Fairy Liquid and All That


Fairy Liquid and All That ©
By Michael Casey
As we all know Fairy Liquid is the best washing up liquid, that’s why my wife insists I buy it for her. Yes I do the washing up, or I used to until she decided I was useless, I did not rinse properly, and the rinse is the important bit, she does have a chemistry degree after all. So as I love her so much I went to Iceland to buy Fairy Liquid for her, even though she didn’t give me the money for the Fairy Liquid, it was an act of Love buying the Fairy Liquid.
Then I noticed the price so I was tempted to try another brand, much much cheaper, so I was tempted, a bit like seeing a kebab and wolfing it down, even though I’ve given up meat since after my operation in Jan 2015. So I gave into temptation and bought the cheap washing up liquid, I got 4 bottles for the same price as one big bottle of Fairy Liquid. You can see why I was tempted, please don’t judge me, I know it was wrong, but it was a big big temptation, 4 for the price of one. It was like what happens at a Christmas party, TEMPTATION.
So I went home guilt but defiant. When I got home I squeezed the green coloured washing up liquid into the Lemon Fairy Liquid bottle which was still on the kitchen sink. Only Totoro our cat witnessed my crime, and she wouldn’t tell, but to be on the safe side I bribed her with some chicken from the fridge. One whole bottle of the cheap stuff was squeezed into the Lemon Fairy Liquid bottle, then about 3/4s of the 2nd bottle of the cheap stuff, I was triumphant.
So what to do with the other 2 bottles of the cheap stuff? I decided to hide them under the sink in the old metal bread bin that I had brought from my family home when I bought my own house. Then I had 2nd thoughts, what if I was found out by my Shanghai wife, a Shanghai girl is known for 3 things, her beauty, her intelligence and her NAGGING. So I quickly removed the cheap stuff from under the sink, and decided to hide it in plain sight, I’d squeeze it into the hand wash and my anti dandruff shampoo. Then quickly as if my wife was in the next room I took the evidence outside and put the 4 empty plastic bottles at the very bottom of the recycle bin.
For five days my wife did not realise what had happened, she is a very busy woman after all, what with her career. I did let the cat out of the bag and explained it to my children, Totoro our cat miaowed that I had bribed her, such a traitor, my girls just laughed. We had hidden the fact that I’d bought my smaller daughter a new Zara coat from my wife before, it looked exactly like the one grannie in Shanghai had bought her, but was a much better fit. It took my wife 6 months before she discovered my subterfuge. But Fairy Liquid was sacrosanct to her.
Each day when the dishes were washed my daughters stifled their laugher and Totoro had to be bribed too, 3 girls could they be trusted not to spill the beans. Then finally tonight my wife noticed that the hand wash and the washing up liquid were the same colour, both a pale imitation of the real thing, not Coca Cola but it was not Fairy Liquid either. It was just too much for me so I burst out laughing, with my daughters joining in, I’m sure Totoro was laughing too. I laughed so much that it hurt, my chest scar does still hurt 9 months after my operation.
I also warned them all not to use my shampoo, or they would be using cheap hand wash on their hair. They all screamed in terror, girls are very sensitive about what goes into their hair. It would be revenge for all the times they had stolen my shampoo, speaking of which the Aldi Tea Tree shampoo is really good, and its cheap. My wife chided me, her stupid and clever husband, but if I was so stupid what did that make her?
I left the house still laughing till it hurt, I promised to buy her some real Fairy Liquid, if I was quick Iceland would still be open. She promised to use the other rubbish first, but she longed for her Fairy Liquid. I know she’d make me use the rubbish washing up liquid on my hair, but I don’t care, I’m a real man, and real men don’t do use Fairy Liquid, because they are banned from washing up as they cannot wash up properly

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A trip to the dentists


A Trip to the Dentist (c)

By Michael Casey

My daughter decided that her teeth were not good enough so she had braces fitted, so now we have something to tease her about, for a few years. I told her that her uncle had a gap between his teeth, it meant you’d travel a lot, that’s what grannie, my mum used to say. It’s true too my brother was like a gypsie, travelling far and wide. As for my daughter, I think she’s been to Shanghai 5 times now, so her gap between her teeth has proved she’s an international traveller. So once the gap disappears thanks to the braces maybe I’ll have to pay for less international air tickets, or grannie in Shanghai will start to visit us instead.

So as the trip to the dentist, or should I say orthodontist was on a school day I had to attend with her, which feels like a waste of my time, but they do have BBC news channel on tv in the waiting room. So I walked all the way to her school and waited in the sunshine outside. That used to be no big deal but post quadruple heart bypass with arthritis returning I have to pace myself. So I walked up the hill, then had a rest while I watched the traffic and enjoyed the pollution before heading downhill again towards the school.

Now it is a known fact that if you stay still in one position long enough you will see the whole world, a bit like how mariners navigate if you think about it. So I stood at the corner of the street waiting for my daughter to leave school, and who did I see over the road on his phone, only Mr Singh who used to own the corner shop where I used to live 30 years ago. It appears his hard work has paid off and he now lives in a £750,000 house. He is actually immortalised in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, but he’ll have to buy a copy of the book to see if he can spot himself or his actions.

Pretty Indian girls jogged past in one direction then another, they may have even been Mr Singh’s granddaughters. Then I could see a gardener walking towards me with his “napsac” on his back, and his tools strapped to his body. It was my neighbour Brian, so I said hello and explained what I was doing hanging around a street corner, looking like a well dressed criminal casing or should I say Caseying a house. Though I do look at http://www.rightmove.co.uk often, dreaming of the day I can have a bigger house in the posh area near my daughters’ school.

