The Sunshine of your Smile

The Sunshine of your Smile ©

By Michael Casey

I was wondering what to call today’s piece when Paul McCartney gave me an idea, he came around to clean our windows, he’s nice like that, he learnt it from his dad George Formby who was forever cleaning windows. So he sang The Sunshine of your Smile so I thought that’ll explain today’s talk nicely. I’m listening to his Flaming Pie album, I wish he’d just get on and clean our windows, but so long as they are done by the time the album is finished or I’ll tip the bucket of water on his head. Liverpool folk  are just too chirpy some times.

Today is bright and very sunny, but the cold would freeze the arse off Kim, any Kim, you care to mention. But so long as you wrap up, by which I mean put lots of layers on, not sing some song by JayZ, then you’ll stay warm. I did stop by the Plastic shop, which sells all things made of plastic, and buy some silver lined insoles to protect my soles, by which I mean the soles of my feet. My Soul is God’s, well I keep on telling myself that. As for Seoul, that’s a place far away with a very noisy neighbour. I hope I haven’t confused my Eastern readers, but Poles and Ukrainians have a good sense of humour. Or has somebody on reception been having a joke and making all the new staff read my rubbish on night shift at the hotel. They should be cleaning the common areas not misusing Opera, the manager will make a song and even dance about it in the morning if the foyer does not glitter like a palace.

Ok, enough of the puns, but if Shakespeare did it, then I should at least try. What is so good about sunshine and smiles? Well it makes us all happy. A pretty girl without a smile is ugly. Just look at all the ghosts modelling on catwalks if you don’t believe me. A smile is like the sun itself. It is liked Dawn itself, and I have seen Dawn break hundreds times when I used to work the night shift in Birmingham city centre. Dawn is a new beginning a new hope, a new love.

When a girl forgives you, remember men are always wrong and always to blame and so always in need of forgiveness. If your priest did not tell you that when he gave you pre marriage instruction then he failed you badly, besides what do priests know about women? They live with 100 year old housekeepers.

So when we are forgiven the smile broadens and the lights light up in your loved ones eyes. I imagine the same happens when you are Gay, people are people and Love is Love after all. So you get the smile and the eyes twinkle and you are powerless before your love. What happens next is up to the both of you, so I’ll leave it to your imagination.

In general though smiles are sunshine and if you have somebody at work or just up your street or in the family that makes you smile as an individual or as a group then you are very lucky. The little ray of sunshine, really does exist. As does the sad bad mad cloud that kills life and laughter, you can pick your own bosses and world leaders and even your own family members or former friends who are like that.

One of my bad habits is making jokes to hard pressed shop assistants who are too busy to listen, though sometimes I can see that the shop assistant is sad for some reason so I’ll try and perk them up. Remember at CPNEC Birmingham I was the first person people met when they entered the hotel, so I have 100,000 people interactions up my sleeve. A distraction  even from the fat silver haired guy in shades can perk up people, a smile can bring a bit of happiness into a life. No I’m not Paul McCartney, and he still hasn’t finished cleaning my windows, and I’m not a  super model either, not unless you want a Michelin man model, but all of us can bring sunshine with a smile. I’ve seen enough dull and sad people and bosses in my life to know I want to be the exact opposite.

Sharing a joke does lighten the yolk, it can start new friendships too. You can say to that Asian girl you really fancy, your eyes are like stars, and your teeth are like diamonds. Then you add, do you take them out at night. She will either give you a big slap or just smile and tell you she’s a dentist, yes for real a dentist.  Then she may push you back in the chair and ask you to open your mouth before  pouring salt into it. It is used by dentists to prevent infection after all, and she may think you are an infection. At this point you will either storm out or think, she’s the one for you. As the whole of Subway watch a marriage is born in Heaven, or rather in Subway.

