It must be True I heard it on the Radio

It must be True I heard it on the Radio©

By Michael Casey

And now on Radio4 , It must be True I heard it on the Radio, advertising yes you heard me advertising on the BBC, a documentary.

Can you raise the volume I’d like to hear that said a glum looking customer.  Yes please can you raise the volume, it might cheer him up.

Legal, Decent, Honest, Truthful is what they say ads must be, or they can be taken down. Here are some examples:-

Peter’s Pizza will give you spots to die for, eat our pizza and you’ll never go back to your old pizza parlour, and ours will warm you on a cold winter’s night, because you’ll be farting fire all night long. So remember not to have a fag till the morning.

This advert would be pulled because smoking is such a bad thing and is not advertised any more. Not forgetting that Americans don’t know that fag is the English word for cigarette. Two peoples divided by a common language.

Don’t leave it till you die, pay for your funeral ahead of time, because your relatives hate you and would leave you in the fridge for six months, where you’d catch pneumonia  if you weren’t already dead. Then after six months a pauper’s funeral. So book early to disappoint them, prepay your funeral and tell them they’ll inherit everything. In fact only the undertaker gets a penny, they get a cheap prawn sandwich and a sherry.

This advert would be pulled, because it could upset people by using the word die, pass on or move to the afterlife are acceptable. This person is no more, is deceased and other Monty Python Dead Parrot like words are not allowed.

Lush pushup bra, will drive your husband wild, he’ll give you the pin number to his credit card, and he’ll be a better husband, he’ll drool like a dog.

Now obviously that advert would be pulled, because though it is totally truthful, the RSPCA would complain about the use of dogs in advertising, this is England after all.

Get rid of your glasses, see like a hawk, see long distances once more, look up and see the sun, 93million miles away, look to the stars at night, and know it’s not headlights in the distance. Lie back and think of England while Des’s Eye Restorer gives you the sight you deserve. Be a sight for sore eyes again, throw away those horn rimmed glasses and be the woman you want to be once more.

This advert would be pulled because it encourages littering, throw away cannot be used in adverts. Des is just such a naff name it should be banned. Lie back and think of England is a banned sentence too, as Britain has to be used as it’s much more inclusive.

Come to Birmingham and

I’ve been prevented from saying more, though Come to Birmingham and  followed by sound effects could be a trendy advert, let the sound of fun do the talking. Hang on I’m going to copyright that idea.

Fred Pots plants for all your flower needs, though Fred’s Pot would mean something else entirely, I did wonder why there were 7 police vans outside  his florists, I thought they were buying flowers from their favourite Police and Crime Commissioner.

Radio IS more fun I hope we’d given you some food for thought, which reminds me I have to buy some plant food for my aspidistra, is Fred’s Pot still open.
 Buy, I mean bye from BBC Radio 4.

Well George has that cheered you up, or made you laugh at any rate? You just have too much time on your hands now. You could audition for a band, The Cross Parties are looking for a drummer. You have to do a bit of wallpapering at your new gaff, I thought we both did enough gaffes.

Well I have to be going, the misses wants me to do some modelling for her new catalogue, do you like this mac? I have to pose in 200 items in 3 hours. I never knew posing was such hard work. Bye George.

Same time next week for a coffee? Sure, but bring some money, you always say you left your wallet under the wife’s side of the mattress. Bye Dave.   





p.s.I just thought of it George and Dave could be the new Derek and Clive, 
     I thought of it 1st.

Craft Works

Craft Works ©

By Michael Casey

Well the school year is almost over, so the school reports have arrived, the girls’ school posts them out, so there is no fear of them being “lost” not that the girls would need to lose them. As its also end of school year any craft objects come home to decorate our house.

My small daughter has produced a wind chime so I have to find a place to hang it, as it’s quite heavy it cannot be attached to the light pull in my room or in the bathroom. So it’s relegated to the metal post that holds up one end of our washing line. The pigeons will be the art and craft critics, awarding one, two or several white marks to the device. Though the local cats might attack the pigeons first, before any artistic grading or scoring can be given.

They use laser guided design tools or some such thing at school. When I was at school 40 years ago we had a ruler and a pencil, and maybe a fretsaw. So what the girls use is very high tech. One of my brothers was a bit of a carpenter at school, perhaps he should have been christened Joseph.

