What is the difference between a Poet and a Prose writer(c)

What is the difference between a Poet and a Prose writer? (c)

By Michael Casey

Well a poet evokes a feeling with words and rhyme, though a poem does not have to rhyme. Prose is longer and the writer paints a picture through his words. I'd say the poet via poetry is quicker, the writer has to evoke things by explanation and by telling a tale, perhaps with a list of things. Satchel, tie, blazer and polished shoes = school. Sometimes a poem is to complicated you cannot understand it, Japanese have 3 line poems which are very very deep. I for one need poetry explained to me.
 Andrew Graham-Dixon  explains Art via his programmes on tv, what I need is a Poet to explain poetry, I feel a tv series is in the making. AS for Prose what I do here and on my site www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com  I can understand Prose fair enough , but I do know that style can either kill or illuminate things. Dan Brown and JK Rowling are very popular but I cannot read them as I don't like their style. Terry Pratchet is another writer I cannot get in to. Read The Book Thief now that really one of the best books I've ever read in my life. His writing is so poetic. Reporters/ Journalists  have a style too, sadly some American journalists have the same dull style. The I've seen everything so I'm going to pretend  I'm an undertaker at a funeral. Me I think you should talk to your audience, Prose is all about talking, so people are hearing your words, its not a puzzle or an exam, writing should be for the EARS!

Pens and Penmanship

Pens and Penmanship ©

By Michael Casey

I just read a piece in the BBC magazine online, it was all about fountain pens. Now I immediately have to confess my writing is terrible, and no I’m not pretending, as far back as 40 years ago at grammar school I was told off for it. In fact I was told off in Primary school too, they even got me to write a few rows of “a” and of “b” and so on, it failed to improved my writing, I was a massive reader at the time, for one year I was practically left alone to read, perhaps it was then that my writing died. In grammar school my friends said my writing was like drunken spiders, or in today’s world my writing is like spiders on acid. So there you have it, my writing is bad, very bad. So bad perhaps I should be a doctor.

Once you have bad hand writing people take the mick when you tell them you are a writer, as did the nice lady from the neighbourhood office a couple of weeks ago when my daughter went to collect a prize for drawing. Both my daughters draw and paint, they are very very good at it, they have a collection of 700 crayons and paints and pencils, not to mention felts and gel pens and all things that can make marks on paper. My daughters always need more, so that’s dad’s job to provide more artists material. I am of course very jealous of their skills, if I bit the top off my thumb and used that to sign my name that would be an improvement on my signature.

So what can a writer who cannot write do? He can type, I remember learning to type in 1978, I stood at the bus stop moving my fingers and trying to remember the qwerty keyboard. Now I’m a fast typist, when I’m writing my stuff, I’m not so fast as a copy typist, nothing is more boring than typing up somebody else’s stuff. I remember one of the more mature ladies at the law firm who said “I was once clocked at 100wpm” and so she was, and that why one of the partners gave her two crates of champagne as a personal thank you for her typing, at that speed the paper would catch fire no doubt, if we still used the old typewriters.

So how can this writer improve his writing? I use different fonts on Word, and hope people like the look, looks do make a difference. If I can give a silly example, the ASDA near us uses a big bold font, but the size is too small and the letters touch other. This means to my eyes it’s terrible, and that’s the only complaint I have about the store, but I’m sure if any ASDA people read this they may change it. A sign encourages us to buy or to laugh, when we leave stuff out in the entry for Sky Burial I leave a note encouraging people to take our junk away. “Sit on Me” for a chair, and “sleep with me” for a bed, as I look out the window our gay neighbours are getting a new bed.

We get loads of junk email, if we had an open fire we’d never need to buy fuel, we’d just toast our bread on junk mail. Junk mail tries to look appealing and is printed on glossy paper, glossy paper is very heavy as I can remember when I carried bags at CPNEC, homes abroad salesmen had cases and cases of the stuff. So writing and communicating all needs words, good words from a writer, but how those words are written and displayed has a massive impact, ask any politician. When contracts are signed it’s done on quality paper that is bound together with a heat bind seal, and it’ll be a red seal if the contact is for Chinese clients, I know I’ve done 1000s. So presentation is king, you don’t want “thank you for your pieces of paper” when you send stuff to a publisher, and yes 25 years ago I did get that putdown. I hope you are all enjoying this Bookman Old Style, but I know just how important type setting is, another putdown a really good snide one was when I was turned down for a job and the HR lady replied in flowewry type face and yes I do know her name.

