Lazy Sunday

Lazy Sunday ©

By Michael Casey

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

So today we are having a lazy Sunday. My wife, or the witch as me and my girls call her,is doing her homework in Mandarin, my small daughter is reading, or trawling judging by the amount of books she reads. Her bigger sister has finished doing swat thrusts in the garden, this really frightens the squirrels, the magpies just laugh and the local cats just feel sorry for Totoro our cat, living with such strange strange people. 

Totoro for her part just swears at them in Chinese, she is such a clever cat after all, she does have a Japanese name too. Grannie had said that my big daughter was a bit porkie, which makes us all laugh as she is so thin by Western standards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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