Cover Letter

Cover Letter 2014 ©

By

Michael Casey

I was talking to somebody about cover letters today, I can see the irony as I talk to you, as I won’t be needing one myself any more. However Pitch Letters are a different thing, and I do expect to have to do some of those.

So what about Cover Letters, they are part of the job search process, without one you may not get a job, or it may swing it for you. So you have to write a cover letter. I looked at my old cover letter today and realised it was too long.

A CV should be two pages and no more, the cover letter that goes with it should be just one side. HR people and job agencies are always in a hurry, they won’t even look at a multipage opus. Into the bin it will go, literally or on their PC.

So what do you do? You iron out he rough spots, and raise the molehills to mountains, and vice versa. The Cover Letter is your chance to shine, it’s like your Facebook home page. Or your paragraph on the Dating Website. It’s all about you.

So you say what you were great at, you never say “I was a bit rubbish at X Y Z” followed by but. Your Butt would be kicked out before you even start. It’s a Positive Only piece, it’s your chance to get a great job, or any  job and be able to afford to pay the rent or buy a new set of golf clubs.

So tell them what you are great at, and think differently about yourself, put yourself in their shoes, the Saint Augustinian Way, and Sell Yourself. You may not think  that visiting the sick is anything special, its your good deed. This proves to an employer exactly where your heart is, he may be a hospital visitor himself, yes him in the £2000 suit.

You may be embarrassed by your kindness but it lets the employer know just what kind of person you are. Your Community Actions do make a difference.

I

n your job it may have been you who trained all the new people, and wrote the basic Bible for the job you all did. Nobody else could have been bothered, but you did it. So put it in the Cover Letter, you have Training Experience, so boast about it.

You may speak several languages, and the office staff may have poked fun at you for it, but it’s you who speaks to all the truck drivers when they arrive from all over Europe. Tell everybody as the Billy Joel song goes, you may even overlook it, because it’s only a few minutes. But only you can do it, so boast about it.

Write a list of everything you can do, and everything you do do, then write a flow chart of it, and join the dots with words. If you sell your house you put everything down in a positive way, so on a Cover Letter you do the same, but about yourself.

I am fat and have white hair, this describes me. In a Cover Letter it becomes I am distinguished looking with silver hair and a strong athletic build.  Ok the athletic may be stretching it too far. You are painting a picture, a pretty postcard showing just how great you are, so you get that job.

All this has to be done on one page, it’s a sprint and the winner gets the job, so don’t be shy give words a try.

Counting Your Chickens

Counting Your Chickens ©

By

Michael Casey

They say don’t count your chickens before they hatch, and why do we have that truism, because it is true. Then there is opportunity and lost opportunity, and hope beyond reason too.

I suppose my life is close but no cigar, which proves I’m close, but I am a non-smoker so maybe a cigar would just may me sick. It’s like winning the lottery, you had all the numbers, but you forgot to place the bet. I was a trainee betting shop manager in one of my previous lives too.

Which reminds me about my Tarot reading. My friend did a tarot reading after we had chips in the computer room rest room. So for fun I picked the cards and all the answers had money connections. Sadly none went in my pocket.

I did my 21 years in that computer room, then my next jobs all had a money connection:- Insurance, Finance Dept, Bookies, 4 star deluxe business hotel, Life Insurance, Law Firm, private school Esol teacher.

o close to money, but none in my pocket. Some say you lost a million or ten million because  you did not put your money on the lottery or because you did not join that company or sell your book at the right time.

I disagree, IF it’s not in your hand then it’s not in your hand. Some say God did not want you to follow that path and another path, a better path will arrive. I’m inclined to believe that, when you deserve your reward at that point you will get it.

And if you don’t get your reward don’t worry about it, it may have not been worth waiting for in the first place. In the past few months I’ve assumed things would go one way then they didn’t. This proves I have Hope, I can wait, I have to. Don’t be bitter or even jealous, all good things come to he who waits.

You meet this man or this woman and they’ll help with your dreams, they don’t, they cannot even if you had hoped they could. It’s like waiting for the bank manager to agree that business loan or that mortgage. Your life in their hands.

Networking is about building, friendship, trust and even love. There can be business partnerships or life and marriage partnerships, love in other words. For your dreams the partner the investor must share your dreams, then he risks his money for a fair share of the profits.

You can frighten partners away by the way you look or by the way you sound, or the way you dress. Some partners want you to brown nose as they say in America. Some want fun, if they are truly independent they can spit in their hand and you shake on it and it’s a deal. They can afford to lose some dollars so your project is just fun for them.

Politics plays a part with other potential partners, you are too left of field for their image, you may damage them. So they walk away from some fun, and hard work, but it should be fun if you are investing so much time in a project.

