Why do we do it


Why do we do it?

By Michael Casey

I was just watching Elementary on tv, it’s one of the shows I watch, Suits, Blacklist, Grimm, Dr Who are the others we watch in our house, not forgetting my daily fix of News. So why am I talking about Elementary? There was a line spoken tonight that got me thinking.

To be honest Sherlock explained why he did not want to be a dad, why he did not want to continue his line. In the episode a sex partner had been asked by his dad to breed, so that Sherlock’s dad could be a grandfather. The girl stated that Sherlock was remarkable and his talents should be passed on to the next generation.

However what Sherlock said in reply was revealing about Sherlock’s state of mind. Sherlock said he was an investigator not because he was noble , quiet the reverse, he was an investigator because he had to be. If you  like investigating was his therapy, otherwise his skills, his abilities would overwhelm him. He was good not for goodness sake, but for the sake of his sanity.

I mentioned this to my big daughter and she said it was very philosophical, it is a very thought provoking concept. I was once told by the niece of a famous Irish writer John B Keane from Listowel that he wrote because it was in him. This was in his bar maybe 20 years ago, I then thought that was a simplistic answer.

Now I know better, my own parents are Kerry people too, so it may be in the water, or in the breast milk that has turned me into a writer as well. We do things because we have to, it’s in our nature, it’s in the breed which is what my dad used to say to explain why certain things happen. The gene pool bubbles away, just as the soup my Shanghai wife brews in her pots for days, then finally something emerges, even if it’s not the Loch Ness monster, though Google may know more about that than any of us.

So something within has to come out, it’s a primeval thing, just like the urge to breed, though Sherlock did not want that responsibility, in fact he had a negative self-image. This was sad in fiction like tonight’s Elementary, and in real life it’s tragic too. We have to accept ourselves, warts and all. None of us is perfect, but life is all about honing our skills and making ourselves a better person than when we arrive on this earth.

Today on the news we had a tragic case of a girl dying because of poison pills she bought on the Internet, diet pills which killed her. These and legal highs are in fact illegal lows which kill, which destroy families and leave pain and sorrow behind. Perhaps this should be an Election issue. This girl had something in common with Sherlock, her self-image caused her pain which led in the end to death.

Sherlock has all these skills, and he uses them to help the NYPD,  it’s a symbiotic relationship, he is the little bird pecking away at the rhino’s bum, it gives him a purpose and keeps insanity at bay. But what of you and me? Why do we do it? What makes us help out at the charity shop, what makes us play golf in the rain. Why do we teach English to refugees. Why do we vote SNP or even Tory?

Pleasure is the answer to all these questions, it’s not as pleasurable as sex or alcohol or rock and roll, but it gives us pleasure. What gives us pleasure? The thing that makes us feel fully alive, the thing that makes us feel wanted, the thing that makes us feel wanted. Why do we visit the sick in hospital, why do we go to our church and clean it on Tuesdays. Why do we raise money for charity by doing sponsored events.  There are many many more examples, you can pick your own.

We get a kick out of doing good, whatever our small talent may be, it’s when we use that talent that we feel fully alive. Look at me I’ve been writing since 1987, I’ll never be famous or make any money from it, but I’ll still bore you all with my stories.

Other people have other skills, such as the leader of the choir who spends a lifetime teaching music.  Betty Williams is one such person who can be found at Saint Hilda’s, then there are the lolly pop ladies/men who shiver in the cold keeping our kids safe. There are many more examples I could give but you can pick your own from your own communities.

So why do they do it? I suppose in the end its Love. Love of whatever their skill is, and love of their community. It’s not any Big Society, or any fancy political words from the Left or Right. I thing people do it because it’s in them, it’s in the breed. We are all individuals, we are all pieces of a jigsaw. What we do holds this jigsaw together, and without all the pieces the picture is not complete.

We have to play our part, otherwise we are just a jumble of shapes on the floor, without meaning, without hope. But when all the pieces are place together and locked in place, then we have made love, and we are complete, one connected with another.

