Tears from a Clown


Tears from a Clown ©

By Michael Casey

Let My Tears Be My Words are the first words from a poem of mine, which I’m told is very touching, the words even made a Vicar cry, Priests are much tougher as they’ve heard more Confessions. So this morning I was doing my usual routine, counting how many rubbish emails I get trying to destroy my computer. How many religious people of many faiths who were dying and wanted my help in moving 1,000,0000,0000, 000 USD if only I sent them 10 quid first in 1p coins in an old sock, and they would pray for me. The amount of folks who have stepped on the fast train to Hell is unbelievable.

So I though what should I talk to you about today, and I had no idea, then while I was thinking of plot lines for Tears for a Butcher, my next full length comic novel, which is the follow up to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, while I was thinking of that a tear came to my ear, sorry eye, only Picasso has tears to his ears. So that gave me the idea to talk about tears. And yes Tears from a Clown, would be one description of myself.

So what makes you cry, the quality of my writing? You are all so cruel, you will make me cry now, if you knew the years of training I had before I could stand here naked before you. Ok I’m not naked, it’s a figure of speech, and no none of you would enjoy looking at my naked form. And yes that does make me cry, the years of kebabs and fizzy pop been wasted on your unsophisticated eyes, you would not know a great form if you saw one.

But I was side-tracked, what makes you cry? Is it the size of your pay check or the snubs you get from the girls of your dreams  who won’t go out with you because your pay check is so small. I know a man who wanted just one simple thing, to be  married and perhaps have a family. This man had loved a girl but she had not loved him, they had been friends but no more. Then one evening her mother died, they had just been to dinner and were due to see Les Miserables at the theatre, only a call came and his Cinderella had to go away.

She rung him, her mum had died, and no she did not need his help, she was prepared already. So there he was all alone, the penny had dropped, she would never be his. So perhaps full of self-pity, you can judge, the man cried, and looking up at the photo of his dead mum by the fridge made a heartfelt prayer. All I want is to be married and perhaps have a family.

No Fate is a strange thing a very strange thing. The  previous year the man had met a model a real life model in the Czech Republic while he was staying with the friend of a friend, a Gay doctor. It’s all in a Czech Story you may find it on the Internet. So this blonde model came to Birmingham and he taught her English for a month, then she went back home, never to be seen again.

So now it was a year further on, and this Joyce Grenfell like girl did not want him either, hence the tears of a clown. Now God has a sense of a humour so God heard the man’s prayers, where would the man meet the girl of his dreams? The man would meet his future wife in the only place the man visited every single day, every single day for 3 years.

His mother had died and 8 weeks later his dad had almost died, hymns had been picked for his dad’s funeral. It’s all in Padre Pio and Me on the Internet somewhere. So after his prayer by the fridge a takaway girl appeared, a little Chinese girl. He still had dreams of his Joyce Grenfill  girl, but in the end the Chinese girl won his heart, she turned out to be 10 times prettier than the Czech model.

So the man had tears of joy, his prayer by the fridge had worked, he found a bride and 2 daughters followed. And if you are wondering if this is another of my stories, and I have reached over 830 now. Then no this is no story, this is my life and it’s the story of how I finally got a wife. So if you want to dry those tears and banish all those fears, try saying your prayers by the fridge with your mother next to you for support. And if you don’t have a mum nor a fridge, then just pay a visit to Iceland the shop not the country.

Cyber Security


Cyber Security ©

By Michael Casey

My brother said try computers, so I did and got a job as a computer operator, this was back in 1978, yes 1978 I really am that old, or rather my Birth Certificate is. In my head I’m 20, though the state of my organs says I’m 95, but still very very cuddly. But enough of my sex appeal, I’ve been watching this Cyber Security disaster for a few years now, and it really IS terrible.

Hello Love, I’ll be home late, I’ve left the house key under the Tony Blair garden gnome, you know next to the Trump gnome, of course nobody can hear me, where am I, in the pub, I need a few beers, that’s why I’ll be late home. So what happens? You are robbed.

Computer security is very important, especially as it controls everything nowadays. Back in 1978 our computers, DEC PDP 1170s for the computer Historians out there, controlled just a small amount of data, Market Research into Alcohol Sales. It was a job for life, well 21 years of my life. The computers could not be hacked then, the word was not even thought of let alone invented, and as for being actioned on, well it would be really  really advanced and unbelievable science fiction, total fiction.

We’ve all seen War Games years and years ago, a back door lets a kid play with MAD, mutually assured destruction, a kid gets control of the world’s nuclear war computer controls. It’s a great film, the back door was opened by a password based on the inventor’s dead daughter’s name, film buffs can correct me if I’m wrong. The point being that back doors allow evil people to get control.

