire, those legs dashed and pranced, all her weight supported, by Dennis and Marlene. Uproar.Dennis and Marlene joined in, 3 Irish dancers. Then Mrs Winston could see the look in dear Delia’s eye, she released her supports and danced for 10 seconds before tripping Dennis and Marlene over, only Mrs Winston knew this was her plan. Dennis tried to catch Marlene, only he just ended up with his hand on her chest, and Marlene ended up with her hand below his waist. Silence then with Delia leaning over the couple, her weight on her stick. Well if you have finished your introductions, I’d say you would be a great couple. But learn to Irish dance properly first. Uproar of Laughter.

And that was how Dennis and Marlene got together, they were tricked. Mrs Winston knew they’d be a great couple, if only they were introduced, and Delia did the introductions. So Marlene and Dennis spent the evening being the first my last my everything with Barry White as a witness. They say the rhythm method is the best method, and Delia and Mrs Winston knew all about that. So over the course of the evening 4 other couples were introduced to Irish dancing, and each time they fell for each other literally. If you have rhythm then you should stick to it.

Some may say it was a cheap trick, a dirty trick, pushing people together. But Mrs Winston and Delia had a plan, besides the nursery needed more kids or they would close it next year. But Mrs Winston knew as did Delia, fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and at their ages they’d be joining the angels soon. So they were helping couples find each other, and they’d have a few more visitors with gossip, the lifeblood of older people, all because they  were creating families, via Irish Dancing.

Now when the dance was over Delia was chaired out of the hall, and indeed tied to the roof rack chair and all. Then ever so slowly driven home. Sgt Mulholland from Old Forge and Singing Anvil police station was driving past and could see what was happening. So obviously he gave them a Police Escort with blue light flashing,

How many couples this Saint Patrick’s Day he asked Delia as she was lower from the roof rack. So she high fived him by way of reply. 

Self Motivating when you could not be bothered ©

By

Michael Casey

I was going to start with a much repeated opening, “I could not think what to talk about today”, then as usual an idea formed. How do you motivate yourself. Me, I am not driven, but with a Protestant work ethic, though I’m a catholic altruist, that best describes me, though fat silver haired and wearing shades is more accurate. And yes I write too and am from Birmingham. Though a confession, I use Birmingham as nobody outside UK would know nor could pronounce where I’m really from. Ok, it’s Old Forge and Singing Anvil, and you thought it was a made up place in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, or am I lying to you, or just a good writer?

Confused, I hope so, bemused is the best way to have our readers, stand up writing, where you are a few paces ahead of them, just out of hitting range, or best practice self isolation range. Talking of range, free range eggs are the best, the yolk is so yellow you almost need shades as you look at them. So am I looking at a lot of eggs, hence the shades, or is the yolk on me? Roy Hudd RIP left me that joke in his will, or was it John Prescott? Non USA readers can Google those names.

Which brings me to Motivation, as you all know everywhere, in 80 countries where you stumble over me, I’ve done a ton of writing, nearly 1.6million words now spread like manure on my field of 19 books. So I don’t need to write any more, and I know some of you may be praying for me to stop, you and your friend Covid. So why should I add another story to the 2000 blocking the sewer of the Internet. Social commentary inserted without you even realising it, I do like to test you all, I can hear you reaching for that bucket of water to drench me. Oh was that a bar of soap you’ve thrown at me, I thought it was a rock, what, you left the rocks outside in the rockery next to your Gnomes. So you want me to strip naked before I continue talking to you? I’m clean I have no need to wash, if I paraphrase the Bible. But you insist.

So there I am on a doorstep, naked, a hairy bear with scars and a breast poking out through my bypass scar. All I hear is laughter inside and I can see a light, I’m being filmed and uploaded to the Internet. Self Isolation my fat behind, I’m being pranked. And that’s how I explained myself to the ice cream man as I ran still dripping and naked to the ice cream van.

You see Mr Wippy’s 99s are legendary around here, so I just had to have an ice cream and sprinkles too. I looked like that dog that does the paint advert for Dulux, Dulux I said not those personal clothing things made of plastic. You are all so deaf, DEAF. I’m having a hearing consultation over the phone in 5 minutes, yes really. So I think I may just stop now.

And the point of all this? Well there I was with no motivation and now I’ve added 600 words or so to my grand total. If I can write or talk to you off the cuff the so can YOU. The thing is to just start, turn the tap and see what comes out, something is better than nothing. If you have a tick list, or a to do list then GREAT, or if you can only muster a few words, then that’s great too. Something is better than nothing, if you only do one square on the chess board, then that’s a beginning, little by little you can do more and more. Motivation is not about climbing Mount Everest on day one,  it’s about thinking, about preparing, it’s about doing.

You may have 6 kids now, but it all started looking out the window, then smiling at that girl, then waving to the girl, then inviting her in for a cup of tea. Then finally years later you are a family with 6 kids. So motivate yourself to get off the couch and do something. I’ve ended up with 19 books spread all over the Internet. But it all started writing in pencil with a scrap of paper, then pages held together with shoe laces. So motivate yourself to do something, and yes chasing a girl and having six kids, is far more fun than writing any day.

Shouting Shakespeare (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well I threatened to write this, so here it is. As you all know Covid19 is annoying us all, young Covid needs a slap, and he’s getting one right now as I speak, thanks to NHS and labs the world over. So what about me? I need a slap and tickle, just the slap, you are all so cruel. I’ll have you know Colombia is reading me today, they think I’m Joan Wilder, or is it Michael Douglas, the local double glazing fitter? I did post a photo with a banana on my head, but if you don’t expand the photo you don’t see the banana. Can’t see the banana for the head, and my toilet should be flushed down the head for all you sailors out there, the navy is no lark after all.

Still with me, remember I am the bastard, you know that already, what I meant to say before you rudely interrupted me was that, I am the bastard love child of Joyce Grenfell and Ronnie Corbet so does that make my writing style so Gerald, not Duncan and Sandy kind of Gerald, but Gerald Wiley. It’s a form of indulgence, not Papal Indulgence, it is Lent after all, Francis does like Cadbury’s cream eggs so I’m told, all so very Easter. I get all my gossip when I go to Confession, it’s the best place for news why do you think old mothers go so often. Not unless they get a pint of Guinness from the priest while they are in there.

But this is but the prologue, Ian Dale gets a quid a word, so 278 quid so far if I were him, no wonder he waffles on, but I like waffles, but only potato waffles, I tried the other and they were too sweet and set fire to the toaster. So what has all this got to do with Shakespeare, and I was called his agent by an Open University tutor I’ll have you know, then the next year my play Shoplife was accepted for the stage, so I am like Shakespeare. Though he was produced and was I not, I think they did Rocky Horror show instead, 30 years ago. But that could be an excuse.

Which brings me too Shouting Shakespeare, finally I hear you all groan, any more cheek and I’ll come and knock on your door. But sadly I cannot I am in Isolation for 3 months, me and my broken heart and assorted ailments. I heard you all look to the Heavens and say thank you God, and that was just the non believers. So we are all in this together, Cameron should have trade marked that phrase he’d be even richer now, he’d have so many caravans he could open a caravan park, for writers who cannot write, no I don’t mean me. The cheek, I don’t sit here talking to you to get abuse, I get enough from the neighbours already, well when I Shouted Shakespeare that is.

So a stray word gave me the idea, Shouting Shakespeare. It was and is so quiet here on our hill, so I thought I’d cheer the neighbours up, as I normally do with the folks in my local shop. But as I’m staying in, the Government insists, is it just me, what have I done to upset Boris. I’ll ask him if ever I meet him. Anyway so I thought the Bard, that’s what they need. So I went to the bottom of our garden and started to quote, though the neighbours prefer I choke.

To Be or not to Be, measure for measure, a stitch in time saves nine, and on I spoke, just trying to get their attention. Then I thought I’d put a silly voice on, my Topol impersonation voice. They seemed to like that, but it gave me a sore throat after 2 hours. Shouting Shakespeare in a silly voice does hurt. As it grew dark the nude sunbathers decided to go back inside, so they all wanted me to shut it, so very Frankie Howard of them. But I persisted, Shakespeare should be heard, I know it sounds absurd, but you must, you can, and you will, Will Shakespeare that is, or was it Kenneth Corner practising his chat up line in an old Carry On film.

Then the neighbours started throwing things at me, tins of beans because they thought I was just an old fart. Then one card threw a toilet roll, to go with the beans. I was so affronted, and with the size of my behind, I can be very affronted, but that’s just at the back. They even threw stale rolls, but I’ve seen Heide so I knew I could toast them and they’d be ok. Now is the Winter of our discontent made glorious, I continued to  shout. They would have beaten the c(*& out of me, luckily I had plenty of toilet paper now. Only the social distancing meant all they could do was throw things at me, even the kids threw things at me. Luckily I have a sweet tooth, and gelly babies don’t hurt when they hit you.

Finally as I looked at the debris surrounding me I realised I had enough for my dinner, and I could wipe the plate afterwards with bread rolls, and as for my behind, my audience had also provided paper for my behind. So I don’t get a pound a word like Ian Dale on the radio, but I’ve nearly reached 1000 words now, just by Shouting Shakespeare, so perhaps I’ll send it to him. Though I doubt the radio would pay me for it, maybe I’ll send it to Isabel Oakshot if I got her name right, she has better hair than him.

Though she’ll just think I’m a nanna, I do have a banana on my head after all, some card put superglue on it when they threw it. Expand the photo to get the full picture, like reading newspapers, it’s dying art, I am an old fart.

AI and Me

By

Michael Casey

Well as I said a day or was it two ago, I’d write about AI reading me. I’ve tried Twitter, but I prefer to tell a story and Twitter is just too short, so I have stopped using it after a one month test. I remain on Blogger and Wordpress, unless Trump decides he doesn’t like me. How such a dullard, if I quote his BFF, Kim in North Korea, got to abuse power will be for History books, in November, please God.

Now AI means Artificial Intelligence, and once taught it will work harder and faster than any Human. They have set it to work looking for cures for loads of things. It is a “machine” that does not tire, so generations in the Future will be put out of work because of it, Automation will Ruin the World, is what my dad said 30 or even 40 years ago. My uncle Willie was a Ploughman, and look what happened to them, a Tractor replaced them. AI is a brain that does the boring stuff, but far far faster than us.

Science Fiction teaches us about the Future, go back 100 or 150 years to Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, and to our beloved Star Trek 50 + years ago. Now what was spoke of has arrived. So a Living Wage will be the Future, what else are you going to do with all the underemployed people, can they all just become Politicians?

So everybody blogs, or tweets. I write or rather talk to you and then post it. I would never call myself a blogger, I am a writer. Or is that pretentious? Go dig out “Pretentious Writers Strike Again” a piece from a few years ago. So getting to the point, if ever there is one, people stumble over me. Perhaps they think I am a lifestyle guru, as if I have a life, or any style, and as for guru, isn’t that some obscure medical condition, doctor doctor I have the gurus, just take 1000 selfies a day and you will feel so much better. But will I be cured? No but perhaps you’ll get a slot on tv, like Guru Murphy on Channel Four, the perfume correspondent.

So companies search the Web and print out their mentions, which does not hurt so long as you are careful. Then then cut and paste their mentions into a file and share it. Cutting and Pasting Mentions then Filing them, sounds outrageous to me, you should only file your nails. Everybody wants to have cuttings especially gardeners, though Chancy Gardinier did become President pick, go watch Being There if you want clarification, which sounds like an Indy Band but is not.

Now AI, this is tasked to seek out and find new life forms and boldly go where no one has gone before, but watch out for the ClingONs on the starboard bow, or you may need to change your underpants. That’s why AI does it, its a dirty job but AI will do anything if you just ask and give it a bag of iron filing, which is like a Line of White, but for machines.

So as you know I am a creature, a creature or habit, I could hear you snickering, as you ate your chocolate bar. So I spotted AI something was the source, how somebody found me. I thought they put my photo with a banana on my head, plus my web address on HP sauce bottles. It comes from Aston here in Birmingham, or it used to anyway. So AI detective agency tracked me down, it was every so soft and cuddly ad so warm too. They do all the leg work, shaved of course, so they can run so much faster, less drag, which is a disappointment, if anybody is chasing me, it would be so much more fun if they were in drag. Danny la Rue where are you?

So AI looks and finds me, the results are tabulated, I do hope they dissolve in water. Then they are presented to important people who are so important somebody else, that’s AI, does the Googleing for them. Then the Leaders have less paper to look at, so they can say. So this is Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England. Why isn’t he wearing shades in every photo, but he does have a banana on his head. AI says nothing, it is licking its lips and sucking on its bag of iron filings. It does not give explanations, it just finds the quarry, and if you want to throw the quarry into a quarry afterwards that’s up to you.   

So I’ve been tracked down my a “machine” an AI with a habit, iron filings in cyberspace. Is it my magnetic attraction, why are all the iron filings lined up, or are they just happy to see me. Perhaps I should call the AI, May West. Now it’s 5pm so I’ll wipe Boris’ nose, he has to talk to the Country now, at least he has no Election to win, if I were USA Media I’d switch the feed off after 30 mins, or give equal time to the Nancys  or whatever the other lot are called.

AI stop doing that, and leave my pot scourer alone, your can’t have any more, take my  pot scourer out of your mouth, or whatever it is. AI is the future, it Marks my Words.

Plain English (c)

By

Michael Casey

So I keep on reading rubbish, and I keep on writing rubbish I hear you say, why don't you go away and burn ants with a magnifying glass just as I did in the 1960s. You  can try this at home, as all the Buddhists complain, see simple pleasures have changed in 50 years. You can discuss this amongst yourselves, you have fly zappers in your stores, so who is the more cruel?

Times change and language changes too, though good old Anglo Saxon remains the same, ask Lenny Bruce if you don't believe me. Or just go Bla a Bla or Do a Do, or Soo a Soo or even Kapo a Kapo. You are so disgusting, how is that even physically possible? You'll send me a link to your Utube channel. Don't bother, I'll just wear snorkling gear and jump from the top of the wardrobe to, well mind your own business, what people do in  the privacy of their own homes should stay there. Like What Happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Vegas is the name of our local fish and chip shop by the way. They dye the chips orange, he's a very nice man, he always gives me an extra shake of salt. If he knew that the Heart ward bans salt, then he'd stop, but I don't want to crush him.

Now what has this got to do with the price of a kebab, or a bag of chips for that matter? I don't know either, but I have to give you all a chance to warm up. So now that you are sitting comfortably then I'll begin, and you Pete and the back, stop wiping snot on the keyboard, are you that bored already? Now where was I? I read the newspapers  every day, though with Covid19 I'm rationing myself a bit, otherwise it would be overwhelming. I would encourage you all to do the same. Major Mental Health Problems will arise after we all get out of Lockdown, IF we don't all think positive. Distract and Divert our Souls away from the Tsunami of trouble.

So read the Press but don't read all your DM, or Guardian or DT or whatever you read. Don't watch 10 hours of news on tv either. I confess I have been a life long News Addict, 50 years worth. I also read the USA news mainly in bed with Tinnitus my Roman slave. The thing is you must be selective, you must have a plan, otherwise I'm BORED, rears it's ugly head. It seems to me people have short attention spans nowadays, and what to be entertained. They don't have enough in their head already to keep them happy.

Maybe only children will be better at adapting to the Covid19 world, not just children themselves but grown ups who were only children. As they had to make up their own entertainment, or cruel kids who burn ants with magnifying glasses. Or poor kids, or kids with IMAGINATION, I used to have a paper clip and I traced up and down a brick wall, the mortar was the road, and the paper clip was a car for the Leprechans. Simple pleasures for me and Derek McKenna in the 1960s. Nowadays if the battery goes kids are marooned without any way of entertaining themselves. Which is so very sad.

Dirk Bogarde in his book tells of the look in the window challenge, you look in the shop window for a minute, then turn your back and try to remember what was there. Can you paint a picture? You can play this at home too. It's a way of exercising you observation skills. Dirk Bogarde was a Photographic Interpreter in WWII. It's a simple game, very simple, but it creates skills and stengths, and it costs nothing, nothing at all, so anybody can do it or adapt to your surroundings.

While you are at home, you can all teach yourself to give a speech. Useful in all areas of your life. And not just for the obnoctious wanna bes in the media, a smile and a figure, male or female does not make a good reporter. So here's how you learn. Have 5 objects in front of you, or look out the window and pick 5 objects. Then you take turns to speak for 60 seconds, like Just a Minute on the  Radio. But without any interruptions. Then you give/get constructive advice. So 5 objects, 5 sixty second talks. Followed by constructive advice. Then you move on to another 5 objects, but you increase the talk time. This is the basic structure.

You can give yourselves prep time to make notes before you talk. So you have the idea. The “exam” the next day is being able to stand up and talk for 15minutes, from your notes. And yes I stood up and spoke for 30 mins about my Paris misadventures, this was Maundy Thursday 1998. Carole with an E nearly wet herself because she didn't know what I was going to say next. The next day I went to Czech and ended up talking to Jana's English class, I talked without notes for 90 minutes. So the course worked. Being able to write is one skill, but being able to talk is another. Being able to read a script is a different skill too, hard for me as I like free flow, so even though I've written a piece I need to learn/practice delivering it. As I am channeling myself, I bet you never thought of that, actors really do act after all. Go to my typepad and as I recorded more the delivery got better, though they were recorded 5 years ago I think. And then recording 5 in a day was so tiring. I'm not a machine.

As usual I was going to follow one path but I've gone another way, however IF you all follow my simple instructions, all of you, yes all of you should be able talk. You can then win the heart of that girl or boy  or any which way, whom you wanted so much. Now you have the skills to win, beauty will fade, but laughter lasts forever, so if you can make your love laugh, she/he will chose you. And then everybody will assume you are rich, and so you are, rich in spirit.

What I was going to speak about was, use plain English, otherwise readers will say he's up his own backside, as if we give a monkeys, don't they know there is a war on, a Covid19 war. And yes you can draw cartoons of Covid19 as an ant, with you burning them with magnifying glasses, well metaphorically speaking.

So that's it for today, over 1100 words, and yes you can learn to write too, though I spent 20 years listening to BBC Radio4, quality speech radio before I ever picked up a pen. It's up to you, you can do whatever you want to do, it's up to you.  I just wish John Denver would stop singing that so loudly, maybe I should change my ring tone?

You calling me a Liar, Bastard? (c)

By

Michael Casey

I was having a haircut in 1978, 42 years ago, in the Barbers a bald headed man was cutting my hair. We were talking, and why aren’t you working, it’s the middle of the week? I work shifts. What do you do? I’m a computer operator, we do Market Research into alcohol sales. The barber stopped to dispense something for the weekend, as some man hovered by his shop door. That’s how condoms were bought and sold all those years ago. Then he carried on with my hair as I explained how sales were tabulated and then processed via the computer, which gave me a job. As I was leaving the barber said he had a “Osiometer” at home, what’s that I innocently asked. It tells me when I hear “Bullshit”. In essence he was calling me a LIAR. So rather than punch him, I never gave him my custom ever again.

Now spotting on my Blogger today that somebody used a Plagiarism machine or monitor as they looked at my site reminded me of this event. Yes a 42 year old memory was rekindled. I also met a rich guy in the Bell Inn Haborne Birmingham, where all the rich people live. I ended up sending him a copy of Shoplife my hit play, which I wrote in 1988, and was accepted for production but not finally produced. The man, claimed I stole the idea, I was a THIEF. So obviously I wiped my bum with his “gracious” note and flushed it away.

Some people do not give you credit, and never will. One of my sisters was a shop worker hence source material, I also have eyes, I try to be very observant, I am a People person, not Paper. Though now as a writer I put people on paper, or my computer, as everything is straight to computer, then posted and backed up. No paper involved. I bought myself an Atari 520 on Dave Eaton’s recommendation, not for the games but for the word processor. It cost earth, but I was not married, and writing still is my only vice. And you can make your own jokes up about that.

So why do we care if we are called LIARS? Well Trump does not care, and if USA does not descend into anarchy via Covid19, Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics and Deaths will decide his Future, though as Michael Cohen warned us, he’ll not leave graciously. But there is a God, so hopefully Truth and Trump will out.

So why do we care if we are called liars? Personally if you lie about a penny you cannot and should not be trusted with a Trillion. It’s old fashioned values. Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil, tell me the Truth and I will not hit you, as my mother used to say when I was very small, and still naughty. She would have reached 100, next week. I was her fifth and almost last child. She did have a final sixth child, and used to go to the Post Office to collect her Pension and Family Allowance on the same day, which amused her no end.

Our Integrity matters, well not to thieves nor American Politicians, maybe your Politicians in your countries are perfect, my readers are spread over 80 countries. So you will know better than me. It’s obvious to me anyway there will be revolt and rebellion world wide post Covid19, as people breakout in all senses of the word and an accounting will be made. Let’s hope the nukes are all locked up. Or perhaps we’ll have an era of Peace. What is also obvious it that the Developed world will have to vaccinate the poor ½ or is it 2/3 of the world. And for selfish reasons. If you don’t cure the poor world then the whole world is in danger again. Simple self serving logic, no lie. You fix all the holes in a boat or it will sink.

Yes, people tell white lies, sometimes so kids and grandparents don’t cry or fear for their future especially in today’s Covid 19 times. But the solution is in our hands, or in our beds. If we stay in bed and watch tv, count the curves on your girlfriend’s body, or imagine waxing your boyfriend’s bum. Just self isolate a bit more it really isn’t a chore. If you have had foresight, you’ll have visited your own bald headed barber, and bought a gross not for the weekend but for the isolation for you and your girl. And if stocks had run low, then the stork will come a visiting. While your there though, tell him the kid from 42 years ago is now a Writer, and he can stick his “Osiometer” up his bum. Or am I a liar?

Discovering Tv (c)

By

Michael Casey

I’ve literally just seen Monk on TV, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before, but one scene on a stage seemed familiar. So that in itself makes me wonder how or why we remember things. I did not remember any of the rest of the show, or have any memories triggered. So I’ve got something to watch now. It started in 2002 or so the guide says, it’s like a comedy Columbo meets Elementary. Which might indicated what makes me laugh, though I have very wide tastes, as wide as my hips. I binge watched my Korean K drama last night, too much in fact, as reading subtitle for hours is tiring. So rather than plunge into my next K drama I’ll be spending time with Monk, his assistant looks like a young Bet Milder, to my eyes anyway.

When we watch tv we like something that both interests and excites, like your boyfriend stripping badly for you, until you push him out of the way and you use the steam stripper on the walls. What did you think I was talking about? See you were ahead of yourself, good tv has to keep you guessing and have a few  good twists and turns, with a surprise ending. Which goes back to stripping, what else can you both do when you are covered in wall paper paste and paint. You just have to strip off and tip toe not through the tulips, but through the house to the bathroom. Well if you’ve never done that before, I’m sure you will be doing that in future.

Preparation is everything after all, the rest I leave to you own imagination.

Now some tv, leaves nothing to the imagination. In USA it’s very staid on tv, compared to UK tv, hence in film it makes up for it bigtime, or so it used to be. For example when Saturday Night Fever came out there was  lots of swearing in it. It was an X, 18 certificate in UK, I thought the cursing was overdone, later a 15 certificate was issued, and hence more people saw it, and the film made more money. You remember John Travolta walking down the street with the tin of paint in his hand, obviously he’d read this piece in advance, is it 40 years in advance, and was going to take my advice about decorating and stripping, or do you think I’m a liar, a pilot and liar, I won’t make jokes about cockpit.

There are elements in a show that interest an audience and writers try to keep the audience happy. In USA I’m told a team of writers write the show, and there is even a Laugher Maker Writer, who’ll come in and insert big laughs, for which he’s really well paid. But sitting around a table with others seems strange compared to the way Britain writes shows, a lone writer or a team of two. Not a gang of people writing. I’ve never tried writing with anybody, so it would be strange. I’d be constantly hurt by the barbs, so I’d rather write something and present it, then let them ruin it, kind of take the money and run. As if that would ever happen.

There are jokes, and running jokes, sponsored by Nike or Adidas or even  Reebok, or am I joking? You can repeat a joke a few times and get away with it, or if you are clever, get a different laugh with the same material, as Eddie Izzard or Danny la Rue will explain if you ask them to. Dress material I meant, their material is well worn, because they use the wrong detergent in their washing machines.   And yes I love a bit of Tan-gentle humour, as straight lines are boring, custard pie humour, which maybe Americans prefer.

Somebody just spat at the screen, it can’t have been at me, as I sit here naked and paint splattered with bits of wallpaper stuck to my Dave Allen style hair, and a silver dollar in my red garter belt. I’ve been practising my stripping, what else can a boy like me do on a fine Spring afternoon. I was watching  Monk, but inspiration struck so I moved to the computer to share these few words with you all. Confused? If you’re not you must be reading too much or me already. Worried and Confused, they are the names of our Rottweilers, really, well it seemed like a good idea at the time, after Totoro our Ninja cat put them in their place.

So rambling is always good, it strengthens the legs, I really do have very strong thighs, if ever you see me naked and covered in paint, chocolate paint that is, you’ll soon agree, or maybe just run away. Rambling is a device, or vice, take you pick, which is used to bemuse as you lead people up that garden path, say hello to Gill with a G as you travel that path, she’s always there, well in my imagination. And as you follow the Comedy Path, you are diverted, there are always road works, so it’s a good job there is plenty of paper in the outside toilet. Or in plain English, any show is better if it has variety, and the unexpected, like Tales of the Unexpected years ago. You enjoy it more.  It’s a bit like our local, Cock au Van, our local bona restaurant, you don’t know are you getting Michelin  star stuff one day or food poisoning. It’s in an old truck turned into a building, copying those diners in USA. The Cock au Van branding, relates to truckers having a wee on the back tyre, michelin tyres of course, truckers do know quality after all.

As ever I could go on forever, but I need food just like the girl in my K drama who was forever hungry, Cinderella and the 4 Knights, I do love the happy endings and soaring music, which I sing along to in Korean. So I’m going to eat, so I hope you discover some nice shows for yourself during  Lockdown times. Or you could try and read my 19 books on Amazon, or have a browse on my online stuff. How many of my stories would you like to see on tv? Silence, absolute SILENCE, I’ll cry if you treat me like that, and if you think a Korean girl crying breaks your heart, wait till you see me crying, I’ll drown you all,  ha ha ha.

Moving On Again (c)

By

Michael Casey

This is my 3^rd idea for a story and the 3^rd font I’ve played with in under a minute, whatever I thought of yesterday I forgot, so neither or is it none, of us know what I was going to talk about today. Amiri is the font I’m using right now, though when I post it, it could appear different. This looks like a Goldilocks font, not this nor that, but just right. I like curvy things, but not too thick, nor too faint, which could describe other likings of mine. We all like things for different reasons, that’s why Design matters. The days of you can have any colour you like so long as it it Black are over, Henry Ford RIP.

I was checking out my readers, and I spotted an old piece that I had reposted as a repost a couple of years ago. So really it could have been 7 years ago when I wrote it, its like discovering a time capsule. I was talking about House Church Chinese style. I referenced Nancy, who was doing her exams. Nancy came to England aged 7 I believe she had no English. Now she has graduated in English at Oxford University and has gained a Masters too, I think she went on to USA to study more. Chinese go for Education big time. If you are imagine there are 1,400,000,000 people so you have to study hard to get a look in.

Nancy also taught my daughters how to draw and paint, almost amateur professional style if that doesn’t some a contradiction. My girls have grown since then and have reached the late teenager age, soon they will be older than me,  I feel 20 in my head. As we grow we change, though old men don’t change, hence they smell, ask any young person and that’s the standard view. But as ever I digress, perhaps I should undress and wash instead, the obvious reply to any young person reading this.  Our lives go this way and that though with Covid 19, we are all sharing a common event,  which we all hope goes away soon. I’ve inserted this sentence for Social Historians so they can reference me in the Future, see I’m so vain. But otherwise our lives change and we move on to something else.

In the old days we’d stay in a job for life, but Technology arrives, my Uncle Willie was a Ploughman, so he was replaced or is it aided by a Tractor, my cousin’s son could actually drive a tractor at the age of 9, which is normal in Kerry Eire no doubt. You had the fear of technology, the Mill replaced home weavers, the Printing Press put paid to Bede, Knowledge was Democratised. Life and Society changes, now we have Twitter so everybody knows everything, but in fact knows Nothing. Discuss.

We have Internet too, a Library everywhere, so we can all expand our minds without the use of LSD or any other rubbish. Having an inside toilet, and a home telephone, not mobile but landline were big events in my own family’s time. Kids don’t realise the luxury they have, and I’m only going back to the 1960/70s when I was going up. Life moves on and so do we. There are changes and we throw out cherished things, like radiograms, which decades later designers use as a basis for high tech hifis. So circles exist in Design though the insides are now 100 times smaller.

I used to keep everything, plastic bags and shoelaces, just in case, the poor boy in me, so living with somebody changes all our lives. You keep they bin, even some treasured items of clothing find their way to the Charity shop, those worn out slippers you felt so at home in our gone. So you buy a metal locker and put a chain on it, so your stuff stays your stuff, and not caste out like a leper. We do change and grow as people too, you meet new people and some of them rubs off on you, and vice versa. Then too much rubbing means she is pregnant and she moves in, the first thing she does is throw out the metal cabinet. You have to dash to the tip as your valuable Stamp Collection is still inside. You have to crowbar your way into it, and cut our hand badly, so you are scared for life, too much rubbing led to a child and a scar, not just for Christmas but for Life.

There is much moving in life, sometimes you don’t move Physically, but your mind grows, you might be stuck in a prison like the Bird Man of Alcatraz, but your mind can be free, just as Mandela was though his body was in jail. It’s not compulsory to  keep moving and changing, though that’s how Consumer Society works, sometimes its nice to be like a grandfather clock, steady and reliable and  standing for 90 years on the floor. I’d like to be a grandfather clock myself, though I very much doubt it.

So is there a conclusion to today’s talk, no, there never is a conclusion, because things move on. We may want to stay isolated, and yes I see the irony of that word right now, we may want to be like Bede, but Time and Tide waits for no man. And I refuse to trendify my language by saying “Person”, we are what we are, things change, Women always are the Master Race. We have to live as best we can and surf not the Internet but Life itself, as a sea of change sometimes feels like a Tsunami, we have to pick our board, whether it be a job, a skill, a profession, or just that curvy girl we hold onto in the dark of the night. Our designs on her, and her designs on us, she could be a Tattoo artist after all. And together, we won’t be washed away by life.

  

Maundy Thursday 2020 (c)

By Michael Casey

Maundy Thursday was the night Jesus and his disciples had their Last Supper, and Christians still copy it in the Mass, breaking of bread and so on. That night Jesus also washed their feet, later he prayed, while they fell asleep, and finally has betrayed by Judas. And the rest is History, the only difference being that for Believers Jesus rose on the 3^rd day, and we have Easter.

So in today’s world who follows Jesus, or any other Faith or None? Who falls asleep, and who copies Jesus and washes the feet of others. Obviously here in UK, our NHS of all Faiths and None, are Jesus like in their devotion to the least of our brethren, they wash the feet and more of the sick, and dying. We the rest of us in isolation, self isolation or in Lockdown are just called upon to pray, that’s all we have to do, but do we fall asleep instead, while Jesus or our NHS is working for us? We are all weak and full of good intentions, but do we deny Jesus, or those doing good in society and would we betray them for 30 pieces of silver?

Something to think about as some of you make selfies and post them online and write that book on your self isolation tribulations.  And will the Unwashed Masses buy your overpriced tat once the Covid 19 nightmare is over? Emily Maitlis apparently  said something last night, which is obvious, it is the poor and least of our brethren who suffer most. Because they live in the worst housing, living off frozen food, because it is far cheaper that the fine dining food in expensive supermarkets. Jesus had simple food, and that became the model for Communion.  The question is are we in communion with our fellow citizens, or will we deny them 3 times before the cock crows. Do we have to wait for the joy of Easter, to believe without seeing, not to demand putting our fingers in the wounds before we believe.

These times are a chance to look inward, I hope many of you do already, of All Faiths and None, for it is only by having discovered what’s inside that we can change the outside world forever. And change will come, otherwise we will all stay asleep in the garden of Gethsemane.

Picking a Winner ©

By

Michael Casey

It’s hard enough picking a font to use, I tried a different word processor program and it let me use Amiri, my new favourite font, but it then double spaced it, so I’ve gone back to another one, which sometimes freezes your computer, if you are not careful, but otherwise its nice to use. What has that got to do with anything, what am I waffling on about as some unkind people used to say. Well it proves my point for me without me giving any evidence, things that should work, and should be easy, can prove difficult and not give the required results.

I’ll give that girl a bunch of roses, girls love flowers. Only she has hay fever, you should have saved your money. And yes I know a girl who has hay fever and I do save my money. So you try a potted plant, only nobody bothers to water it, and it dies on the kitchen window sill. My mother who would have turned 100 this week, had green fingers up to her elbows. She would “borrow” a cutting from a sea side town and throw it in a plastic bag sprinkled with water, after the holiday it was planted in her garden and it grew. Whatever she picked literally, became a winner in her front or back garden.

So it is with words, if I use this word or that word you may not like it, and some words are overused, such as Legend and Hero. Common expressions are reversed in an attempt to be different, the white and the black of a situation, the zag and the zig, you can pick your own expressions, while I pick my nose. At least I know what I am doing when I pick it, which is different to picket. Word plays are fun, ask Will down the Shakespeare pub, or Will Shakespeare himself if you are a Thespian, or a Les Dawson fan. I do miss sitting on a bench with Les, my legs wide open, man spreading while dressed as a mature woman, with huge bosoms, showing my silk stockings and garters. Foreign readers can Google Les Dawson.

So what words should I use and chose, or is it chose and use, see you are divided already, so I divide and conquer. Then you criticize my grandma, or is it grammar? Remember I am talking to you, everything I write is a piece of radio, or rubbish if you want to upset me, and make this not a Good Friday but a bad day, on a Friday, though it is actually Good Friday.

Words have weight and power, you can say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or just the right words. Or just being there in silence is the right thing to do. You give a hug, a kiss, or just hold somebody’s hand. And think you have done nothing, but in fact what you have done is better than perfect. Others are just like marooned boats in low tide, but you are a life raft of hope and help.

Sometimes, or often in my case, the words appear for the situation, well on paper anyway, and you don’t know where they come from, so people say it’s a gift, as common place as rain in Manchester, they don’t know or appreciate the now 50 years love of words, since watching Robin Day on tv back in the 1960s. So how do you know what words to pick, well you don’t, you have to be an instant quote machine. You pull words from space, the space between your ears. I’ll give you a few examples. I was talking to somebody and they thought they knew the situation. So as we have a squared pattern carpet, the words sprung to mind via the visual stimulation. It’s like the first square, you have to look at all the squares, like in a chess board you have to read all the squares and pieces. Don’t assume you know everything just from the first square.

Likewise words appears from audio stimulation, Genesis are singing behind me, and a word or phase they sing is like a ball bouncing around in my head, like a pinball machine, which will lead me to words and phrases. It happens at the speed of thought, despite earwax, and appears on the screen equally as fast, its like a damn bursting with words and ideas. I just wish I could draw and then I’d have Cartoons made from Words, as one of my Blogger sites is named. It really is quick, so some call it a Gift, but as I said before 50 years love of Words equals a Gift, as if I’ve stolen Will Shakespeare’s folio, I’m too much of a Falstaff to steal.

Now when I began, I had to stop dead just then, my words becalmed, the Pain Monster appeared from out of nowhere. It’s like an elephant sitting on my left shoulder. So I just slapped on the Movelat pain killing gel on my clicking shoulder, and my face feels as if the elephant’s trunk gave me a slap. This is my normal, my sine curve of pain, so my words shared with you are an oasis of Hope and Fun for myself. Ok, it’s like dirty puddle or is it puzzle to you, that splashes on your best trousers.

Let me try that paragraph again, now when I began you all assumed I’d be talking about horses and racing, The Sport of Kings, as only they can afford it. No doubt my UAE, Saudi, and Qatar readers will have wished for that at any rate, not unless the Queen is a secret reader. I will finish with a horse, as you may remember my dad was a Blacksmith in County Kerry Eire. He began at Rathmore. The store in 1995 had been turned into a hairdressers, some 60 years after dad was there, we visited on the final Grand Tour before my mother died. Dad had bought his ticket and came to England in 1944, he could have gone to USA his sister Mary had or was about to send him money to come to Chicago, but Thomas Cooke had sold him a ticket so his Fate and my Future was decided.

Dad was very intelligent, and he liked watching Politics on TV, so as I grew up I watched with him. And it’s for that reason I love words. When I wrote The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker I did not want to insert dad into the story as I loved him too much, however Big Sid the butcher is my dad. Not the character nor behaviour, but the deep love of kids inside him. I did not even realise it as I wrote Big Sid but when I’d finished I know he was my dad. So I am very fortunate this Good Friday, because I had the winning pick for parents, and as any Arab will tell you a good horse and blacksmith is worth more than all the grains of sand in the desert, even if they were gold.  

The Return of Darth the Once Mighty ©

By Michael Casey

Now as I’ve mentioned Darth is a Warrior with a capital W. Well that’s almost true, apart from his weaknesses, mainly Mead, or Beer in today’s parlance. Darth is from Viking times, but he would not listen to anybody, Vikings are a bit like that, so he ended up sailing off the end of the world. The earth is flat after all. Darth screamed, may the gods help me, but they did not, but God did help him.

So, Darth found himself in 1987 alive and in pencil, on a dogeared piece of paper all bound with a shoe lace. Imagine the indignity of it all. Though he did discover that 1987 beer was ok, never as good as Mead, but he could not complain. Darth met the lads from StatsMR computer room and they super glued a red read/write ring to his left ear lobe, and for balance a blue read/write ring to his right ear lobe. They told him he looked so good, and Darth slurred one day Michael Casey will be a famous writer, but the lads just laughed and got another round in. Though Mark Alder drew a cartoon of Michael Casey in the style of William Shakespeare, as he was a comedian.

Now Darth did have a companion, a dwarf a very big dwarf, more like a Michelin Man size dwarf, who drank and belched and farted, but in tune to anything playing on the Jukebox in the Horse Trader bar. Falstaff was so talented that way, though when Falstaff drunk too much, more that 25 pints and 14 packets of crisps and 7 bags of scratchings something horrible happened. No not that. Falstaff would turn Plastic, just like a giant piece of garden furniture. So, the lads had to keep count, or plastic would happen.

