Tuesday, 25 May 2021

Cleaning Force is coming

 Cleaning force is coming

I had an idea the other day for this story

I've come back to the story today

It's buzzing around with the Tinnitus

so come back later and it'll be down

I also stumbled over something in Italy

so you may have had an email in my Tinnitus time

also a Don Camillo fan too

So it was me, and let's see if you connect the dots

I went out today and got French baguettes

and they are so nice with a bit of Lurpak

I ran out of my marg, but the Lurpak is so nice

I might be converted to it, though it is expensive

compared to my usual marg

So come back later and Cleaning Force will be done

hello to Vicky and the cleaning crews at Crowne Plaza NEC too

I used to help out a long time ago

In Kdrama land I'm watching 2 comedy shows

one is very very funny Mad On You , 30min episodes

Very very true to life, fight to use the toilet too

I also found a 50 year old photo of me in short trousers with one of my brothers

We went on the train to Queens Oxford to see our big brother at University

It made an impression, he went to uni too, Downing Cambridge

Me I just hid under a bridge, having a pee

I'll have more French baguette and be back later

Hello to Brazil too, but please no junk emails from there

or Nigeria as the pair of you have landed  on my site

i've got too much Tinnitus in my head just let me eat bread






Monday, 24 May 2021

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel or maybe From Mother Russia with Love

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel or maybe From Mother Russia with Love