Remember what Bill Clinton said somewhere, now he wasn’t President he could say what he liked and enjoy himself more. Which gives me an idea, has anybody got his email address, do you think he’d invest in a fat writer from Birmingham. I won’t count my chickens before they hatch, but you do have to crack eggs to make and omelette.

Creature Comforts

Creature Comforts ©

By

Michael Casey

We all like to have nice things, we save up for them, we are excited when we get them, it’s just nice. We may scrimp and save so that finally we can have a house, a home of our own. Then we make our home into a home, by adding our creature comforts.

One creature comfort may actually be nothing, because we no longer live at home with mum and dad so we no longer have to wear PJs. Mine always used to spit as I’m active when I’m asleep. I move about a lot, so my PJs always split.

So my creature comfort was being able to sleep in the nude, it’s much more relaxing being naked in bed. Ok I know half of you reading this have just had a really horrible picture put in your mind. That’s your own fault by having too good an imagination. In reality it’s like a gorilla in bed,  but even  hairier.

Moving swiftly on, nice Egyptian sheets from John Lewis also make the sleeping experience so much better. To top it all recently Aldi the discount shop had real duck feather pillows, these ARE the best pillows  I’ve had in my life. So my sleep experience is so good now.

There are other creature comforts, such as soft toilet paper, growing up we could not afford the softest, we even sometimes had to use old newspaper. At least you had something to read while you did your business.

We did have an outside toilet too until I was 10 I think, my eldest brother would have been at University. Dad always used to knock the yard light off, as it was wasting electricity. The same switch also switched off a 2^nd light inside the toilet itself. “Put the Light On” was shouted from the cold of the toilet. In winter we had a little oil lamp to heat the pipes so they would not freeze over.

Funny what you think of when you sit down to write something before bedtime. Slippers are a creature comfort too, at home we had lino up the stairs to the bedrooms. So at bedtime we used to split our legs so we could stand on the wood at the side and not the lino. Why? Because lino was so cold, absolutely freezing. We did not get central heating till I was 12 or 13.

This was the norm when we grew up, it was the same for everybody in the 1960s and 1970s.  Baked bread was a treat too, not the sliced variety. So we’d tear the crusts off and leave a lump of exposed and naked bread. Mum would rescue it and use it in soup another day. I still have our old metal bread bin, it’s under the sink in the kitchen behind me. An antique now.

Simple little things make us happy, like a few sweets bought on a Saturday at the market, or glazed ring donuts. Can you all remember those?  How about Madeira  cake all nice and yellow on a Sunday?

These are simple creature comforts, I did not expect to write this, I was going to be more consumer goods orientated, but as I just sat down this is what came out. I suppose it’s all the Love I’m remembering. A connection said just a few days ago that I made her cry because I had evoked a memory that reminded her of her own dad.

So if when I write this happens it’s the greatest thing I can possibly do. If I can steer everybody else  back to the Love they remember when they were young or memories of things past, then I think I’ve found my true vocation, my 3^rd wish granted from Padre Pio.

Echoes 2014

Echoes 2014 ©

By

Michael Casey

I’m listening to Peace by the Eurythmics  as I talk to you, now that album in itself is an echo, I didn’t  know I was going to mention it, till a second ago. Peace by the Eurythmics is a great big echo the more I think about it. I took it to Shanghai with me when I went there to meet my future family.

After my visit I was “forced” to leave it in Shanghai as proof that I would not forget my future wife. She came back to me after she had told her family all my bad points, and now we are married with children, 14  years on, and I still play that album.

I’ve just popped to the kitchen to make some green tea, and brie on biscuits  for my daughter and me, I passed the mirror on the way. Another echo jumped out, my bright orange Polo with a polo picture on it. This is my normal attire around the house, but there is also a big laugh attached to it. Rumplestiltskin to be precise.

We were in Coral Springs Florida in 2006, visiting the wife’s uncle, we also went to Sawgrass Mills. This is a linear shopping mall that seems to go on forever , great food and even greater shopping. Now in one shop there was a Polo sale, Ralph Lauren, so obviously I took a look, as did the wife. The wife is extra small and I’m extra large, yes opposites must attract.

She got some nice things and I spotted these bright orange  Polos with a polo match printed on it. Now at the checkout the sales girls were data collecting, so obviously this was too much temptation.

So I told them my name was Mr Michael Rumplestiltskin, and I gave them a fake address too. I was on holiday and they wanted my name, rank and serial number, for marketing purposes.      Mr Rumplestiltskin was my reply. So the girl asked me to spell it. R U M P L E S T I L T SK I N  I spelt it out. And no, she was serious, and I did keep a straight face. My Shanghai wife didn’t know Western Fairy Tales then so she was bemused as  I spelt out my name. The checkout girl, had no idea she was being teased.

So that’s another echo, another memory. Tomorrow is another echo, but much much more. It marks 18 years since my mother died. Pause.

