It aint half hot, mum

It Aint half hot, mum ©

By Michael Casey

The title refers to a top comedy show from long ago, based on an Army Entertainers group, nowadays it would not be Politically Correct, but I’m using the title because it is just too hot, and I want to test your attitudes and tolerances. Round the Horne was a top radio show from 1965 to 1968 on the BBC, and no it’s nothing to do with sex, it did have much innuendo and Camp comedy and so forth. It was ahead of its time and the Law too. You can find it online, and you will laugh like a drain, if you don’t then maybe you should not be reading me either. I am very eclectic and have broad tastes, as well and a fat belly to prove it, though I look 25 kilos less than I am. I weigh more  than Tyson Fury but he is 11 inches taller. So don’t ever make me angry or the hulk or is it the bulk in me will show you my fists of fury, I am no Saxon, but you have been warned.

It’s aways best to amuse your reader, so hello to my reader trapped in the toilet, I can hear him banging on the bathroom door, or is it my neighbour next door, Taylor Swift is not her cup of tea, she wouldn’t even give her 8/10. One reviewer did just that, and now she’s getting death threats, come on Taylor stop dusting my high shelves and tell folks to get a life, and let her alone. None of my readers would threaten others, you did not love Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England, so die. This is ridiculous, almost as bad as Taylor Swift’s dusting skills, I only keep her on because she needs the exercise, otherwise she’d be as  fat as me. Ok, Taylor stand where the Christmas tree will be and sing your songs, and I’ll give you a left over donut, they are a bit stale, but Totoro our cat won’t eat them.

Now Taylor is ever so happy, but in between songs she has to sew some buttons on my shirt, no not because my fat belly  is so fat but because my shirts are so old. Ok, the Guinness advert is over, so Taylor can continue.

I’ll leave Taylor alone now, Beyonce is coming around later to cook for me, so I don’t want them to meet. They both think they are my only home help, it’s better to keep them both sweet. Jay Zee knows of course, Snoop Dogg told him at Bible class, they are good friends of mine. If you Google Kenny Everett you will discover video galore, from 40 years ago some of it, I still feel 20 in my head, but when I reference somebody I realise the years are going by.

I’m borrowing the style, you can also Google The Two Ronnies, if you think I’m rubbish then watch them instead, but don’t tell the Germans, which leads to Faulty Towers a John Cleese classic. Also did you know  John Cleese went to Downing College Cambridge University, my brother went there too, no, not on a school trip, or to clean the drains, he did Economics there in the  70s. Another brother went to Queens Oxford. Yes, I am just the Silly Irriot in the family, though I have a Shanghai connection, not French, which leads you to Benny Hill, and yes I’m closer to him, just size of my waist that is. I do look like a corpulent version of Dave Allen, with all my digits, but with plenty of  scars.

There’s enough Comedy Education for you, now let me open the door for Beyonce. She does bring a marching brass band with her, so they fill me garden, as she dances around the kitchen making me cake. She is so good to me I don’t deserve it, I blame her for my waistline, but she donated an old pair of her pregnancy pants to me, they wer a perfect fit. So I have my cake and eat it, while wearing the pants, or maybe there’s a message in there, like I’m PANTS, which means RUBBISH in England. Though she’s too nice to even think of that. She did show me a few dance moves too, I tried them out, but fainted. Nobody in the band wanted to revive me, but old Mrs Taylor who was visiting for the cake, no relation to Taylor Swift, she pushed her Zimmer frame to one side and locked lips with me. Even at 88 she is such a great kisser, she had 8 children you know, 32 grandchildren, as well as a pussy called Fatcat.