So my Spring Rolls beckon, my daughter is cooking them in the kitchen and my smile is widening, memories of food always make me smile. And anticipation of food makes my smile too. So I’ll finish by suggesting you buy fairy cakes and ask your girl to teach you how to bake them. It’s something really easy to do  but the secret is in the mixing, so mix and bake and smile and put buns in the oven. 

Christmas was Cold, or my seasonal job a few years ago, I'm not tellings lies, I am your writer after all

Christmas Was Cold

Christmas Was Cold ©

By Michael Casey

Christmas was cold, and Kevin did not like it, he didn’t like it one bit. The agency had said they had a job for him , it was a temp job and it involved a lot of travel, and it paid well, very well.

So Kevin took it like a shot, he’d been unemployed for a while and he wanted to bring some money in so he could go on holiday to some place any place warm. They had said he’d get a free holiday as part of the package IF he took the job.

He arrived at the port and went into a warehouse, he’d be interviewed in there said the agency. He looked all around and he could see nobody, nobody at all. Then he heard the sound of boots echoing behind him, he spun around to see and elf approaching. He laughed, the man in the costume looked so silly.

Only it wasn’t a man in a costume, it was a real elf, only Kevin was too stupid to realise it. He’d never seen a real elf in his life. The elf looked Kevin up and down, he half smiled. Kevin was fat, very fat, the kind of fat where his belly was bursting his belt, it wasn’t overhanging his belt, that would have been disgusting. No Kevin was fat, perfect fat, for the perfect job.

The elf asked him did he know why he was here, and did he have his passport with him, the usual stuff when you apply for a job nowadays. The elf walked away with Kevin’s documentation in his hand.  Kevin looked around the warehouse it was empty, full of nothing.

Full of nothing as far as stupid people could see, if Kevin could use his eyes then he’d see that the warehouse was brimming with people and every kind of thing. This was Christmas warehouse. The elf returned holding a Santa suit in his hand, Kevin laughed, so that was the job, Santa at a store. Well he needed the money so he put the suit on.

Kevin felt dizzy, he had to lean on the elf for support, he had stars in his eyes, he was seeing things. The elf took a glass of water out of his pocket and Kevin drunk it willingly. Noise and fireworks appeared in the empty warehouse. Kevin fainted.

Kevin awoke in another world, in Santa’s world, now he could see that he was in Santa’s workshop, there were elves everywhere. He must have been drugged, he rubbed his eyes and felt his face. He had a beard, a long white beard. He’d been drugged and transformed into Santa, suit and all.

The elf explained, that only a man with a perfect belly could stand in for Santa at Christmas. Kevin was the chosen one, he was the man, he was Santa. The real Santa had broken his leg while skiing in Birmingham, so Kevin was the standin.

The elf went through the Health and Safety rules, HO HO HO, always 3 HO HO HOs, other than that there were no Health and Safety rules. The reindeer would explain everything. Kevin looked around he could see no reindeer, the elf led him outside to the dock.

A submarine surfaced and the sleigh and the reindeer emerged, reindeer can hold their breath for such a long time.  They are waterproof or seaproof too, the sleigh has water repellent paint on it too, made in the paint factory in Birmingham, you know the one just down the road from the reindeers friends in Ladywood Fire Station.

Kevin was impressed this was more like James Bond, he high fived the reindeer, they licked his new beard, that’s what reindeer always do to Santa. The elf smiled he was sure they’d get on well. The elf answered the unasked question, why the submarine?

The submarine was to get into countries where Santa was not welcome, North Korea was one of them. A sleigh would be spotted on radar, so Santa would sneak in and shower love and happiness and hope amongst the people.

Kevin shed a tear, he was Santa now, so his heart felt the things Santa felt. The submarine levitated and turned/merged into a bigger sleigh, a very large sleigh. Eat your heart out James Bond, Santa has much better toys, literally.

