following on the black humour theme. today I bought my girls some clothes and a lot of books. I told them its their Christmas present. And their Chinese New Year present too. They are 1/2 Chinese after all. Then it gave me an idea for a story, not yet written. It would be about a hypochondriac who keeps on thinking he has this disease or that disease so spoils his children, each time he thinks he’s contracted this or that new disease. So you can imagine in the school playground the kids saying, I got this new top because my dad has piles, or I got these new shoes because my dad’s arthritis got worse. Or dad had bad tooth ache so he bought me new boots, etc etc I may very well write this story down. Though I should say I really do have a few maladies, but laughter is the best medicine.
Today I’ve recorded a few more stories. So now I have recorded 200 of my shorts, which is less that 20% of my output. I’ve written more stories than the Brothers Grimm, twice as many, though some card might say my stories are grimm, ha ha ha, they will laugh to themselves.
Anyways as I recorded more today I did remember that a few days ago a blind guy was looking for a reader, so perhaps I should send him my 1st 200 stories to listen to. As for the rest of you http://www.michaelgcasey,typepad.com has 50 or so samples. So far 10 hours plus of recorded material.
Todays recordings included the piece below.
Government Dating Agency May 31, ’11 10:34 AM
Fill in E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready(c)
I saw somewhere that the Government would be involved with marriage. So that set me thinking.
Fill in form E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready.
Just as stupid as a census form would be the Government provided spouse, all you do is fill in the
You fill in sections stating what kind of sex life is required, variety and kind and frequency.
You fill in sections stating what kind of faith is required, though nowadays “None” would be the
Sections for what kind of intellect required.
What kind of hair colour, and type, soft or shiny.
Height requirements would be catered for too.
Tall dark and handsome, or very curvy with a twinkle in their eyes. Eye colour would also be on the
The form would go on for three pages and has to be filled out in triplicate. Native language
requirements or preferences would also be listed.
It could take hours to fill in the form, but once completed, the Government guarantees perfection
and a till death do you part guarantee.
With the government in charge of our mating, nothing can go wrong. Only on the way down in the
lift its love at first sight as you see somebody for the first time. Can it be true can it be really true.
You were made for me and I was made for you.
They say its an ill wind that blows no good. Today 24 hours before my pain killing injection the hospital rung to cancel it. Its nearly 6 months since my 2nd hip started to hurt, now I could be waiting another month. So that’s the ill wind. Mind you there’s a storm due to hit Birmingham and UK big time in the morning, so I suppose I won’t be drenched as I won’t have to go out in the rain. Though as I’m not going to hospital I’ll be doing my usual school run instead, so I will be drenched but slightly less so. Which reminds me how did I meet my wife, one reason was because she got food poisoning and missed her flight to Germany, so she came to Birmingham instead. Such is Love and Fate and etc.
School Shoes ©
By Michael Casey
Shoes are shoes, are shoes, right? No, shoes are not shoes, they are school shoes, which is another thing entirely. And as for children’s shoes, don’t make my cry. They are something even more tearful, to the parent that is, the cost is so enormous.
You or me we got to the shoe shop and try them on and in 5 minutes you are out the door, you may even be wearing the new shoes and your old ones are throw in the bin. Shoes are expensive, leather shoes that is. Plastic or any other material tends to be cheaper.
The school year started a month or so ago, now ½ term approaches, and small daughter tells me she needs new school schools. She has small feet, size 2 or less, so normally she does not get through shoes as fast as her sister, who is a size 5.
So you look at the shoes and agree they are ready for the bin, so now you have to replace them. You can’t just give her any old shoes, they have to be school shoes, which have a special, almost magical quality, the fit, not the fit for the foot, but the fit for the school rules. Yes, school rules. They must be black and be plain, as if fit for the Amish or Quaker temperament.
Our cheap and cheerful shoe shop has closed down, and the other one is expensive, so the Internet beckons. We look at Clarks, they have nice shoes, in nice black leather, but I wince at the price. Small daughter doesn’t mind non leather shoes, so we agree to look at other websites. She does not have sweaty feet like me and big sister, so we can try non leather shoes.
We browse here and we browse there, then hey presto we find £15 shoes, which fit the bill, and fit her feet, and fit school rules. So we buy 2 pairs which we hope will last till the Summer, and save £15 if you can follow the logic.
