Chinese Crackers here's something for the Chinese New Year

21 New Door Keys (c)

By Michael Casey

 

Post Trump Words 3^rd Nov 2020

By Michael Casey

 

This is everything after Trump

21 New Door Keys (c)

By Michael Casey

 

The Morning Afterwards ©

By Michael Casey

 

Well it’s a few days after the USA Election, and I start a new container file for my words, as Word cannot handle 1,640,000 words or so, which means the dustbin of my words with now be two dustbins. I did tell Microsoft before when 1,000,000 words seemed to be too much. So here and now I’m telling them I’ve hit the roof again. Feel free to give me free Word for life on multiple devices. Though I won’t hold my breath, it’s more likely Jeff Bezo gives my daughters free books for life, or the Pope, Trump and Putin really were in a band with Theresa May. Though I did write a story about a band with all 4 in.

Reality can really be stranger than fiction, hang on a second, a Yul Bremner, Kojak look alike is at my door, who ordered pizza?

 

So I want to amuse you all, and cheer us all up, the USA Election has been so draining, through the swamp still remains, and I’m over here in Birmingham England. The view from afar seems no better. But thank God multiple vaccines are arriving, and Warp speed did NOT fund it. Let’s be honest about it. So the day my Angel Gabriel arrived from Greece was the same day the vaccine news arrived, yesterday 9^th Nov 2020.

 

So everybody has a sore head, and a huge sigh of relief goes up the world over. So how many morning afterwards have you had? My Kdrama about shoes, I do I do revolved around a one night stand, as  usual it was very funny, and did remind us a woman does not need a man to depend on. She can decide for herself. Though in Kdrama land there are many many twists and turns, which are very funny, as well as being touched with pathos. An older  woman, with a whimp of a man, what should she do, and did love grow afterwards, instead of first.  I really  do recommend Kdramas, I watch in Korean with subtitles, but you could change the settings.

 

There are other morning afterwards, alcohol and celebrations can cause regrets, but sometimes you really  do need to do things, My Way, and have no regrets. You can spend your life putting up with rubbish, a bad boss,  or another kind of bully. You bite your lip or say nothing, so the bully gets bigger. I’m more assertive now than when I was younger, they say you mellow with age, for me “rage” is bigger now compared to when I was younger. Before I had a target, saving to get a house, then working hard for my young kids, working long shifts galore, 14 years of nights included, up to 12 hours on a night shift too.

 

But you do what you have to do for your target and for your family, as you watch others drink, smoke and  more while you do the chores. Now I’m just the penniless Writer sitting here talking to you all, I’m at home, all I can do is write, as my pained life edges forward to what? More pain, and lots and lots of words. Though I do want to make you smile and laugh, so I’ll mine my memories and put pictures in your head. I do look more like Santa now if I don’t shave, like in yesterday’s photo with Gabriel my new Angel from Greece. So when I go to the shops dressed in red, passing children wonder is that Santa, mommy? Still wearing my shades, like a bad Santa. And the quick-thinking mothers tell their kids to behave or Santa won’t come.

 

Quick thinking cats, attack the turkey at Christmas,  my own mum had to hide our turkey in the pantry, and cut out a piece where Jean our black cat had gotten to it, or else throw it all away. That same cat always knew when it was Sunday because she got the giblets from the chicken for 20 years, starting nearly 60 years ago.  Jean also climbed our tiny box Christmas tree and it came tumbling down, otherwise she sat on the old box tv, as all the valves made it hot, cat not on a hot tin roof, but on a switched off tv, an early tv critic. And when she poohed indoors when used the same corner of the living room. Totoro my cat, is cleverer and poohs in the bath, she is self-taught, because she is bright, a bilingual cat.

 

I could go on about cats, instead I’ll direct you to The Bad Cat that Wasn’t which is a nice story, touched with sadness, but still a good read. As well as my Lech Boris and Gregorgi stories, my Slav friends really do make me laugh, and any Russian readers should hit Translate and try the stories with Polish/Ukrainian/Russian first cousins from Popaloffoff. One day a cartoon or even live action film could be made, so Putin make it so.

 Also look at the Queens Gambit a series on tv, where the finale is so  great, playing chess in the park with old Russian men, was truly wonderful. We are blessed nowadays with so much choice, so Covid times have been a curse, but the silver lining has been the tv. Yes, I know what you are all saying, but you have to be positive, otherwise our Spirits will stay in the dumps. We must all rise again, the morning after Covid, there is Sunshine again. From the flowers in the dirt we will look to the stars again.

 

The Nobel Art of Advertising ©

By Michael Casey

 

I had a strange email yesterday from a real proper company, they know who they are, and it was in Chinese. Then today I had a retraction from the same company, saying not to worry. I get loads of rubbish in many languages, it’s my own fault because I have loads of Translations of my books and stories on my Wordpress https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/  so I can annoy the world. Korea is looking at me bigtime at the moment, whether that’ll lead to anything only time will tell. So the world assumes I’m multilingual, ok the hackers and jokers send me rubbish in many languages. It does say English only on my site, if I can Google translate then so can they. I do write everything in English, my mother tongue after all. Anyway because of that stray email yesterday I am talking about this today. But before I forget, I just delete any email stating people are dying, or they work in a bank. I just click phishing and hopefully they lose their email account and/or the police come and take them and their $100,000,000 dollars away, along with their monopoly set.

 

Which brings me back to Advertising, but first I have to close the windows it’s  cold, my daughter came back from 6^th form college and burnt her dinner in the kitchen, and the stink has spread to here, the “study” I opened then window and the stink got stronger, my daughter said it was better than my B.O. or my aftershave, but I digress. So why do we Advertise? To promote and sell. Obviously I’m no good at selling, otherwise I’d be living in Harborne the posh zone in Birmingham. I’ll stay here till I die, which some days feels very close, but my back is healing now after 2 weeks, but I’m walking around like Groucho Marx at the moment, and I can only stand for a minute or so before the pain is too much. I hurt my back 10 years ago and it clicks out randomly, the appointment for the back hospital arrived the day I got out of the heart hospital after my  heart bypass, so much for Ying and Yang. Maybe if I have more children, me and my imaginary Korean Kpop wife, we’ll call our daughters Ying Casey and Yang Casey.

 

Advertising is for selling and sharing. Churches have signs, give us our daily bread, as do bakers for jam donuts. By advertising you make money, and then you can live your life of luxury. Though as I’d said before I’d donate away money, if I earnt any, all you need is enough, then share the rest. But let’s get back to advertising. How you dress is a form of advertising, the selfie is the ultimate advert. Look at me I’m so great, are you jealous. As girls pout and stick out their bum, but my bum is bigger and tighter and firmer, no cellulite on mine. Though mine is hairier, perhaps I should advertise for Harry’s the perfect bum shave, though they do say their razor is not suitable for heads, what about bums? Should I send them and email and ask. Or is there a whole new career path ahead.

 

What else could I advertise? Toilet paper, I use enough, so I am an expert. Look at the sheets, sheets I said, count the sheets, as some offers are not as good as others. And if you want my expert bum opinion Kirkland paper is the best, sheet per sheet, it goes a long long way, and is better value than Andrex the leader here in UK. You’ll all be looking at Amazon right now. And don’t forget Baby Wipes don’t flush away, they just block and flood, as a friend had a flood because somebody used Baby Wipes, and then blocked and flooded. Yes there was a big stink about that.

 

Here in UK, humour is used more to sell stuff, it is claimed some of our adverts are better than imported TV programmes. Yes, I would love to write for adverts and I am available for a four figure sum. And here’s and example, so if you want me to write for you. Michael Casey is the FAT silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham, that’s BirmingUM as in England. What can we say about him, he’s so adorable, and you chose him he’ll keep you laughing, and you’ll have beautiful children with soft silvery hair. He’s such a catch, with scars everywhere like a pirate, a chest scar that is ever so long, with a delicious balloon like hernia poking through his bypass scar, which fills with air like a balloon, and if you make Michael Casey laugh he’ll cry, in pain, as it hurts when he laughs. Such fun to see. And when he takes off his trousers you’ll see his scars on his legs, where veins were harvested to go into his heart. See a fine figure of a man, scared to save his life, from ankles to his naughty bits. But his legs are so strong, topped off, topped off, not Topol, by a firm and large derriere. Beyonce was sent a silhouette and she was so envious, she hid hers with a Jersey, or was it JayZee. Then moving up his frame a very hairy left shoulder, an A3 size brown birthmark covered in hair. Are you getting palpitations ladies, or even men reading this. Could you control your lust, would you, could you, must you, you just had too. The 9 months later, small Michaels arrive. Or is this advertising so bad and terrible you’d just use it to wipe your bum with. Have I no hope, no future of being a father to more? What’s that knock at the door, is it a suitor, or just Amazon delivering more toilet paper.

 

 

K-dramas and Me ©

By Michael Casey

 

Well as promised, my bad back healing and a shaved face, I now have my bum in place, here on my chair, so if you are sitting comfortably then I’ll begin. What is a K-drama, it’s a Korean soap, a kind of 16 hour long mini-series. It’s not a hot and steamy thing on the Internet. It’s a family orientated soap, like Coronation Street here in UK. Though  K-dramas are shot like James Bond, with lots of high-end stuff, and plenty of product placing, though as I’m poor I wouldn’t know what product had been placed. The standard of living is so much higher over in Korea too.  Such as folding phones from Samsung, 2000 quid, I googled and nearly  fell off the  toilet. No I’m not Trump I never use a phone when I’m dumping or pumping. I am watching Go Ara  in the piano series at the moment and those fancy phones  are being used, so I googled. So you can see the high-end qualities of what’s in the series. Korea is a land of hills too, as there are always people walking up and down hills.

 

The fashion  is great too, it’s like people from a James Bond, all in a mini- series. When I was in Shanghai once we did see a scene being filmed in the street, obviously they waited till I walked out of shot before they continued filming. And yes K-dramas are better than the Chinese series we use to watch, so these past 2 years, since we moved to the new house I have discovered and  enjoyed my K-dramas.

 

Now the girls are really pretty in K-drama  land, the boys look like male models too. They study for up to 5 years before the debut, that’s why the singing and acting is so good. The format is love, and loss and love again, waiting for the first kiss, it might take 8 episodes, before the couple kiss, there’s no coupling, just kissing. So the anticipation grows, until with a rush of music and a background song, the kissing starts. Its different to Bollywood, you’d have to ask your Indian friends to explain the difference for you.

 

The swell of music and the kiss, the heart breaks and the breakups and finally the return to true love. Kind of Soppy but not. It’s all so very funny, like the gang of ladies in the hairdressers in La La Land in the piano K-drama I’m watching right now. There are also car crashes and action too, watch K2, that was great as well, Yoona was in it, and yes she was my first K-drama love. Then there was the one about the Ghost catchers, the Pop star who came from the past to the future. The Robot girl, the man who was too sensitive, not forgetting  the Shoe soap and many many more. The girls are so pretty and the boys so tough. The stories are so full of twists and turns, all with a loud soundtrack and motifs. The accent can be very strong and loud, almost like a comic book, but generally it’s normal but in Korean, so I watch with subtitles, you could change the settings for your own tastes. And when the girls cry, and there’s always tears, it breaks your heart, and even the male actors cry sometimes too. Those tears will wash any doubts away, it just has  got to be K-drama.

 

So that’s why I dream of a speed typist from Korea, who’ll type up Tears for a Butcher for me, though I’d probably need back expert too. Then we marry and have 4 kids and form our very own Kpop band. Though all this is just in my head, and in Never Never Land, so Go Ara will never arrive, as we lost the piano when we moved house….

 

When Santa’s Angels Came to the Rescue ©

By Michael Casey

 

Santa was sad, even  he had caught Covid 19, he thought he was safe at the North Pole, but no, he caught Covid 19. So how could he get on his slay and deliver presents, besides which, what about all those grandparents who were sheltering and may not see their grandkids this Christmas. It was all so sad, Santa just wanted to cry and ask for a cuddle from his mom. He sniffled and Rudolf pushed his  fleece back to cover him more, Rudolf was worried too, nobody had a clue what to do. Rudolf sneaked out of the giant igloo and would have cried, he had to hide his tears from Santa, a reindeer must always be strong. Rudolf looked to the skies, overhead a shooting star passed by. But it was not a shooting star, it was the Space Station.

 

Rudolf was inspired, the Dragon Capsule had filled the space station with men, so they could take turns to help him. Rudolf flew skyward, his red nose flashing, SOS, SOS, SOS, which as you know means Save Our  Santa, Save Our Santa, Save Our Santa. The spacemen thought they were seeing things, but the Monk was reading a Christmas Carol to them from the comfort of his study. And as they excitedly said Rudolf was flashing them, he took the photos of Santa from beneath his 1^st Edition a Christmas Carol. In an instant, he knew what had to be done, the three cousins from Papaloffoff would have to go to the North Pole and help Save Santa.

 

Now how could a retired USA general get Russia to help. The Monk rang a number and then did not speak, he just tapped his thumb on the phone, in Morse Code he asked a friend for a favour. Could Vladimir get the three cousins to the North Pole. Now Vladimir was just a janitor, or so he claimed, but he had fingers in many pies. So when he heard morse, of course he’d help. No words had been spoken, nothing had been said, just tap tap tapping, on his special phone that his friend had given him years before. One day we’ll save the world with this phone the monk had whispered. The phone was stuck to the back of a icon of Mary, a gift from one super power to another, from brother to brother.

 

The Monk smiled, he had the exact same icon on the wall in his  private office, you see icons have power, because they are painted with love and prayer. The Monk went back to bedtime stories for spacemen. Meanwhile, a helicopter descended on Popaloff, and with little discussion the three cousins were away.  Lech, Boris and Gregorgi  were given Artic weather kit and told to dress quick. Alexi Goodenoff whispered, these orders are from on high, you have to Save Santa, he saved you now its your turn to save him. All dressed in white with googles on, a bottle of vodka each they transferred to a plane. You can drink the vodka now explained Alexi Goodenoff, for what they were about to do was insane, and only a madman a fool or a man from Popaloffoff would dare do it. James Bond himself would say I should cocoa if asked to do such a dangerous thing. The 3 cousins would jump from a plane straight onto the North Pole ice shelf,  they would have skis on and only Rudolf’s flashing nose would be their beacon. Santa needed help, and only they would do.

 

Now back in Papaloff, the icons glowed, the love, the power the prayer was  there with the boys. You can take a man out of Papaloffoff, but Papaloffoff  is always in the man. So the power was pulsing through them, as was the 2 litres of vodka they had each downed in one. It can be very cold at the North Pole after all. With that Alexi Goodenoff pushed them out of the plane as it slowed and came in low. Rudolf flashed and with his mates they dragged the slay behind the. It was close, but Rudolf was a pro, they caught the three cousins as  they fell from the sky. With a belch, and a bump and a fart, Lech, Boris, and Gregorgi were safe in the slay. Two litres of vodka each, was a great way of relaxing, so they instantly fell asleep. They awoke to find themselves in front of Santa, they hugged. Santa was wearing a space suit, to make sure he did not spead Covid 19 to them.

 

So you see boys I just don’t have the energy, what with all Covid 19 and all that. So Rudolf thought you could help, and because the Elves caught Covid 19 too, I don’t have any presents either. But Love is all you need, slurred the 3 cousins, who had not yet sobered up after the 2 litres of vodka each. We should just give everybody Angels this Christmas, that’s enough, Angels we have heard on high. As they said this a mother cried, and her tears spilled all over the floor like pearls, so it was decided by the King. This Christmas everybody the world over would be a special angel from Santa, or rather Lech, Boris and Gregorgi.

 

The cousins were told all they had to do was stick the Angels to the windows, no climbing down chimneys as they were all too big, besize Santa has magic powers that allowed him to get down chimneys, and sadly with Covid 19, it might be best not to enter the world’s houses. Again a mother cried, and on high stars shot by. This evil pest, Covid 19 was doing it’s very best to hurt everybody. But the boys from Papaloffoff were on a mission, and as they flew through the sky, icons in the East began to glow, in the North, in the South and in the West. In Churches and in book stores, and in private collections hidden in bank vaults, the Icons, the Holy Icons were coming alive. You see this was no tale like A Christmas Carol. Tonight Prayer and Hope and Love would descend from Heaven above, and Covid  19 could go to Hell.

 

Norad tracks Santa every Christmas, but this Christmas Santa seemed to be very erratic, popping up or is it Popaloffoffing up here there and everywhere, until finally Santa seemed to split into three. Norad did not understand, but  the Monk and Vladimir the janitor knew, and as they each drunk their cocoa, with vodka in, they smiled and the icons in their rooms glowed. You see, a mother’s tears this Christmas time had all her prayers answered.

 

At each house an Angel was stuck to a window, Angels we have heard on high, singing gloria in excelsis deo. Andrew Graham Dixon the greatest British art expert was in the bathroom shaving when there was a knock at the window, he opened it so see Lech throw an Angel at him. Then a few minutes later Boris was there with another Angel, then a few minutes more Andrew Graham Dixon had a third knock, it was Gregorgi with a third Angel, Gregorgi did steal a stay can of Guinness that was sat on the window ledge. Andrew Graham Dixon looked like Santa with shaving foam all over his face. He laughed, it must have been the pudding.

 

So on, the boys from Papaloffoff flew, 3 parts drunk still, but still delivering Angels everwhere. Now you won’t believe what happened next. Yes, they fell asleep, and 3 became one, or rather all three of them were back in the slay. In the morning the world over people delighted in seeing angels at their windows. Perfect angels, icon like angels. Now the thing is, as Mary looked at her angel, she began to cry, if only grandpa was here. And grandpa looked at his angel, if only I could see my granddaughter Mary, she’d love this angel. And so she did, and so grandpa did. As they both said it simultaneously a hologram, or perhaps a Holygram appeared. Grandpa was really there with Mary, and Mary was really there with grandpa. You see the power of love, and pray, icon style. Mary really was with her grandpa in his house, and grandpa was with Mary in her house.

Now this happened the world over, just think of me and I’ll be there, reach out and say my name with a prayer and I’ll be there. So by the power of Angels everybody was together, even though they were apart. That’s what  icons do. Now maybe I was wrong about the 2 litres of vodka each, perhaps it was not vodka after all. Maybe just maybe it was Holy Water, so the three cousins had breathed Holy Water everywhere, and it was a Blessing so Families could be together.

 

There is one footnote. When Andrew Graham Dixon checked his three Angels, because he was a friend of Popaloffoff that’s why he got three, he discovered they were in fact long lost treasure. Three Angels, a set that belonged back in Saint Petersburg, so after he cried with delight he returned them to Vladimir the janitor in Moscow. Who gave him permission to film anywhere and everywhere he liked, because if you know the janitor, any door can open.

Hello, hello ©

By

Michael Casey

 

This will be the last piece  to go into 2020 Words, which will have me in a “mask” on the cover, we are in Year of The Covid after all. Trump hopefully will exit stage right, far right. And we will never see him again. He has corrupted everything he has touched, and now we have Georgia on my Mind.

I always have a title and then away I go, so I had a title for this and I knew the spots to join and where it would take me, and you. However I get loads of ideas, so this will be a 3^rd idea, and we’ll see together where I go. I’ve been in pain from my back for a month now, but at least I can walk about the house. I have not been down the hill or out of the house for a month. Yes, I have to avoid Covid 19, what with my health record, but I just would not have been able to go anywhere such is/was the pain. Anyway I discovered an old “Flasher Mac” in my wardrobe, and I’m using it as a walking duvet, and it’s really warm, though I would not wear the “Flasher Mac” outside. I recycle everything, always have done for 50 years and more, so it makes me smile when folks lecture, have they new been poor? Do they have no imagination? Don’t throw-away, use again, or give away, or the mean sell  you their S*&%, to paraphrase my  dad, or to be exact, people are so mean they wouldn’t sell you their S*&%.

 

What’s that got to do with anything? Well I’m forming an idea as I write, make it up as I go along, but I do have an enormous reservoir, so I just tap it. My dad I remember used to say Hello Dear, how are you? Only a father of six can say that, without it being misconstrued, one uncle a farmer user to say, Hello Michael my darling young man as he slapped my knee in a bar, he was a father of five by the way. So a Hello, really does make a difference. I myself in my hotel days, Crowne Plaza Birmingham NEC, 2002 to 2005, I used to boom hello at everybody. I was like a puppy dog welcoming everybody. And I was told by the guests I was the best thing in the hotel, I’ll allow myself to reveal the truth, no flasher mac included, now that it’s so long ago. And yes it was the most Welcoming of Hotels.

 

Down the hill, I enjoy saying hello when I do go to the shops, and old Annie up the road from our house says she goes down for the company, she is 80 plus now. It is all these little social interactions which form the chattering cement of our society, and yes I  coined that phrase in 1987 when I first wrote The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, just in case anybody wants to call me a thief of words. Chattering cement binds us, and in the old days in the butcher’s there as a chair to sit on for any weary customer, and that too is in my comic novel. Maybe it’s because of the style, the ordinary people that it’s read in translation, up to 10 different languages on the same day, and I have readers in 80 countries now. It is the universality of things that make them popular, though I may be dead before any recognition comes. So long as my daughters read all my files, then they have part of me with them forever.

 

People say  hello, and  fat farty Frank is missed because his echo was not there one day. I didn’t reach for the air freshener today, why’s that? Has anybody seen Frank, you mean fat farty Frank. No, I was wondering why I did not have to open a window. Now that was option 2 of a story I could have written, but instead you are getting option 3, as a test you can write a one page story for yourselves, then translate it into English for Queens, not that Marg, ever reads my stuff, Marg stands for butter,  or is it Majesty. I’d tell anybody to kiss my a*&^ if they wanted to be called Majesty. You can make a stink about that, and yes fat farty Frank had fallen downstairs, but the shopkeepers came and found him. Just as in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker the shopkeepers save the day, and the life of a child, you can read the book for  yourselves via my wordpress https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/  

or even buy my original English on Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1 

 

So why is a hello so important? It means we recognise each other, we notice each other, we are not a company of strangers. StatMR where in 1978 I started in computers, market research into alcohol sales,  yes really. It was renown as a company of friends, people did not want to go home, and such was nature of the work it involved long long hours. I could list all the names, but they know who they are, I’ll just say hello to Gill with a G, because I liked what she said about my writing, I lead people up the garden path.

 

So this Covid 19, 2020 year, has brought some of us to our knees, but on your knees can be a very interesting position. I could list what I mean, but some of you are ahead of me, so I’ll just leave it there as Gill slaps me. I was talking about tying up my shoelaces, it’s all in your mind, on y soit qui mal y pense. Now make way at the bar, StatsMR are here to do their after work, market research into alcohol. So you say hello to them as I say good bye to Covid 19.

 

Old Clothes for New ©

By Michael Casey

 

I haven’t written a story story in a while, so here goes. This will in fact be going into my 21^st full book, 21 Door Keys, I’ve just named it, so come back in a year and I’ll have 200 pages or so for you, or 100,000 words, but only God knows. And how did I get the idea, I had nothing seconds ago, well my small daughter sat at her desk next to mine remarked on my old Flasher Mac, that I’m wearing to keep warm. And that was a spark which will become a  story, so if you are sitting comfortably then I’m begin.

 

Gerry worked in the Charity shop, he sorted and hung all the clothes up on hangers, and tidied up after the rush. The rush mainly being Old Folks looking for a bargain, it was not like Primark with knickers discarded everywhere, or the back of the Old Hens Nest bar, where knickers also used to get discarded, but that’s another story. No Gerry was no Pacemaker, though he did have a pacemaker inside of him, so he avoided standing too close to the radio. All in all though he liked his job, 3 days a week in the warm of the shop, so he saved on heating where he lived in a Tower Block.

 

There were benefits working in the Charity shop, when old old stock was dirty he could buy it even cheaper. So all shades and fashions became his passion, he had a washing machine and knew how to use it, so he ended up, a very dedicated follower of Fashion. There was a 6^th Form nearby, and a retirement village too, so a whole variety of clothes landed at the Charity shop, Gerry mixed and matched and became not an Englishman in New York, more like a dandy from  Birmingham. George Melly, but without the belly, though he did know how to have his hat at an angle. He watched Jools Holland on tv, and learnt all the tricks, to stand with attitude and  make clothes sing, it was a music show after all.

 

So all this meant turned up at the shop looking different every day, almost gay but happier. Gay means happy by the way if you are younger that 50 you may not even know that. Trevor was Gay, he was a gay Gay, always with a smile on his face, he also did a day at Charity shop, obviously he and Gerry hit it off. Trevor was studying Fashion at the Uni down the road, and  he could ponder the world while he worked in the Charity shop, it also gave him ideas for  his fashion. He could also buy up the old old stock and transform it into something new. So two and two makes four, and don’t shut that door, because they liked the air to flow through the Charity shop. Trevor needed a model, and Garry was roped in. I should also say people thought Gerry and Trevor were an odd couple, or father and son, and  that’s how it begun.

 

Gerry could pose, he was a very good old poser, too much Later with Jools Holland ensured that. He even started to wear black eyeliner so he’d look better in the snaps and videos for Trevor’s Book of Clothes. And yes Trevor was a great designer too, and with Gerry he was a pacemaker, but the Fashion crew at Uni were a great big family so Gerry felt so happy there. He appeared in more and students Books of Clothes.

 

Things went swimmingly and he even met Miss Himmingly, who wore juicy red lipstick and fishnet tights and a beret, the beret rotated in different colours of the rainbow. But  otherwise she was Oh La La French, with a pencil tight skirt and a red leather jacket. That was her look and she didn’t give a hoot what other people thought, she was Miss Oh La La, in fact that’s what everybody called her, through her dark sunglasses.

Gerry’s life had blossomed, he was as happy as Larry, maybe even as happy as Larry Grayson, now he never had a grey day, just a gay “son”, so it was Fashion week and he was asked to join the catwalk. This meant lots of quick changes, but Miss Himmingly said it would go swimmingly, she’d stand behind the curtains and tear off his clothes to help him get ready. Almost like a scene from White Chicks. So that’s what she did, he walked the walk, and she tore the clothes off his back.  But in  the excitement and confusion, he lost his own clothes. So Miss Himmingly said he could wear he French mac and she’d give his a drive home in her 2CV. So that’s what they did.

 

On the 13^th floor, and it was a Friday, Gerry let Miss Oh La La  in, and he gave her back her mac. Now if you spend an evening ripping the clothes off a man it can be very arousing. So Miss Oh La La suggested as she had ripped his clothes off repeatedly in the name of Fashion, then he should do the same. Gerry thought it as a bit of a joke, but he complied with her wishes, until she was naked before him. The she removed his long johns. The urge was out, she had known him as a model, now she’s know him as a man. Was it wrong, on Friday 13^th to give away to gay abandon. Oh La La Miss Himmingly, she wore sunglasses to hide her heartbreak from a past love, now she’d throw them away and always be happy and gay. You see, Garry may have a pacemaker, but he knew all about rhythm, too much Jools Holland and Later no doubt.

 

Miss Himmingly asked, do you think I’m a tart? NO, said Gerry the Urge will out, and now it’s Time for both of us. Besides our  kids can all have little berets and I could grow a pencil moustache. Oh La La, and the 13^th became the 14^th and the 15^th. For three days they were at it, until Gill from StatsMR who lived next door, banged on the door and threw a bucket of ice cold water on them, steam rose.

And that’s how Gerry and his pacemaker, became a pacemaker and got a wife, yes she was 30 years younger, but Love is Love. The Charity shop closed down, but Miss Himmingly took over the lease and sold her Fashion students’ clothes in the store. They did design a nursing  bra for her, in kinky red latex, they were Fashion students after all, and actually that design was a big hit. So that’s a true love story, and  you never know when Love will comes acalling, you an shut that door now, it’s a bit chilly.

 

 Finding a Wife for my Son ©

By Michael Casey

 

Now as you all know Esther is a friend of Mrs Murphy, a dear friend now, if you remember they met by accident. Mrs Murphy’s daughter in law’s dad was at Rotary thing and an astronaut came to give a speech and help raise money. He mentioned space blankets and Mr Kemp wondered where he could get one for his daughter’s Irish mother in law. The astronaut had laughed, but when he heard about Mrs Murphy praying so much and catching a chill his radar had come on. So on leaving he went back to Mr Kemp and shook his hand, he palmed him a name card and on the back he had written, tell Mrs Murphy to call this number. The number was Esther’s, she was a woman who lacked nothing, her son was a space zillionaire, making satellites and so forth. Esther collected friends, true real friends who she could share gossip with, who weren’t brown nosing to get close to son. So astronauts and  everybody were unofficially friend hunters. If you have all the money in the world, friends, true friends were pearls of great price. So Mrs Murphy had rung the number thinking it was a discount store or something, Esther had played along, as she brought up a satellite feed and told Mrs Murphy she has a few slates missing, on the back of her back chimney. This later led to Esther and Tiny arriving for the miracle birth of triplets, which in turn led to Malta, but you can find those stories, as well as well as When the Sergeant Major kissed the General, which only happened because Esther has found not one but two coding geniuses, while she was on the way to Malta after the miraculous triplet birth. Simple really, maybe this writer is destined for Korea, as it all sounds like Kdrama, but I digress.

 

Esther’s son was a maths wiz, and Esther herself loved poker, and still does, but to find the seed money for her son’s first idea Esther had played poker and beaten everybody including the local Mafia bosses. Being beaten by a little Jewish lady was a shame, so they kept inviting her back, and she kept beating them, but Mafia never know when to call it a day. Esther has looked at the statue of the Madonna in the back room where they played cards, and said to herself, listen Mary as one Jew to another, you help me and I’ll help you.

 

Esther never lost a game to the Mafia, so she soon had enough seed money for her teenage son’s first idea. Her son became a millionaire, and after that he didn’t need anybody else, as money begats money. Esther was true to her promise, so Saint Jude’s got an anonymous benefactor, appeal after appeal was answered. As for the Mafia, they begged her to continue playing poker, so she did, it was a bit of fun after all. Until they all got busted, and went to Sing Sing, they thought their families would suffer, but Esther sent them each a postcard. A friend in need is a friend in deed, love Esther and Saint Jude. You can guess the rest.

 

So the years past, and her son went from millionaire to billionaire, always so busy, he never had time for a wife. Italian girls were nice, Esther knew many, thanks to her poker playing, and connections with Saint Jude’s. She knew lots of Jews too, down the Temple  they all wanted to meet her son, but none seemed good enough. When there was a girl who could be daughter in law material Esther had them followed by satellite and on foot by ghosts. There would be no gold diggers trapping her son. There were several really nice girls, and she was about to introduce them to her son, but there always was a but. One was about to be mugged, but the ghost intervened and broke bones of all 4 of them. I should explain, special forces were the level of ghost Esther used. A bit like, James Bond, or Jason Bourne, or Rambo and Terminator, they were Esther’s boys. So on this occasion it was James Bond who intervened, and then the lady feel for him instantly, so he ended up marrying her. And yes History does repeat itself, so her ghosts got the girl, rather than her own son. But the Ghosts and their wives loved Esther the more.

