Ted Talk as my head spins with Tinnitus and Pain, respected law firm

Ted Talk

I may be a waiter tomorrow

I may be a  waiter tomorrow 

somebody has to hand out the bacon butties to Joe and Vlad

I do have my 3 years hotel experience after all

and Trump couldn't come, so I may be doing it

The noise in my head from Tinnitus is at an all time high

So nothing brand new since 10th June when I awoke 

with a title in my head

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

you can read it for yourselves

meanwhile I say the Rosary in my tinnitus time

my mother used to say, say the Rosary if you cannot sleep

So I do, I even bought a new Rosary or two

https://uniquerosarybeads.com/ 

I'm not holy, but Tinnitus does make you pray

The family that prays together, stays together they used to say

Anyway there are 3300 plus pieces to read here

So I don't think nobody is going to catch up with me

Though there is a story about Journalists at the Dentists

One passes a magazine to the other, but drops it

Then apologises and hands it to the Political Editor

Jon Sopal maybe, who replies that's ok

I read that magazine already

As it was falling to the ground

Yes, they are all that quick, makes me sick

I'm just a fool compared to them

But why are they reading this?

dad can we have a pet? Yes, a dog if I die or a cat if I have a heart attack

Jan 2015 I had unplanned quadruple heart bypass, though triple was planned

So Totoro arrived, her name is on a plaque outside the old house down the hill

Putin tells Biden I'm going on the road again

   PUTIN  TELLS  BIDEN I"M GOING ON THE ROAD AGAIN

and if that were to happen we'd all be so very happy, 

Smile Joe and the secret service crew

  

 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…..   

   

Crying with Sam Smith

Crying with Sam Smith

did not know his Abbey Rd session was on tv

Stumbled over it

He has such a plaintive voice

and his Black singers are great

his band are good too

So there I was at twilight gently shedding a tear

WHY

Because all the family are back home again

which was a John Denver album

My University daughter landed home today 

and had a clear out of her clothes

So plastic sacks placed in our front garden

I did trail it to a passing neighour

But later as darkness descended a poor family arrived

So for some teenager it'll be like Christmas

A whole lot of clothes going on

So our local Transvestite lost his change

Only joking

But we do have a bus driver who dresses as a woman

My point being, the clothes were recycled and a poor family benefited

So that made me happy

Mean people sell their clothes off, we donate

I 've  also been fizzing for 9 hours now

My Tinnitus along with Left Shoulder Pain

and chest pain too, with my hernia  blowing up more 

through my bypass scar

So as I sit my chair listening to Sam Smith

It reminds me that everything is Temporary

And only Health is worth something

The clothes I helped chose in my Gay Dad capacity

If you have beautiful daughter you help buy their clothes

I'm not Gay, just so you know, but I do like it when  I can

spot something my daughters can wear

Then I buy it, a kind of bonding experience

So tonight Sam Smith sings

And I'm reminded I'm only passing through this life

Hence all my dreams, for one day I'll have no tomorrow

And on a Pain Day such as this, I'm reminded of it

and before I forget 14 nations reading me via Wordpress

https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/2020/05/15/all-in-one-place-translations-galore/

click link to find your own languages

and Quick Stories in Korean is doing very well

That's all I'm off to bed, it's harder and harder to find a good

position to sleep in

I'm a bit like the Elephant Man, but I smell more

the writer is in the red shirt, not the red nose

New News Channel in UK

New News Channel in UK

I've available, Postcard from Birmingham

they can repeat my 5 mins section through the night

But would I have to knee before Andrew to get it

I was reading old stuff as I checked my figures

And sometimes they make me cry as I remember the story

with all its connections

One referenced an old school mate, though now just a couple of years later

he is dead

So Eternity is close over my shoulder

And the pain attacks today in all the heat nearly made me wave the white flag

Then tonight I read something that cheered my spirits

So I have to thank all you random readers everywhere

Because unknowingly you return my dignity

I won't bore with more, but thank you all of you

Over in USA, Trump has been exposed yet again

as the New Nixon, yet the cult of Trump has ruined the GOP

But none of them have the honesty to put Country before Political Ambition

Has Trump bought a seat on Jeff Bezo's space adventure

Just so he can hijack it and make his getaway

Or will UFOs appear to take him away

With a world like this Humour is in short supply

But Andrew and I cannot knee, as I'd never get up again

Postcard from Birmingham is available

2000+ stories, so have a gander and don't goose me

I can broadcast from your ladies chamber 

Ok, enough I have to go listen to Pink, she's a great lady

Actually she looks like our old green grocers only daughter

Stay happy everybody

and say your prayers tonight, and wear a mask

4 more weeks of social distancing, its's common sense

 

A slice of life, a piece of cake repeated

 A  repeat, somebody was reading this over on Michael Casey blogger site

so I thought I'd bring it back here on the main site

Sunday, 17 September 2017

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake ©

By

Michael Casey

Elaine Polin the NY poet once said to me that what I wrote was a slice of life. Though it’s many years since I darkened her door, we did have some fun when I was on FB, but I’m NOT on FB or anywhere anymore, but a big Hello to her, she’s probably forgotten me by now.

So what do I write? I write short stories, I was even told be a female priest decades ago that she thought it would be my specialty, makes me sound like a fat cook in a greasy spoon cafe. Heart attack on a plate, with ketchup.

I am a vacuum cleaner, or totally vacuous if you are unkind, perhaps I should just change my bag inside, a bit like Kate Bush’s kick inside? Who knows? Do I have total recall, I cannot remember what I have forgot, though there are some things I wish I could and cannot. Memories are things we have to live with, the bad ones, the sad ones can scar us forever, as we all know. My earliest is 53 years old when I was left alone in front of the fire while dad collected mum from the hospital and my new baby sister. I can remember my dad telling me to leave the fire alone.

On other occasions I can remember film like what went on. The proudest moment was when we went on a family Pilgrimage to Lourdes by train. The train stopped and money and tiny bottles of pop were exchanged via the windows. It was very expensive,so expensive that dad handed them back, all 8 bottles. Only he handed back 7. The seller came on the train demanding his final bottle,  unholy uproar ensued.

The entire train swore and cursed and gave two fingers to the hawker. We were 6 kids aged 16 to 3 plus mum and dad. So Holy Uproar as we pulled out the station. Shouts of England will win the World Cup, t was 1966 after all. Other Pilgrims came to our aid with water, cursing the Bloody French. An hour later mum moved her position and plumped up her cushion, only to reveal the missing 8th very expensive pop bottle,it was orange. It was drunk and the bottle thrown out the moving train window. The Bloody French. Two years later my big brother was studying French at Queen’s Oxford. My smaller other brother went on to Downing Cambridge in 1975, to study Economics, maybe the Laws of Supply and Demand.

So there you have it a story from 51 years ago. I can remember racing against the life as I bounced off the walls of the stairwell. My small sister aged 3 refused to take her anorak off even though the temperature soared, this was for the entire week. She later 20 years later, went to France on her year abroad and was able to pick up all the slang going. She even memorized Some Day My Prince Will Come from Snow White. The other teachers were teasing her, what had she done over the weekend in the very small village. So she turned around and sang it to them, the staff room were very impressed and collapsed into laughter. Now 30 years later she is still friends with the English teacher.

So I think La Belle France has forgiven us for the forgotten pop bottle, one brother did study there for a year, and then work in Paris for a year, bilingual was the word. I had my own misadventures in Paris, if I can find the file I’ll add it to my website. Let’s just say 1998 was a very funny year for me.

Which brings us back to the vacuum cleaner. I love stories, dad used to tell us stories over and over again, even if the repertoire was limited, I just hearing them and magnified the love between us as far as I was concerned. So I visited him every single day for 3 years after his heart attack, I did it out of Love, and my siblings loved and visited very often too. I can remember my last ever visit to him on the Tuesday, then 4 days later he asked for another breakfast egg and was dead when the egg arrived.

Our Life, our Love is what makes us, it’s the glue of Family, of any family. That story, this event, makes us laugh, makes us cry with laughter, or just makes us cry. If we cannot cry then have we forgotten the love. I never cried the day mum died, all my siblings did, but mum had said don’t cry so I obeyed her. I can remember all the days events as we gathered around the family home and our broken dad. I can remember my brother digging the flowerbeds, mum’s delights. I can remember sitting behind Mrs M in Sunday Mass as the Canon announced mum’s death, Mrs M was so shocked, she is still alive, now in her 90s.

Memories are there to save us, to help us and to treasure in dark times. That’s why I record everything in my mind and share my stories on the page. And that is why I detest things that destroy the mind, the imagination or the spirit. Lift somebody up don’t knock them down. That night playing on the radio was Celine Dion’s You Lift Me Up, as my family sat up all night they heard that song.

That’s what mum did all her hard working family life, she lifted us all  up. Mum had all the graces dad said, she was as strong as a horse too, which is high praise from a blacksmith, her husband, my dad. So if you wonder where does all my spirit come from though now my body is much weaker, then the answer is from my parents, from mum and dad. For they were Kerry people, its in the breed as dad used to say of things. And Kerry breeds for Love and Happiness and Stories, for though I may be in Birmingham, County Kerry is in me.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake ©

By

Michael Casey

Elaine Polin the NY poet once said to me that what I wrote was a slice of life. Though it’s many years since I darkened her door, we did have some fun when I was on FB, but I’m NOT on FB or anywhere anymore, but a big Hello to her, she’s probably forgotten me by now.

So what do I write? I write short stories, I was even told be a female priest decades ago that she thought it would be my specialty, makes me sound like a fat cook in a greasy spoon cafe. Heart attack on a plate, with ketchup.

I am a vacuum cleaner, or totally vacuous if you are unkind, perhaps I should just change my bag inside, a bit like Kate Bush’s kick inside? Who knows? Do I have total recall, I cannot remember what I have forgot, though there are some things I wish I could and cannot. Memories are things we have to live with, the bad ones, the sad ones can scar us forever, as we all know. My earliest is 53 years old when I was left alone in front of the fire while dad collected mum from the hospital and my new baby sister. I can remember my dad telling me to leave the fire alone.

On other occasions I can remember film like what went on. The proudest moment was when we went on a family Pilgrimage to Lourdes by train. The train stopped and money and tiny bottles of pop were exchanged via the windows. It was very expensive,so expensive that dad handed them back, all 8 bottles. Only he handed back 7. The seller came on the train demanding his final bottle,  unholy uproar ensued.

The entire train swore and cursed and gave two fingers to the hawker. We were 6 kids aged 16 to 3 plus mum and dad. So Holy Uproar as we pulled out the station. Shouts of England will win the World Cup, t was 1966 after all. Other Pilgrims came to our aid with water, cursing the Bloody French. An hour later mum moved her position and plumped up her cushion, only to reveal the missing 8^th very expensive pop bottle,it was orange. It was drunk and the bottle thrown out the moving train window. The Bloody French. Two years later my big brother was studying French at Queen’s Oxford. My smaller other brother went on to Downing Cambridge in 1975, to study Economics, maybe the Laws of Supply and Demand.

So there you have it a story from 51 years ago. I can remember racing against the life as I bounced off the walls of the stairwell. My small sister aged 3 refused to take her anorak off even though the temperature soared, this was for the entire week. She later 20 years later, went to France on her year abroad and was able to pick up all the slang going. She even memorized Some Day My Prince Will Come from Snow White. The other teachers were teasing her, what had she done over the weekend in the very small village. So she turned around and sang it to them, the staff room were very impressed and collapsed into laughter. Now 30 years later she is still friends with the English teacher.

