My Last Wishes

My Last Wishes

By

Michael Casey

My 1st wish would be that the Telegraph lets me post in the right place. I've heard that hearing is the last thing that goes as we fade away. So a sign saying "Beware of saying bad things, such as Thank God the old B*&&&, is dead"  Why, because as we fade away to oblivion the last thing I'd want to hear are words like that, imagine the utter horror as we melt away. So I'd say, just be nice, LIE, but don't send a loved one to Heaven or Hades with such negative words ringing in the soon to be deceased ears.

My father said he heard the doctor say, "just wheel him to the end of the ward, he'll be dead soon." At that moment my dad awoke and the doctor dropped his tea. Dad lived 5.5years more and I met my wife in the old people's home, Padre Pio and Me explains it.         The consultant had given my dad a week to live and it  was  decided he would not be revived if he had another heart attack.

I think we should all make plans, so there is no dispute. I know I'd like to live long and prosper, I always used to say I want to live till I was 100, having a young family I really need to reach 100 now. But what if the worse case senario arrived? I think I would write down something on paper, I'd make a Will, but I'd enclose a comic letter for my siblings so that as they gathered around at the solicitors they'd have some laughter to remember, they'd be no money to share, but laughter yes. Like my brother peeing in pop bottles because he knew I drunk the dregs.  Like our dad saying "Rubber Onion" instead of "Rugby Union", remembering all the love, all the Nuclear Love our mother gave us. 

I am thinking of having Nuclear Love in Tears For a Butcher which I'm writing, and even Supernova Love. How can I explain it to any future readers? I don't know, Stalin once said "How many divisions does the Pope have?" Only fellow believers of various colours could possibly understand, the power of faith and love that only mothers have.

I'll have to sit down some day and write my comedy cover letter to go with my Last Will and Testiment, perhaps leave a video on my website, or a message like Yul Brenner left. Bury Me in My Boots was a book we heard at assembly 40 years ago, it was a tramp's last request, Mr Reading read it out.

I know that when you are electricuted your family flashes through your mind, as it did for Rich sometime in the 1980s, so if when we die our hearing really is the last thing to go, please be gentle and kind, be nice as Lew Dawson used to say. Just be nice.

Government Dating Agency

Fill in E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready(c)

by

Michael Casey

I saw somewhere that the Government would be involved with marriage. So that set me thinking.

Fill in form E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready.

Just as stupid as a census form would be the Government provided spouse, all you do is fill in the form.

You fill in sections stating what kind of sex life is required, variety and kind and frequency.

You fill in sections stating what kind of faith is required, though nowadays "None" would be the most common.

Sections for what kind of intellect required.

What kind of hair colour, and type, soft or shiny.

Height requirements would be catered for too.

Tall dark and handsome, or very curvy with a twinkle in their eyes. Eye colour would also be on the list.

The form would go on for three pages and has to be filled out in triplicate. Native language requirements or preferences would also be listed.

It could take hours to fill in the form, but once completed, the Government guarantees perfection and a till death do you part guarantee.

With the government in charge of our mating, nothing can go wrong. Only on the way down in the lift its love at first sight as you see somebody for the first time. Can it be true can it be really true. You were made for me and I was made for you.

Metaphor This

Metaphor This © 

By

Michael Casey

Well first of all I have to confess I am using Arabic Typesetting  as my font type. I stumbled over it recently on my Word settings, I’m using a very old copy of Word, If anybody wants to sent me a new super duper version of MS Office I’d be over the moon.

Tomorrow I pray MU beats Spain, and that Sir Francis Drake can bowl everybody over, I just want Sir Alex to get what he deserves. It will be a game of two halves, one whisky and one bitter, but I’m sure at the end of the day, all will be equal in love and war, and as Bill Shankly said its more important than that.