So, as it was closing time the lads all scattered, the weekend beckoned, Darth was left to carry a plastic Falstaff away, if he could survive the subway near the small brook, it was said to be dangerous, the lads did warn him to watch out. But Fate came a calling, some other lads out for a weekend of 1987 drinking and wenching saw Darth in Viking gear carrying a giant plastic dwarf on his back, so naturally they laughed and mocked him in the subway next to the Asian food store. Debbie was there and she witnessed what happened and told the Statsy boys on the Monday. The yobs, let’s give them their true name, the yobs mocked Darth and his plastic Falstaff dwarf, it was too much for any Viking to accept. So, Darth dropped the plastic Falstaff and started singing Michael Bolton songs, he was very drunk after all. The yobs laughed and jostled him, Darth was outnumbered but on he sung, Can I Touch You there, Michael Bolton came to the rescue, then plastic Falstaff awoke farting and belching in time to Michael Bolton’s Can I touch You there. A dwarf fart is a mighty weapon, and the yobs were vanquished. Debbie smiled she recognised the read/write rings, and then as Darth outstretched his hand to help Falstaff off the floor, there was a flash, no not because of fart and cigarette combined, though Paul Flash might remember a story about that. No, it was the space time continuum, Darth disappeared into space and time, taking his dwarf friend Falstaff with him.

So, since 1987 Darth and his plastic dwarf friend Falstaff have been in the ether, waiting just waiting for the gods to call him back. Now it’s 2020 and the clock is ticking, the clock is ticking, I just changed the battery, maybe I should change it more often than every 33 years. My clock has chimed, and through the clouds Darth is falling to earth, not a spaceman, but a Viking and a Dwarf, not even a  Red Dwarf, just a grubby beer stained dwarf called Falstaff. May the gods help us screams Darth, again the gods do nothing, but God is listening. Darth and Falstaff fall through the roof of Saint Mary’s where thieves had stolen some lead and there was enough space for a Viking riding and gliding down through the sky sat on a plastic dwarf could fall. Splash landing, Darth and Falstaff land in the Baptismal font. They would get zero for technical merit, but 10 for level of difficulty if this were the Tokyo Olympics diving competition.

After all these years Darth was thirsty so he drunk the Baptismal Font dry as Falstaff awoke and wondered where the nearest pub might be. Climbing out the font, Darth spied the vicar, Quasimodo, it was not her real name but some bright spark had christened her that when she was spotted ringing the church bells, when she had first arrived.

Now the gods may have not listened to Darth, but God had been listening to Quasimodo over and over and over again, she was plain, but she had a heart of gold, if only she could find a man and have a child, one would be enough, somebody to love and be loved by. But who would have her? Darth was a strapping big man, so big he could be Ukrainian, though Darth did explain he was a Viking. Was God playing tricks on her, or was the altar wine too strong. She prayed for a man, and now there were two, both falling through the hole in the roof, she thought they were lead stealers at first, but she could tell they were not. She had done English and History at Queens before getting the call, the vocation, come follow me.

Quasimodo, was a great priest, she spent all her time reading, and not because she as so plain and nobody would ever want her. She was just so terrible shy too. God looked on, he had answered her prayers, twice over, now she could not make her mind up. So Quasimodo did what any girl would do, she rung a friend, she rung Fatima her friend from the Fence company down the road. Fatima was always kind, some thought to kind, she may build fences having inherited her dad’s Fence company, but she was a chatterbox. It’s always the case, opposites attract. Some cruel people in fact said the pair of them were too close, if you know what I mean, some people are so cruel and gossip hurts, really hurts deeply. But they were thankful for the friendship between them, and Quasimodo was great at getting splinters out after Fatima had had a busy day. Quasimodo was seen kissing Fatima’s finger after she extracted a really bad splinter, and you can guess the rest.

Fatima came running, Falstaff smiled and moved forward, so obviously Fatima punched him hard and followed up with a kick to his groin, a girl had to know how to defend herself after all. Quasimodo put herself between Fatima and Darth, as she was about to be hit next, in doing so Quasimodo fell over and would have banged her head on the font, but Darth caught her. He looked into her eyes, and it was love at first sight, she had literally fallen for him. Meanwhile Fatima realised violence was not called for and held out her hand and lifted Falstaff from the floor. Falstaff was still rubbing himself with one hand, Fatima laughed. As she laughed Falstaff realised, she was more beautiful that a table full of ale and 24 packets of Walkers cheese and onion crisps. Yes again, love at first sight.

God works in mysterious ways said Quasimodo and Fatima agreed, no need of fences any more. All four of them sat, and Falstaff began to sing, he knew all the Abba back list. That’s how they spent the evening singing Abba songs, sat next to the font. Quasimodo had an idea, if they held a concert they could raise funds to repair the hole in the church roof.  Abba sung by Norsemen, such a simple idea, so it was decided. Now how could Qausimodo and Fatima accept such strange events? Well old Mrs Houseman had said before she died that as soon as she got to Heaven, she’d find two strapping men for them, and then nobody would ever call them Lesbians again. She was always very direct Mrs Houseman, she’d even said she’d throw them through that hole in the church roof. So it must be the work of God, so obvious Quasimodo believed, she was a vicar after all.

The concert arrived and Falstaff and Darth were ready, the posters showed them, they were posted everywhere up the street. Women thought they were male strippers and obviously they came in force. Men thought they were WWW wrestlers so they came too. So some were disappointed by what they saw in the church hall. But ABBA  are universal, the local lesbians came too, because the believed the rumours about the vicar, so wanted to show solidarity. When Darth sung with Falstaff joining in all were amazed, and even more amazed when the vicar Quasimodo appeared in silver spangled hot pants, Fatima matched her with the same costume. And yes they were great singers too. David had come along too to play the organ, David was world famous in the area for his organ playing. All in all a wonderful night. Lots of money collected to fix the church roof, just left in the collection baskets.

David’s bald patch glistened, Quasimodo and Fatima kissed his bald patch and David went red, he was so embarrassed, Fran his wife laughed. Everything was so perfect, David and Fran would cycle home on their tandem laughing. But somebody else was laughing all the way to the bank, Quasimodo had raised enough for a new roof as they raised the roof with Abba music. However is always lurking. Lewis the local bad boy knew this was his chance, he’d steal the money, and be off to Paris, he always wanted to go to Paris. Now with the roof money he could go with his Honey.

After the concert Quasimodo kissed Darth, and Fatima kissed Falstaff. Then the girls proved they were no lesbians, the local lesbians saw the kissing as the crowd filtered home. They weren’t sad, at least Quasimodo and Fatima had somebody strong to lean on, and there was a lot of leaning going on.

Now in the night Lewis climbed down from the roof dressed as an angel and attempted to steal the money. Darth caught him and Falstaff awoke from their position in the choir loft to find Darth strangling the angel. In fact the whole world saw this as Quasimodo had a camera for online church services. Quasimodo and Fatima came running in their nighties, as Fatima had stopped over, as she’d had too much church wine as part of the roof raising celebrations and could not drive. Quasimodo’s nightie got caught on a candlestick, and in the gloom the whole world saw an unfrocked vicar. Darth decided in a nanosecond he’d marry her. As for Fatima, she had layers or fences around her, but Falstaff knew she was the one for him. As for Lewis the angel, he was strung up like a Christmas fairy and suspended by the bell rope, he was left there for the Police in the morning.

Darth asked Quasimodo to marry him and have a small family, 8 children was considered small in Viking terms. Of course Quasimodo said yes, you can ring my bell is what she said, as she began to sing the song. What of Falstaff and Fatima, or double FF as the couple were known. Well they only had 4 pregnancies but each was of twins, hence their nickname, double FF, which represents Fatima and Falstaff. And Falstaff never turned plastic again.

Wednesday, 15 April 2020

Come On make Some Noise

Come On make Some Noise

I don't know what it's like where you are in the world

But here in Birmingham it is too quiet

Apart from my daughters cutting the grass in the garden

Thanks to this hernia through my bypass scar I cannot do it

 This  SLADE song could be our anthem

Slade Cum On Feel The Noize 1973

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qu_ozjAu_vM

they were  very big band when I was growing up

So play the video on 15 with your windows open and stand there with your

bum exposed and slap it along to the music

or get somebody to slap your bum for you

Cause a sensation in your street

WE NEED A BIT OF NOISE

the world as gone too quiet now

we all need the stimulation of noise

Or we all wear  a Trump mask as we slap our bums

singing WHO needs you now

a catchy chorus

You can make up your own entertainment, but we do need a bit of noise

To fill the vacuum of silence, apart from Trump's daily lies conference

Stay Safe Everybody Everywhere, and it's obvious this is a Global problem

and every part of the world has to be fixed, or Covid 19 will return like a tide

Meanwhile there is much less pollution as a side effect of the Covid 19,

Just watch wildlife with David Attenborough and don't eat it.

D.I.Y. Haircut ©

By Michael Casey

Where do I begin, which is most important thing when giving yourself a haircut, well you start at the eyebrows, I do have bushy eyebrows if I fail to trim them. As you know I cut them off with a scissors when I was 4 or so, then when I was 13 or 14 and learning some French for Mr Notzing the best teacher ever, I plucked them as naked an over ready chicken. So my sister painted some on, nobody noticed the first day, but on the 2^nd day they did. Luckily I was 13.5 stones so nobody took the mick.

So be careful, that’s all I’ll say, not unless you want your class mates to think you are Eddie Izzard, and in the 1970s everybody wasn’t as open to everything as they are, or should be nowadays. You need to find the scissors first, they may have been used to scape chewing gum from your daughter’s boots, or even dog pooh, people just grab the first things that come to hand, so disinfect first, just to be on the safe side. Or if you are lucky you have those comb scissors that look like a comb on one blade with a hopefully pooh free  2^nd blade, though bubble gum could be worse, have you ever had bubble gum in your hair? Oh, just seagull pooh, it’s supposed to be good luck, though how the seagulls get as far inland as Birmingham the centre of the country I’ll never know.

Now safety first, cover your eye with your hand, or if you have a spare Pirate patch wear that over the eye where you are going to eyebrow trim. I have the Pirate scars myself from my heart bypass, and yes that sexy photo of my bare chest really is me from 5 years ago, before my hernia started to poke through like a breast. And you all thought I was a bit of a woman already, you so very cruel, maybe one day a Korean girl is smitten by my scared torso, etc etc etc, as the King of Siam used to say. But back to the plot, standing in front of a mirror ever so carefully begin to trim your eyebrow, but make sure the bathroom door is locked, otherwise you’ll get knocked over and be blinded, or have dodgy eyebrows that Youths think make them look hard. Sorry you  just look really STUPID, but who am I to judge, I do trim the Pope’s eyebrows for him, but that’s another story. A bit of which is in my 19^th books and the 1^st story inside, so go look.

The comb scissors are the best, however if you cut too  much don’t try to match it on the other eyebrow, as you’ll always end up cutting and trimming more and more as you attempt to reach balance, and just end up like an oven ready shaved chicken. Basically you are stuffed, but without the sage and onion up your behind. So once you have finished your eyebrows, step back and admire yourself in the bathroom mirror, but don’t trip over the toilet and drop the scissors down the bog. You really really need those scissors, no matter what’s in the toilet, your hand will have to go down and retrieve the scissors. Otherwise you’ll look like a Yeti.  So always Prepare before you start. Flush and clean everything, and but the toilet lid down, and put plugs in bath and sink. Five minutes prep will save the day. And don’t forget to pull the blind down on the bathroom window, you don’t have frosted glass on that window, you don’t want your neighbours laughing at you. Which reminds me of a story, The Shy Girl, I wrote it for a 2^nd girl, and after she read it she did speak to me for 6 weeks. It may be on one of my sites, or I’ll load it up, its over 20 years old.

So your eyebrows are done, so you shave your ears next, well I do anyway. Be careful not to use a brand new blade, shave your behind first, then use the same blade on your ears. That way you won’t cut your ears to bits, you could end up looking like Mike Tyson had had a go at you in the ring, or is it bathroom. Also as you have blunted the blade there won’t be any nicks, or if they are nobody will ever know, not unless you sit side saddle. Which reminds me of another story about a bolt up my bum, and then I did have to sit side saddle. My eldest brother came home from Oxford University and asked me to show him my scar. The joys of large families, 50 years ago.

So you are confident now so you can start cutting the hair on your head, your bum, ears and eyebrows are done. Once again, safety, cover your ear with your hand as you cut the hair all around it. You could even put headphones on upside down, so as you listen to music you protect your ears, otherwise  you might cut a piece off your ears and end up looking like a Vulcan. You can cut away to your hearts content because as you are in lockdown nobody will see you. Or in my case my hair grows like Japanese knotweed, that’s why Orientals find me so attractive, please yourselves as Frankie Howerd might say.

Now I think you’ve had enough of my Hair, though in the Musical isn’t that a theme song and they all end up naked. See I may have given  you an idea for you own weekends entertainment, Singing. Be careful if you do cut your hair, I am very tempted myself, as my hair really does grow so fast, where I live there are loads and  loads of hair places, but now they are all shut due to Lockdown. Maybe they are all singing Hair from that Musical, or have they filmed me in bathroom, I always forget to put the blind down. Michael’s Bathroom is another story I seem to remember, in it a bread knife falls down the toilet, so obviously I retrieve it, how else can I make my sandwiches on my crusty cobs?

God Bless the Queen and United Kingdom too

God Bless the Queen and United Kingdom too

well it as on the news that there will be no gun salute for the Queen’s 94th Birthday

I did not know Freddie Mercury was that old

Anyway for all you tourists and fans of the Monarchy

You could always stand on your doorstep and sing Happy Birthday

Stevie Wonder could even do it on today’s concert

Otherwise we could all stand on our doorsteps when the Queen’s actual

Birthday happens on Tuesday

And sing Happy Birthday twice, to remind us to WASH our hands and to

Wish the Queen Happy Birthday, 2 for the price of one, like the Abba song

I’m sure she would agree, WASH YOUR HANDS as you sing Happy Birthday

twice

We could also make some noise, and here’s a challenge of Pipers

get  on your roofs and play

We cannot hear the gun salutes, but the Queen can hear Pipers all

over the Capital and beyond

I heard a Piper play in a bar once, and it really does inspire

Let’s put the fear of God into Covid 19, as Piper’s play defiantly

Now this is just a mustard seed, it’s up to you all to Twitter and

Facebook and Watsapp

it to the world

Or you could just stay here and Read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

which after all is all about the best of British and their friends

Originally I called it A Nation of Shopkeepers

so Pipers and noise makers this is a challenge for you

In with the New ©

By

Michael Casey

Well a well-wisher delivered something  to the house, ok it was a bag of frozen food, which I could not get when I had my delivery slot from one of the food companies. In return I donated an old android phone, a very basic one, but it had credit on, as well as my entire collection of CDs from the 1990s which I had loaded up to the phone.

So I’m all exposed, or rather my record collection is, the WW which is short for well-wisher, will now be grooving to Barry White as they discover what kind of music I liked  back in the 1990s, beside Barry that is. A bit of Barry does go a long way after all, and there is a lot of him. So my technophobe WW will now be able to talk to us, and see us in the flesh too. I did not delete my phone contacts either, so they will be wondering just who I know and why. Your phone has all your secrets too, that’s why we have passwords on it.

How would you feel if your grannie got hold of your phone? And looked at all of those photos? I only use my phone for Music mainly during my night time Tinnitus time, so I don’t have 1000s of selfies of me and that girl/boy/horse/or other such things kids have on their phones. And why is the girl from the take-away so prominent, or are you a Rice expert, or just leaning Korean or whatever. By the way a K-drama is a Soap, like Coronation Street or Dallas, it’s not an X film, and I bet you hope you tidied your History from your phone.

So it is amusing to see, how my WW adapts to android phone life, a baked bean tin and a string was the technological heights of her present phone. A Heinz beans tin of course, the WW is not cheap after all. They will no doubt be wondering how the camera works too, don’t laugh all of us use an android, but to my WW it’s like giving one to an Amazonian Native and expecting them to understand. No doubt watching David Attenborough would be the very first thing they would do, assuming wifi reached their settlement.

Wifi is a great gift to us all especially in today’s Covid 19 world, when my dad was in the seniors’ home I visited every single day for 3 years, so now with wifi it’s effortless and does salve conscience, as well as being practical. Though it will be interesting to see will folks in care homes get addicted to K-pop on Utube, or other delights. Or will they get revenge and make nuisance calls to double glazing firms, or switch your energy provider companies who even today are ringing me. Though it won’t be me it’ll just be the WW, that’ll confuse all of them.

Will the WW get addicted to online gambling, I know a couple of people who got into trouble that way, and they were girls, getting into trouble. So they had to get 2^nd jobs to earn money to pay of the gambling debt. An android phone is a great toy, I inherit my daughters’ cast-offs, and you don’t have to go for the Apple, cheaper versions costing ¼ of the price have just as good specs, just go googling and prove it for yourself. There are good reviewers such as Tech Radar, who do unbiased reviews, or trawl through online reviews, and read them all. And if you are a parent you should not be spending more than 100 quid on a kids phone, or much much less, and do learn how to switch the wifi off. You are the one supposed to be in charge, or just lock the batteries away every night. A parent should have more self-discipline than a child.

Enjoy your toys and use your Onedrive and Gdrive and all those other free storage places, 1000s and 10000s of near identical selfies can be stored in the Cloud. Which reminds me when my Aunty Mary came to England the one time in her life she flew and asked Where Was Heaven as she was amongst the clouds over County Kerry. Use your Android with love, and you’ll be amongst the clouds of Love and Family, maybe arguing too, which sounds like K-Drama to me.

There are many things I could say © 

By

Michael Casey 

Yes, there are many things I could say, but sometimes some things are best left unsaid, and you don’t need say some things because they don’t need saying. Simple really. We never said I love you and all that when we grew up, or even today 50 years on. It seems in today’s Selfie taking world, too much has been said, but what is actually said is meaningless. Just like the old song The Songs you sing are meaningless by Lindisfarne, if you have even heard of it then I’ll be amazed. 

Over assertive, over blown words and actions, without any depth are all too common, as I observe from my position sat on the fence like a sparrow waiting for the cat to go away before stealing the dog’s dinner. A grannie giving you a sweet or a squeeze has far more worth, than Reality TV Life. So now some say Covid19 will change people forever. Just as Live Aid was a cry from the heart, but did the buzz last forever then? Did the 2012 Olympic buzz last forever? 

Some people have Charity and Love in their hearts already, some communities have a vibe and feeling or MoJo as Cuomo calls it. This is great, but if you are Christian you may remember the Parable of the Sower, about how it is the depth of love that makes the difference. And quick is not always lasting, just as they say Marry in haste Regret at Leisure. 

So as Covid19 changes all of us, some for the better, some for the worse, do think ahead, what do you like about yourself, have you changed, or will you go back to your old life, will you be a better man, or will you go back to beating the wife. And will you criticize my words without thinking about the meaning and metaphors behind them. Because it’s too easy to be lazy, and thinking is for losers as you go back to your Selfie life. 

I could say much much more, but in the end you have to decide for yourself, but Wisdom is a hard fought teacher, often gained in Battle, but best of all learnt while sat on your mother’s knee. So, I say thank you mum and Cromane Lower Kerry for pouring everything into me. 