Of course our computers are super dupper, the best in the world, forget the Cray, ours is better. And nobody can ever hack it. Then an autistic kid in England hacks into it, and the USA wants to extradite him and put him 1 mile down in a jail for 100 years. If it was me, I’d give the guy a job, and a tour of Nasa, he was looking for Area 51 and Aliens, instead he’s hounded through the Courts. Empty Pride means you fail to accept the fact that your computers are hackable. Eat humble pie and give the hackers jobs as security experts, remember Catch Me if You Can?

Computer security or lack of it can cause companies to fail, stock markets to crash and governments to fall. It’s not fantasy football with a few quid bet on the side its billions upon billions, or more importantly people’s lives.

So please can we unplug the phone to infrastructure and air traffic control, and not use mother’s maiden’s names as passwords. All companies that get hacked should pay huge fines that really hurt. I would even go as far as saying they must  not be allowed to keep your financial details at all, yes it’s a pain having to type stuff in each time you buy online, but if they companies cannot prove in advance that they are secure, then better safe than sorry.

There should be a 10million dollar prize each year for cyber security inventions, and all companies should be forced by law to attain standards. A GCSE in computer security is not good enough in today’s world. Company directors should go to jail and pay huge fines if and when their customers are hacked. People used to have floppy discs stuck to filing cabinets with magnets, and not understand why the floppy discs don’t work anymore.

So please can we remove keys from under Trump garden gnomes, can we unplug critical functions from the telephone network. And let’s use the best minds to improve cyber security, even if they are Autistic British hackers looking for Aliens. In England in was a Gay man who broke the Enigma Code, perhaps the future is crying out for left of field people to guide and protect the future of the world itself.

Obviously fat writers from Birmingham with a quadruple heart bypass and arthritis would be utterly useless as cyber security personnel, but “strange” people can be the heroes in today’s computer world. So employ a few strange people and improve cyber security before the world comes to a halt.


Love and all that


Love and all that ©

By Michael Casey

Today I’m to talk about Love, I could say it’s a many splendored thing, and it’s all you need but you can watch Moulin Rouge for yourselves, it really is a great film.  My favourite bit is where the black member of the troupe punches the Count, who is a right pain, see I avoided the obvious joke, I am capable of doing that you know, though you have all thought of it for yourselves now that I did not mention it.

What is Love, read everything from Plato onwards and you may just scratch the surface, and no Plato is not the new player for Manchester United, they could not afford him, he’s off to PSG next. So what exactly is Love, well the Irish call it the Urge, this is more exactly when your body says I must be united with another body and start having children. In Star Trek Spock had the Urge and took over the Enterprise he just had to find his mate. Though in the end Spock commented that The Desire is Greater than the Need, things fall flat and everybody is disappointed.

Though Love can be eternal, and when you lay your husband to rest you wonder just who are you going to argue with now, the old bastard died on me and I hadn’t finished talking to him. Some do go to the grave every day to talk to their lost love, some are buried at sea just to avoid such a fate, your eternal rest should be your eternal rest.

We also love things, we have passion for a thing, you may have a collection of  National Geographic magazines, though I must say my 2 daughters do enjoy them  and its very educational. Some collect elastic bands, each band a different colour, each one represents a different music festival you attended. So just by looking at the elastic band all  the memories come flooding back.

The orange and yellow band was the best festival of all and that’s where you met the girl who became your wife. So you treasure your pieces of elastic as you grow older the elastic bands are testament to your Hippy Youth. Then your daughters grow older and snatch them to tie their hair back. Only the bands break and you start to cry, your mum has to tell you that each band was such a special thing.  So your daughters spend days on the internet finding replica elastic bands to replace those split and damaged.

Then as a Birthday present dad gets 22 coloured elastic wrist bands, cost 2.99 plus 58p postage. Dad is overjoyed it’s the best thing he ever got in his life, apart from his wife’s garter on her Wedding night. See a piece of elastic having so much Love and Power behind it.

Some people collect Bath Bombs and then use them up in a splash of colour and scent, so they really do come up smelling of roses. We could have used them when my own dad came back home from the sweat of the steel works, the District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. Girls love soaking in the bath with flavours of scent surrounding them, a bath is much more fun than a boy anytime, not unless he is covered in chocolate, can somebody explain why chocolate is so important to women.

So on it goes people have a love  for things, Love is a very strange thing, I do like shoes myself, not as much  as Emelda Marcos nor Theresa May but nice shoes are good, especially if you have to stand for 12 hours a day on marble as I did for 3 years at CPNEC Birmingham. So we love things because they give us pleasure and they have such great memories attached to them. We all remember Rosbud the sledge that Citizen Kane remembers on his deathbed. Sometimes it’s the simplest and most innocent of things  that brings the most joy in our head, so make love before you are dead.


here’s some photos so you know which Michael Casey I am, I’m not the Dublin economist, nor the Monk, I’m the Birmingham England one, though my family are Kerry people.