So MU will be fighting their corner and especially when there is a corner I hope Rooney can reach for the stars and fly us all to the moon when he gets one or three in the back of the net. No doubt their will be lots of kissing between men, because that’s what they do wen they are happy. And perhaps folk will be doing The Lambert Walk, people will be cock a hoop all over the land, in London and in Manchester too, even here in Birmingham you’ll hear all the screams of delight, in the privacy of bedrooms and in the bars, for scoring is scoring is scoring, either with a line of white, or with a  boy or a girl, for when you get what you want you are always happy and over the moon. And IF things go down the drain then we’ll all be as sick as parrots even Joey in the Red Cow who sits on a perch and says “shut the bleeding door”. I’m fit to burst with all the emotion and with all the tension, its enough to give me the runs, and I do hope I get back in time from the bog so I won’t miss any action. I may have an each way bet on the result, I can even play both ends against the middle and make a killing. But realistically I hope Manchester United give it to the Spaniards so we’ll all be done proud, otherwise we’ll all be as sick as parrots and have to drown our sorrows.

Well I hope the new CIA computer program understands all of this, otherwise them may come and render the side of my house, which could do with a lick of paint, then when its ship shape I could flog it, I shudder to think what those guys in Langley are thinking now.

Cheerio Michael Casey www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com 

To Touch A Beating Heart

To Touch a Beating Heart  ©

By

Michael Casey

I was watching Jools Holland’s show and later on I watched Glee, its just finished in fact, Music has such an effect on me, I hope on everybody else too. Music DOES Touch a Beating Heart. Music is like a heart beat, it offers rhythm to our lives, it goes fast and it goes slow, and when it ends we are dead.

Obama is in Ireland and now on his way here, he will have no doubt heard some music just as the Queen did, I imagine that as he has tea with the Queen they’ll both remark on their Irish trips, and I’d guarantee that Music will be part of that conversation.

My dad discovered Elvis in his 60s, he watched all of Elvis’s movies over a Christmas break, my dad was impressed. Musicians do touch our beating hearts, their power is so great, within 2 seconds a piece of music can get to you. If I’m very lucky within 30seconds I’ve touched somebody with my words, but music is still at least 15 times faster. I am of course so very very jealous, I can hear music on the Phoenix Chinese TV station and even though I know no Mandarin the music and the Chinese words still can touch my beating heart. I am lucky that a window has been opened into another kind of music, I wasn’t expecting that when I found my Shanghai wife.

So what is it with Music,  when the first cave man made love and heard the beat of his mate’s heart, did it fill him with wonder and then did he copy the beat with bones banging on the skull of his enemy who’d he recently eaten?  Whatever the reason I am so so jealous, a beat a rhythm a song or just the roar of the sea or even of the wind itself, all of this is music.

I’d love to be able to write songs, I have produced a few good poems, and some say my writing is poetic, but really the way I write is the way I write, I’m not clever enough to analyse my style, it is what it is. I  am lucky though if I get a few good reports, but I’d rather touch a few beating hearts.

Look at Me I'm a Nobody

  

Look at Me I’m a Nobody ©

By

Michael Casey

Well the Injunction Saga rolls on, out of curiosity I spent 30seconds online and found the name of the footballer. His wife no doubt knows who he is, perhaps he is begging her not to divorce him. Millions are at stake, but it would be nice to think he and she do both love their kids, and its them they are trying to protect.

We all want our 15 mins of fame as Andy Walhol once said, even me, but in my case its just to get my comic novel published and be a paid blogger for The Daily Telegraph. Not even in a million years will this happen. I have blogged a lot these past 2 years and I feel my writing skills have been sharpened, so that is good. I discovered that one of the regulars on MyTelegraph is having his book published in September, so God Bless him and good luck.

Returning to my theme, being famous for 15 minutes has now reached STUPID proportions, people become instant celebrities, their specialities being NOTHING.

Then real celebrities lust after the new celebrities, and that leads to sex and Injunctions.

You should use celebrity to help folks, I think one guy won Big Brother and gave the prize away. On the opposite scale a criminal won the lottery and that led to him being in jail and he lost all the cash too.

So what does this all tell us? To me it tells me we should get back to basics, don’t believe in all this S)*)(" in the media and the magazines that we find in hairdressers. Its neither real nor important, loving our kids now that is important.

But if you are really bored read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker on my site, though some may say its just too old fashioned, you’ll just have to read it and see for yourself.

 

Attachment: Padre Pio and Me.doc

Space Galore

Well I worked out how to make more space on my DT site, I know you'll all be groaning now. I was 99% full, now after deleting my images I've not even used 1%. If you are desperate to see images then go to my website.

Google has been copying the world's Literature so all of us will be saved for Eternity. I hope there is no atomic pulse to destroy everything, and I hope New Technology 100 years from now enables us to read what we secure now. Time and Tide waits for no man  so I hope technology doesn't forget our age, we think we are the bees knees but in the future. If we started in 1920 when my mother was born what did she have then? No running water, but a well outside. Now gas, no electricity, plenty of Hope and Love but technology, it did not exist.

Law firms have  so much technology, every piece of paper is monitored and saved, an IT department who's job is to save everything, think back to Bob Cratchit in A Christmas Carol working away at a ledger. If he was transported to today he'd scream, the Luddites tried to hold back Progress but even they failed. Now everybody at home has a computer and a free website somewhere too. We all take and treasure photos of kids and family. In my family I was the photographer, with film cameras before digital arrived. So when our mother died just over 15 years ago I was able to produce a photo album for all my siblings so we could all remember her. A photo is such a treasured memory, nowadays with digital you can have 2000 photos on one 2gig chip, can you imagine it? Kodak does not make film any more, but with your computer you can take a photo and print it off on Kodak paper in under 2 minutes. Now that is fantastic in my book, go back 90 years and my mum's family would think it was the work of the devil.

Space on your PC and on a free website such as multiply.com is such a great thing. You can give digital frame picture frames to granny or your book publisher, so they both are reminded just how much they love you.

Space  Galore is almost as good as Whisky Galore!

At the Bus Stop

At the Bus Stop © 

By

Michael Casey

I catch the bus to work, I’m lucky its only around the corner from our house, so I can give the kids and sometimes the wife an extra kiss goodbye before heading for work. A last laugh and hug before I catch my 1st bus to work. We have a good service in Birmingham, my brother once said it was the best bus service in the UK, he used to travel a lot, so I’ll take his word.

At the bus stop the occasional pig smokes in the shelter, sharing his pollution, his cancer, I don’t know about you but any bit of smoke makes my lungs hurt. I think execution is not good enough for smokers, and as for the cannabis smokers who come on the bus either innocently or brazenly, I wish aliens would come and take then away. Cannabis reeks and the smell stays on the person, yes I wish they’d grown up and stop the habit, but on my bus route, on that stretch of road, its more common that the white lines.

At the bus stop lipstick is applied, and smoothed down by a finger, a final look in the mirror, girls are ready to face the world, girls of all ages. Somebody makes a final call to say how much they love their still sleeping partner. An old lady as regular as clockwork appears with her little Jack Russell, the dog leaps towards me under the walls of the bus shelter, he’s just saying hello, I smile to the little old lady.

I swing my heavy bag from one hand to another as I wait for the bus, and I wait and wait, today the bus is very late, normally there are buses every 10 minutes, today I wait 20 minutes. Not to worry I’m always up to an hour early for my new job, the hour gives me time for an early coffee, a chat, and plenty of photocopying. Today I finally get the bus, I can abandon the bus shelter, only there’s a log jam of traffic on my cannabis scented road.

Once in town, I head for my 2nd bus stop, its outside Saint Michael’s the Polish church, and yes I do smile as I wait outside the church named after me. I sometimes used to attend there when I worked Sundays in the city centre, but that’s a long time ago, 15 or 20 years ago maybe. I just missed my choice of 3 buses, but after a further wait my 2nd bus arrives and I climb on. So I’m happy as I look at my watch, when I do arrive I’m 20 mins early instead of my usual hour.

So another working day begins, I still have time for my coffee, and did you know that if you want to cut your coffee consumption all you have to do is use a smaller spoon, or have only half a spoon of coffee, and best of all it still tastes good. No I’m not a health freak, I just have a nagging Shanghai wife, perhaps we should all have Shanghai wives and then we’d all be healthy, wealthy and wise I don’t know about.

The photo is of me, a very tired me, the hat is from Czech, I gave it to my sister in 1998, now its come back to me

Things to do before I die, Part I (c)

MAY 16TH, 2011 19:52

Things to do before I die, Part I (c) 

by Michael Casey

The article was on about a blood test to say when we’d die.

I’d get carried up a mountain, in Lady Gaga fashion, and look at the stars, here in Beautiful Birmingham we have a black square of gardens so we have a great view of the stars, but to go somewhere great  and view the stars, now that would be great. I have this theory that Hell is really a black hole, with no light and no stars to gaze at, no music and no touch, no soft touch of the one you love. No cold  drinks in the Summer and no hot drinks in Winter, no snowball fights, no nothing.

So if Hell is that and I know how many days or weeks or even years I have, then I would shake myself and do something. I might rush myself to finish writing Tears For A Butcher. Maybe I’d spam the entire world so that they have to read my book, or their email would never ever work again. www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com is where you can go if your free will directs it, just in case I am dying and that email lands on your doorstep.

I’d watch my favourite films again and again, I’d watch Little Women and cry when the professor says “I have empty hands” and she takes them in her hands and says “they are full now.” Simple little pleasures. Perhaps I go to Lourdes for a cure, though it is great fun in itself, the parading and the candles, the torchlight processions in the dark, the singing, the electricity, as well as the cafes and the Irish hotel with the singing and the late night drinkiung. Wearing a beret badly, climing over the fence into the grotto at an ungodly hour. Drinking the water and even having a bath in it, all in the hope of a cure, but Lourdes really is a fun place, so much joy, ask anybody who has been as a helper and they will confirm that it is a great place.

I’d go and see as many live bands as possible, music really is God’s breath, I used to see a ton of bands 20 years and more ago, so IF I knew when I’d croak I’d see as many bands as possible. I’d also try and learn to sing, Singing really is when are hearts are happy,   Saint Cecilia  sai to Sing is to Doubly  Praise, not my words but my singing sisters. Now I even have singing daughters. I would like to read my obituary before I croak, a Nobel moment, I even wrote a post Nobel and Me 2 years ago, but if I am to die my vainity would be satisfied if I had a Nobel moment.

I’d pick the hymns, the songs for my funeral,  my wife would put a DAB radio in my coffin, perhaps they invent a battery that works and is charged by perpetual darkness, a solar cell in reverse. That’s Part I of the things I’d do before I die. If I live I’ll write more, though I’m sure some DT readers are swearing, die you B((((( die.

For Telegraph and Sun Readers and anybody else who finds this

These are my books, if I sold 1% of  what Jeffrey Archers sells I'd be a happy man.

The selection of blogs is perhaps only 1/2 of what I've written.

Tears For A Butcher is my 4th book, I'm on Chapter 2, Old People's Home.

I have met some very nice people over the Internet, and some very very negative people too.

So IF you want to laugh read on.

AS USUAL JUST TO REMIND EVERYBODY EVERYTHING IS MY COPYRIGHT.

A little bit of Paris in Birmingham(c) by Michael Casey

A little bit of Paris in Birmingham©

By Michael Casey

I have my lunch in a little café up the road from where I work. They have these little round tables and when you sit down you immediately struck by the sight of all the cakes, cakes galore so to speak. They are mouth-watering strawberry cakes, everywhere! 

I was away over the Easter holidays and the shop had a total  refit, new windows, new doors, new floors, new furniture. New display cases for all the cakes, even new tables and chairs.

What hadn’t changed was the cakes and all things lovely. I walk through the door and they say hello and start on my beef panini, I grab a drink from the fridge point to it and start drinking. I talk a lot in my job so I need a drink, I finish half my drink before my panini is ready. I’m in heaven, the food is great, the brothers in The Pastry House are very nice. People come in for English tea or Arabic tea, people shake hands and say hello, cakes are chosen and eaten. You hear several different languages, there is laughter in the air, there is debating, there is friendship, there is fun.

For me it’s a quick and nice bite to eat before I dash back to work. I asked Zain where did he get the money to pay the Polish workers to do all the changes, “did you win the lottery,” I asked. 

“No,” he replied, “it was a scratch card.” I laughed at his reply, he may have been joking, he may have been telling the truth, I’ll never know. But I do know, for me, this café on The Coventry Road is my oasis of peace on a busy day, the world may pass by, but for me, for a few minutes, I could be in Paris, Paris in Birmingham.

UTube are you ready?