So dad is given a congratulatory kiss, and small daughter skips away happily. Only to return half an hour later to remind you that the Seasons are changing and really she needs some new boots to wear to school in the bad weather, but once at school she’ll put her cheap new school shoes on.
So together we look at the boots, size 2 boots, at least there are no rules to conform to here. So we go to Clarks and they have a sale, and we put a pair in the basket, before opening a new Window.
We look at Amazon and Debenhams, and compare the boots. Are fluffy warm boots good enough, are the boots too tall, which would get in the way of small daughter’s running activities in the playground, or are they just right. I feel like Goldilocks looking for boots instead of a bed.
Then we find the just right boots, only they are not just right, as my small daughter decides they won’t match her clothes, when she’s wearing them not just for school. So we have to search again. Finally we settle for some mid- calf length boots with fake fur on the inside and thick soles to keep her feet out of the puddles and snow this coming Winter.
So now she is a happy bunny and away she goes to play with her dolls’ house, at least I don’t have to buy shoes for all the inhabitants of that house, or I’d be in the poor house.
Pain and Fear Oct 2014©
By Michael Casey
Just so you know I’m talking from experience, not airy fairy philosophy, only my own philosophy learnt the hard way. I’ve talked to a few people now about Arthritis and pain. My own Arthur as I call it, arrived unannounced in March 2013. By the time I went through the health system it was 5th October before I got some proper pain relief, for my left hip.
Then such is the nature of the beast that my other leg, hip and everywhere else decided to go out in sympathy. Now after maybe 4 to 6 months I hope that’ll be sorted too, finally.
I always say I don’t want to pop pills for the pain as I don’t want to turn into Michael Jackson, the name Michael is all we share in common. I don’t want to be addicted to anything, besides which my kidneys don’t allow me to pop too many pills. So I use Movelat gel instead. It works in 5 mins and doesn’t smell like Deep Heat.
So that’s my background, I have met people who suffer much much worse and for years. So should I should shut up, or grin and bear it, and have a stiff upper lip, the British way.
Personally I think stiff upper lip is bollocks, when you are in pain you are in pain. You are not even looking for sympathy, but a little empathy does go long way. I’ve met people who say their kid or grandkid or nephew or whatever has this disease or that disease. As if it’s a competition in pain. It’s not a competition, and I do pray that others do get a bit of relief from their pain.
The other thing I say when people are offering one up-man-ship in pain, is does the sufferer have a sense of humour. This takes the wind from their sails, and they even think I’m being unkind. Some even miss the point, if you have a sense of humour it deflects pain away, it lessens it. Humour got us through the War, if you can laugh at something it is not your master.
Fear of something is greater than the thing itself, Churchill knew that, so we should all remember that too, whatever pain we have. He also said Never Never Surrender. That’s true too. I have seen people give up through pain and sorry, it just leeches away the soul. So the answer really is Always Look On The Bright Side of Life.
It does not mean that I or anybody else is a comedian, and all singing and dancing comedian. A kind of Bruce Forsythe but on speed, or any other substance. Your outlook on life colours your life itself. If you give yourself a crucifix to carry then you will weigh down your soul. I’m sad because of this or because of that, my Life is Over, this mentality is a Cancer.
I don’t say we should be like Patch Adams, we can all heal ourselves, medicine helps, but it is ourselves that help ourselves the most. Give yourself a kick up the bum when you are feeling glum. So you did not get that job, that girl ignored you or slapped your face.
Life moves on, and we have to move on too, or we are drowned in the sea of life, time and tide waits for no man. I had a Birthday and this means I am now the same age that my dad was when I was at the lowest point of my life. It was my dad’s Birthday and I’d lost a job and I could see no hope on the horizon.
I can remember my dad shaving in the kitchen sink, saying sagely that something would turn up. I never knew if he really believed what he was saying, then or now. But I believed and loved him totally, which I hope every other son everywhere does. And if you don’t then you don’t have a Kerry Blacksmith for a dad as I did.
So I lived in hope and my brother said try computers, so I did, so I applied for one job in computers, and got it. That job lasted 21 years and laid the foundations for my very life. My fears were banished and I had a secure job.
How did I repay my dad for his confidence in me, I visited him every single day when he was in the old people’s home, for 3 years, 20 years later. It’s all in Padre Pio and Me.