Lazy Sunday


Lazy Sunday ©

By Michael Casey

Well we’re having a lazy Sunday, kind of, I wrote a piece about Jeremy Paxman earlier today and I’m going to double up and talk about something else now. For any foreign readers and I can get up to 100 a day I should explain that Jeremy Paxman was for 25 years the Rottweiler, the toughest Political interviewer in UK. So since I wrote that piece I’ve been doing a bit of research on the computer, all will be revealed later, no I’m not a nudist, well I am but don’t tell anybody.

So today we are having a lazy Sunday. My wife, or the witch as me and my girls call her, is doing her homework in Mandarin, my small daughter is reading, or trawling judging by the amount of books she reads. Her bigger sister has finished doing swat thrusts in the garden, this really frightens the squirrels, the magpies just laugh and the local cats just feel sorry for Totoro our cat, living with such strange strange people. Totoro for her part just swears at them in Chinese, she is such a clever cat after all, she does have a Japanese name too. Grannie had said that my big daughter was a bit porkie, which makes us all laugh as she is so thin by Western standards.

So now I’ve been told off for letting the kettle boil over and whistle too much which disturbs small daughter’s reading concentration. I was not even in the house, I slipped out to buy eggs from the Polish shop, their eggs are so good by the way and so yellow. Big daughter comes down to make her peppermint tea before disappearing again, she’s studying, 10 more years and she’ll reach her target, Dr Casey. Chinese people always say you should have a Dr in the family, or an accountant, grannie is an accountant in Shanghai.

I look for a stray biscuit to feed my Muse, only they are not there, small daughter has liberated them. Totoro had discovered how to open all our cupboards so we had to tape them shut, but it was not her who had freed the biscuits from the cupboard, I did once actually find her in a cupboard once, before we started taping the doors shut.

Spotify has radio station mode too, so I’m listening to Tom Petty as I talk to you, I’m sure Paxman is listening too as he sits in his chair in his study and practices his casting with his pole, he may even have photos of politicians on the floor and he tries to scratch their faces as he practices his casting. It might be a nice way to spend an afternoon while he waits for his tricycle to have its slow puncture fixed, it just hisses too much as he trundles along with his fishing kit in the trailer behind him.

All the hissing might encourage him to do Panto, Greville from Strictly Come Dancing has been pestering for 3 years to come off the fence and be a Panto star, there is good money in it after all, more than the BBC ever paid Paxman. If the old James Bond, the one whose name I forget, if he can be a baddie in Hot Fuzz then why of why cannot Paxman do a bit of Panto. It could be just the thing to spark his dull life along.

So it’s just gone past 5pm now it’s been a sunny Sunday, we are all quietly contented with our day, despite not winning the Lottery, if only we won, we’d love to live in the Toblerone house, a house we spotted on a property website, it has so many triangular shapes in it, hence why we call it the Toblerone house. It’s nice to dream even if we’d need all 6 numbers before we could afford it, though social housing like the White House is very nice, that’s how Joe Biden described where he lived.

At this point in a story I read back what I have written to see how it reads, or rather how it sounds. If I have a good sound I finish or I may add a sentence or two more. Otherwise it is the end. I just need to visit the fridge and have a slice of Cajun chicken from Aldi, it’s very nice.

Though Totoro our cat recognises the sound of plastic wrapping paper being opened and is faster than Kim Jun Un to the cheese plate, like a whippet or faster than Hussain Bolt she bolts down the stairs and gets her big eyes out. She wants some, and she does have such imploring eyes, so she always gets her way, rather like a wife or somebody else’s wife, be careful out there in readerland.

So it seems like a good place to finish now, maybe I should go to the Finnish Sauna I might meet Jeremy Paxman in there but that was the previous story, or it could be Jeremy Corbyn cleaning his slate, again.


Paxman’s Pants


Paxman’s Pants ©

By Michael Casey

I was just taking a gander at the newspapers when I came across Paxman being interviewed now that his Autobiography is coming out. How does an Autobiography Come Out, is the book Gay, or does it mean it is being revealed, so does that mean the Autobiography is a Flasher of some sort.

I always said if I wrote my autobiography I’d wait till my siblings were dead first so I could not upset anybody too much. I am the near youngest of the brood, then what happens it’s Me who could have bit the dust first, is it God’s way of saying Don’t write the autobiography, God the greatest Literary Critic.

Though I am writing my 11th book now, so what sort of sense of Humour does He have? I was once told by a female priest that she thought I should write short pieces, and that’s what I do as I approach my 1,000,000 Word. Or did the priest have a short attention span or was she in league with the Lord.

So there is Paxman dressed in his Toga at the Woodcock Street Baths and Sauna in downtown Birmingham, a slave throws water on the coals, while a scribe write down his every word. An old woman in a piny wiping her snotty nose on her elbow, gives him his change with a dirty look, the look is free, the sauna is 6.99 plus 2 quid for a once spotless towel. It was used once by Arthur Dent, the motorway builder.

So Paxman tells how he was bored for 25 years, the slave looks up interested, bored does not mean bored you fool, can somebody whip him, no don’t bother he’d enjoy it too much, just put more water on the coals, I want steam. Peter Gabriel looks up from his position on the floor, and starts singing. Paxman gives him a withering look and Gabriel runs away crying, he’ll go back to Genesis.