ME 26Feb2015

This Love is for Eternity


This Love is for Eternity ©

By Michael Casey

This Love is for Eternity

This Kiss is from my Heart

This Touch is full of Warmth

This Sigh shakes more than an Earthquake

This Whisper crashes Louder than the Sea on the Shore

This Caress is Deeper than Thunder

This Look is Brighter than Lightning

This Desire is greater than the Grand Canyon

This Song sings louder than birdsong

This Hope reaches beyond the Stars

This Love is mine freely given to the one I love

This Love is yours freely returned like the Tide itself

This is us, not one but two, but one again

This is all I can offer, this is my Prayer

This Love is all I have, my heart is Empty now

As I look to the Stars I hope my prayers have been enough

For this Love is Eternal

For it is my very Soul

18th Feb 2015 thin me

Picking the Winner


Picking the Winner ©

By Michael Casey

Well it’s 18th April and the Election is less than 3 weeks away so I thought I’d help you all choose a winner. I was in fact a trainee betting shop manager in one of my previous existences, so I should be able to help, well so much for the theory.

When you pick a horse you can go on form and how glossy the horse’s coat is. You can see who the jockey is and the jockey’s win rate and so forth, you can go on the pedigree of the horse, its parentage and so forth. And if all else fails you can pick your lucky number or the colours the jockey is wearing.

But what of Politicians? They have pedigree too, they are all bastards, that’s what we can all agree on. Though some guy or girl can be a right bastard, but would be a great M.P. he’d fight your corner, he’d be a great man of the people or woman  of the people. If you read chapter 9 of my novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker you’ll see my view in full, there M.P. means married to a people, and an undertaker wrote all the election speeches.

Now who do you pick? The guy in the nice suit who smells nice, cK1 and all, or the grubby one in the crumpled suit. Or the nice lady in the coloured shoes, with the skirt showing off her legs, legs so much better than her party’s policies. Or would that be a non PC thing to say. Or the man who looks at his reflection all the time, who can’t wait for his leader to lose so that HE can become leader, this election is just a stepping stone, HE is showing his legs metaphorically, he’s just waiting till he can run for leader.

There are blunt M.P.s and candidates, who you wouldn’t mind to spend an hour down the pub with, who are really interested in you and your area. There are the professional politician types with the glazed over eyes, who are looking at their watches all the time, but do make good speeches. The question you have to ask yourself is would they take their jacket off and help change a tyre for you if you broke down. It’s always best to judge people by their actions.

Women have intuition; they can tell if somebody is “nice” this is what we should all be doing as we see this guy or that guy on the tv or on the radio. On the doorstep, we just tell all of them to  “piss off” as we are watching Corrie, we take their leaflet and say we will vote for them as we rush back to Corrie. So the figures are skewed while any soap is on tv, as we all lie just to get rid of them, soap beats politician hands down, any time.

This election more than any we are all already bored by it as it’s been going on for too long, so in the end we will all rush to the Left or to the Right at the last minute; though I would always say use your vote tactically, just so those looking at their own reflections and who are little robots get a kick up the backside.

Vote for somebody you’d enjoy spending an evening with. I can actually reveal that maybe 45 years ago I did attend a political meeting, I even bought a raffle ticket to win a glass ashtray to raise funds for that party. If I had stayed maybe you could be voting for me today, in this election. Michael Casey M.P. what do you think about that?


Over The Garden Fence


Over The Garden Fence ©

By Michael Casey

It was very sunny here in Birmingham yesterday, so as I was home alone, my wife and daughters are in Paris, I decided to annoy my neighbour. If you are wondering why I wasn’t in Paris too, then I should remind you that I had an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass a couple of months ago etc.

My neighbour was digging, so I asked my neighbour was she going to plant potatoes. Mary replied that she was not, her Irish accent growing stronger, I had annoyed her straight away. She joked that she might hit me with the shovel, so not be annoying her, as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Mary is sophisticated that way, the perfect foil to her rugby playing doctor boyfriend. She digs potatoes, while he breaks limbs on the rugby field, but sets them afterwards, he is a doctor after all.

I mentioned to Mary that the garden fence was flapping in the wind and it could come flying off and hit me. Mary leant on her shovel and spat on a worm that had wriggled to the surface. A bold magpie swooped down and had the worm a la spit, a perfect snack for a magpie. “I’ll add it to me list” she replied.

I have the knack for improvising, years in a computer room and in a hotel makes improvising second nature. So I told Mary I would help fix the fence, I went back inside my own house and returned with some elastics. “Is that knicker elastic?” laughed Mary. It did look somewhat similar, in fact it came from a mattress topper. Now it would fix the fence and save it from flying off and hitting me.

