Monday 14 June 2021

Crying with Sam Smith

Crying with Sam Smith

did not know his Abbey Rd session was on tv

Stumbled over it

He has such a plaintive voice

and his Black singers are great

his band are good too

So there I was at twilight gently shedding a tear

WHY

Because all the family are back home again

which was a John Denver album

My University daughter landed home today 

and had a clear out of her clothes

So plastic sacks placed in our front garden

I did trail it to a passing neighour

But later as darkness descended a poor family arrived

So for some teenager it'll be like Christmas

A whole lot of clothes going on

So our local Transvestite lost his change

Only joking

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

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

So that made me happy

Mean people sell their clothes off, we donate

I 've  also been fizzing for 9 hours now

My Tinnitus along with Left Shoulder Pain

and chest pain too, with my hernia  blowing up more 

through my bypass scar

So as I sit my chair listening to Sam Smith

It reminds me that everything is Temporary

And only Health is worth something

The clothes I helped chose in my Gay Dad capacity

If you have beautiful daughter you help buy their clothes

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

spot something my daughters can wear

Then I buy it, a kind of bonding experience

So tonight Sam Smith sings

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

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

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

and before I forget 14 nations reading me via Wordpress

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

click link to find your own languages

and Quick Stories in Korean is doing very well

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

position to sleep in

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



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




Sunday 13 June 2021

New News Channel in UK

New News Channel in UK

I've available, Postcard from Birmingham

they can repeat my 5 mins section through the night

But would I have to knee before Andrew to get it

I was reading old stuff as I checked my figures

And sometimes they make me cry as I remember the story

with all its connections

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

he is dead

So Eternity is close over my shoulder

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

Then tonight I read something that cheered my spirits

So I have to thank all you random readers everywhere

Because unknowingly you return my dignity

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

Over in USA, Trump has been exposed yet again

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

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

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

Just so he can hijack it and make his getaway

Or will UFOs appear to take him away

With a world like this Humour is in short supply

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

Postcard from Birmingham is available

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

I can broadcast from your ladies chamber 

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

Actually she looks like our old green grocers only daughter

Stay happy everybody

and say your prayers tonight, and wear a mask

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


 
















A slice of life, a piece of cake repeated

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

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


Sunday, 17 September 2017

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake ©

By

Michael Casey


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Sunday, 17 September 2017

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake

A Slice of Life, a Piece of Cake ©
By
Michael Casey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







at September 17, 2017 

Saturday 12 June 2021

Morning All

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

so it's nice to see everybody happy again

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

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

So break a leg, or was it two to him

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

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

So I sent a message in a bottle to the reviewer

Though I'll never. know if he gets it

I suggested Birmingham is Ballet my short story should be commissioned 

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

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

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

My Rubik cube life, again

I am pleased how Never Discarded, Never Unloved turned out

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

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

Naked in the garden, just to delight the neighbours

And tempt the squirrels looking for nuts

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

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

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

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

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

He was a nice man

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

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

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

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

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

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

So  that's all the gossip for today

I think I may have some sausages now

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



Friday 11 June 2021

well it was nice to come back with a good new piece, Never Discarded, Never Unloved

well it was nice to come back with a good new piece, Never Discarded, Never Unloved

I sent it to my big daughter at University

she cried, but said it was one of the best pieces I'd ever written

I used to write and they say hey kids listen, and read back my new piece

and my daughters would give me marks out of 10

That was their childhood, and tomato soup, Heinz is one of the family

that's why we all wear lederhosen 

My other daughter when she got in from 6th form

well, she said she liked it too, the poem not just Heinz's tomato soup

So I hope all of you all over the world, and down in Cornwall

for that's where all of the world is right now

lets hope all of you enjoy my words too

Not so tired today, so if I can get more chunks of sleep and less Tinnitus

that'll be good

Still getting junk emails in many languages

Why can't they be all turned into pillars of salt

At least I could sprinkle them on my chips

Instead I  delete and report them, so they lose their email


the girls ten. plus years ago, when they suffered my words and marked me out of 10


Thursday 10 June 2021

Never Discarded, Never Unloved

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

Never Discarded, Never  Unloved  10th June 2021 ©

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.

