Friday, 31 March 2017

Voice for Voice

Voice for Voice ©
By Michael Casey

I had some time to think about this piece as my pain levels got in the way of my productivity, I did not want to say what I’ve said before, so I check my files for any titles with similar words in. In this case Voice, and then I had a quick scan before thinking about today’s talk. I am after all the poor man’s Letter from America, I am the Postcard from Birmingham.

I have recorded 200 or so of my shorts, about 11 hours of material, perfect for Radio or Teaching English as a 2nd Language, Angel Investors do get in touch, or I’ll be too old and clapped out to enjoy any money should any money materialise.

Now we all have a Voice, one we use when we are Teaching or in Court, my sister in law is a Lawyer after all and she does have 2 voices, the Formal and the Michael wait and I’ll give you your third portion of pudding.

I myself have a Teacher’s voice which I use on occasion, such as when children are about to have an accident because their lazy parents are on the phone and not looking after them. If you have kids you must look after them, but maybe I am old fashioned or just an older parent.

The Voice or the tone of voice you use can make a difference, my girls tell me that I talk to Totoro our cat as if she were a small child, even though she is a cat on a hot tin roof doing unspeakable things all night long, without the benefit of disco music.

People, some people talk down to kids, and what do you want to be when you grow up? As if the children are morons, my own girls just laugh inwardly, most people talking down to them are only half as intelligent as they are.

And when I grow up and am a Proctologist I’ll put you, you idiot, down first on my list for an enema. Please do not talk down to kids, I have never treated my girls as babies, so put that tone of voice in the dustbin, along with the rubber gloves used to give you 2 enemas.

I hope I don’t sound like Kenny Everett’s Angry of Mayfair, you can find his videos he was very very funny and sadly died of an AIDs related illness. He had many silly silly voices, but I’m sure he would have agreed with me it’ s when you switch your loud voice off and listen that is when you give the humble their voice.

The meek and mild you may meet in the street or at a bus stop, by listening to them you allow them to have their voice. They will go home happy because they have had some human contact, they will tell their cat about the nice man or girl they met on the bus and the words that they exchanged. Sometimes life is like in The Boxer the S&G song, everybody needs somebody, we all need to talk, to hear a comforting human voice.


Thursday, 30 March 2017

All is Revealed

All is Revealed ©
By Michael Casey

I only just noticed that the truck parked outside has gone, I didn’t spot it straight away as I was both deep in thought and pain a few hours ago. Now that that the pain has gone along with the feminine hygiene truck, our neighbour empties those bins in the ladies’ toilets, I can see daylight. I’m happy now and I can hear the washing machine behind me spin around quietly, we bought a big Indesit and it is ever so quiet, and the two bells on Totoro’s collar are ringing as she has her dinner.

As all was revealed, or rather the street in front of me It gave me an idea of what to talk about, yes my writing really is as tangential as that. I’ve spotted Pakistan reading my stuff on my website so hello to them and India too. Poland still is in love with my writing not unless its Donald Tusk and his minions trying to cheer themselves up today, Brexit Day.

With Brexit all is finally revealed, it basically was a  method of uniting the Tory party by allowing a vote, only Cameron got the shock of his life, and as he quoted Enoch Powell, All Political Lives End in Failure. Now we have a great big adventure. I’ll leave that there for you all to argue about amongst yourselves.

Ages ago I wrote a piece called Wrapping Paper so I don’t want to repeat myself too much, though you may say I do that all the time if you are cruel. Perhaps some things read better in another language, as the French may boast, so that could explain why Poland loves my stuff. Today though I want to think about and talk about Revealing, and what a difference timing makes to Revealing.

Girls wear less and less, certainly on reality tv shows, and sometimes the largest thing they wear is their sun tan. Everybody sleeps in the nude too, well I do anyway, ok stop be sick in a bucket, take that idea out of your head, then I’ll carry on.  Though Julie Dangly whom I used to work with 25 years ago would say you have to wear a negligee then you have something to take off to get your boyfriend or husband even more excited, but I digress.

When you negotiate, with your kids, which you have as a result of wearing a negligee, so you should wear a diving suit to bed, or massive PJs if you want to avoid kids, when you negotiate, you start high and end low. You say they have to do 7 chores knowing they won’t, but they may do 6 or 5 or 4 or 3 or 2 or 1. 

And sometimes 1 is a major victory. Politics or Brexit is about aiming for the Sun when getting the Moon is what you really wanted as your least worst option, just watch out for the cow jumping over the moon, and as for the cat and the fiddle they are a metaphor for those nasty neighbours who shall remain nameless.

Now where was I, I just had to put the washing out, it bleeped so I had to hang out our stuff. I could lose my thread but instead it takes this piece into another direction. Washing, why are we embarrassed by our smalls, it’s a fine day so the washing goes out but we don’t want the neighbours to see the state of our pants, our knickers, our panties or our long johns.