All I can say is thank God for word processors, 1988 was the year I bought an Atari520 just for the word processor and it was very very expensive, it did play a big part in my life, I had Shoplife accepted by a theatre, I wrote it in Aug 1988 when the Olympics were on. Yes I’d love to be able to write, but I can write but not handwrite, so I hope any future readers will accept a rubber stamp when I do any book signings, my daughters will be on hand to draw a cartoon on each book.

Triple Chocolate

Triple Chocolate ©

By Michael Casey

It just has to be chocolate, of course it has to be chocolate, nothing else will do. Ask any girl, ask any woman, CHOCOLATE is always the answer. I sent the girls up the road to buy a few things in Aldi, its cheap but always nice, so I like Aldi, when I’m rich it’ll be Sainsburys. So off they went, it was a nice sunny Saturday today, Spring had sprung, not as nice as Malta but nice, very nice after our bad  extended Winter.

Two hours later the girls were back, the stationary shop had enticed them in, my big daughter wanted refills for her pen, 50 refills for 2 quid not so bad, she was spending her choir pay. The Anglicans give choir pay, me and my brothers were altar boys and we got nothing. My sister has been in the choir for 45 years  and she never got anything either, perhaps we should stop being Catholics and change our flag to earn a few pounds. So my girls were out and about, money in their pockets and not a care in the world. Me I’m hoping to come into a few pounds and then I’d do a few things around the house.

But back to chocolate, why is it more important to women than anything, even handbags or sex. A man can buy you a nice handbag for your Birthday, I know I have been persuaded to follow that path; I’ve even paid for Burberry coat, in my more flush days. So woman like to be pampered and loved, and we show our love with bags and coats. As for women, they show their love by eating cake and chocolate cake and every expensive but  ever so tasty cake they can find in Sainsburys. They are experts at it, just ask my wife, or anybody’s wife, and their daughters too. It just has got to be chocolate triple dip.

A woman will allow herself to be seduced by a chocolate bar, as she undresses the chocolate, slowly and seductively removing its paper wrapper, and then ever so carefully breaking the seal on the silver foil, slowly using her manicured nail to slide up the foil. Then with ever so careful movement she exposes the chocolate to her view. She looks at the chocolate, in all its naked glory, then she flips it over so she can adore its naked glory. Yes, this is what she wants, and she makes herself more comfortable in her bed. The she breaks off a piece and examines it, before licking it slowly, she then closes her eyes and pops a piece in her mouth. She lets it lie there, the heat from her tongue dissolving it, she smiles, and licks her lips.  First piece consumed, she opens her eyes and devours the next piece of chocolate with her eyes, she thinks of the pleasure the 2^nd piece of chocolate will give her. She half closes her eyes, and flutters her eyelids, yes, chocolate is SO GOOD.

It is a very private moment, a woman and her chocolate, the taste, the feel, the raw emotion, the love. Only chocolate can do this for a woman, the anticipation, the touch, the feel, the taste as it melts on her tongue, the sigh of satisfaction. Chocolate it king, only chocolate can satisfy a woman, a real woman. The man enters the bedroom, he can be any man, any man that any woman would lust after. Only she has had chocolate first. So even if he does the Full Monty in front of her, it’s no use, he should have hidden the chocolate. What man can compete with chocolate, a funny man may have an outside chance, a very slim chance of getting her to be interested in him, after she has consumed chocolate. And how can he get her interested, I can reveal, the only way to attract a woman who has been seduced by a chocolate  bar, before his arrival in the marriage bed, the man has to paint himself all over in chocolate, triple dip of course, and then his woman might be interested in him.

Measuring Time

Measuring Time ©

By Michael Casey

Just a  tic, in the nick of time, with seconds to spare, his time had come, time had run out for him, dickory dickory doc, the clock struck one, with a slap a new life was born, he sighed his last breath and he was gone, Time had ran out for him.

