Boris's Coat

Boris’s Coat ©

By Michael Casey

Boris was a soldier, he was a good soldier  because he was still alive, that Winter had been hard, so very hard, it was the Winter that nearly killed him and Mother Russia too. But he and Mother Russia had survived to win the battle and then the war, the Nazis had been pushed back, and with the help God himself Mother Russia was to be freed from the Madness of Hitler.

Boris had a great big warm coat, this had saved his life so many times that Winter, the Winter the Nazis had tried and failed to kill Mother Russia itself. Boris had borrowed it from an officer, a political officer, Boris had said he’s kill him if he didn’t give it to him, so the officer had decided it was politically correct to hand it over. There was a tear inside it as the officer handed it over, or rather Boris snatched it from him, so Boris sewed it up and sewed inside it an icon of Saint Michael, they had been sheltering inside a church as they hid from the Nazis, so Boris thought the icon would help him just as much as the coat would.

By Stalin’s moustache he was right, no sooner had Boris poked his nose, and he did have a big red nose, outside the church when a Nazi sniper took aim at his heart. Boris fell back as if dead, only he soon realised he was not, the icon had taken the bullet instead of Boris’s heart. Boris immediately promised to lead a good life once the Nazis were defeated, though there were 6 million of them on the Eastern Front, none were on the beach having ice cream in France, why did the Nazi bastards come to Mother Russia in the first place, did they not know that Napoleon had tried and failed centuries ago.

While he was on his back Boris spotted where the Nazi snipper was, so he rose like a ghost and threw a grenade killing the bastard.  The political officer laughed, saying it served Boris right for stealing his coat. Once they edged forward Boris rescued the dead Nazi’s boots, they were a perfect fit, as for the Nazi’s coat the political officer had it, it had a fur collar so he was quiet happy now. Though Boris reminded him he might get shot at by our snipers so he had better put his ribbons on it, just in case anybody thought he was Hitler.

War is horrible but as you advance you get to improve your wardrobe as you kill the Nazi devils, though using the word devils is a disservice to devils. Boris got shot 3 or was it 4 more times but each bullet just passed through his coat, the political officer joked he must have mice living in it making all the holes. Boris threatened to make one in the political officer’s head, though the next day he did catch a mouse and was going to eat it but decided instead to keep it in his pocket to keep him warm, and once he fattened up the mouse he would eat it.

That mouse was with him when he liberated Berlin from Hitler’s evil, it was there too that Boris met a Yank called Hank. So in exchange for Boris’s coat Hank gave him 100 American cigarettes. Boris jumped at the exchange, before taking a coat off a dead Nazi whose body was still not cold. Those bastards should have their own very Hell to burn in, the suffering they brought to Mother Russia, by Stalin’s moustache it was  a close run thing until Russia strength beat those Nazi bastards into the ground.   

So the Yank  finished his war and Boris finished his war too, what became of them we’ll never know, or so we thought. You see History is a strange thing, and  it is a wonderful thing too.  Hank the Yank’s grandson became a History Professor and as for Boris his grandson became a History Professor too. One in San Francisco and another in Saint Petersburg, Hank’s grandson was on holiday in Saint Petersburg   and was in a bar drinking Russian Vodka, it was a weakness of his. So who did he meet, only Pavlov Boris’s grandson, the bar was called Stalin’s moustache.

They got talking and were amazed to discover the connection, Hank had died of heart failure only the year before, he had kept the coat and it was his stories that had encouraged his grandson Ryan to be a Historian. Of course the coat had to be returned, in fact Ryan had a friend in the State Department called Hillary, so Hillary put it in the Diplomatic bag and it was in Saint Petersburg within 36 hours.

And that’s how an International Friendship was fostered and rekindled, from one saint to another, from Francis to Peter, and an icon will always take a bullet for a sinner, any sinner.

For Halloween I'm tidying up new material coming soon

THIS IS MY ELEVATOR  AD  AS  THE AMERICANS CALL THEM

Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for Radio and all other media

I grew up listening to the radio, we all used to hide under the blankets and listen when we should have been fast asleep. Radio did change my life, a lodger gave us a radio when he had to go back to Ireland to look after his sick mum. In fact he left all his stuff and caught the first boat home. Months later he came back to see us and said me and my brother could have his old Bush radio. I spent 20 years listening to radio. That and being afraid of Mr Gallagher when I was 8 changed my life, and improved my intellect.

Today after 20 years of radio and 30 years of writing, 50 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so do others. Yes I'm 58 now, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say 12.

I met my Shanghai wife in the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad's room. I was positively vetted by a Chinese Ballerina  from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters. I am the token male and English speaker in the family.