If only he was by a river bank, with his rod, no slave nothing to do with punishment, though Rod Stewart music IS punishment.  Perhaps Paxman should use the word pole, a carbon fibre 20 metre pole, no you clot a pole not a Polish Pole. Why are slaves so one dimensional, you can’t get a good one for love or money.

Having dictated 20 pages to the scribe Paxman has a dip in the pool, before emerging like god from the water. He is peckish now after all the sweating, normally it was Politicians sweating, but those days are over, Paxman is so humble now, he could form a humble club with Donald Trump.

It was outside the Woodcock street baths that I bumped into Paxman, he did ask for my autograph but I refused, but I said I knew a good pub, The Churchill and he could bring his Black Dog with him. He was going to use a big word on me but he knew I was dictionaryless,  I probably couldn’t even spell serendipity let alone know what it meant. Go on, but not the Churchill, my Black Dog is not with me today anyway.

So I took Paxman to the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil and introduced him to Wayne the barman, I suppose he’s named after John Wayne intoned Paxman. Actually I am replied Wayne as he took Paxman downstairs and showed him his cellar. Paxman returned 20 minutes later with tears in his eyes and holding a tumbler of 70  year old whisky, that’s unbelievable he mumbled humbled as if by almighty God himself.

Now that I’ve got your attention maybe you’ll listen to this business idea, Paxman looked up a freshly opened bag of pork scratchings in his mighty palm, anything anything I’m at your disposal. Wayne winked at me as I broached the idea. David Beckham has retired from advertising  for Marks and Spencer, so would you be interested in advertising  their pants.


Tidying Up


Tidying Up ©

By Michael Casey

If you have kids then you know all about tidying up, I can hear the wave of comments being directed to me here behind your computer screen, or on your phone you are reading this on a phone. It all starts when you and your lady give in to Passion, Barry White is booming in the background, then 9 months later the tidying up begins, and does it ever end?

The trick with babies is to learn how to remove the nappy fast and wipe and replace in under 60 seconds, the soiled napped is flung into a plastic bag and removed from your house. It’s a bit like cricket or baseball where the ball has to get to the catcher as soon as possible. In sport this helps you win a game, with nappies or diapers as you call them in USA, it’s to remove the pooh smell from your house before the dog grabs it and buries it at the bottom of the garden. The dog’s nose is 1,000,000 times more sensitive so to the dog a nappy full of pooh is like us being dunked into a cesspit.

A baby has more luggage than a film star, 9 months previously it was a quiet intimate moment, just you and your man and Barry White, alone in a treehouse, he did say he was Tarzan and you were his Jane after all. Now the baby has luggage galore, and why did your friends all give you so many cuddly toys. You sneaked out in the night and left them on the door of the children’s home. So this is what happens when you let him play his Barry White music, you are his baby but he gives you a baby, and a ton of stuff.

You spend years tidying up all the baby stuff, the nappies, the toys, the clothes when will it end? Never, once a parent you are always a parent, my own dad still called me BOY when he was 80, and I was around 40. As your baby grows there are less nappies and the big day arrives, they are potty trained. You are so happy it’s like your team won the FA Cup or Superbowl, or Trump won the election, one of those is absolute fiction, we’ll find out in 7 weeks time.

You ring your friends and arrange to go out for a drink, it really is a Cosmic event, potty trained, on a par with housetrained for your 5 Alaskan huskies. Our own daughters were 2 when they were finished, and we were so happy, you save a lot of money and your home smells so fresh now.

Your kids grow and they discover Drawing, so you have crayons everywhere, and pieces of paper everywhere. You fridge has turned into a colourful magazine, it’s impossible to find the door and get milk for your coffee, instant coffee with milk but no sugar, yes folks we are really disgusting in England, that’s what I drink, and tea too.

You walk across your living room to the sound of crunching, to the sound on slipping. You slide and slip on wax crayons and paper, your girls think you are Moon Walking, so daddy really did teach Michael Jackson to dance. I used to work in a print room and was allowed to bring home scrap paper, so you can imagine the state of our house.

Tidy Up are words that ring around the house for years, it’s like Autumn always in the house, or The Fall because  of the leaves of paper everywhere, multi-coloured paper that goes swish because of the sweets hidden amongst it. When I try to complain, I’m told I did stand by the now disguised fridge and pray for a wife and family, so blame myself.

The years progress and books are discovered, if you have teachers galore in the family what do expect as presents. I used to buy books from a remainder shop and give them to my nephew and niece, my niece now has a 1st in English and has just done her Masters. The books I got for her, well 10 years later my brother returned them for his nieces. Books everywhere, a staircase is a perfect bookcase, and in the dark you never know what monster will jump out at you on the stairs. Or in my case slip sliding away, or things that go bump in the night, or me sliding down the stairs like at a Carnival, books as surf boards.