The Spaceman and The Arch-Angel ©
By Michael Casey


Mikhail Mikhailovich was a spaceman, a cosmonaut as the Russians call them, he’d been in space forever, he held the world record already, he was testing himself to see if Man could make it to Mars. He and Tim Peake had had a lot of fun in the space station, but now Tim was gone. So Mikhail was lonely, in fact Mikhail was having a dark night of the soul, flying high in the sky orbiting the world. He was on the edge, but bear a bear of a man he told nobody, if only his wife Katarina was with him to make him strong, but he was floating in space and she was back in Saint Petersburg.
Michael the Arch-Angel had just pushed back Satan back into Hell and had sealed the gates with a pair of Rosary beads, now he was taking Mrs Murphy’s soul back to her body, he was in a hurry before her body died without her soul inside. At Saint Michael the Arch-Angel flew in space with Mrs Murphy’s soul safely tucked in his belt by his sword he felt Mikhail’s sorrow. So much sorry, he flew as fast as he could fly towards to space station, a soul was in danger, the space station was in danger, a man’s life and soul was in danger. Mikhail was on the verge of thinking of doing something mad bad and sad. Michael felt this and as an angel he must intervene, he spiralled directly towards the space station, he went straight inside and grabbed Mikhail’s arm.
An angel does not need to use doors, the spirit just walks through walls even in space, love knows no boundaries, and an angel is just that, love. Saint Michael the Arch-Angel gave Mikhail a bear-hug and nearly broke his ribs. Mikhail screamed in fear, Michael just laughed in his face and said he screamed like a little girl, was he going to pee his pants as an encore. Mikhail rubbed his eyes, there was angel in front of him, speaking Russian, in fact he sounded like his own old grandfather, with the same local accent.
I could punch your lights out, but I’m an angel so let’s talk, have you got any beer, my wings are tired I need a beer, asked the angel. Mikhail laughed, where do we have the room for a barrel of beer in a space station? The angel reached behind him and two pints of Stella Artois appeared in chalices, so Mikhail took one and drank it, after such a long time in space it was heavenly to say the least. So Mikhail and the angel had 4 pints each, which is enough to wet their whistle if they were both Russian. Mikhail wasn’t scared any more, if this was a dream he was going to enjoy it. He’d love a big sandwich of Russian beef and bread with lettuce and tomatoes, so once more Saint Michael reached behind him and the sandwiches appeared. Is Paul Daniels behind you joked Mikhail, Tim the English spaceman had told Mikhail about Paul Daniels during his time on the space station. No replied the angel, but God is behind me, and in front of me and in all directions too, he has my back, and your’s too, that’s why I’m saving you.
Mikhail, looked at his feet, he’d felt a failure, he could have, but he didn’t, an angel had saved him. Michael the Archangel gave him another pint of Stella Artois, Paul Daniels was working overtime you could say. Why were you in space anyway asked Mikhail. I was returning a soul to a body, Mrs Murphy was risking her soul to save the life of her priest, or rather the soul of her priest. That’s when Satan pounced, so I had to give him a kicking, and then mum asked we to return Mrs Murphy’s soul to her body, before her body expired. Mum who is your mum? Mary is my mum, she’s everybody’s mum, she prefers to be called ”mum” it’s the highest title of all. Mikhail Mikhailovich started to cry, so Michael wiped his nose with his wings.
I wish I could be a father but being in the space program has put paid to that, I am a hero of Mother Russia, but my own wife cannot be a mother, we will never know the joy of children. Mikhail cried again, the angel gave him a huge hug, almost breaking the spaceman’s ribs and Mikhail’s face turned bright red due to lack of oxygen. A tear fell from the angel’s eye, it trickled down his face and splashed Mrs Murphy’s soul, this was enough for Mrs Murphy she was saying the Rosary in a nanosecond. Her body was dead by now, but at least she could pray for the spaceman.
Michael and Mikhail had some fresh fruit, bananas and grapes, washed down with more Stella Artois. Mikhail unburdened himself to the angel, all his hopes and dreams, being a spaceman was the last of them. Tim had told Mikhail about David Bowie and the two of them had put the face makeup on and sung the songs. Now Tim was gone and Mikhail missed him, but most of all Mikhail missed something he’d never have. Children. As a child Mikhail loved listening to stories, stories from all over Russia and everywhere else too, but then studying came along.
Saint Michael the Archangel has a secret, he loves stories too, he’s spent ages, literally Ages listening to stories from all over the world. So as they drunk their Stella Artois Michael told Mikhail some of the stories. First in Russian for the Russian stories, then he switched to Chinese for the Chinese stories, Indian for the Indian stories, and Japanese for the Japanese stories. Michael knew thousands of stories in told them all in all the native languages. The food and drink flowed, Paul Daniels really is a great magician, how he hid all of it in the space station ready to save a soul, a Russian spaceman’s soul we’ll never know, perhaps he’s just an angel.
How long would it take to tell tales from all over the world, as long as there is food and drink on the table there will always be tales, and this angel doesn’t follow Logic, only Love. In Earth time 50 years had passed, or was it just a dream? Michael and Mikhail hugged, this time Michael could not breathe and he turned red. Mikhail had been filled with Love, and food and drink thanks to maybe Paul Daniels, so he was a big Russian Bear once more.
You are Mikhail Mikhailovich a Spaceman who did not fall to earth, you are the Storyteller from Space, you are a “father” to billions of children, and to your wife you are the best husband in space and on earth who gave her seven children, angels love the number 7, Snow White really did exist you know, but that’s another story. Mikhail snored, he been dreaming hadn’t he.
Michael flew off into space, for decades he’d been talking to Mikhail, it was a coincidence he’d spotted Mikhail, he thanked God. As Michael looked at his watch, by which I mean the rotation of the stars in space, he realised he’d actually gone back in time by 2.9 nanoseconds. Einstein had been livid when he’d got to Heaven to discover that Time and Relativity was just one of God’s jokes.
Mrs Murphy’s soul was returned to her body, but her 50 years of prayers so that Mikhail could have a family had not been wasted, and as for her priest well that’s another story, Tears for a Butcher by Michael Casey to be exact, if God gives me the time to finish it.
The next night Mikhail said he had a story for all the Russian children, so he told them about the night the angel came to the space station. This was an instant hit all over Mother Russia, it was so funny too, though he had to explain who Paul Daniels was, they liked the story a lot, not a little bit. The Indians wanted to hear the story so could he tell them too, so he did but Mikhail told them in one of the major Indian languages, and as each child hear the story they hear it in the voice of their own grandfather. Japan was next and they were astounded too, not only did know their language but the accent was perfect, Mikhail was like a United Nations, his stories perfectly told demanded silence, followed by tears of joy.
Mikhail spent another month in space, each night he’d tell stories to the world’s children. He was out of this world literally and in all other ways. When it was time for him to return he was an international hero, for science and for story-telling. Putin himself said he drive him from the airport to the Kremlin for a reception. When Mikhail came down the steps from the plane his wife jumped into his arms, Putin was dressed as a chauffeur, the election was next month and he know good PR. The president as servant of the people. Putin did have to close the privacy screen in the Zil because the spaceman started on creating his happy family on the back seat of the Zil limousine.
So Mikhail got what he wanted a big happy Russian family, was the angel right in guessing 7, no he was wrong, Mikhail and his wife only had 3 pregnancies. Three being Mrs Murphy’s favourite number, three sets of triples. Mikhail set up his own Utube station to tell stories to the world’s children, he called it You’ll Like It, a lot. Then his friend Putin suggested he should run for president, so that’s how a spaceman called Mikhail became the President of Russia, because an angel came acalling, twinkle, twinkle.