Obviously I have to padlock my pants to the washing line or they might be stolen, and if you believe that then you believe in fairies, and if you have seen Peter Pan, I do, I do, I do believe in fairies I do I do. If you didn’t join in the chorus just then you are and old fart who wears old women’s drawers. Is that enough emotional blackmail?

I could go on but my daughter has just got home so these words will have to be enough. I have though revealed something else, talking to her is more important than talking to you. So today promise yourself that you’ll talk to your kids more, and not just when you shout at them to hang the washing out on the bushes or the tv aerials. Because the way your kids are when they are with you reveals all about, YOU and them, Love shines but fears wilts their spirits. Reveal what kind of mum or dad you really want to be, then blame it all on me. 

Tuesday, 28 March 2017

What Writing Means to Me

What Writing Means to Me ©
By Michael Casey

Well I tend to write every day now, it used to be 3 or 4 times a week, now its daily, well almost. It took me a year to Learn how to write properly if you like, back in 1987. Once I had finished writing my novel with the catchy title of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker I knew I had cracked it. Then I wrote a play called Shoplife which was a comedy about a shop, a store closing down, this was accepted for production by a professional theatre, back in May 1989. So whatever negative words I might get from anybody about my writing I know I’m good, if I allow myself to sound like an American.

So the question is what does writing actually mean to me? Well it’s something I can do, it fosters my intellect, and no I’m not trying to be pretentious, pretentiousness is the worst thing in the world as far as I am concerned. By writing I am showing myself at my best, I can’t run fast  like Hussain Bolt, nor be as charming as George Clooney, I am his 238 pound look-a-like after all. Despite my Health going down the drain these past 4 years, I am a Writer and I can still Write, so it is proof I am still a Man, a weak useless man some may say, but can they write like me?

Moreover I can tell a tale, I would say I’m a storyteller, I make cartoons made from words. As I said to Lilley in the Coop the other day when I had my photo taken by a nice Indian Lady, maybe my first ever fan photo. Well I told Lilley that I am just a pointing signpost and let people think the rest for themselves. I don’t want to be graphic, let people work it out for themselves, a metaphor is more fun after all.

As Jill once said to me when she was not talking to Jack, you lead people up the garden path. And so I do, I hope I lead them to laughter, and as we all know Laughter is the Best Medicine. And yes like all comedy writers I’ve seen or experienced loads of sad things, so the natural course of action is to be the opposite. Writing works for me because I don’t know what I’m going to write about till a minute before I start these short stories, so I’m only a sentence if front of you the readers.

At the moment Poland seems to have adopted me, I loaded up a few translations to my site and hey presto 18,000 readers in a couple of weeks. Why I don’t know, I’m doing an experiment for a few days by removing the translations and asking them to contact Fakt the Polish publication and see if I get a column there in Polish translation. Probably won’t work but you have to try don’t you?

Now the ability to tell a tale is the 2nd oldest profession in the world after sex, somebody did something and there was somebody who told the rest of the tribe of cannibals about it. The storyteller may have become an after dinner speaker, in fact he may have been eaten for spilling the beans. Writers become gods and have women throw themselves at them, hasn’t happened to me, well maybe just song writers, or writers of self help books.

To create a story you are having mental sex, because you create something from nothing, and you are left with a warm glow when you finish and read back what you have written. I start a story and it flows almost like pouring water from a jug, if you asked me just to verbally tell a story without sitting here and writing it all down on the computer I may not be able to do it as well.

The action of typing acts as a magic means of translating thought and ideas into something more than words on a page. Yes I can tell a tale if we meet in Aldi or even the Coop, but my best work is when I’m sat here in my chair talking to you right now and putting all the words on a page. I don’t know what I’m going to write next, it’s like a broken jigsaw in my mind and when I type as I’m talking to you all right now the words form the jigsaw in the right order, the picture is formed correctly on the page, as if by magic.

Some are saying it’s a “Gift” and then belittle me the writer, but my journey started when I was 8 and out of fear of Mr Gallagher started to read intensely, then 20 years of constant BBC Radio 4 listening, then 30 years of writing, or rather the writer’s eye. I am very observant, or try to be so when you add that all up its 50 years. So if I can’t tell a tale by now then I’d have to be a Dunce or a Donkey. And the girls still don’t throw themselves at me, so I must be a really rubbish writer.

 https://www.amazon.com/MichaelCasey/e/B00571G0YC 





Monday, 27 March 2017

Pitch Letter Begging Letter



Pitch Letter Begging Letter ©
By Michael Casey

I didn’t know what to write today, and it was a bit of a pain day with the Arthur my arthritis playing up etc. It must be boring for you all to hear me mention this, I’m hoping if ever I’m rich, never, that’ll I’ll have a mini sauna in my house, or be able to afford the Hilton in Malta. So, and yes I’ve noticed that I use so ever so often, but it’s a nice word, and wasn’t it a Peter Gabriel album?  I just checked it was US, not SO. I’m listening to Jean Michel Jarre while I talk to you.