 

Esther was at a Bar mitzvah for one of the Ghosts’ children and she had dragged her son along, the Temple had been double booked, but Fr. Michael had offered Saint Jude’s church hall, so there the Bar mitzvah was held. Her son was playing on his phone while Esther buzzed around like a bee, hearing all the news from her Ghosts’ families. As she buzzed around, Esther sighed, my family gets bigger, but not my own flesh and blood family. Esther sighed, she saw the statue of the Madonna in a corner. Maybe I’ve not done enough good works, Mary as one Jew to another, if only I could find a good wife for my son I could die happy, did you used to nag your son the same way?

 

Now God works in mysterious ways, at that very moment a serving girl, had fallen over Esther’s son’s stretched out legs. Crockery everywhere, her son’s phone smashed to the floor.  Everybody looked up, Fr. Michael was going to intervene, but a hand held him back, Esther knew, she just knew, as any Jewish mother knows. Her son helped the serving girl up, he apologized. Sorry, what’s your name? Mary, of course it was Mary. Esther looked the statue and winked, little did she know, they’d meet again in Malta.

 

It was thunder, Esther had searched high and low for a suitable wife  for her son, then one had fallen for him, or fallen over his feet. Mary was perfect in every way, no need for satellites or ghosts. Esther wrote a cheque for a million dollars and  put it in the poor box under the statue of Mary. She’s post one for 5 million to the Temple too,  her son was the 6 million dollar man after all, what with all his technology.

Now I could go on with the courting and so on, but what  people do in private it’s up to them, though the ghosts and their families did go on multiple holidays, as Esther wanted to make sure they used protection. As for Esther she went to Vegas, she’s fleece them, as her charity knew no bounds, she just had to keep on making money to give it all away.   

 

Music Power ©

By Michael Casey

I was going to talk about Ariana Grande but I thought she might not understand the British sense of humour. As you know Taylor Swift does a bit of high dusting for me, she is so very tall after all. Then last night Ariana’s concert was on tv so I thought, as Ariana is the bee’s knees, and likes jumping about, maybe she could help Taylor out. So swing low, dust high, the perfect combination. I mean Ariana has such very long hair, so as she practices her routines she could  sweep my floor with her hair, and her nice hairdresser could get  any chewing gum out later. My own daughter once got bangles or something stuck in her hair, so my lawyer sister-in-law had to use chop sticks to untangle her hair, this was after we landed at my brother’s house for Christmas dinner, if I look I may even have a photo of it somewhere. We are a Shanghai/Birmingham family after all, so we had plenty of chopsticks, and I don’t mean on our old piano either. Anyway that was the idea, but Arians might not approve, so I won’t bother.

 

Taylor was just down the chip shop getting salt shaken at her, and not for a tap dancing routine in front of the frier. The Friars do live next door in a church, they like chips too, that’s why they are so fat. No Taylor had her head turned, the boy, still spotty despite his years, the boy said I’d just do a bit of battering and dip your fish on both sides, before letting it bubble away, to get crispy and so very very tasty. Then when it’s ready I’ll whip it out and sprinkle salt ever so lightly all over it, then I’ll add a scoop or two of freshly minted chips, shaken not stirred. And just for you, a dollop of mayo too. You can see why Taylor swooned, he gave her a free bottle of Irn Bru too, oh so very Scottish, so Taylor skipped away happily up the hill to my door. All I could hear was the heavy breathing, I thought old Mrs  Aktar from next door was having an asthma attack, or Juicy Lucy my neighbour on the other side was practicing mouth to mouth on Annie, no she’s not a Lesbian, Annie is the dummy they use to teach first aid. But no, it was Taylor not so Swifty bringing my dinner home, and I was very very hungry. She did have a sneaky saveloy on the side, and you think butter would not melt in her mouth. So that is the real reason she does my high dusting, just so she can be near the boy from the Chippy. Her head has been turned, and those marks  on her back, from where she leant on the counter where the cooked roe are keep in the warmer. The things you do for LOVE, leaning on the chip frier, the boy and the deep fat frier. But it does mean I get cheaper lunches, as Taylor has a smile on face, vinegar down shirt, and a dash of mayo in her hair. Maybe she should ask Ariana can she borrow her hair dresser.

 

Now what has this got to do with anything? Well I’m going to talk more about Music, and Celine has had the Courage to sing for me, and I’ve thrown a fish, non-battered, at Seal so I’ll Carry On, and God is in for a treat, Dame Babs in Heaven, God help him, but God Helps those who Help themselves, and Self Help is right up God’s street, just past the Coronation pub. Taylor can explain that on her notice board, the boy from the chip show allows her to use his chalk, and put the price of his fish there on  display.

 

Music has power, this Christmas we’ll think of mum stuffing the turkey for 13, the eight of us plus our 5 lodgers, and Celine’s song reminds us of our mum, it was playing the night she died, Because you Loved Me. And so she did, so emotions flow as we hear that song, especially at Christmas. My own favourite song is The Windmills of Your  Mind, the Thomas Crown Affair theme song, and if you’d followed my writing that’s self-explanatory. Though Fr. Brain who decades later became Bishop Brain, used to call me Sancho Panza as I followed my very tall brother. And Don Quixote  did tilt at windmills, so there is the circle.

Music revolves around our lives, Seal is singing If I Could, and if I could I’d be a Musician too, not the guy in the corner of the bar drinking and grooving from afar. Certain words and  phrases have such power, Aux Armes Citoyens  as the French sing, words are uplifting, and we’ve all seen Musicals galore where a theme is repeated and it beats your breast, and makes you tingle. This is the power of music, Politicians have music at rallies too, until they get a cease and desist notice from lawyers. Even Hitler had an association with music, but let’s leave him to burn in Hell.

 

Seal is still singing, Music takes you round and around, and it does I’m old enough to remember when records were just that, with groves in, you didn’t have CDs, I can actually remember when CDs appeared, it was on Tomorrow’s World, a science programme on the BBC. James Burke is still alive, he went on to do Space programs, but back then that’s how we heard about the Future via Tomorrow’s World. Now we stream everything, and down load to phones. We had a plastic white trannie and my eldest brother got a dedication on the radio, our dad heard it, this is 50 plus years ago. So Music moves us, it is a laxative that stops us from being sad, and makes us move and groove about the house. We have music everywhere, no need to carry the one tranny with us, we have smart speakers in nearly every room. So music follows us and lead us, it is are permanent plus one. We are so lucky, in the past it was a Long  Way to Tipperary, soldiers sung as the went off to war. No Good Morning Vietnam for decades, no music on every channel.

 

Music does channel us, it channels our love our passions, especially the English Channel, or la Manche as the French call it. Which brings us back to fish and chips, the British haut cuisine as the French may mock, but weren’t French sauces invented to cover the taste of eating rats, in the 1870 siege of Paris in the Franco Prussian war? But I won’t duck these hard questions, which reminds  me we are having Peking Duck tonight, Ratatouille one of Taylor’s friends provided the duck, from the  bargain basement. As for Taylor she is scribbling away all over the tablecloth, before she has to go and visit the boy in the chip shop. He’ll just shake salt all over her, little wonder she’s glowing when she returns with a free kebab for me. It’s the only reason I keep her on, as my high duster. I’ve got the Music in Me, I let it take over, as I wipe kebab sauce from my chin. Do you think if I ask nicely, Ariana might assist with the cleaning, Taylor leaves a trail of salt everywhere. And Totoro our cat licks it up, leaving cat spit all over my floor. And Totoro will be on a hot tin roof again tonight, it’s all the salt in her system, it makes her want to dance the night away….

 

The Last Cheer for 2020 ©

By Michael Casey

Is he mad I can hear you all call

2020 was the worst year of all

Well for me too, as opposed to Me Too

It was a bad year, even without Covid 19

One sister died, though if ever you read

Shoplife, she is the Born Again shopworker, so she’ll live on

And my body has got weaker

In a few days time it’s 6  years since my unplanned

Quadruple Heart Bypass

The nurse, and just the nurse at my former GP Practice

She saved my life, as she insisted on sending me for tests

So when I went into hospital, I said have you checked my tests

70% 70% and 50% blocked, I’d gone in with major hip pains

My arthritis gone mad, and the family were in London

Meeting Shanghai relatives, so I was all home alone

The rest you all already know

So that’s why you’ve had six more years of my rubbish

Though Totoro our cat arrived too, as I had said they could

Have a dog if I died or a cat if ever I had a heart attack

Yes really, so be careful what you promise

But back to 2020 we’ve all had a rubbish year the world over

But what have we learnt or discovered?

Well folks still voted for Trump

Maybe because they wanted to stick with the Devil they knew

And avoid any ISMs

History will decide, and History is written by the winners

If we all just stayed home for 3 weeks, then Covid 19 would die

Instead we must all Mask, Wash Hands, and Stay Apart

I’ve been hiding up on our hill, and with my arthritis very distanced from all

So what is the Meaning of Life, and no not Monty Python

What is the thing you treasure

Is it free deliveries of all your stuff on the Internet

Is it Bubble Tea? Which is now Trendy.

Though being in a Shanghai/Birmingham household we were years ahead

Is it food galore?

My Muslim delivery drivers must think I’m Mulla

Wishing them As-Salaam-Alaikum as they deliver our stuff

In Birmingham delivery drivers and taxis are very Muslim

So they risk Covid as they drive and deliver

What else can  I say about  2020

Yes the tv, was great, everybody binge watched and there were

Some really really great shows

I could list mine, but I also watch a ton of Korean shows, Kdrama

So I would say, have a look at Korean shows, you will not be disappointed

Also if you listen to Music constantly then invest in a Smart speaker or two

I could name the best, and you’d be surprized, but to each their ears alone

You can get Bluetooth headphones too, which can work off your phone

So technology is really good to keep us all sane in these maddening time

A cheap and cheerful android phone, can keep families alive

And yes Jeff Bezo has got busier, but one day he’ll deliver pizza to my house

That’ll put the fear of God into him, but Taylor Swift who dusts for me will

Be here, to take the pizza from him, so she may sing a ditty for him

What else, yes going to church became an Internet thing, so I’d review Mass

And send an email or two  to priests, obvious Saint Judes is my favourite

Though I do travel all over the place for Mass

I don’t know do other Faiths do the same thing

But I’ll accept prayers from Anybody, as we all should

We all prayed for tv stars who were sick, I prayed for

Kate Garraway’s husband, because I saw a photo on the news

And they looked so much in love, I had never heard of them because

I do not watch daytime TV, it was a news item that invoked my prayers

So what else can I talk about, maybe Tinnitus does all the talking

My own has been terrible in the night, but I rediscovered the Rosary

So has the roar of the sea in my ears at night made my more prayerful

God, alone knows the answer to that

I think I always knew what real values were

I made provisions just in case Covid got me

The real things that matter really are so simple

The goodnight kiss from my small daughter  before she goes to bed

That is priceless, so when Politicians roar and swear and lie to us

Just remember that soft gentle kiss

Even if she says dad you  need a wash and shave

The simple love of a child, as she evolves into a woman

That is what I’ll remember most from 2020

And it is the only thing worth remembering

 

 

Soul 2021 ©

By Michael Casey

Well it’s 17.31 on 6^th January, feast of the Epiphany, or when the Kings turned up late with nappy rash soother for baby Jesus. You can Google for yourselves the meanings of the Three gifts. I’ll see if I can put some ideas down in an hour, that’s how long it normally takes to write a new piece from a standing start, with just a blank space in my head. Though I hope all this reads like me sat on the sofa besides you just talking to you, that is my intention after all, talking to you. No Letter from America, more like a Postcard from Birmingham, the one in England. Harry and Megs, I’ve available to be the Roland Rat on your podcast, I am very cheap too, just ask Duncan and Sandy, or ask your dad Harry if you’re never heard of them, but I digress.

Now today is a great day, the Feast of the Epiphany, especially in Georgia, named after a mad king I believe. It made me so happy once I finally got out of bed. My church bells ring tone awoke me, and then the Tinnitus got me, some Belarusian competition, The Golden Phone, had woken me up to say I’d won 20,000 Euros. Obvious, a hoax and a scam, so I forwarded the call to Trump. Anyway Soul or Seoul if you are Korean, is the name of a fantastic Pixar film, 10/10 and I will watch it again. And Soul is the thing inside us, our heart, our love, our mind our ego, or our Id, though not ID. All you clever people can work it all out. And Biden did say he was fighting for the Soul of USA.

So a Soul is a big big thing, as big as Seoul, but within our head, or wherever it might be. Somebody once weighed a body to try and work out how many grams a Soul weighed. In The Good Detective the lead proves he has a soul, just watch it for yourselves. I’ve just stopped in mid-stream for to talk to my big daughter, so take 30 mins plus away, from my boast of writing a piece in a hour. We were talking about courses and the value v effort, and is it worth stressing for 95% + when you were getting 85% +. I said just do what makes you happy and quoted my own dad in his deep deep voice, “Michael, I have no Education, do what you like but do your best” and that’s all the advice I can give to anybody, not just my daughter. Do your best, and let the grades take care of themselves. My brothers went to Queens Oxford, and Downing Cambridge by the way. As you all know I’m just the dunce with 20 books to my name, which I share via my websites, so everybody can suffer everywhere.

As I got distracted by my big daughter the flow of the piece will change, but I will say this, it’s good for your Soul to talk to your kids, and good for theirs too. Giving them things is not as important as giving Time and Talking, love is a hug, not a Play Station. Perhaps Love is being sung as I talk to you, and that reminds all of us, that Love is the best thing for a soul. A smile can save a life, just as a hug, when hugs are allowed again, post Covid, makes all the difference. A shared joke, no matter how obscene does make all the difference, how do you think Security people and shift workers survive. It’s the humour or the brotherhood or sisterhood that keeps people going in the dark of the  night, I did do 14 years of nights after all. I did loads of Noon till 8pm shifts too, it made me more employable. Perhaps it’s my sense of humour that keeps me going now that a gang of conditions have hobbled my body, my sense of the ridiculous that keeps me smiling. Though pain attacks can be really really bad, and it would be very very easy to give, but no, I just bore you all about them instead. Make you all suffer, Ha.

Our soul is shaped by our Prayer, whatever Faith or none you may have. It is a great safety net when things are bad we remember what our mothers taught us, and we do learn our faith on our mothers’ lap. Some say God is Abba, not the band, but Daddy, so we have a childlike connection to our God. This means it is very close, for as we grow older we are more self-important, and forget daddy carrying us on his shoulders or in his arms. We should try and stay childlike in our closeness to our God.

18.47 now

The Birmingham K-Drama Story ©

By Michael Casey

 

Now Park worked in her dad’s store, she was Korean of course, every Korean is called Park. As every Indian is Singh, and Pakistani is Khan, and every English person is Smith, and yes Greeks earn a lot because they work so long and hard. Ok, I’m being simplistic, but I am a Simple Man, or is it simpleton? Park worked hard, she did have a Christian name and she was a Catholic, so her name was Mary, what else, just as every Irishman is Patrick.

 

Park, had friends, they were all daughters of all the take-aways, they met at Birmingham wholesale market buying onions in bulk. The “sisters” were always bulked up against the cold. So a nod from Park  to Singh and Khan and a look at Smith. Their dads wanted to marry them off and expand the business by marrying into bigger families. But the “sisters” said they could not marry till their “sisters” were married first, so this ploy kept them all safe and single.

 

Now Slim Simon was one of their best customers,  he’d turn up as regular as clockwork, after he’d been to a bar to see some music. Jazz, Folk, or Blues. No he didn’t travel everywhere, The Waterworks was Jazz, renamed to Bell and Pump for Folk, and Blue Notes for the Blues. It was stuck by the reservoir in a dodgy part of town, but Slim Simon was safe, because he was built like a safe, though he kept his cash in his socks just in case of muggers. Not that anybody dared try, he has a Judo badge on his lapel, and it’s not just a decoration. Slim Simon was always on a mat, he ran a Judo school, Black belt 4^th Dan, and he wore braces too, to keep his trousers from sliding down his belly, he was a cuddly Winnie the Pooh, but deadlier.

 

So Mary would hear all about the music as she served the last customer, why you no married, she asked. Slim Simon explained, his wife had ran away with the double glazing salesman, so he took up Judo to manage his anger, and try not to think of Derek the salesman who was all front. Mary sighed, she’s a bitch, so that brought them closer. Singh her friend was getting pressurised to get married, so Khan and Mary suggested she pretended that Slim Simon was her boyfriend. Mary persuaded Slim Simon with the offer of more spring rolls, so the deed was done.

Slim Simon went to Singh’s place and played the part, and Singh would stroke his big strong hands over the cash register. Her parents were disgusted at first, but he seemed like a nice boy, so if she was happy they were happy. Now Slim Simon said to his best student, Pal, that he was saving a Indian  girl, so Pal said could he come and take a look. So after a Jazz night Pal was taken in toe to Singh’s place. Now Indian girls have the best eyes ever, just look and you will see. So when Pal saw Singh he sighed. And then when she smiled at he could not be denied. You see Pal was an Optician with 14 shops in the family. Later Singh confided, Pal is the one for me.

 

But her parents were convinced Slim Simon would be the one for the family. So a plan was hatched. Mary and Khan  would hide their identities and arrive at Singh’s and slap Slim Simon’s face hard. He’d be a cad, and a lowlife, not good enough for an Indian wife. Then Pal would arrive and save the day. Pal was a mere Black belt, no Dans yet.  So he’s stage fight Slim Simon, and save the day. Then he’d reveal he was an Optician, and it would be love at first sight.

 

So Slim Simon was swooning over the cash register at Singh, then first Mary Park arrived and slapped his right cheek, and just like in the Bible, he turned the other cheek only for Khan to arrive and slap that one even harder. Then on Q Pal would arrive to dispense with the bounder, never trust a white guy,  yes stereotypical. So Pal and Slim Simon threw each other about, before Slim Simon was left in a rubbish bin, appropriate enough.

 

Singh’s family applauded, Pal was in, and Slim was out. And when they heard he had 14 Optician shops, they soon persuaded their daughter to see sense. As for Slim Simon, he crawled out of the way, and made a mental note to get Pal to take a grading, first Dan coming soon. And if I race to the conclusion, Singh and Pal’s first child just had to be called Dan. But for the moment Mary sneaked Slim Simon away in her car, Khan waved them good night as she jogged home chuckling.

 

Now Mary could see that Slim Simon was a great man, well he was literally, and yes he was divorced, but he didn’t marry in a church, so maybe an annulment and she’d have him as her man. Mary Parked her car and stroked his face, then kissed it better in slow motion for half an  hour, it is a Kdrama in Birmingham after all. Slim Simon couldn’t  visit Singh’s any more, he’d been thrown out the door, so he went to Park’s twice as much. He taught her a few throws and more, but he always caught her, before she hit the floor, again in slow motion, it is Kdrama in Birmingham like I said before.

 

Singh soon got engaged and the wedding would be quite a spectacle, so Mary took Slim Simon around to the shop to explain. So it was all a trick, yes they confessed. But now not one bride, but two, two for the price of one, like any take-away special, or the Abba song. But what of Khan? Well she fell for the Uber delivery driver, take me away take away. I did mention Smith at the market, what about him, he was Gay, but he loved dressing up for Weddings, so he was delighted to be invited, not once, or twice but thrice. Like three coins in a fountain, and if ever you’ve been to the Trevi Fountain, if you throw a coin you can make a wish. Smith did, and now at the 3^rd time of asking, at the third wedding, he met the man for him, a contractor, a drainage contractor. So the pair of them were forever gushing and laughing like drains, you see True Love Conquers All.

 

But what of Mary Park? Yes, she married Slim Simon and had 4 kids and formed a Kpop band, Faith, Hope and Charity were their names, the 4^th was an extra surprize, a boy they called Julian. Just as this writer’s mother always said name a boy after her, Julia becomes Julian  if ever Mary had a boy child. Just like the song, by Boney M, Mary’s Boy Child, Julian.

 

Cup of tea Diner ©

By Michael Casey

Now as you may remember Grannie Smith  saved a Seal, no she wasn’t a conservationist like Sir David Attenborough, the military kind of seal. So when she announced she was taking a trip to see Oklahoma in Oklahoma, Howard Keel was such a great singer in the film, a couple of  real Seals said they’d tag along to make sure she’d be safe. She was very old by now. Grannie Smith was proud so they went along with her, but not by her side, just a knife throw away, she was still an independent lady.

 

Grannie Smith still enjoyed English tea, so she was pleased when she saw it advertised as a novelty in the Diner. So she climbed the steps gingerly and sat ready for her tea. Now obviously MayLi in the dinner got a kick out of serving English tea to an English lady, and yes as Grannie Smith grew even older she looked more and more like the Queen of England. MayLi looked on as Grannie Smith tasted her brew, but it wasn’t quiet right. Don’t worry we can fix it said Grannie Smith, so she went behind the counter and warmed the pot, and do what she did herself instinctively.

 

MayLi recorded everything on her iPhone, she didn’t want to miss a trick. And then the two of them sat down and had tea. Two Seal shadows stepped forward and shared the pot, pot of tea that is, nothing naughty. And it was perfect. Now MayLi put this on her social media, TicToc, Weibo and even Facebook. The next day there was a crowd 100 strong. You see in Oklahoma, it always is a beautiful morning, and to have the Queen of England too, it really was their cup of tea.

 

Grannie Smith went to the theatre to see Oklahoma in Oklahoma, and when she arrived the crowd hushed, the Queen of England was there to see the show. Afterwards she went to the diner, MayLi was speaking excitedly, one of the Seals had so much  sex appeal, and she was still single and so was he. She had read it all in the tea leaves, something big was gonna happen. And the Seal was big, very big. Only she had read the leaves wrong. A developer had sent her a notice, he was going to build a  sky scraper and the diner was in the way, that was the big thing, not  the Seal.

 

So MayLi cried into her leaves, Grannie Smith said don’t worry, it’s an ill wind that blows no good, and then one of the Seals farted. So they all laughed. They opened the door to let the breeze in, and who show breeze in through the door. Only 2 Englishmen not in New York, but in Oklahoma, they had seen the sign and wanted a cuppa. They sat  and had tea, why the glum faces. MayLi  showed the notice, it had a picture on it of the new building planned. The two Englishmen laughed and threw back their heads, at this point the Seals moved forward fast, they knew who they were. Were they English assassins after Grannie Smith. No they knew them, you see the Englishmen were Bona Architects from Pinner, Julian and Sandy. And in fact they had saved those two Seal’s lives.

 

They hadn’t recognised them for a moment but blow me timbers, Julian and Sandy were also mountain climbers,  they had met up the Eiger, they had all saved each other as they were climbing up the mountain. Anything Clint Eastwood can do, we can do better.  So in a moment old friends were so happy, only MayLi was not. Grannie Smith looked on, Julian and Sandy looked at the picture. You know we could knock up a building quick, and it would look so much better, and you know Jules, if we did it our way the diner could stay.

 

So borrowing MayLi’s lipstick, Julian and Sandy drew a picture of what they could build and better, and  the diner would stay. Again MayLi filmed it, Grannie Smith spoke directly to the iPhone, it was like the real Queen’s Christmas broadcast. And here is Julian and Sandy’s counter proposal, literally drawn in lipstick, in war paint on the counter. And when Julian and Sandy spoke in such posh posh English how could the developer refuse. And yes it was a question not of Three coins in a Fountain, but  Three Queens in a diner, with Seals applauding. Bona Architects from Pinner were Gay, and they could climb any mountain, you go ask the Seals if you don’t believe.

 

This design was again put online, it was a hit, a very big hit, Julian said to Sandy, it’s huge, very huge, you just look at the ratings. And what exactly was the design. It was a feather, like a Red Indian’s feather, with the diner at the base, in fact there would be 4 diners, so MayLi would have to expand, but she had her eyes on a Seal, so expand away she would. As for the construction workers,  well they are Red Indians anyway, so  they’d all flock, flock a lot, to come and build a feather.

 

Now it takes a while for drafts, ask any soldier, to be ready so Julian and Sandy drafted away. And protective glass was placed around the diner,  as for Jules and Sandy they had new jumpers knitted. The jumpers they wore when they went  climbing,  but also the design  of the building was woven on the front, on the back 1 for Julian and 2 for Sandy. This is my building, was on display, and 1 and 2 because it takes two to tango.

 

Once the steelwork was to begin, Julian and Sandy joined the Indians, they were mountain climbers after all, the Red Indians had misgivings. But when Julian and Sandy were way up high they danced and pranced like ballet dancers, with1 and 2 on their backs. The Red Indians were impressed, they may be English but the way they worked the iron, was so impressive. They did iron all their own clothes too, but that’s another matter. All this Joy, all this Sorrow, John Denver sung at 300 feet, the Red Indians did like a bit of music while they worked. But as the words All this Sorrow rung out, a Red Indian fell, and he would not have seen tomorrow. But Julian dived and grabbed him by the ankle, and Sandy dived too getting the other ankle.  Their reactions were like lightning, just as they were on the Eiger, nobody dies, nobody dies. Besides as Julian said to Sandy afterwards when the excitement was over. I have special surprize for our Red Indians. You see he had Indian curry from a curry house owned by a stray Birmingham England man bused in from 40 miles away. Vindaloo will do, and pork scratchings, and a barrel of Banks bitter.

 

The Red Indians loved the Vindaloo, and MayLi gave them tea too. As for the curry house 40 miles away, he was swamped with Red Indians, Red Indians eating Indian too. When the building was finished Granny Smith opened it, along with the 3 new replica diners, all the way from China. Julia  looked at Sandy and Sandy looked at Julian, they were wearing matching jumpers with the design on. Let’s lose our virginity, the Oklahoma crowd was confused. Then the pair of Bona Architects from Pinner sprinted towards the building, they were going to free climb it, why because it was there as any mountain climber will tell you.

 

Normally when they get to the top, well they, well they, but this was Oklahoma not Pinner, so waiting Seals strapped parachutes to them.  Then they jumped and Julian and Sandy landed on the diner, they needed a cuppa after all their efforts, they are English after all.

 

Teaching You All That I Know ©

        By

Michael Casey

 

Well first of all, I don’t know how to use Word, my copy seems to have gone funny, but I don’t exactly know how to fix it. So while you mock me I’ll teach you all that I know. It’ll take an hour maybe to write this, and 5 mins for you to read it. Though as I always say, I talk I don’t write, that’s why there is spit on the paper or rather the screen. So gather your friends around and then you can skip all those classes and get to my level, of stupidity. Yes I know what my level is, and Education does not stop when you leave school, even if it is Medical school, and yes I can hear the card at the back of the class say I’m a specimen.

 

Yes,  I’m a self-taught writer, I’ll even go as far as to say it cannot be taught, not unless you are an American and you want to waste 4 years, and then are exactly the same as the other 200 Liberal Arts students, who just cannot write. See I’ve butchered you all before I even start. If you’ve Googled me, I did spend 20 years Listening to BBC Radio 4, the best speech radio station in the world. And this was before I picked up a pen, I did read by the yard too, and watch films galore. Being in a large family with lodgers making it larger too, helped the process. Environment does motive and makes you remember, not unless you are a  dullard, if I quote Kim who runs the Korean takeaway,  it’s his cousin Ku,  who guards President Biden now by the way. Then it still took me a year to learn  how to do it. I knew I was good enough when my 1988 play Shoplife was accepted for the stage, and yes it wasn’t finally produced. Would you invest £2,000,000 in today’s money in a new piece, or a Standard? So I’ve been writing for over 33 years now.

 

Which brings me to the first thing to “teach” you. The Five Ps as presenters call them. Practice Prevents Piss Poor Performance. As simple and as easy as that. I was sent on a Presenting course just before Easter 1998. It took 2 days and my company paid, to help prepare me for the future, being made redundant. Here’s all I learnt. Just empty your pockets on a table. Then speak for 1 minute on whatever you pick up first. Simple easy. Now if you have a few friends around  to mock you, and try it for themselves that is called a learning situation. Take turns, pick a different object and gieve it a try. You then expand to 2 minutes talk on whatever object has been removed from your pocket or anybody else’s pocket. Repeat with a lunch break and beer.Then 5 mins talk, you’ll give 15 minutes sniggering time to prepare.

 

The next day I had to talk for 15mins, which was optimum time if you remember what JFK was supposed to have said. Anything should be explainable in 15 mins. Ok, so you all get it? Me, when it was my 15 minutes of fame, I had everybody laughing, I did want to learn for comic reasons after all.  I told everybody about my Paris misadventure, which involved food poisoning, and avec vous des asparin de bas prix, and I ended up with asparin tampone, which means in a tube, but my French was not up to it, so I was expection string.

 

So I had mastered Speaking, Presenting, Teaching. To prove it I then went on holiday to Pilsner Czech the home of lager. There I presented for 90 mins off the cuff, to 20 English students. So the training worked. When I got back to StatsMR I wrote it all up as my Czech Story, and the whole company realised Michael can Write. So there you go, as Jon the Hippy would say. By the way StatsMR did Market Research into alcohol sales, and I was born in the shadow of a brewery.

 

Later in my life I spent 3 years at Crown Plaza Nec a 4 star deluxe business hotel, I nuts have had 100,000 min conversations. So I polished my speaking skills and making people laugh, or stand up skills. Later still in my life I was an Esol English Teacher in an Islamic School. Did I mention Excellent, Excellent and Exemplary on my external assessment. So there you go. But the thing is if I can do it then so can you.

 

Now I’m going to teach you Logic next. Ok, if you are in a big family what is it like? Overwhelming? We let my small sister push Jean the cat out the way and eat kittycat. We opened the corner cupboard where  the jumpers lived and put every single on her. She could put her arms down as she had too many jumpers on, she was 6 of 6 after all. She was bright red with10 jumpers on when mum came home from shopping and told us off. You’ll kill the child she screamed in her Kerry accent, though we could only hear it on the phone, that’s 20 years later when we actually had a phone. Though  this misadventure did not stop us from folding the sister up and putting on a shelf in a wardrobe and clicking close the door, and struggling to open the door up again. I did something similar to Neil at work maybe 30 years later, the temptation was just too much, if I hide here then jump out. So I locked him in.

 

I’ve digressed but I’ve just taught you that if you REMEMBER then you have material for stories later on, maybe nearly 60 years later on. It just depends do you have a memory, or have you tried to blot out everything. I seem to have total recall for stories, anything that does not interest me justy won’t go in. Otherwise with my 42 years exposure to computers I should have been more than I was. So shall I finally give you that  nougat  or is it nugget, whichever is more palatable, this is all you need to know, save that £40,000 in University fees, and start a business instead.

