Expectations

Expectations ©

By 

Michael Casey

Oh No, he thinks he’s Charles Dickens again. Yes, I do have Charles Dickens as a screen saver, and I have cried while listening to A Christmas Carol, and Michael and the Chink in the Wall had shades of Dickens in it, but I’m expecting hence the title. Yes I’m worn out after such a big sentence, and reading my stuff, or rather listening to me talking to you might be construed as a Prison Sentence, but and you were expecting a but, I’m expecting, so there you go.

What am I expecting? And please don’t say I’m so fat it must be a baby, you are all so very very cruel. In French as you know elle est grose, if my written French is up to spec, well it means she is pregnant. Not just fat. Language has many meanings and that is why it’s such fun, you can build and breakup just like Lego. My neighbour was filling a skip with bricks and he said he was moving house, one brick at a time. SO I replied like Lego. Then he told me that he knew somebody was NOT allowed into the new Lego attraction because they did not have a child with them, so could he borrow one of my kids in future. I said if he could tear them away from the Wifi. But the point is Lego has superglued their policy together if only family constructions are allowed into their attractions. Now if I’m wrong I’m sure Lego will email me.  

So you expect one thing and get another. And that’s how advertising works, it builds up your expectations and then you are deflated when you get the reality. Its best to have high hopes but low expectations, then you won’t be disappointed. Dating can be like that too, you think he’s in Property, and he is, he sticks the For Sale signs up outside houses. Rather like in my play Battered Husband from 30 years ago. Time and Tide waits for no man and now the Dating Game has changed so much too. What people expect and demand has changed for the worse.

You’ll find in my writing, if I can use such a pretentious phrase, I write stuff, chocolate bars of stuff you can enjoy on your tea break then go back to launching rockets into space, or fixing the asphalt , and asphalt is not where you need to see a proctologist. Expectations are one thing and reality is another, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. As we all bitterly discover as Life pushes us along, my only Life has been a song and dance, but I did it my way, on the late night bus avoiding the drunks after an evening shift. There was one little Italian guy always singing on the bus, Frank something or another was his name. He always got off at the Crematorium, just next to the Swish curtain shop.

What other Expectations are there? Well you never know what to expect when you read my stuff, neither do I that’s what makes it interesting for me the Writer. If I just wrote rhythms for greetings cards then it really would bore me, and yes I can hear you all mutter, how do you think we feel? I could easily be crushed if I listened to negativity.

Nobody should put up with Negativity, so the worm should turn. The Lillys of this world should shatter people’s expectations of them, as I said only the other day, I do know how to swear, my dad worked in a Steel Works, do you think they all spoke posh Queen’s English? They spoke excellent cursing English, above the sound of the Blast Furnace, so as I’m still a bit battered I’ll finish by encouraging you all to exceed your own expectations, and if anybody, but anybody tries to put you down then bite their bum, and they won’t expect that, not unless you are in some kind of kinky relationship.  

why do kids stop up till 3am?

why do kids stop up till 3am?

it's school holidays so my pigs were up till 3am, probably binge watching Riverdale or something else. The pain monster has come out to play, arthritis and post bypass pain,  otherwise life is good. I met a new neighbour, he's over 2 metres tall and bigger than the Rock. And guess what he was the porter who took me down for my operation 3.5 years ago. So life really is a circle.

I checked my other site and South Korea is having a read, so hello to them, yesterday it was Japan. Hello to Russia as well, and to whoever is reading the Italian Translation of The Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker my 600page comedy drama which I finished originally on 29/2/1988  then a couple of years later I expanded it from 200 odd pages to the 600. And yes I only ever make one draft, as rewrites are so boring, I am not Jeffery Archer. Though he has a Monet on his wall, I just have scratched wallpaper from where Totoro our cat stretches.


Finally thanks to Google for the Translations, I am not a Linguist, just a  bit of spoken French and Spanish, though I did do 5 years of Latin. I'll try and write something new for you all, ok for the bored hotel worker in Thailand, who was reading my stuff the other day, and all the late night readers all over the world.
Perhaps crew on ships worldwide could use my stories to teach English to themselves, it is still the International Language. There's another mustard seed for you.


here's a piece from 8 years ago to keep you going.

Read My Mind ©

By

Michael Casey

I just read in the Sunday paper that soon they’ll be able to read my mind, everybody’s mind. A computer firm is scanning brains so that in future you can control your computer with just a thought.