I can remember the last time I saw my mum alive, she was standing in front of the fridge with her blue smock on. Always feeding us. Though I feel no sadness for her, she and my dad made me the man I am now. So their love and values echoes and resounds through me, and the next generation, my 2 Chinese/Irish daughters.

There are many things that remind of things from the past, the good and the bad, the hope and despair, the agonies and the joys. In the end though the echoes and ripples from the past are just that echoes and ripples. We go forward to the future and all else is left behind.

About Journalism

About Journalism ©

By Michael Casey

I wrote something called Food for Thought a long time ago, so can I direct you to that first of all. Now what is Journalism in the first place, is it the honest unbiased recording of events big  and small or is it politically charged “advertising”. We have some elections coming up here in England, and a journalist or two have been looking at my profile.

So it’ got me thinking, I should also add that I grew up listening to Robin Day on the tv, Sir Robin Day was a trained Barrister first of all, so he was a master of words. A kind of jolly version of Jeremy Paxman. For those of you in the US you’ll have to google these folks, let’s just say they were the bees’ knees. I also have had a life-long interest in News, the wife’s uncle is in fact a senior political journalist, but that’s another story.

Now there is good and bad journalism, and the bad should be tied to a stake and burnt, just like the KKK  used to do. You have to remember that journalism does affect people’s lives, so if you are lazy a real person suffers.

You don’t just go to the pub and order a round of drinks for the crew and then when you‘ve drunk too much and you are in the men’s room while emptying  your bladder you say “terrible business this X Y Z” and the guy next to you says “hang the bastards” and this is what you use as a basis for your report.

So facing to camera you the lazy journalist says “Quoting sources close to the crime I can say there is much anger towards these criminals, feeling is high, and the police will have a job keeping a lid on the neighbourhood. Tension is high, now back to the studio.”

Then the crew goes and tries the new pizza place that  the barman recommended. There over great pizza, and it is great pizza, you congratulate yourself on a job well done, as you burp and belch, too  much pepperoni to blame.

I will listen to Radio 4 news, then BBC, then Sky and even Fox and CNN. So I can see things in the round. So it really is disgusting, and disgusting is the word when one news report does not have clarity, because they are just replaying the loop and the news and the angle has moved on. Radio news is better in my opinion, as sometimes the pictures just gets in the way.

When I get around to finishing Tears for a Butcher the finale will have a news angle, this will be an opportunity for me to have a bit of fun at the expense of journalists. Thinking back though I’ve already had a bit of fun with Radio in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker.

What’s the first thing a journalist does at a major news event, he secures the bar. The real first thing a journalist should do, is raise the bar, his reporting should be as high as the bar at the high jump, and if he gets it wrong his editor will say “you’re for the high jump.”

Here in England Sky is better at the human interest stories, but otherwise generally the BBC is best. When I watch Fox I think Shep Smith is the guy I want to listen to, even if he has too much studio make up on. We can have a favourite journalist because of the way they look and talk, or because he treats Politicians with the contempt they deserve. I have a favourite here on the BBC, but I’ll keep his name a secret, if ever I meet him I’ll tell him over a beer in a secured bar.

Journalism matters, and the way the story is told does matter, and finding things out when bad people want to hide things is important. Good journalism is a searchlight, a spotlight, a microscope. And finally a pair of handcuffs.

90 seconds with Michael Verbal Cartoon idea

You can hear audio of this at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com 

it includes a Pregnant Pause so continue listening until the phone rings

 then contact me 

Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for Radio

I grew up listening to the radio, we all used to hide under the blankets and listen when we should have been fast asleep. Radio did change my life, a lodger gave us a radio when he had to go back to Ireland to look after his sick mum. In fact he left all his stuff and caught the first boat home. Months later he came back to see us and said me and my brother could have his old Bush radio. I spent 20 years listening to radio. That and being afraid of Mr Gallagher when I was 8 changed my life, and improved my intellect.

Today after 20 years of radio and 25 years of writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 55 now, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say 12.

I met my Shanghai wife in the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad's room. I was positively vetted by a Chinese Ballerina  from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters. I am the token male and English speaker in the family.

Now here's a few samples, what I'd like to do would be to read my shorts/blogs on your radio. Each piece is about 90 seconds long, 90 seconds with Michael is the idea, simple idea. I have gained 15,412 views on Funny or Die for a sample  1^st chapter of Tears for a Butcher which will be my 8th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 500 shorts, enough for over a year.

I have started recording all my Shorts and have put 50+ of them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  I have a new mike now too, so listen in reverse order.

My  7 books are on Amazon Kindle

 http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

 and

www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com   is my site.

Here's the samples for radio or print.

Let There Be Light ©

 By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

Sleepover©

By

Michael Casey

Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.

Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in your house.

Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room, dad? Especially mine.

Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.

Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.

You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for suggesting it.

So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.

After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on  their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.

Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.

So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or half waking up and forgetting where she was.

So remembering to put on your dressing gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear, its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.

How do Men Shop? ©

By Michael Casey

There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.

If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all  in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.

This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion.  A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.

As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football  while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.

This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why  your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.

The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

All Things Bright and Beautiful ©

 By Michael Casey

 I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while, so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it. They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an absolute Fashion Must.

Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3 stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one, although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair. As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.

I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it “Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener said “in the Spring there will be growth.”

Cheese and Chorizo ©

By Michael Casey

 The thing about girls is that they steal your stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.

Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were  the ones I really like, its always the ones you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing. JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me  where the biscuits were, a new hiding place, that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.

Shoes are a big thing, so our small daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they can cut them down to make a dress  or even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family, DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.

Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall, as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it  disappears.  When do I find out? Never, or nearly never, until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s my clothes.

So if you want to keep the clothes on your back, don’t have daughters. If  you want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies, don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you look before you sit.

From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked Sink  ©

 By Michael Casey

 Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For us the Sat Nav debate continues. In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He'd done the Knowledge and it was all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it 30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.

 Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.

 Bus drivers know their route, so once they've done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes because that can lead to strange directions.

 Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.

So basically we all know what we want and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai

Or was it me, his grandson who got there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and more ago.

 Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay, no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off, if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has to do is copy them down, in English.

 She’s  busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.

Thanks for reading this, that’s if Junk did not get it. I have come close and not got a cigar many times in my life, so I decided to try you. Radio is the medium for my words, 90 seconds with Michael, could go nationwide, it’s a simple idea, with great words, mine if I can be boastful. I have already recorded 150 of my 500+ shorts, they can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com listen in reverse order I haved a new microphone now.

Cheerio, Michael Casey 

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com

 www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  to hear 50+ stories

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

7 ebooks and 2 Printed on Paper Books

Give a Beggar a Buck and Stay Healthy

Give a Beggar a Buck and stay Healthy ©

By

Michael Casey

I stumbled over an advert for healthy living the other day, and no I was not looking either. I wondered would it say what I’ve discovered for myself. So I watched it, and I thought it would be a list. And on the presentation droned on, and on and on and on. Don’t folks realise this style of presentation just irritates.

Finally, before I fell asleep. The punchline or rather, the price, not 100, not 90, not 80, it was a reverse auction. 40 bucks or whatever, but would I pay, NO!

Here’s my tips and they work, and you don’t have to pay me, just give a beggar a buck. I love Orange juice, and I blame Florida for it. We were in Florida in 2006 and a gallon of  orange juice cost next to nothing, so I got the habit. It’s a healthy habit, but I was surprised to discover that it can actually make you put weight on, because of the sugar in it.

So I’ve experimented with less orange juice, and switched to the real thing, oranges instead. So in a matter of a couple of weeks I’ve lost 7 pounds, or half a stone as we say in England, or 3kilos if you are metric. Was this hard, no, well a little bit as I really love orange juice. So half a stone lost with no effort involved.

Now in my print room days at a major law firm here in Birmingham, before Arthur came a visiting, to my joints, we had a free drinks machine. So obviously I drank lots of chocomilk, but I did do an experiment there as well. I stopped drinking the lovely  drink, and hey presto I lost 7 pounds. No effort required.

So if you want my tips, here they are for free, don’t pay me, just give a beggar a buck, or a packet of biscuits as you leave the store.

1.Drink Green Tea    every day

2.Eat Garlic              every day

3.Eat  Brown Bread  every day

4.Eat   Sweet Corn    every day

5.Give up Coffee         TODAY

Now when you see the practice nurse and she checks your fat levels and your BP what will the result be. YOU are HEALTHIER.

You can eat other vegetables, I drank coffee for 50 years, then I just stopped and gave my left over coffee to my local church’s coffee morning crowd. Good things will happen in a month or so. You’ll be healthier but nobody will want to kiss you. I’m sure those who really love you will still kiss you.

Look at the NHS website, its free too. So I imagine all the USA readers of this will crash the website now. This costs nothing, what I’ve shared cost nothing. It will help you be around for your kids’ weddings and grandkids graduations.

So payment to me NOTHING, NADA, ZILCH

But please give a beggar a buck.

Yes I’d love you to buy my 7 books on Amazon too, but you don’t have too, a book a day if you like. Laughter does help Health too.

Michael

p.s. The other day somebody sent an email offering weight loss pills to me, and they’d pay Amazon postage too, IF I just wrote a review. Obviously I’d love for a total stranger to poison me. But seriously don’t take any weight loss pills. Eat less and drink water, that works too, because your belly is full of water and you don’t eat any more calories. Now that’s really the end