 

Here it is, the 5 Ws Who What Where When Why. If you apply that to every situation, then you’ll be a Detective, or you’ve grown up in a big family, with your eyes wide open. If you take me, Michael Casey as an example, ok a very  battered ,cheap and tacky, left  over from the pound store example. Then you can ask Who is Michael Casey, What is Michael Casey, Where is Michael Casey, When is Michael Casey, and Why is Michael Casey. You have just Spocked me, and everything is revealed, a bit like opening a  box of chocolates, or undressing me, either to whip me, or to cover me in ice cream and lick it off, prior to breeding with me.

 

Ok, did you just puke, just put your head between your legs and breath deeply, was that a shock? Have you screamed and  locked yourself in the bathroom. Or are you laughing, and do you want to know me, but not biblically? I hope you are laughing, Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham, is how you Google me,  or Blacklist me. If you use the tools the 5Ps and the 5Ws, that will make your life a box of chocolates. Or maybe you want to undress me, please don’t whip me, not unless it’s whipped cream ice cream.

 

End of January 2021 Story ©

By Michael Casey

 

Well we’ve reached the end of January 2021, tomorrow is  31^st, I’m fighting Tinnitus a lot recently. As I do it gives me ideas for a story, everything gives me an idea, they are endless. In the dark of the Tinnitus night, with the sea roaring in my ears I have loads of ideas. If Tinnitus were a servant I’d strangle him and push him in the canal, though if Tinnitus was Tinnita, a female, I might indulge in The Servant behaviour, which was a film with Dirk Bogarde, which I saw a long time ago.  Or am I thinking of the Night Porter. Go Google. Or at least read his books, he was a great writer, no mistake about that.

 

So there you have one idea I could follow, instead I’m like a teacher pointing you in a direction, you have  to do the spade work yourselves. Meanwhile my daughter has finished studying for the day so is watching Brave on tv, the Disney cartoon, I’ll go join her presently. I am very eclectic in all things. This might help you too should you ever want to write, or carry bags in a hotel, yes I’ve done both. Being nosey, and being interested in everything, might help too  should you want to be a detective, or have children. Daddy you are my Google comes to mind, and yes my daughters used to say that to me when they were smaller. Now my job is to stay alive long enough to see then both graduate, and maybe even marry, and me become a granddad, as opposed to looking like a granddad, there is a difference. Besides I’m sure they’ll want money for something as long as I’m alive. And no, I don’t care what they do, so long as they are happy, and nobody tries to hurt them.

 

So where was I, in the kitchen looking for chewing gum, but all of it has gone, so I made do with a Royal Gala apple, they are great so buy some. I was offered the girls’ slops earlier, they had made carbonara if I got it right, slops are fine, so long as they are offered while still hot. This is your life as a dad, eating slops, so the bin doesn’t eat all my money. Though our binmen are on strike, so we have to make sure we squeeze everything  into one bin, so it is better to have no slops, and leave space in the dustbin.

 

I did have an idea for a piece in the mode of CV and Linkedin Profile, a piece I wrote years ago, and it is 11 years on Wordpress now, a message told me so. The new piece might be called Two Faced, like in shops or hairdressers,  or just  regular Politicians. So you have, Hello Nice to See You, on the first line. Followed by I really hate the SOB, but she’s paying me. Then you go through a list, of Positive statements, followed by the Real Truth.  Now I only need this idea, this title in my head then away I go. One hour to write, then 5 minutes for you all to read. Yes, that’s how it works.

 

I look out the window and get another  idea, just by observing passers-by, just like in  The Bicycle Removal Service, you can dig out that story on my Blogger. It’s quieter here at the new house, so not as many free ideas. I just need a title and the rest flows or follows, I’m just deciding which jug to pour from. You can try writing like that for yourself. You have to have ideas to start with, then you stitch them together. It did take my a year to learn to sew, and as I’ve said before 20 years of Quality Speech Radio, BBC Radio4 before that.

 

Now as I’m sat here I look like a scare crow, wearing an old Flasher Mac as a Smoking Jacket and a red scarf, since I cut my own hair off I feel the cold, so I’m layered up  so I stay warm. Now the second I say that, I think I could write a piece about favourite tatty clothing, mind you nearly all of  mine is like that. I’m not going anywhere, even without Covid 19. If the charity shop were open then the kids would throw everything away,  what do you all think, you’ve seen the photos attached to my writing.   

 

So these are some musings for the end of January, please God as  all of us say, Let Covid 19 go away. With  that I  have to go watch Brave the Disney cartoon, you could all write about your favourite cartoons, that’s your homework. And if you hear any noise in the night, it’s me playing music, to drown Tinnitus with.

 

My Standard Reply ©

By Michael Casey

Hello Anon, DOUBLE EXCLAMATION MARKS, so this indicates you are

 

young and American and SALES.

 

I am right so far?

 

YES

 

BUT

NO MONEY

 

If you have done Research and are not just a random salesgirl, in both senses of the words, then you'll know

 

I have a ton of stuff. 33 years Writing, with 20 years of EARS, before that. No, I'm not 100, though on pain days

 

I look like Death Warmed Up. Yes, I've really had a Quadruple Heart Bypass now just over 6 years ago.

 

 With the bonus of a "breast" now poking through my bypass scar, it's a hernia, 1% of bypass patients get them

 

So, I'm truly blessed, with Arthur my Arthritis for company. Not to mention Kidneys that should be cooked with 

 

beans and lentils, whatever lentils are. Topped off with a side order of 3 years of Tinnitus.

 

Tinnitus is not a Roman slave by the way. So, I have a sea shore in my head 24/7 and it gets louder at night

 

This means I have Taylor Swift, Mylie Cyrus, Will Young and even a whole host of Soft Rock in my bed

 

every night, I'm SOOOO promiscuous . Their singing distracts me from Tinnitus, who is a noisy bugger, not literally.

 

Bet you wish you didn't bother sending me a circular, though emails are linear.

 

BUT YES

 

If you find me an Angel Investor

 

This is what could be done

 

Use my words to help teach English as a 2nd language, so 1/2 or USA for starters.

 

Because my Stories are Funny, and if you have done your research, 80 Countries read my rubbish

 

And on some days my book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker 

 

is read in TEN languages on the same day

 

So, my Words work everywhere, unlike Wordsworth, who is dead

 

Enough Said

 

It would be a Partnership, and I'd take my share

 

I have NO money, I do have two teenage daughters, so obviously I have no money

 

And one statistic, the average survival rate after Quadruple Heart Bypass, is 11 years

 

So, if I'm average, maybe 5 more years

 

Though as you read this, I hope you think he's far from average, a real SOB, but far from average

 

So, there you go, as Jon the Hippy used to say, if you reply I'll tell you who he is.

 

SO, in conclusion, and So is one of my favourite words, as well as a Peter Gabriel album

 

If you can find an Angel Investor, and not just a jester, though the Jester was a gay bar in Birmingham

 

Straight or Gay or Any which way, I'm happy with anybody, so long as they buy me a pint of Stella Artois

 

Then if your Angel Investor, or even your rich dad, am I right again, anyway

 

If they want to invest in Me, then please do reply.

 

Otherwise, you can print and laminate this and put it in the gents' toilet by the urinals

 

I know you're a lady, so get the janitor to do it.

 

Then google me again, for you can find 208 stories read by me. 

 

As well as 2000 plus online, or 20 books in the car park of Amazon books

 

Just look for the really stupid photos, and if you are angry by now, then, that's what you are saying

 

Perhaps I should put this email online?

 

Why waste material

 

That's why Bernie had such silly mittens

 

Kittens rhythms next, so maybe I'll add a photo of my cat Totoro

 

I told my daughters they could have a dog if I died of a cat if I had a heart attack

 

A few weeks later I had an UNPLANNED Quadruple Heart Bypass

 

Ok, that's enough, you may be thinking what drugs am I on.

 

Just heart meds and pain killers, but not opioids because of my weak kidneys

 

The rest is PURE IMAGINATION

 

Well maybe not so pure, but Imagination

 

I'm attaching 2 books as a punishment

 

Bet you wish you did your homework

 

And your nights cold in Canada?

 

Maybe John Denver is your boyfriend...

 

 

Confused or Smiling

 

Michael Casey

 

p.s I just got out of bed, Totoro drinks Comfort instead of Milk, hence so white and fluffy

 

 

God's Rich Tapestry (c)

By Michael Casey

Well, I forced myself out of bed, I need more sleep but I thought I'd 

try and get up. So here I am post toast and coffee, my normal 

breakfast and I had an idea so this is what you are getting. 

 

What use am I to you or anybody? Then I checked my readers list 

today, over 10 countries reading my rubbish. So, do you all like to

use my rubbish as toilet paper? Print off a story then pick a stall and 

away you go, and I thought only Donald Trump toilet paper was 

popular. Though he'd probably added my email address to all kinds of 

rubbish, Welsh in Welsh was a strange one I had yesterday. I can

remember Keith Jackson having an email from himself, 30 years ago

was it? That was before technology got really clever. So, what I get 

now is even more annoying, and gets deleted unread. Hello to KJ by 

the way, he must be 10 years older than me.

 

So where does this take us? Well, we all have our place in the 

pecking order, obviously I was locked up in the computer room for

 21 years at Stats, escaping and then marrying finally. Every person

has their place their worth, even if you didn't realise it till afterwards.

Why is it so quiet, where is that annoying person, Michael, I'll say it

before Mark H, says it and laughs at his own joke.

Where is Skid and his Marks, and so on and so forth. We all have a 

value, even if we don't know it at the time. What use am I, I am an

 Old  Woman, is a story of mine, I can see Mark H, now pulling a

 face as, he says yes that's Michael.

 

I hope I've surprized people from that old crew from long ago, but 

never forgotten. A collection of people make a whole, any group of 

people are a jigsaw, a mosaic, a tapestry. When the gossip goes, there

is a gap, gossip is the chattering cement that holds a society 

together, a phrase from The Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker.

 

Look around your street, your family, you friends, your team,

 whatever game you play, or your knitting circle, or your prayer 

group, even if the bar is your place of worship. Everybody has a 

task, even if it is to lay out the chairs, or drop and bolt in the extra 

place at the end of the pew in a church. Yes, churches used to be that

full, at Saint Patrick's we use to have extra drop seats down the 

middle, I know because I got them ready while my brother always 

got the altar servers list, which never changed.

 

Then there is the guy who miraculously survived something over 

the road at Dudley Rd hospital, who runs the piety stall, little wonder

There are the unsung heroes, the cleaners in any place, I know as I 

always used to work the late shift, so they were my friends. The 

things they know, and the things they discover, such as half full

 coffee cups in a bin. I could mention other discoveries in the middle

of the night, but I'll leave the dead rest.

The sandwich lady you fear, as she always needs a man to come and

fix a shelf for her, you'd starve without her.  The crossings lady who

saved your life by knocking you over with her pole. Even the barber

whose "something for the weekend, sir?" also saved your life, and

 health in many many ways, many many times. But not as many as

you boasted about. And when the barbers was closed, you took a

 chance, so Chancy Gardinier was your first child, named after the

unexpected film and thereafterwards, no barber's something for the

weekend included.

Look around in any life, in any story, or History itself, which is all our lives. What do you see, this led to that, or just unknowingly. You married the cleaner, but she was really a rich heiress, I married a cleaner too, but she did have a degree, and the rest is History. Our lives, our loves, what we like, what we love, all of this is a tapestry. An accident, either of nature or of life itself, can lead to many many things. Your dad nearly died, you visited him for 3 straight years in the seniors home, and you married his nurse. Whatever happens in life, it forms us, it directs us, like a mudslide down a hill, it can be dangerous, it can be exciting, but it changes our internal landscape.  So, look around and connect, little chats here, little looks and glances, read, watch, observe. Then your life will be heard, you’ll be the colourful bit in the tapestry, you might even be the centrepiece. You don’t need to battle in Hastings, nor an arrow in your eye, just look up, look around, look to the sky. Look at the birds flying, look at the patterns they weave in the sky. Then try to be a bird, and make your life heard, for a life is more than a twitter.

Taking your Mind off Things ©

By Michael Casey

 

As you all know me and George are in the same sewing circle, that’s me and George Clooney. He has my best thimble in his pocket, it’s his lucky charm, if you look carefully, you’ll see him use it in the next gangster film he’s in.  A sequel called, Ocean’s 26, and you thought he was sleeping with the fishes, no he’s having a whale of a time, he’s a bit of a marine biologist, and that’s a metaphor. In the Ocean he uses the thimble, to count all the stolen money with, as the electronic money counter is bust. Which sets up a sequence where he counts $100K ever so fast, rather like Spike Milligan as the postman beating the sorting machine, though I doubt any of you will know that film, Ocean’s 26 I’m talking about, everybody knows Spike Milligan, you ask his butler Prince, or Charlie as everybody calls him down the Windsor pub.

 

But, where was I, now that I’ve warmed up the toilet seat for you, it’s a specialist occupation, I began when Carry on at Screaming was filmed, but that’s History. Yes, I remember now, Taking your Mind of Things, I’ve inserted the title again, just so you won’t forget it, repetition aids memory, you ask any kids beaten by the teacher in the 1960s for not know their times tables. My own buttocks quiver every time I’m doing multiplication, or maybe that’s another metaphor, but I am very good at multiplication, maybe it’s my alluring Clooney like looks, Ok I really look like Hew Edwards the news reader, though I look far far younger. So, what has all this got to do with the price of lettuce? If you are not paying attention I’ll slap the back of your legs with a wet lettuce, and I may leave the snail on, and you never know where it will slither to.

 

Ok, the theme today is taking your mind off things, so can you remember what you were doing a few minutes ago? Have I distracted you, or am I so bad you have lost the will to live? I can hear all the heckles, and an echo from the past also just hit me, that’s the trouble with words they bring memories too, I’ve just awakened a ghost.

 

But I want to share something today. If you have a busy busy life, then mundane things, such as my writing, I’ll get in the jibe first, do relax. Mental chewing gum, or mental chocolate, does help to relax, then you can go back to your important job refreshed and relaxed. I was fiddling the other day, repairing my Rosary beads to be exact, first repaired with a ring of steel, a circle you have your keys on. Then I found some old plastic covered wire that I bent into shape, to relink my prayers. This repair was better, and is almost unseen, as prayers should be. Enough philosophy.

 

The point is though that occupational therapy as some might call it, does work, it distracts, so your mind has a rest from one thing, as you are absorbed by another. I suppose that’s what Play Time was originally invented for, make the kids run and jump about while the teachers have a coffee and cake. Mothers used to bribe teachers in the old days. Ted Heath the former British PM was a sailor, when you are in a force 10 in the Irish Sea, you’re not wasting your time on who is stabbing you in the back in Parliament. Your mind, heart and soul is dancing with the waves, Politics is forgotten.

 

I could give you more examples, but you have your own. You know Jack who is a reporter, but works in the soup kitchen on his day off, just to remind him to be humble, as his mother used to remind him, he’d never be as famous as Bob Hope. Bob Hope was the local rat catcher, who lived with Dorothy Lamore the girl with the big big smile. So, things distract us, we have our guilty pleasures, such as watching Kdramas with the sound so high, that flocks of geese take a detour. Anything that is a distraction is good, because we are not machines, we have to switch off and rest. We need oiling and resting, like a machine being serviced so that it can perform even better. Though oiling and resting does sound suspiciously like another metaphor.

 

I hope I’ve taken your mind off things, so you can get back to what you were doing before, and if you’re mind has gone a blank then I’ve really proved my point, yet another metaphor maybe. Because you are rested, and this writer has earnt his pay. Nothing.

 

 

No News Today ©

By Michael Casey

 

Hey Mark, you’re on the bus, pay your fare.

Hey Mark, you’re at the Cinema, go get a ticket.

Hey Mark, you have to pay for Groceries.

Hey Mark, you have to pay for your Netflix, your Amazon.

Hey Mark, you have to pay for How to Become President lessons

a new tutorial service with the Donald.

So, don’t you think you should pay something to read the papers?

Or are you a Queen, like in the Queen’s Gambit which you paid to see on Netflix, where the girl “borrowed” a Chess magazine.

Fake Reality is all we’ve got, because of Spam a Lot, Politicians

Now your Camelot, or is it Hamalot ambitions

One day you can be President

But Le President is a French soft cheese, as today is Bernadette’s feast in France

So instead of sharing Spiritual Water, what are you spreading?

Misinformation and Lies.

The Truth is Out There, as Mulder always said

So, shine a light, light a fire

Or is Truth a Liar

Well after 4 years of Trump, maybe we know the answer to that

So, Hey Mark, is MONEY all you are after?

The LOVE of Money is the root of all Evil

Do some good, share News, Give access to real News

Let people see what the world can be.

Don’t allow just a False Reality.

You can afford to Pay for a News Service

Be in Service of All Mankind, which sounds like somebody’s Motto

If you Believe, then you will Share

Let the People Know See and Judge

Or is it too much Money for Nothing?

We’ve seen 4 years of Pain and Ignorance

Do no Evil, do no Bad

Which is an Oath no doubt taken by your own wife

Harmless words, that should be Heard

But what of you?

You still want to be President, so long as it does not cut Profits

It’s Time to Grow up Mark

Don’t deny the Truth and Hide it under a Bucket

Truth and News is for all Societies, it’s not empty Pieties

So put your Money where your Mouth is

Free News, on Facebook, which is well worth paying for

Or do you want to help keep the poor ignorant

So, they still vote for the status quo, out of ignorance

Ignorance is not Bliss, it just holds back Society

As one light at a time goes out

Until all that is left if Mob Rule and Tyranny

Or are more and more zeros on a bank statement

Worth the price of your Soul.

News saves lives, so spread it and share it

And Pay for It.

It is the chattering cement of Society.

Which is a line of mine, but I’m sharing it.

Enough, it’s time for roast potatoes, I am Kerry Irish

In my blood.

I hope you listen, or am I too much of a hot potato

 

TEXAS SNOW

 Texas Snow

Global Warming means hot weather

BUT you also get weird weather

Like down in Texas

So, WAKE UP Politicians

4 years wasted

Yes, you can flog the Donkey or is it Elephant

But in the end after a Shares Boom

You get the bang, all the animals die

This is so simple that a Simpleton could understand it

Yet for 4 years USA was in Official Denial

Then the Press was attacked

So, everything has been Poisoned

Covid will be beaten eventually

But When Common Sense is ignored

It takes longer

And now with Texas Snow, the Holiday is OVER

USA and Mankind must act immediately

Or they'll be no DOW

Just Devil's Own Weather

So, grow up Politicians, act now

It is a National Security Risk, as was you know who

If you don't fix Climate Change

There will be no Texas, no USA, and No world

How about a 10% redirection of Military Spending

Forget a Wall, as Weather goes through Everything

Kick start Save the USA today.

With Green Invention

If you don't start today, there will be NO tomorrow

 

 When Story and Music Collide (c)

By Michael Casey

Now as usual I did not know I'd be writing this, but I was listening to Clapton, and one track brought forth a memory. Then I had a thought if ever I finish Tears for a Butcher, the sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, then they'll be a Prayer Scene, and if ever it came to be filmed then Clapton would be in the Pulpit playing as Life Saving prayers are said. And it probably won't be finished, another 600 pages of Old Forge and Singing Anvil, so you'll be spared, but you do know about my dream of a speed typist etc.

Now I'm going to STOP for a Kdrama right now, but I'll come back and finish writing this, so remember the title and meet me back here in 9 hours time, Midnight UK time and it'll be ready. I could have had a poncy title for the story but long words are hard to spell, and simpletons like me,  might not understand what I'm on about.

Why are A level questions all poncified, as I'm discovering with my small daughter

studying beside me. Enough I have 2 new Kdramas in my sights. I love the comedy and tears in the stories.

to be finished later, now for lamb chops

Ok, it's tomorrow 14:20 Saturday

I did not return like MacArthur, but I'm here now

So the piece will run differently, as a new driver is in the seat. That's what it is like when if I resume instead of doing everything in the flow. I've just reminded myself too, In Tears for a Butcher one of the stories concerns Ike's driver and another hoard of whisky found. I'll have fun and games with that story if ever I finish it and the sequel. I did want Shep Smith to feature in the story too, as he is on holiday in UK, in Old Forge and Singing Anvil and  happens to be in the bar when the new hoard appears, along with Ike's driver. But that's for the Future.

You see as I write I nearly always have background music, especially now with Tinnitus in the ascendancy, which means very often I type a word and the exact same word is sung simultaneously as I type. I also think just how neat, as you folks speak, if I had this music playing when the movie or tv show of my words is made. Ok. I'm deluded, but you have to dream and hope, otherwise you are dead as  wood. Hence yesterday, if you can remember that far back, I do tend to distract. So yesterday I was thinking about the power of prayer. You spend most nights awake as you battle Tinnitus, your mind does wonder everywhere, the good, the bad, the ugly thoughts everywhere. Then sleep comes, well for 2 hours anyway.

Ok so you can see my life, and are glad you are not me. But to the point, music is so much better than words, so Taylor Swift et al will always be better than me. And taller too, which is good when she comes around to do the cleaning and high dusting at my house, but that's another story, haven't you caught up yet?

So in Tears for a Butcher at the Finale, maybe 500 pages in Big Sid will be shot while being a Raging Bull, and saving many lives, but shot three times at point blank range. So Mrs Murphy whose life was saved, and her grandchild's, and her daughter in law not to mention an unborn 2nd grandchild and the Post Office staff, well how is she going to react.

While Big Sid is on the operating table at Dudley Road hospital, because it was the closest, and a team of Texas surgeons happened to be in Birmingham for a conference, the lead surgeon is still wearing his cowboy boots and hat as he operates. Mrs Murphy is over the road in Saint Patricks. This was my own local church by the way.

So, do you think Mrs Murphy will allow the Devil get his way? Ok, so obviously there will be music, and that's where Clapton comes in. He's be playing as she's praying, he'll be playing as Texas does its best for Big Sid the Butcher. Blood and Prayer everywhere. Now what Clapton would play, how would I know, I'm just a boring writer, Clapton will be playing God. For Music is God's breath. Just a little challenge for Eric if ever my story gets written, and then made into a film.

How would you play God, Eric. What notes would you be, Tears in Heaven, and Mrs Murphy gone past madness, it was all my fault, it was all my fault racing through her mind. Over and over again. Only music can speak those words, only bolts of lightning, as the rain  comes down as the rain comes down, on Saint Patricks and on Texas's best operating in Dudley Rd Hospital.

Now that's the scene. Mrs Murphy always sits in the 2nd bench on the left by the radiator. But not now, but not today. She storms to the altar rail, as if receiving Communion. But the Pain, the Despair, the Guilt is too much.,

Jesus, she screams. She sighs,  she screams Jesus again.

The Press are at the church door. The butcher's dog is clawing at  Jesus' feet on the cross outside the church door. The dog is pining.

Jesus, screams Mrs Murphy again from her spot in front of the altar.

Doreen a black nurse from over the road enters 

and kneels to left of Mrs Murphy

Asha an Indian nurse enters and kneels to the right beside Mrs Murphy

Jesus

Mary

Joseph

And Saint Patrick the porters scream too

The journalists can feel it

Now it  begins

The engine of prayer revs up. Like Lewis Hamilton on the grid

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, an Saint Patrick over and over again

The the Rosary begins at warp factor 9, no time to build up speed

Just slap it down warp factor 9

And on Clapton plays, as people play and surgeons earn their pay

And on Clapton play, and on Clapton plays

With almighty God himself throwing down thunderbolts

I'll stop there I have yet to write the tale, I have yet to find that speed typist

So all you'll know is what's on the page today

But I hope you can imagine how it will feel, and Music is feeling

And if I write it right and Clapton does in fact play

Then God will push Eric out of the way and pick up the guitar himself

And that is when Story and Music Collide

20/Feb/2021 3pm

Just the Way you Are ©

By Michael Casey

What have Barry White and God got in common? They love us just the way we are. During my Tinnitus time, my mind wanders and between prayer and profanity, staying awake all night is no joke. Though if you remember your Bible, the disciples fell asleep, I am so jealous of them. Strangely right now the  hiss seems to have lessened, as  if the tide has gone out. My left ear always goes deaf too, every time I shower, if it were my left foot it would not matter, but hearing does.

So, as I look in the mirror of my imagination, what do I see, a George Clooney look alike, or the Elephant Man? Well sniff, and don’t scratch, and make your mind up. Though a workman did just barge into the toilet, so he’ll be making his own mind up. A twirking Michael Casey, with a bum bigger than Beyonce’s or am I just an Elephant Man? Sniff and don’t tell, thankfully this is not cinema.

Which brings us back to my hairy back, my stained left shoulder, with a  mass of hair on it. During the Mass God sees all, and as I said before he Loves Us, just the way we are. Even if we stop talking and slap on the Movelot, on that very same shoulder, because we are about to curse in pain. And yes I’ve just done that, curse my pain, and Tinnitus is torture in the night, so that brings lots of things. But when Barry White sings, that can be a cure for everything. I’ve just turned him on, not literally, he’s a MAN, a very big MAN, but Ladies and Angels too, he’s in Heaven singing.

And God doesn’t want me blocking the view of the Stage, so despite my pleading, God wants me to stay, here in Birmingham while Barry sets the stars Rocking, while I’m like a blind man lost my way. So will the Tinnitus disappear fully and properly, will I get a big Grace, who knows but Big Grace is the dinner lady with all the moves, who always dances in red shoes. Not as graceful as a ballet dancer, but when she twirls as she dishes out the food  a cheer goes up, big Grace knows God’s love. And when she sings, people stop eating their dinner in the school canteen, a voice of an Angel.

So that’s her and that’s me. We are all different as Joan in the Print room used to say, and God loves us any which way. So never be hard on yourself if you feel the mirror doesn’t match the way you want to be. Reality is what it is, yes we can tweak and we can twirl, but just be kind to yourself, try yes, but don’t let trying lead to crying. God can’t help himself, he loves us just the way we are. Move over Clapton, God’s on guitar.

 

Almost a Poem (c)

By Michael Casey

 

Well me and Tinnitus are going through a strange period, not staying awake all night till exhaustion and sleep arrive. But chunks of sleep and not being awake till they arrive. Though 3am where were you? I was having toast and Ovaltine, a snack and a hot drink seems to being sleep to me.

Sometimes Totoro our cat arrives, to be let out to plague the countryside, or just to chill with the nearby foxes, but not Gumiho, so I let the cat out and away she leaps. Setting off lights and movement sensors all over the neighbourhood. That's how I know when she wants to come in when she's out late drinking with the foxes. The lights light up everywhere, so me in my Tinnitus time put on a dressing gown and go downstairs to let her in. 

Last night I had a poem come to me, 1% of my output is poetry of sorts, so 20 out of 2000 pieces maybe. When I get a poem it tends to be very good, yes in my opinion, but most people almost always agree too. I really should record any stray ideas and snatches, then I'd have more material to annoy you with. But I'm no Stevie Wonder, though I do have my share of Inner Visions, he has recording equipment by his bed. Me I just want to sleep, I do have aa old phone directing a smart speaker through the night. And yes Sting has been added to the night shift, so Taylor Swift can get a rest, and be fresh in the morning to do the High Dusting in my study. As you know her lad works in the chip shop down the hill, and that's how I kill two birds with one stone.

So there I was thinking, and with Tinnitus your brain can go into overdrive as you fight to sleep, that's why it is so debilitating, not to mention my other weaknesses. I got a theme about Land and Peace and Faith and Geography. History is Geography, and, you Cannot beat Geography. Something for all armies to think about, as well as with Faith you can Move Mountains. If you know that then you can achieve something, with Love.

I had a few lines and said to myself, that's good as I was half asleep and half awake and half in pain, Tinnitus is part of the Sine Curve of pain that I endure for 8 years now, first starting with Arthur my arthritis. When it hits it is deeper and longer, my pain. The night time Tinnitus seems to be worse too. But I want to talk about the Words, I had a line here and there so I promised myself I'd put it together in the morning, like flatpack furniture. Only I lost the allen key, or rather I lost the words by the time I was finally ready to arise. I still awake every 2 hours, so by the time I'd had my 8 hours, after Tinnitus time, the allen key to attach the words together had gone. Maybe I need a Gumiho I could dictate to in the night,  but that is just a fantasy in all senses of the word and my imagination .

You have to have words and dreams and Gumiho fantasies even, because without them the pain would be far to much to bear, and no I'm not joking, I wish I were. Today my small daughter tells me our study clock is famous, as it chimes through the online lessons, and her French teacher calls it charming, though this dad is no Prince. The Geography class recognise the chimes too, meanwhile Jesus he Knows Me is playing on my speaker, Music the Genesis for everything. And yes Jesus does know me, and Saint Jude’s too, for when you are awake in the night, the conversation ebbs and flows like as does the Music of My Night, Andrew where is your Webber? Music is a cobweb catching thoughts in the night, dreams, hopes, and fantasies, as well as curses and pain, bouncing and rippling everywhere.

So that's all I have for  today, maybe the Poem will arrive, they are gifts, they arrive and my train of thought marshals them in the station. I do not control the Poetry timetable, they are free spirits like Totoro our cat. The other writing is fast and furious, maybe my subconscious is telling me to squeeze out all I have, my only gift for my two teenage daughters. Then the page will flutter and fall down like falling leaves and my tree of words will be bare, and I'll turn to mush like fallen Autumn leaves on the wood's floor.

So enjoy me while I'm still here, as I constantly tell my daughters, I've had 6 years of extra time. But if you are a Gumiho, you'll have to wag your 9 tails to catch me, and would I be worth it? 20 years more if a Gumiho did her magic, though that's just more Music in the Night, I really must push the piano out of my bed.

Less is More ©

By

Michael Casey

Ok, as promised here’s a new piece for you. I’ve had a catch up with Vincenzo and it really should get International awards. 10/10 at least. So Less is More, what am I talking about. Not how I nag people, well maybe or maybe not. As you know I’m nosey so I watch people, hence decades of memories. And I’ve read and studied and I’ve even been writing for a long long time.

 

I once worked in a call centre, doesn’t everybody. And a girl there said to one of my fellow workers “you’re just a scruffy Indian”, only later did he reveal to her that he was in fact working 7 days a week, which is stereotypical Indian, or Korean. He was earning extra money to pay for Teacher Training at University for his wife. His real job, his 9 to 5 job? He, the “scruffy Indian” as she called him, he taught surgeons how to use lasers in operations. Yes really. I won’t reveal his name. But he was a very nice man.

 

Which makes me wonder the scars I have up both legs to my naughty bits and right down my chest, were they blade or laser? Anyway I’ve had 6 years extra time so far, and that’s why Still Alive 2015 had that title. So I’m rambling, do you want me to cut to the chase, or shall I put it in a podcast. I could record this later so you can hear it on Spotify later, https://anchor.fm/michael-casey1   to HEAR my Podcast.

