Lech The Altar Boy and The Ghost © By Michael Casey

Lech Ołtarz Chłopiec i Duch ©

Michael Casey

Lech The Altar Boy and The Ghost ©

By Michael Casey

Lech was an altar boy in Cracow, this writer was an altar boy too but that was in Birmingham in the 1960s and 1970s, they do have one thing in common and that was Ghosts. Lech was big and strong and he’d punch anybody who said serving Mass was for mothers’ boys, he had a Faith as strong as he was. And besides he liked dressing up and carrying candles, it was fun and was very theatrical, especially the orb thing that you put charcoal in and the priest adds incense to, they you get to shake it all about. It was a kind of very smelly high, smoke everywhere.

Lech was always the last boy to finish after the Mass or Benediction or the Funeral or whatever it was, because Fr. Thomas also shared a cigarette with him when nobody was looking. Fr. Thomas had been in the Missions and had come home to Cracow to die, he had picked up a few diseases while abroad and as Cracow had a good hospital the Bishop brought him home to serve in a small church so Fr. Thomas could be close to a hospital. The Bishop also happened to be Fr. Thomas’s friend from 50 years before when they were at school together. Fr. Thomas had beaten a bully, in fact he had knocked seven shades of, well you know the next word, so no need to say it. So Fr. Thomas had saved the future Bishop and that’s why they became friends.

Lech reminded Fr. Thomas of himself, a big strong lad who was afraid of nothing, so that’s why they shared a cigarette when both should not. Fr. Thomas knew Lech would never be a priest, he’d be a father sure, but not a Fr. more like a father of 10. Lech was a magnet for girls, girls of all ages, 16 to 160 years old, they all thought he was so pretty, he’d tempt anybody even some of the statues of the saints scattered around the church.   

It was just after Lech and Fr. Thomas had finished their cigarette one Thursday evening that Fr. Thomas collapsed, Lech caught him in his arms and saw the life slip away from him. Fr. Thomas gasped for breath but as he was dying he said “if I was a father a real father, you would have been the perfect son for me, just promise me you’ll give up smoking” Lech promised he’d give up the cigarettes and Fr. Thomas died with a smile on his lips. Fr. Thomas had died a “father”, with a son called Lech who was as big as and as strong as an Ox.

Fr. Thomas’s funeral stopped Cracow, everybody came , priests galore, and everybody had a good time, Lech was the chief altar boy and he was given the honour of reading the passage from the Bible about Lazarus being raised from the dead and Jesus cried for his friend.

After the burial all the were gathered around chatting, and having a crafty smoke, priest and nurses are devils for a cigarette, but you know that already. Lech was going to join in, but he could hear a voice in his head, promise me you’ll never smoke, it was almost as if Fr. Thomas was standing behind him. He had the cigarette lit in his hand, so instead he stubbed it out and put it in his pocket.

At times of stress or sadness, we may all hear or see voices or shadows, or echoes or reflections, its normal when your mum dies, or when your favourite dog dies, you may hear it bark and so on. In Lech’s case whenever he reached for a cigarette he could hear Fr. Thomas’s voice, he could hear him asking him to promise not to smoke.

Once he looked up from the cigarette in his hand and he thought he could see Fr. Thomas’s, reflection in the presbytery’s kitchen window, he spun around only nobody was there. If it was cannabis he could have explained it, but since Fr. Thomas’s death he had kept his promise not to smoke, he had always heard Fr. Thomas’s voice in his head just as he was about to put any cigarette of any kind to his lips.  

This went on for 2 years, he could light a cigarette but as soon as he was about to put it to his lips the Voice the Advice from a Dead Priest was in his head. Finally he threw his cigarette lighter into the river that ran through Cracow, only as he was so angry at the dead priest he miss-threw it and it hit a girl on the side of her head and she fell in the street.

Karolina was her name and she was a nurse who smoked like the devil, or she did till Lech picked her up from the gutter in the street. She was so angry, yet so beautiful, wouldn’t you be if an oaf, an ox had hit you with a cigarette lighter. Lech took out his dirty snotty handkerchief and held it against her head to stop the bleeding. As he apologised he looked into Karolina’s eyes and she looked into his, what would you do if you were a Polish girl from Cracow and a huge hunk was looking into your eyes. Well tell me, tell me right now, or I’ll stop the story. STOP.