Which brings me to the point, Pitch Letter Begging letter, I wrote one earlier on to a person, if he’s reading this he’s checking up on me already, or one of his Minions, no I didn’t write to a cartoon character, I’m not that silly. The question is how do you write a Pitch Letter or a Begging Letter?
Dear Nicola I really love your short skirt and you really do carry it off so well, all the boys in Parliament must whistle at your legs. Those sexist animals, they should have their bagpipes removed. Would this impress any Nicola you know or would she see through it immediately?

Dear Theresa, I so enjoyed the cream cakes you bought for us to share together, a pity your security team had sat on the box, but a cream cake just has to be eaten, naughty but nice as Salmond Rushdie wrote when he was just a humble copy writer. I hope you enjoyed the haggis we had to follow on. Would any Theresa you know laugh like a seal as an ungracious MP is alleged to have said, if she received such a note?

The thing about words is that they have meaning, and meanings, double and triple meanings and tones and so on and so forth. In a pitch letter you have to show or pretend you know who you are writing to. You have to explain in spread sheet detail just how much money your idea will make for their fat middle aged spread bottom. Though if you are writing about a new gym technique you have to prove what a tight arse you’ll create for them.

It’s getting the balance between fawning and aggression. Give me the money you bastard and I’ll make you even richer than you are, and you can move on to your 7th wife, the one with the great big assets you want to get your hands on. And so it goes on, what do you say and what don’t you say. Should you be humble, or be like Donald Trump, ok I went too far there. Should you be a salesman or a teacher or a priest?

Would you say or do anything to get that girl or boy in bed with you?  Please is the most I could offer. The same goes for business investment, what do you do and what should you do. We’ve all seen The Apprentice, personally I switch off, but the minute bits I have seen make me want to puke, as do the wannabe shows. Though I did laugh today when I read in the Press that one reality show had been cancelled for months but folks were left on a desert island for months, not knowing.

Basically all any one of us can offer is ourselves, just be ourselves, this is me warts and all, this is my offer and this is my personality, what you see is what you get. Which is me down to a T but not golf tee, as Donald will never invite me for a game of golf, though I know a pharmacist who’d give The Donald a really good game of golf.

So you explain your idea and you hope the Angel Investor invests in it, then your daughters might get an inheritance other than your large collection of faded blue Yfronts, which make great rags for polishing your piano once you cut them up. And if you do or I do get my chance and make a bit of money what do you spend it on. A house, and if you are really successful a house each for your two daughters too.

In the end you need the help of God and Two Policemen, that’s what my mother swore by, and our next door neighbour did become a policeman, Sergeant Dixon was his name, the same name as the tv show. And he really did live in Dog Kennel Lane. No I don’t need to make everything up, I just have Total Recall for trivia, and I could forget my own name but its written on the inside of my faded blue Y fronts, Saint Michael.
  





100,000 words to be published soon in English

100,000 words to be published soon in English

100,000 words to be published soon in English,
 look at Amazon and it will appear.

In the meantime here's my advert.

Thanks to my Polish readers for keeping my figures high, 1000 a day, have you got nothing better to do?

And Lech, stop reading this and do some work, or you'll make your boss climb over that wall....
THIS IS MY ELEVATOR  AD
For my One Million Words of laughter over 30 years of writing.
p.s. I have readers in:- Canada, USA, UK, Ireland, Australia,Russia,Poland,Czech,Germany, France,Portugal,Singapore,Nigeria and China, Phillipines to name but a few places.
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.
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. Even Totoro our cat is female and bilingual. 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 19,208 views on Funny or Die for a sample 
1st 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 1000 shorts, enough for over a year. I have recorded 207 of them so far, 11 hours plus of audio. I have nearly 300,000 views on Google+ as well but I did not believe it, so I left Google +, and I am not on Facebook either. Just on my sites and on Amazon Kindle, one day people may buy some of my books.
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  12 books are on Amazon Kindle
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.
Sadly since I wrote my advert I need to add unplanned quadruple heart bypass to my advert, but I have written 4 more books these past  few years, taking my total to 12 on Amazon, and I have nearly reached 1,000,000 words written.
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.
I was an Esol English teacher and gained
2 Excellents and an Exemplary on my external Assessment
As I have written 890+ 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 890+ shorts, 11 hours plus of audio  so far recorded.
some can be heard at www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
Cheerio, Michael Casey 
 to hear 50+ stories
12 ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books
p.s. I have readers in:- Canada,USA,UK, Ireland,Australia,Russia,Poland,Czech,Germany, France,Portugal,Singapore,Nigeria and China to name but a few places. 











Phoney War

Humour Writing by the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England read in 167 countries so far https://www.amazon.co.uk/Micha...