 

Carrying on, do you just want bullet points, and a vacuous list, like you find in features pages? Yes, I’m very critical of the quality of stuff that litters the internet, Miaow. Here’s a few tips for you. First, make a list. Then you’ll buy less at the supermarket, or buy less online so you avoid impulse purchases. Ditto with your day, five minutes planning while you pooh on the toilet in the morning, will make all the difference to your day, and you will feel less bloated too. If only Trump twittered less during his toilet time he would have been less irritable, and so much more organised. Getting the Country to fight amongst itself is not organisation.

Look in the mirror before you go out, because appearances matter, to some. And you don’t want your dress stuck in the back of your panties, or your flies open. Simple things that can change your life. Yes, simple things matter. Like smiling, being Happy is a choice, even if you are not one of the 7 Dwarfs. I had the AA motto, How I can make this Day count, on my mantlepiece for years. No, I was not a drunk, I found it in a newspaper and cut it out, maybe 35 years ago. The point being, I read something and I agreed with it. So, I took it as my own. You have to smile, or people will say you are a misery guts, we had a guy work with us in the hotel, that was what we thought of him, misery. If only he smiled instead.

So, perception, and self-perception do matter. If only Michael Jackson did look in that mirror and change. How you look does affect how you feel. Yes, I know you all think I look like an illiterate tramp, but I want you to judge the words, and I detest those perfect vacuous influencer selfies, just before they fall off the cliff while taking selfies. Again I do like to surprize people, I had a doctor talk down to me at a conference, so I waited, he was talking about hotel economics, then I said my piece, adding My Brother did Economics at Cambridge, his reply, I can tell. So he noticed I had a brain then, so never talk down to anybody, just in case they bite your bum. Though in complaint letters, give them 3 strikes, then email the CEO and put Formal Complaint in the letter, every CEO has an email, and then really really dump on them. The board looks at lists of Formal Complaints and it influences their MONEY, so I’ve taught you something else as well. Be polite, but know when to be a Bastard too, your life is too short to be wasted by lazy ignorant badly trained people, Double Miaow.

 

I could go on, but One Direction are taking me down the Trader, the pub in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, they are celebrating their new joint venture, in car washing. I’m going to teach them how to twerk as they wash cars. So to recap, make a list, but be ready to change it. Don’t waste your time on time wasters, remember Kennedy and 15 mins for a meeting is enough. This is what I want, XYZ, and if they won’t do it walk away. Arguing the toss may make you pennies but in the long run, you’ll just get wrinkles, have you noticed I have no wrinkles, because I am penniless and don’t chase money. Ok, it’s because I fat, I won’t lie, I am heavier than Tyson Fury by the way, and 10 inches shorter. That’s why he never argues with me, he’s too busy having kids, so God Bless him anyway.

So everyday follow your list, and as you soak in the bath, look at your accomplishments, and if you have a big enough bath, let your partner look at your accomplishments, as you follow your true One Direction. You and I.

 

What makes and good story?

By

Michael Casey

 

Well actually, it’s the way it’s told. Ask Frank Carson the late great Northern Ireland comedian, who was so funny Roger nearly crashed the van, as he was crying with laughter, as he took Frank back to the airport. So, that’s the standard, let’s call it The FC standard. Now as I talk to you, you’ll not cry with laughter, though you may just cry. I hope that the putting it together makes it more interesting, and as I reveal things it gets more entertaining. Yes, I’m a Stripper on the page, hoping you’ll get more and more interested and  entertained so a hairy man full of scars with an enormous birthmark on his left shoulder is your thing, not to mention the Winnie the Pooh belly. Some of you are, well you are, perfect for me, if that’s what gets you going. But in generality what kind of woman you do anything for love like that. But I digress.

 

You now have this horrible image in your mind, and that’s what stories do. They put images in your mind, in the Windmills of your Mind. Which is my favourite song by the way, and didn’t Fr. Brain later Bishop Brain used to say I was Sancho Panza as I always trailed after my much taller brother over 50 years ago. Yes really. So again you have another mental picture in your mind, and that’s what I hope I do, Cartoons made with Words, hence the name of my backup site for my words. And Don Camillo as you all know was written to fill a space on the page, and even the Pope was given a copy of those stories. I was reading Don Camillo prior to my heart bypass 6 years ago, and the Italian heart professor was impressed when I told him what I was reading. See, humble me impressing an Italian heart professor at the QE.

 

You can impress with your words too, but stories are for builders, a layer here a layer there, and then decoration, like a cake too. Too fancy and people will be sick, too bland and people will spit it out, or even be sick of it. Remember too a book can be great as a film, but not so good as the book itself. Because in a film things are rearranged and changed, so a novelist will have to accept changes, and if he does not like them, he can have his name removed from the credits. Then for film audiences there are Telegraph moments, and film buffs can ruin a film by pointing them out. Such as I always wear shades in front of my screen to prevent eye strain, then later on in a film the shades would reappear and save the day somehow.

 

The pace of a story makes it what it is, too fast and it’s like a bad boyfriend, too slow and your parents arrive. Now what am I talking about, I don’t know it’s all in your imagination, On y soit qui mal y pense, and so on. So, you’re smiling now, why? Come on, tell me, why? So choice of words can make or break a story. I’d rather be gentle myself, and make the laughs last, just take you by the hand and lead you up the garden path. And yes there are several meanings to that last sentence, it’s up to you. That’s the joy of Radio, as I hope you hear all these stories as you read them aloud to grannie and all the others in the old people’s home. They like a good story old people, and if you find Old People’s Home on my back list, or even spotify, you’ll have a really good laugh. It’s in the second chapter of Tears for a Butcher, my unfinished sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, and you all know I’d like to dictate it, otherwise you’ll all be spared another 600 page comic novel.

 

Keeping people reading and turning pages is another thing a story should do, but you know what, if they just drop knickers every 20 pages, or a murder every 40 page then that’s just boring. Though some novelists have had a lifetime of words just by doing that. With me I hope you get laughter and more, and bastards get shown the door, in the best possible taste, with humour. You are the judges, I just please myself, and hope you all like it. I don’t plan it like a Delia Smith recipe, I am like a blindfolded chef who mixes it all up, and presents it naked on the plate, which might remind you of another tv chef. My words are chosen and flow, and the hope is that you all says he’s on LSD, I am on IMAGINATION in reality. The reality I present on the page should amuse and make you ask who is Michael Casey?

 

Now have I explained What makes a good story? Probably not, but it is a story in itself? And getting the stories from in ourselves is what it is all about. Words on a page, cartoons made with words shared with love and laugher. Now this Sancho Panza has to mount his donkey and  head for Korea, and Vincenzo is waiting for me there, to help carry away bars of gold.

 

Not Worth my Spit ©

By Michael Casey

 

Not Worth my Spit is a Chinese expression, it means it’s a waste of time talking to somebody, it’s not worth your spit. You may have had dodgy companies give you grief, and you go around in circles, a bit like Diplomatic dealings. Hey North Korea, Trump really was right, you’d make a great travel destination, so set your people free, and in one generation you’ll be Top of the Pops, and be singing happily. If Germany could rebuild after the Hitler nightmare, what can North Korea do? Even better and greater.

 

There are 5 of my books on my Wordpress in Korean, Kim, so have a laugh and read and then think, I want to live happily ever after, me and my people. I am worth your spit, so have a download and read happily. Now getting back to my theme, Not Worth my Spit. Kids bicker and say, he did this she did that, he should say sorry for scratching my Barbie dolls face, her behaviour is a disgrace. She should say sorry first, no he did the worse thing, his apology should be the first thing. So, mom, slaps both of them, a draw is declared, and all toys are locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Then they both hate mum, at last unity, mum is the worst, they can agree on that. So much for Diplomacy.

 

Circles of friends and circles of deceit, I’ll do this for you if you do that for me, so much for monkeys picking fleas off each other, a bit like Politics and Union deals. Where is Humanity, we leave that in Church on a Sunday, the rest of the week, we are weak Humanity, bargaining and cheating, and badmouthing each other, and for what? So, we can sell cheap copies of this and that and claim it’s worth 4 times it’s weight in Gold. And what about the Customers, they are there just there to be fooled, and abused, nobody is going to pay to send our rubbish back to us, to get a false refund. So, we gain more money but lose our soul, and as for integrity, we can buy some cheap online, it’s a new rave fake perfume our cousins sell. And on it goes.

 

Now is all this worth my spit, your spit, or anybody’s spit. No, not really, but if by reading this you are more cautious before you buy, then I’m worth your spit. But then again, if I’m not then you can spit on me.

 

Johnny No Friends ©

By Michael Casey

 

Peter had no friends, in fact he now was a stay at home person. Though everybody used to call him John or Johnny, because he was always in the toilet, rushing to it in fact. They even moved his desk to the corridor outside the toilet as a prank, so he thanked them and stayed there for 3 years. He did have relationships, but only with delivery drivers who dumped stuff by his desk. So he was a Concierge without actually being a concierge. But he was happy enough because he was near the toilet, he could dump like an Elephant, and smell just as bad. Bad diet and a touch of CKD does that to you.

 

As the years rolled by he knew more and more about the delivery drivers, as he had a giant thermos on his desk ready to dispense a warming drink. So by the end of the 3^rd year he had more Christmas cards than the entire offer, but luckily he was a dab hand with a Prit stick so he dabbed them and stuck them to the walls. It looked better than Santa’s Grotto or any church. Everybody took photos and a photographic magazine even awarded a prize. Johnny and his Cards the caption read in the magazine, with Johnny’s email below. Though nobody knew his name was Peter in reality.

 

Then Johhny’s bladder got so bad, he’d have to wear nappies or have a funnel and a tube from his desk to the toilet. So, Johnny spent his last penny and had to leave. The company were generous, he could have sued the arse off them for the 3 years in the corridor, the company secretary said, who was a bit leaky himself, so obviously he was on Peter’s side. So Johhny got a nice pension, and a framed digital photo of the Christmas Santa’s Grotto, and a very nice tablet which was waterproof so he could use it in the toilet, just as Trump does.

So now Johnny had no friends, but he still had his tablet, well several, as the doctors kept on trying this and that in an attempt to fix him, so he had bottles of tablets, as well as the digital tablet. Johnny got used to his new life, and he had friends on the Internet too, while he continued dashing to the loo. One day out of the blue he had an email from LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com 

He was going to delete it in anger, but decided to answer. Lindy Loo was her real name, she was American in Kansas were the mail servers were, and she did have two red shoes which she clicked and she did like ballet too. Out spilled everything, she’d seen the Santa photo in a photographic magazine while she was at the dentists having her teeth fixed.

 

So Johhny No Friends had found one true friend, which is all you need, and yes she loved the Beatles too, she played them constantly on her Amazon Prime subscription. Now email is a lovely thing, it is a letter that can be read over and over again, you can print them off too and put them in a scrap book too. After a few months, Peter and she called him Peter too, it was so much better than being called Johnny, because he used always to be in the John, so Peter asked for a photo. So LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com sent him a photo, she was tall and big, with horrid teeth and the stereo typical black glasses that Koreans, or American born Koreans wear. But she did have hair to kill for. So obviously Peter fell in love with her instantaneously. Because he knew the real her, and she knew the knew him, so the feeling was mutual.

 

Though LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com  had lied, because she’d been hurt before, so sent a picture of her best friend from next door. So the friendship continued, and LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com decided she wanted to come and visit Peter in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, so a quaintly named place after all. So Peter said he knew somebody he ran an AirB&B so he could get her discount, it was  the bloke next door. Peter had wondered why he was always carrying large supplies of toilet paper, and did he have some disorder? But his neighbour laughed and said it was for his apartments. So Peter helped let in all the supplies when delivery drivers came, so he was offered discount if ever, if ever he needed an apartment. So that was that, and this was now.

 

LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com said that was great, as she licked her dinner plate, that was her one bad habit, licking her plate like Oliver Twist, as she read his email on her iPhone12. They’d know each other for 18 months now all told, and so they weren’t being bold. She’d fly in from Kansas and land at Birmingham BHX, and Peter would be there to greet her, old Michael the taxi driver would be ready and he’d drive steady. Now when LindyLoo555@gmailpooh.com arrived Michael was in for a surprize, for the girl that landed was not like the photo, in fact how could she be. It was her best friend from next door, the Kansas girl was no witch, though she did wear red shoes. Michael drove her to the apartment where Peter was waiting, he told Michael he must have picked up the wrong girl, but it was the right girl, the perfectly right girl. You see Lindy Loo looked like a Kpop star, but prettier if that is even possible. Peter was shocked but she knew everything about him, and asked was he disappointed, and she’d leave immediately if he felt she’s abused his friendship. You see she felt it best to see if he wanted her for who she really was, and in emails he saw her as she really was. Apart from the photo deception, you see a girl has to know that she’s wanted for herself, not just her looks.

 

Peter replied, it’s an ill wind that blows no good, and farted before dashing to the toilet. You see Lindy Loo’s dad was a Proctologist, so why should nature get in the way of friendship. She enjoyed a month visiting Old Forge and Singing Anvil, she also revealed she was actually a dentist. Peter felt ten feet tall, and Lindy Loo just knew, she’d break her broom, she’s never go back to Kansas. Besides her dad had worked out how to fix Peter, as he knew he’d be joining the Korean American family. A Break Wind family, was born, Lindy Loo always loved England, and now part of it in the shape of Peter would be all her very own. And yes they had four daughters and formed a Kpop band, you see Love is like the wind it knows no boundaries, and the Kpop band was called The Saint Patricks because that was the day they finally met.

 

The Sky is the Limit ©

By Michael Casey

Well, I’m listening to Sky, yes clouds make lots of rain, especially when it’s thundering. Or if you are as old as me, John Williams et al. So, what shall I talk about today? I haven’t decided yet, but Totoro the cat sneaked in, I keep her out of this room, “the study” as I want a refuge and a nice place, that no cat paws can reach. We’ve managed to stop her from clawing the living room sofas, but the kitchen chairs have claw marks galore, even though we invested in a cat scratcher by food bowl. But cats don’t care, do you think I’m a dog? I’m a cat and I’ll scratch that, and if you put me out I’ll Leap a Fence and pretend I live with the neighbours here there and everywhere, then I’ll come home when it’s time for bed. Just for the bedtime bowl of milk. I’m not a stupid dog, I’m Totoro the Ninja cat. It’s her 6^th Birthday soon, I said the girls could have a pet, a dog if I died or a cat if I had a heart attack. Weeks after that joke, the joke was on me an unplanned quadruple heart bypass. So be careful what you say, of you’ll end up with a cat scratching your furniture. But I digress.

 

So, I’m talking about pets then? No, but cats do grab your attention, even if it is by clawing at your bedroom door to be let out at 5am. Or setting off the motion sensor lights at 2am, then refusing to come in, because there’s something she can spy from up on high on the garden fence. So, as you shiver with the back door open for her, she just shows you her backside and continues stalking whatever was over the fence, as she wears a fur coat.

 

I just went to the kitchen for another hit drink and Totoro is outside the door giving me her big eyes, wanting to come in. Like a guard dog, but positioned next to the radiator, she is a cat after all, and cat’s have heat sensors in them, they find the warmest place to go. We have 2 metre tall cupboards in the kitchen, but to the cat it’s a challenge, a small Everest to climb, and besides hot air rises so she have a climb just because it’s there. Cats are nosey too and they always enjoy a view. A neighbour may build a high fence, but for a cat that’s just a challenge, so quicker than any Marine she’ll have a look and stand upright like a meerkat just to prove, any cat can look at any queen. And should you leave a door ajar, or a window open, then say hello pussy.

 

All in all cats love challenges, and they are company and make a house a home. Though my friends Lech, Boris and Gregorgi prefer wolf like dogs, because they can pull a sledge when Winter comes. Now is there a point to all of this? Man’s best friend is a dog, though I would have had to die before my girls got a dog. The point is this, The Sky is the Limit. Cats never give up, they look here and there and leap fences, they put their noses into everything like a Search Engine. Even yandex.ru can find me, and they have, so I wrote to them today to encourage them to share what they found. The Russian translation of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker and 2000 other stories for free until Russian Media get in on the act and share Lech, Boris and Gregorgi with the masses. Their offices ae near The Tolstoy museum, so I’d be in good company. In essence I’ve been a cat, sniffing around and climbing trees, checking back, or is it Checkoff and wasn’t he a Russian in Star Trek where the sky is the limit.

 

Reading Books ©

By Michael Casey

 

Ok, I’m full of snot and I should be lying down, but instead I’ll do a bit of writing like a clown. I just spotted the Russians are Coming, as the highest one day figure appeared. I did actually have dream and sat bolt upright in bed, and said “the Russians are Coming” then I went back to sleep, this was maybe 50 years ago when 3 or 4 of us brothers shared the same bedroom in the old family house. I mentioned the Russian search engine yesterday and I did email them, I’m shameless I’ll try and “Corrupt” anybody with my writing. I hope Google don’t get the hump, or my viewing figures might slump, just like my belly.

 

Though the Russians may not like two of my stories, The Spaceman and the Archangel story, though I think it’s great. Then the other story they might not like is I’m setting up a Band, where Putin, Trump, The Pope and The British PM become an Abba Tribute band. Apart from those two I hope the Russians love Stories too, wasn’t that a Sting or Billy Joel song. 2000 stories, perfect for cartoons and learning English with the son of a Kerry Blacksmith, that’s me.

 

Now that’s just the preamble, while I scramble my eggs. And rubbish rhythms are just a joke, while I stir the yolks. Reads like Lemony Snicket, and does he play cricket, Theresa  May or may not, she’s in the band, as she was the PM  when I wrote the story, but she’s still a Tory. Ok, I’ll cut the doggerel, or you’ll drown me at sea, Fisher, and do Germans bite, too much radio4 when I grew up, 20 years of that, before I took to the pen, and if I were a sheep you’d dip me in sheep dip, and leave me or corralled, I’m high enough already, just with Imagination. Then 33 years or writing, to make you all cross. 53 years in all, and I look so good looking, ok, shut it , frankly just shut it. Larry close that door there’s a draft right up my Spaghetti Junction. Now the past few sentences were for the pseuds-clever, who clog up radio4, so nobody else gets a chance, I am a Podcast now you know https://open.spotify.com/show/1wSSIExkhsR97u1jqj0iiR 

 

Now where was I, just going around in circles, and they say you should have a circle in stories, I suppose it’s better than being far fetch like s))* from China. Which was an expression of my mother’s gone almost 25 years now, what it means is Beyond Belief, like me marrying a Shanghai girl. That kind of unbelievable, nothing bad about China, I don’t want 1,400,000 angry emails in my Junk mail, no pun intended. Chinese’s people might say “he’s from Birmingham” just as John Cleese used to say “ he’s from Barcelona” ok, enough said. By the way did I tell you , one of my brothers went to the same Cambridge college and John Cleese, where Michael was Winner, but nobody has filmed anything of mine yet. Maybe the Russians will be coming to film all 2000 of mine, who knows, just putin  a good word for me.

 

Now, what did I read when I was younger, well Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean, is why I read. I was afraid of Mr Gallagher so I started reading to avoid his wrath, and that changed my life in the mid 1960s. I did read everything Alistair MacLean wrote too, staying up till 2am to finish one off, freezing in the downstairs living room before going to bed, central heating ws unheard of then. I read all the History on the bookshelf by my desk in classroom of Class One at primary school. For a time I was left to read alone at a big desk downstairs because I was so far ahead of the class, and no not social isolation. The Outline of History by H.G. Wells was one of the books I read. I still have it, I was given it as a leaving present from Primary School, and yes I really was Head Boy, or locker-upper to make sure nobody did damage in dinner times.

 

So all in all I read by the yard for a decade or two, then radio4 with plays and clever people speaking nicely, before Reginal accents were introduced, instead of BBC English. That’s probably why I speak the way I do, but I did have a Kerry mother whose strong accent we only noticed on the phone, when we eventually got a phone. As for dad he worked in The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick, in the heat of hell for 40 years, with Welshmen, so some though dad was Welsh, though he too was a Kerryman, Hello Dear How Are You, was what he used to say. Which proves how we all acquire our accents, over in the corner my small daughter is doing her French A Level homework, so that is full of accents too, or is it three.

 

So, on it goes reading, reading, reading, and when you get bigger it’s newspapers, so somebody introduced me to the Telegraph, then I started reading online newspapers too. The Guardian to balance the Telegraph and now a bit of Daily Mail too, though stars flashing their bits is boring, and I’d demand a double page spread, though a good double mattress would be more useful. Words are stories and they lead us everywhere, especially up the garden path, where Gill with a G is waiting to remind you Michael is Awful, but I do like him.

 

Chocolate and Salmon and Italian Beer ©

By Michael Casey

 

Well, I had a lazy time in bed listening to my smart speaker, then I got up feeling happy, I resisted the temptation to say Happy, because he is one of the seven dwarfs, and you would have gone all the shop with the potential ramifications. See I’ve confused you already, though if you’re a smiling Quack you may have had a field day too. But I like to amuse myself and you too. As for the chocolate mint ice cream cone  and salmon with tomatoes on seeded bread and Italian beer, that was my lunch, the Italian beer being a late arrival to the house, but Moretti was welcomed, I think my friend Vincenzo in Korea must have sent it.

 

So now you know what’s in my belly but what about my head, nothing you are all saying in unison. You may be right, but that does not stop me from writing, though some of you may wish I did. You are all so cruel, Vincenzo stop playing with your lighter, they are scared enough by my writing already. Here I have saved the last straw for you, drink slowly and don’t spill the other can Moretti over your fancy suit. Better still give it to me, and I’ll stop an accident before it happens, you can go back to playing with your lighter now.

 

So, what am I talking about, I’ve caught up with the plot now, so shall I share it with you?  Atmosphere. That’s what. In the morning there an atmosphere in my bedroom, so I opened the window and let the fresh air in. No, the atmosphere was created by the music, I have it on low all night as I fight the Tinnitus, and then I switch it off depending on my state of restfulness and exhaustion. So, by the time I was ready to get up I decided Justin Timberlake would be nice, yes girls I know he always is as far as you are concerned. So, I told him to be careful with his bubble gum while I has a couple of hours of music, though I did manage to kick the smart speaker onto the floor, luckily it was not damaged.

I listened to the new stuff too that the app puts on after Justin, and that was nice as well, so you can imagine a lazy Sunday morning atmosphere, though today is Wednesday, 24^th March 2021 for all you students of my words.

 

Atmosphere is created by location and music and food, but never eat in bed as the crumbs get everywhere and as I am so hairy they would stick just about everywhere, no need for imagination. If you have a nice atmosphere you can achieve more or reveal more, nothing to do about undressing your lover and being in bed. As I started in bed, what I am talking about is that you are happier, you are in your comfort zone, so you are in a more relaxed frame of mind. Shops and Restaurants all think about these things as it can encourage all to spend more money, and that’s what they want, yes they enjoy being of service and those who work in service industries do. Everything is examined and analysed, no not back to you and your lover in bed, Marketing is all about making people comfortable and relaxed so the clamp is relaxed on the wallets and money transfers to the seller.

 

Conversation and Confession is easier too in a more relaxed environment, so take your priest down the pub and tell him it was you who scratched his car in the church car park. And see what kind of penance he gives you, 15 pints of Stella Artois and a packet of cheese and onion crisps, is what my priest usually charges, he’s not call Don Camillo for nothing. And yes Don Camillo deliberately parks his car so it will be scratched, how else is he going to gather the beer and crisps for the Children’s Home Fete, priests are devious. 600 pints of Stella and 14 boxes of crisps was what he needed, and he doubled it. How? He got the Police Inspector to swear there was damage, so everybody coughed up, he did of course threaten to blackmail the Police Inspector over the stolen bike from 30 years ago. We have no statute of limitations here in England. You can read more in Chapter 7, And for your Penance, from my comic novel  The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker.

I think I’ve given you enough atmosphere now, as beef braising in the kitchen is wafting through the house, so I’m thinking of my belly again. And should you pour Brandy on Beef, would it be just what the doctor ordered, I don’t know, I’m neither a doctor nor a chef, I’m a writer creating his own atmosphere, I think I’ll dash to the bathroom now.

 

The Confidence Booster ©

By Michael Casey

 

Sue was a timid girl, she wouldn’t say excuse me to anybody, just mutter silently to herself. So, she’d take forever to get through the queue in the canteen, so she always got the slops. Now Doreen on the counter who doled out the dinners noticed this and felt sorry for her. Poor little white girl so pale, she needed to eat more food and then she could study harder at the school library. So, Doreen decided she’d look after this little chick, it was her duty as a God fearing women, and Pastor John always said we should love one another. So, Doreen smiled to herself, thy Lord’s Will be done, Amen to that. Now how could she help Sue, she was just a dinner lady. Yes, she was just a dinner lady, but she had a voice, and she knew how to use it.

 

You, yes you, I’m looking at you, she sung make way for Sue, or you’ll never know what I’ll do. Now Doreen was in a Pentecostal choir and she knew how to sing, bring her up to the table and I’ll feed her, we ain’t got five loaves and two fishes but some very nice dishes. And on Doreen sung, as Sue passed through the queue, nobody complained, for this was like Adele singing, but obviously better, Doreen was a very big church lady after all. Amen, amen to that. So, Sue got served first, the last shall be first and the first shall be last, Doreen said Amen to that. It became a thing, Doreen big black and very beautiful sung, and Sue skipped through the dinner queue.

Now having a warming dinner in your belly is good if you want to study, and Sue was far happier and her confidence grew. Doreen smiled, she had almost adopted the child, but that was not enough. The school, the Benes School was a place of great learning, but Doreen thought it only right she did a but of social engineering, ok , friend making, any matchmaking they could do for themselves after that. So, Gloria her friend on the cleaning crew went on a mission, scout out a nice boy who’d help Sue with her studying. So obviously Gloria picked the Librarian, because he’d know where all the best books were. Yes, he was a little older, and much taller, but he seemed nice, his bin was never overflowing, and he did say please and thank you  to the Cleaning Crew.  So that was that.

 

Gloria was tasked to get him to the dining hall, and that’s what she did, she said she needed a big strong man to help her carry things. So, Larry the Librarian was roped in, Gloria had lied, being a cleaner for many years meant she was so strong. Besides her man, Manuel was a judo martial arts teacher, so she had plenty of practice at throwing things about, but not many people knew that. Where was I, yes, Larry arrived at the dining hall. Sue was there already. Doreen looked and Gloria looked back, then they started.

 

Hey girl, do you want some of my cherry pie, sung Doreen. Gloria replied, you mean me girl. NO, not you you’ve eaten a pie too many, I mean Sue, my child, come here and have some cherry pie, on sung Doreen. Larry laughed as Doreen and Gloria sung back and forth a tale of pies with cherries on top. Sue noticed his laugh, and his sparkling eyes. Gloria was right, he was the right boy for Sue, and in the future he’d say I do. Doreen sparkled, she sung Amen to that. Larry was lead to the counter by Gloria, a pie thrust in his hand. Was this a High School Musical. No, this was Old Forge and Singing Anvil in England, the Benes schools for higher learning.

 

Gloria and Doreen found a spare pie and shared it, as the canteen audience applauded, the staff were great here, and the teachers weren’t not so bad either. Now I could go on, but Gloria and Doreen have to go to church it is a Sunday after all, Palm Sunday. So prepare we the way of the Lord, and your own confidence will grow.

 

THERE MAY BE OVERLAP AS I CHANGED WORDPROCESSOR

 

In bed with Lenny Bruce and Obama too (c)

By 

Michael Casey

 

Morning all

Well Tinnitus was pain yesterday

I’m in the land of the living now

I dug out an old keyboard but it feels right

smooth island keys

ask any writer or data inputter

a keyboard makes a big difference

its a bit like stroking the legs of a lover

I’ll leave that thought with you

NOW

I did think of Lenny Bruce while I was in bed too

Strange bedfellows

I even had an idea that made me smile

I could write the most graphic and profane piece ever

Though I leave blanks for you all

you have to crayon in the words for yourselves

I could also record or auto record the piece

But it would get banned without even being read/heard

The BBC actually banned a piece of mine from a website

Yes Really

Why

Because the tag line said”and send me 10 dollars”

So I was accused of Soliciting Money

MORONS

Read Internet story, I think that was the title

It’s somewhere on my 4 sites

This is the Main one, and WordPress has the most Translations on

The other 2 are backups

I’m enjoying this keyboard, the feel is so smooth

Not as much fun as stroking a lover

But I’ll leave that to your imagination again, and again and again

I’m glad I switched keyboards this is so good

I’m having a When Harry met Sally moment

Pink is singing behind me too on the smart speaker

She is such a great singer For Now is the song

SO Lenny Bruce was inked with me, him and his spiders

I thought of an entire riff, so go BLANK BLANK yourself

I laughed aloud in my Tinnitus bed

And Tinnitus hissed back like Muttley

So I may write that up, or maybe not

That’s the strange thing with Writers’ Minds, or maybe it’s just me

Pete But whatever his name is got in on a story yesterday

I was just saying but, when But whatever his name is sprung to mind

Him and his bicycle, so I just followed the chain of thought

That’s why he ended up in drag at a Cabinet meeting

Blame Dr Jill climbing the Hill with a pail of water

I’m like the Donald, but without the drugs, he should be taking

I could go off on another riff, but why give him any more publicity

Which brings me to OBAMA, in Chicago

Now it’s Easter, time of forgiveness and loving thy neighbour

No, I don’t mean stroking legs and pretending it’s a keyboard either

What I’m on, on about, is what is the Easter message

It’s Hope and Love and should be bigger than Christmas

though folks think Christianity is Christmas

The theologians amongst you can discuss that

If you are not playing with your keyboards

So what does Pierre mean?

Pierre means Rock in French

So Saint Peter was the Rock the church was founded on

Simple

Now is a church, a faith, a collection of beautiful buildings

and Art and Priests and Buildings going back 2000 years?

Or is it a collection of rocks?

Yes, its a collection of Pierres, people

A church is a people

Not a mega church where the “priest” is a millionaire

and flaunts it, but slams the door shut when a natural disaster happens

The church, any church is a collection of Pierres

So OBAMA, I’m talking to you, there is money in the kitty

Private money for your library

So here’s an idea

Rather than put rocks on rocks for a Library

Have a collection of Pierres instead

Have the Rhodes scholars for 2021 onwards

Don’t waste time defining Rhodes etc

Let there be the Obama Scholarships

Post Covid the world needs Pierres not rocks

So, I’ll give/tell you what Lenny Bruce would say

BLANK BLANK BLANK BLANK

Help kids get an education, start a business

Use the money in the kitty for that

Is it $400,000,000 dollars?

Build Minds not Buildings

You are Obama and on this rock, build minds and businesses first

Because of You  is playing on the smart speaker

So Smart Speaker, that’s you Obama, let people say, Because of YOU

They got some education, they started a business

This is a mustard seed I’m sending you

We had the “Trump University”

Now you can do something for real, that will really make a difference

Build Minds, leave rocks for later, if at all

A building may last 100 years, but an idea?