As for me I was total rubbish. You make a 12 inch pencil case in 1^st year, they call it Year 7 now, just to confuse parents like me. My pencil case ended up as an 8 inch one, why? Because I got the ½ joints wrong and had to trim my wood, twice in fact. So my pencil case shrunk. Mr Ely was both the woodwork teacher and PE teacher, he was very tall. I remember that fact for once on the rugby field I was able to throw him out my way, I was as strong as a man when I was 12.

My woodwork skills were just rubbish, but I tried my best, and made a football rattle out of wood. It’s upstairs in the rubbish room underneath all the junk. Nowadays it would be classed as an offensive weapon and the Police would never allow it into a football stadium.

We also did metalwork at school, and having a Blacksmith father did not help, I was rubbish at that too. We made ornaments of plastic with 3 pieces of twisted metal planted inside like trees. Only mine got warped and arthritic, I was not proud of my efforts at craft. I remember I took it home and installed it on top of the air raid shelter, it stayed there until it rusted, then we just binned it.

So the final craft subject was Art, I think the teacher was called Mr Boulton, same name as the kid in front of me in class. No we didn’t tease him about being the son of the Art teacher. And yes I cannot draw or paint or anything. We were going to carve a piece from chalk, so I drew an outline of Coffee our dog on a square of chalk we had created from powder and the we were supposed to carve it. Needless to say, if I was making instant coffee I would have had more success and at least I’d enjoy the drink.

All I can remember is taking a lump of chalk home, which we gave to my  little sister to draw with on our back yard. Mr Boulton also had a few mens magazines for the A level students to look at, we stumbled over them and were told to leave them alone, despite this I never wanted to do A level Art. I did one year and that was it.

So with this lack of ability what of the next generation? Both my daughters are great artists, drawing like professionals. My brother could draw too, he used to do cartoons by drawing on the edges of books, so you flick the book and the cartoons come to life. My wife can do calligraphy, in Chinese characters, so the Shanghai side has saved them. That and the fact that we were strict parents, no video games nor such toys when they were small, all we gave them was crayons, hundreds and hundreds of crayons and pencils. Ten years of that makes for good draughtsmanship.

So now I have to shave and so forth, SSS as it’s called if you can work out that crossword clue. Then I’m off to Aldi for my daily shop and my daily walk, if my priest is right I’m now halfway through my recovery period, post quadruple bypass, it was supposed to be a triple but six months later I discovered I had four grafts. Ah well, at least I’m still here amusing you all, and that I suppose is my only craft, I am a writer, I cannot do anything else, though I hope I’m a good dad.

As I look out my window

As I look out my window ©

By Michael Casey

As I look out my window I try and decide what to write about today, I can write about what I’ve seen on the news, or what I see out the window, or just from the window in my mind. I may write parody, like I did the past 2 days, or I may write from life, from our Shanghai/ Birmingham family, not forgetting Totoro our cat. I don’t know what I’ll write each day, it may be minutes or even moments before I know what I’ll put on the page. I just hope it’s interesting and amuses. I have been writing a long time now so I hope the quality stays high.

Now a few minutes ago 2 Polish men walked up the road carrying a bed, or the top of the pine bed frame at least. Are they moving house at this time of night? It’s nearly 9pm now. Or is one man giving away the bed to another man? Now because I’ve just seen that I could write 2 pages about beds, there is so much in the soup that I can just about write about anything at the drop of the hat. 

The soup by the way is my life experience, so I just ladle out a story just like a school dinner lady, though obviously I am much more attractive if I were in drag, David Walliams is a dear dear friend. So as I write the story I add the meat and two potatoes, and a dollop of gravy splashing over the plate and onto the tray and even onto your school uniform. I may or may not add pudding, it’s not up to me, it’s up to the story, if the story is very funny it’s because the story is funny, or does that sound too pretentious.

I’m listening to Celine Dion right now as I talk to you, she’s good. But she’s also sad, because the night my mother died her song was on the radio, You Lifted Me Up etc, so that song has a family connection to us, forever. So you can see how words and events have such power, they can control us and we not them. I enjoy not knowing what will happen with my story, will it turn right or left, will it go around in circles. I just hope it’s always interesting.