Kevin shook the reins and away they went into the night sky, Kevin ho ho hoed his way around the world. His fat belly was too big to get down a lot of the chimneys, but that’s where the reindeer came in, they formed a team, a tug of war team and pulled him up and down the chimneys.

The reindeer could of course get down all the chimneys, they held their breath and wriggled their bums, it was easy for them they had been doing it for centuries. That’s why your Christmas trees get nibbled in the night, it’s the reindeer, its hungry work flying around the world with Christmas presents.

Kevin, or should I say Santa realised why he needed the beard, it kept him warm, it got cold, very cold flying high in the sky. They did stop on the River Po, just to say hello to Don Camillo, he was a priest but sometimes he was on the naughty list, and sometimes he came off the naughty list, depending on what he and the mayor had been doing.

The sleigh/submarine had a never-ending supply of presents, Kevin, I mean Santa got into the swing of things, the reindeer sung carols, 1000s of them in lots of different languages, they were a carol jukebox. Some brought tears to Santa’s eyes.

Dive, dive, dive they had to sneak into a country to bring Hope and Love, no presents just a loaf of bread. The reindeer didn’t nibble on any trees, as Christmas trees and Christmas itself were banned. The reindeer cried, but there was always Hope.

High and Low, Up and Down the sleigh went over the face of the earth, Santa HO HO Hoed, tonight Christ was born, a new light had entered the world.

The work was done, the world had been crissed and crossed, the reindeer headed back to the warehouse. As the sleigh landed Kevin’s beard dissolved, he was Santa no more. He looked around the warehouse, the elves were dissolving into nothingness, the reindeer trotted away still singing Rejoice Rejoice Emanuel.

Had he been drugged, was this all an hallucination, it couldn’t be he felt Love in his heart, he had been Santa for a night. As he walked out of the warehouse his footsteps echoed into sky, Kevin looked up and could see Santa in his sleight, his crutches besides him, and the reindeer still sung Rejoice Rejoice Emanuel.    

That Special Moment

That Special Moment ©

By Michael Casey

Christmas is coming the  goose is getting fat, well it is 28^th November so forgive me for mentioning Christmas, though I do believe Christmas should be kept in December, and not August as some retailers may prefer. We had Harry and Markle on tv yesterday on about special things, I’m not going to talk about them, but how did Harry fall in love with the leader of Germany I’ll never know, as English people are notoriously bad with languages. My own speciality is bad language, so don’t vex me. Though I can stumble along in French and Spanish and one of brothers was a bit of a linguist, and another did live and work in Paris for 4 years. Not forgetting the Shanghai wife and our bilingual daughters. But I’ll leave Harry alone with his American/German phrasebook. The Windsors  are from Germany after all.

So what makes a moment special? In actual fact it’s the Future or is it the Past? When in the future you look back at your past you only then realise just how special the moment was. I think in real time you are too busy to realise how good a time you are having. It’s when you go to bed and you rewind your day that you realise how good it was as you thank God when you say your prayers. That’s if you pray at all, I bet only 15% of people actually pray. Forget the Christmas Christians or other faiths, the ones who actually have faith in their life, not those who attend because they have to. These are the believers of all faiths and none.

But you can argue the philosophy of prayer next time you are down the bookies smoking a splif as you share a can of Guinness with your local vicar. Or whoever leads your prayers. Now one special moment is when the Queen’s horse romps home and you have had a bet on it. You win 700 quid, or 2 weeks wages in money terms. You did lose double that 2 months before, but now you are triumphant. Luckily the vicar though seeing double because of the splif decides to intervene, so he grabs your winnings, no metaphor intended and puts them down his pants. So you chase him out of the bookies and up the road to the village green, where you try to debag him.

The little dog laughed to see such fun and the dish ran away with the spoon, so says the nursey rhythm. In reality people are wondering why their trendy vicar is being attacked and having the pants torn off him. A tear appears and ten pound noses flutter from the vicars torn pants.  The vicar continues running away, as Michael Casey Trainee betting Shop Manager stands in the door of the bookies and wonders will every day be like this. Smiling Paul the bookie in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker  would be taking bets by now on how long before the vicar would be knickerless with just the odd 10 pound note to hide his modesty. 