You are Pierre

Now do something, or will Lenny Bruce have to reveal

that you BLANK BLANK BLANK

is that physically possible?

I am impressed.

Now impress Chicago for real

 

Michael Casey

the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England

 

p.s. if you bump into Pete But whatever his name is, tell him Birmingham is

NOT in Alabama, he’s such a card, now play with the deck I’ve giving you.

 

 

 

Art and Design (c)

By

Michael Casey

 

I was having a snack and I hadn’t though of what to talk about today, the usual state of affairs, when I caught my own reflection, as I was reflecting on what to write about. Obviously I though who is that tasty looking man in the window, as tasty as my snack, then I realised it was me, such over arching modest. You’ve all just choked and spat your sandwich out all over your screen, or Big Brenda from accounts has just done a maneuver to save you from choking, so tonight she is doing more maneuvers under the duvet. So thank me for choking you, now you have found your future wife.

So what was I going to write about, you don’t care Brenda will always be there for you, so much for appreciating the Writer. Yes, I was going to talk about Art and Design, it says so at the top of the screen, while you and Brenda and being obscene, but in the best possible way. Now, where was I, I sound more and more like Frankie Howerd, yes, Art and Design. There is a way of making things nice, it’s called curves, or Women, as God designed them. So if you look around you what looks best. Yes curves. Curves in Design, look at your keyboard, not keys if you are bored, but keyboard, it’s curvy at the edges, even the keys are curved and smooth with a bit scooped out so your finger tips can slide in. All very simple, but the feel is so important. Nobody wants angular and rough, smooth and curvy is the way. Look at all the objects in your home, curves everywhere. If you have straight lines it is not Nature, man made objects were originally straight and boring mass produced, until Art and Design crept in.

 

Look at the old monitors in computer rooms, they were chunky and heavy, I can remember back to 1978 when I first started in a computer room, we had a rust coloured lump of cheddar with green writing, this was the super dupper fancy one. I can remember when I bought my own first flat panel monitor back in 2002 maybe, the staff taxi was a Jaguar so he could fit an old one I sold to him in his boot. Meanwhile I had a flat screen monitor which cost 4 times then what they do now. Writing being my vice, so I had a nice colour monitor. Meanwhile the jag driver had a lump of cheese monitor for his video game playing son.

And on it goes Art and Design. If you look back at those old photos what will you see? Badly shaped items, with extra large shoulders, both the people and the Fashionable clothes they wore. Then as time progressed  the lapels got thinner and thinner till they disappeared. Go look at your Google photos is you don’t believe me, see you all looked so horrible, apart from your Gay cousin, and his friend Linda from the chip shop, who when she wasn’t battering fish dress to kill and thrill. Your cousin, was her pretend boyfriend to keep the sharks at bay, though once there was a fight and it wasn’t nice. Linda battered three boys, for saying Gays were, I won’t say, and neither did those three ever again.Linda was also martial arts trained. Her skills did impress this man with the child in his eyes, he was a roofer, he led her to the stairway to heaven, but it was alright he was martial arts trained too, and they were only going up to admire the view.

 

Anyway, looks sell, whether it is fish and chips, or dinner plates.We got some new plates today, fancy curvy white ones, so my frozen fish fingers will look even better on my plate. As a child growing up, ok I’m still a child, just inside a man’s body, a fat man’s body, well when we had new stuff the lodgers had the old stuff. And if it was furniture the lodgers had our old stuff, and the stuff from the lodgers rooms went on the bonfire. All of which would now be called Antiques, and Arthus Negus would be spinning in his grave if he knew what gems we burnt at the bottom of the garden.

 

If you compare what you have now to what you had as a child, the look and style is so much better now, though some will say the build quality is not as good, mdf instead of wood. Things are lighter and technology is smaller, what appeared on Star Trek 50 years ago, is now a reality. Then Retro appears, I had a real BUSH radio the new Retro look one is far far smaller and lighter, the old one had a battery  almost the size of a tin of beans inside. The one I inherited from Frank Brown our lodger changed my life because I started listening to The World Tonight and Douglas Steward reporting followed  by the book at bedtime, me my brother had  the radio in our double bed in the middle so we could hear it without waking up dad in the room  next door.

 

So some designs stay in your memory and the thought of their shape brings back memories and smiles. You can buy curvy plastic corners to prevent your kids from poking their eyes out on sharp corners, and yes I did kid proof my house when our kids came along. I’m teased for being like Mr Brown in Paddington,but just you wait and you’ll be the same. You can go through your photos and share memories, nowadays we’d refuse to buy anything that wasn’t a decent design, we don’t live behind the Berlin Wall after all. So now I have designs on my telly, I need to watch more Kdramas. Though I will say the Art and Designs in them will turn your head as well as all the Product Placements. I just wonder am I fashionable enough to be a Kdrama star, email your opinions...

 

 

Piping Hot (c)

By

Michael Casey

 

Well we got some new ovenware, so while my dinner is in the oven, I’ll talk about Piping Hot food. I’m that well planned as far as these stories go. So how do you like your food? Some like it Hot, which was the name of a film, but it could be a metaphor. It depends on you, speaking of hot, Are you Human is my new Kdrama, it was very hot there as the nightclub burnt down, and a robot saved the day. Very exciting with the usual song/music soundtrack. The robot got shinged but the girl thought he was HOT, me I just thought the girl was hot, and gently smoldered. She was a martial arts girl, so I won’t tell her to her face, I just wonder can she type too.

 

So food should be hot, there’s nothing worse than cold food, so I always tell my daughters to finish fast, so I can have hot slops, or make up their mind faster, so I get hotter slops. This is the life of a dad, you are just a dustbin, maybe that’s why flies follow me. A microwave is good to to reheat any slops before you eat them. Yes I know what we are all told but, a bit of left over pizza or chicken licking is always best when it is hot. Otherwise it just goes in the dustbin. And as your mother tells you,”its a sin to waste food”. Though I never waste food, you can tell by the size of my waist, I only buy what I like and eat what I like, so waste. Or is it because I’m greedy? Read 300 and Not OUT, as we’ve just past the 300^th word, that’s the family stories, I even loaded it up again in Arabic, for all my Arabic speaking readers. You’ll no doubt find some food stories in it.

 

Now in the middle of the night it’s always good to have something hot and spicy, and I don’t just mean your girlfriend/boyfriend, before you all say it anyway. I used to have my sandwich break at 4am in my computer room days. I’d have ham and Red Leicester cheese sandwich, you run around a computer room for up to 12 hours you need energy food. The company had a cheap drinks machine, it may have even become free years later. In the daytime we’d go to the hole in the wall sandwich shop, so on days it was cold sandwiches, but on the night shift it was my hot Red Leicester and ham. Now a word of advice, too long in the microwave and the sandwich went all stiff and useless,like eating cardboard, so you had to time it right,so it’d stay nice.

 

You could skin a cat and eat it, Totoro just creept in and hid under my desk, with dangerous wires, so sparks and cat on fire maybe. Be careful of that darn cat, or they’d be pussy frying tonight. Everybody everywhere if you have an animal you have to watch it, cos they always sneak everywhere. So lids on food, or put stray food in a cupboard, or in the oven or in the microwave to hide. And if you have a dog and a baby, get rid of the dog, because too many babies have died, because the animal would not hurt a fly, but will kill a baby.

 

That safety message was brought to you by Totoro our cat, so blame her. Now back to food, when you call the kids to the table, switch off the wifi, there are Apps that do it from your phone, so switch off the wifi otherwise you’ll be eating alone. Your family should be eating together, whatever the weather. Mindfulness and so on, or as my mother would say, the dinner’s on the table, eat it now, or the cat gets it. Jean our old cat 50 years ago, did get the Xmas turkey once,so my mother cut out the bite mark, and we cooked it. Hot Xmas dinner for 13 and a dog and a cat, remember. Don’t forget to heat the plates too, even if you have to steal your sister’s hair drier.

 

Well it’s time for my dinner now. It was anyway, but the new ovenware is too slippy and I tripped over the cat. Yes, it broke and my dinner went all over the floor. So I’ll be having Red Leicester and ham again. As for Totoro, she’ll be eating my hot dinner from the floor, and the ovenware is no more. Be careful in kitchens, accidents do happen, the chefs at CPNEC did tell me off once, for getting in the way on a security patrol, 60 dishes could have fallen, and I would have been axed like a tree from the company. So wherever you are and whatever you are eating, just keep it hot and spicy, and you never know your boyfriend/girlfriend may repay you in kind. And take precautions, do lay the table first, and be careful of the water jug.

 

 

Writing as a Spectator Sport (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well a few minutes ago I said come back later and I may have something for you, it’s Friday 16th April 2021 by the way. I went to the kitchen for a mug of tea, I’ve had 2 coffees so now I switch to tea, well by the kettle I had an idea, they never stop, and this is what you are getting, a swallow or a lark, flying through my imagination. Though you may think it to be a cuckoo.

I may need to stop in a while as my arthritis is creeping through me, so I may need to stop, in fact I do as, I need fresh air, to release a fart. While I let the fresh air in and search for my pain killing gel, have a think of what I’ll tell, as Tinkerbell falls over because of the smell. That’s much better, I’ll close the window now, whether you want me to or not. So where was I? The idea for today is Writing as a Spectator Sport. I’m sat here all alone talking to you, and not having a clue which way the words will take me. Destination Unknown, or a Run on the Bus, like my dad in his retirement days 30 years ago. I let the words move me and take over, a bit like Abba and the Music. I do have an idea, like looking at the stars and joining the dots.

So the process is joining the dots, that’s the Plough and so on, the words, the idea is all there, it’s just a question of joining the dots, simple. How I connect them, and the order makes the difference, like Frank Carson the Comedian, it’s the Way I Tell Them, so with me it’s the way I write them. Anybody can write, but not everybody is a good writer. Some writing is just too dense, for example a very clever girl was looking at my site, I think it was her, as it was a link from an old site belonging to her. Though the Internet is strange it could be anybody. Let us assume it was the clever History girl, now she’ll know who it is but I won’t identify her any more.

So, please don’t hit me. Serious pieces are serious, but the style of writing is for Academics only. I’m not saying Dumb Down, but what is the purpose of Writing? To communicate, if the style is too complicated, then the message is lost, to the average Moron like me, I’ve said it before you do. I keep it simple, because I’m a Simpleton, and I don’t have the skills to write in any other way. I do have readers in 90 Countries all told, who like the telling of my Tales, in up to 10 different languages on the same day. She’s putting her tongue out at me now, maybe she didn’t see my message I left on her site, as there was no email. She’s picking up a dictionary now, hope she doesn’t throw it, this could turn into a Kdrama.

She missed, I ducked, ok. I just imagined the cause and effect of the last paragraph, off message it’s called. Trump was off, for 4 years, though sadly people are dying because the believed his lies. So I have an idea and I follow it. I go where the wind blows, and no I won’t open the window again, I’ll just change my diet. Which brings me to my Topic, and they are such nice chocolate bars, you eat one instead of reading my rubbish. I really am Ronnie Corbette and Joyce Grenfell’s bastard child, perhaps I’m a Gerald Wiley, what you all think I’m just a Gerald, you are all so cruel. But beware Gerald is the patron saint of pregnant women.

New paragraph, as I hate it when there is a sea of ink, it’s so depressing, so space out you words, let the page breath. I’ve had a trainee Doctor comment on my paragraphing, ok it was my nephew. Shall I get to the point, there is no point, I’m a pointless Writer who never wants to be a “Celebrity”. Ok, everything is Reality TV, which I tend to hate, as it’s obnoxious Z list hosts, with sprayed on tan people, with loud voices and even louder “personalities” . MIAOW. So why not have people watch writers write. Online or in the flesh, next to the watch paint dry channel. Obviously the watch paint dry channel, would get double the viewers,  just like shopping channels.

So,I’d be sat in a chair, a comfy chair, near a toilet, with my computer on a desk. A side table for drinks and my friend a fisherman,who helps me breath. That’ll confuse Americans, ok, A fisherman’s friend is not some hairy bloke from a George Clooney film, whoever he is. A fisherman’s friend is a cough sweet. Sweet. Where would I be. In a bar, so you can drown your sorrows, not because my writing is bad, you are so cruel. There would be a link that sticks an image of my head and my screen onto the Big Screen that normally show the Football. Football is not some fancy dress game in padding, that thinks it’s bad Rugby, Football is Soccer, see I have to pander to the USA audience, because I’m just a big fat panda. The audience will always be with me, until I shake them off before I get to the train station, as Les Dawson would say, you can Google him, he was good. Used to play piano in a brothel, you’ll find the “truth” out there, just past Mulder.

So I’m up on a stage, music playing in headphones, so the audience can’t  put me off, they can hear the music too. Writing is a solitary business, like having a pooh in the loo, yes just like the quality of my writing, you are all so cruel. So I sit and write and listen to music as I normally would do while the audience drinks and tries to guess which way the wind will blow me. Luckily I am sat near a toilet. Then away I go, the title appears. So he’s writing Writing as a Spectator Sport. Will it be any good, or will we be too drunk to care, which might give the appearance that he really is a good writer, the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham. As I’ve said before normally from a standing start it takes an hour to write a piece, assuming my arthritis doesn’t kick off. Though as this is a spectacle maybe a massage table at the ready, with some huge bloke bigger than the Rock ready to massage me, just in case. It could be a luscious lady, but I’d be accused of sexism, or any other ism. Frank Warren the boxing promoter would be the promoter. Though in truth the Rock look alike and the massage table are just a ruse to protect me should the audience become as ugly as I look.

The audience would comment, his opening was rubbish, what do you think Garry Lineker, he lacks “ball control” as I dash to the loo, before returning to my words. So I’d go on as usual, the crowd gently singing to the music I’ve chosen as I write. The audience in darkness as I’m in the spotlight, and if they could hear Eric Clapton right now they’d see where the improm slips in slides in, just as Eric is away on his guitar. Me, it’s an adjective on my keyboard being accompanied by a comma, that’ll lead people astray.

As I write the page moves higher and higher, and I forget what I’ve just written or is it like foreplay and the drunken audience want more. I write on a roll, so I have to keep on going or I’ll go off the boil, that’s why you should never interrupt a Writer, stay away from the spout as he’s writing or you’ll get burnt. For the audience they may be with me, or without me, or just mumbling a U2 song, as I’m on the edge of a sentence, will it be a throw in, or will the audience just throw up, as they head for the toilets.

And on it goes, why did he mention that, is he time wasting, where’s the Ref. Look he’s reaching for his left shoulder, he’s rubbed it a bit. He’s dropped his left hand, he’s typing one handedly, he’s just using his right hand to write with. Spontaneous applause in the audience. He’s stopped, can he go on, he’s loosen his belt to let his belly out, don’t look his hand is in his trousers, he’s pulled his shirt and 4 jumpers out. He stood up, Garry Linekar is speechless, the fat silver haired writer in shades is going to take his multiple tops off. Is he heading for the exit, is the piece abandoned. NO, the writer looks to the massage table, as he removes his top. Men laugh, look at that belly, he’s fatter than Lard from StatsMR, then the woman applaud, he’s Winnie the Pooh belly, and the hairy left shoulder, rush the stage. Sympathy, sympathy as the Rock throws me down on the massage table, just like a potter throwing down a piece of clay, though only my feet are made of clay. Was it me, or as it the Rock, I’m massaged, and  the women in the audience applaud, sympathy, sympathy they’ve all got it for me, as Kenneth Williams might say. And he’d say Go Google up the Khyber Pass, and carry on, ask Jon Sopal of the BBC to explain if you cannot understand dear reader. I really do have to stop now for a squirt of Movelat painkiller gel.

Well I’m still in pain, and so are you, you are sooo cruel to me, but my small daughter is making a snack as I speak to you. So I may finish soon. Well the Rock whispers in my ear, are you better, I whisper back, play the audience. But I feel so objectified says the Rock, I bet that’s never happened to you, so enjoy it I whisper back. So the Rock throws me for 30 mins more, while the men get drunk at the bar, and Garry Linekar improvises with data. Frank Warren counts the money before putting on his beret and mac, he’ll cycle to the Post Office before it closes, with the take, looking rather like Frank Spencer.

Then the Rock in one smooth motion, lifts and throws me into the air and catches me again. The women in the audience scream, I think the Rock has got use  to being objectified by now. I slip on my shirt and 4 jumper, a reverse strip tease, the women go wild, especially as I tuck it all into my trousers. Then I begin writing again, I have led them all up the garden path, past Gill with  a G from StatsMR, she’s winked at me. Then I begin again, with a new paragraph, half the audience is wild, the other is just drunk. The bar taking are through the roof, and I could mention 2 companies I used to work for, who could do that.

I spin my tale, I drop a bit here, I drop a bit there, I continue, I stumble as I write, I mistype but a better word appears, does he have a 7th gear. But we are in the Inn of the 7th Happiness, so do we care, Really, Really, Really is that the echo of Jon Sopal coming from somewhere. I stroke back my ever so soft and gently silvery hair, spreading dandruff everywhere. The audience go wild, they are ladies hairdressers who wash for a living, when they are not watching reality tv. This is gold dust to them, Really, Really, Really, says another Jon, the gay hairdresser from Rowley Regis, a king with curlers.

So on I write, a line here, a line there, continuing and joining as I preen the story, a bit of colouring and a bit of lightening as I write like Grease Lightning. John Travolta may be bald in reality, but like my story he can dance, yes he can dance, with or without a U2 song playing, and carrying a tin of paint in the street. He’s going to mark out the car parking spaces, for the next time I appear. Writing as a Spectator Sport is HERE, Really, Really, Really, oh do shut up Jon, put some curlers in.

Shakespeare come out of the bog, I'm a cross gartered fool desperate to be let in (c)

By Michael Casey

Today is Shakespeare's Birthday, 23rd April

So he is quiffing ale like Falstaff

So his bladder is fit to but

So needs must, he is in the bog

No not an Irish bog, like found in Kerry and those parts

The kind of bog where farts are found

A toilet in any other words

Can you hear hear the Earthy Sounds

A hail of rain, and tempest galore

Merrily I say to thee, Shakespeare is past

He has had his Measure for Measure, and more

Litre pint glasses he adores, he is all for Europe

If he can fit more in his glass

And now it is all coming out his ass

And I don't mean a donkey

Though he brays like one

Especially if he is sat upon

But is takes up all the bench with a buxom wench

Where are we all to sit

So we all say, move up a bit

Then he has to go for a sh**

He says he won't dally while he dumps

The wench's breast look like mumps

So we say, take your time

It's no crime, as Falstaff moves in

His double chins as large as the maiden's breast

Though she is far from Maiden

She's been had, and Elizabeth said it first

When she was a walk on part, as Falstaff farts

So Shakespeare is in the bog and we cheer merrily

As the Inn Keeper to his credit will but the ale bill

on Shakespeare's account, because he is a right count

We did get a penny worth of bread for Falstaff

As he never drinks on an empty stomach

As we leer and tarry with the maiden

Shakespeare has inspiration and takes out his quill

As sat on the toilet, he writes a new Thriller

The Tempest, and judging from the noises off

It is the perfect title

As washed up on a sea of ale, Shakespeare writes his Tale

We are glad for him and call for more Strumpets

which are a bit like bread, recently invented and called 

Crumpets, so now you know, because I told you so

Annie was at the gate, so I missed a line

she is very refined and paints

But back to the yard of ale, for more of the tale

Shakespeare would not come out

No matter how loud we shout

He just used his quill and wrote on the wall

Many a verse, as we converse with Strumpets

And hoping for a bit of crumpet

Will was in there with his quill

Not know he would be paying the bar bill

But as the wind blew, he knew with his quill

He had swallowed a bitter pill

If he was writing on paper, then scenes would be missing

As the ale and hapworth of bread

Had entered via his head

Now was dropping like lead down the hole in the ground

With such a mighty echoing sound

Yes, Will was all piss and thunder

That's why he webbed words together like a song

And could do no wrong on any stage

And now filled with rage for the lack of a page

He was the writing was on the wall

But he was having a ball 

And so were we with Strumpets

Best paid by Will on his tabulations behind the bar

Though the Strumpets behinds, in front and behind the bar

Were England's Glory be far

For God and King Harry Parts One and Two

Were writ when he'd had quite a few

Strumpets and Ale, they were both for sale

And Will Shakespeare knew how to take the measure of both

He was a playwrite of note after all

And he was always after, before, after and during

He had to dip his quill, that's why Will was Will

He was no sheep in a pen, he was frolicking at will 

And Will did grow up in the wool trade and wrote all his own stuff

Though Ernest the Wise innkeeper always said it was bracing air

Like at Morcambe that made the lines fizzle

Not the damp air and drizzle outside

So come inside for we have crumpet to go with the ale

Best served by our very own strumpets

And what of Me?

I am Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham

And it is I who is left to beat my carpet

For the bastard Will left the cat in

And she sha** on my rug, so now I have to beat it

To clean the mess off

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare

And hurry up out of the bog

So I can use it, and maybe I can steal a few lines

Off the Wall, as I dance the night away

Farting Happy Birthday

 

 

The Power of Laughter(c)

By Michael Casey

Well I've just watched episode 18 of Vincenzo, and I've laughed till it hurts, with my hernia through my bypass scar it really does hurt when I laugh. So I've taken 2 paracetamol and I'm gingerly rubbing my "breast" and it does look and feel like a breast. But at least it gave me the idea for today's talk. It'll kill me in the end, but to die laughing would be ok, though I need 7 more years till my small daughter over there in the corner gets her PhD. Yes I want more, Laughter and Years, but that's up to God not me. Which reminds me I need to pay our priest a visit, I have present for our own Don Camillo.

The sun is bright, but there is a chill in the air, I could tumble down the hill, to visit priest and church, but getting back up again would be a struggle, from day to day or hour to hour, I never know the state my body is in. Though I did shave, shower and S---, the 3rd S after all, I said that once to somebody they totally misunderstood, because nobody listens they just react, or maybe they just could not be bothered to listen to me. I always want a  conversation, so never say How Are You to Me, because I always take it as a Literal invitation for Conversation not just vacuous Pleasantry.

So why does laughter have power? Because it is an equaliser, literally Equaliser. I learnt that at the hotel, I had the most Power there, though I was the very least of the brethren, because I could always make the guests laugh. Maybe 100,000 conversations over the 3 years there, some like Ami on the desk called it "my act" but it was not. There is too much servitude in hotels, I know it's meant to be like that, but some people just did not know how to treat staff, others did and do, but some should have felt my shoe up their backside. I'm far more "Mouthy" now I'm a retiring writer, but before with toddlers I had to put up with anything, like a rubbish boss hiding in the concierge room, pretending to sweep a broom.

I can laugh at it now, but 12 hours all day standing on marble with 3 hours travelling on top of it, I put up with a lot, until somebody wanted me to work till Midnight, so I decided to say Goodnite. Yes it was the best fun I had in any Job ever, but it was by far the hardest job ever. So that's the pinch of salt to take with all the other comments I've ever written. My kids always are more important than any job, and ultimately I raised them, which is/was good considering I could have died in bed, Jan 2015 unplanned quadruple heart bypass has given me 6 years more extra time, a neighbour down the road also with 2 daughters he died in bed. So I'm lucky.

Laughter makes you lucky, because people are glad to see you, he's good for a laugh. He always has a story, or he gets the drinks in, so God Bless him. That's why the criteria always is, they get the drinks in. So we don't care for education, or class, or if you boring about being gay or straight or any which way, so long as you get the drinks in. Can you  laugh, and can you make others laugh. Pinsent Masons when I worked for them were class, everybody was nice, the HR people saw to that.

But I've sidetracked myself. A show on tv will make you laugh, or a Tom Sharp book, I was talking to the IT guy at Pinsents once and he had only just discovered Tom Sharp. Wilt, Porterhouse Blue, The Throwback were a few of the books, Porterhouse Blue was a great tv show too. I was visiting a friend doing his PhD when the books were introduced to me, 30 years plus ago. So laughs can be shared and discovered, you'll find them in a reading list, or Shakespeare if we mention him as it was his Birthday the other day. And believe it or not I did an Open University 3rd level course in Will 30 years ago or so, I was called his agent by my Tutor. I did a bit of History too, but gave it up as I was working loads of shifts on computers. The History PhD gave a lecture on WWII and said forget Normandy the War was won with blood in Mother Russia that won it. And for Americans considering this, 40,000,000 Russians died beating the Nazi scum. 400,000 American died too, and many many more from other nations. So imagine a crowd in a church. 100 people there, 1 would be from USA, the rest one be Russian, the sole American would be lost in the crowd. So, image that when you scream "Commie Bastards" at some Trump rally. A study of History would teach you so much more. And that could have made the Peace so much better.

Yes, I could have been a History teacher maybe, if my life took another turn. But you have to live with the way the Dealer deals the cards. And get up and start again, maybe repeatedly, as you follow the long and winding road. So my Writer incarnation which only began in 1987 is the best of me, 20 years of "study" by radio listening then 1 years of practice, before on Leap Years Day 1988 I'd say I qualified as Writer, when The Butcher The Baker The Undertaker, the paper version was first written. The expanded computer version was a few years later. So if anybody says my writing is rubbish, you'll hear this SOB, Son of a Blacksmith, call you (&&^&^&&.

I try to bring laughter, and just like in Vincenzo, ordinary, overlooked people can and do surprise you. That's maybe why I like it so much, and should you finally read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as people in 90 countries do, in many many languages, you'll see why ordinary people like it, because they can see themselves in it. And that maybe is the secret, but Publishers would rather sell coffee table books of Kim K's arse, or is that because I'm just an even bigger fatter but tighter arse?

 

The Power of Laughter(c)

By Michael Casey

Well I've just watched episode 18 of Vincenzo, and I've laughed till it hurts, with my hernia through my bypass scar it really does hurt when I laugh. So I've taken 2 paracetamol and I'm gingerly rubbing my "breast" and it does look and feel like a breast. But at least it gave me the idea for today's talk. It'll kill me in the end, but to die laughing would be ok, though I need 7 more years till my small daughter over there in the corner gets her PhD. Yes I want more, Laughter and Years, but that's up to God not me. Which reminds me I need to pay our priest a visit, I have present for our own Don Camillo.

The sun is bright, but there is a chill in the air, I could tumble down the hill, to visit priest and church, but getting back up again would be a struggle, from day to day or hour to hour, I never know the state my body is in. Though I did shave, shower and S---, the 3rd S after all, I said that once to somebody they totally misunderstood, because nobody listens they just react, or maybe they just could not be bothered to listen to me. I always want a  conversation, so never say How Are You to Me, because I always take it as a Literal invitation for Conversation not just vacuous Pleasantry.

So why does laughter have power? Because it is an equaliser, literally Equaliser. I learnt that at the hotel, I had the most Power there, though I was the very least of the brethren, because I could always make the guests laugh. Maybe 100,000 conversations over the 3 years there, some like Ami on the desk called it "my act" but it was not. There is too much servitude in hotels, I know it's meant to be like that, but some people just did not know how to treat staff, others did and do, but some should have felt my shoe up their backside. I'm far more "Mouthy" now I'm a retiring writer, but before with toddlers I had to put up with anything, like a rubbish boss hiding in the concierge room, pretending to sweep a broom.

I can laugh at it now, but 12 hours all day standing on marble with 3 hours travelling on top of it, I put up with a lot, until somebody wanted me to work till Midnight, so I decided to say Goodnite. Yes it was the best fun I had in any Job ever, but it was by far the hardest job ever. So that's the pinch of salt to take with all the other comments I've ever written. My kids always are more important than any job, and ultimately I raised them, which is/was good considering I could have died in bed, Jan 2015 unplanned quadruple heart bypass has given me 6 years more extra time, a neighbour down the road also with 2 daughters he died in bed. So I'm lucky.

Laughter makes you lucky, because people are glad to see you, he's good for a laugh. He always has a story, or he gets the drinks in, so God Bless him. That's why the criteria always is, they get the drinks in. So we don't care for education, or class, or if you boring about being gay or straight or any which way, so long as you get the drinks in. Can you  laugh, and can you make others laugh. Pinsent Masons when I worked for them were class, everybody was nice, the HR people saw to that.

But I've sidetracked myself. A show on tv will make you laugh, or a Tom Sharp book, I was talking to the IT guy at Pinsents once and he had only just discovered Tom Sharp. Wilt, Porterhouse Blue, The Throwback were a few of the books, Porterhouse Blue was a great tv show too. I was visiting a friend doing his PhD when the books were introduced to me, 30 years plus ago. So laughs can be shared and discovered, you'll find them in a reading list, or Shakespeare if we mention him as it was his Birthday the other day. And believe it or not I did an Open University 3rd level course in Will 30 years ago or so, I was called his agent by my Tutor. I did a bit of History too, but gave it up as I was working loads of shifts on computers. The History PhD gave a lecture on WWII and said forget Normandy the War was won with blood in Mother Russia that won it. And for Americans considering this, 40,000,000 Russians died beating the Nazi scum. 400,000 American died too, and many many more from other nations. So imagine a crowd in a church. 100 people there, 1 would be from USA, the rest one be Russian, the sole American would be lost in the crowd. So, image that when you scream "Commie Bastards" at some Trump rally. A study of History would teach you so much more. And that could have made the Peace so much better.

Yes, I could have been a History teacher maybe, if my life took another turn. But you have to live with the way the Dealer deals the cards. And get up and start again, maybe repeatedly, as you follow the long and winding road. So my Writer incarnation which only began in 1987 is the best of me, 20 years of "study" by radio listening then 1 years of practice, before on Leap Years Day 1988 I'd say I qualified as Writer, when The Butcher The Baker The Undertaker, the paper version was first written. The expanded computer version was a few years later. So if anybody says my writing is rubbish, you'll hear this SOB, Son of a Blacksmith, call you (&&^&^&&.

I try to bring laughter, and just like in Vincenzo, ordinary, overlooked people can and do surprise you. That's maybe why I like it so much, and should you finally read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as people in 90 countries do, in many many languages, you'll see why ordinary people like it, because they can see themselves in it. And that maybe is the secret, but Publishers would rather sell coffee table books of Kim K's arse, or is that because I'm just an even bigger fatter but tighter arse?

 

 

Morons at Work(c)

By Michael Casey 

 

I just got up, I'll check my reader numbers then go back to bed for a final session of sleep

You try on Tinnitus for size

I spotted somebody was using a Plagiarism tracker on my Words

How many years have I been online, before landing here?

Maybe 20

When did I learn to read and start reading by the yard, 50 years and more

When did I graduate as a writer, 29th Feb 1988

So it more than pains me that SOBs think I steal stuff, so they take a look

I'm a read SOB, Son of a Blacksmith

So take it from me, I never steal

I have  4 sites now, and I post after I've written, and compile my books as I go along

TRY BUYING A BOOK

I also repost old stuff if I'm too tired or in too much pain to think

So on autopilot I'll post

If I post from a newspaper it's stated, or clearly marked

I don't care if you don't like the writing, my rubbish

But if you even think I'm a thief, I'd slap the backs of your legs with a wet lettuce

and yes that's a Larry Grayson line, but I cannot explain everything as I go along

I assume you have some level of intelligence

Otherwise you'd just be looking at snaps of Kim K's arse

Mine is much bigger and better and so much tighter

But you'd have to know me Biblically first to find out for sure

As for the writing, I have a brain, over 50years worth

So you can stay digging in the dirt, while I look up at the stars

or do I have to cross reference everything for you while you are

in Reading Jail?

Now in the news today we have a cabinet at war eventually

It's better top jaw jaw than war war

 

And a nation divided cannot stand

So Let's Beat Covid 19, instead of all the prattle

Hissy fits may sell newspapers, but don't help the population

Churchill said he'd do a deal with the devil to save England

People should learn from History

Instead of Twittering on vacuously

There is a time and tide for everything, ask Will down the pub

TODAY India needs our help

We are not an island, the world is not a vacuum, 

though we are an object in the vacuum of space

If India dies we all. die

Who will buy, who will buy if the world dies

By being Charitable, be being Humane, we are helping ourselves

God Helps those who helps themselves too

But what of Putin's Russia, 140,000 troops posturing

They should be used to fight Covid 19

And China too

India is on your doorstep

As North Korea goosesteps

In Indian people are dying

Forget about losing face, save the human race

If the cat gets out of the bag, it's more than sad

Turn back time, or the crime of the century is more than a footnote

Who said what, where and why

Are they trying and prevented more dying

Comments in newspapers end up as chip wrappers

With vinegar splashed on them

So are you offering vinegar as Christ dies on the cross

Or are you doing something

Covid 19, has released the genie of hate and division in the world

Now is the time to set things right

Maybe even for prayer,

My last word was Calcutta

So save the Princess that is India

before everything is written in History books

or are you  too busy checking for plagiarism 

just go back to the first book

 

 

 Addressing People (c)

By Michael Casey

Now I am a creature, yes you all reply, interrupting me

A creature of habit, and yes i look like a hairy Hobbit

But if you do things regularly then you won't be constipated

So get up at a regular time, and eat and drink etc

Regularly

Habits work, that's why Organisation works

Work, Rest and Play

and don't forget to Pray at bedtime

or any time, God is always waiting

Even at a bus stop or in a lift, or queueing at the checkout

God is everywhere after all

Now IF you are regular you life may

Seem boring but your life works

If you are wasting time, or not keeping track of time

Then you are always rushing about, like Putin

I had to put that joke in to see are you  listening

He reads me too

Some joker sent me a message from Russia

So I asked when will Mother Russia start being a Man?

No not a transgender reference

BUT a sincere question, 140,000 men marching up to the top

of the hill and then down again

And as Francis said down the club, its obscene when Covid 19

Is all about, use armies to save lives, not scream and shout

Or maybe I'm a pacifist, or just pissed, in all senses of the word

Then in the papers I hear all this PC language

Kids must be called students

and boys and girls is stereotypical so must not be used

I cursed at the screen, and my words worth drifts out the open window

Education is about exposing people to knowledge that's why they go to college

If you are afraid of this or that, then they may just stay at home and stroke the cat

Hey you little bastards get in line or I'll give you a slap of the ruler

And you are all a bunch of bastards, only I your head teacher 

Know who your dad's really are

My flat overlooks the supermarket carpark

And they are not testing car suspension at that time of night

And hey you Casey, one day you will hang

Which was really said to my own dad in 1920s/30s

But my own dad got "revenge" 4 teachers in the family

And his sons  were at Queens Oxford, and Downing Cambridge

Not forgetting the Sancho Pancha in the family, me

2,000,000 words and 20 books on Amazon

But should the head teacher call them little bastards

Will they be scared forever

I got 4 of the best on my bum for not knowing the times tables

In 1966 maybe, and today I can recite my times tables still

What about the little bastards of today

Pauline knows her kids, and they know they'll get a slap

Or a look that could kill, cos she has eyes in the back of her head

And they eat more than jam and bread

Like when gran did when she was younger

Hey Bollocks you, watch my fence as you park your car

Your just a fat old bitch

Noises off, as Denny farts

Yes she's an old bitch, and definitely got eyes in the back of her head

The driver spun around

We're her little bastards, and you don't talk to Miss like that

30 little bastards, now grown kids

It's her Birthday so we her little bastards are having a party

So watch her fence, Or I'll arrest you, Denny was a copper now

22 stones and 6feet seven, Miss said he'd thank her

And so he did, that well aimed slap of the ruler 

and being forced to read and learn. his times tables

Now he had a PhD from the Open University

But he preferred to walk the streets

A chance to meet people and to have a laugh

Nobody called him Sir, he was know as TT

Because he rode a motor bike

Or because Miss made him repeat his Times Tables

You can be fancy or call every Nancy

If you cannot remember just say hello Nancy

As nobody listens they will think you are saying

Nice to See You, well it worked for Bruce Forsythe

Talking is for communicating

You don't need to pretend to be posh

In the end we all wash our bollocks

Especially Michael Bollcocks Casey

or just call me Nancy if you pass in the street

 

 

You are on your Own (c)

By Michael Casey

 

You are on your Own, said God.

How many times did I tell you?

In the beginning I said the tree alone.

Then you gave the game away by dressing in fig leaves.

What did Cain do, yet I forgave you.

Your descendants numbered more than the stars.

You were never satisfied, you built a golden calf.

And even found the New World, where you worship Money.

Then you had wars, wars and even more wars.

Then 2 world wars back to back.

And blamed me for Man’s insanity.

You argue over how to talk to me.

Just talk to me I’m your best friend, I’m your Daddy.

No need for formality, just talk,

I’m always by the proverbial phone.

But you just ignore me.

Till things go bad, then you want Bank of God.

Till things go bad, then you want Dr. God

Till things go bad, then you want the Weather tamed.

Till this, till that, while you are all Insane.

I am just a fruit machine, that you demands delivers Everything.

Who made you anyway?

You are just made from my spit and clay.

Yet you think you are so Bright.

It was me that made Daylight, the Day and the Night.

Yet you pollute the night, so you forget the Stars.

The only stars are those selfie taking midgets in your tiny minds.

And what do you look at, their behinds.

You pollute this garden of Eden, that I made for you.

You carve the land, and pollute the sea.

Little wonder my whales stop singing to me.

At least the whales knew how to treat me.

But now, they are hunted and killed to near extinction.

All the animals I placed on this good earth are being.

Exploited and killed, just for thrills.

Or made into pills, and if that is not enough.

Why does mankind destroy their minds from inside.

Pills and drugs, exploitation by thugs, because of silly mugs.

Who have hardly moved on from cavemen with clubs.

Why oh Why did I bother, why did I create you?

I think I should not have bothered, you are all so selfish.

Perhaps I should start again, after you all die by your own hand.

Mankind, who don’t believe in any God, except Love of Money and Love of Selfies.

A quiet whisper interrupts God and his musings.

Our Father Who Art in Heaven, she begins.

Mary, I knew it would be you.

Hallowed by thy Name.

Mary, always leading the Prayers.

Thy Kingdom Come,Thy Will be Done.

Mary, they’d be dust without you.

On Earth, as it is upon Heaven.

Mary, you are so soft hearted, you Love Everyone.

All Nations, and All Peoples call you Blessed.

Give Us this Day, Our Daily Bread

Mary, you always intercede.

Even as they smoke weed, the world over.

And Forgive Us, all our Trespasses

You always know how to get around me.

As We Forgive those that Trespass against Us.

Mary, if only all those Leaders actually lead.

And Deliver Us from All Evil

Mary you, and your Rosary.

Will be the Death, of the Devil.

For Thine is The Kingdom and The Power and The Glory

Mary, most Clement, Mary most Kind

Maybe this time I’ll save them all.

Fill up all those Wine Jars, do as he says.

Forever and Ever Amen

I suppose I’ll have to save Ungrateful Mankind, AGAIN.

Mary, kissed her Rosary Beads, and bowed.

The sky was blue and the stars could be seen again.

Little did Mankind know, just how much Mary loves us so.

So Pray the Rosary, count your beads, of every Denomination.

Talk, Pray, Scream and Shout, just make a noise in God’s direction.

For there is only One World, One Direction, aiming for Perfection.

Or do you want to go to Hell, which is in the other direction.

 

Don’t you Dare email Me (c)

By

Michael Casey

 

Sounds like a Threat, Don’t you Dare email Me, what a jilted girlfriend or some kind of “Royalty” might use, or maybe just your Bank Manager. I’ve got your attention, as the UK starts to breakup, like some kind of boy band, when really they should stay together, and not be a “victim” like in some Taylor Swift song. I hope I haven’t upset her, or my high shelves will be forever covered in dust. It’s ok, she just emailed me, of course she’ll always be there for me, besides my house is near the chip shop where her lad works. And he can always kip in the dog’s basket if he’s a bit too battered.

 

So back to emails, and I am a bit of an email addict, ask anybody who’s received an email from me. It’s so easy, and if I had decent handwriting I’d be always asking Pop it In Pete our Postman to pop it in his box for me, as our house is last on his round, and the red letter box is on his way home. Pete is ever so accommodating. You can read about his colleague Pat in Chapter 7 of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, I just remembered just how much fun there was at the Fete for the Children’s Home. I won’t spoil it for you, there are Translations on my Wordpress, or my original English on Amazon books.

 

But back to emails, why do I get so many? Is it because my email address has been harvested, or because it’s on my website? I have the vain hope that Media will get in touch and discover me. Yet in reality the only people who want to touch me are those who think I am a soft touch. I will delete and mark as phishing all and any email scammers. So their email disappears and they don’t get more morons replying to them. I also get loads of stuff for various diseases, some of which I have. Arthritis, Tinnitus, Ckd, and I really did have a heart bypass, 6 years ago now. I even put my scar photos online, to prove just how divine I look. But people think I’m an exhibitionist, and ask do I want to join the cast of The Greatest Showman, and for just $100 I can join the cast, just keep my shirt art half mast and display my scar, and wear shorts to show the scars on my legs too.

 

And on  it goes, do you want this, do you want that? And they assume I want the other, and I even get emails for that. Ukrainian, Russian and Eastern ladies, ready made to marry and have babies. Is Putin, trying to get rid of excess population? And how about making money on Bitcoin, and whatever else Musk was on about the other night. I’d say listen to BBC Radio Comedy and forget SNL, we’re funnier over here, though the USA Political Class are the funniest of them all. What other junk do I get? Oh yes, we have offers for your home. In USD, dollars, $$$, but I happen to live in UK,in Birmingham England. Sometimes I reply with a poem of a story in a foreign language, English. That was cruel, I send them Japanese translations. Well if they send rubbish in Hebrew or in Korean, of course I’ll send back some of my rubbish to them, in any language I can, just to annoy them. I even get Concealed Carry emails, I thought it was a corset, or girdle of some sort, it turns out its guns. And nobody has a gun in UK, nor even wants them. Concealed Carry my arse, if it were a bum lift, somebody might be interested,but not me. I am a large tight arse, maybe I should forward it to Kim or somebody.

So on it goes, emails galore just to annoy me. Tinnitus ones might be of interest, but I never open links, so all your emails just stink.

 

Which reminds me I need to order more toilet paper. I use it to blow my nose on, as well my own trumpet on. No doubt I’ll get emails for that too now. So don’t you dare email me. I have other things to do, like take pain killers. I even get emails for cannabis tablets, without the highs, just pain killers. Do you think I’ll accept anything over the Internet, if it’s not sold by my own Pharmacist or Prince his Prince look a like son, then I don’t want to know. So stop sending me emails advertising it. Now I must really go and have a s___.

 

 

Now Where Do I Begin (c)

 

By

 

Michael Casey

 

Well if you are Russian you may be breathing a sigh of relief, as your email box was full, so you did not get that speculative email. I was checking my readers, just as Miss Sutherland used to check our hands to see if they were clean, back at Primary school. She was the Deputy Head, I also remember she donated her body to science, this would be back in the 1960s. So, you can all say a prayer for her today. Tomorrow marks 25 years since my own mother died.

 

Well  somebody had Nu Vot as a link or search word to me, so I googled cos that’s what I’m like and I stumbled over

Stas Mikhaylov That's it (Nu vot i vse) with English lyrics ...

 

Yes, totally random, but I am a good stumbler as Mark Harris once said, though he also said something else, so I replied with a short word. That’s enough, no 15 minutes of fame for him. Anyway, so I thought as I’d just seen RocketMan, I could provide a few lyrics and then with Stas Mikhaylov’s skill I’d crack the Russian market. Then of course should my books ever see the light of day Stas would be the Narrator, as I cannot abide Steven Fry, besides Fry does not speak Russian. You can see how my mind works now. The whole world has email, so I annoy the world. It keeps me off the streets. I do chime a chord occasionally, and get a nice reply from some kind people. If you are one of them, then thank you, you know who you are. You can tell who they are should you visit them. My email is laminated and hanging next to the Urinals in their house.

 

Anyway Stas Mikhaylov I’m talking to you. Find my Valentine Poem online, or Let My Tears Be My Words, or The Dead and The Living. Then should you think you could adapt them, then together we’ll invade Russia, or rather the Pop charts. I have loads of stuff, 3300 pieces on my Bloggers alone. Not all poetry, but all kinds of everything, which was a Dana song. Then there are my Lech, Boris and Gregorgi stories about the Polish/Ukrainian/Russian first cousins who live in Popaloffoff where the 3 countries make love on the map. These are comic heart-warming stories. You can find them on my Wordpress and Bloggers. Right now if Stas’ wife is reading this to him, he’s thinking, just who the Theresa May is this fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham. I DO NOT KNOW HIM, he’s as useful as Japanese vodka, which I’d only give to the cat. Russians only drink the good stuff, by the way Lech, Boris and Gregorgi make vodka in the woods behind me, but that’s another story. I have written 10 about the boys.

 

By now Stas is telling the Webmaster, make sure you bolt the door, and keep this fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England far away from my Babushka.  The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is already being read in Russia, under the bedclothes at night, by some misguided soul. As well as in 90 countries all over the world, thanks to Translations Galore over on my Wordpress. So, Stas Mikhaylov, could you be the voice, in Russian of Michael Casey. He’s on his knees now praying, Icon Our Lady of Valdimir save me. Who the Theresa May is Michael Casey?

 

I did actually once, 50 years ago wake up and sit bolt upright in bed screaming “The Russians are Coming” So now is it the time for the Russians to come to Birmingham. Bring some Eggs, the jewelled variety for our Museum to display. Andy Street our re-elected would be ever so happy, and exchange he’d give you some Cadbury Cream eggs, to eat.

 

So, if you are wondering where the stories come from, well now you know and have an example. The Spaceman and the Archangel is another story of mine that Russians might like, but really I’m lost in space, the space between my ears. But it is better to have an imagination, instead of just staring into space. Space should be filled, just as I fill a page. Conversation, and stories are a tradition everywhere. Some are very far fetched, like Trump, Putin and Pope Francis being in an Abba tribute band with Theresa May. And if Russians read that story then

They will know who the Theresa May is Michael Casey, its me, or Nu Vot.

 

Are you Human?

By

Michael Casey

 

Well, are you Human? It’s the name of the Kdrama I’m finishing off, where a female bodyguard falls in love with the man she is guarding. Only he is a Robot, but the robot has more humanity than the real person he standing in for. Ok, you either like Kdramas or you don’t, and yes I love them.

 

So, what makes us human? We cry, we are moved, we have empathy. Some Nationalities are said to have no empathy, or never cry. You can decide for yourselves if that is true or not, or are folks just stupid and shallow and vacuous. And again you can decide for yourselves which are witch, and am I just being a Devil’s Advocate to make you think. That’s what education is supposed to be about, learning the THINK. Not unless you are shallow and vacuous and are led by a Liar, again decide for yourselves who or how many leaders are like that. We had Hitler and Mussolini in the 20^th Century, and  others of their ilk. And what about today? Again decide for yourself. And should you allow the Oxygen of Publicity to aid and abet them. We play by the rules, they don’t, and they’ll abuse us to get what they want. Because we let them in the house. Read Animal Farm and 1984, and think about it all. It’s not so far away  from Today’s reality. Those books used to be on a school reading list, 50 years ago, but do modern kids actually know about them.

 

Being Human is all about Humanity, it’s not about ME FIRST, it’s about thinking about our sisters and brothers. Sisters and Brothers doesn’t mean just the White Folk at our Mega Church, where millionaires rub shoulders and talk about percentages and net gains. It’s the others, on the wrong side of the tracks, at home in our own country and places far far away, where Shrek lives, or people we may just think are cartoons. Our land is not forever set in stone like a Lincoln Monument, it is movement it is Life. If we think this is it, it’s done and dusted, we just have to polish a monument, then you miss the point. All the spilt blood long ago is just History.

 

History moves, humans move. If we believe in Lies, what do we get? History repeating itself and Dictators ruling us again, you don’t give second chances to Liars and Dictators. They must be removed root and branch. And what would Jesus, who was brown and from the Middle East, say? Yes, he’s white and hates all his non-white neighbours, so yes he’s Ok. It’s just fake what they say about him.

 

At this moment in Time, all Humanity is at war with itself. The leaders should lead, and the place where leadership used to come from is divided and supports a Liar with Born Again Conviction. I’ll go far as to say, Faith itself has been corrupted, if you vote for a Liar and want to overturn Democracy itself, then your “faith” has been corrupted. I’ll stick with the poor Samaritans in the gutter myself, because all else seems to be tainted with The Love of Money. Or is somebody using Politics as a cash cow. Too many people turned a blind eye, because they were getting what they wanted. Now today we are seeing with this Election that a Cult is being set in stone like a Lincoln Monument. But Lincoln is no monument it is a movement By the People, For all the People. Not just a cash cow, for some.

 

Now that’s something for you all to think about, my 50 year love affair with Politics sneaked out. I’m just a pebble on a faraway shore, with no influence whatsoever. I don’t seek popularity or fame for myself. What makes us human is concern for each other, for we are all sisters and brothers, whatever our race, creed or colour. And my mother was born a spit away from a beach, Cromane Lower Kerry Eire, and she learnt all about Humanity just as Jesus taught on a beach in Galilee.

 

 

 

 Tonight the lights are going out (c)

By Michael Casey

 

Tonight the lights are going out

Friend and families are leaving the stage

My parents generation are finally fading away

This week it's 25 years since my mother left us

25 years on, more and more of their friends are dying and gone

The families, the connections are going, fading into memories

The names that made up are community are disappearing

Old Mrs this, Mr Consequently, or the man that echoed goodbye three times

There are no more echoes, no more Mrs This or, the old guy with the stick

Because Time is catching up with them, and now they are all going going gone

A name is a memory, because of the welcome hello, or the sweets given

I remember the smiles 50 years ago as I collected the Tote money

Now those familiar names are nearly all gone

So once they all go, then I will reluctantly have to accept I am the older generation

For now, I pretend  I am still that child of 50 years ago

Even though some even of my own age are already gone

But the parents are still here, so I can pretend I'm still that child

Even though my own children are of University age now

So I sigh, I remember all the names and all the families 

That we saw at Sunday Mass, or I saw from the altar as I read the Bible lessons

for 5 years, and as an altar boy for maybe 8 years

The view from the altar, now I am sat at the back

Or watching on the Internet

The names of the five families or was it more

Are all now fading, then they will be no more

Life changes, time changes

But hopefully Faith is Eternal

So I hope, when it's my time to be carried out

And it could have been  close already

But when finally when my time 

Hopefully in many many years to come

That whenever it is

The friends the family of all the five families

Will be waiting for me at Heaven's Door

As I Knock, and I hope the doors open for me

Glory Be

 

Shopping List ©

By

Michael Casey

 

There might be a few mistakes in this as Tinnitus has been roaring like a storm since yesterday. It’s not fun, and whatever I try, between Prayer and Profanity has not kept it at bay nor lessened it, so I feel like…

 

Now as I sit here I have Ellie Goulding in my ears, with headphones on my head, I look like a Cyberman, maybe I’ll add a photo. I just noticed she is singing The Writer as I write, I’m sure Taylor Swift left her a note, or a message written in the dust on my ceiling. A spider did appear and crawl over my screen earlier, though spiders mean money, so I may try a lottery tonight. As Ellie Keeps on Dancing, but she is dancing with howling wolves of Tinnitus, and I’m 50 shades of S(*& as the din is too much, not of her, but of Tinnitus.

 

I’ve just taken a snap of me as a Cyberman so you can look at it, when I post this on my sites, Ellie’s singing Your Song now, I just hope you all don’t mind a badly shaved me with headphones on. Now, where was I? Yes, I was going to talk about Shopping List, and why, because I was going to trek down the hill to the shops, or rather to the Pharmacist to collect my 2 monthly supply of Meds, which as I am in UK are totally free now, because I’ve reached the age where they are free. Instead with Tinnitus roaring and April showers in May, I’ve decided to stay in, though I might sneak out for a Lottery and a visit to the Post Office, as the spider could have been a message. And Ellie is laughing at me, she’s just started It’s a little bit funny, she’s so cruel. Is Elton mocking me too?

 

Back to the plot. When you go shopping you have an idea of what you want, well apart from the impulse buys which are located near the checkout. So, we all buy chocolate and chewing gum and spare batteries for our toys. They should have chewing gum, and toothpaste too. And other things that could help in our passion, though that’d probably be in France. Or maybe you  buy in bulk from Amazon. Though I’m side-tracking you all. Anyway you have a list and you work your way through the list, but supermarkets are clever and move things about, so to tempt you. Even shopping online as you are about to pay you get items thrown at you, to get more of your money in their pockets.

 

It is nice just strolling about, I used to do it religiously, but moving here, where I am the fool on the hill, the shops are even further away. So it’s rare for me to stroll around a supermarket, I have minions who do it for me. Ok, the Truth, I have a hernia through my bypass scar, and lifting and carrying hurts. Or if I do, do it then I’m in pain for days afterwards. I can move a sofa with my strong legs, but through the chest movements really hurt. But if you’ve been following me you know all this already, or have you not read my Blogger profile, or the About me on Wordpress? Makes me sound like an add on at the supermarket, just as you are checking out and slapping your children as you are on the phone as you ignore the checkout girl. Or is where you shop, so much posher?

 

Ok, so you are in the shop, with your shopping list, it’s quicker, or online is quicker still as Graham once said, as he saved his bread, by buying online instead. But back to me and you, as Graham practices his martial arts, he slices the extra bread he can afford to buy by saving his bread by buying online, with his fists of fury. That’s a trick sentence for all Esol students. But moving on again. How do you shop? I look for all the offers and buy those, because I am still poor, when you all finally buy books, then I might get some money, and buy honey. Governments complain about this and that and us the public getting fat. The truth is real people, real families need these offers, two for one offers on champagne, yes ban those for the elite in their “gites”, with their reserved this and that, while I get an offer for the cat.

 

Instant food is bad, add vegetables, sweetcorn, peas and tomatoes, plus some cranberry juice too, and stop the orange juice because it is so full of sugar. And this is what I’ve done in an effort to live a bit longer post quadruple heart bypass. And as if on cue Tototo our cat has sneaked into the study. I said the girls could have a dog if I died or a cat if I had a heart attack, so Totoro is 6 now. So, Totoro is a constant reminder of what happened to me, we even put her name on a nameplate with the house number on. So, if on your way home from shopping you dally, then you can find our old house because Totoro is on the wall by the front door. I write stuff that may be off the wall, but Totoro is stuck to the wall, and no don’t call the RSPCA or Prince Harry, not literally.

 

I’m going to stop now, as this imaginary shopping is too heavy for me to carry, and I used to carry a ton of stuff, of shopping and of paper and suitcases in my past lives. So, as you idle in the aisles looking for this and that, imagine Totoro our cat, and pick something healthier too. A colourful plate they call it, or otherwise you’ll be dead without a Cat Nameplate, to say you made it.

 

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.

 

 

 

Never Discarded, Never Unloved  10^th June 2021 (c)

By

Michael Casey

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

You were loved before you were even born

You were supported even when you thought you were all alone

Down on your luck, or flat on your back

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

Battered and Bleeding, your thoughts swimming against the tide

Ashamed and rushing for somewhere to hide

Rage and Anger boiling inside

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

Broken and on the scrapheap, only seeing defeat

Clothes torn and soiled, worse than any child

Tears falling like a waterfall to nowhere

You cower and hide under the stairs

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

You spiral ever downwards, despair like a comfy chair

You sit in it, you bury yourself in it

You wish you could fall down the back of the sofa

To hide your despair, being sat upon like a chair

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

You are down in the pit, the darkness everywhere

You are battered and broken, wanting to hide

There is no hope, there is no light, and worse

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

And on the circle, the big dipper goes

You are a passenger on a circus ride, your heart lost inside

You are not in charge, you are glued to despair

On and on you ride, an empty husk

Like a baby abandoned in a wicker basket

About to go over the waterfall

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

Then the love, from Prayers and Family

And from the scruffiest of nurses brings you back

You are in the pit, the very darkest bottom of it

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

It’s a long hard journey back

To trust again, to love again

You comb your hair again

You smile again, you’re not so timid any more

The wolf has been tamed, you are no longer

Hiding in your little red hiding hood

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

The sun appears, it pushed back your fears

Timid smiles, and little laughs crack the darkness

Of your face, the sunshine appears on your lips

You even dance and sway your hips

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

Slowly confidence, replaces apprehension

You learn to live again, to smile again

The clouds in your heart are blown gently away

The storm of sadness has been quelled

The dark glasses have been replaced with sunshine

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

So, on it goes, sometimes backwards a step

But now your mind and heart and soul

Is on the future, you have climbed out of the pit

And now as you walk away from it

It is being forgotten and filled in

Life and Laughter demolish it

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

So, remember you were always loved

Even if you could not see it

From before you were born you were loved

First by  your mother, and even afterwards

When she was not there

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

You were always loved

Love is eternal, so from the first spark

Of Creation itself, there is the wealth of Love

And people still pray for you after you are gone

Love, laughter and memories carry on

All Creation carries on, one generation after another

We look forward to our Futures, never forgetting the past

We have climbed out of the bog, and through the fog

To form family and creation

For Love really does conquer all

We are all, no matter how bad or sad

Never Discarded, Never Unloved.

Mrs Pooh ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Now Mrs Pooh is not a foreign name we might laugh at, it’s a name Mrs Pooh got attached to, rather like dog pooh stuck to your shoe. For Mrs Pooh was just that, a married lady who was named Pooh. Rather like Miss Salt who married Mr Pepper, and that really happened to girl I used to work with 40 years ago. Now as for Mrs Pooh that was not her real name, though everybody called her it, it was just that the boss could not remember her married name, so he said Mrs Pooh, and it kind of stuck like dog pooh on your shoe. It was an emergency and Royalty were due, so somebody had to clean up fast. Though the Queen did say it was quite refreshing, instead of the high of fresh paint everywhere. And they did actually meet as Mrs Pooh hid in a cubicle, as it was too late to hide her big fat backside. A note was sent on Palace stationery saying the Queen had been relieved to meet “Mrs Pooh” and after that how could anybody call Mrs Pooh by any other name. Though the Queen did add a p.s. I really do thank a fellow Elizabeth.

 

So, Mrs Pooh framed it and it was in her store, piled up with toilet paper and towels and millions of cleaning stuff, in a corner of the shopping centre. Mrs Pooh would do her rounds, with a radio in her pocket, come here come there, on this level or that, clean this or that.  Mrs Pooh smiled and hummed as she went about her chores, she was happy, who else had a hand-written note from a fellow Elizabeth, one a cleaner another a Queen. Mrs Pooh was there for decades, but now with a fancy iphone, connected to the security system, so half the time she need not be told where to go. She just appeared and baby sick disappeared.  She was happy and new staff on orientation were told “that’s Mrs Pooh” we’ve forgotten what her real name is, but if any of you mock her then you’ll be sacked on the spot. Spotless shopping centre of the year 3 times running, that is her claim to fame. They say she has a hand written note from the Queen herself, and yes Mrs Pooh is really Elizbeth, but she only answers to Mrs Pooh.

 

Now did Mrs Pooh smell, not at all, you see the Perfume store just adored her, and why? Some visitor to the shopping mall had tried to bully one of the staff, only Mrs Pooh pushed the bully against the wall, she knew where the cameras were so nobody would observe her. Leaning her 18stones against the bully, her brush held like a Bushido stick, she told him this. He may be Gay but his a better “Man” than you’ll always be. Now Mrs Pooh was observed, the way she held her brush like a Bushido stick. A visiting Martial Arts team, on a shopping trip. They assessed the situation and gathered around. Their English was not very good, but they knew Bully, as Mrs Pooh pointed. When 18 muscle men look at you what will you do. Yes, the bully poohed his pants and Mrs Pooh told him where the Pants shop was and the closest toilet after that. Obviously the Martial Arts team laughed, and made a friend for life. They also gave her a badge for her lapel.

 

News spread amongst the staff like wild fire, and the Martial Arts crew visited the Perfume store, they liked to smell nice after all the time on the mat. After that every possible Martial Arts crew you could think of came to visit Mrs Pooh and the Perfume concessions. And yes many a  night on mats and marriages after that. The Shopping Mall store was happy, Chinese, Koreans and Japanese were drawn to the centre now, and of course some stray English Martial Arts people too. And all because Mrs Pooh, put down the bully, though the Wing met the Wang, or was it Pong, as an abandoned pair of pooh filled pants were found, and Mrs Pooh had to deal with it.

 

So, Mrs Pooh, wore a different scent every day, a spray here, a spray there, as she pushed her cleaning trolley visitors would always ask her what she was wearing. But ever so respectfully, as the Martial arts badges on her lapels kept on accumulating. Now in the store was a Rolex concession, and Mrs Pooh would always stop to dream while she had a rest on the bench looking at the display window. So, it was there that she was sat with 2 Korean girls, they were enjoying the view of the Rolex shop window. They also had heard via Social Media about the shopping centre. So obviously, if you were in town enjoy the store and see the lady with all the Martial Arts badges. It was almost as important as taking a photo with a Red Letter Box, perfect for you English holiday face book page.

 

But there is always evil, nice people suffer. Mrs Pooh was chatting to the Korean girls with Hermes handbags, not that Mrs Pooh knew that. She told the two Koreans all about the store, and waved to old Bill who stood just inside the Rolex door, he was the doorman. Just in case of thieves. Now the man that poohed his pants had always vowed revenge on the shopping Mall. Now with 4 huge men he was going to rob the Rolex store, which is very hard to say if you are from the East, Far East. Mrs Pooh, knew something was up, and told the girls to move away fast. The Korean girls, sized up the situation, here hold our bags, then they slipped off their very expensive shoes .