My daughter emerged from her school, thankfully its in the top 1% of schools in the country, it’s a grammar school in all but name. In fact it’s so good the head has been asked to go over the field and assist the boy’s school, so she’s now the head of both schools. Me and my daughter had plenty of time, we could have even walked to the dentists, though I soon decided my body could not cope with that, so we sat and chatted at the bus stop. The bus sailed past as we talked, so we waited 10 minutes then the next one arrived.

My daughter told me that she discovered that her orthodontist went to her school, my daughter was also musing about being a dentist. I just told her only do it if she could hold her breath, a lifetime of having bad breath in your face, no wonder they wear masks. So while my daughter had the braces tightened I watched BBC news channel, though I did think Kwickfit might have been closer, it was similar work, spanners and so forth.

Time passed quickly, my daughter told me she’d been away 25 mins, I thought it was only 10, so I must have been enjoying myself, I just hope my daughter did too. Looking at my watch I suggested we dive into the pub on the way back to school. They had a meal deal, two meals for £10 I had spotted it on the outward journey. Though it turned out we’d only have time for a drink and a huge pack of crisps each. On the bus back to school/pub the driver was unique. He had curly hair and big dangly ear rings on, plus stick on nails and a bra. He was in drag. Or that may have been his normal attire.IMG_7503

Once in the pub I needed the toilet, I couldn’t use the toilet in the church opposite the dentist as they locked them up. Toilets only available on Sundays. I was tempted to pee in the Holy Water fonts. Instead on the bus I just dared not sit down, in case the extra pressure caused me to erupt like a water font. So finding the pub toilet was like being in a haunted house going up and down and round and around, while trying to keep my legs crossed at the same time. I was relieved to say the least. Then my daughter had followed my lead, so I had to look for her too, a fool searching for a fool.

We waited to be served and the barmaid raised half an eyebrow, it was not quite like a Saint Trinians girl with Arthur Dayley, but my daughter is very tall. As time was now pressing we both had a drink and some crisps, before my daughter grabbed her school bag and dashed back to school. As for me I jumped on the next bus and went back home via Aldi, as I did need to buy some sprouts for the wife.

Its MY Right


It’s My Right ©

By Michael Casey

It’s my right to own a gun, cos I’m a MAN
It’s my right to shoot and hunt and be a MAN
Cos I am a MAN and it’s my RIGHT
It’s my right to have enough ammo to invade Panama
It’s my right to have as many weapons as the Police Force
It’s my right to use my gun as I like
It’s my right to take my weapon to the Library and to Church
It’s my right to be a MAN with a gun because I CAN
It was his right to go into a school and kill and maim
It was his right to go into a movie theatre and kill and maim
It was his right, it was his right, it was his right, it was his right
It was their right to scream in fear and pain, to piss their pants with fear
It was their right to die and go into the darkness of death because of his right
It was their right to have their bodies broken and brown away
It was their right to be dead and unrecognisable to their loved ones
It was their right to die before having even lived
It was their right to die without knowing why
It was their right to die without even having time to cry
It was their right to die without even saying goodbye to mum and dad
It was his right to own a gun because he was a MAN it was his right
Now only the undertaker is busy, the undertaker is crying
The undertaker takes the bodies away, the undertaker takes the bodies away
The undertaker is crying, the undertaker is crying
The undertaker hasn’t got enough coffins, there are never enough coffins
The undertaker hasn’t got enough coffins, there are never enough coffins
So which is more important the right to bear arms, or the right to bear a coffin

If you like this then why not buy my 9 books on Amazon world wide


http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear 50+ stories
9 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books

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 17,755 views on Funny or Die for a sample.
I have 300,000 + views on my Google Plus
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 recorded 200 of them so far, 10 hours plus of audio.
I have started recording all my Shorts and have put 50+ of them on http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com I have a new mike now too, so listen in reverse order.
My 7 books are on Amazon Kindle
and http://www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com is my site.
Here’s the samples for radio or print.
LinkedIn Profile and CV ©
Michael Casey
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(michaelgcasey) 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.

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)


Michael Casey
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
Michael Casey
Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.
Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in your house.
Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room, dad? Especially mine.
Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.
Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.
You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for suggesting it.
So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.
After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.
Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.
So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or half waking up and forgetting where she was.
So remembering to put on your dressing gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear, its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.

How do Men Shop? ©
By Michael Casey
There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.
If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.
This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion. A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.
As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.
This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.
The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

All Things Bright and Beautiful ©
By Michael Casey
I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while, so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it. They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an absolute Fashion Must.
Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3 stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one, although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair. As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.
I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it “Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener said “in the Spring there will be growth.”

Cheese and Chorizo ©
By Michael Casey
The thing about girls is that they steal your stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.
Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were the ones I really like, its always the ones you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing. JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me where the biscuits were, a new hiding place, that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.
Shoes are a big thing, so our small daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they can cut them down to make a dress or even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family, DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.
Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall, as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it disappears. When do I find out? Never, or nearly never, until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s my clothes.
So if you want to keep the clothes on your back, don’t have daughters. If you want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies, don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you look before you sit.

From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked Sink ©
By Michael Casey
Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For us the Sat Nav debate continues. In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He’d done the Knowledge and it was all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it 30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.
Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.
Bus drivers know their route, so once they’ve done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes because that can lead to strange directions.
Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.
So basically we all know what we want and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai
Or was it me, his grandson who got there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and more ago.
Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay, no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off, if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has to do is copy them down, in English.
She’s busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.
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 200 of my 540+ shorts, 10 hours plus of audio.
some can be heard at http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
Cheerio, Michael Casey
Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com
http://www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to hear 50+ stories
9 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books



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