The girls had read everything from the local library, they could practically tell you the position on the shelves where the books lived. Ask your librarian friend if you don’t believe me, just look me up, as they always say.

I tamed all the books in our house by buying 3 bookcases from Argos, ha, see if they can fill those I thought, only my girls read like dredgers, they trawl and read everything. 3 full book cases, a few hundred books. So then I decided to take the nuclear option, I bought an Amazon Kindle. The floorboards in our house rejoiced, high fives everywhere. Saint Jeff Bezos rejoice for you have done well, you will go through the eye of a needle, just give Trump a push through first, God loves everybody after all, apart from the Inland Revenue perhaps.

I should write more but I have to tidy myself up after 3 days of pain, then once shaved I’ll take my walk and stop by Aldi to buy a few things, the fridge is so tidy it’s almost empty, I have to get chocolate for my girls. But before that I have to tidy all the shoes that are littering the house, how can women have so many shoes, and why do I always trip over them? Mind you there is a nice red pair of high heels, I may wear those to Aldi…..


Michael’s Bathroom a true story from 20 years ago


As I’m still having another pain day here’s an old piece

Michael’s Bathroom ©
Michael Casey
Six months previously Michael had decorated his living room , he
had to , the white walls had turned to a nicoteen stained yellow in places
such was the downside of having a South facing living room . Now it was
the turn of the bathroom again . The bathroom was very small , not even
enough room to swing a cat , it was about 7 foot by six foot , which was
just big enough for the bath , the sink and the bog . Why did people want
big bathrooms anyway ? You weren’t going to hold dinner parties in there ,
or go jogging , yes Michael was used to and by now satisfied with his
small bathroom . However it always seemed to need decorating , he just
needed to open the window more often and let the steam out . Michael just
loved to wallow in the bath like a Hippopotamus , he had a radio on the
windowsill so he could listen to Heart FM while he shaved and bathed and
watched the spiders . There were spiders galore in his bathroom , his
mother always said spiders brought money with them , perhaps snared in
their webs , Michael even looked under the bath behind the panel just in
case the spiders had indeed brought gold with them , sadly all he found
was yet more spiders and their webs .
Years ago at work the offices were tarted up , so new carpet was
laid in the reception , so Michael had begged for the off cuts , and
persuaded Paul Robinson to give him a lift home with it . Once home though
it was late Michael got out some very sharp scissors and laid the carpet in
the bathroom , he’d have a posh bathroom now , no more cold lino for him .
Actually he did make a good job of the carpet fitting , there was some
left over too . Now the bad thing about ordinary carpet in the bathroom is
that it gets manky , firstly because Michael splashed a lot in the bath ,
his mother had always told him off for splashing in the bath since he was
a child , she was afraid the water would leak though the ceiling into the
living room below . He did not have that problem now in his own house ,
why , because he had a concrete floor . So the carpet got wet , due to the
splashing in the bath . Michael was also a bad shot , so he’d occasionally
piss on the floor , when he came rushing home dying for a piss after
having too many shandies . Also if you spill domestos or other bleach on
carpet it changes colour .
As for the ceiling and walls , they needed cleaning and painting
every now and then because of all the steam and Michael not opening the
window often enough . So Michael would go up the road to Fads and buy
five litres of white emulsion for a fiver , then scattering newspapers all
over the bathroom he’d attack the walls and ceiling . He soon got high and
had a headache with all the paint fumes , even though the window was
wide open , the radio was blaring too , he always had music on
constantly , whether he was painting , eating , washing shaving or just
picking his nose . Michael’s painting had more attack than finesse to it ,
splash it here , splash it there , quantity more than quality , his father
had always told him to use a small amount on the brush , a tiny amount ,
but Michael always overloaded his brush , paint was cheap after all , a
tin of paint only cost the price of a couple of pints and a bag of chips
after all .
Once finished Michael was splattered in paint , his grey hair now
turned white , his painting clothes , now more paint than clothes , his
watch had a white thumb print on it , his underpants had paint on too ,
for no matter what he did he was always hitching his jeans and
consequently he had paint everywhere . Michael stepped back to admire his
handiwork , but being as the bathroom was so small he bumped into the bog
and ending up sitting on it . “It’ll do ” was his usual comment , and it
would have too , he couldn’t afford a real decorator .A fiver to do his
bathroom , but a decorator would charge 100 times that and take days , it
took Michael an hour and a half tops , he’d finish in time for Star Trek
and that was important , he had his priorities right . So looking at his
splattered watch , Michael gathered up the paint splattered newspaper
which was protecting his fancy carpet . The only trouble though was the
fact that his shoes were stuck to the newspapers , so Michael had to sit
on the bog and pull the newspaper off his shoes , invariably a spot or two
of paint stayed on the carpet . So Michael had rub hard to clean the
carpet , and take his shoes off so that he wouldn’t leave footprints
everywhere . “Ah it’ll do , ” repeated Michael as he looked back at the
bathroom from the safety of the kitchen , he’d then strip off and put all
his painting clothes into the washing machine ,invariably the light was
fading now , so Michael had the kitchen light on , so his neighbours would
be treated to the dubious privilege of seeing Michael naked and paint
spattered standing in his kitchen .
Star Trek was great as usual , Michael only recognised the