So I threaded the elastic through a hole in one of the fence boards, then I told Mary to tie a knot in another not knicker elastic, and finally in a 3rd piece of not knicker elastic. Once this was done we tied it around a fence pole. Hey Presto the fence panel was secured and thanks to the not knicker elastic the gap in the fence disappeared.

I gave Mary a cup of tea over the fence as a reward, only I put sugar in it, I’m diabetic screamed Mary clutching her throat. I’ll ring for an ambulance I said. Then she started to laugh, she liked pulling tricks on me. I decided I had enough sun and Mary for the day so I went back inside, besides Sky News was on, I couldn’t miss that what with the Election being on.


Funny or Not


Funny or Not ©

By Michael Casey

I just read in the DT that it’s so hard for comedy writers at the BBC, there has to be a committee to decide what is funny or not. Though this is really a PC committee, God Help Us. I know a little about the subject, as I try and write humour in the main. Oh No You Don’t I can hear in reply, in best Panto tradition.

Humour is all about timing, and I know about that too, Oh No You Don’t I can hear you all mutter as you chew on your Easter eggs. I also know about pain, thanks to my Arthur and my Triple Heart Bypass. You deserve all that pain, just for posting all that “humour” I can hear you mutter as chocolate dribbles down your face this Easter Sunday.

Let’s assume I do know what I’m talking about, don’t choke on your Easter eggs, on second thoughts do, I can’t talk to you while you are sniping. So as I sit here talking to you, a few spasms of pain rippling through me, you are quietly choking on your settee, so I’ll just say thank you for not interrupting.

I spent 3 years at a 4 star business hotel, the CPNEC, so I had plenty of time to practice talking to people. Robin would always lean over the reception desk and ask “what did you say, why are they laughing?” Then when I explained what I’d just said he never quite got it. Why? Because of the timing, you have to be there to understand otherwise the “moment” is lost. It’s all in the timing. Some unkind people on the desk said “Michael’s doing his routine” it was no routine it was personality. You can continue choking on your Easter egg, I will not be interrupted any more.

I saw and maybe spoke to 100,000 guests during my time at the hotel. So that’s why I can boast, or rather state I have experience. I started writing back in 1987, so my view on life goes back to then, prior to the writing I spent 20 years listening constantly to BBC Radio4. I would encourage any parent to glue their child’s radio to BBC Radio4.

Writing is all about observation, some may not see the humour in the world around them. I was in the queue at Iceland yesterday there was a very tall lady paying for her frozen peas. It wasn’t frozen peas but it reads better and funnier by saying frozen peas. Anyway she gets her purse out and what’s on her purse? The design is giraffes, a tall lady with a giraffe purse. I told my wife and small daughter when I got home and they laughed. Now if you are not smiling at the very least then all I can say is that you really should choke on your Easter egg, because you are already dead.

We all go about our daily lives with our eyes closed, if we open them we can see the humour all around us. Look in the mirror do you laugh at yourself? I do. Look at your family and see God’s gift to you, it makes me laugh, I had stood by the fridge and cried and prayed for a family, and what did I get? You can google me and find the family photos for yourself, just google “michaelgcasey” Then you can see God’s sense of humour.

As for words and stories they build a picture and can bring laughter, lots of laughter. You just have to be slow about it, give the words space to breath. There is nothing worse than being too fast, than a smart Alec interrupting and killing the flow of the story. At this point in time in our family, the wife has a new car, my daughters are getting a kitten, and what did I get?

Triple Heart Bypass surgery. Thanks God. But seriously I should thank God because I’m still alive and can see my children grow up. I used to sing and scream out the song Blasphemous Rumours by Depeche Mode when I was on the night shift maybe 25 years ago. The line in the song goes “And when I die I’ll see God laughing” And you know what? I bet that’s exactly what will happen.

my 3 Malta girlsIMGP0887

We are expecting a kitten


We are expecting a kitten ©

By Michael Casey

Before Christmas I joked that my girls could have a cat if I had a heart attack, and a dog if I died, I then had an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass. So now they are getting a cat, we will be calling it Totoro, or rather my small daughter who loves all things Totoro has decided to call it Totoro. And all because of God’s sense of humour, and my weak heart, which I didn’t even know about, but God must have, because I’m still alive. Or maybe God just loves cats.