Now Totoro our cat jumps up the back of my chair, she’s a literary critic, she wants a cuddle before I’m allowed to carry on. The trouble with giving your cat or wife a cuddle is that you forget your place with the story. You can run out of steam in mid-sentence, so you have to end the story abruptly. Having music on can have the same effect, Celine Dion is singing I remember L.A. I haven’t heard it in ages, so I want to stop and listen so the story suffers. However as I’m explaining the mechanics of story writing its ok, now I’m  being nagged to go out to collect a Chinese takeaway, and the kids have come back from choir practice. They are telling me about a cute cat they spotted on their slow Summer evening walk back from choir.

Ok, I’ve just been up the road to New Peking, takeaways haven’t changed to Beijing yet, I’m still the take away fetcher. I get none either, my pigs say it’s for the good of my health, 18 months since my quadruple heart bypass and they’ll use any excuse not to share any nice food with me.

My big daughter is happy tonight, her braces are off after over a year, so now she has a plastic retainer over her now perfect teeth. I told her she looked like a rugby player with a gum shield, or a boxer. So she smiled back at me, and now she can smile. I did tell her we still have 1000s of photos of her with her gap teeth and I’d have posters blown up on the walls on her wedding day. Though some days due to all the pain I get  I wonder will I live that long.

Noises off, Totoro’s two bells ring as she tries to get some noodle left overs, she is of course bilingual, so you cannot fool her. As for me I’m back at the computer trying to explain things to you all. Perhaps I should have called this piece Explaining, that rings a bell and not just Totoro’s bells, is it a Clapton song? And yes I did meet him once but I told you that before.

So on the story goes and it should have a structure, it should not ramble, but so long as the rambling is interesting does it matter? Then the end by tradition does complete the circle. And they all lived happily ever after. In our case, my pigs have finished the noodles and Totoro got to lick the container clean, as for me I got nothing, for the sake of my health.

Now as its nearly 10pm and I may watch the news or we may all watch a film together I have to finish for the night. At this point I read back the story and listen to it in totality for the 1^st time, then I’ll give myself marks out of ten, and sometimes I’m really pleased where the story has led me, I don’t lead the story. On other occasions the meal I’ve prepared is not as tasty for me or for you, I can only use the ingredients in the back of the fridge, in my mind, in my soup. 

But then again there’s always tomorrow.

****** Thank you Mauritius and China for reading my stories, if you are an angel investor in China please email me, or then again you may think I’m a farmer.                              

                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Baubles for Children

_{Baubles for Children ©By Michael Casey}

<sub>Well I’ve really enjoyed watching the Politics here in England, in another life maybe I’d be a Political Journalist, my wife’s uncle was a Political Editor, anyway I’ll not bore you too much with Politics. Though I will say I AM the Birmingham Boris Johnson. The other comparison doing the rounds is where Prince Hal from Henry IV Parts One and Two becomes a true King in Henry V and that’s how Boris will emerge, I hope it’s true as the country needs to show its balls now. If it does work out, it really could be a renaissance for us all. I actually studied Henry IV Part One 40 years ago as part of my English Literature exam.

Now to today’s theme, baubles for children, teachers are really wicked when it comes to children. Yes this is such an important job, I want you to collect up all the pencils and put them in the pencil box, it’s such an important job, and don’t forget to put the lid on or the pencils will try to escape. Oh Cameron, you are such a clever little boy, one day you’ll be Prime Minister, you dad Tarquin would be so proud of you. And how is his new milk round going, he has a new float and its even faster than the old one, and now he sells potatoes and bread too, not just milk. Cameron you know you are my favourite, but don’t tell the rest of the class.</sub>

_{George, George can you stop shaking the moneybox, we are saving that money to send to poor people, I know you were only trying to guess how much money there was by the sound.  What, you want to be a drummer when you grow up, and you could use the money box as a groovy sound thing. You are such a clever boy George, I should introduce you to my cousin Ringo, he’s in a band called Worms, or some other insect. He can give you advice on how to make lots of noise. Yes you could fill the dustbin full of coca cola bottles and then roll it around the playground.  And you’d charge the rest of the school a penny a go, or they could pay in sweets. George you are such a clever boy, one day you’ll be a payday loan person, or a bailiff if you drank all your milk and ate your free school dinners. Look how big Clegg is now, I know he steals the slops and drinks all the dregs of milk. But he says it’s a liberal thing to do, and he is saving the environment, though it does make him fart fire. One day Cleg will be a central heating engineer, he told me so, it’s nice to have an ambition.}

<sub>Now Theresa can you collect up all the needles and pins and the safety scissors, you are such a clever girl, always praying. Can you stop gluing sequins to your shoes, I don’t think it’s fashionable at all. And what did you do to the toy leopard, you glued him to your wellies. Theresa you are such a naughty girl, but I do like your inventiveness, you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. What? One day you’ll be Prime Minister, and you’ll need to make silk purses from sows’ ears.