“Where do you do to my lovely when you’re alone and in your bed, tell me the thoughts that surround you” as Peter Sarstead sung in the old and very good song.*

Now the song was a great song, perhaps they’ll play it on Magic again soon.

But our thoughts are private like the sunglasses of our mind. They ring fence our brain and keep strangers out, they hide our boredom when at Company events, the same speech and the same director laughing at his own jokes while as one we all think “what a plonker”. A whole hall wishing he’d stop so we could get on with the entertainment, free bar and circus.

Politicians lie, we all think they do, and if we could read their minds we’d all throw cabbages at them, or eggs or just manifestos. We heard what Gordon really though of that lady and it helped lose the Election for him. Then the apology shambles, you cann’t take back something like that. If somebody could read Gordon’s mind they would have dived in to save him before he even said it. Politicians need to be clear but they never are. Why have clarity when you can have deniability. Let’s just wish Gordon a good relaxing next 5 years.

But what of you and what of me. You see a girl, you see a boy, you’ve got your shades on, you take a good hard look, the object of your attention cannot see your eyes, you try and look cool and not move your head an inch. But you lust after him, you lust after her. Choose your own words as to what you are thinking, or are you lusting. Well they’ll never know because they cannot read your mind. But  if they could, they’d be a few slapped faces that’s  for sure. Or they’d be a few sudden    snogs in doorways and in bus shelters or on the top decks of buses. And all because we can read each other’s minds. Perhaps in the future the gismo to read minds would be attached to your shades, so you’d look cool while they drool.

What about your mum if she could read your mind? She’d be sending you to bed without supper, she’d scream and shout “get out of my house.”

What about old gran and granddad, they’d know what you really think of them. Do you love them or are you just playing along to get their money when they die.

Reading Minds is a dangerous thing, we need protection from ourselves, a stray  spoken word can hurt, but luckily our words are locked up in our minds and they can be chosen and picked and used with caution. But if they were there all naked in front of us, no nuances, no clarification then we’d all be in big trouble. I believe we think

 4 times faster than we speak, but speech is our filter so that we DO pick the right words, we don’t say the wrong thing. Reading Minds can be dangerous, yes it would be great if you could walk down the road and have all the girls dreaming of you, but what if you were walking down the road and you could heard everybody’s  inner voice saying I hate you. What You Don’t Know Cann’t Hurt You, so as far as I’m concerned I’ll Leave Fortune Telling  to Gypsies. 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

Midnight Strikes

Midnight Strikes, I'm too tired to write a new piece, me and the wife have been running around organising things. And midnight has struck, I spotted Married to a Person, Married to a People, Chapter 9 of my novel, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is being read tonight in UK somewhere.  So if it is you Theresa May I hope you enjoy it. Tell all your friends and maybe we can finally get it adapted for tv. Kpop saves the world is also being read.
What else can I say? Can you remember the last time you were so  tired but quietly elated, though elated is too strong a word. You stumble and make mistakes, like saying your wife is Japanese when she is Chinese. Mine is Shanghai, its amazing who'll have you, prayer  does really work.
ok I really must go to bed now,  I dreampt Trump resigned the other night.
so as I go to bed I'll leave you with this old piece:-

Feeling Tired ©

By Michael Casey

When you are tired you cannot control or coordinate your brain to your hands, rather like I am right now. As an experiment I’ll see what I can write while I am so tired, though you may all say it’s much better than my usual rubbish. So very kind of all the Borises out there, but we remember when we tied Boris’s shoe laces together when he was asleep instead of doing the security patrol. We hid outside the control room door and blew a whistle and heard him crash down on the floor, we knew he’d chase after us once he untied his shoe laces that’s why we were on the safe side of the door.

I used to work the night shift with Duncan, he’d be in his 40s now, now he could not sleep during the day no matter what he tried, so he’d be typing away at the banks of keyboards we had then suddenly he’d fall asleep and then bang his head on the monitor.

I stepped out to buy some milk and it was so cold it woke me up, but then I felt so tired once I got back to our house that I just had a 2 hour nap. That’s why you have the change of paragraph, I was sleeping. The pain monster did visit last night and it was after 4am before I finally slept. At 3 am I had Heinz tomato soup, with stale baguettes, just like Heidi, as well as dropping a plate, but my pigs stayed fast asleep. The cat did ask to be let back in, she keeps such strange hours.