A friend of my big daughter has just had 4 kittens, so 4 loving homes are required. My girls came home with pictures of the cats on their phones, so finally the witch, as my wife is known, agreed to have a cat. I had already given in once I’d come home from hospital, now finally the 2nd parent had agreed. I picked the spotty cat, so long as it was male, girl cats have no morals, they always have kittens, always out late at night and hanging around on fences, howling and so forth.

It turns out that Totoro is a male cat, so once he is weaned off his mother’s milk he’ll find a new home with us. Totoro is Japanese as all you studio Ghibli  fans will know, but our Totoro will be hearing Chinese and English, so he’ll have to be a bilingual cat.

This morning me and my small daughter went up the road to the shops is search of all things cat. When I grew up we always had a cat at home, Jean was her name, we had her 20 years. She knew when it was Sunday, not because she was a Christian, but because she always had the giblets from the chicken on a Sunday. Or dogs had a good life too, dying and going to dog heaven, as we were a big family so the dog always got something.

Today me and my small daughter went in search of a cat collar and basket. We tried the plastic shop first, so called as it sells all things plastic. I led my small daughter up and down the aisles, it was like an Aladdin’s cave, but without the gold, just lots of plastic items and other such stuff. We spotted baskets in a variety of sizes. We also saw large plastic storage boxes which could be used instead of baskets. Just add a small blanket. There is so much to think about when you are having a kitten, meanwhile a neighbour is due for her baby. I saw her boyfriend bringing in a stack of nappies, just who will be busier?

Pleased that we had discovered where the wicker baskets were we went on to our next port of call, the market. We were lucky as today 31st March is a Tuesday so the market is open, its old fashioned and closes on Wednesdays. In The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker my comic novel it opens on a Wednesday, early closing, but that’s another story.

So me and my small daughter examined the market, we found the wool section, which Totoro would himself enjoy should he get to visit, it must be kitten heaven all those brightly coloured balls of wool. Going around the corner we discovered a second hand furniture section, it was not there the last time I was in the market. £5 for an office chair, I’ve paid 20 times that for the chairs I sit on while I talk to you all. Though to me they do seem a bit manky, but if £5 is all you have then buy one from our local market.

Turning around another corner we found the pet section, the dog and cat food section. There was a nice cat collar with a bell and reflective too, years ago girls had a thing for fashion, a dog collar it was called, my sister one, but that was 40 years ago. We didn’t buy it, we still had a 3rd shop to look at. Poundland.

Poundland  has all kinds of everything, but no assistants called Dana, we found 2 cat collars for a pound. Then we bought 2 bottles of disinfectant, to tidy up any accidents. I’ve told both my daughters that they are in charge of all pooh and pee that comes from Totoro. We found scented bags of the litter tray, then there were flea collars too.

We were very happy future kitten parents, so we went to the till, we decided not to buy the 2 collars for a pound, so we discarded them, on a pile of energy drinks. The rest we did buy. Walking back down the road we decided to get the fancier collar from the pet section of the market. Our Totoro would be ringing a bell and stand out in the dark, see we love our kitten so much already.

The weather was so windy today, I had to hold my small daughter to make sure the wind did not blow her away, she would make a perfect kite in her bright red coat. We got home happy and my small daughter told her bigger sister all the kitten preparation news. So it’s just the basket we need to get. It’s almost as exciting as Christmas, and that’s when I made my promise, and we all know what happened next.


Return Of The School Run


Return Of The School Run ©

By Michael Casey

This week marked the Return Of  The School Run, my small daughter asked could I take her to school again. I had stopped due to the inconvenience of the Triple Heart Bypass, I have started to go walkabout already, doing the morning school run would double my walking each day. I should add that I was walking 20 miles a week prior to discovering I needed an unplanned heart operation, but now I was doing 20 to 30 mins a day walking, less than half than what I used to do.

My daughter had waited till 10pm at night before asking me could I resume my school run duties the very next morning, so of course I said yes. She skipped up the stairs happy, clutching Totoro to her heart. The next morning was very busy, as all four of us were in the queue for the bathroom and the cooker.

I also had to take my morning meds, all 6 of them, I have a groaning carrier bag full of meds hanging on the back of the pantry door. I have to have them with food, so I have to make my toast while my dissolving asprin dissolves. The pain killers I have to take have a strange side effect, you cannot go to the toilet, so you have 3 spoons of laxative to be taken twice a day. All this medication continues to save your life, post op, it also leads to man boobs, or so I’m told.