Afternoon All 24th May 2021

Afternoon All 24th May 2021

well with Tinnitus what I do lately

is

I get up for an hour or two and play on the computer

then get back to bed still with the Fizzing in my ears

I never sleep like a log, more lie a hog

and I wake up every 2 hours, once Tinnitus allow me to sleep

So I look at you all and get 2 bites of the cherry so to speak

I did bang my mike on the floor the other day

and on the computer, I thought I'd broken it

then you would all be spared

I also like seeing countries far and wide reading

but then some email deceiving

I JUST DELETE ANY RUBBISH

everybody knows how to hover and message source and IP

so don't annoy me dot EDU

and I only work in ENGLISH

I've bothered to Google Translate

so jokers/scammers in Multiple languages, just wrap your hands in bandages

or put boxing gloves on, as Matron made you do...

OTHER than that Hello to Mother Russia reading

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker in Russian Translation

thank you for bothering to read my rubbish

I do think you'll enjoy it

Especially the story of how The Trader pub came to be

90 countries read my stuff and still I've not earnt a penny

I'm hoping eventually for miracles

But I don't expect anything, just like your mum said

Blessed is he who expects Nothing

though back in 1996 I do believe I got my miracle

read Padre Pio and Me by Michael Casey

you'll find it on my sites, tomorrow 25h May is 

Padre Pio's Birthday

so I'll finish for now, end to Tinnitus would be a perfect

silent present from him to me.

But all the rest would be too big a grace to expect


see you later as they say

Lech, Boris and Gregorgi may be coming by to see Totoro the cat soon

but in reality there is a new batch of Vodka brewing in the woods behind me

no wonder our cat has so much vigour, 100% proof Popaloffoff vodka in her milk







Sunday, 23 May 2021

Pentecost an old piece for today

Pentecost ©

By

Michael Casey

 

I was at Mass last night, Saturday night counts for Sunday, if you are not up to speed with all things Catholic. Don’t hold my Faith against me, I’m more of an Altruist than anything. As I listened to the sermon and I’ve missed a few, my scar tissue throbbed and I gasped then I had a few more spasms of pain. So I was speaking in tongues myself, tongues of pain, at least I did not swear in church, our priest is a barrel of a man and very strong, he could have hauled me out.

 

He had a couple of Christenings to do as well, this can prolong the length of the Mass, I say prolong because when the seats are hard wood and you have your Arthur with you, your arthritis then. Ok, I won’t bore you about pain, though if you look on the NHS direct website your eyes may be opened.

 

When I was up for 2 hours in the middle or the night I discovered the term Frozen Shoulder, so when I was so exhausted that I’d sleep through any pain I went to bed with another piece of knowledge to add to the Soup, the soup being my life experience. When I talk to you I am ladling out my words from the soup, and that’s why you get bits in my words, that get stuck between your teeth, or trapped in your mind.

 

So what has all this got to do with Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit arrived and suddenly common men, fishermen were able to speak in tongues. To be able to talk across the nationalities, these guys are from around here but we can all understand them. Imagine a tourist bus gets lost in Birmingham and they meet me, and I can speak Japanese, or Russian and Polish and German and French or Spanish and so on. But not only speak these languages one by one but as I speak they simultaneously hear my words in their own language.

   

Its almost a science fiction concept, in a previous piece, called Redemption there is such an idea. Why did Pentecost happen, if you like it was like Twitter suddenly emerging, or a Crowd Funding page on Facebook. The word got out because the crew had the tools to spread that word, just as they had spread their nets when a crew on the fishing boat.

 

So the gift of tongues of words enable Christianity to get out into the world. It went viral so to speak, the news was transmitted all over the Roman empire. It would be like an MTV explosion in today’s world, wall to wall exposure via the gift of tongues. Saul had to be zapped on the road to Damascus, before he saw the light, a bit like a Hard Rocker being electrocuted at a gig and then changing his ways. Saul became Paul and then travelling more than any Rock Band every has.

 

I’ve given you all examples so bring it to life, just like the Evanescence song. It was an explosion, like a music download becoming available. It was a Wrecking Ball to what had happened previously. Yes I know my choice of cartoons to put in your minds is not Orthodox, but has it enabled you to understand what it must have been like after the Holy Spirit did his stuff.

 

Penecost is for everybody though, not just Christians, and no I’m not trying to convert you. Somebody once asked me about Christianity and I said don’t bother. Not by way a negative, but rather to get him, or Mark as his name was, to think more deeply about it. If its too easy, like getting a Music download, then the faith whatever faith it is will not take root, Parable of the Sower for all you Bible students out there.