All of these expressions speak of time, they are measurements of time, time is measured and commented upon. So why are we obsessed with time, I speak as a lover of watches, ones with Roman numerals and automatic, but I’m wasting time.

Measuring time began with the monks, they had to say their prayers throughout the day and night so a candle was used and it had marks, notches on it so the friars could get up and pray, otherwise it would be more than the flames of a candle which would flicker, it would be the flames of Hell itself. So Time and time keeping were vital. Yes we all know about 2013 being the end of the world according to the Myan calendar, that was wrong though, you can discuss it yourself later on. And yes we all know that Stonehenge was a timepiece too, and the Pyramids were whatever they were too, plenty to Google later on.

In Chaplin’s Modern Times we see that time is money, and so it is, Henry Ford and production lines were so organised to optimise time so that more product could be made. Das Capital by Marx was written after observations of the cotton mills of Manchester as Marx went around with Engels, or that’s how I remember it from History, you can cross check my facts later on. From there you get “the means of production should be owned/used by the workers for the workers” And the rest is History.

Historical events are a means to measure Time, each event displays how Time is used or abused and its effects on the populace. The Manhattan Project  was a race against time, to shorten the war by years, morality and time on a collision course. Before it was tested some of the scientists thought it could bring about the end of Time, because they feared the atmosphere itself would be set alight, so ending Mankind’s Time.

Nature is the earth’s own time, turning tides and the seasons mark the  earth’s orbit in time and space. Earthquakes and volcanoes act like mini alarm clocks to awaken us to the fact that we are merely ants on the surface of the globe. The Spring bloom is a wonderful reminder of the cycle of life, of nature’s clock. The harvest is the results of nature’s hard work. Autumn and Winter too remind us of Nature’s need of rest, the earth sleeps, but in the Spring there will be growth as Chance the Gardiner did say in Being There.

We love our watches which have moved on since candles were first used to measure time, perhaps a watch with a 3D image of a candle burning will be the next design by Omega or Oris, it may have already been designed. We like to think we are in  charge of time, pocket watches became wrist watches during the Great War, when a whistle blowing was signalling end of time for millions as they went over the top in the Battle of The Somme. So why is time so important? It’s because our lives are so ordered and regimented, a time to sleep, a time to sing, a time to work, a time to eat, a time for sex, a time for everything. As we look at our watches and clocks we have become like Chaplin in Modern Times, we have become part of the machine, we have lost our soul.

So what should this lover of watches advise? Should you all take off your fancy watches and send them to me? Could I turn them into an artistic mobile and call it Time? Should we all refuse to look at clocks just follow the rhythm of our bodies, getting up when we feel refreshed and eating whenever we are hungry, and only working in the fields to produce our own daily bread, clocks 500 years ago only had an hour hand, we were less rushed then. Should we all remove the minute hands from our watches and clocks, we should just follow La Dolce Vita?

Sitting on a rock at the end of the Cromane Peninsula in Kerry Eire, now that was perfect peace for me, just watching the water lap against the shore, looking over at Inch on the Dingle Peninsula. I suppose God doesn’t have a watch, he has Nature and the tides of the Sea, and in the end that’s the perfect watch for me.

Original Thought

Original Thought ©

By Michael Casey

Original, now that’s a big word in itself, original, unique, not done before. I suppose “In the Beginning there was the Word” now that would have been totally original, nobody had done anything before then. Light was a big deal, day and night an even bigger deal, sea and land was original and unique too. Man was formed of clay and his better half was formed from a rib of his, so everything was fresh and new, Original.

Sex was new and exciting, then they ate from the tree of knowledge so they discovered they were naked. So they were thrown out of the Garden of Eden. Original Sin, and the need for clothes arrived. That’s when original stopped being original, why because clothes were needed. And labels came into being, fashion arrived too, these leaves look better than those leaves to hide our nakedness and to keep us warm. Sewing machines weren’t invented for millennia, so to sew a stitch, when we didn’t have a stitch on became a great talent. “Never mind the quality feel the width” comes to mind, the very old tv show, was Milo O’Shea in that in the early 60s?

There is a history to fashion, and fashion like history does repeat itself. It’s a very interesting topic in itself, I’m not qualified enough to bore you on the matter, though I may try later, much later, when the fashions have changed again. So what of original? Can anything be called original? We all are original a one off, one of God’s creation, or we are here because our parents got down and dirty, to use a 60s phrase, but I’m not being original by using it.