The vicar’s pants come off and tenners float everywhere, the vicar has just his union  jack underpants on. The crowd are impressed by all his bulges. The vicar’s assistant appears still wearing vestments, she takes off her cassock so the vicar can hide his bulges. Then she turns on you to lash you with her tongue. She used to be a bingo caller before the call came, but now she’ll lash you unmercifully for daring to disrobe a vicar in public.

As she whips you with her  tongue a strange thing happens, you realise she is the one for you. You are being chastised by god’s helper, by god’s little worker. So as you finish collecting your 700 winnings you look deep into her eyes, and then and then and then and then  you puke all over her. Splif and Guinness combined with chasing the vicar and tearing his clothes off to get your money back has upset your stomach. Or it could have been the two spicy kebabs as you watch the race meeting from Ascot in the bookies’ shop. So the vicar’s assistant is covered in your puke.

Her face goes red with anger, you say it matches her red hair, and you just love her Edinburgh accent.  She punches you in the stomach, which was a mistake so you puke all over her again before you collapse on top of her. Now at this point God intervenes, he knows she has a really bad temper and had hoped the church would hide it. She has now been twice blessed, or is it twice puked over. As you lay on top of her saying sorry you use the 700 in notes top wipe your sick off her.

Six months later at your wedding to the Scots lass all this is remembered as a turning  point in both of your lives. A passing fire engine had hosed you both down, as for the 700 in the new plastic notes, that was given to the local children’s home, as a penance for being sick over the vicar’s assistant. The Scots lass had looked into your eyes and saw that you were the man with the child in his eyes, Kate Bush was her favourite singer after all.

So it was like being struck by lightning, or rather 2 shades of vomit.  The vicar  had lost his pants, the children’s home had gained a donation, you had lost your addiction, or rather the contents of your stomach, but gained a wife. And she would be a Verger no more.

Yes, looking back a really special moment.

Home Comforts

Home Comforts ©

By Michael Casey

Home comforts and being comfortable are very important things, I noticed Harry and his girl seemed so comfortable together tonight, so rather than write about them I’ll write or rather talk about comfort. A girl a boy is a very comforting thing, to listen to you, or pretend to, to give you physical comfort too, after a very difficult day.

But what other things are a comfort? Soft toilet paper and plenty of it, nice warm towels straight from the airing cupboard. Hot water in the tank so you can have a bath, your antidandruff shampoo so you don’t look as if you have just come in from a snow storm, or from a wedding or from a carpentry shop. Providing that your children haven’t used your shampoo  to wash Totoro the cat,  so you have to use the dregs of shampoo and even a bar of carbolic soap on what’s left of your hair. All these are the comforts of home, any home.

Milk, your milk left in the fridge so that you can make a cup of coffee the  British way, with milk, but no sugar. Or just have milk to go with your cereals. Though as often as not, Totoro the cat purrs “milk” so she has the last of the milk so you cannot even have a final cup of coffee. Your girls love the cat much much more than they love you , their dad.

Dry clothes that have been brought in off the washing line, and left to air on the radiators, providing your girls were not WhatsApping their friends, whatever that’s supposed to mean. So when you the leader of the family need dry clean clothes they are there ready for you, on the radiator.  There’s no space in the family wardrobes as you live with 3 girls, so your clothes are squashed into a small corner, where the cat loves to sit, but thankfully not spray.

Up a corner of the living room is your bare wooden chair that you sit on.  You bought new furniture 3 years ago, by coincidence when you had your unplanned quadruple heart attack, but it was too low and hurt when you sat on it post op. So you perch on a bare wooden chair, made comfortable  with the addition of some horrid stripy cushions, while your girls stretch out on the brand new trendy but low sofas. Home is comfortable for them but not for you as you all watch tv.