 

I’m fortunate because whatever faith I have comes from 1920s Kerry Ireland and goes back 100s of years. If you read To The Very Gates Of Hell, you’ll understand a little more. I’m writing a piece of fiction there that mixes faith and fiction and pathos and even comedy all together, like a girl with badly plaited hair. See I’m almost getting intellectual in my explanations.

 

While writing that piece it segwayed into another about the Spaceman and the Archangel, which is again comedy and pathos. Do I try and hide the pathos under the comedy? Or do I just stir the soup and ladle the words out on the page? In actual fact I do not really know, I’m not intelligent enough to forward plan everything I do or say. I write the piece with my fingers, as it streams down from the soup in my brain. It would be so boring to plan in advance, I just have the title in my head then I begin.

 

When I finish as I read it back to myself or my girls, I’ll realise did I hit the nail on the head or did the ideas drift. Most times I’m pleased that it’s even better than it felt as I wrote it. As I’m writing its one sentence at a time. When I read it back its a whole entity. If you like when a tapestry is revealed, when I write I’m seeing the underside, when I finish writing I flip it over and all is revealed.

 

Does all this sound so pretentious? This would be classed as one of my serious pieces, that’s why I stick to the straight comedy if that is not a contradiction in terms, because any readers I have prefer the straight comedy.

 

I’ve talked about my own experience with words. The trouble is that words can be lost on people, that’s why we all need a Pentecost of our own. When I talk to my nephew we are on the same wavelength and and sometimes his sister who has a first in English cannot keep up. Its about wavelengths not intelligence.

 

If you are kindred spirits then the hum between you is very high, the ping and the pong, if you think of people playing that game. To some onlookers it is unbelievable. Watching footballers do tricks with balls, or watching a game and the shot is just unbelievable is another example.  

 

There are many examples in sport and in art and theatre how the skill is truly amazing. That’s when the audience gives a standing ovation. I saw Candide on a sloping stage at the Rep maybe 30 years ago that was GREAT. As was Jason Donovan’s bum when he did the Rocky Horror show on the same stage.

 

A personal Pentecost gives us not just the gift of tongues, but the ability to connect with all sorts of people on all sorts of levels. Like a politician in the days when we thought they really were men of the people. There are still a few good ones out there, you can vote for yours on Thursday, even if you need a microscope to find them, but there are some good ones in all parties, I won’t name names as it might lose them their seats,let your conscience be your guide as Jiminy Cricket might say.   

 

A personal Pentecost may take a lifetime to achieve, but just like the Long March in China or the One Small Step on the moon but it is worth it. Being able to connect is a great gift and great fun, like being a concierge at a busy hotel. You won’t always please everybody all of the time, they may not want to listen, or may be only half listening, they may even totally misunderstand you.  

 

But when it works then it really works. Like Angels the song by Robbie Williams, or one of my poems, when people look at me in disbelief and say “what you wrote that?”. Yes, even a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham with tooth paste down the front of his jumper half of the time can write the odd great piece.

 

I’ll leave it there for now my girls have just come home from their church, their Penecost service. And that in the end is what its all about, Service. A personal pentecost allows us all to be of service to each other, to cut through all the rubbish in life and to be of service to each other whatever our mother tongue is. 



 

Saturday, 22 May 2021

2 Fat Belly Photos



if you are attracted to this then get your dog to take you for an eye test


178cm and 120 kilos maybe , but my hair does grow like crazy

so join a band and sing this

 





I’m Setting Up a Band ©

By

Michael Casey

The Pope was cursing, he had had enough, those Heathens were just that Heathens. He just wanted a quiet life, all alone with his Rosary, maybe it was Divine Inspiration, or maybe God was playing a trick, it couldn’t be a dream it was more like a living nightmare. But this is what happened.

Donald Trump said he’d resign immediately if Putin did too, he did have his fingers crossed behind his back, and Fox did show his fingers. Francis, Pope Francis was watching the BBC, for the sake of his sanity, when he heard Donald Trump make yet another lie. Francis looked up at the Cross on the wall, Lord if Trump and Putin both resigned now that might be a good thing. But it’s more likely that I resign too, and what would the 3 of us do then, form a Rock Band like in the Blues Brothers.

Francis liked that film, especially when the Nun hits the boys with a ruler for swearing. Francis smiled, Rahm Emanuel is leaving Chicago soon, perhaps he should be our manager. There is always a Jewish manager in pop bands, Francis smiled again.

Now God works in mysterious ways, and as he was tending to a junkie who had just entered the Gates of Heaven, washing his feet and kissing his track marks and then putting his a white suit like a 60s band member, well God thought it would be a bit of fun. So a dream, the same dream entered Putin’s and Trump’s mind. The next day simultaneously they invited the other to Birmingham England, God loved the surreal so it just had to be Birmingham. The Press corps thought Trump was on drugs, but as they laughed, and Jon Sopal led the chorus of REALLY? The news came in that Putin had just made the same comments. In actual fact, when they checked the announcement had been made simultaneously.