Going around in circles or loading software for beginners ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s taken a week but I’m finally there, or I think I am. I now have Word 2019, I got a download and away I went. Or rather I discovered I was duped, my download “worked” only it then displayed “this product will be unlicensed in 20something days” So I was really annoyed. So I emailed the folks  I bought it off, and their advert did say it was genuine Microsoft Word. What they forgot to say was that it would DIE, because the KEY had been used too often already.

Years ago I bought on CD Microsoft Office 2010 and I loved that to bits, but as there were problems with Windows 10 over the years I had to load or rather reload it several times. Until finally it died, too many loads. So, I emigrated to free Wordish programs. However, as I was so annoyed that my brand spanking new Word 2019 would not work for me I decided to dig out my discs of Word 2010 and try a load of that, as I prayed to Bill Gates. And yes, you’ve guessed it, IT ACTUALLY WORKED.

So, I was in Word Heaven again. I did annoy the company who sold it to me, and allegedly I could ring a friend and it would work. The friend being a Microsoft phone number. But I thought that could be a trick, so I did not bother. I have been saved and my Word 2010 would be good enough for me. With this Covid pain in the pants thing I thought I deserved a nice Word Processor, so at least I’d be having fun as I wrote the stuff, even if you my readers think this writing is PANTS, you can be so cruel sometimes, you my bemused bewildered and bothered readers in 80 countries, and languages galore, and if you find the translate button you’ll drown in a Tsunami of my words, all 1,600,000 or so of them.

But it’s nice having nice tools, or should I rephrase that. A butcher has his favourite cleaver, a cleaner her favourite feather duster, a teacher her favourite red pencil, a policeman his favourite handcuffs for work and for pleasure, and a stripper her favourite thong that fits just right so she can shake her bootie. Myself I don’t use a thong as I am so hairy, but otherwise, anyway, every pro, every professional likes the tools of the trade. So, me or I, me anyways I just love a good font to write with, and to sprinkle holy water from.

So last night I decided I’d never get my few quid back from the 1^st company, even though I tried to bribe them with a copy of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, in Chinese, as I tried to guess where they were from judging by the less than perfect English in their email. So, a final roll of the dice I sent them a copy in Urdu, plus a photo of myself with a banana on my head. If they cannot read English maybe a silly photo might work, as a picture is worth more than 1000 words. That night I had a junk email in Korean from a fake name, that referenced a female Bosnian tank commander, with short hair. Was that my seller of Word 2019 software with an overused KEY? I don’t know but everything is material I can put into a story. And no, I never use substances, my writing is substantial enough on its own.

So last night I chose between a London company and another which said it was a Microsoft Partner. London won, and I followed their link which led me directly to Microsoft and I got a fully spanking new copy of Word 2019, I knew it was spanking new, as Donald Trump’s Guide to Spanking was a free giveaway with it. Or am I making that up to fill a sentence and increase my word count, some writers do get paid, and paid by quantity of words. Though even with this London copy once you load it down via Microsoft you have go here and there and login and do this and do that, no need of Trump’s Guide to Spanking, just a guide to where to click and so on. So, finally at about 10pm I was all Worded up, and I wrote the first sentence of this piece. And you wish I did not bother, I can read you all like a book, you can read all 19 of my books as a punishment. Never interfere with a Writer, not unless he encourages you, after a good dinner and wine with music and the rest. But that was obvious, but you still smiled, if you didn’t you are reading the wrong Michael Casey, try the Monk instead.

I did try complaining about the original company, but to no avail, maybe an  anvil would have been of more use to hammer home my case on, as you know my dad was a blacksmith after all. But today I had another idea, I’d message Microsoft, so if anybody at Microsoft got my email maybe just maybe they’ll slap the bum of the naughty company, they can wear gloves, or follow the instructions in Trump’s Spanking Guide.

So, I’ve about finished my first story on Microsoft Office 2019, if you are a shareholder maybe you’ll dash of a message to them, NEVER NEVER NEVER let that Fat Silver Haired Writer in Shades from Birmingham EVER get his hands on Word. He’ll ruin the business, what kind of people does he think we are, when Lockdown is over we’ll throw flour at his door. To which I reply the Whole World can visit, but make Cookies, don’t waste flour on my door.

Saint George’s Day 2020 and Shakespeare’s Birthday too ©

By Michael Casey

Well it’s Saint George’s Day today, not that it is really celebrated here in England, Saint Patrick gets more noise, here in Birmingham there is even an old joke, how do you recognise a Brummie, by the Shamrock in his turban. So why do we celebrate our National Day? Well Saint Patrick’s Day reminds us of our heritage wherever we are in the world. In Chicago they even dye the river, and New York has parades, so it’s an intoxicating celebration and yes a lot of beer is drunk too. I remember once I went to a bar on paddy’s day, it was like being part of a jelly or football crowd, everybody swaying together and fixed moulded to each other’s body.

So that’s one example where happiness and joy is everywhere, the world over in fact. However national days are exploited by the Powers, and then tyranny takes over. Look back at History, remember Hitler and his parades, look at all the parades back in the USSR, look at North Korea. You can think about other examples for yourselves. So when somebody somewhere says lets have a parade then be very very suspicious, even if it’s an Ariel show which is stated to mean one thing when in fact it has another purpose. Self promotion and product placement happens, especially in an Election year. But you cannot condemn an act of Patriotism can you? You’d be called a Commie bastard. Dictators always wrap themselves in the Flag, then slowly or quickly the Flag is them, and nobody is allowed to speak out for fear of upsetting or is it informing the unwashed masses.

Each night we have unfettered blatant lies and electioneering, attempts to make puppets out of Science. We have somebody surfing the waves of Populism, flip flopping ad nasuseim turning every which way. As the unemployment lines lengthen, as you literally cannot give oil away, you have somebody saying BREAKOUT. When they should stay in, be patience. Yes, USA is the Land of the Free, but it could turn into the land of the Dead Stupid. Because Covid19 will kill you, because of an obsession  to be “free”, it’s like a child wanting Christmas to come at Easter.

So some of my USA readers might hate me now, but hopefully I have readers who both like Humour and do have a Brain as well. So use your brain, your skills, your enormous love of family faith and country and THINK. Can I wait just a bit longer, do I really need to hug everybody, or can I say Hi from the length of 2 assault riffles away? The Economy is the People, as a female economist stated on tv the other night here in UK. And she is right, and yes you should listen to a woman too, any women. The Economy is the People, because if folks die there are less sales, and less money to circulate. Yes, folks will get back to spending, and as somebody said why are coins round? So they can circulate.

Let science talk, and not politicians abuse news briefings for petty political motives, politicians come and go, and are changed like dirty pants, every four years. Listen to the Science, we all are missing what we love, even prostitutes, let Science be our guide, not misguided politicians who  may have used….

Inside a Book ©

By

Michael Casey

Well Jeff Bezo was in the news, news not nude, you all have one track minds, he donated to help bricks and mortar book shops here in UK, so God Bless him for that. And because I read that headline you are getting this, so blame him, he had done it anonymously but it slipped out, STOP, I know where your minds are going just stop and behave, or beehive if you’ve seen Nanny McFee. So, I was thinking about Books and what it must be like, from the inside.

I love it when I’m being read, all open and people turning my pages, or rather that one special person who picked me up from a shelf in a book store and read my back and then smiled and ruffled my pages. It’s all so very romantic having your pages ruffled, then being held against a chest as the Reader is so happy to have discovered me. Trump’s guide to Honest and Integrity. Or maybe Michael Casey’s The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, until they read it and think it’s a load of old cobblers, and I don’t mean like a shoemaker either.

So, you are sniffed and stroked, perfect foreplay for any new book, perhaps Bezo should add a scent feature to his Kindle, a new book has a feel and smell, and the pages are tight, and have to be smoothed down. But today’s books don’t have large type, just small small print as it’s easier to produce, maybe Jeff should add a magnifying glass stuck to the back, or invent a projector device that castes the pages to the ceiling. Well curled up in bed with a good book with the cat too, the ceiling is the best place to read words. And should your lover arrive the book isn’t squashed as it’s being projected and protected to the ceiling from its spot on the bedside cabinet.

How do the words feel inside the book? The cover can be embossed and it’s like a blind man feeling for lumps on your face. Then there may be a dust cover that is ever so brightly coloured, but it can be discarded like a dressing gown to reveal itself in all its glory, once satisfied the dust cover returns. Maybe Bezo can add a few tricks to a Kindle so it’s like the curtain being raised at a theatre before each chapter. Blurring the boundaries between book and film, in a tiny tiny way. Feel free to reward me Jeff.

What about the words on a page, the font really is ever so important, as I’ve said recently Amiri font in my new favourite font, and writers think a lot about what and how their words appear on a page. Maybe some words in the middle of a page should be embossed, like hills and hillocks, or maybe just those words, so you have a more interactive sense of the words on the page. Cartoons or Illustrations are of great use, and if I could draw I’d have one cartoon per story or per chapter, my daughters did do drawings for 2 of my first books, the cover art. If only I could bribe or persuade them to do more, hey Jeff how did you Bezo your kids into helping you? See I turned you into a verb, almost parity with Google. As you read all this I am Michaeling you, which is where I make you laugh despite or is it because of the bemusement.

So, the pages turn and the story unfolds, the cartoon of Winnie the Pooh where the pages appear and Pooh slides through them was my original starting thought as I started talking, but as ever I’ve Michaeled myself, so you have a different strand of thought. I was going to write how words feel, but I may come back to that another time, there’s always more in the soup. You could have scents, appear as a chapter ends and so one, like the old cinema where you squeezed a scent at various points in the film, that was a very long time ago now. Interactive books, and you sell refills for books. And why do we need all these tricks and addons? Because people lack imagination maybe, because they are use to TV, with too many adverts, which actually spoil the story, hence Streaming Tv takes over, as you avoid ads.

A tv show will die if it doesn’t have a good pace to it, people want quick fixes. But with a book it’s a slow build love affair, the cast is introduced and you get to know them, and hate them especially if it is a book you are forced to read for English Literature. Read the book at least twice first before the English Teacher instils hatred for life for the text. Don’t judge a book by its cover either, especially mine, I put my photo on them so you know who to blame, and because there are several Michael Casey’s I am of course the most original one. No smirking I know what you are thinking already, of course I do, I’m writing this sentence, so whatever you are thinking only my opinion is on the page. See Writers are power mad, FOOLS.

The ending of a book ties up all the strands, as we are told a book should have a beginning a middle and an end. It can annoy as well, you didn’t get the ending you hoped for. In K-drama there are many many twists and turns and the quality is so high, 16 hours is the norm, and why are Koreans so rich and good looking? In a book you have 10 hours to get people’s attention, or 20 hours for The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as it’s 600 pages. So, people will read your words in sessions, and you have to hope they carry on reading. Reading is a more intimate experience, it’s one on one, like love making. So, the writer gets to influence the reader and can touch them emotionally, with a good story you can excite, entertain, scare, bring hope, bring fear. But in the end you can also bring tears of joy.

The day I first finished the book it was Leap Years Day 1988, and I cried as I finished up the story and wound myself up to write it, I knew I’d finish on Leap Year’s Day, so I was excited and happy. I’d actually written a full lenghth book, on a typewriter perched on a stool while I sat on a broken-backed barn chair.

The original typescript on actual paper was 238 pages, but I wanted to put it on a computer so I started to copy type it, which was boring, so I expanded the story, and that’s what you all read now. The book from a couple of years later. The last word in the book is there for a reason, for it signifies Hope, and much more, you need read it for yourself. Thousands of you have via my Wordpress in multiple languages, up to 10 different languages on the same day. And if you want my Original English it is on Amazon, just look for my silly face.

Inside a book, is more than words on a page, you are inside the writer’s head, or the story in his head. It’s the difference between looking at a cover, and what is beneath the covers. So, tonight and every night curl up with something nice beneath the covers, and I hope it is not a book, but a book is the 2^nd best.

Public Opinion ©

By

Michael Casey

I was wondering what to talk about, as ever, when I decided to choose this, but before I continue I need you all to find Linkedin Profile and CV, a piece from a few years ago and read that first, you may even find it on my Typepad so you can listen to me instead. Ok, I’ll assume you just read that, so basically it charts lies on Cvs and Profiles, maybe lies is too strong a word, but if you have just read it for yourself then you get the context.

Now what is Public Opinion? It’s a group of guys in a bar saying what they’d like to do to the new barmaid, which probably dates back 1000 years, the statements, not just the age of the bar. The wench moves forward seductively a tankard of ale in one hand, her other is behind her back. Quickly she reveals the hidden hand and puts the red hot poker on the loudmouths thigh, he screams and she pours the ale all over his leg. Now that is how to answer public opinion, it could have been worse if the loudmouth was Edward II, if you know your History.

So Public Opinion is what people think in large numbers, starting with small groups hanging around in bars, which hasn’t changed in 1000 years, and we all know about Prince Hal and Falstaff, Henry IV Part I and all that, which I did back in 1975. The prince was worthless boy hanging around in bars, and not taking up his mantle. But he proved them all wrong. We had Churchill and his Wilderness years, but cometh the hour cometh the man.

So Public Opinion is not set in stone it is a very fickle thing and is subject to influence and people will pay a lot of money to influence people, to gain sales, or gain Power. In Politics the Master would go about the bars buying a few drinks in the hope of gaining those votes, as Time progresses the few drinks convert to a factory here, a hospital there, a new road, in essence a bribe. Not that those things are not needed nor have worth of their own, but suddenly they appear so that votes are gained and the Master keeps his power. The thing about Power is that it is transitory, and even Churchill was voted out after the war, so don’t assume anything.

Public Opinion is measured in many ways, but remember too a sample of 1000, really isn’t good enough, a sample of 10,000 is bigger and better, and the best sample of all is the Election, however time and money does not allow for that all of the time. Though with technology you could have a people’s vote on everything all of the time. But for Government you chose a team and let them get on with it for 4 or 5 years. But they do take the temperature to see how they are doing. Or Newspapers scream at them, the Press can have its own agenda depending on who owns the Press, and that’s why it’s always best to read widely, then you are well balanced, I could mention the barmaid again, but that’d encourage a red hot poker so I won’t.

Public Opinion is swayed by campaigns, some newspapers call themselves Campaigning Newspapers, or pain in the butt for Politicians. Then there are uprisings coming from public dissatisfaction, but if you follow the money you’ll see this Billionaire or that Billionaire paid for the Teeshirts they are all wearing. Even Protests have a Sponsor, so think for yourself and really do watch 3 news outlets from all directions, as One Direction may be a good band, but Politically you don’t want to be stuck on a style, not unless his name is Harry and you are that barmaid, no need of hot poker.

Character counts, so Politicians pretend to be one thing so they can ride public opinion, sometimes they treat the Public like donkeys, when they stink like elephants. A man can cheat on his wife or wives and have a string of encounters,

But so long as they hate the other guy or woman more, then the public will swallow anything. Instead of Bible bashing horror, there is jealousy and a desire they had as many girls in their beds, how the Politician avoided the hot pokers nobody knows, but he’s a good old boy, so they’ll vote for him. Besides he has a Bible on his bookshelf, not that he could even recite the Lords Prayer, the Public just wants change, besides they hate the arrogant self-absorbed other guy more.

Nearer Elections Public Opinion really does matter, as you want to keep the Power and all it’s trapping. So you hog the limelight in briefings, especially when you want to keep the herd following you, but if you are immune to the herds’ feelings and say “they are not worth my time” let them drink disinfectant, which is the new Let Them Eat Cake mantra, you may find they finally stop voting for you, especially if they are dead after drinking disinfectant.

The Public can be fooled, and a Castle glimmering on a Hill, may in reality be just a façade, but back then there was Hope, but now there is a guy doing rope a dope. So, in the end you, me, everybody has to think for themselves. This guy who wants to be a leader, is he a concealer? Do you know has he ever paid any tax, like the rest of us with 3 jobs to keep afloat. Is he really super rich, or are his finances in a ditch, mortgaged to several foreign governments, does he spend all his time denying everything, “I take no responsibility” hiding his total lack of ability. Is he as honest as the day is long, or does he just spend his time watching his own reviews on tv, Glory Be.

Churchill said “All forms of Government are Bad, but Democracy is the Least Bad” so when we vote, it is our own private opinion on how our Politician has acted in Public. We are paying him to take responsibility and do the People’s bidding, to look after us, especially in bad times, in sad times, and not to rant and rave and save his own bacon, he is our hog. If he cannot do the job he should be voted out, and have that red hot poker of Public Opinion placed where it can do the most good, Edward II does come to mind…

And what was the most stupid thing you ever did ? ©

By

Michael Casey

And what was the most stupid thing you ever did ? I just asked my kids as I waved 2 fingers at them. Why 2 fingers, well the reason for that relates to what was the most stupid thing I ever did. You see around Guy Fawkes night, when we have fireworks in UK, I actually held a banger and let it explode in my hand.  There was nothing at first and then a rush of heat and pain, and that’s why I only have 2 fingers left on one hand. Our dog Lassie ate the charcoaled digits, but after a day they came out her rear end and the vet or was it surgeon was able to reattach them. So, my fingers are very well travelled, exploded off my hand, eaten by a dog called Lassie and poohed out a day later, then reattached. And if that isn’t stupid then nothing is.

Though part of that tail or is it tale is a lie, which part? I did in fact hold a banger in my fist, encouraged by D, he knows who he is, and the banger did explode. Luckily my hand and my life were not damaged forever. The bit about a dog and pooh and a vet sewing back my digits I added for colour. So, this 4^th of July or whatever celebration you have do not even think of doing what I did.

I did it 50 years ago and more, before fireworks, or fire crackers as they are called in USA were more like ordinance that Marines use in conflict. So, don’t be crackers and ever even think of being as stupid as I was then. Or I’ll give you the finger, you’d only be able to give me one finger back in return, as all the rest of your digits will be blown off if ever you were as stupid as I was.

This was before I discovered books and fear of my Teacher Mr Gallagher, which led to be becoming a reader, and ultimately the Writer wagging his finger at you, and thank God I still have all of my fingers. So that was my confession, what do you want to confess? Or has the priest already battered you with an old Bible for being such a dirty little bastard, and banned you from church. So, you go off and regret your past, then years later you return to the church as a priest, and the old priest retires. You do of course hear the old priest’s confession and you in turn batter him with an old Bible, and call him a dirty bastard. Life is a circle after all. And what was the old priest’s failing? It was your very own. He had got drunk on the altar wine when the big match was on tv, and a penalty shootout had taken place, so he drunk the altar wine, to celebrate.

And will God forgive, him and you? You are both priests now, and yes God will forgive 77 x 7 times.

But it’s always best if Stupidity is avoided, so think before you act, and wait till tomorrow, because a good decision is always best slept on. Though if it’s a girl, she’s best slept with, today, tomorrow and always. Especially if her pet name for you is STUPID.

When Shakespeare met the Vampires ©

By

Michael Casey

As I said before the morn broke, on yester eve, my offspring were partaking of a Tale on the magic flickering theatre box, tv in common parlance. So as the dawn has broken I will relate a Tale inspired by the Originals and how they spake like Shakespeare, to my own very ears that is.

Let us begin. O you upon the balcony, what is thy purpose, are you afte perchance a thief or a knave, or an escaped slave. You came to wash the windows? But where is thy bucket, or is it hidden in thy mighty codpiece?