You decide to buy a single arm chair to squeeze up a corner so you are 

comfortable as you watch tv. Only they are too big to fit in the space. Until finally you find one, only you cannot find the legs, which are hidden under the seat, in a secret zip up section, something never ever before invented. So you lose face, but are saved and helped by a nice Polish guy, to find and attach your chair legs. Then finally you can squeeze an armchair into a corner, and like Little Jack Horner you sit there and watch tv, you bum is no longer sore after 3 years.

All these are simple little things that are my home comforts. A cat does make a house turn into a home, even if Totoro wakes me up in the middle of the night so that I can let her out a window. Then if in the middle of the night I get up for pain or for a drink Totoro will suddenly appear on the kitchen window wanting to be let in at 3am or 6am. Her job is to purr as I stroke her fur, she is a home comfort too, whatever your point of view.

Fruit in the fruit bowl  is always nice so long as  your pigs don’t eat it first, Royal Gala apples and bananas are great. Our new supermarket does have nicer food than the old one, though you do have to pay a bit more, but judging by the family happiness level, it was a good decision to switch when my daughter was revising for her GCSEs. Nicer bread, we have switched to brown bread all the time now, one brand is so much better than the others now we have made the switch. These simple simple things really DO make a difference to home comfort.

Underpants make a difference too, so long as they don’t shrink in the wash, I replaced a load of my flags and  guess what when I put them in the wash a load of the new ones shrunk. Tight pants that strangle your bits are no good to any man, a home comfort is a body that is comfortable, and not squeezed and squashed by tight shrunken underpants.

If you add all the things up that make up Home Comforts, they can be varied and many and don’t have to cost a pretty penny. You just want to feel relaxed and comfortable, like a pair of old slippers, and a dressing gown which keeps you warm while you write your next talk for all your readers. Then your life will Sparkle, so good luck to Harry and Markle, for she is your home comfort from abroad.

Aliens visiting Earth

Aliens visiting Earth ©

By Michael Casey

I saw a bit of a film called Cowboys v Aliens on the tv the other night, James Bond actor Daniel Craig was in it, as well as Harrison Ford, then today I spotted a piece in the newspaper where a former Canadian Defence minister  said aliens had in fact visited us. So it got me thinking. Why would you come all the way to Earth just to see the likes of you and me?

 I would come to see Michelangelo to see Caravaggio, even to have a free dinner with Andrew Graham Dixon the Art expert, so long as his Italian mate was cooking. But to come to Birmingham to eat a donna kebab? Though there is one certain place where you would die for the kebabs, then another where you might die if you ate one of the kebabs, such as when I was in Paris in 1999, Valentines and alone. So what would make you get into your space ship to come all the way to Earth? Not unless it is the ultimate daytime tv, but for aliens.

Aliens reproduce by touching hands, just like in Barbarella, but Humans, it’s like Lego one piece fits another to make another, the legover method. It must be very strange compared to how they reproduce on Alpha Zeta or wherever the Alien Tourist Agency is based. Why come this far just to have a tour, with the Alien equivalent of  David Attenborough as your guide.

All these famous statues in museums have a leg or an arm missing, is it because Aliens take a graft and once back home grow the full statue to fill their displace cases   which are by the Alien toilets. Looking at a Human work of art helps make Aliens pooh. Is Human Art the cure for Alien constipation, well the prices would make anybody want to pooh. Half a billion for a fake recently. I know it’s a fake because an Alien told me the other night if it were real they would have taken a sample to bring back home to the stars to go in a display case, by the toilets.

Would aliens visit to see Manchester United when they were the best in the world, or to see Pele at the top of his game. Or do they just love Cheers and cannot get the box set on their planet so they visit Blockbuster  to buy all the box sets in the store.