The pain of loss is a great big thing, I know as my mother died, then 8 weeks later my dad would have joined her, but my brother did CPR and saved our dad. So we had 5.5 years extra time, time to show our dad our thanks for his great life and influence over us his children.
When mum died I shed not a tear, not one, as she had ordered us not to cry for her, and not to fight. This was her mantra for years before her death. To be honest, she was worn out from her large family.
When dad died finally, a week after I’d found another new job, escaping the scrap heap again, I was in pain. I howled like a puppy dog being beaten with an iron bar. Grief does that to you. History repeated itself, I had found another great job. I was working for CPNEC Birmingham. Hotel work is hard work but great fun. I really did excel at the hotel.
So I’ve talked about real pain, as in Arthur, emotional pain as in losing a parent. I nearly lost 2 in the space of 8 weeks. So which is the worse. Emotional pain always trumps physical pain. The heart feels pain more than anywhere else. So when your friend is going through a divorce or her bloke cheats on her, be there for her. A few words here and a few words there can and do save lives and souls too.
Some may think you are a stupid sod, but if you shine sunshine into a life as the clouds gather and the walls come crashing down, then, you will save a soul. You may also make a friend for life. The clever people don’t know what to say, or they are too posh or too polite to say anything. This is Wrong. A hug is worth more than any amount of pills from a busy uncaring doctor.
You may wonder why I try and write humour most of the time, and not more serious posts like this. Well the answer my friends is blowing in the wind. Music is therapy too, that’s why your neighbour was playing Barry White all night long for a week. Until either the Police raided his house, or he realised there are as good a fish in the sea that ever came out of it.
You Only Know When You Are Dead ©
By Michael Casey
There is something similar between Paul Merton and Alfred Nobel, no Paul Merton does not have an explosive delivery. The thing I see in common is this, they had to have a death before they realised what people really thought of them. Alfred Nobel read his own obituary, then he changed. Paul Merton only discovered after his parents’ death that they admired his success.
Which has set me thinking, what do people really think of us. Will they only tell the truth behind our backs, or do they have the balls to tell it as it is to our face. I once said of somebody that he was “shallow” then a week or so later when we were all down the pub, as was our company’s religion, I was confronted by him.
I heard you said I was shallow. Yes, and yes you are. Do you want another pint I asked, so I got a round in and no more was said. In those days 20 years ago and more the company was more like a social club, but, everybody did work very hard, very hard indeed. We have all scattered to the 4 winds now, but I’m sure when we all look back we all look back not in anger, but with laughter.
When I left the company I’m told they had the largest leaving collection ever, though that could have been like Cecil D Milne’s funeral, not because he was liked but everybody wanted to make sure he was really dead. However, as I look to my right I have a painted water-coloured copy of a Burne-Jones hanging on the wall, the angel is playing a flute, below is our piano which my eldest daughter plays on. We saved up for years to buy it, and now the fruits are being to show.
Why are people afraid to say what they mean and mean what they say? Perhaps I was born blunt, or honest as I would say, there is nothing worse than asking people what they want to eat and then they change their mind, or moan afterwards that they really wanted something else.
Whenever the kettle is boiled in our house I’ll ask do my girls want a drink, tea, green tea or hot chocolate. So I don’t waste the gas. My youngest is the one who says no, then says yes just as I’ve sat down again at the computer, just as I’m in mid-sentence.
Though I should not complain as they always give me inspiration to write something new, 550 short stories, pieces like this is my tally so far. Take a peek at Amazon Kindle if you want to read some. Slice of life, as the NY poet Elaine Polin would say.
When you are dead and in your grave its only then you realise that a coffin and a grave is just like being in a submarine, such a small space to sleep in, though you’ll never again come up for air. In your grave you’ll hear the grass being mown above you. You’ll hear lovers make love in the sunshine above. The laughter of children as they steal the flowers from your grave before giving them to their teacher in the school next door to the cemetery.
The rain beats down on your headstone, tears merge with the rain, somebody has come to pay you a visit, only the sound is muffled six feet under, they should have left your hearing aid in when they put you in your box. They put shoes on your feet, but a hearing aid would have been more useful.