My 9 year old is making a movie of herself playing Adele's latest tune, her 7 year old sister hold the digital camera  while she plays. All this modern technolgy in our Chinese/Irish household. Meanwhile harking back to oldern times  my wife has been baking bread. I'm slightly bloated having been force fed all the bread, old fashbioned English bread, and Chinese style bread too. I also knocked over some concoction of mushroom in an old coffee jar, that was lurking in the back of our fridge. Orange juice is nice with all this bread, as is a nice knob of butter, there is something so satisfying a piece of warm bread in your hands with the butter melting down your fingers. Ice cream streaming down your fingers is a great childhood memory too. I have a warming mug of coffee besides me at the computer as I talk to you, behind me one daughter is now singing Adele's song while she plays the piano, the other daughter has decided  to go into the next room to film my wife and the breadcrumbs all over our glass eating table. Adele's music echos around the front room as the shadows begin to fall, we'll have more music soon, Glee is on tv, I'll record it for the girls. I hope everybody else out there has a similiar family dynamic, it does make you want to thank God for the gift of family. My small daughter has just returned, she's just done a tour of the house, filming the entire house, perhaps she'll be an estate agent in the future. I did notice  on one estate agent website there was a thrumb print on all the photos, 1st law of cameras, clean the lens. I wonder did Michael Moore or Spielberg start this way, I know they are not girls, but the use of technology and the naturalness of their creations, I may never be published nor make the stage but they WILL.

Gagging For A Drink

As usual I cannot post in the right place....

I read the news item about Cocktails and folks trading up in the drinks stakes.

I used to work for a market research company into alcohol sales, StatsMR was the name until ACNielsen bought us out, I had 21 good years there. Since then my life has been a bigger and much more varied adventure.

I can remember when AlcoPops were invented, I seem to remember when my boss said they wouldn'd last. I was the shandy drinker while my learned friends were also great at drinking. And I mean great at drinking. We had a collection of spent bottles and cans which would impress any party animal, I suppose we had them instead of potted plants.  We really were great company, that's why we were bought up, and our folks became the bosses down at Oxford. The Oxford office of ACN was like a 6th form college with a sports field behind it. It really was like a club not a place of work, but that's another story.

As for alcohol it is a great thing, the first miracle was changing water into wine after all. I'm not much of a drinker myself, I was the shandy drinker at ACN, nowadays a random couple of pints  every few months or more is enough for me. I do think alcohol is one of Life's greatest gifts, it does relax it does mellow people, its as good as as taking your shoes off at the end of a busy day. Perhaps we should have shoe racks under the tables in bars.

Trading up is a good thing, a nice drink IS nice and if you can make it even nicer with an extra pound or two then good. I do the same thing myself, though in my case its cloudy lemonade instead of regular lemonade in Aldi; I even saw lemonade in glass bottles in Aldi, harking back 30 years or more, trying to create an upper class lemonade. I wish them well but that won't work, wine yes, lemonade no. My brother used to pee in the glass lemonade bottles because He knew I'd drink the dregs before trying to get the money back on the bottles, perhaps thats why I like bitter lemon.

Trading up in food is good too, I am lucky my Shanghai wife is a good cook, Eastern or Western, she's baking bread as we talk. I like my food too, see the photo for proof, breaking bread is first thing Man ever did, and sharing a meal is the thing that binds us even in or cannibal days. So  stock your freezer well.

Shoes and your Sole(c)

Shoes and your Soul ©

By Michael Casey

I don’t know about you but I love shoes, they are something we all need and they really are good for your Soul.

When you stand up all day, be it as a Concierge, or as a Teacher or as a PC on the beat, you really need to have good comfy shoes or boots or whatever. Being in touch with your Sole IS good for your Soul, we all sigh when we come home and slip our shoes off. We wriggle our toes and throw our socks at the dog, the cat arrives to play with your socks. The dog meanwhile loves to lick the salt off your sweaty toes.

All is balanced, we are all one with Nature, we may soak our feet in a bowl of water, my mum used to add Jeyes Fluid to the water when our dad came home. When you stand up all day in  a steel works your feet really do need some TLC, my dad’s feet were so so baby white, my mother used to use the tongs that she used in the washing machine to pull my dad’s socks off. 

400 degrees of heat tends to glue your socks to your feet.