An original thought or idea leads to change, because it challenges previous thought, so something new happens. Rugby was invented because a guy cheated by picking up the ball, he was original. American football is perhaps the bastard child of rugby, when I played rugby at grammar school we thought American football was for girls as they wore padding etc. Now that’s an original thought and I’m smiling because I can guess at  the reaction to that thought, but I’m smiling because I’m pulling their leg, which is a posher way of saying “you S&***ing me”

Now what is original? The light bulb was original and it has changed everybody’s life, we can work and play and study more because of the gift of life. Then you get a whole industry of lamp shade makers, followed by light designer, florescent, LED, LCD and whatever other combinations of letters to form light.

So everything starts off virgin and new, then it is corrupted and we prostitute it to our needs, even words are corrupted or should I say chosen to see if people are still listening or reading this. You get my point, things, people, words, even Nature itself starts in an original form and then is changed by us, by Man.

So what is an Original thought or an original anything else? Mozart, now we can all agree he was an original, his music was original, he had original thoughts which marked him out as a Genius. Einstein it is said was 50 years ahead of the game, other masters of their art are and were originals. Sports figures who can do wonders in their sport, poets, musicians and inventers all these people are original and unique. They had Original Thought.

What pleases me is the fact that Nature or God, take your pick, will throw up somebody who makes us marvel. How could this person be so gifted, how could this nobody, this nothing, this dirt be able to write this, to play this, to create this, it goes against all reality. The answer is simple, Originality is wired into us, it is in our DNA. Why do we copy, we copy because we are monkeys, we are apes who copy what we see because it is pretty, we see tricks and we copy them. We see originality so we copy it. The new jeans, slim fit, tight fit, baggy falling off our butt fit. The new car, such clean lines, 40 years ago, cars were rubbish, certainly here in UK, the designs were just bad, quality too. I remember when the latest new thing was unveiled, it look like a lump of cheese, a wedge of cheese. My sister’s first car a Mini Metro. Then everybody else copies what is new, then they copy the copy.

So does originality really exist? Yes and no, because what is new is soon copied and sold much cheaper, the wheel of change goes on and on. Imitation is the highest praise, imitation in design and in culture, pop music being the obvious example. Imitation in fast food, so we have burgers and chicken all over the world, so the world becomes the same and everywhere wants to be like everywhere else.

As for me I hope my words are original and that my style is easy to read, and that you want to read more. In the end when will we all be original? When we are one with the Word, and then perhaps be Original finally.                        