Do not dally, go fetch a pale of water, and should thou meet Jake and Jill, tell them to hurry. Now with that boy gone I shall tell you the gist of the Tale. There are strange creatures abroad, they dost say they live in the darkest of the night and make merry, no not Students, but strange strange people who have exceedingly bright teeth, as white as virgin snow. And thou dost know how hard it is to come upon a virgin in this city, and as for snow, Ha, I repeat Ha, it never snows in Old Forge and Singing Anvil.

The leader of the Teeth as they are called is a man called Bert, yes Bert is how his mother did Christen him, Bert, it was to have been Gilbert, but gills sound too fishy, and it was for lack of a fish head that the bastard was born. As thou will remember fishes’ bits were used to prevent unwanted births. Brook Street had not yet been invented, it was still just a puddle filled back passage, before the Future arrived. But back to the tale, the Teeth as they were called were bold strong men that hung out together, yes very early Body Builders, who always wore deep red lipstick, or so it would seem. Perchance when I awoke from my reverie in the mist of the night, to use the chamber pot, I overfilled my chamber so I had to throw it out the window. It was then that I saw a man below, he was all red mouthed, I just thought he was a local rent boy, and I nearly waved and  said garde de l’eau below, but I did not. For on the floor by his feet was a very very pale maiden, her neck and bosoms exposed, and her neck was blood soaked. I had in the middle of the night come upon such a dreaded sight. The Teeth had bitten and a faire maiden had been bitten, and her blood been drained from her. So, I bit my tongue, and waited for the Teeth to depart, while I held in a fart, then I caste my po, because I was in dire need of it again. So, the fallen maiden was blessed with a po full of my pee, by me Will Shakespeare, consecrated from above, by a shower of water, not blessed, just expelled not heaven sent, just from a window above, without any love.

In the morrow without any sorrow I emptied my po again, and when I looked to see was the maiden still fallen, and perhaps was she still available, her bosoms did methinks were so inviting. There was naught to be seen, maybe it was all a dream, but it would be and could be inserted into a tale, inserting a maiden always makes good theatre after all, I am Will Shakespeare after all. So, I went about my business, sharpening my quills, which is always a cure for all ills for Writers such as I. Besides the Tavern, the Horse Trader had yet to open, so I sharpened my quills, as I watched my maid shake my paliass, though I must confess I dost enjoy her paliass more than my own, especially when dear Ann is away.

I was on the lookout for a tart, Greggs Olde Bakery was and still is the best, but I was wont for a strumpet, as I had great need filling my codpiece, and besides I needed a boy to play that strumpet. Not that I have inklings for boys, but you see we have to have boys playing maidens, as the Queen does not allow ladies to play ladies, she is the Queen and does not want any competition. Queen Rules OK. So unbroken boys dress as strumpets and ladies and all sorts of the female gender, where is the equity of it all, it seems all balls to me.

So I came upon Bert in the dark, the inn keeper refuses to use more candles, so it’s always dark, it’s frightening whom one couldest bump into. Then Bert opened his lips and I was dazzled, his teeth were so amazingly white, I was stunned, but I recklessly asked how he managed to get his teeth so white. Perchance a triffle I could buy the wife to keep her happy, a white teeth maker. Bert explaineth to me he had a friend from over the border, what Birmingham I asked, no a bit higher, not Wolverhampton. And we continued with said game till he explained over the Wall, the other side of Hadrian. Now Hadrian was a fat bastard, he really was fat and a bastard to boot, so I looked past Hadrian at the bar. Bert smiled and nearly blinded me in the process. No, he explained, not past that bastard Hadrian stood at the bar, but over the wall, Hadrian’s Wall into Scotland, the land of the men is skirts.

I was immediately interested then, men in skirts would be perfect to act in my plays. Bert explained his friend MacClean helped him with his teeth, after he had eaten him his teeth had forever been so bright and white. Little did I know that Bert did not mean eat but eat, you see Bert was a Vampire. But I was intrigued, if I could meet some more of the Clan MacClean then I’d have a source of actors to play the strumpets in my plays, like wot I wrote yesterday as Ernie Wise used to say, before he ran away with a sailor in Morecambe.

So Bert and I tarried in the bar, Falstaff came with the food,  he was such a fool, I said I’d put him in a play if he gave me more ale, so the fool did, and I will stick him in a play if my name is William Shakespeare. Through I have to leave my mark on parchment just for the record, so I always sign Michael Casey let that fat silver haired writer who hides in the shade, get the Kings Men chase him when I leave for London at the weekend, he can pay my bar bill, my civil bar bill, or should I reverse it, the bar bill of civil, methinks that could be a good title for something. I’ll file it in my codpiece for later.

That night as the cock crowed, as it’s neck was being strangled for crowing at a such an ungodly hour, before being put in a pot, cock in a pot is a verily a great  disk in these parts, put  your cock in my pot is a much heard refrain, not just from cooks but ladies of the night around here. Bert appeared in a flash, his codpiece was loose, too much weight being carried within. With him was a man past Hadrian, a Scots man, a man in a skirt. So, I proposed he appeared in one of my plays, and did he mind kissing me, and as I demonstrated, the man in a skirt kissed me back. A Glasgow kiss, or head butt to those who do not know, a Glasgow kiss is a head shattering head butt, the men past Hadrian may wear skirts but they were definitely all men, and as their kilts swirled I can attest definitely ALL MAN. But for a good bottle or Irn Bru they’d dress in all a girl’s finery and appear in my latest play. Measure for Measure, which was all about drinking, or so I told the Devil in a Kilt. The Scot told me he’ll accept all this carry on, so long as I left his kyber alone.

Bert smiled and dazzled us both, then he flew away after turning into a bat, he said his friend Bruce, another Scot was making the dinner, dina dina Batman.

Naming Things ©

By

Michael Casey

So, Boris and his girl named their baby today, so God Bless all 3 of them. This got me thinking, so that’s why you are getting this. I am of course called Michael and I’ll have you know I insist that’s my name, NOT Mike or Micky or any other useless shortenings. I once wore a Dicky Bow at work for a whole day so that they’d call me Michael, I was getting bored correcting them, this was 40 years ago. So, I wore the Dicky Bow for a day, there were 4 or 5 other Michaels but only I was Michael.  When I worked at CPNEC, a hotel right next to BHX airport there were loads of Michaels there too, but I was Mr Casey or Michael, my name was not shortened. When I stumbled into teaching Esol for a year, where my external assessor called me “excellent, excellent and exemplary” on my assessment, there the students called me Mr Michael. So now you know.

Of course those that really really know me call me Sarah, or you sexy vixen, I am of course dressed in drag with my bypass scar exposed through a very low cut blouse, size 46 hairy chest. And my very firm large buttocks are squeezed into tight red jeans, which is the norm for me, as not even Cotton Traders can accept the challenge. I do wear high heels, size 10 men’s size. So don’t call me Sarah it’s Michael M I C H A E L .

Now that I’ve explained that I’ll get on with it, and what am I getting on with, I’m not some pole dancer, despite Morris my friend ratting his stick at me, after he got out of the bath where he squashes his grapes, it is rather a small bath after all. No, he really does squash his grapes he is a big bloke after all, he makes his own wine in his bath tub, what were you all thinking of. What? You are disgusting, go and book online Confession immediately.

Where was I? I lost my drift, it’s very hard drifting you know, especially if you are a coalman. Where’s Julian and Sandy when you need them. Julian has locked himself away for a while, he won’t be reading the news for a bit, but if he practices the One Minute Waltz, I’m sure he’ll get the Just a Minute host job, and he can thank me for it when he does.  See you drifted off for a second, am I repeating myself, it was the eggs I had for breakfast. Which reminds me of my influences, no not 40 year old Whisky, me drink whisky, are you laughing. You, want me to carry on, now who’s the clever dick now, and as for Julian, I could have been called Julian, well my mom once said name a child after her, Julian would do if I had a boy.

OK, so I’ve been too far Around the Horne, and Julian you can explain it to the Youth, you are good at explaining, the kids today will totally misunderstand, they’ll think Around the Horne is some form of sex education. So, where was I, I’m listening to the Beatles as I talk to you, It’s Wednesday Morning, which is a lie it’s Saturday and Boris and his girl have named their new baby. Now it’s Yesterday and that’s another lie, why do they keep on lying, next they’ll say they are better that the Stones, they were all too “stoned” to tell the difference if you ask me. And now I can hear Hippy music from the Beatles so I was right after all, trust your Uncle Michael, and I was in fact named after my Uncle Michael. The space between us, did they have Social Distancing back then in the 60s? Just a thought, how can I think straight with a sitar playing everywhere and those bongos or whatever are making my head spin.

I’ve switched the Beatles off, they thought they could turn me on, but with a manly command “Computer Stop” I’ve switched them off, all those years in the hotel, me and my booming voice, I can be so masterful when I like. Jules, just stop sniggering or I’ll tell Sandy to stop bringing the shopping to you. I’ve just looked at the tally in the corner over 740 words, and still I haven’t got to point, sorry it’s the Gerald Wiley in me, and NO , that’s not a double entendre, Julian you really must explain it to the kids. Everything breath I take every move I make, they are misrepresenting me. It stings, it really stings when I’m misunderstood, what try Polygrip on my dentures. Julian that was wicked, you’re supposed to be the straight man keeping order, and playing the one minute waltz. I do not have DENTURES, I know they look so good, but they are all mine, I did inherit them from Steptoe.

Living Years is playing now as I continue, and NO I’m not going to stop yet, though I will put some roast potatoes in, so I have something to look forward to when I finish. What have you got to look forward too? Well Jules is a good player, he told me, so it must be true. Finally, I remember what I was going to say. Why do we name things? Because it gives us power over the thing, it shows affection to a thing, it differentiates from one thing to another. Here’s Julian, and that’s Michael. Simple really, Julian would not want to be mistook for an 18stone super model with gorgeous silver hair with his shades perked provocatively on his head and a massive chest. What I’m stretching the Truth? Who does Julian think he is, the BBC?

Wait, right there I have to sort out the washing, do you think I have servants?

Well I just had an emergency, our cat Totoro was watching the washing spin around so she followed it with her head and got very dizzy, so she collapsed. I had to give mouth to mouth to our pussy, but Tororo is fine now, I’ve got whiskers in my mouth, so I had to spit them out. But Totoro did help me hang out my washing, I throw it on the line and she puts the clothes pegs on, I saw it on Blue Peter, how to teach your pussy tricks, it was very educational and practical at the same time.

But why have names? Well you cannot keep on grunting, well apart from Heavy Metal people, Steelworkers, not musicians. Though they do both bang a lot and have a lot of rhythm. Put this there and do that, with thingy, and bobs your uncle, not unless your sister in law has forgotten to shave again. That’s why shaving was invented, to differentiate between the sexes, simple really.

We name things to bring order, I’ll have 17 pints of Stella and a packet of cheese of onion crisps. It just would not work with, I’ll have 17 dodas, and a chapaa of onion crisps. It would sound too much like Lenny Bruce was getting the drinks in. So, by using words we get the right thing, the right stuff and not the wrong stuff. It must have been very tiring having to give names to everything, Mr Webster or was it Pepys must have been very tired when he was finished. No wonder he went to Greggs for a pasty was that what caused the Great Fire of London? But at least the Arabs invented numbers so he could write his insurance claim out properly.

This has been a meandering tale, I didn’t name names, but I did drop a few hints, you can name things for yourself, I have to take my roasters out now, they should be ready to eat. I’ll tell my girls I burnt them, then I won’t have to share them. This is what parental responsibility is after all, LYING. Ok be good Julian, if you don’t  get that job on Just a Minute, a least you can become a Lounge Bar Piano Player, be Les Dawson instead of Nicolas Parsons, or I am no vicar,  no I did not say wearing no knickers. Switch your hearing aid on.

What Binds Us? ©

By

Michael Casey

I just checked my readers for today, as I do every day, that’s why I always have a ruler with me, to slap their knuckles if they misbehave. Yes very old school, my dad’s teacher in 1920s Kerry in fact said “One Day Casey you will hang” But my dad had the last laugh, out of dad’s  kids 4 of the 6 of us, became Teachers, though I only did Esol, but I am  open to offers if you can tempt me. Now today from Colombia to Korea and Singapore I’m being read, I won’t rattle off the list, 80 countries in total. But it brings me to my point, what binds us.

Many things bind us, our family, our faith, our football team, our gang, fear of our mum and her tongue lashing us. Having something in common binds us, working as a team, or sharing the same canteen.  Things bind us, they make us stronger.  If you look at a bridge you’ll see how the ropes twisted together makes the thing stronger as you cross that river in Colombia or wherever you are today reading my stuff. So, rope or metal is weaved together to make it stronger and it can then support the weigh as people or animals or trucks cross it. So, it is with people too, if you bind them you make them stronger.

A strange thought came to me as I checked out who was reading my rubbish today, what if my scattered readers all met, say at the United Nations. They wouldn’t be able to speak each other’s languages, no doubt English would be the Lingua Franca, though the French would pretend they could not speak it, and insist French was the language of Diplomacy. My scattered readers, what can they say? Michael Casey, and then smile and mention Big Sid, or Smiling Paul, or the Gavin twins, Amjit and Patrick, not forgetting Mrs Murphy. They might not be able to use each other’s language but they can mention a name and they all smile, why are those people in that book so stupid, or clever, or poetic, or just so full of love. So, a fan club, unites, not that I’ll ever have a fan club, the point is there are things we all love, or characters in a book who we like the most. Fan conventions especially SciFi allow people to dress up and be like their favourite star or character, thus the love of this brings people together. I have actually met the real Chewbacca and r2d2 when there were fan conventions at the NEC  in the early 2000s, and yes they both asked for my autograph, NOT.

A connection breaks down walls and friendship and love or just lust begins, and that forms families, sometimes even after just one night. So, we are bound together. Some binding may just be because we belong to the same bondage club, Cuffs and Links, does not refer just to fancy ways of closing your shirt sleeves, it might also be Cuffs and Links a members’ bondage club. Or you are in a drinking club or a diving club, or selfie taking and accident club. Selfies do lead to accidents as fools fall off things, too many times people die because they were too busy taking a selfie.

A common thing, a connection, starting with cobwebs love, binds and unites and strengthens us. We feel happier if we have a connection and are more likely to help each other. Back in 1999 I was in Barcelona, my last solo misadventure, I had relearnt my Spanish by practising for just 15 mins a day but for 3 months I think it was, the exam was in 1975. Anyway, I was lost and unable to find my hotel, so I stopped 2 old ladies, older people and ladies always help, remember that. So, I stammered “Donde esta Hotel Paral Ley” and the ladies helped. Why? Because I said, “me llamo Miguel” and she replied “ mi hijo es Miguel”  I said I was Michael and her own son happened to be called Michael. The accident of a connect no matter how bad my Spanish allowed me to get help. So, they walked 400 metres with me to the Subway at the top of Las Ramblas, and pointed the way. I then said I was hungry, so they too me to a Tapas bar next door to Dunkin Donuts and told the bar staff, feed this man. So obviously every day for a week I went back to that bar, “otra vez” they named me. Connections work, no matter who spurious.

So, to finish because I need to visit the tapas bar that is our kitchen, why does a Colombian read my stuff as well as a Korean? Not to mention the rest of you. I hope it’s because I make you laugh and mix the almost serious with really stupid ideas. So, as you do whatever you do in Colombia you say to “vuestros amigos” “Miguelito Casey es Loco, pero Que Aproveche” if my Spanish idiom is right. As for Koreans it might be just because I so damn attractive all the girls read me. Though, if that’s true, somebody must have a really bizarre sense of values. Whatever values you have I hope you can see yourselves in The Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker, and laugh with me and at all my 2000 plus short stories. Because laughing together is the only gift I can bring to the table.

Optics and Reality ©

By

Michael Casey

When I left Pinsent Masons Law Firm over 10 years ago, and they really are very nice people by the way, I shared a piece called Nobel and Me. I had sent a farewell email to the folks, and one of the Lawyers and I think we had up to 400 in the building, or was that total staff? Anyway, one of the lawyers said he liked the piece of writing and good luck with my future and the writing. These past 10 years have been my busy time for the writing, and then I became a hausfrau, and my Health got bad, arthritis, heart bypass, tinnitus etc.

I am very very fortunate though as I’ve had my Golden Years with my daughters. My mother called the time my dad was made redundant and the decade they had the Golden Years. Five years ago, I could have ended up dead, and you would have all been spared my 1,600,000 words in total. So I’ve had 10 years with my daughters, and I’ve watched them grow up, and I’ve moulded their characters, no dad has had the time to interact with his kids as much as I have. So, I’ve been very lucky, though the kids may not think the same. I’ve also had time to write, though nowadays it’s all I really can do, and some of you may wish I’d stayed at Pinsents, or just wish the Grim Reaper got me 5 years ago. I was lucky, a neighbour of a similar age, also with 2 daughters at the same school as my girls, he died in his bed.

So, that’s the short version, and you will have gathered if you read my stuff, I really do hate Pretension. What you see is what you get. Ask Derek Willins if you like, he said it a bar, and he was getting the beers in, he was my boss, though he may deny it, being shamed and associated with me might dent his street credibility. I watch things and I get ideas, it’s over 20 years ago since Derek said that by the way, it was in my Market Research into Alcohol days, yes really, it was a real job, ask ACNielsen if you don’t believe me. I’ve flourished into a Writer, though you may use another W word. So what has this got to do with Optics and Reality? I’m just giving you some background, just as I should remind you I’ve watched too much tv and radio news, 50 years’ worth. If I had pocket money growing up maybe I’d have watched less tv and listened less to BBC Radio 4, which is the Internal World Service if you are an American reader.

Which brings me to Optics and Reality, maybe you should read LinkedIN Profile and CV before you continue. So I’ll assume you have and I’ll march on, like a Christian Soldier, Mr Watts my old Physics teacher was in the Salvation Army, I just remembered that, I can even remember his face and the 2^nd year classroom we were in once. See my brain is just a sewer, or a smoker’s chest full of phlegm. Maybe it’s the phlegm that keeps the Covid 19 out, not the nicotine.

One thing has one image, one picture, the desired picture, but the sad reality is far far different. You see me one way, but as you read you discover more. Don’t just look at one piece of the 1000 piece jigsaw, or even 10000 piece jigsaw. The same goes for Optics and Reality.

He is fat, he must eat too much, so he is greedy

In reality he has a medical condition

He smells, he must not wash, he’s a dirty old man, literally

In reality, he has kidney failure, goes to the bathroom 20 times a day

He is inconsiderate, he has the radio on loud all day and even at night

In reality, the Tinnitus is never ending, and seems louder at night

He makes a lot of noise at night, going to bathroom every 2 hours

In reality, his kidneys are destroyed, so he has to go to bathroom so often

He screams at night, he must be taking drugs or drink

In reality the sine curve of pain, comes and goes and hurts, really hurts

He gets up late, he’s so lazy

In reality some nights, he cannot get to sleep till 6 am or later or is it sooner

And on it goes, ignorance displacing unknown facts

But what about in the real big outside world

I’m a Stable genius

But where are the grades, hidden in Davie Jones locker

I have a gift for these things

A relative knows, he pretends to know by association

I’m a great businessman

But went bankrupt, was it 5 or 6 times, help me I cannot count, can you

I am generous, I have a Charity, I love our Vets so much

But a Judge made you return $2,000,000 dollars, and said you could not run any Charity

I’m so clever I had my own University

Which closed

People love me, somebody paid 1000s for a picture of me

You bought it yourself

I’m as respected as Abe Lincoln

So, you sit in front of his statue for the cameras,

 if Abe wasn’t set in stone he’d walk away

Under my Absolute Rule everything is booming

30,000,000 Unemployed, stock market tanking

Covid 19 is a HOAX

Millions infected, tens of 1000s dead

I never lie, it’s all Fake news

Too many lies, 18,000 and mounting

I could go on but you get the picture, lies, damn lies and statistics. Trump may even declare war on China, or then change his mind the very next day, and let democratic Taiwan be invaded. Trump loves a show, that’s all he is good at, SHOW, but running a circus is not the same as running a country. Boasting about winning a Nobel Prize, is just too stupid for words. It also is where I began this piece. Nobel read his own obituary, and he was so filled with shame that he changed and started the Prize.