metaphors after the show , but he really enjoyed the show , he’d been
watching it for 30 years now , the original and then the follow on shows .
After his dinner Michael ventured back into the bathroom , “Who needs
decorators , the thieving bastards” . Michael was satisfied with his
handiwork , it’d do till the next time . The next time came , when the
carpet was manky , so Michael threw out the carpet and searched under the
bed in the spare room , that’s where he kept the rest of the carpet . As
luck would have it there was just enough to cover the bathroom floor
again. So once more he got out the dangerous scissors and cut the carpet to
shape , and yes he did do a good job of it , carpet fitting he could do ,
it was painting he was useless at . Jackson Pollark , the artist who threw
paint at the canvas would have been impressed by Michael’s bathroom ,
anybody else would have said , “was there an explosion ?”
So time passed and the carpet was manky , so Michael threw it out,
so what would he do next ? He hit upon the brilliant idea of painting the
concrete floor . It only took half an hour and then “hey presto” he had a
redecorated bathroom , only he hadn’t thought of one thing . What happens
when you paint a floor white ? It shows all the dirt , and it shows up all
the spiders that are not spiders , if you know what I mean . So Michael
improvised , he was good at improvising , 20 years as a computer operator
and he’d leant to improvise , if nothing else . So he painted the floor
blue , that colour wouldn’t show up spiders that weren’t spiders . And he
was right . He had another problem now , because he’d used ordinary
emulsion , when it got wet , it came off , so soon the soles of Michael’s
slippers went blue , and soon the blue was spattered with white , as
toothpaste and soap suds stained the blue floor . Michael persevered, he
painted the floor blue every couple of weeks or so , blue paint was more
expensive than white , but the one tin enabled him paint it ten times or
so .Eventually the walls needed painting again , so Michael thought he’d
try blue on the walls , only it was too dark , he didn’t like it , and
more to the point he ran out of paint halfway through . So he went up to
Fads again for white , though he was nearly tempted into buying a soft
coloured paint as it was half price , but after a bit of soul searching he
stuck with white , five litres for a fiver .
Another problem reared its head , if you try painting over a
strong colour , the colour underneath shows through . So on Boxing Day 98
Michael spent the day painting , or smearing as his mother used to call it
, he spent the day smearing two coats of white over the blue . And yes it
did look dreadful . New Years Eve came and Michael’s bathroom was covered
in copies of the Telegraph , it was a good read with great coverage , why
just one copy was enough to cover all Michael’s floor , he’d have to write
to the editor to thank him . So Michael got drunk on New Year’s Eve and
ended up dancing with his friend Dave , Dave being a Helmult Khol look
alike . Once home with a hangover , Michael realised that in the morning
he’d have to give another coat or two to the bathroom . Michael could see
the light at the end of the tunnel , or rather the bottom of the five
litre tin of paint , once he finished the tin , the job would be finished
whether it was finished or not , the job would be finished . He’d had
enough , and he had a massive headache due to the paint fumes .
“Finished , at last , thank God , ” yelled Michael , yes he
had come to the bottom of the tin , so finished or not , it was finished.
So Michael went and watched Star Trek on the satellite . The bathroom took
forever to dry as it was Winter and the atmosphere was cold and wet . So
it was a couple of days before Michael could finish the bathroom
transformation . He found some old curtains he had in his pantry , he had
originally bought them for the kitchen , but once he got them home and
tried hanging them he was annoyed to discover they were too short , so
they had ended up in his pantry on a shelf next to his iron . To his
delight the new curtains were just the right length for his bathroom , and
they were nice and bright too . So what to dod next ? Michael pulled the
panel out from in front of the bath , as luck would have it he had a spare
plastic shower curtain ; so he wrapped the panel in a new shower curtain ,
a flowery pattern on it , and it would match the shower curtain he had
already up . Finally as he had to lay the lino , the lino he swopped a new
pair of shoes for . His brother had some spare lino , and Michael as usual
had a spare pair of shoes in his shoe mountain at the bottom of his
wardrobe . So he got the lino , and his brother got the shoes as a Xmas
present , they had both laughed as they struck the deal during their
regular weekly telephone conversation . Their dead mother would have
approved too , “look after each other” was her motto . There was one snag
though , Michael couldn’t find his scissors , so how could he cut the lino?
So he improvised with the bread knife , a flash of the knife here , a
flash of the knife there , it was hard work , he was soon covered in sweat
but after 45 minutes he was finished . So he just had to slip the freshly
covered bath panel back in position . So kicking it back in position ,
Michael had finally transformed his bathroom . Michael stepped back to
admire his handiwork , accidently knocking the bread knife down the toilet
but he didn’t hear the splash , as the radio was blaring out a Nat King
Cole song “Let there be Love” . Michael looked at his freshly painted
bathroom , walls and ceiling had been painted , new bright curtains were
hanging down , and the lino was new and bright too , he had even put a
layer of plastic and newspapers underneath to act as insulation , and he
had a little mat too that he could step on when he got out the bath . Yes
it was an utter transformation , the best it had looked in the 12 years
he’d lived there . All this activity had made him really hungry , he’d
bought a loaf from the bakery , an old fashioned big tasty loaf , all he
had to do was cut it into big slices , now where had he left the bread
knife ?