Or do they visit to see how we pray, and how leaders get in the way of prayer? Or do they think the idea of God just a great big joke? Would everybody on Earth stop believing if they knew there were Aliens everywhere? Or would they assume God is bigger that all the civilisations on all the planets everywhere?

Is Earth just a petting zoo for Aliens, a quaint old place like the American view of England? Do Aliens think we are retarded, what with all our nuclear weapons, with the posturing and posing? Are Trump and Kim the new Punch and Judy, but with millions of lives at stake not just sausages for the crocodile, and I’m not talking about Zimbabwe’s new leader who judging him from his past will be equally evil as Mugabe was.

So is Earth the ultimate Reality Tv for Aliens, is there a Richard Branson Alien who organises all the visits to Earth? If I were an Alien I’d cry. I cry that Kim was destroying his beautiful North Korea, I’d cry that Putin was starting an Arms Race, or is it Trump, he just wants to sell arms to everybody. Giving Alms is the thing. Aliens could be scouting for a new place to live, their own planet could be dying, it is no Hollywood.

Why do Aliens come to Earth, was it the planet of their Birth, were Aliens here before, before devastation showed  them the door, did they quickly exit the time the dinosaur’s their friends were wiped out. Do Aliens visit hoping they can return, only to find the state  the planet is in now? Arms  race instead  of Alms race, reaching for the stars,  searching the oceans floor, finding Atlantis once more. Rebuilding the Alien culture which really is Humans first culture. Telepathy used to be king, now all we can do is sing, for an Alien its heart must sink, why has Humanity come to this?

Well I don’t know why the world is the way it is. But IF I did have Telepathy then I’d send all the leaders, this nightmare to beware, as you sleep I am sat in a chair watching you there. I am the Devil of your own making, I’m watching you all the time, and when you make that mistake it will be your final one. For you, your people, your country, your entire world.

Change must come, it comes from within, it’s never imposed, it’s always from self. So look around at the past, look inside, and look all around. What world do you want the Aliens to find? Or do you want it just to smolder and sink and die because of Arrogance. Or do you want to return this Earth, our Earth into the Garden of Eden it once was, when dinosaurs were our lawn mowers, our friends, before it became  an alien world to Aliens the original Humans.

Feeling Tired

Feeling Tired ©

By Michael Casey 

When you are tired you cannot control or coordinate your brain to your hands, rather like I am right now. As an experiment I’ll see what I can write while I am so tired, though you may all say it’s much better than my usual rubbish. So very kind of all the Borises out there, but we remember when we tied Boris’s shoe laces together when he was asleep instead of doing the security patrol. We hid outside the control room door and blew a whistle and heard him crash down on the floor, we knew he’d chase after us once he untied his shoe laces that’s why we were on the safe side of the door.

I used to work the night shift with Duncan, he’d be in his 40s now, now he could not sleep during the day no matter what he tried, so he’d be typing away at the banks of keyboards we had then suddenly he’d fall asleep and then bang his head on the monitor.

I stepped out to buy some milk and it was so cold it woke me up, but then I felt so tired once I got back to our house that I just had a 2 hour nap. That’s why you have the change of paragraph, I was sleeping. The pain monster did visit last night and it was after 4am before I finally slept. At 3 am I had Heinz tomato soup, with stale baguettes, just like Heidi, as well as dropping a plate, but my pigs stayed fast asleep. The cat did ask to be let back in, she keeps such strange hours.

Back to my computer room days, this was maybe 30 years ago, when the lads would go for a fag in the bogs, I’ll translate for the American readers, a cigarette in the rest room. So Flash as he was called cruelly, because the other lads thought he was slow. Well Flash went to the bog and while he was having a fag as he sat on the bog dumping, and dumping is not the computer usage for dumping. By dumping I mean pumping, I hope that is clear to all of you. So Flash fell asleep as he sat on the toilet, if you ever have to do night shifts you will have sympathy for him.