You strain to hear who is crying, who is lamenting your passing. Its none of your family, it’s the cleaner from your office, you gave her some advice to help her son read. Now he’s passed the 11 plus, all because you spent a few minutes chatting every night to his mum. She forced him to listen to Radio 4 and to read a quality newspaper, and then there was that book list you gave her. It was nothing really, but it was enough to change her son’s life. Just as BBC Radio 4 had changed your own life.
There’s laughter above, two drunks are sitting and spitting as they drink cider as they sit on your grave. You wouldn’t mind a drink yourself, it’s a bit boring just lying here all stiff 6 feet under, if only there was cable tv in the grave. At least you have time to think, and you are not rushed off your feet any more.
No need to visit my grave you had said, I’m with you, I’m in you, I’m your dad, I’m your husband, your boyfriend, your secret lover, your boss your friend or whatever else you may have been. No need to tramp though the rain to lay flowers. That’s what you said, but secretly you wish somebody came, its cold and lonely in a grave.
So on it goes for all eternity. If you were a Poet maybe people would come and you’d hear laughter and listen to your own poems being read back to you. But you were just you, and sometimes its only when you are dead that you know just how much or how little you were loved.
So love now, not tomorrow, because tomorrow you could be dead.
Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for Radio and all other media
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 17,227 views on Funny or Die for a sample
1st 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 530+ 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
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
The Dead and The Living (c)
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the laughter
has left them, the sparkle has gone from their eyes, the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders, and their voice has vanished to
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the
stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.
I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,
though I find the deceased are always more polite. My father also
had a few words to say about the living.
He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul, yet
they think their existence is everything, that they know everything
because they experience many things with their senses.
What the living don’t acknowledge is that their time is short and
when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue without
them, without their strong, without their weak, without their
beautiful or even ugly temporary form, to where I cannot say, only
that it is a better place.
Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin, the soul was free
LinkedIn Profile and CV ©
We’ve all been on Facebook and LinkedIn, we get to know people and make “friends”. On LinkedIn it’s more about connections and maybe business connections. So we have to rely on the Profile, my LinkedIn profile tells my story, as I am a writer. But how accurate are these Profiles?
I am a born leader.
Means he was the firstborn boy in a family of 11 girls.
I created the supply chain structure.
Means he decided to use a clipboard and notepad instead of just his memory.
I optimised the sales among target audiences.
He chatted up all the girls, he was kind to seniors and went to church.
I was inventive and creative in gaining new sales.
Means he designed a flyer and went street to street delivering them.
I was never afraid of going the extra mile for the business.
Means there was a street gang chasing him after he was at the bank
I am great at communicating the business message.
He just would not shut up, so the boss got him to tidy the fruit outside the ma and pa store.
I always try and improve myself.
Means he has no friends so he reads a lot.
I created the new scheme to optimise the business cash flow.
Means he took the store’s cash and put the money on a horse.
I am now looking for new opportunities to excel
Means he got fired, cops not called as the owner married to his sister
I created a great new idea for centralising purchasing delivery.
Means he was a guard for the money delivery company, crash helmet and visor.
I created my own start-up company
Means he stole the money from the cash delivery company and started his own company.
I am now on a learning sabbatical before resuming my career
Means he is in jail, working in the library.
So when you read those LinkedIn profiles or reading a CV or resume think what do they really mean. Check the photos out too, the reality can be far different. Just like actors, photos can be 10 or 20 years old, and they are. Dig deeper.
Me, I google and check people out, as far as you can on Google. Google me and my sites and think for yourself. I am on a sabbatical myself, no I’m not in a library, thought we have plenty of books in the house, no it’s called arthritis, which comes and goes and makes me scream sometimes. But at least I can sit here and make some of you laugh, as I Google everybody.
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.
My other idea is a book of shorts, 40 stories with 40 translations
on facing page plus 40 audio of me reading my stories on usb stick.
Perfect to teach English as a 2nd language, via humour.
As I have written 530+ stories this would be a series of 10 plus books
So we could have Mandarin/Japanese/Urdu/Spanish/Hindi/Russian etc
This would be a world wide hit, angel investors needed
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 180 of my 530+ shorts, they can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com listen in reverse order I have a new microphone now.
Cheerio, Michael Casey
www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear 50+ stories
8 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books
that’s me at home writing while my daughter plays piano, she want to be a Vet when she grows up, as for me I’d just like a bigger house if I can sell some books.