Personal Image finished version


Personal Image ©
By Michael Casey

Well as promised last night here’s a new piece, Personal Image, I hope you like it. I have tidied up my site to make room for new material if you are wondering where did my stories go, they will form part of my 11th book Still Smiling 2017. Follow link to buy the first ten books.

Now as I sit here naked in front of the computer with the keyboard on my lap to hide my embarrassment I try and think of words to amuse you, or rather I think of this and that, but not the other. Ok I was lying I am wearing my battered old dressing gown, you’ve seen the photos, so you know which one. It’s all part of my Personal Image.

We all have an image or style, this says who we are, and it projects our look, our persona. As you know I have a Shanghai wife, so her look dazzles everybody, people will copy her look hoping to have the same stardust. That’s how marketing and fashion magazines work. And how Trump is winning the Election in USA, just vacuous marketing.

I fell in love with her not because of the model good looks but because she made me laugh. If you spot the old original photo of us in our kitchen you‘ll think that was another person a very scruffy person, and so she was. I’ve just remembered she came and cooked for me and guess what I had to go to the shops 3 times before I had the right ingredients, we ended up laughing, and the rest is History, and Michael Jackson is singing that on Spotify as I talk to you. Really I had the right ingredients already without going to the shops, but don’t tell her that or she’ll steal my wallet.

So we all have an image or look, but we also have our own interior self- image, and there is a difference in that. As I sit here talking to you, I consider myself to be a good writer making you all smile, but if I was an angel standing behind me what would the angel think. Having just said that I look over my right shoulder and guess what there is an angel hovering behind me, though hoovering behind me might be more useful.

You’ve seen the photo of me at the computer keyboard and my big daughter, the Dr or MD wannabe at the piano keyboard, then on the wall is an angel it’s a Burne-Jones painted copy, you can Google him. As well as that angel there is a much smaller one on a shelf, saved from a Xmas card. So I have 2 angels watching over me as I talk to you all.

Do they say he should really shave more often, or he should write less profane and more holy stories, as I talk to you Michael Jackson chips in with Man in the Mirror and make a change. See I get Literary Criticism from the Ether, so no matter what I think about myself I get snipping from angels and from a performer who should have listened to his own lyrics.

On the matter of clothing, we have out slob look which we would never be seen dead in and never open the door in. We are chilled in our bunny slippers and women’s PJs, and I’m talking about myself now. Then when we leave the house, we wear our silk PJs with dressing gown surrounded by bunnies, and now I’m talking about Huge Heffner. So we have our formal and informal wear.


I used to look like a member of Status Quo for years, jeans with a shirt and tie, then I changed to trousers with a shirt and tie, but always with brown shoes as they are cheaper, but they were always Clarks. So that was my own personal image, until I discovered bright, very bright Polos, I could have been on a Trump golf course. By the way Donald my old pharmacist is a good golfer, so why not send him a free weekend at your new place in Scotland.

So our image our look evolves with age and wealth, if we can afford nicer clothes then we’ll wear them, especially if we are a woman. Our wealth is a mirror of our style, with the obvious exception of Bill Gates, does he send his maid with 100 bucks and say get him a full outfit. Has he never had his inside leg measured? No that’s not a metaphor either, you are trying to misread me, don’t be naughty the angels are watching. His trousers are always too long, maybe one day I’ll meet him and then I can encourage him to go to Mountain Warehouse, or just have his inside leg measured, or am I pulling your legs?

Once we have our style we believe we are just so cool, so hip and trendy, we won’t believe what people say behind our backs. Nobody ever told Michael Jackson that silly white socks were just that SILLY. It’s a bit like the Emperor’s New Clothes, the Emperor does not know he is naked, he thinks he’s the bees knees wearing really expensive clothing, it takes a child or simpleton to point out the fact. And then everybody laughs, the dam has been breached, a bit like Politics, the fig leaf gets smaller and smaller until finally people see the Truth, no amount of Image or Clothing can hide that.


This is me the writer 31st Aug 2016


Hello this is me eating cereals  this evening, and yes the clock on the wall is in the front room above the family desk top. That’s where I write, so have a read and buy my 10 books on Amazon




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 29 years of writing, 49 years in total I think I’m a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I’m 57 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.