It took 4 members of the brass band to pull old Mrs Taylor off me, she’s been a widow of 10 years now, so any chance to lock lips is too much temptation for her. But I’m still alive and my teeth are so clean too, thanks to her. When all the baking was done and my lawn was ever so flat now, thanks to all the marching, rather like one of those Quadrangles at an Ox/Bridge college. An American tourist once asked how to you get the grass like that? Love, and 300 years of rolling was the answer, but thanks to Beyonce’s marching brass band my humble lawn can look any Oxbridge quadrangle in the  face. Everybody tucked in and as they left Beyonce reminded me that her Visual Album was streaming on Disney today. Don’t Miss It, as if I would. I’ll even give you more marks out of ten than Taylor Swift got I shouted as Jay Zee rolled up in a 2CV, he’s so humble. Well to tell the truth only a 2CV  will squeeze past the parked cars in our street.

I had a cuppa then I’d be  ready for Ellen D, she’s my 3^rd home help, she has a very strong stomach, she throws me over her shoulder like a continental soldier and carries me upstairs where she strips me naked and washes me in the bath. That’s why she needs the strong stomach. I do splash a lot too, so she wears a plastic mac, nothing else just a plastic mac, as she bathes me. I tell her  it will be good for her Humility. She practices her interview questions with me as I have a good soak. Ellen D naked apart from a plastic mac, sat on my toilet asking me hard questions, like what is my favourite colour, and do I take milk in my tea, while I’m naked in my bath. She isn’t put off by all my bypass scars either, or my very hairy left shoulder, she keeps on asking me those questions as  I splash away.  If only she were Korean, she could be my next wife, though me an Ellen do actually share  a bath. Or rather when I get out with her help, I shake myself all over her, like a buffalo shaking off the rain.  Then I get dressed, but as my water is still hot Ellen climbs in, handing me the plastic mac, so she can have a quick soak before she has to do yet another show.

Now before you go, I need to tell you none  of this really happened, apart from all of it that did actually happen. Fact and fiction combined, I do have very clean high shelves and a very flat lawn and I do blow my own trumpet. So I hope this too hot to write today story fits the bill for all  of you. I’m going to watch Hotel del Lune K drama, a hotel for ghosts. Yes I’ve fallen in love with  Lee Ji-eun …..

Trump the Reverse Churchill

Trump the Reverse Churchill

WE all know our History

Churchill stood up to the Nazis

yes we all know about other stuff, but learn from All History

not just your favourite bits

Who invented Concentration Camps by the way

The British to beat the Boers in South Africa

But back to Trump and Churchill

Trump inherited a good economy

But he only takes Praise for Any Upside

And denies knowledge or says he is NOT responsible for any downside

Where does the BUCK stop?

Not me, I’m only a trumped up salesman

who ran away from multiple bankruptcies worth $3,000,000,000

Who hides everything via the Law

and now thinks he is a King, so he is the Law

But he is NOT, the cat is out of the bag

Everybody needs to take a day off on Election Day

and vote him OUT

Churchill saved Britain, but he was still voted OUT

So follow Britain’s lead, and vote out your would be King, who is the reverse of Churchill

Churchill went on to win Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953

Trump won’t get that ever

because he never reads let alone writes

It is time to put away foolish things and return to Nobility

Trump has trashed USA, that’s the World’s opinion

But they had to put up with the Bully with the loaded gun

Now he is naked, so vote him out

The Emperor’s clothes have all peeled away

All corruption must be washed away by a Tsunami of VOTES

In 2 years time in 2022 you can correct the new guy

But now the ship of state is sinking

Why have you allowed and put up with this FOOL for so long

Or is a Simpson episode the New Reality

*************

Political comment, I’ve watched Politics for 50 years now, but never never never

has such madness ever appeared. Trump should be made to resign 15th August

is feast of the Assumption……

a trip to the Dentist from 5 years ago

A Trip to the Dentist (c)

By Michael Casey

My daughter decided that her teeth were not good enough so she had braces fitted, so now we have something to tease her about, for a few years. I told her that her uncle had a gap between his teeth, it meant you'd travel a lot, that's what grannie, my mum used to say. It's true too my brother was like a gypsie, travelling far and wide. As for my daughter, I think she's been to Shanghai 6 times now, so her gap between her teeth has proved she's an international traveller. So once the gap disappears thanks to the braces maybe I'll have to pay for less international air tickets, or grannie in Shanghai will start to visit us instead.

So as the trip to the dentist, or should I say orthodontist was on a school day I had to attend with her, which feels like a waste of my time, but they do have BBC news channel on tv in the waiting room. So I walked all the way to her school and waited in the sunshine outside. That used to be no big deal but post quadruple heart bypass with arthritis returning I have to pace myself. So I walked up the hill, then had a rest while I watched the traffic and enjoyed the pollution before heading downhill again towards the school.

Now it is a known fact that if you stay still in one position long enough you will see the whole world, a bit like how mariners navigate if you think about it. So I stood at the corner of the street waiting for my daughter to leave school, and who did I see over the road on his phone, only Mr Singh who used to own the corner shop where I used to live 30 years ago. It appears his hard work has paid off and he now lives in a £750,000 house. He is actually immortalised in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, but he'll have to buy a copy of the book to see if he can spot himself or his actions.

Pretty Indian girls jogged past in one direction then another, they may have even been Mr Singh's granddaughters. Then I could see a gardener walking towards me with his “napsac” on his back, and his tools strapped to his body. It was my neighbour Brian, so I said hello and explained what I was doing hanging around a street corner, looking like a well-dressed criminal casing  or should I say Caseying a house. Though I do look at www.rightmove.co.uk often, dreaming of the day I can have a bigger house in the posh area near my daughters' school.

My daughter emerged from her school, thankfully it’s in the top 1% of schools in the country, it’s a grammar school in all but name. In fact it’s so good the head has been asked to go over the field and assist the boy's school, so she's now the head of both schools. Me and my daughter had plenty of time, we could have even walked to the dentists, though I soon decided my body could not cope with that, so we sat and chatted at the bus stop. The bus sailed past as we talked, so we waited 10 minutes then the next one arrived.

My daughter told me that she discovered that her orthodontist went to her school, my daughter was also musing about being a dentist. I just told her only do it if she could hold her breath, a lifetime of having bad breath in your face, no wonder they wear masks. So while my daughter had the braces tightened I watched BBC news channel, though I did think Kwickfit might have been closer, it was similar work, spanners and so forth.

Time passed quickly, my daughter told me she'd been away 25 mins, I thought it was only 10, so I must have been enjoying myself, I just hope my daughter did too. Looking at my watch I suggested we dive into the pub on the  way back to school. They had a meal deal, two meals for  £10 I had spotted it on the outward journey. Though it turned out we'd only have time for a drink and a huge pack of crisps each. On the bus back to school/pub the driver was unique. He had curly hair and big dangly ear rings on, plus stick on nails and a bra. He was in drag. Or that may have been his normal attire.

Once in the pub I needed the toilet, I couldn't use the toilet in the church opposite the dentist as they locked them up. Toilets only available on Sundays. I was tempted to pee in the Holy Water fonts. Instead on the bus I just dared not sit down, in case the extra pressure caused me to erupt like a water font. So finding the pub toilet was like being in a haunted house going up and down and round and around, while trying to keep my legs crossed at the same time. I was relieved to say the least. Then my daughter had followed my lead, so I had to look for her too, a fool searching for a fool.

We waited to be served and the barmaid raised half an eyebrow, it was not quite like a Saint Trinians girl with Arthur Dayley, but my daughter is very tall. As time was now pressing we both had a drink and some crisps, before my daughter grabbed her school bag and dashed back to school. As for me I jumped on the next bus and went back home via Aldi, as I did need to buy some sprouts for the wife.

me in Malta in April 2013 my last holiday

A winter's day from 2009

A Winter’s Day

By michaelgcasey  (that's me)

                     

As I look from my window I see the blue blue sky. Birds dive and soar better than any circus acrobat, they are painting a picture with their wings. Tiny tiny wisps of white cloud remain, like left over candy floss on a child's face, like white whiskers on a very old woman’s face.

Curtains are pulled open and windows are  inched open too, daylight and fresh air to bedrooms shuttered down against a cold winters night. People stand  and yarn and scratch too as they struggle to wake up fully. Then one or two realise they don’t wear any pyjamas so they hurry away from their windows, their wives, their husbands, their lovers laughing at their stupidity. At least old Mrs Jones may have had a thrill.

The sounds of morning, of daylight rise. Slowly the sound of the milk float, the sounds of milk bottles clinking together as the milkman does his rounds, this way and that. The sound of of Mrs Murphy walking her dog, the dog panting in the cold winters air. He doesn’t have a sheepskin coat to keep him warm. He has his own fur coat but this winter is a cold one, so Goldie the dog could do with an extra coat too.

People dance down their door steps to  their car, nagging children to hurry up as its cold. Children write their name in the frost on their neighbours’ cars before being told off. John the neigborhood jogger rushes past, the kids stick their tongue out at him, he does the same, they all laugh, only for John to miss his stride slip on an icy patch and fall to the ground hurting his elbow as he does so. Still laughing the kids get in the car and are taken off to see grandpa, John is rubbing his elbow and his bum as he gets up gingerly.

The lads, we are so hard, appear from their homes to noisily attack the day, Sunday is for shouting, but not too loud, as they have headaches and hangovers, did they really chat up that ugly fat girl, but they gave her his brother’s mobile number and not his own. They stride off to the news agent for The News Of The World, just for the sports pages, their mum's can read the scandal section and the horoscopes.

One or two black people wearing their Sunday best pass by on their way to church, a throwback to decades before when people still went to church and when people still wore their Sunday best. People used to dress up to go to the theatre too, but now, but now.

I reach for the kettle and have my first coffee of the day, coffee with milk and no sugar, the way English people have coffee, not the American way, just the soft English way. My kids want toast and peanut butter, or cheese on toast, so my 3 slices of toast become one slice of toast as I feed my girls. I nag them to put slippers and socks on, yes we have nice carpet but in the winter’s weather they are always getting colds, so I nag them, I nag them. My wife nags them in Chinese too, or Shanghai dialect. The phone rings, its Germany calling, or rather my wife’s best friend who’s calling from  Germany, the cackle or hens, of chickens clucking is the noise these 2 Shanghai girls make, as they talk in Shanghai, when are we coming back to Germany is the message. Cluck cluck cluck.

The sky has changed the blue has changed to grey, will the snow return, its been a snowy winter over here in Birmingham, some parts of the country have had the worse weather in 20years. The children have quietened down, my wife has relented and put a nature program on the tv for them. As for me I was going to try and write a poem but instead you see what’s before you. I’m half listening to Mike and The Mechanics a cd I’ve loaded to the computer, “give me the simple life” he sings, I suppose my life is a simple life too. But if we can see  the poetry in life then we enjoy the simple things which make up all are lives. All our lives are  poetry if only we take the time to watch and listen, while we’re making toast for the kids

p.s. This piece was from last Winter.

 the slim look post quadruple heart bypass in 2015

a Tsunami of my Words

ALL in ONE place Translations Galore

Posted bymichaelgcasey15/05/2020Posted inUncategorized

ALL in ONE place Translations Galore

OUT이 아닌 300Download

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KOREAN Quick StoriesDownload

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bbu-in-koreanDownload

all-for-koreaDownload

outec9db4-ec9584eb8b8c-300-1Download

Arabic Altogether NowALL for KoreaKOREAN Quick StoriesWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015Wydanie polskie Still Alive 2015 – Copywin Wiersze dla wszystkichVietnamese Translation The Butcher The Baker and The UndertakerTURKISH tRANSLATION OF bbuThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationsspanish-bbuSpanish BBUportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019PORTUGUESE BBU2019polish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translationschinese translation BBUchina-bbu-converted-1China BBU-convertedChina BBUbengali-translation-of-bbuBengali Translation of BBUbbu-russian-translation-microsoft-wordbbu-italian (2)bbu-in-arabicbbu-germanBBU UrduBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU ITALIANBBU IndonesianBBU in KOREANBBU in Indian HindiBBU in HebrewBBU in HebrewBBU in ArabicBBU in Indian HindipersianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019В поисках индийской принцессыWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015win Wiersze dla wszystkichThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationspolish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translations페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには – CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015   

It is nice to see every day where you all are as you read my stories

It is over 80 places worldwide

I’ve covered all the major language groups and you can all buy my Original English

on Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

I only read emails in ENGLISH with a decent subject line and I never click links

Junk emails just get deleted unread

Now curl up in bed and read my stories

yes this is me on  14th Oct 2019, I think

Waves and more Waves

Waves and more Waves ©

By Michael Casey

Well Taylor Swift has just given me a rushed rendition of her latest album, whatever it is called, I was too busy squeezing my spots to hear exactly what she said. So she stood where the Christmas tree will be in just 5 months’ time and sung it for me. She knows I don’t stream so she flew over to give me a personal rendition, her bloke lives in UK after all, and it killed two birds with one stone. Then she did a bit of dusting, the high dusting, she is rather tall after all, especially if I lend her my high heels. Then I gave her a cup of tea, the cheap stuff from Tesco, she’s American she can’t tell the difference, and a slice of my home made cake, I don’t trust my daughters’ baking skills, so it would have gone in the bin otherwise, Totoro our cat refuses to eat it. Then we air kissed and she was gone in a puff of Fairy Dust, it’s some perfume Celine flogged her.

Now where was I, I’ll open the window, Fairy Dust does not appeal to me, why do ladies wear such rubbish, CK One is good enough, I can steal the litre bottle from their voluminous bags, it’ll last me a year, CK One, perfect for fat silver haired writers in shades from Birmingham England. But don’t tell Taylor what I said about Fairy Dust or she’ll cry, Celine won’t mind, she’s an old mate of mine, but that’s another story.

Waves that’s what I was going to talk about today before I’m off to Saint Judes Chicago for Mass, no I don’t have a private jet, do you think Taylor would let me on hers? I should cocoa, with a flake in. Taylor will come and sing and dust for me, but get on her plane? I should cocoa, besides they’d have to strap me down, and I only allow straps when I’m role playing, but I never discuss my own private predilections, what shade of grey is my hair anyway?

A wave is a motion on the sea, and that’s why you get sea sick and puke over the rail on the ferry to Kerry. Have you noticed  too why sailors spit first before they throw the left overs over the side? It’s to test the wind, otherwise what they throw will come back at them, then their bell bottoms will be full of left overs, so spit first, throw second. Simple really. My Maternal grandfather was actually in the Merchant Navy so my mother told me, and if you look at Cromane Lower Kerry Eire on the map you’ll see that you can spit from the house and your spit will land in the sea.

From the strand there you can make pebbles skip on the sea over the waves, next stop, USA. This really is one of the most beautiful places on God’s earth, if you Google Earth you can see it for yourself, opposite is Inch and the Dingle peninsula where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed long ago now. So when I go to Ireland that’s the rush, the wave of emotion I get, I am coming home. This is where my mother was born. Sadly it’s too long since I was there, but the memories of waves of laughter and love remain.

Emotion  is a wave, it springs up from inside, how deep, how far until it breaks the surface and roars up the beach to crash on the sands that are your heart depends on who you are. Cromane Lower Killorglin County Kerry Eire is the place to visit, and if it’s beauty does now move you then you are already dead. So imagine what it was like for mum and for dad too to come to Smethwick in 1944, compared to the beauty of Kerry. Though dad did appreciate the pubs on every street corner he was a lad of not yet 23 then, and working in a steel works every foundryman did.

We also wave at people we love, long waves, short waves, suppressed waves that end in tears in tissues. Nobody saw my parents off from Kerry and they were greeted with DDT when they arrived from the fresh air of Kerry to Britain’s shores still at War. Parents and Grandparents wave at end other through windows as they leave, or through Covid 19 plastic defences. The Internet has leapt forward and all our lives have changed as we wave at each other via WhatsApp, we notice how old we all look via the Internet. Or we lie and say just how beautiful they are, with hair like Hippies, but grandpa says this is how he was in the 60s.

Sound Waves join us all, the Radio has returned with Community and people being united as the music plays, a captive audience maybe. You even have 12 hours of my Audio on my Typepad if you want to hear my real voice, not the voice you imagine as you listen to me here on the screen. So waves of sound save our souls as we endure the boredom of Covid 19, back in 1944 my dad had to be a fire watcher at night, just in case any Nazi bomber got through. I did hear a tale about Cape Hill but was that a tale or a mixed up memory. Only those in their high 90s will know for sure, such as my mother’s still living friends. Though I do know USA army did hide in Warley Woods prior to Dday, and one street was driven through for the tanks, but local history buffs will explain it all to you.

So the waves move up and down, the waves of emotion driven by the sands of time that are History. Until all our sand has ran out, we have no more time, people wave us off at the graveyard, Covid 19 restrictions permitting. We awake on the other side of Death, we are walking on a beach at Cromane and we can see, finally see past the waves and see who made those other set of footprints in the sand. You meet your Lord.

a good stumbler I just stumbled over this again

A Good Stumbler ©

By Michael Casey

Well its 2am on 18/6/2017 and I’m up with pain, tooth ache this time, I chipped a tooth at the upper back of my mouth, makes a change from my arthritis I suppose. I have a mouth full of toothpaste in my mouth as I talk to you all. The theory is that it will protect me from the pain by washing over where the chip is. Ok Its stupid but do YOU have any better ideas at this time of the morning?

I could rub my Movelat on my face but that would be a stupider idea, its for my joints when my arthritis kicks in. What has all this got to do with being a Good Stumbler? Well Mark Harris, who H though had Charisma, was the one who said I was a Good Stumbler. He wasn’t on about me tripping over Barry’s long legs while we had a pint in the Queen’s Tavern either. Just giving them two a name check should they stumble over this.

So what exactly is a Good Stumbler? Well I suppose its me, its my whole life. In Slumdog Millionaire the guy’s life gives him all the answers so he can win the quiz. My own life has been just like that, one thing has led to another even if at the time it was a painful or even very painful interlude. I must go and spit out this toothpaste now. It is a trick to whiten your teeth as well, provided that you can stand the taste for so long. Ok, in USA you bleach your teeth but that is not natural at all.

I just stumbled over the cat she is participating in a blood sport, no not fox hunting, though we did have 3 foxes simultaneously in our garden one night, they are just up the road after all and dustbins are foxes takeaways. No, she, Totoro was chasing and eating flies and moths attracted to our yard light. I did offer to let her in but the blood sport was a bigger attraction than sneaking in at 2.20am, like a dirty stopout of a cat.

As you can see I stumbled over that last paragraph, and we both have benefited from it. So pray for my pain, this Sunday morning. I could mention that our local priest also does a bit of Editing on the side. Though I would never let anybody touch my words, priest or no priest. What is writ is writ as somebody once said to a load of priests.

One take or nothing is my motto, how Jeffery Archer goes through up to 13 rewrites with his Editor I could never know. It was be so soul destroying, and boring, it would kill the story for me. A stranger forcing you to have an English Literature class on your own creative spirit, yuck. Mind you he has a Monet on his wall, which is worth 100 times the value of my house, but no not even for a Monet would I led people touch my words.

So I stumble along writing my stories, stumbling into ideas here and there, such as have all my books at 2.99 USD in a vain effort to get you all to buy them. I stumbled into that idea 2 days ago after I read a piece in the DT about a KDP writer. He’s rich now, I am not, so I thought about lowering my prices to entice you all to buy my 13 books and 4 translations. A Stumble has led to that.

The cat is still out and I’m wondering what other stumbles I can mention, such as the dog Peeing on a house and I looked up and noticed it was for sale. And this is where I’ve been living these past 30 years. Marriage was a stumble too and having 2 daughters when we thought we might not have any children is not a stumble but more of a Blessing.

Though I did used to work the Graveyard shift at SMBC council computer room. So I got home at 3am or so. And one thing led to another, ok IF you are having trouble conceiving then try 3am to 4am and see if it works for you. Or I could just be very fertile, or together we have stumbled on peak fertility time. I can picture it now thousands of Michaels and Michaelas named in my honour, in Ireland it was thousands of John-Pauls instead of Patricks.

Its both strange and humorous how things happen, turning that corner at the right time, or God intervening, the only place he goes is the Old People’s Home to see his dad. He only goes to the fishing tackle shop, he’ll never meet anybody, he’ll be a sad old bachelor. So he goes in and knocks all the poles over, this does not mean Polish people, a pole is what a professional angler calls his rod. As he stoops to pick up all the poles the owner’s daughter appears and its love at first bite. Without any bait, and the scruffy man gets the shop as a dowry. They have found each other, and she uses a white fish net as veil and train.

Well its nearly 3am now and Totoro our cat is still out, she is worse that a teenager, and I have 2 already. I hope if you have stumbled over this piece you decide to come back and read some more stories from me. I have now written 2900 to  stories, or more if you count the ones I reloaded to my blog here. I’m going to try and go back to bed now despite the heat and pain. If I’m tired enough I can sleep through anything.

Wait. I hear a noise I though the cat wanted to come back in. No just something else, not unless it was the moths banging on the windows. Turn that bloody light off, that cat of yours is eating us alive. Stay happy wherever you are, and if you can’t sleep then make love, don’t waste your time reading my stuff.

If I explained

If I explained then the magic would disappear

now I could continue in poem form

If I did explain then you would think less of me

so it is better to retain the mystery

i have to slap on Movelat pain killed gel right now

i wish i didn't have to bore you with that fact

chronic pain does wear you out

like a wind of sand chipping away at buildings

or waves washing the shoreline away

so you have to chose HOPE

just as the UAE satellite is named

and if you get to the end of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

in whatever language you'll learn about that too

I also thought about Aliens returning to visit us again

They thought we had hope as  we discovered Music

banging bones on the skulls of those we had just eaten

But the discovery of beat showed signs of hope

so we were left to evolve

now we if the Aliens returned today 25th July 2020

what would they see and think

people suing each other for fortunes

and what do they do with the money

do they donate 100% to charity, or 1%

because they were hurt so much by what the Press said

Suing seems to be a gravy train denying all Hope

I'd respect people more if they won then gave it all away

or maybe I'm just naive and old fashioned

so the waves of thoughts and ideas fall and rise and swell

But I need the Movelat gel  to finish its work

before I begin, as America sing to me from my smart speaker

so this is a chat, it won't appear in my books when I compile them

you can think for yourselves

now here's Michael and The Chink in The Wall

from 4.5 years ago, I went through a wall of my own then

I knew it when I finished writing this piece Jan 2016 according to my list

though that could just be the date I have it on my computer

and it's not copied from anybody, though obviously it refers to Dickens

I'm a dickens of a writer, not Shakespeare but you can argue about style

amongst yoiurselves

later today with the help of Movelat gel you'll get something else

and by the way Saudi, spread the word,

Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham

can be read in Arabic too, just go search

now this old piece to keep you going.

Look for the Pathos too, there's always a bit of mirror in the piece

Michael and the Chink in the Wall ©

By

Michael Casey

Michael was all alone in the house, he was abandoned, left all alone with just the mice for company. He was the kitchen boy in the Master’s house, he’d fetch and carry and be allowed to sleep in a corner, just like a dog, but a dog would at least have a basket. He was actually the Master’s son, but when the pantry maid had died in labour, Michael was kept in the kitchen, the Master agreeing not to send him to the Workhouse, a promise he kept as the maid died before him.

Being the eldest, Michael should have inherited the house and the fortune, but he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The non bastard children were in fact very ugly, but the Master had married for a fortune, and not for love. Meanwhile Michael slowly rotted in the kitchen, while snotty noses enjoyed their Victorian life.

Michael would sit and dream on the cold flagstones, just shadows on the wall for company. Sometimes one of Charles Dickens’  stories would appear wrapped up with carrots or turnips. Michael loved Charles Dickens his stories were so good, what with the cliff-hangers, one day Charles Dickens would be famous. The cook just laughed, but she enjoyed listening to Michael reading out the stories while peeled the spuds. That was the only reason she had taught Michael to read, so she could entertain her, she had in fact invented Radio, minus the radio that is, Listen with Mother if you like. 

Every night the staff went to the attic to sleep while Michael shivered in a corner, it was a slow death of the spirit apart from Charles Dickens. Michael had to try and fall asleep before the kitchen fire went out, or he would not sleep at all, the cold being so bone chillingly cold.

There was a chink in the wall from the house next door and this was Michael’s tv, without the tv that is. For in the next house everybody was always happy and gay, the servants laughed and even danced. They had a good Master, their fire was always on, the Master liked a warm house, he had made his fortune in India so he liked a warm house.

If Michael squeezed himself against the chink in the wall he could hear the singing and smell the cooking, he could pretend he was with them in the warmth of company and of real warm. There was  actually a bit of heat coming from that chink in the wall, Michael loved that house and that kitchen, it was so full of life and joy.

At night Michael fell asleep mumbling the songs that he’d heard from the next door household. In the middle of the night he’d regularly awake, his toes numb with cold, his bum freezing too. So he’d get up and stamp around. Only shadows for company, the one candle in a jar his only illumination. Michael would hold the jar and press it against his body for warmth.

Even the shadows on the wall had pity on him, they would dance about and form faces of people dancing and talking, trying to amuse and console Michael. The very stones cried for him, shadows of tears fell. Michael loved their company in his daily Dark Night of the Soul, a shadow is great company if you have no friends, if you have to decide whether to burn Charles Dickens for warmth or save him so he can warm your soul. Such a choice, warmth of the spirit or warmth of the body.

The same shadows came night after night, they were in fact peopled by stories from Charles Dickens, if your body is so cold, then all that is left is the spark of soul. Or distant smells and laughter coming through the chink in the wall. So your imagination sees things in the dark, you see what you want to see in the cold and dark. You see Hope. You see Love. You see Laughter. You see dancing shadows.

The cook gave Michael a sweet, it was covered in muck and feathers, she’d found it in the street when she’d been to the butchers, a few weeks previously. She had only just remembered it. It was a present for being such a good boy. It was also a goodbye, Michael would be 9 next week so the Master had decided to let Michael find his own way in the world. Michael would have to leave.

The Master was going to buy a puppy for his legitimate children, Alpha the dog would need a space in the kitchen, Michael would have to leave to make room for Alpha the dog. A dog is a man’s, a Master’s best friend after all. The promise to the pantry maid had been kept, 9 years Michael had squatted, now he was man enough to find his own way in the world.

The Master ordered that Michael be locked in overnight and then in the morning when Alpha arrived Michael would be shown the door. Michael stuffed all the Charles Dickens in his pockets, he’s freeze one last night, but Charles Dickens would be part of his new life whatever and wherever that may be.

The walls wept, if only Michael could squeeze through the crack in the wall, if only he could sing and dance with the neighbours, they were having a Christmas Eve celebration. Michael fell asleep dreaming that very same dream. He was dancing and drinking punch, the maids all gave him a dance and a peck on the cheek. They all loved him, he was not the bastard son, unwanted and thrown out to make room for a  dog.

Michael danced and laughed all night long, he was so happy, a much loved member of the family. He was smiling in his sleep, clutching Charles Dickens in his hands. That was how they found him in the morning, curled up like a dog, but with a smile on his face, and Charles Dickens’ new story in his hand A Christmas Carol. Michael had died happy in his sleep. But how he got next door through a locked door nobody would ever know, not even the stones would tell. Sometimes all the love you need is a chink in the wall.