So I think La Belle France has forgiven us for the forgotten pop bottle, one brother did study there for a year, and then work in Paris for a year, bilingual was the word. I had my own misadventures in Paris, if I can find the file I’ll add it to my website. Let’s just say 1998 was a very funny year for me.

Which brings us back to the vacuum cleaner. I love stories, dad used to tell us stories over and over again, even if the repertoire was limited, I just hearing them and magnified the love between us as far as I was concerned. So I visited him every single day for 3 years after his heart attack, I did it out of Love, and my siblings loved and visited very often too. I can remember my last ever visit to him on the Tuesday, then 4 days later he asked for another breakfast egg and was dead when the egg arrived.

Our Life, our Love is what makes us, it’s the glue of Family, of any family. That story, this event, makes us laugh, makes us cry with laughter, or just makes us cry. If we cannot cry then have we forgotten the love. I never cried the day mum died, all my siblings did, but mum had said don’t cry so I obeyed her. I can remember all the days events as we gathered around the family home and our broken dad. I can remember my brother digging the flowerbeds, mum’s delights. I can remember sitting behind Mrs M in Sunday Mass as the Canon announced mum’s death, Mrs M was so shocked, she is still alive, now in her 90s.

Memories are there to save us, to help us and to treasure in dark times. That’s why I record everything in my mind and share my stories on the page. And that is why I detest things that destroy the mind, the imagination or the spirit. Lift somebody up don’t knock them down. That night playing on the radio was Celine Dion’s You Lift Me Up, as my family sat up all night they heard that song.

That’s what mum did all her hard working family life, she lifted us all  up. Mum had all the graces dad said, she was as strong as a horse too, which is high praise from a blacksmith, her husband, my dad. So if you wonder where does all my spirit come from though now my body is much weaker, then the answer is from my parents, from mum and dad. For they were Kerry people, its in the breed as dad used to say of things. And Kerry breeds for Love and Happiness and Stories, for though I may be in Birmingham, County Kerry is in me.

at September 17, 2017 

Morning All

 Well Boris has a swim in the sea in Cornwall, the Press corps thought it was Jaws

so it's nice to see everybody happy again

I had 10 different countries yesterday over on Wordpress and 8 so far today

New Zealand reading me, could it be JG, he saved me long ago

So break a leg, or was it two to him

What else I read a Ballet review, I'm nothing if not eclectic

can somebody plug him into the mains electric, you are all so cruel

So I sent a message in a bottle to the reviewer

Though I'll never. know if he gets it

I suggested Birmingham is Ballet my short story should be commissioned 

Imagine Me, a Ballet Dancing Choreographer, ok just the story guy

Find it on my sites you will laugh, and hello to all the Tonys out there

I had early breakfast at 5am, had a play here then went back to bed again

My Rubik cube life, again

I am pleased how Never Discarded, Never Unloved turned out

Whether you like it or not, I'll never know, but it is accurate

I'll be crawling under a rock later as the temperatures rise

Naked in the garden, just to delight the neighbours

And tempt the squirrels looking for nuts

There are 3300 or so pieces of writing on this Blogger site

So plenty for you to read, I have not forgotten the story to finish

plus the new one I trailed, I may just throw salt at them

Meanwhile one daughter will be home for the Summer, as schools out

or at least her University. I did meet Alice Cooper too years ago

He was a nice man

As for my small daughter a month of perder as she has her exams

Two A level exams on the same day, then a week's grace then the final one

So I have to tiptoe around and stay out of her way

She's in the other corner of the room, but we can both put headphones on

My brother 50+ years ago, had Cream on 11, as he studied

He ended up a queen, Queens Oxford, modern languages, what else

So  that's all the gossip for today

I think I may have some sausages now

me and my new haircut holding my bypass scar hernia, so don't make me laugh