Back to my computer room days, this was maybe 30 years ago, when the lads would go for a fag in the bogs, I’ll translate for the American readers, a cigarette in the rest room. So Flash as he was called cruelly, because the other lads thought he was slow. Well Flash went to the bog and while he was having a fag as he sat on the bog dumping, and dumping is not the computer usage for dumping. By dumping I mean pumping, I hope that is clear to all of you. So Flash fell asleep as he sat on the toilet, if you ever have to do night shifts you will have sympathy for him.

But Flash had lit a cigarette, luckily he had not had any beans that night or there could have been a major explosion. Instead he nodded off and dropped his cigarette, thus setting fire to his trousers. Good word thus, when did you use it last? Go use thus today, I dare you. Luckily he was wearing cotton blue jeans and not polyester, which as you know burns and shrinks as it burns. So his blue jeans caught fire around his ankles, and the smoke woke him up. As shift leader I let sleeping dogs pooh in peace, though we did wonder what was keeping him, it could have just been constipation which is the curse of shift workers, and people who take lots of pain killers, so now you know.

Flash came back to show us his smouldering ash, or was it ass? We all had a laugh, and then I had my sandwiches which were always red Leicester on ham which I microwave as it was 4am after all which was my usual lunch break time.

So you have had an insight into my world my life, my tired life that was shift working. You are always tired when you work shifts, so have sympathy for your nurse friends and store workers. Give them chocolate and kisses, though the chocolate will probably be the more appreciated.

It takes longer to think, to add up and to move when you are tired, your whole body can ache. That’s why doctors on night shift get people to double check dosage, or if they don’t they should. 5 seconds thought before actions can save a lifetime of trouble. Another thing affected by tiredness are your ears. You say “what” a lot when you are tired, as if you are suddenly deaf, mind you teenagers always say “what”. You are in a different time zone when you are tired. You are 10 to 20 seconds out of synch with the real world, with GMT, the Got More Time in bed people, than you.

My life has been a life of shifts, if you do the horrible hours it makes you more employable. So after all the nights shifts I spent years doing the 12 to 8pm shift. Which led to years of instant meals with MSG in them which could have caused my unplanned quadruple heart bypass. Even though I never used oil just oven baked.  

My father was lucky in that his GP, Dr Hickman said he should not work night shifts, so he didn’t have to. So he just worked up to 16 hours a day in the heat of the steel works, The District Iron and Steel in Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. But being a worker like my dad did bond us even closer. Though my feet were never as smelly, as I didn’t sweat as much.

Well I hope I haven’t tired you all out by this talk of tiredness. I hope you respect the security guard walking around too, they tend to work really long hours. One day they may just save your life, that’s what they are there for. So blow Phil and Taz on security a kiss next time you pass by their station, it’ll make their day. Because speaking from experience if they don’t know the answer then they will know a man who does know the answer. Obviously it won’t be me, I’ll be fast asleep in bed, assuming I’m not slapping on the Movelat  or making Heinz soup at 3am for me and the cat.

another quick thank you

Hello world,  just a quick thanks for passing by, from Brazil to Japan and all points in between.
Well the Summer seems to have ended, and it seems to have helped with the Artrhritis pain. But now with the drop in temperature my body has decided to ache. 2 days of pain. I should have something new for you by Midnight, its just after 6pm now. I did in fact have 2 or 3 ideas, what I'll end up with we will discover together. Trump did not turn up with that cheque for my house. it really is for sale.

I had  a very nice email today from a lady who liked my stuff, so hello and thank you to her. It is nice when people like or are even touched by something I produce. The Poetry side is less of me and more of, I don't know what, maybe it's a heartbeat caught on the breeze, or a sigh from the high heavens, or something dropped by a poet or angel. Something ordinary to them which to us, you and me is like a diamond. I'm not clever enough to explain it, I'm just glad when it works. So long as you all remember all that glitters is not gold. And be careful what you find in the street, it could be Novachok.