 

Now a Korean takes their shoes when they are home and relax, or about to go to bed with you. Or, if they are about to do what these 2 Korean girls were going to do. Uncle they said as they put themselves between old Bill and the five would be robbers. All this happened ever so fast, Bill was swung to safety sat on the bench with Mrs Pooh. Surrender or we will use force the 2 girls said in unison, as is custom in Korea. The five just laughed, the 2 Koreans were tiny compared to them. Mrs Pooh put record on her phone instinctively, and so there was the Evidence for caught. A kick to the knee, a kick to the nose, a kick to the elbow, a kick to the jaw, all four might oaks fell. The pooh pants ran away, so old Bill who knew no Martial Arts skills, just administered an old-fashioned kick in the bollocks. The thing about Martial Arts is, you know the points to do the most damage. I forgot to say the two Korean girls were called Annie and Bettie, the same names as the barmaids in The Trader from Old Forge and Singing Anvil, in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker by Michael Casey, yes Product Placement  this is a Korean story after all.

 

Dr Annie and Dr Bettie for in reality they were Korean surgeons, they worked in Sports Medicine, so when they Police and Ambulance arrived they could list what was broken and where. As for the Martial Arts, their brothers and all the family did Martials Arts, and they had decided to be Doctors to help fix the broken. So they were only Black Belts in just two martial arts each.

 

The Rolex company offered them watches as rewards, but as they had them already, Bill and Mrs Pooh had them instead. So over fish and chips that night, as it was a Friday and they were good Catholic girls, when they weren’t kicking bad guys, or healing them. Mrs Pooh introduced them to a couple of nice guys, and that’s why The Korean Flying Kick Private Practice Sport Medicine Centre is now situated in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, in the Black Country outside Birmingham.

 

And This makes my Life Perfect ©

By

Michael Casey

So, all I have to do is follow the plan, and I’ll touch my toes again.

If I buy this book and read it religiously I’ll be truly free.

There is of course the Tshirt too, that’s free if I subscribe to the Podcast

Then there are seminars, and meetings, and we have a special greeting

For only $500 we’ll be so hip and groovy, and a full 1% donation to Charity

So now I feel I’m in with the In crowd, and my Life will be so meaningful

I’ll have a glow, because I’m so fit

But if you believe any of this then frankly

you are worshipping a bucket of S**T

Come on Wake up, don’t Woke Up

You have fallen for the 3 card trick

Why spend all your hard earned cash on any of this

All that cash, and all it does is give you a rash

Rashly running to the New Life, having no time for Reality

Sorry I’ll miss you, I have to go to this seminar there

And I’m struggling to find the air fare, buddy can you spare a million dimes

I’ll pay you back I promise, once I finish this course my life will be richer

And then, and then I’ll pay you back, but lend me more for the Online  bit

And yes folks it’s all a crock of S**T

Think for yourself, talk to Pete over the fence, or Pat in the steet

Talk with Tom, Dick or Harry and Gay Larry, and Liz the Lesbian too

Talk to Don the toilet cleaner at the Gym

Ask hairy Mary down the store

Ask and ask again

Speak to the Virgin, not Mary, though she is a good listener too

But Veronica the Virgin, the mother of ten, who drives a school bus

She bought if cheap to drive her brood about

Ask Den too, who always did the dirty with Veronica the Virgin

He was a lonely child and swore he’d have a baseball team of kids

And when he met Veronica a single child herself, she agreed

So 1st base, 2nd base, 3rd base, 4th base and repeated home runs later

Veronica and Den were no longer but a dozen, and they say its cheaper

That way, by the dozen

But the point is why pay for boring vacuous rubbish

When you can get free opinions from family and friends

And save your money for Walmart bargains instead

As if these Life Coaches have ever had a real job

As if they really care about you, just their fake tans and teeth

And stock options as they fleece you and me, and laugh all the way

To their Cayman island bank

You have your priest or rabbi or wise Wanda the street walker

Wanda has seen life from many positions, and her advice

Normally from a park bench as she sobers up

Is real advice hard won, very hard won, but it is real

Not fake or imaginary, even if it is don’t be like me, do the opposite

Do you want to join the Selfie crew, or really selfish

I’m all right Jack as I’m conning you, out of your hard earnt money

Do you really want to be like a perma-tanned homes abroad sales agent

You have choices in life, and who really cares about you

Your Priest, your family and your community

So, get some reality and don’t waste your cash on programmes

Switch them off with your remote, and vote with your feet

And if things are really bad, buy a ticket to ride, and shake the dust off

And try your luck someplace else

You don’t need any sales pitch, just hitch your wagon

And follow the stars, in the sky, nowhere else

And take yourself to the Promised Land, that you decide for yourself

In the end the only person you can trust is yourself

So, listen to the toilet cleaner, listen to everybody

But you decide what’s best for you

So, spend spare money on a better diet and walking shoes

And if you can spare a dime, put it in the Charity box

Not in some Cayman island account

And this is free advice, which may not claim to change your life

But if it does, don’t thank me, thank the toilet cleaner

****. so my famine is over here’s a new piece, and hello to Shaffi who the office girl thought was a Lazy Scruffy Indian when in fact he taught Consultants how to use lasers in surgery

Clouds, the Original Moving Pictures ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s 18th August 2021 now, if you were counting the days since a full story story, a © by Michael Casey one. It’s been a funny old time, Tinnitus  has been beating me up, and lack of sleep has been making me even more of a _ , you can insert a word of your choice where I left the space. While you think of one I’ll get some Cadburys from the fridge, so at least I’ll be sucking on something nice, you can reach for the beer or boyfriend to kiss, instead of reading this.

So as I suck my chocolate you can read this, or get the parrot to read it aloud to you, as you sit on the loo. So, I was in the garden the other day, and Totoro our cat came out to play, hiding under my chair, beneath my big backside there is a total eclipse of the sun. Or some other song title, was it Heart who sung it years ago, anyway I fart and Totoro runs away over the garden fences to find somebody kinder to her.

I look up and watch the clouds in the blue blue sky, Garbo a Chinaman we used to know long ago, used to say the sky was so blue in UK. Mr Blue Sky by ELO no doubt was his favourite song, but then again I might be wrong, maybe Money Money Money by Abba, who knows, if he sees this he can send me a message, in a wine bottle. As for the clouds, they do tell stories. Maybe in Nepal as they read my stories they look up and say, that’s a fat cloud, as fat as Michael Casey, and another cloud is so silver, like his hair, and yet another cloud is like a feather, just like his pen. As they reach for their shades again, to hide the fact they are reading me. But maybe I’m wrong. Meanwhile in Iraq today somebody is reading me too, maybe an Arabic translation of one of my books, as they suck on their bubble shisha.

As we look up to the sky clouds pass by, fat ones, thin ones, shades of white and shades of black. Some with rain, some with not, or at other times just blue blue sky, with ELO playing in the background I got my copy in November 1977, and I have reason to remember it. Pregnant Ladies galore, and me being interviewed on tv talking about chips. And Pauline who wasn’t pregnant with everybody else, being pregnant later, so that child will be 44 now. I had no reason to look to the sky back then, just being in the gutter and looking at the stars, and on my dad’s 56th Birthday too. That’s how I remember things. My dad I remember shaving in the kitchen sink, and saying something will turn up, and telling me to start saving for the Future though I thought I had none. My Eldest Brother whose Birthday it was the other day, saying Try Computers. So, I did, and you know the rest. Clouds come and Clouds go, you think you have no tomorrow, but Tomorrow will come. Just have faith, and believe your dad, and listen to your big brother even if it was only once. That once, led to 21 years employment in Computers, Market Research into Alcohol Sales, and me being born in the shadow of a Brewery. I was in the gutter but was able to look to the stars.

Now at that job I saw a lot of Dawn, no she wasn’t the local nudist, or company bike, to use a very bad old phrase. Dawn was in fact Dawn, the Dawn, as I did 14 years of Night Shifts. So, we used to down tools, or wake up depending on which naughty boys I was working with. We’d look out the window in central Birmingham and watch the darkness of the night be chased away by Dawn and her daylight. Black becoming Orange and early morning wisps of white cloud, like a cat sneaking in and chasing the dark away, and yes Totoro my cat just snuck in the study as I was talking to you. Hence my choice of words, and just like the bell on the cat, the early morning noise rises. I remember when I was in Shanghai the traffic began at 5am and you could see it from the hotel window. The porter there got a great tip, I told him through my translator family, I used to do his job. The mother in law also tipped him well, so for him it was Christmas, snow falling from the sky, though I doubt he was a Christian, but maybe a Michael Bolton fan.

The light and the dark in the sky is Magic, hey hey hey it’s Magic you know and not just for airline pilots. The clouds in the sky, the very sky itself is our picture show, our moving picture show, or flicks, and it does flicker especially when Thunder and Lightning strikes. I was in Normand once at a very nice house, and Michel said tutoyer avec moi, and yes I’ve spelt that wrong. At school we leant Vous, so I did not know the Tu variants. Just as in Korean I know from my Kdramas that  Honorifics are most important.  Though if I do meet any Koreans face to face, they’ll get none of it, you me and you, and no words blocking our  progress.

Back to the Normandy storm, you could feel the Electricity in the air, and as we were in the countryside, the light show was fantastic, or even formidable. So, the sky was God’s canvas and he drew across it with thunderbolts and rumbles, even louder than my stomach when I am hungry. Maybe Jean Michel Jarre was plugged in somewhere and doing a show over the horizon. As for the lightning bolts, maybe Jackson Pollock drew his inspiration from them, big bold and dramatic is the key, so long as Ben got the key for the studio from Frank.

So, imagine you are a cave man, or me with no clothes on, not much difference, if you’ve seen me dancing naked in the rain with a bar of carbolic soap, when the water heater was bust. Ok, we all do it in my neighbour, we can’t get a good tv signal, so this is our version of David Attenborough, Naked Bathing. It breaks down barriers, but Penny from next door always asks do I need anything ironed, but I reply there are no wrinkles on me. So, anyway the Sky is a Light show, it’s also a name of a band, I saw them at the Odean 30 years ago. My arm was in a sling, I had been ice-skating, yes really. I know a rhino on ice, I fractured my left elbow, it still twinges even now in cold weather. So, Sky played, and as I look around the cinema what did I see, everybody had something broken, almost like cripples’ night out.  

So, as we look to the Sky, with or without music, there is drama in the air, and brave birds fly through it, or planes leave skid marks in the sky, or just vapour trails. I do leave skid marks in the sky, as I’m afraid of flying. Though 2013 was my last holiday, and I doubt I’ll ever fly again, not unless I’m kidnapped by Kpop stars, thinking I’m an even bigger PSY. The food is nearly ready so I’m going to finish, but tomorrow if it’s dry lie on your back and look at the sky. See the moving pictures there and watch the patterns form and move away again. Look for a Rainbow too. The Sky was and is the Original Moving Picture Show, so look East and look West, look to the Heavens at Night. Everything is still the same since cave men times. Enjoy the free show, and if you look careful on the very event horizon, you may see a naked man and his carbolic, that’ll be  me, do you want to tutoyer with me? Une tres belle fess .

From a Distance ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Well, what shall I say? The news is so full and tragic. Too many cooks spoiling the broth, death and despair everywhere. And yes, Trump is still lying, I think all Press should just report one thing. I had the vaccine so take it. Then ignore him. You see if you cut out the bad bits everything seems so much better.

 

Like food with mould on top, scoop it out and eat the rest, I believe you can do that with jam, and when you are in a jam anything will do. Though in a traffic jam you are stuck there stranded, and bored. Though I myself am never bored, too many years doing Babysitting on Computers that’s what we called it 40 years ago, and I cannot believe it, so long ago, I was still a teenager when I started in 1978, DEC PDP 1170 and all that. Too many days off midweek due to shift patterns, this gave me Radio 4 time, which is the internal BBC world service, so that was my education. 20 years of it. Then I launched myself as a writer, 33 years ago. So, 53 years in love with words. And no I’m not 95, only on pain days, in my head I’m 20.

 

So, from a distance I can chart my progress, my growth, and not just were I cut myself shaving on my chin, shaving early. When I look back, I can see where I was and what I was doing. Mainly observing, like a sparrow on a washing line, a line I used before, because I looked out the back bedroom window, and saw a sparrow on a washing line.  See observation is everything if you want to write. Things appear so you use them, like a sparrow on a washing line scavenging, and you can repeat them and fill up a page without trying.

 

The smell of roast dinner wafts towards me from the kitchen, so I investigate, but the broccoli is overpowering, so makes me feel sick. Though if you have had Covid 19, then you cannot smell or taste any of it, so I suppose if you have no nose or tongue now, just close your eyes and remember it instead. But as I normally eat with my eyes, I’d be spared any of it, so thank God all of you out there for your boring senses. And have pity on those who’ve been through it, and a word of warning to Birmingham Alabama, get Vaccinated and Mask Up, do you really think the liar Trump really cares about you? Only when you save yourselves can you save anybody or anything else.

 

So, from a distance things look, taste, smell better or maybe worse. News is the first draft of History, as a podcast out there says. Though some “news” stations are just Lies, spouted by over inflated personalities, on even more inflated salaries. I must go visit the garden centre later, why did that spring to mind?

 

Moving on, as a child I had hand me down clothes, I loved my sisters’ dresses most, but the knickers were just pants. Now half of you believe me, the rest of you are still trying to pronounce Birmingham, over here on the borders of The Black Country, which refers to soot and pollution, for any trigger happy misunderstanders. We pronounce Birmingham as BirmingUM,  and I have a “posh” Birmingham accent, as my mother had a thick Kerry accent, which we could only hear on the phone, and dad could be mistook for Welsh on account of the Welsh guys in the steel works. As well as decades of listening to BBC Radio4, in the days before local accents were “allowed”. So, there you have it. Google Lenny Henry, should I say Sir Lenny Henry, a comedian, who left school with no qualifications, and remember pieces of paper don’t show intelligence, as intelligence is Speed of Thought. He is now also a PhD, so in fact he is Sir Lenny Henry PhD, and he does loads for charity. And yes, my pieces of paper, and thank you for your pieces of paper was the very first put down I received. My pieces of paper, or my 20 books so far, book 21 will have this in. My 2,000,000 words or so, those quantify my Speed of Thought. But then again, you may all be believers in the liar Trump, so only God can help you, and in God you Trust, it’s written on the dollar bill, it was in Miracle on 42nd street, I believe in Fairies and Santa too.

 

I’ve side tracked myself. Though a trip to the kitchen did get me some beef slops, which were very nice, though the cat may be disappointed. It reminded me of CPNEC were the food was legendary, I’m Beating my Beef, Chef, was one comment I remember from when I wandered through the kitchen on security patrol. It’s also a metaphor, for any comedians out there reading this.

 

I got lynched for telling my girls to go to bed at a more reasonable hour, 4am is too late. Strange hours will bite you on the bum eventually, and brain fog is too high a price to pay as you wanted to stay up late binge watching Modern Family, which is great by the way. But I was in bed at 2am. Ok late, but remember my Tinnitus already messes my head and sleeping, if I level with you, and yes Level 42 is playing as I speak to you. This all goes back to influences, and using what’s all around you. If you look in your fridge and say there is nothing to eat, and there are eggs, then you can convert the left overs into something, five loaves and two fishes kind of moments. So, take a moment to think, Dad is not just a burnt out old has been, as one kind person said to me, though when I saw him last he was scavenging from the dustbins in Saint Philips churchyard. Which may prove the point, look after yourself or you may end up a beggar.

 

or even married with children, or a writer, or a dad

A Tinnitus Story ©

By

Michael Casey

 

A Tinnitus Story, I wish I never had to write this, but it is a pain in the ass, or is it asp? Where is Elizabeth Taylor when you want her, she’ll do it for a $1,000,000 she said, not wanting the role, but they gave her the money, so the rest is History.

 

As for me Tinnitus jumped on the bus, or is it my Magic Roundabout of Pain, 3 years ago, 2018, I think. Though years merge, especially when you are screaming with pain. Now where does Tinnitus come from? It’s not actually there, it’s a by-product produced in your brain, that your ears fizz. Mine has got worse this Summer and yes it‘s a bummer. During the day the noise, the hiss, the shake rattle and hum, like an Irishman on a drum subsides. But at night when you go to bed the tide comes in, and its such an infernal din.

 

It may take hours to get to sleep, or even 8 hours later and you have not slept. So, you have an early breakfast and let the cat in or out, this is anytime between 3 and 7 am. No wonder Lockdown Belly is getting bigger, a you have a hot drink to wash down the toast. The cat, Totoro our Ninja killing machine, may awake just to see will I share anything with her. Or demand to be let out, for a predawn killing spree, Frogs are nice, so I’m told, or just hanging loose with the foxes. And yes she’ll sneak up to the Woods, for a swim in the still with Lech, Boris and Gregorgi. That’s why Totoro’s coat is white as the driven snow.

 

Meanwhile I shake the bread crumbs from me, I’ll say it’s the cat’s dandruff, and climb the stairs again. Then exhausted I’ll get back into bed again, and finally sleep. With all my scars and my through bypass hernia I can no longer just dump myself in my bed, I can no longer be a Kebab on a Stick. I am more the Elephant Man, only able to sleep in certain positions, the Karma Sutra reduced to the cover position, not the actual cover position, just I can only sleep in one position. Then 2 hours later, or is it more like 90 mins recently, I suddenly awake, and the roar of the sea is in my head again. So I negotiate that, and get back to sleep and my one Karma Sutra position again.

 

And that’s not forgetting the trying to get to sleep mind games. Music does help a lot, as just the Sound of Tinnitus is horrendous, so you  break it up with music. The Hills are alive with the Sound of Music, or rather the pillows are bashed, you trash the duvet, you open and close the curtains so you get enough air coming in. Then you sleep and may have to do it all over again. If you are lucky after each slot of sleep, you actually get back to sleep relatively quickly. But if you do not then, just SUFFER. Am I exaggerating, probably the reverse. And have an old phone ready to distract yourself, with Music and News and any Damn thing, just so you are so tired the roar of the sea is tamed and you get back to sleep again.

 

You finally get up and you make use of the Day, as best you can. But at least you can have a nap on the sofa later on as you are just so exhausted, and nearly fall asleep at the keyboard like Duncan used to do, 40 years ago maybe. I hope he had a nice life, and lived in the Daylight and no Night Shifts, or maybe joined a Circus. So that’s about it, as I now have to go and have a _. Tinnitus is no friend of mine, it’s no fun, a dollop of cream on top of my cake of pain. And worst of all it slows me down, and pushes me away from the writing. So this is enough on Tinnitus, I’ll get back to another proper story tomorrow maybe.

 

And that’s why I have a Korean dream, it’s really a bucket list, as what are the chances of that. Though read Padre Pio and Me, and see just how remarkable is my Shanghai Life. And yes I really was vetted by a Chinese Ballerina in The Queens Tavern, a straight bar up the side of The Birmingham Hippodrome Theatre, home of the Birmingham Royal Ballet in our Gay Quarter.  Or read Birmingham is Ballet, perfect for the stage anywhere, in a Circus tent even. Ok enough of this, my small daughter will be home soon, so we can have Year 13 cat, then she’ll ignore me and play with Totoro our cat. And yes, I did say my girls could have a Dog if I died or a Cat if I had a heart attack, then weeks later I was having what turned out to be a Quadruple, and the photo is really my bare chest, after they shaved me. Now I have a breast poking through a Hernia, I am one of the 1%. Or maybe you think I’m one in a 1,000,000 as a Chinese Uncle once said.

 

 

Father Dan’s Altar Boy ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Now if you’ve been on my page before then you’ll know about Fr.Dan, what you cannot remember? Well in Tears for a Butcher which I’ve only produced stray fragments for, he’s in that, and well just go hunt on my Blogger and Wordpress. Are you so lazy, I have to write and wipe your backside for you? Mrs Murphy would hit you with the wet mop, straight out the mob bucket. Just as my own mother, Mrs Casey threatened, I’m laughing now and I’m sure so is she in her position in Heaven making the tea.

 

So you know Father Dan was the softest of all men, a good priest too, but underneath he was an Iron Fist in a velvet glove, and those drug dealers who nearly killed Big Sid the butcher would be finding out soon. Now find Tears for a Butcher if you want any more. But how did such a Holy Man develop into an Iron Fist. Well it started when his altar boy got thrown off a cliff, as in, a leg and a wing, and a throw, and that was that. He should have died. Stone dead, but his belt got caught on a root and it saved him from death. Though he would have died there, as he was all bust and broken, but a stubborn young priest saved him.

 

The Altar Boy was a very bad man, a dirty son of a who er, if you know the Irish pronunciation of Whore. He dabbled in everything, just like in that Taiwan film Man in Love,  but the altar boy was far far worse. No nice music surrounding him like in that film. So the altar boy got his just rewards, he got chased by other gangsters and they were determined to catch him, kill him. So after a big fight, and it was monumental, 10 to one are bad odds for anybody, knives and guns included. The altar boy was battered until nearly dead, then grabbing his legs and arms and by his belt he was thrown off a cliff. DEAD.

 

Now where this was I cannot remember though it was in the East, where gambling is king, and that reminds me its 20,000,000 tonight but I’m so full of snot, so shall I tell you this story or waste 2 quid on a ticket. Ok, I’ll carry on, but first I must go to the toilet or do you want me to wet myself? The altar boy did wet himself, when you are shot you pee, go ask a trauma doctor, and if you are a naughty boy just STOP. Become an altar boy, now read on why.

 

Fr. Dan was big but weedy and scared when he saw what was happening he hid, and so would I, ten men killing one. Fr. Dan was not long out of the seminary which means school for priests if you think its some other meaning. So, he hid under his excuse for a church, battered bits of wood held together by spit and wood, and great singing. Did I tell you he had started a choir? Feeling guilty he went to the edge of a cliff and decided to say the prayers for the dead. He was amazed to see the gangster was not dead, just half dead and bleeding. So he climbed down to see what he could do. Suddenly brave enough to say a prayer for the dying, he been reading The Cardinal recently. The gangsters eyes flickered, soon he’d be dead if he was left there. So Fr. Dan blessed him, then blessed himself, Lord forgive me for being such a coward, he even shed a tear, tear for the dying. So Fr. Dan climbed back up. He’d need a rope and some help, but nobody was there, would you hang around with such violence?

 

Fr. Dan closed his eyes, and prayed, God will provide, when he opened his eyes a donkey was there, the gun shots had frightened it and it had broken its rope. My own uncle Patrick back in Cromane Lower Kerry, used to have a donkey too, which was a mobile lawn mower for around the house, no I’m not joking, go ask my cousin’s son, Patrick’s grandson. But I’ll get back to the story, so Fr. Dan went over the cliff again, this time attached to the end of the donkey’s rope, he tied it around the gangster’s belt and hauled him up. The cliff was very dangerous, just like at the back of my Aunty Mary’s house in Ballyheigh Kerry, she being Patrick’s sister, and she loved stories too.

 

So once the gangster was safely on solid ground, Fr. Dan put him over the donkey’s back and carried him away. So, Fr. Dan had saved him, now he had to nurse him, bullet holes and all that. Fr. Dan hid the gangster in the cellar under the church, just where he had him himself. Then looking at an old copy of Readers Digest he took two bullets out, and nursed him. All this was done in secret, or the gangsters “friends” would have come back to kill him, and Fr. Dan too.

 

Fr. Dan named him Sylvester after Rambo in that film Ciffhanger where he falls off a cliff, he’d seen it on plane on the way to the missions. So, it seemed appropriate, as the gangster did fall off a cliff, or rather was thrown. Now God works in mysterious ways, I speak from Experience.

 

And Fr. Dan knows it too, as he nursed Sylvester his Faith went into him, and Sylvester’s courage and inner strength went into him. Fr. Dan had a convert on his hands, stuck under a church with only a Bible and Hymn books to read, with Mass and prayers and choir above. Sylvester had been drip fed Faith. Fr. Dan grew stronger, as he had to move Sylvester about and hide him in the cellar for months. Sylvester said he’d repay him he owed him his life. So yes you’ve guessed it, Sylvester taught Fr. Dan how to Fly as Korean martial arts people say.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

Scam Letter Maybe

 Scam Letter Maybe (c)

By Michael Casey

 

Dear Sir { insert. name)

If you see that then it's yet another Faker, reading off. blackboard

If you have talked to them once and they don't reference what you said before

Then show them the door, now as I write this I am in incredible pain

So I may stop again finish this on  Friday 17th Sept

I was actually writing 2 emails earlier on and I had to stop because of pain

But as I finished those emails with

I must take a pain killer

They probably think I'm a scammer

Though a few minutes Googling me reveals all

And no I'm not a stripper as I put in the 2nd email

So the receiver may think I am a scammer

Or Hopefully has a sense of humour

I don't want to waste my pain free time on those who

Just cannot smile or laugh

Not even if they are beautiful and intelligent

Because Arrogance is the biggest TURN OFF

I'm Beautiful Adore Me, push her over and let her taste the gutter

But I digress 

So a real person should say

I spotted you on the internet, I read X Y Z or I saw this picture

snogging a man/woman/cat or murdering your mother in law

And just wondered how did you escape the Police

If nothing is referenced, and they don't reply to your reply

If you had replied because you were bored and were testing them

Then they are just a bunch of idiots wasting your time

And trying to commit crime

That's why when I get top of Google Search Engine

OR  Website tidy up

I alway say NO, and return a silly image of me

They have harvested my email and never actually talk to me

So I send them some of my rubbish in return plus a photo

So now you all know what to expect

SO don't bother me ever

Not unless you are a doctor for real who might 

cure my pain

But be aware you will be challenged to pose

In such a way that proves you have a sense of humour

One finger up your nose another on your hip

Nothing that can be grabbed off the internet

I've had people in hospital beds, and pretending they are them

BUT  I just reply, hope you die, because I know its FAKE

Just because my  own body is battered and broken

I won't put up with BS

So now you know

WHO whoever, or whatever the latest scammer is

Yes, I'm even crankier when I'm in pain

But a genuine person, or even a real fool

I will give all my time too

Because that's the way we are in the Casey family

Enough, I have also been talking about French Culture and Sociology 

with my small daughter sat in the chair in the other next to me

A Levels and all that

She still loves me 20 by the way

20 being the greatest number she knew when she was a child

27 was the challenge my other daughter gave me 

When I got out of hospital in jan 2015 after quadruple heart bypass

27 like in the 27 dresses film

Such a large number, and that's the amount of books I should write

In other words live longer

I'm on book 21 now, and Tinnitus does slow me down

So if I finish in 7 years time that's past the average life expectancy post quadruple heart bypass

Obviously I'd prefer to meet and marry that Korean girl and have 4 more kids etc

But really that's something for my Bucket List, that'll never happen

You are my Spring a Kdrama about a doctor with a new heart and a  female concierge

That hit a chord  with me

But Kdramas touch my. heart, and I sing along to the songs

Love beyond reason is what they are all about,

So go watch some for yourself

And stop sending rubbish emails to me

just go to my Wordpress and read in every language

Though right now its locked

Who Have  I upset?

Don't know, it's probably my sausage fingers

Like the butcher In The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

ok enough, I'll try and write something else in the morning

Spotted Tom Cruise on tv in the other room

they stole his car in Birmingham and got all his luggage

so I had to lend him a pair of my knickers and a clothes peg

to hold it up

Still waiting for the large size folding Wayfare sunglasses

as a reward.

Or maybe that's just  a future scam letter to me

he can put his gun in our fridge

 

 

 

I’d do Anything for Love and Saving the Planet, But Not That ©

By
Michael Casey

Well I’ve finished my Taiwanese Kdrama about the store, so I thought I’d try and write a new piece for you all. Though one last thing, the hair with the tiny crown attached for the Wedding Finale, was TERRIBLE, it was made 11 years ago, so perhaps they did not know better, but the bride looked bad. No doubt my friend in Taiwan may disagree if she ever saw it, I’ll have to email her and ask.

Half of Taiwan wants to invade Birmingham now, and give me a slap. But if you know my Taiwanese friend she’ll tell you the beauties I live with, so I do know what I’m talking about. I am a Gay Dad after all, this means I know about women’s fashion, I may look like a sack of potatoes myself, but I do know how a woman should look. And by the way I’m not Gay, just to avoid any Internet Confusion. I’m very fertile, so don’t even shake hands with me, and no that’s not a metaphor. Or those 4 Kpop kids will soon start appearing.

So, I’ll ask you, how long have you been recycling? Did you applaud when the visual litter appeared in every front garden, colour coded dustbins, for, waste, recycling and for grass, and even a food waste bin. Did you throw a street party for them? Greta may be your hero, or should I say heroine, and no it’s not true, she’s not dating Barron Trump and taken up modelling, and attends his basket-ball matches. And no she has not taken up smoking either.

Well I’ll have you know, all you trendy people, recycling was what we did automatically in the 1960s, because we were poor and did not waste anything. If we could burn it, it went on the old coal fire. My big sister used to sit on top of the fire with a book on the fire guard reading. Then afterwards the criss-cross pattern was all over her legs. Next to the outside toilet, shared for 8, we had a coal shed and the coal man used to walk up the entry and toss his load, a hundred weight into the coal shed. I nearly was killed stone dead in that coal shed in 1966 maybe but that’s another story. So, in times like these, we, everybody did not waste anything. You only had 2 dustbins then and they were made of galvanised steel. The dustmen used to come and get your rubbish too. They had slide down shutters on the dustcart too. And before I forget the coal man’s cart was a flat loader with a horse pulling it, I seem to remember. And there was a breadman too, with big basket bring in the bread. So, your back passage was always busy too.

This was the climate, and the Space Race was on as well, early 1960s, so 1969 really was a big big deal. We were too poor to be the consumer society, I got puke coloured cord long trousers in the Summer of 69 or was it 70. I used to wear shorts and long socks with garters on. So I danced up and down the garden when my mother  had finished sewing them to make them shorter. I can picture her in the back yard sitting on an old broken barn chair, with the setting sun, and yes I had that chair for 30 years afterwards when I moved house, so maybe 50 years use altogether. And I was so happy to get 2nd or 3rd hand trousers from my 3 elder brothers. Fast Fashion did not even exist, not a picture of poverty, but of a large Irish family in the shadow of Cape Hill Brewery Smethwick, but we were in Birmingham.

People had things and made them last. Money, makes you wasteful, and being  bored too. If you have the Blitz mentality, There’s a War On, then you won’t waste stuff. Or I only had three holidays last year, and these clothes are six months old, so I’ll throw them out. This fruit comes from South Africa and the others were delayed because of bad weather over the Atlantic. Everybody likes fancy stuff. We were forced to have central heating in 1973, because of Smokeless Zones, but at least my big sister no longer hogged the coal fire. Even though over the border in Smethwick they continued. Things change, attitudes change.

