You can have my piggybank Mr President

You can have my piggybank Mr President (c)

 By Michael  Casey

The cliff is coming the cliff is coming, I'll close my eyes and maybe it won't hurt so much.
Like Thelma and Louise we'll hit the brakes or is it the accelerator?
I can give up soda and chocolate, just have a stick of gum.
Once a quarter I can have a quart of beer, I'm not really a beer drinker after all.
I can eat less MacDonalds , and brush my teeth less.
I don't like the over white, the polar white teeth look much anyways.
All these savings I can put in the piggybank and when its full I can go to the store, stores always need change after all. I can get them to write a cheque out to the IRS or do I just put "pay Physical Cliff", whatever my pennies will add up.
Perhaps I'll lose a little weight too, 245pounds or whatever is more than the President weighs I'm sure.
So a bit less of this and a bit more of that, cheaper that that is, and then I'll be able to keep on filling my piggybank.
Then sure enough everything will be alright again.
Do you think I could persuade the rest of the USA to join in?
Oh I forgot to say, I'm in Birmingham England, just up the road from Stratford and Shakespeare. So would the IRS want my piggybank anyway?

Tell you what if the USA buys my books I'll pay my taxes and if you all buy enough books in USA then my taxes will payoff the Physical Tax, now wouldn't that be a happy ending for any book.

What makes home Home?

What makes home Home? (c)

By michaelgcasey

What makes Home Home? ©

By Michael Casey

Somebody I know is going off on an adventure, he is going to work abroad. So it set me thinking, what would I miss and what would I take with me if I went to work abroad. To start with I don’t think I would want to work abroad, I’d miss the comfort of my own bed, foreigners and foreign countries have harder beds much harder beds than we have here in England. I’m older now with children so I’d want them to stay at their schools and not miss their friends. I know people have gap years and do a lot of travelling, but that’s just a holiday really, they know they’ll be back home.

Yes I’d enjoy say 2 months somewhere different, but home is home, home is where the heart it. So what makes home home? It’s knowing I can get up from my chair in front of the computer and make a drink of something nice and hot or ice cold. It’s nice to know I can drink water straight from the tap and not worry about possible infections, here in Birmingham we have the best water in the world,  it’s Welsh water we steal from Wales, there’s a pipeline. Home is where I can not shave for a week if I’m feeling lazy, being somewhere else I’d have to shave, you can be a tramp at home but not abroad.

Yes I can speak a little French and Spanish, so in those places I wouldn’t be lost, and when in Shanghai I am looked after by the family. Yet being able to switch on the radio to hear the news or dip into tv news with BBC and Sky and Fox too that’s what keeps me happy. In 2007 we were in Shanghai when the Navy lads were kidnapped by the Iranians, all I had was CNN on the hotel tv, this was torture because CNN s just a travelogue, next to rubbish. At home I’d have 3 other news stations at least, for me being at home means following the news, I am a news junkie. I read the Daily Telegraph  constantly too, the web edition, so if I cannot get to a computer I would not be at home.

Home is being nagged to go to the corner shop to get some strange vegetables my Shanghai wife wants, two or three times till I get the right one. Home is watching films with the kids, watching horror films with the wife, slipping out to the corner shop to get fizzy pop for me and the kids to drink during the film. Home is just being relaxed in ones’ own space, being off duty, being able to go outdoors and have a breath of fresh air in the garden, it may be a scruffy little garden or a show garden but it is your garden, you can scratch your bum and throw a fart to the wind. In a hotel it can be very very nice and you can have fresh sheets on your bed every day, but it’s still not home. I know hotels can be great, I worked at a 4star for 3 years but not unless you have a  big suite can you compare it to home in some small way.

Shoes scattered, shoes on a rack, an old pair of shoes converted into slippers, simple things that turn a house into a home. You cannot bring everything with you if you lived abroad. The right type of toilet paper,  the right kind of soap and tooth paste. All of these simple things turn a house into a home, a smile a nod a joke with the postman or the corner shop man these too make home. Understanding the priest on a Sunday this is a little thing that makes us feel at home, even if you don’t really like that priest very much.   Yes do have adventures, but make sure you come on back home, the priest is always waiting to hear your confession.

 Christmas On A  Bus ©

            By

             Michael Casey

On a bus coming home the Christmas Story revealed itself to me, ordinary events on a cold  Winter’s evening.

There was a large man squeezed into a seat sitting crossways as he was so large, I squeezed in next to him, the two of us like boulders abandoned.

A small African child was singing a carol to her mum who was weighed down by worry and a carrier bag  larger than  the child, behind a bigger child was swinging her feet off the seat.

In front of me a child with  a large bright pretty ribbon in her hair was talking excitedly to her nan. Her nan was all wrapped up against the Winter weather, she was more like a parcel than a person She was giving sage advice to her granddaughter, don’t expect too much this Christmas.

There was a pretty teenaged too, she was  moving her ankle in her new clean boots, perhaps Christmas boots, she was speaking confidently to her ugly friend, pretty girls always have either a fat or ugly best friend, its Nature’s balance.

The African family got up it was their stop at the bus stop, I told the child to hold on tight to the rail as she moved forward only she was too small to understand fully.  My children are about their age I said to the child with the ribbon in her hair and her nan.

The large man squeezed in next to me started doing sign language to me, it was only then that I realised he was deaf and dumb. So I signed back to him. A few stops further on the dumb man as big as Gabriel himself got up as it was his stop, we exchanged goodbyes, “Good Luck” I said, he got off and waved goodbye from the street.

I heard a voice on a mobile, “we’ve got to go then or the graveyard will be shut, I want to give mum some flowers for Christmas.” All this represents Christmas,

your Christmas, My Christmas, Everybody’s Christmas. So take time out to speak  to the deaf, to share a smile, to remember your mum, for Christ is Born.

Parenting ©

By Michael Casey

“Mom where’s my shirt?”

“Where you left it.”

“Mom you have to help me, I have to wear it for school.”

“It’s where you left it.”

“You’re no use, Dad where’s my shirt?”

“What did your mum say?”

“She said it was where I left it.”

“So it must be there then.”

“Dad you’re no use, you’re worse than mum. I wish I was adopted.”

“YOU WERE, “ echo Mum and Dad.

“You two are cruel you’ll give me physiological damage.”