At the beach, new experiences

Well I'm still on hoiday in Malta so forgive another Malta themed post. Today me and the girls went for a stroll along the coast road, we stopped and took in the view as we went along. For me it was a new experience too, this was the first time I'd taken the girls to see the sea. Such a simple pleasure but such a great one.  My mother was born on the Cromane peninsula in County Kerry Eire, she heard the sea every day of her life until she went to work at 14 at a farmer's house. Her home was 7 metres from the sea, my cousin David measured it.
So today watching the girls enjoy walking by the sea made me think of my mom, she would have been 93 this week if she was still with us. Hearing the sea break against the rocks is such a basic emotion, as is having rain facing against your face, wind touching your face and blowing your hair about, that if you haven't gone bald yet. So for me watching the girls paddle about in the sea was a first for me and a first for them. I took a load of snaps so we can show grannie back in Shanghai exactly what the girls are up to. One daughter was holding her denim dress up so it would not be splashed, even though they weren't going in deep, the other daughter had her hot pants on so she was safe from splashes. As for dad, I was sat on a bench taking the photos and musing would they remember this experience when they were big. In Shanghai a beach was built and you had to buy tickets to use it, that was in 2009.but today they were in Malta enjoying the real natural thing.
I can remember enjoying the view in Cromane County Kerry, mum's peninsula is opposite Inch and the Dingle Peninsula, where Ryan's Daughter was filmed. So that is the mark any beach has to reach in my opinion, I doubt if many can reach such a peak. Fort Lauderdale was great and I nearly forgot that beach, as I was thinking Europe in my head, that was way back in 2006. Then we lost a toy on the beach so we had to buy a hush puppy dog to make up for the lost toy, Saw Grass Mills Florida saved our day.
In England people go to Blackpool which is very windy, or to Western Super Mare where the sea is so far out you may not even see it, and if you are a nudist or gay then you go to Brigton. Other beaches exist but you can google them for yourself. Again in England we have/had donkey rides on the beach, and buckets and spades and you make sand castles. Brothers also bury each other in the sand, I can remember my brother burying me with 2 feet or 1/2 a metre on top of me, it began to hurt and dad told him to dig me out. Seaside means hot dogs and ice cream. So dad would have to buy 8 ice creams, one for each of us, I got an extra one, so I was the pet. Dad first  discovered hamburgers when we were in Rhyl, he liked them so much he asked for another, and another and another, he was waiting for them to be cooked. In the end he ate 6 in a row. The most I've had is 3, but that's fair as I'm only 1/2 the man he was.
My girls got hungry so we went for a meal, its strange that on holiday we'll spend on one meal what we'd spend on  a week's groceries, but holidays come but once a year, or 5years in this case. We may have walked 3 miles today so we hopped on the bus to get back to "home" as we call our hotel here in Malta. I asked did they like the view, one said she wants a house right by the sea, which is where my own mother started, right by the sea. That was in the West, grannie lives in the East near the sea too , the China Sea and Shanghai. Where will my daughter get her house, by the sea in Florida, by the sea in California,  maybe Monaco or even here in Malta. I don't know, but I do know that having the sea as a neighbour is a great thing. When I'm gone I'll tell them that when  they think of the sea they can think of me. Big large and windy, evoking laughing, and turning tides, but always there loving them

Tuesday and Malta turns me to toast

So Tuesday came and the sun shone and shone and shone, it was a nice day , a very nice day. I had a lie in while the girls tried to eat the hotel out of house and home. I had a lazy shower and then I joined them. I found the largest glass I could find and tried to finish all the orange juice, its a 2 gallon container at least. The scrambled eggs were great, so I had a plate of them, looked like free range eggs, and tasted that way too. The girls ferried food to me and I really enjoyed it. From field to plate is a short distance here in Malta and my stomach willl testify to that.

Today's plan was to go and see the fishing village, JJ has laid plans for every day, she should have been in the red army. Today we were to take 2 buses, first to Valletta, then another to the fishing village. The buses are full to bursting point, but that is and adventure in itself. The 2nd bus goes through the countryside and you see a fair wack of the country, such as vinyards and all manner of stuff.

The girls wanted to go back to Valletta to buy Chinese souvenirs with Malta on for their English friends in school, but we said on the way back we'd do it. Now the fishing village, who's name I don't remember is really nice, its a working fishing port, lots of fishing folk and fishing boats. The girls really loved it as did we. It was there that I tried my first Maltese pint, Cisk is the brand, and it is very good, and I speak as a 12 pint a year  drinker.The girls didn't want a thing so I enjoyed my 2 pints and baked in the sun. As I sit here talking to you I and radiating like the sun, the whole of my face is red, as red as a tomato, the girls siad it was but I didn't believe them until I saw myself in the mirror whe we got home to the hotel. The girls really enjoy coming home as the cleaner has visited the room and left the stuffed toys sitting up on the bed.

We sampled the food at the sea place, JJ had her dish of fish and she loved it, much better that sea bass was her remark, and SHE is a fish person, she knows all about fish, ask anybody in the Fish Market back home in Birmingham, she is Mrs Fish. So full marks indeed for the food there. The girls shared a pizza and they loved that too, I had their slops, I still had room to eat after my own meal and the two pints. Eating must have taken 2 hours plus, the sea laps against the quay and you just enjoy the feeling, Malta is great so come on over.

We tried to visit another church, so I could keep up my conversation with God, and there were lots of green bunting everywhere, so I assumed it must have been a special day. In fact as we edged forward through the crowd we were told it was just a film as they were recreating the sad tale of a 12 year old child who had died in the sea. There was a stutue scene of a fisherman and a boy and a dog, but the bus came so we had to jump on it.