***** I awoke with this title in my head, I have had a bad few weeks with Tinnitus

and one influence after another went into the melting pot, I hope you all like it

Wednesday 9 June 2021

Rubik Cube Life

Rubik Cube Life

That's me at the moment with  sleep pattern killed by Tinnitus

So i may email you at 3am as I'm still awake

or let the cat out at 4am as she scratches at my door

she lost her miaow but is back again

hunting and taking the high ground on the fences

then an early breakfast

maybe up for an hour or two

then back to bed again

finally sleep arriving the getting up late

a roar of noise like a football crowd

when I awake

the 30 minutes before the vibrations settle

and I can attack the day

but still the hiss and hum is in my eardrums

then maybe a forced nap on the sofa behind me

all this because of Tinnitus

then arthritis might kick in

or chest pain, not the heart, where my breast was broken

These are some of my Rubik Cubes

or a baseball bat to the head that lasts a few hours

or not being able to breath or a change of tone of voice

I hope nobody has any of this

But this is my Life, so enjoy the tales and don't

say, he's not on form today

I give as much as I can give

I've given up trying to get discovered

Just  Tinnitus time emails on my phone

and what does mc=4c mean?

a prize if you know

as Fleetwood Mac play on the computer

I just must have some Music night and day

to take the @pain@ of Tinnitus away

so that's why my latest Lec Boris and Gregorgi story has not arrived

Yes many millions more suffer far more

Not just all of you in 90 countries reading my rubbish

so here's an old Totoro story, now that our cat is better


The Bad Cat That Wasn’t ©

By Michael Casey

Totoro wasn’t a bad cat even though his owner thought she was, it was just that she got fed up of being a house cat, house cats led a boring life. It was nice being fed and having a nice litter tray by the back door, but Totoro wanted to see what was behind the back door. So she plotted to escape and have a look around the neighbourhood, she was allowed upstairs and down stairs and in the lady’s chamber, and if there was an attic or even a cellar she’d be allowed to go there too. But that was not enough for Totoro.

Totoro wanted to talk to the other cats and annoy that dog that lived over the hedge. She had watched all the goings on in the neighbourhood, but that was just through the window, she wanted to join in and be part of it. Cat tv was no good, she wanted to be part of the action. One day her owner Miss Lump who was rather plumb left the bathroom window open to let the steam out. Only the cat got out too, Miss Lump who was a teacher had lost her cat, though some of her students thought she was a witch who rode on a broomstick with a cat.

Miss Lump did not notice as she was busy making harder and harder maths tests for her Year8 students, they would thank her for it in the future, even if they called her Witch behind her back, or other words that rhythmed with Witch. In the morning Miss Lump heard a noise it was Totoro asking to be let in, Totoro was sitting on the porch canopy beneath Miss Lump’s bedroom window. Miss Lump was surprised to see her cat there, but she realised she needed to allow Totoro some freedom.

From that night onwards she kept her bedroom window half open, so Totoro could come and go as she pleased. Miss Lump did have a metal baseball bat under her bed just in case any burglars came along, she was 110kilos and knew how to swing a bat. Despite her size she was still pretty as she had red hair and a very nice smile, when she wasn’t setting maths tests for her students.

So Totoro became a night shift cat, coming and going as he pleased, she went to see the nasty dog first of all, she jumped out of the hedge straight onto the dog’s back, from that night onwards the neighbourhood slept better. This was the first miracle Totoro performed. Totoro visited the old ladies of the neighbourhood and tested their milk for them, just to make sure it was good enough for them. She didn’t want any of the old ladies to drink bad milk after all, she soon became the official milk tester for 4 old ladies.

Totoro spent more and more time away from her home and Miss Lump, but Miss Lump knew Totoro was ok so she did not worry. Totoro still managed to come back and finish his food and use his litter. Totoro may travel far and wide but she always poohed at home.

A little boy had come to the neighbourhood, he never went out to play, Totoro went to see him, Totoro looked at him through his window, for some reason the child slept downstairs with a bottle and wires connected. Totoro did not know what they were, maybe he was part Gerbil, he had a bottle and wires. If Totoro could speak he’d ask Miss Lump to explain. 