Will Trump be filled with shame? Will he ever admit he got it wrong, never because he’ll never a mask, because that would be the Optics of Failure, and that is the real reason Pence did not wear a mask when he did tour, and everybody was all masked up. Optics in Election year is all that matters. Photo opportunities and flowers, the sweet smell of success, when the stench of death and failure and 30,000,000 unemployed. Nobody standing up to him, a sober straight person is what is required in a crisis. Not a self-centred egotist, who boasts about his TV ratings when people are dying and hurting, who probably hasn’t paid any taxes in 10 years, hiding everything, except his tv ratings.

So, if the United States is to survive as the Unites States, people have to speak up, and speak loudly, and get off the couch and Vote. Post in Voting is what is needed, and then the People’s Figures will be counted, or do you prefer to be sheep, and just watch a Clown bring down a Nation, because he looks so charming on tv, oh so Optical,

 BUT IT IS ALL AN ILLUSION.  

Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings ©

By

Michael Casey

I was sitting in the bathroom, and I wondered what I’d regale you with today, and the thought occurred Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings, best ideas sometimes come when you are sitting down in the bathroom. Wednesday 23^rd May 1979, was a memorable day for me, because I’d just got out of bed in the afternoon after a night shift. By 3pm Andy Madden was dead, so that’s 41 years ago, he died of a heart attack and I tried to save him. I was still 20 at the time, so it was a rude awakening and introduction to death, face to face death. I’ve mentioned it before, but now 41 years on, I’ve given his name.

Andy had no family and he was our lodger, him and his wife, she was a cleaner down Dudley Rd, hospital, now renamed City, for some unknown reason, it’s on the Dudley Rd, directly opposite Saint Patrick’s RC Church, my home church so to speak. When people die, their secrets are revealed, well if you have to tidy up after the dead, I’ve just counted I’ve known 5 of our lodgers who died over the years, luckily the local undertaker is a family friend I could say.  Add on lodgers who bailed out, or you evicted finally after so much bad behaviour, that the local Police encourage him to leave after he’d made a verbal commitment, Jock had a birdcage but no bird, then that could be 10 or so. So, with this upbringing I know stuff that some people don’t know, or have not experienced, because they’d had tidy lives.

If I bring in William Shakespeare for a second, you get all these denialists who say he could not have written this or that. One great documentary series explained his education, and wool trade connections, and he may have even been a secret Catholic. Which means like me he had a varied life and life experience, which helps if you end up a writer. Simple really. Now back to the theme, when you die people have to clear up, sometime literally. As you pooh the bed when you die, if you didn’t know, when my mother died, my brother washed all the blankets in the washing machine. No, not something you’ll want to know or ever hear about, but a sad reality of death.

You go through a room with bin bags at the ready and pour the stuff into the bag, as far as Jock was concerned the right verb. Then there was the bird cage but never the bird, he did in fact return for the bird cage. His room was deep cleaned by my mother, as for his mattress it was burnt at the bottom of the garden, without the use of any paraffin. So much soaked in whisky meant it went to blazes so fast, I just remembered too we had been on the family holiday probably to Abegele and he’d been promising to leave, so mum was livid, he was  forever playing catchup on the rent for his bedsit. NO, we weren’t horrible landlords, our price was the cheapest in Birmingham, I can remember my mum nagging dad to put the rents up. Remember we were a family of 8 plus a cat and a dog, how could mum feed her 6 kids, despite dad working up to 16 hours a day in the steelworks.

The accidental purchase of the house next door, had been a life saver. Dad’s brother Dan lost his wife in childbirth, on her 10^th child, dad’s brother Willie was about to buy the house next door. So, when Dan lost his wife, Willie a bachelor went back to Kerry to help raise the family. As for the house next door, dad’s name was put on the deed instead, simple, and that’s how Fate changed all our lives. And that’s why it really is a Casey Clan, so hello to all and any of them should they stumble over this. I think it is Morris who has the Casey family farm now, and yes my own dad was one of 10 too, and mum one of 7 but Timothy died age 7 of rickets.

Time for roast potatoes, I am Irish after all, then I’ll continue. Well I’ve had my spuds, and my mum used to use a milk bottle to mash them, sometimes with the milk still inside. So, if you were late to the table you wondered why the milk bottle had mash all around it. Where was I, tidying up after the dead, yes you find their secrets. And they can be disturbing, the girlie magazines under a cushion, or neatly sacked next to the Bible. A diary filled with hate and bile, or old photos, of long-lost friends. Coupons and cuttings, hidden secrets or collections, he was a Villa fan, or loved science, he had all 100 parts of a science book published weekly in parts. Or just stale old clothes, not even the Charity shop would want, bagged and not even tagged, and thrown straight into the dustbin.

When you go through somebody’s stuff you are not even a burglar, certainly not when it’s single working men who lived in bed sitter land. It’s sad, they get up go to work in the screw factory or wherever, go to the pub, go home, go to bed and that’s the sad circle, and sometimes they wash in the bath. On the other hand, you get to hear plenty of tales, and it could be said it motivates you to do well at school. Though in my own case it did not motivate me at all, other things did, but that’s another story.

With the ringing of Tinnitus in my head, the doorbell rings and my “slot” arrives, so I’ll leave you for today, I could have said more, but I’ll just say this. If I can be a Writer, then all of you can, so write then post it somewhere, even if it’s on the door of the fridge in a plastic wallet. Shakespeare started somewhere and why not emulate him, because I don’t want to be copied, I just want, well if you’ve read my stuff before then you know what I want, so go hunt while I answer the door.

A Nudist’s Guide to Walking ©

By

Michael Casey

As everybody is talking about Covid 19, I don’t really need to say too much about it in my writing. And we’ll all be sick to the back teeth with Plays and Films all about it. Why? Because 7 billion, 7,000,000,000 of us have experienced it, so do we want to pay a dollar to see the film of it? No doubt howls or rage, but would you want Christmas 365 days a year? That’s taken the howls down by 6,000,000,000 at least. Now to amuse you all, while you spit at the screen, here’s an account of my Locked Up Life, what I am being a hypocrite, or just another government adviser. No, I don’t have any women sneaking into to my home to give me “personal care”, maybe I should put my address and phone number at the end of the post.

Now as you know I have to be careful having had a heart bypass, so I stay indoors and things are delivered, in a way not much different to my life prior to Covid 19, though as a government advisor, I do get recreational visits from women twice a week. That’s a joke should you be speed reading this. So, what do I do for exercise? Well going to the toilet 20 times a day is my exercise, as the toilet is far away from where I am sat most of the day in front of my PC, though I do use a 9 or 10 year old tv as a screen for comfort, and soft toilet paper too. 20 x 40= 800, so toilet time is 800 metres, because I walk or run there and back every time I have to go.  I did not realise it was that much, it explains why my belly has not got even fatter.

Obviously, I’ve been told to stay indoors, because I’m such an ugly ____, insert a word to describe me, you really are such cruel people. I  wouldn’t let you in twice a week, such horrid horrid words to talk about me. So I do need a bit of other exercise, up and down the stairs to use the bog is not enough, so what do I do? Well if you’ve read the title of today’s talk, I go walking in the nude. The weather has been so kind, so I take advantage of the weather.

At night when the coast is clear I disrobe, and sneak out the front door as naked as I was born. Letting the breeze blow the cobwebs away is always nice, better still if there are no cobwebs, and if there are then you have not been exercising enough, I won’t elaborate, let’s just say you’ll have nothing new delivered at Christmas. So gently and gingerly I skip down the garden path, winking at our garden gnomes, who hide their eyes behind their fingers. Have they never seen a manly man naked in a front garden before?

Then I look left and right and decide spontaneously  which direction to go, in the end there only is one direction, so humming Harry Style’s hits I prance off. As I go along the pavement I look all about me, the whole street has been abandoned these Covid 19 days, so I move into the centre of the actual road, and off the pavement. I can wiggle my way manfully, stopping occasionally to touch my toes. I am so fortunate I have such a firm pair of buns, a lifetime of standing and prancing around computer rooms and foyers and so forth has made me such a tight arse. If I really were a government adviser women would visit twice a week to interrogate me, just how did you get such a tight arse, would always be on their lips.

So, I nimbly walk about my area, up down and around and back again, a circuit in the twilight, my hairy mass and ever so gorgeous tight ass on display as I go about my way. Then tossing my head backwards I let my ever so gorgeously soft and silver hair wave in the twilight twinkle of the stars. Aliens from above would remark, why is that fat fool prancing around naked in the dark, I thought it was only us aliens who never wear clothes. Though he has such a tight fat arse, perhaps we should abduct him, and get him to breed with us aliens, then we aliens would have great arses like him. He can keep his silver hair, us aliens are all Gingers, it’s a know fact, aliens are Gingers.  

After 20 mins, I have had enough exercise and its is time to come home, nobody will recognise me in the dark, beside I have no clothes on, so how could they identify me. Well apart from the A3 size brown and hairy birthmark on my left shoulder, but nobody would ever see that in the dark. I get home and the garden gnomes avert their eyes again, though one local cat  runs away in fear, seeing me naked before them. A takeaway deliveryman spots me and pukes all over the pizza he is delivering, pepperoni of course.

I get back inside and get myself a Stella from the fridge, I deserve it. So on I go with my night-time nude exercise, nobody will ever be the wiser. Unfortunately there is an App, and everybody is using it, not the Covid 19 App, but WhatsApp, I have been filmed, and everybody but everybody in Old Forge and Singing Anvil has recorded and shared my dusk dancing and prancing in the dark. I have even been edited together to cover all my routes, a full HD video of dear naked me.

Then one night as I have my key in the lock, a voice behind me, it’s a policeman, he follows me inside my home. I’ve been spotted, it’s a fair cop. And indeed it was, for it was a fake moustache, the Policeman was really a women in disguise, she had come to take down my particulars. The rest you can make up for yourselves, as we practice with handcuffs…..

New, Really New ©

By Michael Casey

In game shows you can Take the Money or Open the Box, Michael Miles and Monika Rose may spring to mind if you are even older than me. If you Google you’ll discover sad facts about them, so the memory I’ve had for over 50 years has a cloud over it now. But I won’t dwell on it, nobody should dwell on sad things, that’s why we all like New things.

In advertising New is the buzz word, and game shows and sagas were introduced to sell Soap, washing powders in USA. The Soaps sponsored shows. You can Google away with that for yourself. You may even have a degree in the subject, Marketing as it is called nowadays. If money is involved everybody wants the biggest share of the market after all. Which brings me to, New, what is New? Brand New, is better than just New, how about New and Improved, and with added Value for Money. Is it real, or just some idiot with a half a dictionary?

Marketing folks are trying to grab our attention, so words are showered on products, especially stuff you use in the shower. We all want to look nice and smell nice, well girls do anyway. Hence the shower of buzz words to promote use of products used in the bathroom. This will leave your hair soft and shiny and with added bounce. We all believe it and try the product, though personally I use carbolic soap on my head and lower down my body, and I still have great soft thick silvery hair. Don’t you hate me girls? It’s all in the carbolics after all, or genes if you did biology.

And on it goes in an effort to gain a bit more market share, it is a billion pound industry after all. That’s why I’m on posters everywhere, advertising my carbolics, or rather carbolic soaps. So, YOU too can have such really great hair. Advertising is a very deal, it used to be on hoardings, I once applied for a job to do with hoardings, checking that posters were up in the right place at the right time. Yes really. See what a many splendored life I’ve had, or nearly had, as I didn’t get that job. Nowadays there are niche adverts, as you wouldn’t sell ham to Muslims or Jews, so you target what a specific audience might want, so you decide who might want what you have to sell and spend your budget appropriately. The student market drinks more, has more sex and uses more technology, or so they think. So, adverts on posters near universities are for STD clinics and bars, and flash new phones. And if you weren’t using flash photography while drunk making that “advertising” video with your girlfriends then you wouldn’t need the STD clinic, but at least there is a map on the poster.

When you graduate, or rather when you discover just how much that piece of paper called a Degree cost you, then you may decide it was a waste of your time and money. Especially as everything was Online, and you could have stayed home with your nagging mom and dad, but cut your debt in half, for the same piece of paper. But you really wanted to live it up in squalid housing with dodgy people and their new diseases, at the other end of the country, just to prove how independent you really are. Besides you are a grown up now and can comb  your own hair, and wipe your own bottom, with cheap toilet paper that your finger always goes through.

Which means you need a new suit, so you flick through the mags in the barbers, as you need a new haircut for your first interview. The barber asks what kind of cut you want, you say you have an interview. So, he gives you a short back and sides, or the same haircut Michael Casey has been having for 50 years. You look at the barber with a mixture or hate, you’d punch him, but he’s even fatter than Michael Casey, so you smile a pained smile and say “thanks”. The barber looks at his palm, you didn’t tip him, though you did want to leave him at a tip, him and his clippers.

You have torn a page from his magazine, the picture of the suit that’ll be perfect for you is displayed, worn by a male model, with a decent haircut. Accidentally on purpose slamming the door, that’s taped as the glass in it is already cracked, you leave, with “mind the door” ringing in your ears. Up the road is Steers the old suit shop, only they don’t have the suit in the stolen picture from the barbers. Though the assistant does have the same haircut and he says “nice haircut” as you arrive. Time is short, it’s a Saturday afternoon and the interview is first thing on Monday, you are cornered, so you take whatever fits, or almost fits. But the price is right, so come on down. And the trousers do, as they are both too long and too big, but the assistant has a nice brand new fake leather belt. So you have to buy a belt, and reject the offer of braces as  you just detest braces.

So scalped, and wearing a clown’s trousers you arrive at the Estate Agents for your interview. At least your marketing degree will be useful there, and there is a ubiquitous large chested girl working on reception, she might get lucky, as you preen your scalped head. Only nothing is as it seems. You are invited into a small back office, a man in a track suit is there, with a fat girl also in a track suit besides him, and yes she is wearing braces, and any kind of haircut would be better than her hair is right now. A 2^nd man arrives, all suited and booted, he IS an estate agent, you look hopefully at him. It’s ok, Don and Debbie will be interviewing you, I’m just doing them a favour, the use of an office. 

Don owns 7 chip shops and 6 pizza parlours and 4 nail bars, nail bars were Debbie’s idea for diversification. Obviously with a growing property portfolio, NEW NEW Estate agents were happy to lend an office. So, the job is all about food and nails, never mix them together joked Debbie. You’ll get food for life from any eatery we own, and we are expanding all the time, and I’ll sort out all your beauty needs said Debbie looking with disgust at your bitten nails. Never bite your nails, it’s the very first thing people spot, when they shake hands. And there will be company transport provided too. The pay’s alright, but you do well and we all do well. And if you strike gold, you can marry Debbie, jokes Don. You almost faint, the room spins around, but you do notice Debbie’s eye’s look down for a second, there is sadness there.

You take the job and start the very next day, Debbie has tidied her hair and put red lipstick on, but she still is wearing a fat loose track suit, and the dreaded braces. Well you job is marketing and we’ll be working closely together, but first allow me. With that she grabs your hand and applies DO NOT BITE on all your fingers, it’s disgusting, you will never bite your nails ever again. Her grip is very strong, yet her hands are ever so soft. Then she grabs your other hand and does that one too. Now, that’s better, let’s find the company transport. It turns out to be a Tandem, a retired one from the Olympics, state of the art, they bought it on Ebay.

How do you think we deliver the leaflets? So you are to cycle behind a fat  creature and deliver leaflets. It’s better than jogging everywhere, but you have a degree in Marketing. You’ll be sat around her fat arse all day. You close your eyes, and she begins to strip off. She is wearing a fat suit under the track suit, it’s a NEW way of toning and losing weight, underneath she is a very pretty woman, beyond lust.  And she says her braces are coming off next week. So now you have to endure her sat on the front seat of a tandem, you cannot avert your eyes, just her wonder thighs and more. It’s a relief to jump off and sprint up and down streets delivering, buy one get one half price pizza, with a coupon for 10% off the nail bar for your own adorable fat, pizza fat girlfriends.

And that is how you met your future wife, Don wasn’t joking, he wanted her to be happy as his veins clogged from all the fast food. Debbie wasn’t stupid, and her own chest was even bigger than the girl from the estate agent’s, she was all curves, and she has not one but two degrees. She was tempted to do a Phd, then she’s be a Doctor of Chips Pizza and Nails. You found all this out as you cycled behind her, well watching her behind.

It wasn’t easy, she made you learn all about nails too, she even made you take a nail technicians course. Then you had to learn how to make fish and chips and pizza too. She was a very hard task master, you had to be as good as her dad , and as good as her too, and only then were you good enough. By which time  your leg muscles were rock solid from all the tandem riding.

Now what has this all got to do with new? Well nothing really, sometimes as good as new is good enough. Or with a new hair cut you are as good as new, even while wearing a clown suit. The thing that you need to improve the most is yourself, once you do that anything is possible. And Debbie insisted on the impossible, you had to have your nails done in every room of every shop of her dad’s empire in the space of one month. And by having your nails done, Debbie didn’t mean have your nails done, she meant have your nails done. Or perhaps you need 2 degrees and her newly won PhD, to explain it, as she paints your nails.

Dinner is Served ©

By Michael Casey

Everybody is a baker during Lockdown, it’s on the telly or BBC Bitesize, so my girls tried to poison me the other day, and today they are trying again. Euthanize a parent for beginners or what was the name of the Alistair Sim film, where all the relatives are killed off in order to inherit. Go Google then go watch the film, leave your parents alone, don’t be tempted, they don’t have any money anyway.

The other day my small daughter tried her hand at baking, but her efforts were fell flat, because she did not put enough baking power in, or it wasn’t self- raising flour. Or some other excuse, as she and her bigger sister bickered. I just left them to it and retreated to the study, or the front room if I’m not being pretentious. It’s the nice room, the clean room where sticky fingers are not allowed, you’ve seen the photo, though 95% of my photos are from the old house.

Today I decided to try my hand at cooking for them, chicken goujons, straight from a packet, we had to eat them today because the use by date was up. Food choices by use by date, all so very sophisticated, just like in the very best transport cafes. I cooked them to perfection, or till my big daughter said she wanted the oven, so we ate them. We had them with wraps, no not some guy singing and banging on the table tops, but with wraps with a W. We had to finish the wraps as somebody nameless did not wrap the wraps, so the edges were stale or hard. Or just the one I selflessly ate. However, both my daughters proclaimed me a chef, though they could just be lying to humour me, till the small print of the insurance policy comes into force.

I retreated triumphant to the study while big daughter dripped her mix into a baking tray. Which could be a metaphor for what Amicci used to do with his mixers, or was that a different kind of mixers? Then a roar rose up from the kitchen, my big daughter’s cake mix had raised up. She told me as I came into the kitchen looking for a banana, I do eat them not just actually pose with them on my head, it’s in a photo if you search my sites. I couldn’t find any bananas as she had crushed them to make banana cake, she did though leave a trail of banana skins on the kitchen floor. The accidental death bit of the insurance policy had been most revealing. But I left no skid marks, at least with bananas, though Totoro our cat did come racing in and slip and slide like a figure skater. Totoro loved it, she is a Ninja cat after all, I just smiled and wondered had my girls seen The Adams Family Values too often.

I then returned to the kitchen to help small daughter with a new screen protector, managing to get stickers stuck all over me, and finally a cracked screen slapped on my forehead. It’ll protect you dad, no doubt if I did fall over on any stray banana skins. Otherwise her phone was now protected, but what about old dad? The cakes came out of the oven, banana cake was like bananas, though now the raised cakes had lowered. I said sagely they must have opened the oven door too often, to admire their handywork. Let things rise, and don’t touch till the crust is brown. I did watch my own old mum make fairy cake when I was a child after all. 

So, sampling a fairy cake I made my way back to the study. Though I did trip over Totoro our cat spread like a centre fold on the living room rug, exposing her 6 nipples. Luckily, I landed on the settee, or I would not be talking to you right now. Home baking is a very dangerous thing, so be careful out there as they used to say in Hill Street Blues, I wonder can I find that on tv somewhere?

Tinnitus and Phlegm Solicitors ©

By

Michael Casey

Tinnitus and Phlegm were Solicitors in London, their office was 25 paces away from Morley and Scrooge, though Morley and Scrooge were nothing compared to them, they were just money lenders, but Tinnitus and Phlegm were Solicitors, they had even studied at Oxford. Tinnitus wore a tall tall hat and strode with his very long legs, so he knew that the common money lenders were exactly 25 paces away, or 40 for short people. Tinnitus was tall, so tall that the French fishmonger called him deux metres, but only behind his back, or Tinnitus would strike his back with his silver topped cane.

Phlegm, was fat and round, very round, the French fishmonger called Phlegm grosse deux metre, 2 fois 2 egale 4, so if the 2 were together then then fish monger called them les deux quatre metres.  They were a strange pair, but they liked his fish, so they were good customers. Fish is for brains was what the pair of solicitors always used to say as they carried their fish away, inside of an old piece of newspaper no doubt with a new Charles Dickens story printed on it.

The fish was cooked and eaten with a smack of the lips, the cat called Dickens ate the head as a reward for keeping the rats away. London was full of rats after all, it was 1843 and the Thames was full of boats and rats.

Now Tinnitus had wanted to be a sailor but his family were Solicitors so a solicitor was he, no sea for him. He did watch the cannon being fired, he stood close so he could smell the smoke. Only he stood too close and as well as the smoke a cannon misfired and nearly killed him, it was supposed to be seaman’s drill but it nearly killed him. And now Tinnitus had forever the noise in his ears, the sound of and explosion followed by a whoosh as a cannon ball just missed his head. The doctor could not mend his ears, but as the Dr, a Dr Watson was a family friend he decided to name the condition after Tinnitus. And that is how Tinnitus came into the language. Dr Watson explained it to Charles Dickens his dear friend when they were down the pub drinking ale, Sherlock the barman thought it was a great tale too, before being told to know his place and get another round in.

Phlegm really was called Phlegm, the family had come to England from the Low Countries several generations ago. Phlegm could not get used to the London smog by the river, what with the tanners and the fish smoking, so his weak chest meant he forever had phlegm and was always spitting it up into the spittoon by his desk. Though Tinnitus and Phlegm never had need to buy glue, they just used the bucket of phlegm to stick postage stamps on, or to stick posters on walls advertising their Solicitors services. They were ahead of their time as far as recycling was concerned, Waste not Want not.

One of their best customers was a Mr Pickwick, he was so very rich, he had folding money, so much folding money, coins were for criminals he often joked. Mr Pickwick was a Paper man, though he could be a Tiger the ladies said. In fact Mr Pickwick owned high class Whore Houses, his first was called the Nevada club, because he had travelled the world and liked Nevada so much. He was forever buying houses, the kind only whores and the poor would live in, but he had to squirrel his money away someplace. And Slum dwellings brought in a steady income, though he did buy a fancy house for himself, off Sloan Square, and other places for his high-class whore business. The Rich and Gentry could not be expected to visit bad areas after all, their whoring must be done in high class areas, they had their reputations to keep after all.

So, Mr Pickwick visited Tinnitus and Phlegm so they could handle all his paper work, and even more eagerly handle his large white paper five-pound notes. Then with Tinnitus saying it’s just 25 paces away Mr Pickwick would go to Morley and Scrooge to get them to arrange the rental of his slums, a perfect business operation. Sally one of the local whores used to bump into Mr Pickwick, but he’d just bowl her over, she was no lady. He only had Fallen Ladies work in his high class whore house, because they could talk proper, and were good in the bedroom department too. So Sally was bowled over into the mud, and horse pooh, she nearly was killed one day, but Bill Sykes saved her, but that’s another story or two.

London in the 1840s was a different place than it is today, but for Tinnitus and Phlegm it was good very good even, they even got invited to Nevada, Solicitors finding nirvana in Nevada, a high class whore house. Obviously, Morley and Scrooge were never invited, they were just money lenders and lower class people, not high class solicitors, so no invites for them. Tinnitus and Phlegm enjoyed life and all of Mr Pickwick’s business, so much so that on occasion they would offer a drink to keep the cold out. It was French cognac, the fishmonger had a bottle and Tinnitus enquired what it was, so when he tasted it he enticed the fishmonger to get him a few bottles. Hence French cognac for Mr Pickwick.

And it was because of the cognac and Dickens the cat that Mr Pickwick died. You see he had a drop too much as it was such a cold day, that he slipped on a stray fish head that Dickens the cat had left lying about, he banged his head on the cast iron stove and that was that. It would have been ruin for Tinnitus and Phlegm, so they had to think who to blame for the sudden death, and Dickens the cat couldn’t tell a tale, and take the blame.

They thought long and hard then they remember Jacques the fishmonger and Jill his wife. He’d said they were going back to France forever to look after his mother in Yvetot, so an idea was hatched. Mr Pickwick was stripped and placed in a trunk, with a few fish heads too. Then the trunk was taken to Jacques’ fishing boat, Tinnitus said he always wanted to be a sailor, and it was the truth. But now everything he had saved for being a sailor, books and so forth he was going to symbolically throw away at sea. Jacques thought he really was a stupid Englishman, they really were A Nation of Shopkeepers, or butcher baker undertaker. But for a gold sovereign he’d let him act his play out, who did he think he was Shakespeare, to be Candide. So, Jacques let Tinnitus throw the trunk overboard into the English Channel, all the time he hid his face up his sleeve, or la Manche as the French say, the fish in the trunk stunk after all. 

Tinnitus had got away with murder, or accidental death due to slipping on a cat’s fish head. When he got back to the office, Tinnitus used his left hand to forge Mr Pickwick’s signature. He inherited everything. Thus Tinnitus became a big noise in the entertainment business, the British are Phlegmatic after all.

We all look like somebody ©

By

Michael Casey

As I said earlier today before the pain monster got me for a good 2 hours, like carrying a cross of concrete on my left shoulder, I spotted folks reading the Mitt Romney is Captain Pike comment.  So that gave me the idea for this, and that’s why you can all suffer, just with my words, I wouldn’t want any of you to have my physical pain. So, have you seen something and said that guy/girl looks just like X Y or Z. I of course am a George Clooney look alike, though I weigh more than Tyson Fury the world champion heavy weigh boxer, but am 11 inches shorter. See it’s how thick you are, and I am very thick. Being thick is also slang for stupid, so you will all no doubt be smiling over that, and agreeing, you are all so cruel, sob, which is sob not SOB, sob means cry. You are a far-flung audience so I’ve explained things for you. I’m going to stop now as the pain is too much, so go and have fun till I get back to you, and no this is not a pretentious word play.

Well it’s the next day now, I had to lie down the pain was bad, then after 3 hours I arose like a vampire. However, it would now seem that I really am a vampire, as for 4 nights I don’t sleep till after Dawn.  Tinnitus my Roman slaves really deserves a damn good flogging. So, I look like death warmed up, and I know the wise guys in Ukraine are saying, but he always looks terrible, can’t he take photos? That’s the idea, I take rubbish photos because I hate the pretentious, I am a Writer photos, or am I being pretentious?

So, who do your friends say you are? He looks like a security guard in that mismatch collection of clothes he wears, pretending it is a suit. Him a writer? He looks like a refugee from a charity shop, wearing all that was left over after the bus went through the front shop window. And how exactly are writers supposed to look? Just not like YOU! You are so cruel, I’ve heard it all before, you wrote that? As if I’m chewing gum stuck to a shoe, or worse. I have feelings and I put them on paper, and what you read is my heart on my sleeve. Just like snot when I forgot to bring a handkerchief with me, tissues are all so modern.

How we look betrays us, in every sense of the word. A cool person will pretend not to look when the bus goes through the charity shop window, and as I grab the clothes and put them on, best way to carry clothes is to wear them. My mother once went back home to Cromane Lower Kerry, wearing her clothes all on top of each other. Her mother told her she’d belt her if every she did it again. This was 1930s or 1940s Ireland. But back to the Future, or 2020 present, being cool was a very big thing, then selfies and accidental death by selfie stupidity took over. Everybody just had to have a selfie, and the Cloud was invented to hold all these inane photos. Apple built an empire on selfies with ever more costly and fancy phones. All made in China. Though now a 100 quid Huawei takes just as good photos. Do a blind test if you don’t believe me.

As ever I digressed, that’s the trouble if I don’t write my piece all in one go, my chain of thought does. Put it like this, STOP, you’re making up your own jokes now. I’m the only Comedian here. I just remembered a trainee teacher with arthritis and a stick he once said that in a 2^nd year English class, we laughed our pants off. His tutor arrived, and yes he had a stick too, you can’t make this up. In 1985, I even saw Sky the Classical/Rock band at the Birmingham Odean when I had fractured my left elbow, and in the audience everybody seemed to have an injury, cripples’ night out. And yes nobody would use that  phrase nowadays, because we care, or Corporate People want to give the impression that they really care. Discuss.

As well as having the Cool attitude, people adopt a style of clothes, which shows just how fab and groovy they are. Though professional photographers bemoan the fact that everybody dresses the same now, to prove just how cool they are. Nobody has a personality, standing out would be uncool, so they dress uniformly in a “uniform” to prove just how cool they are. Come back Glam Rock, all is forgiven, at least people dressed differently. Abba where are you?

I just wear a shirt and chinos, with multiple jumpers on top which make me 4 inches thicker than I am, my waist, not my intellect. As for others, they have fast fashion, so some poor malnourished worker in the 3^rd world, works hard so we can change our Fashion quickly, more often than we change our knickers. I of course don’t wear any knickers, a panty line would detract from my Kardasian shaming large derriere. But I won’t show you any back view photos, as it may excite you too much, it’d be like looking at Trump’s bum, mine is even bigger and firm, unlike his.

Style lasts, and can be worn forever, that’s why I am so stylish. Don’t snigger or I’ll get you on toilet cleaning duty, after my dinner. That’s wiped the smirk off your face. Yes, style does cost more, but it transcends time, I’ve seen Devil Wears Prada 3 times I’ll have you know. Don’t buy 3 cheap belts buy one nice one and it’ll last forever. If you’ve seen Guy’s film The Man from Uncle in it Guy has the two hulks argue about Women’s Fashion. I did of course give Guy the idea, same as I gave him my uncle’s old cloth cap to wear, uncle’s cap while he directs Uncle. So simple really, you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work it out.

I recently discovered an old belt I bought in Italy in 1995, and yes it still fits, but the style is nice and will last till I die, if you say a word, or even half smile I’ll get my Ukrainian friends to stand outside your house, it’ll feel like a total eclipse of the sun, Ukrainians are HUGE, taller than trees, they cannot hide.

It's the belt in the photo, assuming you are reading this on my site. If you are reading this in 2020 Words, then you’ll just have to use your imagination, this is radio after all.

Pick a nice colour, Primary colours are good, and I don’t mean your old school uniform. Red, Blue, Green stuff like that, a decent shade too. Then as 40 shades of grey becomes a fading scar in your mind, too much spanking at school, then good colours remain vivid forever. Buy styles that aren’t happening right now, and in 10 years time your fashion sense remains ahead of the game. Glam Rock styles are of a certain time and place, but true timeless fashion is just that, Timeless. Yes it cost a little bit more, but just listen to your own Gay Dads or just the Men from Uncle, then girls people will always call you Bitch behind your back.

I could say more, and I would have written something different if yesterday hadn’t been such a pain day, but what you have got is Timeless, like my totally unfashionable fashion, I can dress and undress others but not myself.

Shower Curtain ©

By

Michael Casey

I just changed our shower curtain in the bathroom, so that got me thinking, and that’ll be the story for today. When you change your shower curtain, what do you do with it? Do you throw it away, having it billow out of your dustbins? Do you wash it in the washing machine, as the care label said you could. Only it melts inside of the washing machine and ruins the washing, and that’s how you met the hunk from next door and started breeding little plumbers.

Whether you recycle it or just straight bin it says a lot about you, and your upbringing. It reveals were you poor, or maybe you have an imagination. I had a humble backgound, and I DO have an imagination, hence all the pages of writing, 8300 pages now. So, I’ll pause for a while, as I use the bathroom, I do have to test the new shower curtain, as I step over the plumber fixing the washing machine.

The new shower curtain works, it’s a deep blue in colour and I am now fragrant smelling, but not as nice as Mary Archer. My daughter said it looked like a hospital shower curtain, it is certainly dark in the shower without the light on, but I wouldn’t want the neighbours to puke if they saw me in the nude in the shower, hence the curtain. Though a bar of soap, Dove of course, is best when naked in a field of rain, so long as Adele is not setting fire to the rain. So I am clean, and ready to continue. I did of course stop off for a mushroom and ham omelette, made with margarine I bought in error, but at least I did not throw it away. The remainder of the marg is being converted into cakes by my chef daughter, so food poisoning may await just around the corner, though as they say you never know what’s just around the corner, not unless it’s my daughter’s baking, you can smell it. I did set off our smoke alarms while making my omelette, but it’s a change from the Tinnitus ringing in my ears. And I did watch an episode of my Kdrama, about a King, a horse, and a parallel universe, before I came back with this story.

Now as far as shower curtains go, what can an old one be used for? Well if you’ve managed to extricate yourself from the plumber, he is such a hunk. Well assuming it’s a normal person like me, you’ve just choked on your can of Stella Artois, moi normal, it’s just everybody else who is strange, working in the White House to the sound of not music but musical chairs. Where was I, yes, the shower curtain, well you can roll a body in one and bury it in the compost at the bottom of your garden. Which may explain the size of your tomatoes, at the bottom of your garden, which could be a naughty metaphor, depending on the size of you tomatoes, and how juicy red they are, and how much splatter there is when you bite into one of them. I do eat tomatoes often nowadays, real ones, you are all so one tracked, as they are good for me, and I do like them anyway. And healthier than an eternal bottle of red sauce, though if it’s sauce it has to be Heinz.

You can also use an old shower curtain as loft insulation, along with mashed up copies of The New York Times or The Washington Post, as broadsheets they offer so much more coverage. You spread out the shower curtain and spread your mashings everywhere on top, this catches the air and makes your loft so much warmer, and hence our power bill so much lower. It depends on how many copies you steal from the library and how smelly you are, or rather the rate at which you replace your shower curtains. So by recycling you do save energy, and cut your power bill. Or you can just shower with a friend, such as that hunky plumber who came over to fix your washing machine, after the old shower curtain melted inside.

If the wind blows a hole in your yard fence then you could use the shower curtain to spare your blushes, ok the nosey neighbours, just by nailing up the shower curtain till you fix your yard fence. I would have done that myself, but I lack 20 thin nails, no not from the Thai beauty parlour kind of nails, but real nails, like the Blacksmith might have secreted about his person. There’s never a Blacksmith around when you want one, too many Plumbers, they earn more than dentists you know, but have less brighter teeth.

As usual I side-tracked myself, but blame BBC Radio 4 comedy shows in the 1970s, or rather the repeats I listened to from decades earlier, that’ s where this style comes from. I can hear you all mutter, like Muttley, wish it stayed there. In 1970 Terry O’Callahan muttered about my Whitty Comments, and what happened to him. Mr Ely the P.E. and woodwork teacher spanked him. I won’t make any spanking jokes, or a 90 something P.E. teacher might  make me do the plank, and then plane it, he did teach woodwork too.

So as the light fades, I’m lying but it must be dusk in the East by now, so as the light fades, I’ll finish for today. I did have a Finnish reader the other day, as I had a Finnish guest when I worked at the hotel. She emailed me to ask should she bring her fur coat, Birmingham can be so cold. Not me, the weather. Though I am a bit windy now, after the omelette, so I may need to shower again, and yes so it’s curtains, shower curtains from me.

What’s that stink? ©

By

Michael Casey

There is the sweet smell of success, and there is a “stink”, at the moment in the news Cummings may be going because he looked after his kid and wife in Lockdown, the rest you can follow in the news. Et tu Brute, is all I shall say.

Now as I began a thought came acalling, or rather a smell, a remembrance of a smell. Of a child in school in my class 55 years ago who smelled, let’s call her B. Nobody wanted to sit next to B, because she stunk, maybe her parents did not care, maybe they could not even afford the basics. Poundland did not exist then, I cannot remember it anyway in inner city Birmingham as it would be called nowadays. So, B stunk and nobody wanted to sit next to her. You can extrapolate her life, me I hope she had a chance to flourish and change, literally. I hope she became fragrant and ended up selling perfume in Rackhams or other fancy shops, I hope she turned out so beautiful that heads turned, instead of noses being held. But I am a writer and an Altruist, but I’m sure as you are my readers or listeners I know you’ll agree. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi my Slav friends would punch anybody who said bad things about B, and give her a carrier bag of things, including fancy soaps donated by their wives. You can open a window, as it’s hot and I’ll get back to the story.

Yes, I did pump or let loose, or there was an escape from me, ok I FARTED, but that gave me the idea for this, and it does prove I talk S*&&, or I’m still digesting yesterday’s mushroom and ham omelette. We all recognise smells and there are memories associated with smells. There even was a song in France, ca se sans c’est vraiment toi, if I remember it right, from 1983 maybe, forgive the bad French spellings. You can go Google France for yourselves, but if you find it don’t sing it in class once you go back to the safety of school.

Every smell has an association, a baby smells the milk from its mother’s nipple, and cats no doubt come to visit because there is milk in the air. Beware though, a cat will sit on or too near a baby, because of the heat. Watch the baby not your phone. As we grow we smell differently, especially if you have kidney failure etc. A baby smells of talcum powder, the 3 kings delivered 3 gifts, and one was for nappy rash, yes really, go Google. You know when a baby needs changing because of the whiff in the air, or you should if you ae not paying your phone too much attention. I have seen a blind lady with 2 or 3 kids, and she used to hold them up to her nose so she could sniff them, and yes she is a great mother.

As you get older you wash more, people will insist. Washing in the downstairs kitchen Belfast sink every night, with a bath once a week, used to be the norm in our house. Showers hadn’t been dreamt of, and we’d have to run upstairs to put the emersion heater on for dad’s bath. And yes a cork full of disinfectant was added to the bathwater, 50 years ago and more. Then bubble bath arrives, teenage girls in the house makes this happen.

And on it goes, the changing smell and frequency of washing. Though with dad’s steel workers’ feet, Jeyes Fluid was added to the plastic bowl of water so he could soak his feet when he came home from the steel works. Mum used to use wooden tongues to remove his sweat glued-on socks. Then he’d say it was good to wash his feet. Afterwards the same plastic bowl was used to wash the dishes, it was rinsed first. To me that’s a happy memory, mum was like Veronica, if I haven’t mixed up the names, no doubt Bible students reading this should know the difference.

Mum also made bacon and cabbage on occasion, and I still hate that smell, just as I hate certain Chinese concoctions that my wife used to make, but love the smell of other delicious Chinese smells. Smell is a big memory bringer. Perfumes also come along, and Price does not denote quality, neither does name brands, nor Star brands. I could name names, but you’ve all tried Star brands, even if it’s a sample spray from B, who now sells perfumes at Selfridges, well in my imagination. Though as I write this I just remembered something, memory is not even and one more layer has arrived to make me cry.

Back to perfume, we all have a favourite, or that pretty girl looks great, but her perfume stinks, literally. So, nobody wants to know her, if she stuck with the nurses’ smell, carbolic soap, then she’d have a boyfriend. I’ve just remembered a big fat Asian lad from the hotel, he had loads of girlfriends, or should I say girls  who talked to him. Why? Because he knew all about perfumes and so on, so he could talk to them, about things they were interested in, not just boring football. So boys, learn about perfume and ladies fashion and you’ll be surrounded by girls, though some ignorant boys will call you “gay” because they are so jealous.

Personally, I like Ck1 or CkBe, not that you’ll send me any. I’m big and fat so I need perfume distraction. Though the old old school perfumes are coming back, Brut for men, and Old Spice. You have to be 40+ to remember them, but they are cheap and cheerful. Old Hannibal Lector has designer perfumes, and that’s to cover the buckets of blood and brain soup, if you saw the film on tv the other night.

As we grow older we exhibit the Old People’s smell, as they leak, or kids think they do, and there is the Old Ladies perfume smell. Our homes have a smell the musty smell of old people’s homes. Mine does not as I have young daughters, teenagers now, so it’s cleaned and all the lotions and potions my daughters use fill the air.

We may grow more religious so we visit church, and we have the smell of candles in our hearts. I did spend 3 years and more of lunchbreaks in Saint Phillips cathedral in Birmingham city centre, it was closer than Saint Chads, so I was a catholic converting the Anglican cathedral. I hope God is smiling, as we both know all prayers from all faiths are equal, God just wants us to talk to him, as any parent does.

So as the music fades, what you did not hear any?  Discover Allan Taylor a British folk singer, I’ve just Googled there’s a ton of stuff on Utube. So, I’ll leave you there with my perfume up your nose, but Allan Taylor’s music will fill your ears. Which one will you prefer?

 *******

put the kettle on and read a story

lazy sunny day

lazy sunny day

I would stay at the beach

a builder dumped a load of material in the street

so I came out with my trouser legs rolled up

and a snotty handkerchief on my head

then I sat on an upturned beer crate and  caught some rays

I did undo my shirt till my belly button was exposed

then i waited for the wolf-whistles

there should be sexual equality

all I got was a bucket of dirty water thrown over me

by my neighbour as had just finished washing her windows

she could of at least done mine

I went inside like a damp squid

why did you  do that?

because you are worth it she replied

Helen Mirren is such a naughty next door neighbour

I hope she gets lobster RED in the sun

Nobody will put sun tan cream on her back

Though Breznef our Russian in the red house, he does like her

I could ramble on, but I need to get my clothes off

I might try getting a bit of rays in the back garden

though the local cats just gather around me

as if I'm a piece of wet fish

stay happy everybody, I may dream up another story later

or I may just carry on my Kdrama , the King in parallel universe one

and I spotted a comic one too

happy birthday to  padre pio too

and no it's not a book of mine he's laughing at

morning has broken

my daughter took this this morning at 4am plus 24 may 2020

she asked did I ever see the dawn

so I said yes for 14 YEARS on  night shifts

What's the stink?

What’s that stink? ©

By

Michael Casey

There is the sweet smell of success, and there is a “stink”, at the moment in the news Cummings may be going because he looked after his kid and wife in Lockdown, the rest you can follow in the news. Et tu Brute, is all I shall say.

Now as I began a thought came acalling, or rather a smell, a remembrance of a smell. Of a child in school in my class 55 years ago who smelled, let’s call her B. Nobody wanted to sit next to B, because she stunk, maybe her parents did not care, maybe they could not even afford the basics. Poundland did not exist then, I cannot remember it anyway in inner city Birmingham as it would be called nowadays. So, B stunk and nobody wanted to sit next to her. You can extrapolate her life, me I hope she had a chance to flourish and change, literally. I hope she became fragrant and ended up selling perfume in Rackhams or other fancy shops, I hope she turned out so beautiful that heads turned, instead of noses being held. But I am a writer and an Altruist, but I’m sure as you are my readers or listeners I know you’ll agree. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi my Slav friends would punch anybody who said bad things about B, and give her a carrier bag of things, including fancy soaps donated by their wives. You can open a window, as it’s hot and I’ll get back to the story.

Yes, I did pump or let loose, or there was an escape from me, ok I FARTED, but that gave me the idea for this, and it does prove I talk S*&&, or I’m still digesting yesterday’s mushroom and ham omelette. We all recognise smells and there are memories associated with smells. There even was a song in France, ca se sans c’est vraiment toi, if I remember it right, from 1983 maybe, forgive the bad French spellings. You can go Google France for yourselves, but if you find it don’t sing it in class once you go back to the safety of school.

Every smell has an association, a baby smells the milk from its mother’s nipple, and cats no doubt come to visit because there is milk in the air. Beware though, a cat will sit on or too near a baby, because of the heat. Watch the baby not your phone. As we grow we smell differently, especially if you have kidney failure etc. A baby smells of talcum powder, the 3 kings delivered 3 gifts, and one was for nappy rash, yes really, go Google. You know when a baby needs changing because of the whiff in the air, or you should if you ae not paying your phone too much attention. I have seen a blind lady with 2 or 3 kids, and she used to hold them up to her nose so she could sniff them, and yes she is a great mother.

As you get older you wash more, people will insist. Washing in the downstairs kitchen Belfast sink every night, with a bath once a week, used to be the norm in our house. Showers hadn’t been dreamt of, and we’d have to run upstairs to put the emersion heater on for dad’s bath. And yes a cork full of disinfectant was added to the bathwater, 50 years ago and more. Then bubble bath arrives, teenage girls in the house makes this happen.

And on it goes, the changing smell and frequency of washing. Though with dad’s steel workers’ feet, Jeyes Fluid was added to the plastic bowl of water so he could soak his feet when he came home from the steel works. Mum used to use wooden tongues to remove his sweat glued-on socks. Then he’d say it was good to wash his feet. Afterwards the same plastic bowl was used to wash the dishes, it was rinsed first. To me that’s a happy memory, mum was like Veronica, if I haven’t mixed up the names, no doubt Bible students reading this should know the difference.

Mum also made bacon and cabbage on occasion, and I still hate that smell, just as I hate certain Chinese concoctions that my wife used to make, but love the smell of other delicious Chinese smells. Smell is a big memory bringer. Perfumes also come along, and Price does not denote quality, neither does name brands, nor Star brands. I could name names, but you’ve all tried Star brands, even if it’s a sample spray from B, who now sells perfumes at Selfridges, well in my imagination. Though as I write this I just remembered something, memory is not even and one more layer has arrived to make me cry.

Back to perfume, we all have a favourite, or that pretty girl looks great, but her perfume stinks, literally. So, nobody wants to know her, if she stuck with the nurses’ smell, carbolic soap, then she’d have a boyfriend. I’ve just remembered a big fat Asian lad from the hotel, he had loads of girlfriends, or should I say girls  who talked to him. Why? Because he knew all about perfumes and so on, so he could talk to them, about things they were interested in, not just boring football. So boys, learn about perfume and ladies fashion and you’ll be surrounded by girls, though some ignorant boys will call you “gay” because they are so jealous.

Personally, I like Ck1 or CkBe, not that you’ll send me any. I’m big and fat so I need perfume distraction. Though the old old school perfumes are coming back, Brut for men, and Old Spice. You have to be 40+ to remember them, but they are cheap and cheerful. Old Hannibal Lector has designer perfumes, and that’s to cover the buckets of blood and brain soup, if you saw the film on tv the other night.

As we grow older we exhibit the Old People’s smell, as they leak, or kids think they do, and there is the Old Ladies perfume smell. Our homes have a smell the musty smell of old people’s homes. Mine does not as I have young daughters, teenagers now, so it’s cleaned and all the lotions and potions my daughters use fill the air.

We may grow more religious so we visit church, and we have the smell of candles in our hearts. I did spend 3 years and more of lunchbreaks in Saint Phillips cathedral in Birmingham city centre, it was closer than Saint Chads, so I was a catholic converting the Anglican cathedral. I hope God is smiling, as we both know all prayers from all faiths are equal, God just wants us to talk to him, as any parent does.

So as the music fades, what you did not hear any?  Discover Allan Taylor a British folk singer, I’ve just Googled there’s a ton of stuff on Utube. So, I’ll leave you there with my perfume up your nose, but Allan Taylor’s music will fill your ears. Which one will you prefer?

Shower Curtains

Shower Curtain ©

By

Michael Casey

I just changed our shower curtain in the bathroom, so that got me thinking, and that’ll be the story for today. When you change your shower curtain, what do you do with it? Do you throw it away, having it billow out of your dustbins? Do you wash it in the washing machine, as the care label said you could. Only it melts inside of the washing machine and ruins the washing, and that’s how you met the hunk from next door and started breeding little plumbers.

Whether you recycle it or just straight bin it says a lot about you, and your upbringing. It reveals were you poor, or maybe you have an imagination. I had a humble backgound, and I DO have an imagination, hence all the pages of writing, 8300 pages now. So, I’ll pause for a while, as I use the bathroom, I do have to test the new shower curtain, as I step over the plumber fixing the washing machine.

The new shower curtain works, it’s a deep blue in colour and I am now fragrant smelling, but not as nice as Mary Archer. My daughter said it looked like a hospital shower curtain, it is certainly dark in the shower without the light on, but I wouldn’t want the neighbours to puke if they saw me in the nude in the shower, hence the curtain. Though a bar of soap, Dove of course, is best when naked in a field of rain, so long as Adele is not setting fire to the rain. So I am clean, and ready to continue. I did of course stop off for a mushroom and ham omelette, made with margarine I bought in error, but at least I did not throw it away. The remainder of the marg is being converted into cakes by my chef daughter, so food poisoning may await just around the corner, though as they say you never know what’s just around the corner, not unless it’s my daughter’s baking, you can smell it. I did set off our smoke alarms while making my omelette, but it’s a change from the Tinnitus ringing in my ears. And I did watch an episode of my Kdrama, about a King, a horse, and a parallel universe, before I came back with this story.

Now as far as shower curtains go, what can an old one be used for? Well if you’ve managed to extricate yourself from the plumber, he is such a hunk. Well assuming it’s a normal person like me, you’ve just choked on your can of Stella Artois, moi normal, it’s just everybody else who is strange, working in the White House to the sound of not music but musical chairs. Where was I, yes, the shower curtain, well you can roll a body in one and bury it in the compost at the bottom of your garden. Which may explain the size of your tomatoes, at the bottom of your garden, which could be a naughty metaphor, depending on the size of you tomatoes, and how juicy red they are, and how much splatter there is when you bite into one of them. I do eat tomatoes often nowadays, real ones, you are all so one tracked, as they are good for me, and I do like them anyway. And healthier than an eternal bottle of red sauce, though if it’s sauce it has to be Heinz.

You can also use an old shower curtain as loft insulation, along with mashed up copies of The New York Times or The Washington Post, as broadsheets they offer so much more coverage. You spread out the shower curtain and spread your mashings everywhere on top, this catches the air and makes your loft so much warmer, and hence our power bill so much lower. It depends on how many copies you steal from the library and how smelly you are, or rather the rate at which you replace your shower curtains. So by recycling you do save energy, and cut your power bill. Or you can just shower with a friend, such as that hunky plumber who came over to fix your washing machine, after the old shower curtain melted inside.

If the wind blows a hole in your yard fence then you could use the shower curtain to spare your blushes, ok the nosey neighbours, just by nailing up the shower curtain till you fix your yard fence. I would have done that myself, but I lack 20 thin nails, no not from the Thai beauty parlour kind of nails, but real nails, like the Blacksmith might have secreted about his person. There’s never a Blacksmith around when you want one, too many Plumbers, they earn more than dentists you know, but have less brighter teeth.

As usual I side-tracked myself, but blame BBC Radio 4 comedy shows in the 1970s, or rather the repeats I listened to from decades earlier, that’ s where this style comes from. I can hear you all mutter, like Muttley, wish it stayed there. In 1970 Terry O’Callahan muttered about my Whitty Comments, and what happened to him. Mr Ely the P.E. and woodwork teacher spanked him. I won’t make any spanking jokes, or a 90 something P.E. teacher might  make me do the plank, and then plane it, he did teach woodwork too.

So as the light fades, I’m lying but it must be dusk in the East by now, so as the light fades, I’ll finish for today. I did have a Finnish reader the other day, as I had a Finnish guest when I worked at the hotel. She emailed me to ask should she bring her fur coat, Birmingham can be so cold. Not me, the weather. Though I am a bit windy now, after the omelette, so I may need to shower again, and yes so it’s curtains, shower curtains from me.

Book Covers on Amazon

Book Covers

The Final Cut of the 19th Hole

Cartoon Book Covers

I have my face on the covers because then you know who to blame

there are other Michael Caseys out there so match the face to the words

the cartoon covers were provide by my daughters years ago

If I had a cartoonist there would be a cartoon to match every story,

Yoona can you draw?

That’s it for now

I’m Michael Casey , or michaelgcasey for a quick google
or just look for my face, fat and silver haired usually wearing shades
so check both till you find all 19 books
https://wwwDOTamazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC
THERE ARE OTHERS OF THE SAME NAME, SO LOOK FOR THE SILLY PHOTOS
I did get 21,000 Polish readers just by word of mouth on my Site, for a Translation of the finale of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker in just 3 weeks.
My books on Amazon are a Shop Window until Rupert Murdoch or anybody else picks me up, though I am very heavy, so don’t hurt yourself
I started writing a long time ago. 1987 to be exact.
It took me a year to learn how to write. I spent 20 years listening to BBC Radio 4 BEFORE I picked up a pen. I used to read by the yard too. I hope I write for ears if that doesn’t sound too pretentious. So that’s 50 years in love with Words, yes my birth certificate is so old, not me. I feel 20 in my head, though on pain days I feel 95.
Don’t get Arthritis ++++ and avoid having a triple heart bypass that turns out to be a Quadruple, with a hernia poking through the bypass scar. And a side order of Tinnitus.
No I’m not making this all up, it’s too painful and annoying,
maybe you think just like my Writing.
The thing about close families is that you inherit all the diseases.

2018 was the 30th Anniversary since The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker was born, in the living room behind me as I huddled the gas fire.
We now have moved house finally after a 2 year search.
My Face is on all the books so you know who to blame, I am not the Monk or anybody else
THERE ARE OTHERS OF THE SAME NAME, SO LOOK FOR THE SILLY PHOTOS of me

http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR my words.

STOP PRESS, for those of you who wished I’d stop writing, well it nearly happened. I had an Unplanned Triple Heart Bypass in Jan 2015, and I didn’t even know I had heart problems. 6 months later I learnt I had 4 grafts, so is that a Quadruple? Anyways Thanks to Birmingham’s City Hospital and our Queen Elizabeth hospital I am still here with you. Though I’m still getting pain as it takes a long time to heal, and just for fun my Arthritis plays up too. And yes I write about pain as well, for without pain in our life we have not experienced all of life. Though I’d love a break from all the pain, as would all of us. Its April 2020 now and I’ve reached about 1,600,000 Words or nearly 8300 pages if you stack it all up. Its taken me 33 years now, I know I only look 25, well in my imagination anyway. I write for your ears, so read my stuff aloud, or get your mum to read to you.Too many years listening to radio, hence words for ears. Remember I listened to Speech Radio constantly for 20 years BEFORE I started to write,
50 years in love with Words so far.

Biography
I’ve been close but no cigar most of my life, such as having a play accepted by a professional theatre back in 1989, the play was Shoplife. Life is not a straight road, its more a long and winding road. I can even remember being at grammar school when Monty Python first came out. And look what happened to them. One of my brothers was actually at the same college and University as John Cleese, Downing Cambridge. Another brother was at the same college and University as Mr Bean, Queens Oxford. I’m name dropping just in case the Daily Mail editor is reading this. As for me I went to work. Our dad by the was a Blacksmith then sweated for 40 years in a steel works, in Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. Me I was a computer operator back in 1978 on Dec PDP 1170s, 40 years ago,and then a variety of other jobs, I had my working life in reverse.

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is a slow burner that really does catch fire, and the best place to be when a book catches fire is, down the pub, The Trader in the book. Hidden in the cellar since WWII is a hoard of whisky, whisky galore you might say. When the street of shops in the book is threatened the shopkeepers can and will resort to anything. Such as a Poet and Undertaker using blackmail. When Patrick finds his one true love, and breaks the bed to prove it what does his priest do? The priest makes him organise a fete for the children’s home, now that he has made a baby he has to take responsibility for it, and the children’s home fete. The priest too uses a little blackmail, so the local police stop all traffic and detour it so as it passes the children’s home 3 times, just in time for the fete.
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
is a fun book for all the family with an explosive ending.
21,000 POLISH READERS CANNOT BE WRONG.
I’ve also put foreign language Translations on my WordPress
10s of 1000s have been downloaded
Up to TEN different Languages are read on the same day World Wide
All told maybe 30,000 copies have been read World Wide
So Mainline Publishers Time to get in on the act
So buy it. Amazon Kindle books can be downloaded to Kindle, PC and Laptop. So you have no excuse, or does the writer have to persuade you?

https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/

&

http://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/

https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/

http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear me read my stuff

http://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/

are places to read my stuff, comic in the main.

I NOT on Facebook, you can only find me on my sites.

I would love a spot in a newspaper or magazine, print or online, alongside the fish and chips.

I’m honest/conceited enough to say I’m as good as the stuff you read online
and in the Broadsheets.
I would love a spot on the radio too, 90 seconds with Michael, could be expanded to an hour.
where I’d read a blog out on the radio every day. I have 2800

So if you agree with me that it would be a great feature do get in touch
I HAVE RECORDED 200 PLUS STORIES ABOUT 12 HOURS WORTH SO FAR.
PERFECT FOR RADIO SO DO GET IN TOUCH

I also think a book of my stories with facing page translation plus my audio
attached would be a great way to teach English via humour to foreigners
I have enough material for a series of books.
Or just App my stories
So Angel investors get in touch

My shorts/blogs are a coffee and a biscuit long, I have 12 hours worth recorded already.
My 19 books can be bought here on Amazon Kindle,
DON’T FORGET KINDLE BOOKS CAN BE LOADED TO PC AND LAPTOP NOT JUST KINDLE