Would you choose to have less? In the end accepting a lower standard of living may be the only way to stop global warming. Or do you want to continue travelling the world buying plastic tat souvenirs, taking selfies, filling cyberspace with your taste. And continue killing the human race. Or even do less breeding so we can feed the world as it is. Or is Covid 19 an unintended way of Saving the Planet. Think about everything you do, you don’t need heroes to tell you. Or do you?

Make Them Laugh ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Now as I begin I realise I have to tidy up my files they are a bit messy, so I’ve put this where it should be to start with then I’ll do my security afterwards. I was very disciplined but I’ve got untidy, so a return to discipline then I can find stuff. I think in three years here I’ve written 400+ new pieces. This does not include the Chats, which I don’t back up, I just write directly to the Blogger and Wordpress. Or write then copy and paste to share my wisdom with you all, ok my boring rubbish, but you do come back all the time, just to see if I am improving. I also have Translated books just to spread the pain worldwide. Here is the new house further up the hill, if I had realised how steep it was and how my Health would be, but I’m here a fool on the Hill. But in Korea 2500 plus downloads of Quick Stories in a short space of time, and 1000s more in other languages. Though when you read it you all may resort to bad language, is he really this rubbish, I don’t know why I bothered. Though Judging by the figures and maps, you must like it. Though it could just be good toilet reading while you are waiting.

 

So, I hope you are smiling as you read this whatever your position, or wherever you are in the world. In bed with the one you love, my words as a kind of foreplay, I have written more than 4 plays actually, love. It may just help you to sleep, but other methods are more fun, come here, throw that ipad away. Who knows, maybe just Drs. I had a fake scam email from a Dr today, the 2^nd actually, the 1^st was from a Korean WHO Dr, today’s from a Yank in UK. The Korean was more appealing but obvious fake. You can cut and paste emails and check them in seconds against a scammer list. That’s if you have 5 seconds to spare as you finish your tea, and you don’t  have to open them. But I’ve told you this already Dear.

 

Now to the point though there never is one. Making people laugh. How do you do it, show them a picture of Trump. I still cannot believe that USA GOP people are so stupid, it’s gone beyond a joke.  But back to the plot. You extend and exaggerate, you push sideways, I’ve started to think of Trump and his bedroom skills, but that’s because I’ve watched Politics for 50 years. Read Chapter 9 M.P. Married to a Person, Married to a People from The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, that’s my take on Politics from 30 years ago. Or read Tom Sharpe books, a PhD a real PhD introduced me to them, Blot, Porterhouse Blue, The Throwback, Wilt are some titles I remember. In places very course, but very very funny. Porterhouse Blue is set in Cambridge or was it Oxford, a tv series was made years ago, very very funny.

 

So how do you make people laugh?  It’s the way you tell them as Frank Carson the great Northern Ireland comic used to say. Roger drove him back to the airport and nearly crashed the van, he was crying with laughter. It’s timing, and letting the laugh out slowly. Americans Telegraph everything.  You have to be slow, and then spring the last word.   No I’m not a stand up Comedian,  and you have already thought of a joke because of the verb I just use. You just use words and lead people up the garden path, as Gill with a G used to say. I do hope she’s alive and still slapping people, Michael you are Awful, she’d say a la Dick Emery. That is such a fond memory I have of her, last time we met was in Hill Street, and no we are not Policemen nor Blues. So you use a word and it has associations already.

 

If you talk to Lawyers and 400 of them know my name, no I’m not a criminal nor a thief, a law firm was my workplace. If you talk to lawyers it’s all about briefs, and no I never flash my knickers or flags. Though I do remember one girl did try to pull my pants down in the print room as a joke. I’d forgotten about that, not a regular member of the crew either. Again by my choice of words and sharing such information you are painting pictures. In truth we were too busy and hot, and no I don’t mean I was so sexy. I mean it was 90 degrees because of all the industrial size printers in use. Hence me going to Saint Philips cathedral to cool down on my lunch break. The Verger, who looked like Jeff Bezo, really, he thought I was Holy, but God knows otherwise, 3 years of lunch breaks, inside the cathedral or on a bench outside with a quick nip inside.

 

Again, I’m just sharing a story, but the phrasing makes a difference, the choice of adjectives, and finally the comma is King. That pause on the paper, or the lick of the lips. Then the wall of laughs comes down. Just as in Music you have a build up, then Bang. And you have made your own jokes up again, again and again. Oh, Sally stop it. I’m listening to Rendez Vous by JMJ, appropriately enough. Though in my head that music would be used as back ground music to a finale of one of my stories. But I gave you premature elation, yes you did stop to read that word again. What did he just say, elation premature elation. See you can take another bite of the apple, and get a 2^nd laugh, though if talking and I say take another bite, you are ahead of me. Because it’s all in the mind. Phrasing makes a difference.

 

Anyway, me and my friend Andy were behind the wall at the Front Desk, and no we were not kissing, an Andi maybe, but this was Andy with a beard, I wouldn’t want hair in my mouth, and we are both manly. You see Andy had a handicap, no he wasn’t a golfer, he had some horrible disease that twisted his back, and he had crutches too. He as our Switchboard guy, so I did Switchboard as soon as I came in, while he had his dinner. So, we always had a bit of banter, and if I wasn’t sent somewhere all over the Hotel, we’d chat. So, I’d feed him a line, or just accidentally, and then he’d put me down, slam dunk on the floor. I always remember the look in his eye and he’d purse his lips and then PUNCHLINE, we’d laugh and the receptionists too. You Walked into that one, Michael. And, yes I did, on purpose or accidentally, it did not matter. Only the Laugh matters. So be generous and don’t kill the joke, let it breath. Being mocked by a man in caliper and crutches is one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given. Because Laughter really does unite all of us, whatever our condition.

 

 

Why I’ll never be Interviewed ©

By

Michael Casey

 

We’ve all heard and seen interviews, even the pretend ones in newspapers where 20 questions, ok 8, are asked and answered. It’s just an email back and a reply really. I saw one with Frodo recently, and frankly they are a waste of time, a page filler. Frodo will mount a quest now against me. Sorry I just had to take some pain killer, I saw an interview once with the writer of the Singing Detective and he had to pause and swig morphine, so luckily I’m not that bad, though in the middle of it, you just wish lots of things.

 

So why should I hate interviews, or rather interviewers? Well they don’t listen to start with, if you are talking to me I actually want to be talked to, not processed. Not scanned at a supermarket checkout by a bored girl. Though me being me, I always start a conversation, and yes they do wish I was a tin of beans, though I do fart as much. So, it’s a question of attitude, and the Irish in me wants words, not silence, silence is for lambs. Also describing a page is never as good as reading it. So, I’d rather read a page and not talk about it. A page is a performance, well the way I write it is, the Jackson Pollock school of writing, so how can I possibly talk about it?

 

The interviewer always wastes time and goes around in circles. If I say it’s a bit like Shakespeare, the interviewer always then says, so you are comparing yourself to Shakespeare, then you go off on a tangent wasting time on that. If the interviewer actually listened he’d learn more, on behalf of the listeners or readers of viewers, instead of justifying his own existence. Two ears and only one tongue, and no I’m not talking about foreplay either. An interviewer is there to listen, it’s not a Political Interview where we all know the Politician is a Liar, a Damn Liar hiding in bed  with Statistics, and Statistics was all that mattered, 38/24/38 when his assistant became Political with him. But enough of that, NDAs and all.

 

The Interviewer goes around in circles, as if his foot was nailed to the floor, or he is painting his nails and ignoring you as you answer, or texting his mum, asking are his shorts done. Then there is the backward announcing to studio and the advert for next week too. Not forgetting the Nods to camera which will be inserted later to pretend he was actually listening to you, as vacuous as the kind pleasantries at the beginning and the end to prove to the People’s Choice Viewers that he is everybody’s best friend. But  judging by the laser looks from the crew, they hate him just as much as you.

 

So why waste time being interviewed. I’ll read aloud a page or two and let the audience judge for themselves. Never let an overweight and over paid idiot, get in the way between you and the words. Let folks, read touch taste every sentence, it should be like a French Kiss between me and my readers. I just hope when I open my eyes, I enjoy who I’ve exchanged spit with.

 

 

Friday, 8 October 2021

In the Vacuum

In the Vacuum

Of Space

Of Time

Of lack of Love

Your Mind whirling around

There is no sound

Just Tinnitus in your head

You are all alone in your bed

Would Passion end the sound in our head

Don't Give Up

Sings Peter Gabriel as I talk to you

Angels have the view from the stars

As I beg for Silence

Just the Sound of Silence

So I make the music higher

To drown the Tinnitus in my head

As I beg God for Silence

As I violently punch my pillows

But they fight back

Whose idea was it to have a metal zip on a pillow slip

So it  scratches me in retaliation

Soothing sounds come from my phone, from my smart speaker

As the Hiss and Hum of Tinnitus is worse than a beat of a drum

Some distraction some action would be more than welcome

To take the noise and pain away

And on it goes day and night, night and day

Charlie Watts up in Heaven can you ask the Heavenly drummer to

STOP

 

@@@@

I did not know I'd write that, the first line refers to an email I got

so at least I got today's piece, which I will insert into the book

as I never know when or where or how inspiration will come

Anyway Vacuum you are welcome if you really appear, 

and if you do they'll be a story to create about that.

 

and Quick Stories remains the new favourite with Koreans

and Kim how about throwing those nukes away and open Golf Courses

with Trump instead....

 

The Nature of Love (c)

By 

Michael Casey

 

As you all know I've been enjoying Her Private Life a Kdrama Romantic Comedy, they are like

Coronation Street with James Bond production values, though obviously Korean girls are far prettier.

In this particular Kdrama, He thinks the She is a Lesbian, but she is not. But he pretends to be her 

boyfriend from Super Fans, which is very Korean mania, a bit like Trumpianism but without all the

lies kind of. Judge for yourselves.

 

Now tonight as I watched it I saw struck by a simple thought, expressed through the Kdrama, without 

any drama really. In the story a Photographer left his final photos to a Writer friend of his before

dying. 

The reveal was the the pretend couple were overheard taking by the Writer. And the girl said, and she 

was a secret Kpop snapper, there is Love in his eyes, the eyes of the dead Photographer. And the final 

published photo has a title, but it had been mistranslated. It should say Hi not Goodbye, apparently 

there in Korean that means both, and forgive me I was reading sub titles. So if you are Korean in the 

street and you see me, don't slap me for my ignorance. 

 

The point was the Photographer loved the Writer more than just a friend of 30 years. It was a Gay 

friendship but never expressed, just repressed. So the Writer was wondering did his Photographer

Friend know he loved him back even though he did not dare say it, due to his upbringing. The Art gallery man from the pretend couple said, of course he did, as a Photographer sees things that a

photographer would see. Just as an Artists sees things too, the Art guy was an Painter too. So it was

sweet to see these few minutes  of a Kdrama, express Love in another way.

 

Immediately some of you hate hate I've just said. But Love is Love is a true expression of Reality. Yes

it is so boring, when people boast I am Gay, just like in Little Britain on tv in UK years ago, before 

Wokeism killed Comedy. Just Live and Let Live, just don't push your opinion down our throats. Who

are you to judge anyway, Linda the Deep Throat  Political commentator?

But  all Love is good, just don't make women blush and startle the horses in the street. Yes it is better

to love and lost than never ave loved at all. It is better there were no cobwebs where love should have 

emerged. It is better the soft kiss instead of the stinging nettle. A year, 10, 20, 30, 40 or more, or just

far  far less than none at all. Or being abandoned and rejected, can make you bitter.

But you have memories of kisses and more, broken beds and tables, discarded clothes everywhere, and 

much much more. And if you have kids after your coupling, then you have kids doing all the damage 

and leaving a trail of rubbish everywhere. And life goes on till the love stops. Today was also a 

memorial for somebody who was much loved, a church filled with love.

So the mix of events primed the pump  for these words, love can last a lifetime, it can end tragically, it 

can also just die, and wither away. So enjoy every second of it.

Then watch Kdramas for the Comedy and Pathos, and maybe just may you'll have a happy ending,

Love conquering all, despite the twists and turns, and no I'm not talking about Karma Sutra. Just  to 

some soppy Kramas with music and comedy and James Bond production values. And maybe just

maybe they'll open a Korea food shop in your street, and the girl there will fall madly in love with you,

you marry have 4 kids and form a Kpop family.

I do like happy endings, as my Tinnitus roars in my ears, and I wish I wish.

 

Cleaning for Floyd ©

By

Michael Casey

 

As Pink Floyd popped up on the music Floyd appears on the page, meanwhile my dinner is in the oven, and I hope Tinnitus nor Pain interrupt as I put a new story on the page, 19^th Nov 2021 is the date if you are tracking me. Tea rhythms with tracking me so I my just have one before I start, and yes the pain is rumbling in my shoulder.

 

But let us begin our story, Grace had shoulder pains too, all the hoovering she used to do, a girl has to clean if she wants to buy those new shoes. Grace worked in several offices, coming in at night and tidying up. Amazing Grace, was her nickname, she could make anything spick and span, and if you lost anything she would find it. So obviously she was very much in demand, amongst the High End office brigade. Lawyers and Building Societies, and stray Estate agencies. They were in a new block just by Saint Philips church yard, Birmingham, that’s in England by the way.

 

So, Grace had popped in for a quick one, a prayer that is, and bumped into a casual lawyer wearing two odd shoes, he’d got up in the dark and did not want to disturb his girlfriend, hence the odd shoes. He dropped his briefs and she picked them up quickly, he was just on his way back from Court, Grace apologized.  No need, he replied, I pop in the cathedral too if I ‘m doing something big in Court. But don’t tell anybody he continued.  I’m looking for a new cleaning gig myself said Grace. So there and then Mr TwoShoes gave her a job. It was so hard to find a quality cleaner. And that’s how Grace begun her QC cleaning company. Mr TwoShoes said it was simpler that way, and they had accountants and so forth back at base, as they called the Law Firm.

 

So, Grace began with one, then two or three, till finally the building was hers. She came in during the late afternoon then kept on going all was done sometime it was almost dawn when she finished. Now Lawyers are like hawks, so soon the block next door came around sniffing, but Mr TwoShoes was there to defend his catch, you’ll not have our QC, get one of your own. QC if you do not know if a very posh name for a very high powered lawyer, a Queens Council. We won’t litigate over it was the smiled reply, but if your QC, your Amazing Grace has a sister, then Mr. Tort will be happy to give her 25% more to do our building too, providing her skills are equitable. Now Grace over heard this and had a fit of giggles, My Skills, that’s what my boyfriend calls it. The lawyers blushed, though they were in accord Grace was amazing, if you dash around all the time cleaning it is far better than any bike in a garage. So, Sharon who had had enough of Nail Bar life joined QC, Quality Cleaners, and Mr TwoShoes increased the fee by 25% too, he did not want to be accused of mistreating the staff, though Friend is a better word, as that’s how Grace felt amongst them.

 

So, time passed, and QC grew and grew. They had all kinds of vacuum too, not just Henrys but brooms on a stick the fancy charging ones. Grace never forgot her chance meeting outside of Saint Phillips, so she’s sung a hymn to herself as Dawn broke. Now Grace was in a Gospel Choir, the one that was at the children’s home do in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, Chapter7 to be precise from BBU. If you need a clue. Anyway Grace would sing, and as the windows were open to let some air in, her voice would drift across the square. And if you have Shona in you as Sharon and the cleaners from QC did soon a choir was singing. Now a handful of Shona is like an army of angels. This sound saved a life, the Bliss it gave, made somebody decide to live not die. He was a wannabe Music Producer down on his luck. But when Shona sing, it is Almighty God humming. What more can I say. QC has cleaned an office or two over-night but at the darkest part of the night just before Dawn, when bad things can happen, Shona singing had praised God and saved a life.

 

The Music man, said thank you, this really was the rhythm of the saints, made by Shona cleaners.  So, it came to pass, he got some therapy, and as luck would have it, his sister worked in filing at the law firm where QC had its first cleaning gig. Which led to him meeting them, and eventually producing them. The QC girls laughed when asked to record a CD, will we be bigger than UB40? Eventually was the reply. And Mr TwoShoes himself would do all the Legals. So, singing Professionally became a reality. They did do a Charity concert for Christmas at Saint Phillips cathedral, where the ticket price was extortionate. But Lawyers all wanted to be there, not just for the singing, but on the off chance they could get on QC waiting list.

 

And what was the Charity, The Samaritans. For Christmas is a time of great joy, but any Samaritan will tell you, Christmas can bring pain too. So, let this Christmas 2021 be a time of glad tidings and great joy as the Shona choir sing. For being a good Samaritan at any time, or any day of the week, is the greatest gift you can give, and Singing not only praises God, but can save a life, any day not just at Christmas.

 

Protection 2022 ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Well it’s been a while, so here’s a new new story, the first for 2022 and already I’m trying to get the font right. Ask any writer, they just have to have the right font in front of them, Palatino is what I prefer. It’s rounded and looks nice, and is clear when you read it. Not so small that you have to squint, and it’s curvy like a woman, or my own belly and super fat backside, whichever you prefer to look at. I’m flattered if it’s me that you find so appealing, Lockdown has a lot to answer for.

 

So, Mr Casey, just put a mask on, please, it is the rules. And a visor too, and a gown, no we haven’t finished yet. Then a Police Forensic white suit. No, the Plague is not here, and then get into the space suit, and if you flick the switch your own air supply will kick in, and the suit will inflate, so you look like the Michelin Man. Yes, we are all set now. It’s just that we think you stink as much as your writing. So, we did not want your rubbish to pollute our waiting area. No this is not the Hospital, this is HOSTspital a fab and trendy Italian restaurant next door, by the Windmill pub.  That’ll be £12 service charge, but you can use our toilet for free.

 

So, I stripped naked and washed in the sink, like a monkey in a birdbath. I used all their fancy soaps, like the one you get in hotels, then steal and take home with you. So, I was stood naked drying myself under two fancy Dyson hand driers when Pearl came in, Pearl was a Singer, she was singing as she washed the floor. Either that or she was a machinist and the needle on her Singer had broke, but I won’t go on like a broken record. Pearl looked up and remarked that Kim would be so jealous, as my backside was huge, but well-toned though in need of a Black and Decker. I spun around and Pearl laughed. And that is how we first met. She was still laughed as I put my clothes on. You don’t type I asked trying to Change the subject. 120 WPM was her reply, I used to be be called The Flash at the law firm when I was younger. Though it was I who was flashing, though by now my face was bright red. All the fancy soaps had given me an allergic rash. And that is how I came to dictate to Pearl. She’d come to the house as I lay on the blue sofa and dictated my latest short story. A perfect union.

 

But, where was I? I was in the kitchen eating turkey rashers, making a pig of myself. I have to lose weight, I’ve given up the snacks in the night, have to ty and protect my heart. Totoro’s fault and the Tinnitus keeping me awake. So, I was going to talk about Protection, Just say No, Sleep in another room, or have a picture of me over the bed. If that does not take away the urge then NOTHING will.

 

Though I wasn’t going to talk about that either, I was going to talk about other Protections. Words, Clothes, Shades. I don’t want to say but, I may be wrong but, you may not want to hear this but. And so on. I know somebody who CLARIFIES every sentence, like a bad Politician glued by his backside to the fence. Real people don’t do it. They just say. Michael you are FAT, and grey haired like a 99 year old, and your after shave is so passe Ck One you only use it because it is the CHEAPEST like you, OLD MAN, you reek of the wrong perfume, Jeyes Fluid drain cleaner dabbed behind your ears would be better.

 

As for clothes, they are like Easter eggs, lots of coverage, when finally removed you are disappointed. All packaging then nothing at the centre. We hide or wrap up ourselves in clothing. If you are fat you protect yourself from mocking by forever wearing a tent. Curves are nice, but how they are presented really matters. A blanket of snow, with your attire can hide many things. If they are just out there then they are not appealing. TART is the word, conceal or reveal, this is the eternal balance. A bloke with his Bee Gee look, may work in a Gay Bar, but to attract a lady, hide it, don’t dangle too much. Class is so much more, than tight jeans and shuttlecocks, ask George Michael.

 

Words do matter, clothes do maketh the man, but if he looks so right, but when he opens his mouth all he can talk of is himself, leave him the use by sell by date dustbin. She may look great, but if she opens her mouth and smells of smoke, leave her by the artichokes, and the magazine rack at the back. So we chose words to explain ourselves, but if words are not your thing, just being with him or her is enough. You just feel glad her or she is around. Some use lots of words but actually say nothing. A word can mean so much, especially when your mum died, he said nothing, but her was always there bringing in the washing for me, helping with the kids, getting me to smile. His rubbish jokes, but without him, just how would I have coped.

 

And on it goes, words to protect ourselves, or words to defend, or even works to save us. You were gonna be mugged but he threw a kindle full of Michael Casey’s 20 books at them, they picked it u and ran away. At last Michael Casey your words were of some use, Fat Silver Haired Writer in Shades from Birmingham saved a lady from a mugging. Police arrested 3 men quoting Casey non stop, E and Casey don’t mix, it gave the game the away.

 

So that’s your lot for today, it’s time to put the Christmas tree away for another year. I did an online Life Expectancy thing in the middle of the night. Because I’d be classed as a non smoker and a non drinker even though in poorish health, at 5feet 10 and 127 kilos I would still live till 88 which is 5 years better than most. 25 more years,  though it did not ask about nature of illnesses. And my guess was far far less. So if it is right, should I have 4 more kids and start a Kpop band. Though from what you’ve heard would you be interested, women, not men that is.

 

Coming of Age, 20, me it was 11 ©

By

Michael Casey

 

Well an item in the news attracted my attention, Coming of Age in Japan which is when they reach 20. Ditto in Korea. It’s in the newspapers so you can read it for yourselves. So, it got me thinking, when was I all grown up. Well it was when I was 11, Summer of 1970 before I started at Grammar school, the 3^rd brother at the same school, hence I was called Casey Minimus by the Latin teacher, a very small man called Mr Hanny.

He got Max Francis who was 6feet 4inches to stand at the front while he taught the body parts in Spanish, so Max was a visual aid. His younger brother Simon was in the same class as me, 1B, which may have stood for Brothers, as we all seemed to have bigger brothers in the school. The UB40 guy Ali was in my class too, he broke his collar bone playing rugby and cried, we though he was a girl for crying. A friend I made in 1B was in the class too, so I know him 52 years. I think 4 of the class became Drs including my friend but he was just a PhD not a Medic.

 

Now I could say a bit more about the class, such as MacKenzie a Black guy who could run like the wind, I think his dad was the cobbler down the road, as for Clive he’s a Rastaman now, last time I passed him on the Dudley Rd years ago. Anyway your environment is part of your Growing Up. That and your family. So in a way I was all grown up, or wide as Big D might say, he was so small he was nicknamed after a brand of peanuts. Woke rubbish was not recognised 50 years ago.

 

So if you grow up with lodgers in the family house, then you learn about them. We even had an alcoholic struck off Dr as a lodger, dad carrying down her Piss Pot to empty in the outside toilet is one of my memories. We had a fridge of sorts too, all the fancy Minton tiling was where our daily 6 bottles of milk were left to stay cool. We were a family of 8 after all, 2 girls and 4 boys, plus mom and dad, hence 4 children’s milk and 2 sterilized milks, not forgetting our cat and dog, making 10. Sterilized milk was for dad to take to work at The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick, in a little bottle, as the heat from the furnace curdled any children’s milk. He did want milk for his tea after all, that’s what sterilized milk is for after all.

 

So you grow up seeing the alcoholic lodgers, Mrs Casey here’s the rent. As they swayed at the side door, dragging on a fag. Then when they bailed out you had to clear out, and why are nurses so messy? You have to keep their  rubbish for 3 months, in the old coal shed in the house next door, just in case they come back to pay the owed back rent. Dad is gone 20 years in 2 week’s time, he was far too kind, a gentle gentleman.

 

So I have experience of tidying, I even had a lodger die on me while I tried CPR. But that was ten years later. If you come from such a background you are grown up, and 50 years ago I knew too many things which I wish I never got to know for decades or even ever. You have to compartmentalize or not even think of it, hide in the bunker of your imagination or prayers till the storm passes or the tide ebbs.

 

I could say more, I could write a PhD thesis, but I don’t need to prove anything to myself, nor anybody else. But I did nail PAX over my door once I got my own home. And then a year or so after that I did actually stumble into writing in 1987, it was not planned it just happened. What is in your life, just ends up on your page. Though 20 years of radio listening thanks to Frank Brown, who mum called the Best Lodger did play a part too. I remember him giving me an orange and he had the programme of The Jungle Book too from the Gaumont  Cinema, which was the biggest screen in Europe. Later the site became where Pinsent Masons office, where I worked for 3 years 30 years later.

 

Events in your life, direct and indirect play a part. I noticed in today’s article about Japanese coming of age, 20 you have a bank account. My dad got me mine when I was 8, I can remember the bank, and going in with dad to do it. I can recall what dad was wearing the string bound bank book. Though today with 2 student daughters I have nothing now. A day without pain is enough, or Tinnitus not driving me to the edge and beyond, which it does almost every time I wake up. Tinnitus is worse than all the pains I get and they are horrendous at times, hence the current hospital tests.

 

Coming of age can be a sudden thing, or a series of things, with one being the straw that broke the camel’s back. Never Give Up is playing as I talk to you right now, Gallagher and Lyle are right, as was Saint Mark, but it is my own credo already and always. Life is full of colour, if you just say I’m Bored, or There’s Nothing to Eat, or There’s Nothing to Do, then I suggest look inwardly. The Greatest Journey is the Interior One, or failing that look at the back of the fridge, you can always make something with an egg, even if the egg is slightly cracked.

Explaining Irony to Americans

Explaining Irony to Americans (c)

By Michael Casey

Well you should know this already

TRUMP is a Liar and a Fraud, proven in Court

Beaten in Court repeatedly

Yet you still flock to him

So that is irony

So does that proven Insanity on your part

Or Do the insane flock together

yes I know I could be called disrespectful to the real insane people

But they get help and get better

Trump is just screwing the country

For his own Vanity

Even those who are only worth a dollar are NOT worthless

That's what Democracy is, all voices are heard

Not just the rich loudmouths

That's why Every Vote should count

The Pantomime should end

Google panto or pantomime and watch one

Then it should be self explanatory

Over here in England

Boris could meet his end

Why?

Because of a drink too far

Friday drinks

I worked in a very successful company and they used 

to have Friday drinks every month or so

Not in Covid times obviously

But when a Government tells us this

Then does that

When they behave one way, the Public are obviously Angry

In the great scheme of things, I bet lots of people did the same

But they are not the Government

They are not accountable

Even though

And this is the Irony

England, the UK, did very well in Covid times

In 10 days time restrictions may be gone

Keep a mask may be kept

But honestly in the Orient they always masked up

For years and years well before Covid

But Boris may be pushed out

Or kept on till May so he can be blamed for the Local Elections

But then he is toast so they say

Irony, UK survived so much better than EU through Covid times

But still the leader gets the push

For the drinks trolley so to speak

Victory but still he is a Loser

I just hope with his 3rd Wife and 2 small kids

He decides, I did my best

Now it's time to have fun

Churchill had his Gallipoli then he won WWII maybe

but then he got dumped as soon as WWII was over

Then he got Nobel prize for Literature in 1953

So Boris can get back to his Books

Maybe he should read 

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker by Michael Casey

I too am a bit of a Phoenix 

Though I'll always be poor

Even though 100 countries have read my stuff

Or is Money the only Proof you are of any worth

If you think that then even if you are as rich or richer than Trump

Then really it is you who are worthless

You should be throw out like salt that has lost its

taste

 

 

 

 

the old house where most of my writing was done, with Totoro name plate

 

 

26th Jan 2002 , 20 years ago today

was when my dad died

I screamed like a puppy dog being beat with an iron bar

for an hour

mum had died in the marriage bed 5.5 years before

despite my brother doing CPR

8 weeks later, he happened to be home

he heard dad fall out of bed in the next room

the same room

my brother saved dad with CPR

dad went on to live 5.5 years more

despite being given just a week to live

and us picking hymns for his funeral

You read more online somewhere

Padre Pio and Me maybe

I visited dad every single day for 3 years

and he lived a couple of years more

I got wed and we had a baby

now doing BioChem at University

another girl turned up  2 years later

after dad was buried

So what can I say

The Love, the Strength, the Hope

never stated but there like the Mountains in County Kerry

where my Blacksmith dad came from before Birmingham

they were always with me

Ave Maria happens to have kicked in on my Music selection

Dad was too busy working up to 16 hours day at

The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick

he'd do to a late Mass on Sundays

I could say oceans more

He actually had bought his Thomas Cook ticket for England

When his sister Mary in Chicago sent him money for America

So the tale goes

That's why I'm here and not in America

But he was like a brother to Mum's brother who did live in  Boston, USA

And me and Dad were more like brothers than father and son

because I spent most time talking to him, as I was the youngest son

And 5 of 6 was my place in the family

When  I wrote The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

mum and  her 3 sisters was obviously Mrs Murphy with Julie Walters in my head too

if ever it were turned into a film

My dad I loved too much to put him in the book

But when I finished the book I realised that Big Sid the Butcher

the love inside him was really my dad, though Roy Kinnear was the

idea for any filmed version

But I only realised afterward that Big Sid was my dad

A pure and simple love,  though dad was very intelligent, not like the

character in the book

Casey one day you will hang said dad's teacher in the 1920s

Irony was the 4 of the 6 of use were teachers

So my dad is in me, and always will be

Because he made me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I were(c) by Michael Casey

 I've been on the sofa chilling as the tv was claimed by somebody else

So I woke up I suppose I was asleep, anyway dashed to the bathroom

But this is in my head, despite the SCREAMING from Tinnitus

 

If I were (c) 

By 

Michael Casey

 

If I were Black  would you                              hate me

If I were White would you                              hate me too

If I were Straight would you                           hate me

If I were Gay        would you.                          hate me too

If I were a Christian would you                        hate me

If I were a Jew.          would you                       hate me too

If I were a Muslim     would you                       hate me

If I were of No Faith   would you                      hate me too

If I was Right             would you                      hate me

If I were Left              would you                      hate me too

If I was Political          would you                     hate me

If I was total UNPolitical   would you              hate me too          

If I was a Prude           would you                    hate me                    

If I was a Nudist.         would you                    hate me too

And If I were battered and bleeding in the gutter would you be a Good Samaritan

And if I were Jesus, would you Crucify me again

BUT

 Love is Always Better than Hate

And despite the Tinnitus screaming in my head constantly

I beg Mary to ask her Son Jesus, Bring Peace on Earth Again

AMEN

Mary and Baby Jesus, they see no boundaries, they Love EveryOne