“Then that’ll be something we all have in common,” retort Mum and Dad.

“I’ve found it, I’ve found it,” screams the child overjoyed.

“And where was it?” ask the bored parents.

“Where I left it,” whispers the child sheepishly.

And so it goes on in every home everywhere the world. Kids should have all their things electronically tagged, then with a bleep everything could be revealed. Letters  from school arrive at the bottom of school bags, well arrive is a general term, arrive should be replaced with are discovered, just as archaeology discovers things. Three months later you discover what is happening in school, school letters could and are used as bedding for gerbils, sometimes you only know what has happened at school when you are cleaning your kids’ gerbil cage out. Then the terrible thing happens, the gerbil is dead and you have to find an old shoe box and a priest so that the gerbil can be buried with dignity in the garden. Making sure the gerbil is buried deep enough so the local foxes don’t get a takeaway option for their own dining.

“I’ve got nothing to wear.” Now that means you have to visit the charity shop for yourself while you kids spend a fortune on the latest trainers. If you are from a large family you had caste me downs, I did, but this generation don’t want to do that. You tell them tales from your youth and about grandpa and grandma in Ireland and China, in our case, or any other combination for the rest of you reading this. And what do they reply, “that’s the old century,” as if the 2^nd half of the 20^th century was in the Middle Ages, did we have indoor plumbing then?

“Mum, Dad can I have £20  for a trip.”

“When’s the trip?”

“Tomorrow.”

You would have known about the trip if you only bothered to read the paper you used to wrap the gerbil in when you buried the gerbil in the garden, Father Dan in attendance, he’s a family friend and comes around for the dinner, so stifling a smile Dan had blessed the grave. The child promised to come to church more often, and ran away crying.

“Here’s £20 then.”

“But what about refreshments too dad?” the child looks up pleading to you.

“Ask you  mum.” you walk away, you had plans for that £20, you were going to have a beer with a school friend, someone you’ve know 40years, now you’ll have to ask him over for a few cans.

“Mum dad said you’d give me a tenner for resfreshments,” says the child.

Mum is all knowing and loves her child, so she follows dad and steals a fiver for her child.

“But that’s only £5,” says the child looking all hard done by.

“Dad’s given you £25, so hop it, or I’ll give you a kick up the backside.”

Dad looks at his empty wallet, he’s high and dry now.

“What can I do now?” he asks all forlornly.

“We could go to bed,” replies mum.

“Sex at you age, you are disgusting,” replies the child.

Like my Page (c) by Michael Casey

How do you capture a thought, its like a polar bear trying to capture a butterfly in its teeth without harming it. So you use a metaphor or some other kind of butterfly net, ideas lap at your toes  like walking on the beach at Cromane Lower Eire, then you get sands between your toes.   Your socks are stuffed in your pocket only they fall out and you stumble to catch them like a wicket keeper in cricket, or the catcher in baseball. See already I've put a few diverse thoughts in your head. Images is what advertising is all about, a warm and soft glow in your mind then you buy stuff. Memories of a first kiss, or the first loss of innocence, something that makes you smile and close your eyes, and want more. So you will go out and buy stuff, just one click away. I shouldn't ruin the illusion, but I will, you can buy my 5 books on Amazon Kindle, just look for my silly face on the corner. Comedy sells product, but how do you sell comedy itself? Perhaps  I should say read my books and your chest will expand, you'll look like Rocky, or if you are a girl you'll look like Angelina Jolie. Read my books and people will be impressed by your choice of reading, I never thought you'd read him, Michael Casey is so so, well just so so so, we have so much in common now, quick marry me and we'll read his books while we are on honeymon.
So I've displayed cheap marketing tricks that B list celebrities use all the time for their Z list latest films. I've got on all the front pages  by flaunting my body, are fat hair chests all the rage now, is silver coloured hair with matching eyebrows the latest thing. Do I look like Steve Martin or Leslie Neilsen?
This is what you get when you ask me to go to your page on Face Book, would you have refered a kiss under the mistletoe? Or will you just strike me off your Friends list, a horrid horrid man, or is it polar bear ?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Treasure

Treasure ©

By Michael Casey

Well its 2 weeks before Christmas and we are all thinking, or perhaps thinking of presents and so forth. If we are children it’s all about what we will get, but if we are parents it’s all about what we can give to our kids. All I want for Christmas is my 2 front teeth the song goes, me this Christmas I’ll settle for a lack of back pain.

I’m thinking of The Bishop’s Wife, the Cary Grant and David Niven version, perhaps all I should say is go and watch it again because it says it all. We all treasure different things, this Christmas I found a cheap but very good quality dab receiver with a ubs port, so after a 2 or 3 year gap I have replaced my old hifi, look on Amazon for the Pioneer one. This is my treasure, it cheered me up and took my mind off the pain, just imagine a piece of plastic no bigger than your thumb can store all your cds and then you can play them back on the hifi. As you may know I do love a bit of music. The last hifi we donated to the car wash attendant, he did a good job so he ended up with a hifi with great speakers, it was in the car boot and instead of a charity shop getting it the car wash guy got it.

Treasure comes in many forms, memories are all our treasures, me for family things I seem to have total recall, as if I’m the family historian. I remember the tales my dad told me over many a year, he repeated them over and over again, but for me I just loved it. Listen to the old they do have laughter and wisdom to share with us. At Birthdays and Anniversaries and Christmas we remember our friends and family, we buy them gifts, we send them  a card, and if they are no longer with us we share stories they had shared with us, by doing this we keep them alive.

Treasure comes in many forms, right now we hear of the Spitfire and how some may have been found in a foreign field. We also hear how loads could be buried in crates in Birmingham, that’s where I am now talking to you all. The Spitfire is a treasured icon and perhaps we should all be going out with metal detectors, looking for treasure we could all treasure for generations to come.

When we receive a gift for Christmas or whenever  we treasure it, a Don Camillo omnibus in English for example would be a great gift for me, I have Don Camillo on the shelf behind me. When I think of Don Camillo I think of Mr Trout my old History teacher for it was he who recommended Don Camillo to me. So there I have a memory and a treasure combined. Charity shops will gain stock after Christmas as unloved items are sent away and abandoned at Charity shops. We might not realise the thought the intent behind the present, we may not realise it’s on a par with the widows mite. Children, some children want and expect the latest this and the latest that, 100s of pounds spent on plastic junk, batteries not included. If your uncles and aunties are teachers what do you get? Books, books, books and more books. We do have 2 new bookcases in our house, so that’s just fine.

We can discover a little café or a little pub, now that too is something to treasure, an oasis of calm where you can indulge and enjoy a coffee and a cake, or a really decent pint or three and pork scratchings, I am in the Black Country after all, let’s just stop a second and think about that. As a child we discover sweets and the memory lasts a lifetime, then fancy old fashioned sweet shops appear, halleluiah praise the lord, and the tastes and memories come flooding back. There was one such shop in the Law Zone in Birmingham, men in suits, very expensive suits queuing for sherbets well in my imagination they did.

Time spent and misspent is something to treasure, climbing over walls and going scrumping when you were a kid, running like mad to escape the owner’s dogs, getting splinters in your fingers as you escape. Getting home and mum had to get out a big long and thin needle to remove the splinters. The screams you made and the tugging away as mum got the splinters out, do you remember it, do you remember it?

These are just a few examples of treasure, I hope it will   awaken long almost lost memories in all of you who read this, it has reminded me of my own life and of some of the Don Camillo stories too. Nothing we buy nor nothing we give or even receive can compare to Love, love is a free gift, costs nothing, but it is priceless, so treasure that this Christmas.

Prof Beard and Me(c)

Prof Beard and Me

By michaelgcasey

I heard a bit of Prof. Beard on the radio and today in between wincing with pain I read her piece on the BBC website, of I forgot to say she was talking about teaching at Uni and all the surveys teachers have to hand out. We are all a market research driven society, it even has it on vans “am I driving well”, so you cannot avoid it. I did spend 3 years at a 4star hotel so I know all about customer service, if you get it wrong 10 people know about it, and if you get if right only 4 know about it. So 99.99% of the time you must get it right.

As for teaching, you have to please the Head at the school level or you don’t get that raise, or your 1year contract is not carried over, everybody is just a hired handnowadays not just in teaching, we are also the worthless society, judging by all the 1 year contracts. Little wonder moral is so low. But we soldier on because we love our subject and we want to share it with students. But are they listening? That’s another question. At Uni at least they have chosen to be there so they should be more attentive.

As for Mary Beard and Homer, Homer Simpson is known and perhaps he IS the modern Shakespeare, her Homer the Greek guy, and not the one down the road in the Kebab shop. When she talks I listen and I learn, I enjoy her tv documentaries, and I don’t mind if she doesn’t apply war paint, she is not on X facter after all, but I would vote for her because she is so illuminating. BBC2 and BBC4 have opened up doors in the mind for me and millions more.

How about Prof Beard on Strictly Come Dancing, you could have Prof Brian Cox on it too, perhaps doing the music, all your fav teachers having a go at the dancing, and Brucie could give a lecture on the significance of dance in early culture., starting with cave men and up to the present day. Humour does have a place in learning,  in my blogs some of you may have spotted it.  Or then again perhaps I should have a makeover myself and try my hand at the Xfactor, a new Pavorotti.

Shakespeare was....

NOVEMBER 28TH, 2012 18:42

Shakespeare was ………..

By michaelgcasey

I’ve been watching the Sky Arts prog on Shakspeare. It was interesting but left me feeling empty. My tutor once said I was Shakespeare’s agent when I wrote an essay 20 years plus ago, all I can remember is that I got 74%. There was a documentary about Will on BBC2 a few years ago and that make a compelling case for Will being from Stratford. It highlighted all of Will’s influences and perhaps he was a Catholic too, how all of life’s events made Will the man he was. How he learnt so much stuff, so he was able to write what he did write, Will was the man. In good Will hunting the cleaner can do maths problems that out fox the greatest brains, in the end though that Will finds out the most important thing of all LOVE.

Scholars say that Will Shakespeare couldn’t know this and he couldn’t know that, and he couldn’t possibly be so mean, according to the Sky Arts program. In real life we all know some Son Of a Bitch, who seems so nice but in reality he’s a SOB, if only we knew about things but the person seemed so nice so genuine, but in reality…  People have got away with murder and things even worse than murder, but we don’t have hindsight.

Shakespeare is the same, he amazes us, he touches us.  Steven King frightens us to death, doesn’t mean he should be on Death Row, he must be warped because of the way he writes. It is his job, it was Shakespeare’s job, writing is what people do, you don’t have to be a Saint to pray and you don’t have to be Satan to curse and do worse. And if only we didn’t mix the two up with current sad and tragic events in the news….

Shakespeare is fun and kids do him at school, Macbeth is being studied by our kids if they are old enough to be in the GCSE class today. Cliff Notes and BBC Bitesize are a great help. But back to the plot, I feel the older BBC documentary was more accurate, and I vote for that version of Will’s identity. If I can  do my bit of writing, from my own background then why on earth cannot Will be the man who wrote his own stuff. Clever people are trying to hang their own coat on Will’s frame, but sadly the cloakroom tickets have fallen off and the wrong garments are being given to the wrong man.

Michael

p.s. I still maintain that Prince Hal was a bit of a lad and would abandon Falstaff  once Kingship beckoned

www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

http://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/

Masters Of Their Art

Masters Of Their Art©

By Michael Casey

I was watching the tv and I was musing on the skills of performers, Robbie Williams and Jonathon Miller to be exact. Just how do they manage to be so confidence, confidence and arrogance are first cousins I suppose, but confidence is what I’ll talk about first of all. In my own case I started primary school as one brother got into Grammar school, so it made me happy and aware of  my mother’s mantra “you’re as good as anybody. In the end 4 of us got to grammar school. I could say how amazing that was considering we were from a working class Irish background, but in the end that may be considered boring, as everybody talks about just how poor they were. By the time I got to grammar school the eldest had just got into Oxford, now that WAS amazing for the time. I remember him listening to Cream at level 11 while he studied, our mum used to bang on the door “Mr Dixon is working nights, switch it off” Years later the next brother listened to music too, but not as loud, using the same speaker. He was different, he did not get to Oxford, he had a gap year before they were invented, then HE went to Cambridge. I do have one thing in common with my clever brothers, they listened to Eric Clapton while studying, I met the man himself when I was a concierge at a hotel.

The point of all this family boasting/pride is the fact that they worked very very hard, that’s how they achieved what they did. Me I’m the “failure” with 5 books on Amazon Kindle and I’m working on “Tears For A Butcher” my 6^th book, when I’m not blogging on my sites, including The Daily Telegraph blog area, just  Google “michaelgcasey” and follow your nose.

Now Michael Parkinson is back with a new show and that will be “masterclass”, I grew up with Michael in the 1970s when he was on the BBC, but what I hope his show will reveal is how “masters” do what they do. I had confidence most of my life because of what my bigger brothers did, it was like a shield, or intellectual big stick which was always with me. I should say though that I was a big fish in a small pool most of my working life, however once you work at a Law Firm then you begin to realise just how little your intellect is. However the LOVE that my mother gave us all, now that  was as powerful as having Saint Michael by your side, a Kerrywoman never stops praying, and even if she is dead 16years now, she is still praying.

Confidence the like Robbie Williams has, or ability the kind Jonathon Miller has really is an amazing thing to watch, I had a peek at both of them on the tv tonight. Now I’d love to see how the pair of them would get on together, thinking about it though, Jonathon might turn Robbie into an opera. Confidence is born out of ability, out of practice,  practice prevents piss poor performance as Derek once said to me. Mental energy is used at 1million volts level when you are a top performer such as Robbie Williams. As for Jonathon Miller he said he is a people watcher and modestly said he is just reminding his actors  how to insert body language into their performance. The writer Jack Rosenthal used to say he did the school run in order to pick up dialogue for his plays. So observation works its way into performance, into writing.

Making things up does not really happen, life is filtered through us, and when we create or perform we are giving something

extra to the observed life. I tell people that I am like Slumdog Millionaire because what I’ve lived has created the man I am, and gives me whatever ability I now have. Yes you can inherit pretty genes, take my daughters for example, last time they were in Shanghai, at the zoo they were filmed more than the animals.  Both  girls are very artistic, 700 crayons and felts and paints is the last estimate, which is not enough, they always need more. Where did this skill come from? Gene  pool and uncles giving them the tools, and not being allowed computer games at home. Today they were modelling clay in their studio, which sometimes passes for a bedroom.

Now to become a master practice is almost like an obsession, we had Richard Clayderman  at the hotel once, 10 years ago or so when I was there, and Richard had a practice keyboard with him, something you roll out on a desk. Even he kept the practice going, it’ll be interesting next weekend as my girls will start piano practice behind me. Will my girls become the next big piano thing, Lang Langs from Birmingham?

You can get sick of things, things can get stale, ask any actor, actors move on to fresh fields. Artists and Masters are lucky because they get paid to do stuff they enjoy. The famous quote from Jacob Bronowski to Michael Parkinson  “ I’m like a prostitute, I get paid to do what I enjoy.” and Michael quibbled about prostitutes and enjoyment. Bronowski replied “ perhaps you know more about that subject than me.”  Game Set and Match to Bronowski.

In conclusion, the more you like stuff the better you become, most  of us have to do stuff we don’t like so that we can do stuff that we do like  at the weekend, that’s if you don’t work shifts. Me I’ve done shifts all my life, but now I write I can really enjoy myself whenever I’m by a computer with Word on it. Feedback can make or break any spirit, but a few well-chosen words can really be a life saver to somebody reading your words. A song sung can help people survive the pain of the day, so think of that in the morning when you go to church.

Ricked my Back

Michael Casey

Ricked my back, so its a chance for the wife to nag me, you should do this, you shouldn't do that. Pushing me into a hot bath, as if she's boiling chips. Hiding my dressing gown, leaving me to simmer while she screams to her mum in Shanghai over the Internet The usual Adams Birmingham Family behaviour


Crawling Like a Worm in The Dirt, humbled by a photo copier. ©

By Michael Casey



Well this is my 100th post, I had hoped I could think up something nice or even spectacular. This is what I've come up with. I'm laughing now as I type. Yesterday 5minutes after I started work I bent down to fill up the copiers. I filled one, then another, then I did a third. I then screamed, I had straightened up too fast and had ricked/strained my back on the right hand side. So these past 27hours have been a lesson in pain and humility. I felt such a fool at work, the girls I work were both sympathetic and funny. Somebody came by for some coloured paper , I bent down to look under our shelf and I was racked with pain, one girl told me to crawl away out of the way so that she could find it instead. I hobbled away, out of the way. The rest of day I moved about like an 80 year old, rather like my own dad. I hoped that on my lunch break while I sat for 30mins in the cathedral my back would be restored. We stand all day in our print as some of you may remember me mention. Prayer and rest for 30mins no doubt aided my soul but not my back. I went back to work and hobbled about for a couple of hours. Then I decided I really had to go home and rest.
Getting home I got off the bus and had to walk only 300yards, a crippled Charlie Chaplin kind of walk, though I look more like Oliver Hardy. I was home 2 hours earlier than normal so the family were surprised.
I told them I was fired as a joke. Then I sat down on an old chair and then I could hardly move. Standing up again was an impossibility. Last Friday we had a drama with my youngest, this Friday,Friday 13th it was my turn. My girls all laughed at me,just as I would laugh at them if the tables were reversed. Night came and knew I could never climb the stairs to bed, but at least our bathroom was downstairs. So I tumbled onto our sofa and got ready to spend the night there. Only we have a glass coffee table in front of it and I was afraid of falling off onto it. So at 1am I staggered up the stairs like a drunk with locked joints, then I rolled onto my bed, screaming as I did so. I did sleep, but in the morning I had to slither out like a snake sliding out of bed on my belly. Some positions were possible and some were not. My wife laughed till she cried my youngsters did too, as for me, I laughed and cursed and laughed again. My wife went to see the pharmacy man for advice and a spray for me. The pharmacist laughed too, he's an old friend. When she got back I was all sprayed up, the old spray and the newly bought one drenching me and my room with the stench of a bad back. I slithered in and out of bed, crawling around as I couldn't stand up straight. As for getting down stairs that would be an impossibility. My wife went shopping, stopping first to steal my debit card, laughing she left me in my bed of pain. When she returned she gave me yoghurt and orange juice. Later I just had to go downstairs, but I couldn't walk. I slithered off bed like snake, then made it to my hands and knees, then an inspired idea. I bounced down the stairs one step at a time, on my butt , one step at a time. Then I crawled across our living room and pulled myself up onto a chair. I did notice that we needed a new carpet after 20years our carpet does need replacing. I then rewarded myself by stealing my wife's pork she'd just made.
Later after some movements like belly dancer of 120 years old, I managed to straighten up. I do walk as if I have a full diaper though. I made it too my big chair in front of my computer. And that’ s how I got to write this 100th post.
The moral of all this? Well I am a very bad patient. Health is the most important thing in our lives. I rejoice that my girls have a good sense of humour, even if I am the butt of it all. Last year when I had food poisoning they had plenty to laugh about then. And I do laugh at that memory. We are all worms crawling in the dirt. It is God's love that lifts us up, as does our family life. Sometimes it is only though pain and adversity that we learn such truths, sometimes we learn mundane things, but they too have meaning for us, even if its just the fact that we need a new living room carpet.

Amazon reviews

NOVEMBER 21ST, 2012 16:42

Amazon Reviews

By michaelgcasey

I just finished The Book Thief  and have The Shadow of The Wind lined up, as well as a bit of Macbeth. So I’m looking at reviews on Amazon and reading a few sample pages to help me choose what next to read. I noticed some of the reviewers had been given review copies. So how do I get on that list,  the review copy list. My girls are going through Michael Murpurgo and the Lemony Snicket books, we’ve just bought and built two bookcases. I’d love for all of us to read a lot more. The wife is Chinese and doesn’t read  books in English, apart from the Bible and that’s a bilingual version proped up against the phone to my right. The girls read the Bible too, in English, I’m an old Catholic so I have a tape recording of it in my head, 50+ years of attending Mass…

To the point though, just how could I get new books on tap, do I go to the pub and the barman pours me a pint of best seller, straight from the cellar. Now that could kill two birds with one stone. I don’t really visit pubs any more, I used to when I was a music and beer  fan, Folk and Jazz clubs…

Just imagine being plugged straight into Amazon, and if I didn’t like that week’s book I’d just hand it to the charity shop, I’m smiling at the very thought of it. Something is stiring within me, maybe I need to finish off writing  my 6th book, Tears For A Butcher. Having just finished The Book Thief this very morning I’ll be trying to capture the poetry when I write myself, though I have been told in the past that my writing is a bit poetic, or was it pathetic, I’ll have to have my ears cleaned again. Just in case any Amazon People read this I am Michael Casey  or michaelgcasey on my Id, ah well I live in hope, free books……

Day Off

Michael Casey

Why do girls love crayons and pencils and pens and so on. Just had to order more for my girls. One of them had a day off as the school heating was broke, so she read 3 Lemony Snicket books while at home. I read more of The Book Thief myself. Then I had to buy some cotton socks for my daughter, her feet grow so fast, size 5 at age 11, I hope she doesn't turn into a giant. She's battering my ears with piano practice just behind me. If ever I sell some books we'll have a music room, with soundproofing!

Amazon Kindle for my 5 books and future soundproofing

The Book Thief

Built another bookcase today, the front room really looks nice now. All the ringbinders are all tidied up, my CDs are all neatly in a row now. Only I don't have a HiFi anymore, perhaps in the future, but I do have my music on the computer.
I have been reading The Book Thief which is narrated by Death, I'm at page 200 now. I am very very impressed by the writing, I'll never be that good, but I'll try to be as good as I can be, cannot say fairer than that. I reached the part where the painter said "A promise is a promise" he would hide a Jew from the insane Nazi machine, his life had been saved by a Jew and a dear friend, who had taught him to play the accordian  in The Great War and he made a promise to the widow,   "a promise is a promise", I cried. Such simplicity, such honour. A life saved now 20 years later he would protect the son because "a promise is a promise" The painter's only life would now be in danger, but "a promise is a promise." I've still got to finish the book but it  really did make me think of the war generation, the war generation in Germany, they suffered the madness of Evil. All I can say is read the book.

Author Blurb

Well I'm fat, almost tall and I have silver coloured hair. You can see for yourself on the book covers. I wear shades because I need them they are not a pose, do I look like the kind of person who poses?

I have a Shanghai wife and 2 bilingual daughters, laughter is a big theme in our house, it stops the wife form nagging me. The term the wife is an old fashioned term that I like so I use it, its from British comedians from a different era. I try and write comedy/comic pieces as I'd rather make you laugh or at least smile instead of causing you pain. I do reserve the right  to make you think too, or try at any rate.

Writing is all about trying to influence people without the use of substances, touch their heart or influence their mind, and maybe steal a bit of their money and get them to buy all 5 of my Ebooks. So much for the theory, I'm a much fatter version of Gangham Style and see what happened to him.

Building a Bookcase

Building a Bookcase ©

By Michael  Casey

Well you buy your kids books to read, to expand their minds, then you need a bookcase trouble is the flat pack had no tools, normally an allen key is included. So I went hunting for the tools, mine used to belong to one of the lodgers, 30 year old tools, I got his tools when he died, he got my prayers. He has no family so  only my prayers are helping him get into Heaven, a trade off. He was like an uncle to me, he gave me my 1st watch for passing the 11 plus. So I always remember him, whenever I see the time. I think he got the better part of the deal.

So I root out my tools and then I have to put the bookcase together up the corner of the girls’ room. If I found the posidrive screwdriver than I could have doen it in 10 minutes. I had tipped my screwdrivers out all over the floor and the bed. I had to use the traditional/normal screwdriver with plenty of brute force. I did half a job. The I sat on the bed and I sat on the correct screwdriver the posidriver, the cross shaped one, the one that GKN invented in the 70s. So with a sigh, or maybe a curse I finished off the job in a couple of easy minutes. Then just the matter or tacking the back on with a hammer, I do have a nice hammer of my own. Then ever so carefully I manoeuvred the bookcase into the corner. The girls were happy and I left them to stack the shelves.

I returned to discover they had filled it. Luckily the shelf depth is such that you can put 2 rows of books on each shelf. Maybe we should have bought a full height bookcase. £22 from Argos was what I got, for double we could have doubled the height of the bookcase. I do have” teacher’s corner “in the room downstairs, so maybe when the girls have filled their bookcase double I’ll invest in a new bookcase, a full sized double width one. Then my teachers corner can be tidied up and they can rent out a shelf or two from me. You don’t think of all this when you read a book or two, or when you encourage your kids to read. Yes we do use the library at the bottom of the road but there is a nice satisfaction in owning a book or two.

Amazon sent me a list of books I may like:-

The Time Keeper – Mitch Albom; Hardcover

Have A Little Faith – Mitch Albom; Paperback

Tuesdays With Morrie: An old man, a young man, and life’s greatest lesson – Mitch Albom; Paperback

The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom; Paperback

The Book Thief – Markus Zusak; Paperback

Life of Pi – Yann Martel; Paperback

And they are  on my to read list once payday and the lottery arrives

But I need to make sure of one thing, I am not sitting on a posidrive screwdriver when I need to build a flatpack book shelf again , and that could be very soon.

Michael Casey Bed(c)

Michael Casey Bed©

By Michael Casey

I was just reading in the DT that a Uni is going to start a comedy course, a degree in being funny. Today’s title refers to a teaching degree but I’ve  typed it in wrong to make a point, would you take the teacher seriously if Bed was after their name instead of BEd?

Yes you can teach the business side of comedy, comedians are the new millionaires after all, and some new comedians are just not funny, but they still make loads of money to steal one comedian’s catchphrase. Eric Morcambe used to say if it was funny then it was funny, don’t analyse it. There are some genuine funny people who’ll crack everybody else up with a look, a phrase, a voice, just about anything. If anybody else did the same it just would not work. Frank Carson used to say “It’s the way I tell them” and he was right, Roger Burton our old driver nearly crashed the van as he took Frank to the airport, because Frank was so funny and Roger was crying with laughter. Jim the other driver could say something and he would get away with it, and evoke gales of laughter because he was funny.  I was part of that playground too at CPNEC, it was such a fun play the three of us together, not forgetting Phil, my phone a friend Phil.

If you try and catch up with a laugh it’s too late, timing really is everything, and you either have it or you don’t. I went on  a Presenting Course in 1998 because I hoped it’d help with my comic writing, it did help me learn to present and ultimately to teach. I try and practice my comic timing while I’m in the queue in Iceland or Aldi, I listen to what’s happening at the front of the queue and then see if I can make the checkout girl laugh, most days I can. Three years of banter with the lads at CPNEC does help you a lot.

Now writing comedy is another thing entirely, you may be able to write but performing is another kettle of fish, and if you get it wrong it really does stink as much as a kettle of fish. I mentioned teaching, I have used my writing skills to make students laugh and to teach  at the same time. I prefer the writing side but I have performed as well, some say I was good, but I laugh too much instead of being the straight actor. You have to have discipline while you act, you know the funny line is coming you must not kill it, it has to come out and be enjoyed.  Some people kill the punch line by interrupting the story, that’s always a bad thing, let the storyteller tell the story.

My friend Andrew was a brave man, he had severe problems with his legs and used crutches, he worked our switchboard, now he knew how to deliver a line. If we had a quiet period in the mid afternoon and I wasn’t sent elsewhere to help out at the hotel then we’d share a joke or two. I’d feed him a line and wait, he’d pause and look back at me  from his position at the switchboard then deliver a perfect put down, his lips pursed and his glasses perched on his nose. I was the ball machine and he was the ace returning grand slam player. It was fun, I’d be the straight man and he’d be the slammer. Working the Concierge desk in the evening I had a chance to practice my lines with every new guest that appeared. Perfect place to practice.   I also spent 3 years at a law firm, I practiced words of a different kind there.

But what of words? Words are like sweets, like drops of rain, a kiss and much much more. Comedy is strange, what makes me laugh may not make you laugh. An In joke, Inns of Court jokes jokes appeal on different levels to different people. Every job, every profession has its own jokes, the knack is to write so that you can touch base with as many different people as possible, use special language and draw people in to different strands of life, of laughter. In a way laughter is about pain because we are laughing at others misfortune.

Every joke or story has degrees of laughter and pain attached, it’s though laughter we can live through pain. I wrote about my bad back maybe 3 years ago, Crawling Like a Worm in the Dirt I called the piece, it’s funny because we can picture the scene. A  good writer is drawing pictures in the readers’ minds, creating cartoons. Now will a Degree be able to teach all of what I’ve spoken of? I’ve spent 45 years to get where I am now, 20 years listening to BBC Radio4 and 25 years holding a pen. Humour varies from area to area and from country to country, from person to person, one man’s meat really is another man’s poison. I think it’s time for Michael Casey to go to B E D.

Books and Investment

Books an Investment ©

By Michael Casey

I used to read by the yard, I sat next to the school library, 5 shelves of books, so I read almost all of it, literally reading by the yard, we weren’t metric then, reading by the metre would sound strange.

We’ve just had half term, so I bought a few books for my girls, Lemony Snicket 13 book boxed set was great value from one site on the internet. I even bought a cheap huge Spanish dictionary which will help my daughter,  she can stand on it to reach to academic heights. Internet is great but books still need to be read, the touch and feel of books is such a nice sensation, the smell too is nice, it does encourage learning. Curling up with a book is nice. You can hide under the duvet while the rain lashes down, while the snow blankets the streets and rooftops, a nice book and a warm drink, perfect as the cat purrs at the bottom of your feet.

We all went on a trek to Spring Hill library, only the library was shut, so our brother said “you’ve seen the library then”, we turned tail and walked the 2 miles back to the house. There was a little sweet shop next to it but we had no money for sweets. That was before the flats were built, before the big Tesco store too, the library is still there, a listed building. Thinking about it I remember getting all the Sherlock Holmes from the Spring Hill library, 40years ago and more, the John Creasy books too. Nobody had books in their houses then, so a trip to the library really did open doors, doors in the mind.

I   remember 35years ago and more when I was unemployed, I’d buy an LP, CDs weren’t invented then, so I’d buy an LP, John Denver Back Home Again and a few books and that would keep occupied until the next dole payment. I read all the John Wyndham books and filled a bedside cabinet. In Birmingham city centre we had Hudson’s book shop on New Street. This was a rabbit warren full of books, the Hobbit meets books. JRR Tolkien was a Birmingham man after all. After that reading break I applied for one computer job and got it and stayed for 21years.

On holidays I’d find the book shop and buy a ton of books to keep me busy while we sat on the beach at Abegele or wherever. I found the Don Camillo books that my History teacher had recommended so it was such a trill to discover them. 30 years later I rediscovered them and bought second hand copies on Amazon, there are a few Don Camillo stories online too, so take a peek. Today I’ve ended up reading the Grimm fairy tales, and they are so good, we watch the Grimm tv detective show on Sky and those are great too, based loosely on the brothers Grimm stories, so maybe indirectly they have led me to reading the brothers Grimm, and yes watch the tv show its on at 9pm on Sky.

Books have other uses too, you can use them to prop up your bed when the bed leg breaks, we used a tin of beans and an old metal iron, the kind used 100years ago to iron, to prop up my brother’s bed, but books work too. So support your mind and support yourself and your bed. If you forget to get the toilet paper from the store you could always use a page or two from a book, assuming you’re not going to reread a book.  The ultimate critique of a book, use it as toilet paper. Books can get musty and dusty and go horrible so make sure you don’t keep them next to a damp wall.

If ever I sell any of my 5 books I will buy my daughter a bookshelf, she has 130books piled up against the wall by her bed, I have Grimm and Don Camillo by my bed, and a Dab radio. A prayer book or a Bible is next to some people’s beds for as we all know in the beginning was the Word.

Clocks go back and I’m sad

OCTOBER 27TH, 2012 19:26

Clocks go back and I’m sad

By michaelgcasey

Clocks go back and I’m sad(c)

By Michael Casey

Well I went around the house putting the clocks back and I was saddened to find out that my Seiko chiming  clock had a problem. I’ve had that clock for maybe 15years  now, it works off a big torch battery, D size. When I came to adjust the time I discovered that the little plastic wheel that you turn to adjust the hour was missing. I went down on my hands and knees in search of the plastic wheel but no luck. So I had to try and do it with my finger nails, I could  have just taken the battery out and waited. It’s probably my prize possession, so I’m disappointed, if my house was bigger I would have had a Grand Father clock all those years ago, so I compromised with a chiming clock that sits on the mantlepiece. It cost 80quid which was a lot of money then and still is now. If anybody has a spare plastic wheel thing just let me know. A chime is the heartbeat of a home after all

Dancing with Dustbins

Dancing with Dustbins©

By

Michael Casey

I was taking our smallest to school the other day, a Wednesday which is our bin day. In the old days as my daughter calls them, nailing me into my coffin already, in the old days when I was her age we really did have bins. We had dustbins made of steel, they were heavy old things. The dustmen used to come up the entry and grab the bins and carry them away up the entry, then when they got to the dustcart they’d hurl the contents inside then return quickly, I can remember the crashing sounds as the lids came off the dustbins were moved about. The cart itself was a curved shape with sliding doors coming down to keep the smell in, there was no such thing as a compacter back in the 1960s. Progress was plastic bins replacing steel ones.

Moving away from Birmingham, just over the border so to speak, I had to buy plastic sacks for the dustbin which you have to buy yourself. The water tasted different too, culture shock so to speak, different water and put out your own bins. Where we live we have foxes too, so it was  a Nature Programme at night, you could see and hear the foxes raid the plastic sacks for food. Our dustbins were their fridges so to speak, an all you could eat buffet for foxes, and cats too.

Time moves on so now we all have wheelie bins, they are visual litter as some folks leave them in their front garden, it’s such a depressing sight, wheelie bins galore, save the planet and destroy the visuals. You have 3 wheelie bins, rubbish, recycle, and garden waste, not forgetting 2 smaller containers you get for food waste. God help us, bring back Garde de L’eau.

When its dustbin day it’s like a swat team or an old fashioned gunfight at the OK Coral, the lads appear, the recycling dustcart moves slowly and menacingly along the streets, bin men to the front and bin men to the rear. One goes ahead and swings the wheelie bins into order so they can be trotted out and executed, or should I say lifted up and emptied before being swung back on the pavement. The lads are very fit, the way one lad moved the bins about convinced me he should be on Strictly Come Dancing, effortlessly he grabs and swings, swings and grabs. The fluidity of his movements is the key, I spent 3 years in a hotel, I know what he knows, you have to swing it, otherwise things are as heavy as they are, but with a swing things are lighter. Just picture the scene dustbins changing into dancing girls, dancing with dustbins, dancing with dustmen, ballet dancers falling down like leaves around the compacter. I was positively vetted by a ballet dancer myself but that’s another story……

Happy Dreams |Sleep Tight Nighty Night

Happy Dreams Sleep Tight Nighty Night©

By Michael Casey

It’s in the press today how a psyco psyco  psychologists can read us while we sleep, they are still guessing while we are awake so now they know us while we are asleep, know not in the Biblically sense that is.

Positive body language, negative body language, neutral body language, open posture, closed posture. Snappy answers to stupid questions, to name but one Mad Magazine book. All this the psychologists know while we are awake, while we are being interviewed for that high powered job. At my GCHQ and MI5/MI6 interviews I sat there and folded paper into aeroplanes and threw them this way then that, just as James Bond in Skyfall did. He was interviewed after me you know, I gave him a few tips, SHAVE, Gillette G3 is good, one blade lasts      6 months.   I passed of course and I will spy for GB, I will be 0099 on account of my enormous belly and a love of 99 ice creams.

I did have the sleep test too. I totally confused them. I start lying on my belly, then I switch  to my back, I crunch up, then I do star jumps while I sleep. Then I get all angry and swear in my sleep, Judy Dench M my arse, she just stole my best dress, it should have been me M for MICHAEL.  I then fall into a deep deep slumber, after 2 hours I rise up in bed and scream “Launch the Lifeboats”, before falling back down. I sleep soundly, moving backwards and forwards over my bed, all the shapes the psychologists think they can read, I move like the ebb and flow of the sea. Suddenly I raise my left leg and let loose a rasping roaring fart, which reverberates for 10 full seconds. Now that really gets the psychologists thinking, and I resume my slumbers.

So as I can now reveal, the psychologists have investigated my slumbers, they can come to no other conclusion. M is for Michael, Judi Dench sling your hook.

mummy who's my sperm daddy

Mummy Who’s My Sperm Daddy©

By Michael Casey

I just read in the Daily Telegraph about an idea for a celebrity sperm bank, so people can have the pick of the "best" sperm daddies. I thought it was an   April  Fool and then I realised it was October, so it cannot be true. Can it be true, can it be really   true.  I did think of the Nazis too.

I always say that beautiful parents have ugly kids, and ugly parents have kids the gods themselves would adore. My own kids are very pretty, in fact when we've been in Shanghai visiting grannie we even had people taking photos and videos of the kids as was went around Shanghai zoo, yes treating my girls as if they were animals in the zoo. Our Army Uncle as we call one of the relatives, he was a political officer in the Chinese Red Army, anyway when he was taking the girls out for a treat would stop all the attention by saying "get lost, they are from Tibet" or other such words. By the way he really is a very nice man, you'd respect and admire him instantly if you meet him.

But why this obsession with looks, or I want Einstein's baby, will men be attacked in the street so women can have the perfect baby.  A new form of mugging in the street. It a horrible thought.

God's lottery is the one and only lottery as far as I am concerned. I am blessed, or is it cursed with three beauties in my home. I often sing "If I was a rich man" from Fiddler On The Roof. Only I change the world and act "why was I cursed with 3 witches", we are near Halloween after all. Our girls have great Chinese eyes and hair you'd kill for, but then God's lottery gave them Western features. My eldest daughter looks exactly like I did at that age, obviously with more feminine features. The smaller daughter, 9 this week, looks like a classic beauty.

So this is how my kids have turned out, but I never call them pretty "ugly mug" is what I used more often than not. And they never have this obsession for mirrors. Now our USA uncle, his daughter married an American. They just had their 1st child so her parents wondered just how their granddaughter would turn out. Would they perhaps look like our kids? Their granddaughter looks totally Eastern, a pretty totally Eastern baby, no Western looks at all.

What does all this prove? God's lottery is the best and you never know how your kids will look, what combination. Somebody once joked " Michael she wants to breed with you." Why, not because I look  great but because my girls look nice, my wife is a beauty too. The fun is see in how the children look. He's got dad's face, she's got your nose, her smile is like grannies. All the things we notice when a child is born, and then when kids grow up all the changes, and all the similarities that appear.  The DNA  lottery.

But most of all what is the most important thing? It’s the love we give the child, it’s the Grimm's fairy tales we read to it, it’s how we build and form their mind, so that they have a spirit that will reach for the sky, that will visit you in the old people's home, and not abandon you because you are old. I met my own wife in the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad’s room, I  didn’t abandon him, and see how I was rewarded.

What I have IS ME

What I have IS Me©

By Michael Casey

What I have IS Me, say some, I am ME without anything say others. So where do I stand?  It’s nice to have a bit of comfort my dad used to say, he’s gone 10years now, we weren’t rich but we weren’t poor either. We had very loving parents, so we had riches beyond compare, I hope I don’t sound like an evangelical, I slam the door in their face if any come aknocking at my door.

So what makes me ME, is it the clothes I wear, the out of fashion everything, if its 2XL then that’s all I need, though I do have a few nice clothes, though I’ll never wear the Emperor’s New Clothes.  So what makes me ME, I used to wear jeans with a shirt and tie, so I looked like Status Quo, that was my look, it wasn’t planned, I just liked ties. That was in my computer room days. So clothes are an aspect of personality, they mirror or highlight what we are. Big clothes, big personality, perhaps.  You can hide behind clothes too,  you can dress frumpily if you want to hide your curves.

 If you are a  body builder you’ll wear tight Tshirts to show off your bulges, if you are a tattoo fan then you’ll show flesh to show the tattoo, the fact that the human body is perfect  as God made it does not matter, some like to trash their own body with a tattoo. I’ll be chased down the high street now for having an opinion. If Michelangelo's David had a tattoo now that would make it so much more interesting.  So these changes to our own physical bodies make a statement, I can even change the fundamental nature of my own  body, I control me. Though lots of us don’t control ME, because we are too fat and then we look at Michelangelo's David and we wish we were like Michelangelo's David a kind of perfect US.

The female form in art is celebrated forever, but girls will have tattoos too, to prove they are just as good as boys. In fact girls are far better, so they are lowering their own worth by copying the boys. I did know a very pretty girl who had tattoos, I think she once said if she was unemployed the dole office would help to have the tattoos removed to help her get a job. As she was working she’d have to pay herself.

Hair colour makes a statement too, I don’t dye mine though some have said I should. My hair has got whiter and whiter, very silver white now, it started 20years ago. Girls change the colour of their hair to make a statement, to match a mood. Blondes have more Fun, goes back to Monroe, now the colours can be of all the colours of the rainbow. I grew up through the 70s so when I see all the bizarre and weird colours that men and women have I just think its just a repeat from ages, a generation ago, so its just not original.

Swearing in the street is commonplace now, I’m old fashioned so I think girls should not swear, they should stay as ladies. The age of swearing is lower and lower, but people think it’s impressive,  I’d just boring.

I swear on occasion, but it does not define ME, it does not trap me in a Cul de Sac.  All of the examples I’ve given show how we as people like to tinker at the edges of our  form. But what makes us different. If we were all nudists how could we tell each other apart, I’ll wait while you snigger. Personality defines us and personality is not the cut of our jib, if we were blind we’d not be hampered by the overwhelming nature of sight. Speech defines us in a big way, if we were dumb we would not be hampered by our petty like or dislike of accents. Then we have touch, shaking hands, rough or smooth hands make an impression, but what if we had no touch. If all we had was thoughts, how would we be? You could say Email is just that, just as you are reading this you are not hampered by any preconceptions of me and what I am like.

So we have taken the walls down bit by bit, till there is nothing. We have attempted to make ourselves anew by having our tattoos, our hair styles, our clothes. But in the end what makes me ME. I’ll try and explain. If you look in your own soul and accept yourself as yourself and say “ well God this is me” then you don’t need clothes and tattoos nor hair dyes or even clothes. No I’m not saying we should all be nudists. We are who we want to be, we are who we can be. A bit of music here, humming a tune there, a shared smile, making a new joke every time you are in Iceland, a nod a glance as you walk down the high street. Talking to the little old lady in the street, having a bit of compassion as you pass through this life. This makes ME and this makes YOU.

Or you can have a wall, and hide behind everything, being afraid of looking into the mirror. Clothes don’t make the man, the man makes the man. Everything else is a distraction.