The Bickers from 2017

The Bickers ©

By

Michael Casey

The Bickers were in fact Mr and Mrs, but I’m not going to tell you their name as The Bickers was what they were know by, ask the post man and their long suffering neighbours. Why The Bickers? Was it rhyming slang for No Knickers, no. They were an old couple, a couple of old dears, and no that’s not rhyming slang either. They were called The Bickers because they lived next door to the Vicar’s, well no that’s a lie, they did live next door to the Vicar’s, but they were called The Bickers because they were always bickering. BICKERING. It became a place on the map, well known to delivery drivers, better than any Sat Nav, The Bickers.

Have a parcel for anybody on that stretch of the B82 then just drop it off at The Bickers, they’ll sign for anything. And Mr Bicker would, it was his way of having contract with the outside world. People would drop by for their parcel and give him a bar of chocolate or a few lines of chat, it did not matter what, it was nice to meet people, anybody.

Mrs Bicker had a cleaning job in various places, so she was always out and about, she always smelt of Pledge, forget Chanel no.5.Pledge was her perfume. Though she was given plenty of Chanel no.5 by very satisfied customers, she was a good scrubber in the best use of that word. So she hated the dirty boot marks from all the couriers who past by her house, Mr Bicker even gave them a quick tea, he always had his fast brew kettle on the hob. So the bickering as a result of their different life styles.

She was always cleaning, and he was always dirtying, she even complained about the amount of toilet paper he used. He just retorted when he died he’d make sure it was on her best floral carpet, image getting the marks of death off that. She said she’d buy him rubber nappies so if he died while she was out, they’d be no mess on the floor. Treating me like a Death Row Prisoner about to be executed, shouted Mr Bicker. That’s too good for you, if you ruin my new carpet from John Lewis with your coffee, I’ll put you over my knee and spank your bare arse. Do it now then retorted Mr Bicker.

So there he was spread over Mrs Bicker’s knee in her new Parker Knoll chair with his bare arse in the air, when Mrs Knowit, the local gossip came in for her parcel. The doors were never locked as he was always in and ready to receive parcels. Mrs Knowit gasped and grabbed her parcel. In 5 minutes the whole village Knewit, SPANKING, and at their age. However the Agatha Raisen was a newcomer to the village so she was impressed, very impressed and knew 1/2 the village would be giving it a go that very night. But I digress.

I’ll put the sterile gloves on next time, she said when she had finished giving him 6 of the best, Mrs Knowit was still outside gasping for breath, so she heard that too. However she looked at her watch, if she hurried the local Post Office and general store would still be open, she was sure they sold sterile gloves.

The Bickers loved to Bicker, it was their form of tv, they did have a tv but stopped watching when Arthur Negus was no longer on talking about furniture. So they listened to BBC Radio4 instead, and yes for them Nicholas Parson and Just a Minute was King. The Vicar always seemed to appear naked having his shower when Nicholas Parsons was on the radio. They always spotted him from the snug in their cottage kitchen, his bathroom overlooked their kitchen. And with BBC Radio4 Extra, Nicholas Parsons was a daily event, as was the naked vicar in the shower.

The Bickers would bicker about repetition, deviation, though  thanks to Mrs Knowit’s observations all the village were all learning about repetition and deviation. In the best context of a stable and caring relationship, jut ask the stable girls, but I digress.

One day the Bickers were bickering so much the whole village heard. It had been Amazon Prime Day, so there were stacks and stacks or parcels to collect. They gathered outside for a couple of hours, all they could hear was the crash and bang, crash and bang, and bang and crash. After 3 hours, they were very polite people after all the Vicar suggested they all went to his bathroom, not to baptise them but so they could look down in to the Bickers’ kitchen.

What they saw shocked them, I could not possibly put it on the page, it would singe the very page. Ok, I’ll tell you. The parcel men had clubbed together to get them a present for their 40^th wedding anniversary. It was Karma Sutra for beginners, the Bickers had been trying it out all around my house, and other places and positions. This was much much more then mere spanking.

The villagers crept down the stairs only to trip over the vicar’s bondage gear, he said he was minding it for somebody who was in jail. Mrs Knowit, winked, she would return after dark. As for the rest of the villagers, they hurried to place orders on Amazon Prime, it was a primal instinct in them. What was good enough for the Bickers was good enough for them. Agatha Raisen would fit in perfectly in this village.

end of summer? start of pain

well summer seems to have ended and the rain lashes down.
and so does the pain, the pain monster returned,
so maybe no new story today.
Welcome Japan and Israel today.
so my readers are everywhere.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

I talk to the birds and they answer me

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC