Looking Back

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

LOOKING back

Looking Back ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I did not know what I was going to talk about 2 mins ago, but while my chicken is cooking I’ll start on Looking Back. I spotted somebody was reading an old piece with an old photo from 2013, where I said triple when six months later I discovered it was a quadruple bypass, just in case you think I am either a liar, or have a bad memory. Now where was I, I remember now. Are you in Japan reading my stuff in English or on the Space Station, or just Barron Trump on holiday with the family? I’ll accept any and all readers, though your mum’s Christmas trees are very scary,like from a science fiction film.

We all, look back, especially when it’s a flash in the pan, doctor’s tell you to, trust them they are doctors. But I won’t talk about that today, even though some of you might say that everything I say is a load of, looking back.

Well I’ve had my chicken and some brown bread, so I’ve returned to look back with you all. I was looking back today as we sorted through a pile of stuff, just visually not actually. You wouldn’t believe what you unearth when you move house.A pile of old school books from over 50 years ago, my Primary school stuff plus some of my brothers’. It will be abandoned or even binned, I’ve been the storage locker for 30 years, now finally they will be discarded. Maybe I should photo everything, I spent several years scanning in my Print Room days. But you have to let go of stuff, everything has it’s sell by date, even people, I’m in the use by date part of my life now. So I’ll be a Hedonist before the undertaker has me, but reality laughs at that self delusion.

Looking back does bring back memories, my Angel watercolour reminds me of the 21 years at the market research company into alcohol sales. Yes really, and yes they knew all there was to know about research into alcohol, and they did enjoy a few drinks too. It was my leaving present. But it doesn’t suit the new house, so it may be banished to a church or our attic. We also stumbled over a graphic tablet I bought for my daughter so she could draw directly to the computer, yes the dotting dad, if you have kids then love them that’s what I’ve always believed. My angels are teenagers now and can draw really well, because we never allowed games when they were smaller. They became film buffs from an early age instead.

Speaking of films there were dvds galore too, so our Polish neighbours got a stack of them for their kids to enjoy. You can get Polish on the dvds too if you just push the right selection on the menu. The number of times you watch those dvds over and over and over again as your kids grow up, you could almost lip sync with all the animals from Over the Hedge. And yes grown ups love cartoons more than kids do, I suppose that is why I write cartoons made from words. There must be a gap in the market for all my shorts, maybe in Japan and Korea, but that’s looking forward not backwards.

So objects have connections and associations, your girlfriend may keep your old ties, a woman wearing a tie has a certain style. Or she may just use them to tie you to the bed with, though I’ll just leave that idea stuck to the bedpost with your chewing gum gently losing its flavour overnight.

Whatever you find reminds and touches you, it is the Past itself reminding you of your own self. This was part of you, this was important to you, and now it acts as a reminder of your own past self. But objects are like Bus Passes, they allow travel through past lives, and are a day trip to a former self, but the ticket expires. So the tickets, the objects are discarded, sometimes like litter, sometimes stored to be forgotten.

Sometimes an object can become a Genie and grant you a wish to the past. You find a old girlfriend’s phone number inside the tie, and you spend the night tying each other up. Or playing Ludo or is it Tiddlywinks?

I found my old chess set, a small set in a wooden box, I have it for nearly 50 years now. I beat my friend once, literally once, you try beating a PhD at anything, he’s a bit of a Polyglot. He pretends that I’m 1/10 as smart as him, I am 10 times bigger than him, that is the only true ratio. As you look back at your life you remember lots of things and the pain does lessen though my PhD friend still says his heart stopped when I punched him once, as in literally once.

The weekend brings December so we’ll all be thinking of friends and family and memories galore. I spent 3 Christmases in County Kerry in 73, 77 and 78 I seem to remember those Christmases were Magical, teaching them the Dance of the Dying Fly with my 17stone aunt. You can  google to see what I’m talking about. That’s just one memory, as well as my Uncle Patrick in Cromane telling me I’d grown an inch or two when I bumped my head the cow shed door. All because I’d given up sugar in my coffee. It was a only a few years later that Uncle Danny from Boston told us that the cowshed was in fact the house the 7 of them were born in.

So many memories I share as I talk to you all, I hope I can carry on carrying on with the stories. I hope that when I look back in the Future I can say that my Looking Back was worth it, not just for me but for you. Even if we have to tie each other to the bed post, as you know I’ll try anything once, and frequently if I enjoy it, telling stories that is. What were you thinking of?

 ************

my mum gave me this 10p print 50 years ago that's why i love paintings

The Dinner is in the Oven getting Burnt

The Dinner is in the Oven Getting Burnt ©

By

Michael Casey

So why this title, The Dinner is in the Oven Getting Burnt? Well I’m still coughing and spluttering and waiting for a man to arrive, two men in fact, to do two different things. I won’t tell you, you can use your imagination. If you see a gate open don’t you wonder why or just pass by? Well I wonder and then I can even make up a whole story, depending on what kind of gate it is. Though we may paint our new garden gate but that’s another story that led to a wall, no Donald Trump is not our neighbour.

Events happen, as do things, and they sidetrack you, speaking of which it’s time for dinner, breakfast was 5 hours ago, the cat has been fed twice in that time, so now it’s time to feed myself, or I’ll get really ratty. So pause while I eat, The Eurythmics are singing so listen to them while I eat some salmon steaks.

Well the smell of burning was everywhere so I thought I’d burnt my dinner, in fact it was just some oil in a tray at the bottom of my oven. As for my salmon, that was perfect, 20 mins in the oven for perfect baked salmon. It’s supposed to be good for me, so I eat it, if it tasted horrible I would not eat it at all. I know somebody who’s lost a lot of weight and I get advice, about diet, but frankly Quality of Life is Everything, Quantity is just a load of old fish cakes. Besides if you told me what to write or how to write or gave me any advice in Writing, do you think I’d listen? I had a play accepted for Production back in 1989, so why should I ever listen. So please no food advice either, though me email will be full of rubbish by the end of the day.

As I sip my tea, what are you drinking? I hope you like it, Lech, Boris Gregorgi have just nipped in to borrow our potato peeler, Totoro uses her best nail. So sat on Boris’ head like a Russian hat Totoro is going up the woods to help make a new batch of Vodka, it will become the 2019 batch. She likes variety in her life, it explains where do you go to my lovely when I’m, all tucked up in bed, as Peter my neigbour used to sing about his cat.

I want to talk about why we can all get so engrossed with something that we forget to eat, though I never forget to pee, with my kidneys I really need to, but we are so engrossed we get tunnel vision. In my case it’ll be following the news, or fixing Windows 10 again, though it seems to be ok lately. I won’t say any more or hackers will be coming through my door. With Due Respect, only fellow illiterates ever believe such stuff, I have plenty of my own diseases without anybody telling me that on their deathbed they are sending me money. The only way to send me money is by buying the books on Amazon, or if you are Jeff Bezos you know where I live so you can do it in person.

Jeff Bezos has just had a coughing fit and left phlegm all over his rug, or maybe it was his cat, as the colour matches his cat’s colour. No doubt he’ll email me and say I’ve won a prize, only it’ll get deleted along with all the other fake emails I get. See while I explain all this my dinner is getting burnt, so it’s a good job I’ve eaten it already.

Though Jeff is a good cook, his Bezos beans on toast is fantastic. He times the beans to perfection, using a Russian Military Automatic Watch he bought on Ebay, sorry I mean Amazon. He cooks the beans so they are about to explode, then sprinkes garlic sauces from his left hand on to them. He holds his nose with his right hand while he is doing this. The toast he cooks on an open fire with a copper fork with a wooden handle, Santa gave it to him. He believes in Santa, he may be a rich man, but he still believes in Santa.Then he gave 2billion to Charity, so Santa gave him a 2^nd fork, donate one, get one, donate 2 get two.

Jeff posted me the beans on toast in a silver foil box, Tim Peak had left it when he was working his Christmas job at the Amazon warehouse. If Tim Peak saves up all his Christmas pay he’ll hitch a ride to the Space Station again. If you remember my Spaceman and the Arch-Angel story you’ll understand, Jeff Bezos does, he wants Tim to read the stories not a Russian Cosmonaut. So if Tim Peak reads from the Amazon book list Jeff will sponsor Tim.

Sorry I had to answer the door, our Polish friend came by, he’s from Cracow, his dream is to go and buy a house in Cracow, with his lawyer girl. But I was talking about beans, I just emailed Jeff Bezos to share a secret, jeffbezossecretemailaddress@buyallmichaelcasey’s16bookbooks.org   

If he adds beaten eggs to the beans and garlic it tastes even nicer, but he will need to hold both hands over his nose later, though he can turn the central heating off. He can buy a face mask on Ebay, sorry I mean Amazon, and pretend he is a storm trooper. Amazon does have great deals on toilet paper, I can testify to that.

Now while I’ve been droning on if you have been following me then your dinner will have burnt. I burnt my bacon 50+ years ago as I was playing  in the garden, in those days we had a flint lock thing to light the gas with. Electronic ignition and even disposable cigarette lighters did not exist. So you’ve had the History lesson while your dinner burns in the oven.

The moral of the story, just as Star Trek always had a moral, live long and prosper, enjoy your life, but don’t be like  King Alfred and burn your cakes. Do less, enjoy food more. 

if you are wodering why

If you are wondering why I have people in my stories who are not perfect, indeed far from perfect, then just look at my photo. Obviously I am much better looking that George Clooney, but I drink instant coffee, none of your fancy stuff, and I drink from a mug. I don't have any money unlike George Clooney either, not even the tips he gives to folks in the hotels he stays at. I was Front of House staff at Crowne Plaza Birmingham NEC for 3 years, 2002 to 2005 so I  do know all about hotel work.

So why do I have the great unwashed as they can be called as "heroes". Because I am one of them, so stand downwind or at least 2 metres away from your screen. I am one of the least of the brethren, though having read any of stuff, and there are 4100+pages of stuff over the 16 books, on Amazon
 https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
or 1,400,000 Words or so, well you'll say I really am a stone that the builder rejected, or should have let his dog pee on.
But that is your opinion, just as "YOU wrote that!" in utter disbelief as if I'm dog mess on a shoe, that is just some of the remarks I've got alone the way. It's not a Via Dolorosa but you need to be very thick skinned if you want to be a writer. So the only path is to ignore all comments good or bad, and write what you like, what you love to write and what amuses you. And then hope that  folks will agree with you that you are a good storyteller.

I can remember watching the Storyteller with John Hurt on tv back in 1991 or so.  I just wish I were as good as him in that show. I also used to listen to my dad telling stories, yes repeating himself but I just loved the experience. And me and my dad were very close, and that's how I ended up with a wife, checkout Padre Pio and Me for details.

All in all I am an Altruist, I  won't claim to be anything else, so it's instinctive for me to want to help or encourage people which may explain why I was so good at hotel work, and then later as an ESOL English teacher. Then if you follow that through, I want my fellow "rejects" to win the day, I don't want arrogant patronising smug people to win or control me, which explains why I too detest Donald Trump. As my mother said when I was 4 or 5, you are as good as anybody. And I think the entire family proved that academically in my  generation, and our kids are doing just the same too. So never never never put down Kerry folk, nor Kerry mixed with Shanghai either. We may come from very humble stock, but without stock there is no goodness.

So when I write I add the stock, the goodness to the pot, and that comes from all that was poured into me by my mother and father.  From every person I have met along the way, great and small all of them  God's creatures. You learn from everybody you meet, and if you are too arrogant not to realise that, then you are missing ingredients in your own life. I'm not pretending to be  humble, life has humbled me along the way with the good and bad and sad things in my life. However the people who have been the kindest have been the little people, and I don't just mean the Fairies. And it's because I have observed all these little people that I have material to write about. However when I meet the Big People I will hold my hand out and take their kindness, and then I can share it with the little people.

So much for my dream, I've dumped my stuff all over the Internet just in case The Grim Reaper gets me first, and then all my words would have been lost. So now you know. I also know about chronic pain, so  I bore you all about that too.  So I'll finish now as I need some fizzy pop to drink, as I rarely drink alcohol,  though Stella Artois is nice when I do drink.

Support the little people in your life because they won't fly away to safety, they will come running to rescue you. And that more or less explains me. By the way, it is also better to pretend to be stupid, because some people cannot cope if your light is bigger than theirs, and that is reverse logic  for you, or have I got that backwards.

Michael Casey    25 Nov 2018

Down and Out

Down and Out ©

By

Michael Casey

Well the flu is leaving me like a receding tide, just leaving snot stains on my nose and on my sleeve where I could not find my tissue in time. So I decided to put some Genesis on, starting over the writing again, only I picked the wrong track which means I’m listening to Down and Out from And Then There Were Three Album. It does not matter It gives me another direction to point at. Yes, I’ve been Down and Out a few times in my life, but I always get back up again, and yes just before Dawn is the worst point. So you just have to dust yourself off and try again, and again and again and again and again. If you are one of my readers in Russia you know all about not giving in, you had the Nazi bastards in your living room and in your cellar, but you beat them, you beat them, Mother Russia beat them.

When you are down it can be hard so depressing, so you have to brighten your life up. Get out of the house and take a walk in the park, watch the tulips grow, watch the little old ladies walk in the snow. Go to the chip shop and try chatting up the girl behind the counter, only you never saw her large wedding ring, and her husband is as big as an Ox carrying in not one but two sacks of potatoes at a time. Then her gay brother tries chatting you up instead. Life is strange, but at least you got out the house and talked to a human voice, not shouting at the radio and its vacuous presenters who are cloned from plastic coffee cups polluting the world.

So you end up having a gay friend, your first ever gay friend, but at least you get free chips, and the Ox of a man likes you too, because you are kind to his gay brother in law. Sometimes good things come when you least expect them, Tim confides in you, he says you are so nice you could be gay too. A compliment you’d rather not have, so you boast about your large collection of magazines under your mattress. So Tim sniggers, so you show his some, just to prove how straight you are.

This has unintended consequences, Tim looks at the naked girls and says what kind of look or fashion would suit them best, before they are fully undressed. Otherwise he’s not interested. You joke and say you’d like a job taking such photos. Tim reveals a friend of his, a gay friend is in actual fact a Fashion Photographer, not a very famous one, but nevertheless that’s his job. Then you finish eating your chips.

So life is hard, but you’ve made a new friend just when you thought you’d had your chips, and life was rubbing salt in your wounds, and you were ready for that final drink of vinegar. Tim said he’d take you somewhere special. So you caught two buses in the Autumn chill, then you came to a warehouse in Tipton. You were at Flash Harry’s it was his fashion photographer’s place.

Just pretend you are gay, instructs Tim. So you pretend you are gay as Tim leans into you, as close as an Arab when talking. The British have a personal space that is much bigger, but different nationalities have different person spaces. Then you see Flash Harry taking photos of naked girls, it’s too good to be true, but you are gay so you cannot make any crass comments. After an hour, you realise that posing is not just standing there, and you appreciate what Harry is trying to do.

Tim lies that you are a bit of a snapper yourself and have a large portfolio, he’s talking about under your mattress. So Flash Harry hands you a camera while he puts the kettle on. Mary from the Dairy asks how do you want her, so you bite your lip. But once the camera is between you and her it feels different, just ask any real photographer. So you spend 10 minutes taking photos. Flash Harry comes back with the teas and Mary from the Dairy puts a dressing gown on.

Over tea they bring your snaps up on the monitor. And guess what, you have the gift. So there you are, you were down and nearly out but you found a way out via the chip shop. So you go to a gay club,by the Jester in Birmingham to celebrate your new career as a Fashion Photographer. You meet loads of the gay community, men and women, and straight girls who enjoy the best music in gay bars.

Everything is coming up roses, but there always cave men out here, so you are bullied for being gay, despite your protests, but you have to protect Tim, he’s smaller than you, and it’s the very least you can do after his friendship has lead to a new life for you. Run you scream to Tim, run I’ll hold them back. Tim wants to stay but he runs as your curse him to. You get a beating and it could have continued, but out of the darkness the Ox appears, he’s moonlighting as security nearby. He saves you,but as for the cavemen they have had their chips as they get thrown into the Canal, we have more canals than Venice here in Birmingham, not a lot of people know that.

After that your life is great, news spreads, the chip eater took a beating for his gay friend, and a Ox a man mountain appeared to save the day. Flash Harry makes you a partner in the business, you really do have the gift. No need for the portfolio under your mattress, all day long you are taking photos of naked women. But now you realise that a women is a person, and you feel almost ashamed. Mary from the Dairy becomes a friend, and then more. She takes your photo naked just so you can feel what it feels like. You hate it, and delete the photos. But the love for her keeps on growing.

So the moral of the story is, have some chips and add some salt to your life, life is not all vinegar, even on your darkest day. And no you cannot take naked photos of me, not unless your name is Mary from the Dairy.