But Flash had lit a cigarette, luckily he had not had any beans that night or there could have been a major explosion. Instead he nodded off and dropped his cigarette, thus setting fire to his trousers. Good word thus, when did you use it last? Go use thus today, I dare you. Luckily he was wearing cotton blue jeans and not polyester, which as you know burns and shrinks as it burns. So his blue jeans caught fire around his ankles, and the smoke woke him up. As shift leader I let sleeping dogs pooh in peace, though we did wonder what was keeping him, it could have just been constipation which is the curse of shift workers, and people who take lots of pain killers, so now you know.

Flash came back to show us his smouldering ash, or was it ass? We all had a laugh, and then I had my sandwiches which were always red Leicester on ham which I microwave as it was 4am after all which was my usual lunch break time.

So you have had an insight into my world my life, my tired life that was shift working. You are always tired when you work shifts, so have sympathy for your nurse friends and store workers. Give them chocolate and kisses, though the chocolate will probably be the more appreciated.

It takes longer to think, to add up and to move when you are tired, your whole body can ache. That’s why doctors on night shift get people to double check dosage, or if they don’t they should. 5 seconds thought before actions can save a lifetime of trouble. Another thing affected by tiredness are your ears. You say “what” a lot when you are tired, as if you are suddenly deaf, mind you teenagers always say “what”. You are in a different time zone when you are tired. You are 10 to 20 seconds out of synch with the real world, with GMT, the Got More Time in bed people, than you.

My life has been a life of shifts, if you do the horrible hours it makes you more employable. So after all the nights shifts I spent years doing the 12 to 8pm shift. Which led to years of instant meals with MSG in them which could have caused my unplanned quadruple heart bypass. Even though I never used oil just oven baked.   

My father was lucky in that his GP, Dr Hickman said he should not work night shifts, so he didn’t have to. So he just worked up to 16 hours a day in the heat of the steel works, The District Iron and Steel in Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. But being a worker like my dad did bond us even closer. Though my feet were never as smelly, as I didn’t sweat as much.

Well I hope I haven’t tired you all out by this talk of tiredness. I hope you respect the security guard walking around too, they tend to work really long hours. One day they may just save your life, that’s what they are there for. So blow Phil and Taz on security a kiss next time you pass by their station, it’ll make their day. Because speaking from experience if they don’t know the answer then they will know a man who does know the answer. Obviously it won’t be me, I’ll be fast asleep in bed, assuming I’m not slapping on the Movelat  or making Heinz soup at 3am for me and the cat.

With the help of God and Two Policemen

With the help of God and Two Policemen

November 24, 2017

With the help of God and Two Policemen was what my mother used to say. So today we may have just finally found a house. In fact two popped up. I went for a walk to test out the area and its ok, not perfect but ok. Its big enough for us and hopefully they'll take our offer.

If we don't get one we may get the other, but things are never straight forward in house buying. My wife fell in love with another house last weekend which is in a better area but I said it was not worth the asking price, and she decided to offer what I thought it  was worth. Which was rejected.

Another house which is in the best area for us but the owner is totally unrealistic about the price, when we viewed it I told the agent the cost of all the work needed on it. The owner was asking what was the correct price BUT only if all the work had been done on it, but owners believe agents, and then waste 6 months before selling it at a reasonable price.

We had another house like that where the owner rejected our offer but now 6 months later his asking price is near what we offered 6 months ago. Only the family no longer likes it.

Other houses we bid on but where we live is very hot property market so the nice houses go in a week. So even if you have the money you may still not get it. Because you need the help of God and Two Policemen as my mother used to say.

I would love to live in the house with a sauna in B17 which you can find on rightmove.co.uk or in the brand new houses down the road in the same street which you can find on rightmove, should take you 20 seconds to find it if you are good on the keyboard. But that would take a lottery win, or for you all to buy my books on Amazon.