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 800+ 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  10 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













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 800+ stories this would be a series of 20 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 207 of my 800+ shorts, 11 hours plus of audio.

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

Cheerio, Michael Casey

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com


www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  to hear 50+ stories

10 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books




I’m glad to be fertilizer


I’m glad to be fertilizer ©

By Michael Casey

At a funeral the mourners are all gathered there, the family, the friends plus a few of the local  alcoholics who came in search of free food. Also squeezed in at the back a few men in suits with what appeared to be bodyguards, in shades with ponytails. What was also noticeable were the flowers, 100s of flowers. There were also what appeared to be models, 10 or more of them. What were such people doing at a funeral for a humble man, a nothing if you like.

The priest rose to read the oration, which is a new thing at Catholic funerals. John Doe was simple man, some may say he was a nothing, he had his faults as we all do, but he had many friends as witnessed by you all being here. When John lost his job he had no hope, no future, just a young family to feed. He came to me and asked did I know anybody who could help him, he had despair in his eyes. I told him all I could do was pray, so I gave him a Padre Pio prayer card and he put it in his pocket.

The next day, the very next day Mr Slim at the back of the church there, his car had a puncture and on impulse he came inside Saint Jude’s. So I welcomed him, and Mr Slim said he was Jewish, so I told him my only joke I knew. Aren’t Catholics Jews who have gone wrong? Mr Slim laughed and I asked did he know of anywhere that could do with a good honest man as a worker, just like Saint Joseph. So that’s how John, John Doe got  his chance, because of the puncture in the tyre of the Rolls Royce.

John spent 30 years working for Mr Slim, he was a cleaner, a spare set of eyes in the foyer of his casino, but he was much more than that He was the welcome mat. He may have been overlooked by some, but if you don’t wipe your shoes you soon have a house full of muck. John also knew how to make people welcome, to make them smile while they were waiting for friends to catch up. How do you describe a smile? It’s something that that makes you warm. Mr Slim knows that and that is why at his hotels and other businesses he tells the staff a smile is the most important part of the business.

John Doe and Mr Slim became friends, you have to treat the humblest of your workers as well as you treat your own mum and dad. Mr Slim had an idea, every new worker had to shadow John, so they spent 2 days cleaning toilets and floors. Then Mr Slim would have a quiet word with John, if you like it was part of the interview process. John a nothing a nobody was in fact a gatekeeper, rather like Saint Peter who John will be meeting presently after his funeral is over.

Mr Slim may be a guest in our church today but he knows the true meaning of the word catholic, it means universal as you all know. So John was perfect for his casino a universal welcome to the entire universe of people of people. But it did not stop there, John’s talents were spotted by Mr Slim, so John was placed in his new hotels, just as a humble cleaner, with eyes like a hawk. However met John were always happy to meet him and his collection of photographs of his 7 children, it was a warm welcome, a home from home. Real friendships emerged, as witnessed by the collection of models crying over the  his coffin. Was John a beau, no he was not, despite his 7 children? He had a heart of gold and this is what attracted the models to him. That and the fact that he access to a chocolate machine 24/7 this was John Doe’s real power, the power of chocolate.

Now on occasion a disgruntled employee would belittle John and state that he was just a glorified cleaner, a nothing, a nobody, a piece of manure.  Let us just say that employee was offered a choice, 6 months cleaning rooms, or the door. He chose cleaning rooms, and afterwards there were no recriminations, he’s here at the back of the church, I won’t name him, but he’s wearing the 2nd best suit in the church, after Mr Slim’s. In fact he climbed the ladder after doing his penance and is very high up Mr Slim’s organisation, I nearly said bum, but he’s no brown nose. It’s good to laugh at a funeral. My point is though that because of John he is now ½ the man that John was.

John loved talking to everybody, it was fun and a break from all the cleaning, he would introduce people to each other, and three of the models met their husbands because of him. He introduced them to nice men, not just rich boys, but nice boys. And it’s their Rolls Royces that are parked behind Mr Slims. I think I’ll close the church and become a used car salesman, a used Rolls Royce salesman. Faith, I think I’m funny today, but you have got to laugh at a funeral or you’d cry.

Now having 7 children is hard with only one wage, but I can reveal Mr Slim just gave John his personal Costco card, and the use of a minibus for his family. As Mr Slim knows Loyalty should always be rewarded, and what is a bit of food after all. John of course repaid his kindness, and as we all know kindness has his own reward. So three of John’s children  now work for Mr Slim. They did of course spend their gap year as cleaners for him, then they went to Cambridge, Oxford and LSE. Now they are senior management for Mr Slim.  Family is the most important thing after all.

Well you must all be getting hungry, so I’ll finish now, John’s last words to me were that he was glad to be fertilizer though he didn’t use the word fertilizer, he said without muck nothing grows, and where there is muck there is money.

So Pax Vobiscum John Doe, and I’m glad I put those nails in the road, or Mr Slim’s car would never have a puncture, sometimes you just have to help God along.

My shoes 23rdJuly2015