Where did all these flowers come from? What for me, you are all such kind children, I don’t deserve you. I think of you as my own children, I never married you know, I did have offers, plenty, w</sub>ell two, but it was just a flash in the pan. These flowers are just so lovely, where did they come from? You stole them from the cemetery behind the school playing field. You didn’t get them from the cemetery, where did you get them from Michael Casey, your aunty broke up from her boyfriend, and he sent loads of flowers to say sorry, but your aunty said you could have them. Because she has another bloke now, a big Polish lad from the chip shop.

I suppose I may as well keep all these flowers.









                                                                                                                                    

 

Moving Out Day 13th July 2016

Moving Out Day 13^th July 2016 ©

By Michael Casey

Where’s my socks? 2nd drawer down on the left, in my dressing room. Thanks, and where are my shoes? My shoe will be up your arse if you don’t calm down.

Sorry Babes, it’s just that with will we or won’t we and then finally it does happen, it’s all so sudden, I’m confused, I cannot think straight. You are definitely straight that’s why we have 5 children, you were the only straight man at Uni, that’s why I had to grab you fast.

You took my flower in the stationary cupboard if memory serves, I gave you my flower too. We all thought you were a sl-, if you finish that sentence I’ll give you a slap. But it was for the best, how many beds have we broken with our passion? Seven, the magnificent seven. It must me love, or lust. In future we must buy a bed from Ikea, or use reinforced concrete.

Where’s my collection of rubbers? I put them in an old shoebox marked RUBBERS in felt tip on the outside. I’ve worked in so many departments I just got into the habit of collecting rubbers. Isn’t that an American word for for Erasers, or is it the other way around? Tim, just put your pants on we only have a few hours before the new owner moves in. Couldn’t we just have one last parting shot? Where? Well they haven’t lifted the shag pile rug in your study.

So Tim and Louise had a parting shot on the floor, but what they’d forgot was that the movers had moved the curtains and blinds, so their performance was in full view of the movers and everybody else walking past.

Did you pack my collection of old Radio Times magazines? Yes, in boxes 20 to 55, with RT marked on the top. And did you send Tiddles to your sister’s until after the move. No, that was your job. No I remember I told you to do it. Let’s not argue, and while we are about it, can you just put your pants back on, I can’t argue  with that thing in front of me. Am I too sexy for my pants? Just like Right Said Fred? No you just remind me to buy some onions, we’re having stew at the new house.

Why is that box jumping over there, I hope it’s not a rat. You go on and protect me. Stupid, its Tiddles she loves hiding in boxes, the movers must have taped her inside, they are so incredibly fast. Don’t tell the RSPCA or we’ll never hear the end of it.

Where are the kids? They are at the new house already with my sister, setting up the wifi and the tv. Do you think they could live for a second without wifi? No, and I couldn’t live without you. Stop it we’ve done the farewell thing already. Don’t look sad, we can do the Hello to new house thing tonight. Will all the furniture be ready? 

Yes I paid the movers a little extra to do everything for us. Besides I said Boris and Michael my cousins would have words with them if they didn’t pull their fingers out, or they would pull their fingers out. I like Boris and Michael, how is their butchers shop doing now?

Shall we have a final look around before we go? I won’t miss the place, too noisy, all that drumming from the house next door, and all those argument between the neighbours, open the bleeding gate, you could have just left it open for me. That’s the trouble with party entrances and exits, no curtesy between neighbours. Not to mention all those expensive cars parked all over the place, I’m sure they must be car thieves, or something.

Well goodbye no.10 we’ll never see you again, what about those old glittery shoes in the corner. Leave them, perhaps Mrs Nott the new owner might use them in the garden at the back.