But my mother also said God is Good, so who knows maybe a wealthy arab decides to invest in my teaching English via comedy idea and then I could afford to buy a new 5 bed house with garage. I'd also buy a puppy dog. My daughter wants a labrador, but as I always tend to wear shades people might think I'm blind.Me, I think perhaps a Portuguese water dog might be nice.

 But to be honest just living to see my girls grow up and become a Dr and maybe an actress or writer that would be enough. Because the only wealth worth having is Health, and my dad said that.

Weary of Words

Weary of Words ©

By Michael Casey

I don’t know about you but I find somethings boring, and what bores me the most is snap, no not the card game we played as kids, but verbal snap. You say the wrong word or misspoke as Americans call it, though LIE would be a much better word as far as some Politicians are concerned, then somebody slaps you down. It’s not clever and kills conversation. Yes the interviewer has to point out mistakes, or errors, especially with Politicians but the net result is you have a battle where none should exist. Just give the Politician enough rope and they will hang themselves. We are all watching Zimbabwe right now, so I’ll leave that there.

An interview is just that, the questioner should just ask questions, and allow the talker to talk. We had Michael Parkinson over here and all the Hollywood stars said he was the best. Why? Because he let them talk and  he did his research. Nowadays everybody wants to nitpick and try and prove just how much cleverer than the interviewee they are. I’m doing you a favour interviewing you, you are not worthy of me, I was on MTV talking rubbish for 3 years, I was an ex-bodybuilder who became a star of MTV, so why should I waste my time on you. 

What if you spent 9 months in space and did 10 space walks. That’s nothing compared to my sex life all over MTV, why am I bothering talking to you?

The interviewer wants to talk about himself, instead of the guest. The guest mis-speaks and the host is ever so eager to pick him up on it, and wastes 10 minutes on it. A simple do you want to correct yourself is enough, just let the speaker speak. Instead of boring us about when you were living in a housing estate for a week on benefits, but you sneaked out to a 5 star hotel once the cameras were switched off.  It’s supposed to be a chat show not a monologue about the Star’s sex life and size of his muscles, who only lets the guest actually speak for 2 mins out of the 10 min slot.

Sadly there are too many Personality interviewers who have no personality nor ability whatsoever. The viewers or the listeners want to hear what the guests say. Maybe it’s because I grew up with radio, 20 years of it, constantly hearing  quality programming 50 to 30 years ago, so I’ve been spoiled. A good host brings out the guests and coaxes their stories from them, they are the story NOT the interviewer. If you watch as much tv news as I do, and I still listen to radio as well, you’ll see the whole spread of ability. We have somebody called Alan Titchmarsh here in UK, originally he is a gardener, yes plants and stuff, but I’m also seen him interview people as well as his tv garden show. Now he is really good, why? Because he lets people talk and he is very gentle, he has patience, why ? Because he lets things grow. Let it grow, let it grow let it blossom let it grow as Eric Clapton sung on 461 Ocean Boulevard. Then like in love, Love Grows where my Rosemary Goes. 

If you like verbal snap then you’ll continue watching and listening to inane rubbish. Me, I’d like to hear the story, whatever the story is, be it about world record for farting, or the latest stink in Parliament. I want the facts and I want the interviewer to be like a breath of fresh air, clearing the air and the noise to give me facts straight between the eyes. Not just being a total bore, a boring old fart, or an even more boring young  fart who is also a body builder.

Words matter and they should be heard, perhaps the Speaker of the House of Commons should have a chat show, now HE really is excellent. You do know he has Mace at the end of his desk, little wonder they do what he says. I would love to hear him, and it would not be on RT either.  Tonight with John Bercow on Radio4 would be great, his catch phrase is Order, Order by the way. Perhaps it should be dinner with John Bercow, well that’s for the future, HE is not available for 5 more years. I am available it could be Michael Casey has a Subway sandwich with anybody who’ll pay for my meal.