Now here's a few samples, what I'd like to do would be to read my shorts/blogs on your radio. Each piece is about 90 seconds long, 90 seconds with Michael is the idea, simple idea. I have gained 17,755 views on Funny or Die for a sample  

1^st chapter of Tears for a Butcher which will be my 8th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 850+ shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 200 of them so far, 11 hours plus of audio.

I have started recording all my Shorts and have put 50+ of them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  I have a new mike now too, so listen in reverse order.

My  10 books are on Amazon Kindle

 http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

 and  www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com   is my site.

Here's the samples for radio or print.

LinkedIn Profile  and  CV ©

By

Michael Casey

We’ve all been on Facebook and LinkedIn, we get to know people and make “friends”. On LinkedIn it’s more about connections and maybe business connections. So we have to rely on the Profile, my LinkedIn profile tells my story, as I am a writer. But how accurate are these Profiles?

I am a born leader.

Means he was the firstborn boy in a family of 11 girls.

I created the supply chain structure.

Means he decided to use a clipboard and notepad instead of just his memory.

I optimised the sales among target audiences.

He chatted up all the girls, he was kind to seniors and went to church.

I was inventive and creative in gaining new sales.

Means he designed a flyer and went street to street delivering them.

I was never afraid of going the extra mile for the business.

Means there was a street gang chasing  him after he was at  the bank

I am great at communicating the business message.

He just would not shut up, so the boss got him to tidy the fruit outside the ma and pa store.

I always try and improve myself.

Means he has no friends so he reads a lot.

I created the new scheme to optimise the business cash flow.

Means he took the store’s cash and put the money on a horse.

I am now looking for new opportunities to excel

Means he got fired, cops not called as the owner married to his sister

I created a great new idea for centralising purchasing delivery.

Means he was a guard for the money delivery company, crash helmet and visor.

I created my own start-up company

Means he stole the money from the cash delivery company and started his own company.

I am now on a learning sabbatical before resuming my career

Means he is in jail, working in the library.

So when you read those LinkedIn profiles or reading a CV or resume think what do they really mean. Check the photos out too, the reality can be far different. Just like actors, photos can be 10 or 20 years old, and they are. Dig deeper.

Me, I google and check people out, as far as you can on Google. Google me(michaelgcasey) and my sites and think for yourself. I am on a sabbatical myself, no I’m not in a library, thought we have plenty of books in the house, no it’s called arthritis, which comes and goes and makes me scream sometimes. But at least I can sit here and make some of you laugh, as I Google everybody.

Let There Be Light ©

 By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

           

                The Dead and The Living (c)

                           by

          

                     Michael  Casey

     I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not

 

     to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the  laughter

 

     has left them, the sparkle has gone from their eyes, the worry has

 

     been lifted from their shoulders, and their voice has vanished  to

 

     eternity.

     In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the  twinkle  of  the

 

     stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and

 

     the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.

    

     I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,

 

     though I find the deceased are always more polite. My father also

 

     had a few words to say about the living.

     He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul ,  yet

 

     they think their existence is everything, that they know everything

 

     because they experience many things with their senses.

     What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short  and

 

     when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls  continue  without

 

     them, without their strong, without their weak, without  their

 

     beautiful or even ugly temporary form, to where I cannot say, only

 

     that it is a better place.

 

     Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin, the soul was free

                          THE  BEGINNING

     

 

Sleepover©

By

Michael Casey

Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.

Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in your house.

Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room, dad? Especially mine.

Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.

Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.

You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for suggesting it.

So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.

After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on  their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.

Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.

So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or half waking up and forgetting where she was.

So remembering to put on your dressing gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear, its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.

How do Men Shop? ©

By Michael Casey

There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.

If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all  in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.

This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion.  A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.

As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football  while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.

This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why  your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.

The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

All Things Bright and Beautiful ©

 By Michael Casey

 I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while, so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it. They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an absolute Fashion Must.

Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3 stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one, although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair. As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.

I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it “Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener said “in the Spring there will be growth.”

Cheese and Chorizo ©

By Michael Casey

 The thing about girls is that they steal your stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.

Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were  the ones I really like, its always the ones you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing. JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me  where the biscuits were, a new hiding place, that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.

Shoes are a big thing, so our small daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they can cut them down to make a dress  or even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family, DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.

Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall, as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it  disappears.  When do I find out? Never, or nearly never, until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s my clothes.

So if you want to keep the clothes on your back, don’t have daughters. If  you want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies, don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you look before you sit.

From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked Sink  ©

 By Michael Casey

 Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For us the Sat Nav debate continues. In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He'd done the Knowledge and it was all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it 30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.

 Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.

 Bus drivers know their route, so once they've done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes because that can lead to strange directions.

 Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.

So basically we all know what we want and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai

Or was it me, his grandson who got there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and more ago.

 Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay, no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off, if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has to do is copy them down, in English.

 She’s  busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.

My other idea is a book of shorts, 40 stories with 40 translations

on facing page plus 40 audio of me reading my stories on usb stick.

Perfect to teach English as a 2nd language, via humour.

As I have written 850+ stories this would be a series of 20 plus books

So we could have Mandarin/Japanese/Urdu/Spanish/Hindi/Russian etc

This would be a world wide hit, angel investors needed

Thanks for reading this, that’s if Junk did not get it. I have come close and not got a cigar many times in my life, so I decided to try you. Radio is the medium for my words, 90 seconds with Michael, could go nationwide, it’s a simple idea, with great words, mine if I can be boastful. I have already recorded 200 of my 850+ shorts, 10 hours plus of audio.

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

Cheerio, Michael Casey 

Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com

 www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com

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

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

10ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books

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

Dear Vladimir Putin Can We Just Go Down The Pub?

Dear Vladimir Putin Can We Just Go Down The Pub? ©

By Michael Casey

Hello, Vladimir I won’t call you Mr Putin as nobody calls me Mr Casey, I’m just Michael, though when I was at CPNEC I was sometimes called Mr Casey as there were  too many Michaels working there,  but if anybody calls me Mr Casey I think they are taking the Mick.  Though if I say I am a writer then people think I’m taking the Piss. Such is life.

Now Stalin once said how many divisions had the Pope, and it has been said that the Pope will convert Russia and there will be an era of Peace. But you are a macho man so you fear nobody, which is all good and well, but you should fear one thing, and I don’t mean Piers Morgan interviewing you and claiming you are his best friend. He says this, almost, about Donald Trump, you can ask Donald yourself when he opens his new golf course in Moscow. 

But my point is HISTORY judges everybody, even you Vladimir, so think how you want to be remembered, I  know your mum always loved you so much but what about Mother Russia.

Russia is top of the pops in Space rockets, and you have done many great things, so why not join forces with USA to have a space station on moon, instead  of have even more nuclear missiles, that would end the entire world, MAD means MAD Vladimir, and I’m not talking  about the MAD magazine that you used to adore when you were much younger. Brexit means Brexit may be a puzzle but MAD does mean MAD, the end of the entire world and a nuclear winter.

Vladimir there is so much vodka that should be drunk before we start killing each other. You may have seen Whisky Galore the film, so you know the sentiment, let’s drink all the spirits in the world and make love to all the women in the world before we waste our time on nuclear weapons. Satan is Satan, and that’s just an absence of Love, so you could become a genuine peacemaker instead. You could go to Rome and surprise Francis and say you are just going to do Space things and as Francis follows in the Shoes of the Fisherman you could also do Ocean research. 

We know more about the moon than what is going on in the deep deep oceans.

The question is Vladimir do you have any balls? Anybody can pose for an action man calendar, but can you laugh at your past and create a new and bright future. This is your Road to Damascus Time Vladimir, your Orthodox Priest will explain the Bible passage to you. Now as your fleet edges  towards Syria you can STOP and change your mind and change your PLACE IN HISTORY.

As your fleet steams through the Mediterranean Sea you’ll  pass a quivering Italy, suffering from another earthquake.  BUT what if mother Russia had a major earthquake, what if the Kremlin shattered in an earthquake, what if Red Square erupted? Sounds like an American Disaster Movie. What if tonight as you sleep all this happens, or you awake and think it’s just a dream, but it has really happened.

It’s only when you have been close to death that you realise what is important and what is fluff, I speak as somebody who has been close to his own death. I speak as somebody who nearly lost both his parents in the space of 8 weeks. I speak as somebody who has experienced and witnessed life changing events. You too have had such experiences, so Vladimir let’s not waste what’s left in both our lives. It’s not a competition in pain, and I’ve had far too much pain too, as maybe you.

So Vladimir, I cannot speak any Russian, though my brother spent a month learning Russian in mother Russia. All I can say is that yes I’m just a foolish writer, I’ll never be famous like Tolstoy nor Dickens. But I do know that laughter does unite everybody,  and I do know that Mother Russia deserves its place in the sun, doing science in space and on the ocean floor.

 And as for Satan, he is just MAD, and sad for Satan never drinks any Russian vodka, nor makes love to a Russian girl. So throw away the Satan bomb and grab a Russian sex bomb, you know it makes sense Mr Putin.