So me and my small daughter resume our journey down the road and around the corner and up the hill to her school. One more term and she’ll be going to secondary school with her sister, but for now she’s daddy’s girl. Bonding is the fancy word for all this, Loving like a Dad, like only a dad can, is what I call it. Dad is James Bond as far daughters are concerned, you hurt my little girl and you’ll be shaken and not stirred, any dad will tell you this.

Today was the 3rd day of my return to school run duties, I was reminded of Jack Rosenthal the writer as we walked up the hill, why? Jack had said he did the school run because he heard so much that it was great material for his plays.

As we walked my daughter chatted away, as happy as a sand boy, or should I say girl. She said it would be great if you could donate sleep to those who needed it. I need a sleep donation every now and then as the pain wakes me up. She did say that donors would be rewarded, it sounded like they got candy floss in return for each donation, but I might be wrong as I had to pull my hood up against the cold, I have to make sure I stay warm post operation.

So we continued up the hill and she triggered ideas for stories with each step we took. In 300 and Not OUT one of my 8 books you can read lots of stories inspired by her and her sister, not forgetting the Witch as we call my wife. By the way Juliette in Grimm on tv has turned into a witch, well worth watching.

A child’s mind knows no barriers, this can connect with that, and the impossible does not exist as everything is possible. So maybe she’ll be the famous writer, and illustrate her own works too. Maybe that’s why God, Fate, Luck, or maybe my daughters’ prayers saved me this year, so I could be there for my small daughter doing the school run.IMGP0097

The Dead and The Living


The Dead and The Living ©


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

eternity .

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

Photos of Triple Heart Bypass





As I’ve posted elsewhere I had an unplanned Triple Heart Bypass Operation. So this is what you get as a souvenir. Though without this I could have just dropped down dead, so I was lucky I was spotted, prior to Christmas 2014 I didn’t even know I had heart problems. Anyways now read my ad and go buy some books, I need the money



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 18,685 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 recorded 207 of them so far, 11 hours plus of audio.

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


 and  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



                          THE  BEGINNING








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.

I was an Esol English teacher and gained

2 Excellents and an Exemplary on my external Assessment

As I have written 550+ 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 550+ shorts, 11 hours plus of audio.

some can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com

Cheerio, Michael Casey 

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com



 to hear 50+ stories


8 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books



Vote for Me I’m 19


Vote for me I’m 19

By michael casey

I was going through the newspapers, as is my  habit, I’d have been a History teacher or Journalist if my life had gone differently. Though we do have a political editor/journalist on the Chinese side of the family. Anyway I thought this is sad, running for Parliament at the age of 19. The two lads happen to be running for Labour, but I’d be against it no matter what party they’d be running for.

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/meet-teenagers-standing-mps-2015-5351001   is the link that leads to the piece in the Daily Mirror.

At 19 you still have spots, some may not have had their first serious girlfriend, though if “Politics is your Woman”, then that is truly sad. Where I live you can smell the stunk on the bus when people of that age bracket pass you by. At that age you are going up Broad Street on a Friday night, hoping to get lucky or just out to get bladdered. Certainly all the lads I worked with 36 years ago were doing all that and more, much more. None said they were going into Politics, though they did write a computer game and sell it for 10K maybe  30 years ago.

So to find that two 19 year olds want to go into Parliament just does not seem right. What experience do they have? Does their family have  its own business, have they learnt things from the nipple, so they actually know something about something. I started watching Sir Robin Day when I was 8 to 10 years old, so I was politically aware from a young age, but I would never run for Parliament at 19. So why have they been picked? Sacrificial Lambs, wild throw of the dice, or parachuted in?

Are they like Sir Richard Branson was when he was their age? Do they have his drive and ambition? Me, I wouldn’t vote for anybody that age, no matter which party. Come back in another 19 years, when you have passed your degrees and started your own business. When you have married and had a few kids. Then you have some Life Experience, nothing beats the school of hard knocks. I know all about that, I passed Magna Cum Laude  and I wish I didn’t.

But I did so I can judge, as can DT readers because they have lived life and survived it. So come on 19 year olds go up Broad Street or live life for at least 19 more years, then I might consider voting for you.

******Now Labour Voters will no doubt say I’m Tory Scum and so forth, to which I reply at least I don’t exaggerate 13 times over***********

ME 26Feb2015


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