In Valetta we were able to get the final bits and pieces for the girls' friends back home. Finally it was 3rd time lucky and I could get into a church to say some prayers. Today actually is a special day it would have been my mother's birthday if she was still with us. The church was Saint Francis' the humble church, Annie could see the irony. The church had people doing prayers led by a woman on a mike, I couldn't tell if it was the Rosary or some other prayers, I don't speak Maltese after all.

Then we came home, and I made sure I had the hot water first, revenge is hot water and hogging the bathroom. We also enjoyed Magnum icecream, its so nice on a hot day. My nephew back in Birmingham told us it was still miserable back there, and so our day ended. Apart from me coming down  here to write it up. I must remember to buy a hat tomorrow.

Monday in Malta

Monday in Malta (c)
By
Michael Casey

Sunday night we all felt as if we were still moving as we slept, with a jigging wife beside me that was true, some people just don't stop moving even when asleep. So we got up early and attacked the food, gallons of juice and loads of bacon and bread, lovely bread. Kiwi fruit too and tomatoes to make it more healthy, but the kids didn't want what they had on the plate so I had to indulge even more. Maybe I'll add 3 kilos in the week we are here. It is a holiday after all. The weather was nice too, warm and no need for a coat, just enjoy the weather.

After our feeding of the five thousand just for the 3 of us we went back to the room, JJ was still stretching, so we left her to it and went to have a look at the roof top pool . Our girls enjoy swimming so a pool was a selling point, eagerly they got into their costumes, they had them under their clothes to be exact. Annie tested the waters, only it was far too cold for them, that was a disapointment, so they put their clothes back on, and then had a look at the view. From the roof, you could see the sea, far and wide the sea was a sight to see, they took a few snaps then downstairs we went.

JJ was having her breakfast now, she had slumbered and now was ready for food, she persuaded the chef to make an omelete for her. She was really enjoying, so I went and bought a razor, but no shaving cream. Then I proceeded to cut my throat, I always do without the shaving cream, blood everywhere, just like a slasher film. Once I stemed the flow I went to  collect JJ, we were ready to go out now. A haircut was needed, so we crossed a busy road to get to the barbars only it was closed, so we crossed back again like stupid drunks without satnav, and walked straight into another barbars. The lady got rid of the Old English Sheepdog in me and turned me into George Clooney, ok not Clooney but Michael Douglas, ok I'll be honest into Jack Nicolson, I have the ray bans after all. Ok I'll be really honest honest, into Father Christmas before he grows his heair and beard for Christmas.

Now my hair is super super white, and I'm cleanshaven with a cut throat. We then walked down the road looking for photo opportunities, we found a fisherman repairing the nets with a needle and using his feet to hold out the net as he sewed it. Very Biblical, but my old Uncle Patrick no doubt did the same back in Comane Lower Kerry Ireland. And seeing as my fear of flying has returned me to my closeness to prayer I'm sure the Good Lord himself will approve.

Next we jumped on the bus Gus, no Paul Simon in't here, but its a good line. Buses in Malta are the bendy bus variety and they have something in common with Indian trains, they are very very overcrowded, but it was an experience in itself. We got to Valetta and as I am drinking loads of bottled water, you cannot drink tap water here. So I went in search of a toilet, I could say in search of a John, but English readers will be asking who is this John and what is he doing in Malta. So I asked a group of Somalis where the John, sorry I mean toilet was. Now for me this is a surreal experience as I have taught Somalis English, so to meet a crowd of Somalis in Malta was a surprise.

Pottering around the girls found presents for friends back at school, the highlight being hand made to order braclets with the name included. For me I always pop into a church and say a prayer, insurance policy and belief combined, I hope that God really does have a sense of humour or I am in deep do do. Only I was told by a stern woman at St John's Cathedral that I could not come in and pray but I had to go around the corner and go in that way, and guess what the cathedral had been turned into a MUseum. I wanted to puke, I really hate that. A church is for Praying IN.

So we went into a restaurant instead just down the road, a very posh one open 170years, I forget the name on purpose but their is only one such restaurant in Valetta. Now there the ceiling reminds you of the Cistine Chapel such is the ornate decoration. Now my bone to pick with the retaurant was the forgot us and it took over 20mins to be served. I counted it down and I told JJ I'd walk at 20 mins. Remember I used to work in a 4star hotel and I know how to deliver customer service. In our hotel if anybody crossed the threashold within 20 seconds I had spokend to them and stared to give them what they wanted. So 20 mins and no service is TERRIBLE. On the good side once we got the food it was very good, and yest they were very busy but the people sat next to us did get served first, and they arrived after us.