My dad always used to say “It’s great to wash your feet.”  And of course  he was right. Finding his slippers for him , then a big mug of tea, this was our family.

Me, I like comfy shoes, I buy shoes, 2 pairs every time there is a sale in Clarks. I buy brown shoes too, not because I like the colour but because they are cheaper, and when money is short then brown shoes will do, besides black shoes mean you are in service, like in an hotel for example.

The bounce and the walk around the carpet in the shoe shop is always fun, but you still have to buy odor eaters because of your smelly feet, and they make your shoes even more comfy. I always buy 2 pairs of shoes at a time, then I don’t have to come back till the next sale whenever that is. I am 17.5stones or 112 kilos, so my feet good shoes, good shoes are like a kiss, always welcomed.

Now when me and the wife got together I went to buy her some trainers in Clarks on New St. now my Shanghai wife looks very young, I tell her its because she has me, and of course she agrees with me. We were having a bit of banter and  my wife said to the assistant, “he’s my dad,” and even then I had white hair, so the assistant believed my wife, “he’s my dad,” the Freudians amongst you can work that one out.

On another occasion my wife brought back 30 pairs of shoes from her Summer vacation to Shanghai. You can imagine her horror when Lufthansa lost some luggage, and yes it was the shoe bag, her size 3s had gone AWOL. I just laughed, they were cheap but the right size for her. I should add our 9year old now has size 3 feet, so none of mum’s shoes are safe. Finally Lufthansa  found the bag and we opened our own shoe shop.

WE are also very lucky  because our 7 year old loves cast me downs, at the moment she has a pair of flashing Dora The Explorer sandals, which I bought for her big sister when we were in Florida 5 years ago.

I can remember my Concierge days when I used to walk 25 miles a week and that was on marble, we did 12 hour shifts too, so we all used to walk around like hobbled  horses on our 1st day off. So I think I am an expert on sore feet, I know just how good shoes are, nice comfortable shoes. Ask the policeman outside 

No.10 Downing Street, I bet he and his friends have great shoes/boots I bet he has foot massage often. 

When our kids are young we pull their toes and do, this little piggy went to market etc. Wriggling your toes after you’ve been on duty in an hotel or as a policeman outside No.10 really is something that resonates to the depths of your Soul.

Piano Girl(c) By Michael Casey

Piano Girl ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it’s a bright sunny day here in Birmingham, over the road the Polish neighbours are moving out, they did block the road with their van and I suggested they knock on their neighbour’s door so they could park safely, no I was not being neighbourly, they had nearly smashed into our car, though it turned out it wasn’t our car but our next door neighbour’s  brand new car. I wear sunglasses as I type so I had a problem seeing…..

I’m listening to Paul McCartney’s  Flaming Pie as I talk to you, I invested 15quid for new speakers on my PC so Paul is better than ever. My old Kenwood HiFi, 15 years old, we donated to the man at the carwash who did a good job so he earnt a hifi as a tip. I listen on my PC for years now.

My daughter is playing on the piano behind me, she asked me to switch off  Paul while she played. I explained it was Paul McCartney, so I had to explain who he was,  my Shanghai wife has heard of Paul, but my 9 year old daughter, she doesn’t know who he is. I wonder how Paul would react?

You see  we saved up for a piano and even gave our nine year old piano lessons when she was very small, it used to be £12 for ½ and hour, but she never practised. The piano gathered dust, a sister was born and still the piano gathered dust, its was the Chinese influence in the first place, get them young.

Well time has moved on, both girls are in a choir up the road from their school which is up the road from where we are. At choir they get music lessons and are paid too, a bequest I believe. Before we paid a Chinese girl to teach piano, now a nice little old lady called Betty teaches them and they get paid to sing. The result of all this? My nine year old has just came back into this room after finishing her dinner, and now she’s back at the piano playing Katy Perry’s Firework, and thanks to Betty she’d getting good. As for Paul McCartney he’s been switched off so she can play piano behind me.

I have of course helped my big daughter, I printed off the sheet music from the Internet. Paul hasn’t got a look in, not unless he reads this and sends us some sheet music of his stuff, and just be warned Paul, it had better be better than Katy Perry’s stuff.