One evening Totoro sneaked into the boy’s house to see him, the boy’s face was so pale and white, he had spilt some milk on his clothes, Totoro jumped on his lap and started licking the milk up. As he was licking the milk up, the boy smiled and laughed, his mother heard the laughter and came to see what was happening. To hear her son laugh was such joy for his mother, her son was sick so very sick.

Totoro became a regular visitor to Tomas’s house, Totoro had his regulars, Totoro was a travelling cat who was there to be stroked and loved by everywhere in the neighbour. Totoro seemed to know that Tomas needed him more than the rest, so she just moved in. She loved sleeping at the bottom of Tomas’s bed, and Totoro loved her too, she purred like a taxi when he stroked her.

Tomas’s mom rang the phone number on Totoro’s collar, Miss Lump understood, and when she discovered Tomas was in Year8 she shed a tear, he’d never finish all the maths test she set for her children. And Tomas never did, 3 months later he died on a Tuesday morning, still stroking Totoro, in her sorrow and pain Tomas’s mother rang to share the sad news with Miss Lump. 

Miss Lump went to school and passed out the test papers, as the Year8 children did the biggest and hardest maths test of their lives Miss Lump sat there crying. The children looked up from their test papers and immediately they loved Miss Lump to death, they tried their hardest because they loved her. After the test was over Miss Lump explained about Totoro and Tomas, then it was the turn of the children to cry. A cat may have 9 lives but we only have one said Miss Lump, then they all cried together.

Tomas left a legacy all of Miss Lump’s maths group decided to live a bit for him as he didn’t have a chance to finish his life. In fact the maths group became the most brilliant maths group ever.  Tomas’s funeral was so sad with lots of children in attendance, Totoro’s friends also came as they all shared him and so they should be there for Tomas too.

Tomas went straight to Heaven, he was met by Saint Martin de Porres who handed him a cat, the cat looked exactly like Totoro. Had Totoro exchanged one of her lives so Totoro would not be lonely in Heaven. I don’t know, we’ll have to ask Saint Martin de Porres when we get there, if we are good.

Now there is evil in the world, now though Totoro was safe in Heaven with Tomas, here on earth there is evil. One night a burglar who had been looking around the area for somewhere to steal noticed Miss Lump’s open bedroom window. So with a hop and a skip he was in her bedroom. Luckily for Miss Lump Totoro and her 8 remaining lives was fast asleep at the bottom of her bed. 

Totoro leapt and scratched the burglar’s face, the thief threw Totoro and Totoro landed on a tin of paint which Miss Lump had been using to touch up the paint in her bedroom. Miss Lump awoke to see an uninvited man in her bedroom. So she reached for her baseball bat and battered the thief till he fell out her bedroom window, breaking an arm and a leg.

Miss Lump looked at Totoro, she had saved her, though now Totoro was covered in paint. Tomas watching from Heaven begged Saint Martin de Porres to save Totoro’s life, even if it meant Totoro lost another one of his lives. Saint Martin de Porres smiled, he had a soft spot for animals after all, Miss Lump was desperate for a Vet to save her cat.

The Police came to take the burglar away, via hospital and an emergency RSPCA Vet arrived too. Covered in paint was a terrible thing for a cat, but Miss Lump wanted her cat to live. Several of Totoro’s other owners arrived all the noise of police and ambulance had woken them up. They did not care what it cost they would all chip in. Totoro had spread so much love they just had to thank her.

So Totoro lost another life, but the Vet gained a wife. Totoro was shaved and had to wear a cone to stop her from licking herself and the poisonous paint, but with love and care and despite the lack of hair she would survive. 

The Vet’s name was Tomas Martin, no I’m not lying, his name was Tomas Martin. He immediately fell in love with Miss Lump, and he just loved maths too, multiplication was his absolute favourite. They went on to have 7 children the same number as lives Totoro had left.



and why is Totoro so white and fluffy?

She drinks Vodka with Lec, Boris and Gregori in Warley Woods

as well as Comfort fabric conditioner

4826 sorry I've been coughing my guts up

4826 sorry I've been coughing my guts up is it a very bad cold, or whooping cough but my underlying health conditions heart, kidney, art...