Back home as the girls call our hotel, we have the fight for the shower, why do girls want to wash their hair so much? I've been to the shop for crunchies and banana flavour milk shake and more milk too. So I'm content. I did buy a present for myself too, some Deep Heat as I've pulled a muscle in my leg. So in one day, I've been shaved and shawn and sprayed. Night Night.

**** sorry for any mistakes I've just dashed this off.

Malta Holiday

Today we started my 1st holiday in 5 years, or for 4 years for my girls, so I'm in a happy mood, though getting here was another story. You see I am scared of flying, scared of heights and even more afraid of being up in the air. The girls were all excited and had packed their bags 10 days ago, me I packed two days before and the wife the night before.
Its a nice holidays because we've missed a few holidays, as have millions of people, but its even nicer as the wife is paying. I have promised the girls some pocket money and gave it to them before we flew. The alarms clocks all went off this morning, echoing not once but twice or even thrice over. Anni went down stairs at 5.15am and fixed breakfast for herself and Eve, then she left her phone on vibrate as they went up stair to change. The vibrations on the breakfast bar woke me up.
I had the last slice of bread as my breakfast with green tea, its supposed to be good for me, then I switched the gas and water off, as everybody should do, I can even remember my dad doing this 45 years ago, and no I'm not 100 years old, I just have total recall for family things, what I had for breakfst i won't remember, except for the toast   this morning.
The taxi was early and once we found the anchor points for the seat belts we were away. Once checked in we set off for breakfast, coffe and croisants. On the way to the bistro I sampled a few of the perfumes, so I must have smelt like a bit of a harlot once we got on the first plane. And yes I did say 1sy plane. We are lazy we don't want to gho down to London, so we fly from home in Birmingham and then change in Frankfurt to get us to Malta. Now I don't know about you but my priest will be pleased when I say I pray like a convery when I get on a plane. Please Jesus and Sweet Jesus are constant words of fear, and love on my lips.  On the plane I saif to the man sat next to me, "if I suddenly hold your hand then its because I afraid of planes" He laughed but when I grabbed his hand and held on for dear life, till blood poured from him, then he realised the truth. Once airbourne, my fear evaporated because food is coming my way. As for the stranger he rang to the toilet and never appeared again, would you?
The flight  to Franfurt is only an hour, but the airport is so big that you have to get on a bus to take you to the terminal, so its like a  school day out, then once inside you zig and you zag to get to the connecting flight. 2.30hours to Malta, with Eve asking "are we there  yet" copying donkey in Shrek. And reassuring me by saying " dad we won't die", my prayer rate must have broken Guinness Book of Records.God was pleased to hear from me, I'm sure he smiled, and lets hope I keep up my prayers, my constant prayers.
In Malta a nice taxi man took us to the hotel, a good 4star which we got on Expedia. Once we dumped the bags me and Annie went looking for the supermarket, which believe it or not is 3 floors underground, under the Hilton, yes really. We came back with bread can cheese and ham which was for sandwiches. JJ wanted Chinese food of course, so we went out and found a sushi bar, where she had beef soup. I had to buy some milk too, as a meal without milk is no good, we also got banana milk shake for the girls, though I ended up drinking most of it.
The it was shower time for the family, only I was last, so I got the manky towel and the cold water as tey must have emptied the tank, but what do you expect when you have 3 girls. But I had prayed that I'd be a better person during my flying prayers, so I accepted my cold shower. Now I'm down here writing this blog in Malta, so I hope you like it. I did lose my Facebook earlier but I'll try that again in a few minutes, FB knows I'm not in Birmingham, so  I'll see if I can post this to FB.
In the morning we'll have as much orange juice and bread as we can because its paid for, Malta doesn't seem to be as cheap as we thought it would be. I have to find as barbar as I look like an Old English Sheep Dog at the moment, I need a shave too, but at least God doesn't mind how I look, why, because we are talking, seriously talking again, so welcome home to Malta.