Was Putin on drugs too, was there Collusion? Trump winged it, I had a dream last night, much better than what’s his name’s dream, yes Queen, I mean King. In the dream it said meet Putin in Birmingham. Barron my son said he’s like to look at the Pre-Raphaelites, whatever they are. He wants to meet Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades too, he’s in Birmingham. Though it’s more likely the Secret Service will just shave his head and make a wig for that loser, Jeff Bezo, that’ll teach him and his failing Washington Post.

I like that idea myself, but Jeff’s wig would be no match for my mane. And that’ll teach Casey to respect THE PRESIDENT, Trump reached for his phone to tweet that bit. The entire  Press Corps reached for their phones to read what he had just Twittered. Jon Sopal ran from the room laughing and in search of a fresh pair of trousers, he’d just pissed himself laughing. There was a rush for the men’s room, Trump was left alone rambling.

In Russia Putin said he had had a dream too, he was naked and riding a horse through woods, the trees swayed and turned into displays of watches hanging from every tree branch. It was a metaphor to remind him that as great as he looked on his horse one day his time would be up. Just as Autumn leaves fell, as the watches started to drop off Putin  realised he only had so much time, his secret heart problem would in the end kill him. So he would meet Trump in Birmingham, he knew what Pre-Raphaelites were and he’d enjoy looking at them. He might even bring an Easter egg to the museum, a jewelled one. He’d get to taste Cadburys chocolate eggs too, what more could any Russian want?

The Pope was asked was this Divine Intervention, he just joked was that some American singer. But in his heart Francis knew what he had to do. He must go to Birmingham and jump out of a Confessional and persuade the two of them to resign immediately. Maybe then the world would stand a chance, he would trick them by saying, if you both resign I’ll resign too, and we can form a Rock Band. He’d had a phone call from Theresa May the night before, after she’d stopped swearing he said maybe she could resign and become a lead singer in a rock band. She laughed, if you get Putin and Trump to do it, then I’ll do it. Francis got her to say it 3 times and he recorded it, Nixon learnt everything he knew about taping from his old priest after all. All Francis had to do was to sneak into Birmingham cathedral, and then pounce, he’d record everything with his bodycam and then upload it to the Web. Then both Trump and Putin would have to resign. And to keep his bargain with God so would he, and Theresa May could be the lead singer. In Paradise the junkie laughed till he cried, am I still on drugs Lord? Yes, it’s called God’s Love, the only drug worth having.

Francis had a problem, he couldn’t get a flight to Birmingham, everything was booked, all the world was coming to Birmingham. Luckily he had a friend with a balloon, Richard Branson was his name. Richard explained his balloon would not be fast enough, but he had a friend called Musk or something. Now this friend loved rockets, so if they strapped a rocket to the basket then they’d get there much faster than 80 days. Francis gave Musk some scented candles as a thank you.

Richard flew the balloon at night, and landed at the Oratory, Benedict had asked Francis to return a book of Newman’s he’d borrowed.At the Oratory Francis would catch a black taxi driven by Nanjit Tanjit, who Nanjit Tanjit, he’s a character in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, you’ll have to do some research. And then under cover of darkness Francis would sneak into Birmingham’s Saint Phillips’ cathedral. In the morning Trump and Putin would light a candle for Peace.

There were no confessionals in Saint Phillips as it was an Anglican cathedral, very small but very nice. This writer used to hide in there during his lunch break for 3 years, the Verger who looks like Jeff Bezo thought I was Holy, I was just sitting down, away from the heat of the Print Room at Pinsent Masons law firm. Francis just hid for teh night in something just as small as the Confessional, the toilet at the back of the church behind the double doors.

In the morning Francis all in crumbled white readied himself. The Secret Service and the FSB had checked the cathedral, so Trump and Putin were all alone, just a remote camera showing live pictures only. Francis had written “out of order” on a piece of paper so nobody had bothered to check the toilet. As they postured for the cameras Trump and Putin spoke. Well NO COLUSION, smiled Trump, yea but I still want the Presidential Suite as soon as your tower in built in Saint Petersburg. Deal done smiled Trump and they shook hands. The candles were lit and they bowed their heads. Don Camillo would have given both of them an almighty kick up the arse. Saint Petersburg, they had changed the city, the heir to Saint Peter was angry.

Francis jumped out and grabbed a lit candle, the pair of presidents, which is a metaphor, jumped back. We thought we saw a Ghost they exclaimed. The Holy Ghost sent me, now you both have to resign immediately and join a Rock Band, the pair of presidents, still a metaphor laughed. If Theresa May is lead singer and flashes her legs then we’ll do it. Ok we will they both joked like a pair a presidents, even more a metaphor. Francis paused, if you 2 resign then I will too, so long as Theresa May joins the band? YES YES YES they said simultaneously. Francis was uploading this to the Holy Friar website, in second the whole world heard the news. Then he played the tape of Theresa May, including the bit where she was swearing like a trooper.

And that is how the Golden Politicians were born. Francis too resigned on the spot. He wasn’t going to flat share the Vatican with Benedict and his piano. He was hitting the road Jack and he wouldn’t look back. In Parliament Mrs May punched the Speaker, which many had thought would happen, but Mr Bercow just smiled, our views may be at variance, but to forgive is divine, so I forgive. Mrs May had come to her senses by now so she French Kissed the life out of him by way of apology. The kiss lasted a full nine minutes, they say being Speaker is a dangerous occupation, but now History would say otherwise.

If you have wondered why Mr May always looks so happy and slightly bewildered behind his Biggles’ glasses well the Speaker can explain things for you. With a parting Vsign to her own back benchers Mrs May left the chamber, now the Speaker looked happy and very very bewildered behind his disordered papers. He had to order a pint of Stella Artois be brought to the Chamber to revive him.

The new band members met in an upper room, the old Waterworks Jazz club venue. They had a pint of Stella Artois each, though Pope Francis has a glass of wine too. Donald said he did not drink, but when Theresa gave him the eye he was putty in her hands. So Donald had 17 pints of Stella Artois and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. His lifetime thirst was over. Stan the caretaker tapped another barrel. Then then the new band moved to the Bell and Pump room to rehearse. Theresa now liberated was the leader of the pack, and dressed all in skin tight leather she now felt so so liberated.

They rehearsed all the ABBA back list, it was the one thing they all knew. Francis was a great base guitarist, and Putin just liked to stand at the keyboards, he was great, but Classical was more his forte,but everybody just loves ABBA. Put what about Donald? Well he put on a kilt and no knickers, and reached for a guitar. He knew that girls loved to sleep with rock musicians, so he had secretly learnt how to play. The servants had assumed the noise in the attic was his kids, but no, it was the Donald. He’d paid Mick and Keith a lot of money to come and teach him back in the 1970s. And he’d been practising for decades. Property he knew, but strutting with a guitar he was even better at, but nobody knew. Except a few ladies who’d signed non disclosure agreements.

So they played, while Rahm Emanuel their new manager made calls as only a Chicago mayor or former mayor can. He’d left Chicago safe in the hands of a Black Lesbian Mayor, now Rahm Emanuel would face his biggest test. Getting the biggest paying concert ever on the road. The Stones were  delayed so while Mick stopped prancing they could step in and seize their stage. Two Presidents, a Pope and a Prime Minister. What a line up, Rahm Emanuel decided to call them The Four Golden Peas. He rung Esther his dear friend and asked could she arrange security and the finances once he funnel them to her. Security was easy her son made military satellites, and knew many tough guys.

The money side of things was kind of not legit, you see all the money would be going to Charity. The first charity being  Médecins Sans Frontières, MSF or Doctors without Borders. Those bastards, the politicians had started more wars between them so they should give back something.

So Médecins Sans Frontières, would be first. Rahm had set himself a target, One Billion US Dollars. And to help things along, Fr.Dan was going to hear Confession with El Chapo and when he finished every cent he had stashed away would be going to Charity, real Charity not his favourite hooker called Charity.

Fr. Dan knew how to hear Confession, he would beat the ____ out of El Chapo while they were along in his cell. Then he would use Voodoo and put the fear of God into El Chapo, finishing with the words, God Doesn’t Love You Any More. This would break any man in 30 mins tops. Screaming for mercy El Chapo would reveal all. Then Esther would use her Russian Money Laundering Connections to launder the money, and it would end up sparkling clean in each Charity’s bank account. Besides with Putin in the band, no questions would be asked.

Rahm Emanuel smiled, he should have been in the real Blues Brothers but he was just too busy, though he did do one day’s work on the film. It was Rahm Emanuel who drove the car at the Neo Nazi Bastards, so they had to jump for their lives. Not a lot of people known this, Rahm is modest about his film driving career.

The first gig arrived. It would be at Birmingham’s NEC Arena, the one that looks like Spider landed. Rahm Emanuel smiled, Fr Dan had IMed Chapo had talked, in fact he sung like a canary, when a multi black belt Jesuit asks you a question then you answer. Fr.Dan had used Voodoo too, Chapo had peed himself in under a minute. The guards were watching the Concert live in their rest room, so Fr.Dan was left in peace to hear Confession.Rahm was too busy to count the zeros, it was 15,000,000,000 USD.

Esther smiled, her dear friend Mrs Murphy would be so happy, but now she was busy moving the money. In and out of Government’s own bank accounts as well, to make it all sparkling clean. Esther has her list of Charities and smiling she went about her work. Meanwhile Artist Differences had reared their ugly head. Theresa decided to let it all hang out. So she stripped naked and demanded they all did the same. Stripped back music, was different, maybe kissing Bercow had confused her. Give me your tie Donald. So Theresa wrapped his red tie down below. She was like Cher with her modesty half covered but with her behind hanging out. Then she grabbed Donald’s lapel badge to cover her left nipple and Rahm gave her his badge for the right nipple.

Glitter me she commanded, and then she was spray painted in glitter,the perfect Glam Rock look. The Pope stayed clothed in white, but he wore silver high heels. Donald and Putin were sprayed in glitter, Donald lost his trousers but put a kilt back on. Putin just put some very tight shorts on to highlight his accomplishments, of course he was bar chested too.

With that Francis started to play, And The Winner Takes it All, and Theresa May strode out and hit the stage. Overwhelming Applause. She did grab her husband and give him the kind of kiss you’d get arrested for if you did it in public. They lashed the crowd with ABBA hits, and everybody was amazed  and Donald Trump showed the world his class and more as he spun around in his kilt, knickerlass to the world. Putin stopped the show with his piano playing, he inserted a few Russian classics.There were no flies on him, and certainly no shirt required, he played his heart out. On the top of the keyboard were Cadburys cream eggs which he scoffed as the show went on.

Francis disappeared in smoke, like holy orders gone mad, but his Bass was unbelievable. Back home Benedict was a little jealous, he was stuck in the Vatican and soon they’d be a 3rd Pope. When they ran out of Abba songs Putin to sing, Russian traditional songs about combine harvesters and wheat yield. But he knew nobody would understand, so he cried as he sung and as the others jammed around. It was an absolute hit, everybody in the audience was crying. Esther was laughing all the way to the bank. 40,000,000,000 USD had been stolen from locked up drugs barrons, as Fr. Dan had toured the jails. Many many charities had benefited. Even Spangle Shoes for Prisoners would get 10,000USD.

What more can I say. Theresa May was a Rock Chic, she wiggled and sung with all her heart. She was free from all those BASTARDS, now she could give her husband everything she had. Her husband rung Beds4Politicians and ordered a new divan set, he knew he’d be needing it. Covered in Sweat and Naked before the Audience, was the title of the Live Triple Album, Rahm certainly knew a good title. That made 100,000,000 USD for Charity. The true figures were never released to the Public nor to Governments, Esther and Rahm didn’t want too many nosey parkers into their business. They’d give the finger to those kind of people.

At the end of the concert Rahm gave each member of the band a crisp dollar bill. After expenses this is what you get. A dollar each, the Pope looked at the reverse. IN GOD WE TRUST. Pope Francis cried, he cried like a baby. Then he woke up, it had all been a dream. But when he woke up under his pillow was a fresh dollar bill with Love Rahm written on it.

Theresa May woke up her new divan set, Beds4Politicians, was broken,  her husband was gently smouldering, tea and crumpet for breakfast dear. I’ve had the strangest of dreams she began sitting up in bed, a crisp dollar bill with Love Rahm was under her pillow, and why had she got USA flags stuck to her nipples. And what was irritating her down below, she pulled out a red tie, her husband never wore red.

What of Trump and Putin? They awoke in The Plough and Harrow, they were in bed together, naked with each clasping a dollar bill signed by Rahm Emanuel. Now am I making this all up, or is this a Dream within a Dream. Donald did say at the beginning that he had a dream better than a Queens…..   

Yemen to Lebanon that's you

 Yemen to Lebanon are reading me today

so hello to you all and everybody else too

a busy few days, Have you all just noticed me?

especially in the USA

thanks for passing by

but only if you increase 1000 fold will media be interested

I have coverage everywhere but lack penetration

but USA is looking good these past few nights as you

sample my delights

I have an idea for a story this morning

it could end up like Porterhouse Blue a Tom Sharp book and

later a tv series

so come back later and if pain stays away from me

I may put it down

There is so much material online here, 3300 pieces

as well as 20 books on Amazon in my Original English

as well as Translations over on Wordpress

as well as  a couple here

So I won't push myself too much any more

Maybe if I had a typist etc etc etc

I could be more productive

Eurovision is on TV tonight and if that's not your thing

then read my rubbish or even sing it aloud to yourself

Stay Safe and Happy wherever you are in the world

and be kind especially to

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

that's all


p.s. one of my daughters opened the door to a parcel lady today

the lady called her "stunning" so my daughter  told me later

I should be proud of my greatest creation, her. Her sister is equally

as pretty, because Ugly Dad's have Beautiful Daughters

as God has a great sense of humour.



teaching my daughters to fly 10 years plus ago


Friday, 21 May 2021

All Steamed Up

All Steamed Up ©
By
Michael Casey

Well it’s a Friday night so some of you will be all steamed up by now, steamed up means drunk/tipsy or having had too much to drink. See I expand the Esol vocabulary for any students out there reading me. In the corner besides me I can hear French rapping, it’s une confiserie patisserie all wrapped up, ready for later. In reality it’s my small daughter dipping into her French, Lupin is back on tv soon, do watch it the black lead actor is extraordinary, and I’m sure the ladies get steamed up watching him.

I could segway into Steamy Windows and Tina Turner, and I passed several steamed-up car windows in the dark of the field,  on the way home on a Friday night, from the hotel to NEC train station when I worked there 20 years ago. But why have I pulled up on steamy windows? Well the whistle on our kettle has broken, and I just steamed up all the kitchen, if we had wall paper it would be rolling down like a lady’s stockings right now, which might be what still happens in the field on the way to the NEC train station.
Though whistling at ladies is not allowed any more, I used to get looks and many whistles on a Friday night, once a month as I dress in drag and go cruising down Broad street. I am a very big broad after all. With size ten dancing feet, in the street or anywhere else, who do you think taught Bowie and Jagger that dance? They never did return my flasher mac either, so I ran home naked like Lady Godiva, which is up the road from Brum in Coventry.

After all that explanation, should I put the kettle on and we can have a cuppa or a brew? Now I must confess I am a coffee drinker. Though I did give it up for a while after my heart bypass, but then I resumed, if you don’t have something nice in your life, then what is the point? You have to have rapport with your life. Which is the coffee I drink Kenco Rapport, instant with milk, which will make Americans puke at the very idea, that’s a strange way to drink coffee, I should be imprisoned for the very idea.

Back to the kettle, obvious growing up we had an enormous kettle, a gallon kettle, enough to make the tea and do the washing up after the dinner. There used to be a shop called Malcomb’s where all the pots and pans were sold, and obviously his children were percussionists, with that amount of metal it just had to be banged. So, my dad must have gone on an expedition to find a kettle big enough for the Caseys. Though back in Kerry at the family farm the fireplace was at least 10 feet wide, with a crane above the fire and a huge black kettle hanging there. You could actually sit in the fireplace on a chair next to the hanging kettle with the fire below. And I did indeed see my dad’s brother Danny sat right there. I believe Morris and his wife who run the farm now have boarded it all up.

Now does that story take the biscuit, speaking of which do you dunk your biscuits in your tea. There probably is a mathematical formula about the length of time a biscuit should be dunked. Then it’s soggy enough to eat, or if you dunk too long it drops off and floats in the tea, so you have to use your finger to scoop it all out, as you slurp. And memories of my brother doing exactly that come back to me. That’s how you put on weight, it’s all the biscuits with the tea. Though I gave up sugar in my coffee back in 1977, I know the date because I hit my head on the Kerry cow shed door in 1978, and my uncle Patrick said I’d grown 2 inches. Yes, that stone building that he and my mother were all born in became a cow shed. We never knew it was the original house till 1994 maybe, when Uncle Danny back from Boston, replied poking his finger in reply, that was the house. It had a well just a few feet away too, perfect for water for the pot.

Yes, a kettle is a fine thing, it brings family together, for tea and Madeira cake on a Sunday, and the cake would be gone by Monday, especially if I found it. Though for most of my life I’ve just drunk coffee, it’s been only a few years that I’ve added tea to my repertoire. And dad would come home from the steel works and wash his feet in the washing up bowl, and have his dinner sometimes in the living room on a chair, so he could watch the news and heckle the Politicians there, who could not organise a Tea Party, let alone run a country. 

So a boiling kettle brings back many memories to me, something simple like me, it reminds of love and laughter, and a family watching tv together at the weekend. If a film was too touching, my dad would say he was getting a cold and blow his nose, as he excused himself saying he’d put the kettle on for the tea, for this is Family.





Portuguese Translations

Humour Writing by the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England read in 167 countries so far https://www.amazon.co.uk/Micha...