Ok, I stopped the story while I had a drink of water, Girls have you made up YOUR mind, what would you do to Lech? She battered him, but all the time he held his dirty snotty handkerchief to her wound, he had to stop the bleeding after all.  Then she laughed and laughed, then she kissed him more and more. Only a fool would behave in such a fashion taking everything she threw at him, be it blows or kisses but all the time holding a filthy rag at her face to stop the bleeding.

The church was still open so Lech suggested they go back and she could wash her face. He also said she could go to confession to ask for forgiveness for beating him, then they started laughing again. It turned out she was single and that her boyfriend had dumped her when he found out just before getting engaged that she could not have children. Lech was angry and cursed him whoever he was, he even offered to beat the living daylights out of him. Karolina lost her heart to him at that very second.

In church one of the confessionals had a light on so Karolina went inside to have Confession while Lech went to find the first aid kit. Cracow confessions are very quick, to the point and quick. Inside the priest said all you have to do is give up smoking, and then you’ll find a husband. Lech is a nice boy Karolina. I absolve you, and for your penance you must promise never to beat your husband Lech again. Karolina was dumbfounded, how did the priest know all about it.

Lech came back with the first aid kit and tended to Karolina’s wounds, she said you have to go to confession now I’ve just been, so after putting a final plaster on her hear Lech went to Confession. Lech was about to confess when he heard the familiar voice of Fr. Thomas telling him he should marry Karolina, but he should stop throwing cigarette lighters about or he could really hurt somebody. As for having children, Michael Casey the Birmingham writer who translates into Polish, well he asked  Padre Pio for a wife and children, but he left it all up top God. So Lech just leave it all up to God.

Lech left the confessional as white as a sheet, as if he had seen a ghost. He looked at Karolina, I will marry you and we will leave it up to God to see if we have children. Karolina got up from her seat and pointed, Lech spun around and there was Fr. Thomas was walking into the sacristy, he was arm in arm with another Cracow priest, Karol was his name in life.

Lech and Karolina got married as soon has her wound was healed on her head. She only ever had two pregnancies, triplets, three girls, then quads four boys, making 7 children in all. Because when asked in the Bible how many times you should forgive, 7 times? NO 77x 7 times. Karolina forgave him 7 times, and that was enough for both of them.

Noce na Malcie © Michael Casey

Noce na Malcie ©

Noce na Malcie ©

Michael Casey

Zanim zacznę, powinienem powiedzieć, że w 2013 r. Na Malcie miałem wielki tydzień i długi powrót, mimo że to właśnie tam mój Artur mój zapalenie stawów zaczął uderzać w dom. Byłem rozczarowany, że mogę kupić Deep Heat na Malcie. Teraz moje 4 lata i mój nieplanowany czterokątny bypass serca przejął mnie. Powiedziano mi, że to było trzykrotnie, ale to było czterokrotnie odkryłem 6 miesięcy później.

Moje cKd musi być także oglądane, mówię Ci wszystko, abyś mógł zrozumieć, jak ważne jest dla mnie, że mogę PISEMĆ, jego jedzenie dla mojego Ducha, nawet jeśli lubisz to lub nie. Więc teraz mam zamiar dzielić się częścią opowieści, która stanie się częścią rozdziału Łez na Butcher w pełnym wymiarze z sequelem The Butcher The Baker i Undertaker.

Teraz czytam i przepraszam do Navy Seals wszędzie, proszę nie zostawiaj głowy konia w moim łóżku, metra jedną stóp długa kanapka będzie lepiej ......

Więc to wszystko prawda, Tiny nie był wściekły lub po prostu walczył w ogóle, był naprawdę widowiskiem, widział to cały czas, ale gdy napisał to zdjęcie ołówkiem i kredką, admirał musiał podjąć decyzję, więc Mały został uziemiony, jego płetwy zabrane. Więc kiedy stała się ochroniarzem tej starej mama miliony, szczęście, że tam jest, musiał się nią zająć. Był dla niej bardziej synem i dlatego zawsze noszą szalik, ktoś do niej dotarł, zanim Tiny do nich dotarł. Obejmuje bliznę.

Co się stało na Malcie? Well Ester przyjaźnił się z tą irlandzką kobietą w Birmingham, w Anglii. Wiesz, jak lubi mieć prawdziwe przyjaciółki, nie ludzie ssania jej syna, lub próbują dostać stopę w drzwiach. Kiedy usłyszała o potrójnym narodzinach, to niemożliwe, musisz poprosić lekarza gyno, aby to wytłumaczył. Ester modlił się jak szalony, jak tylko Żyd może się modlić. A jej przyjaciel modlił się jak tylko irlandzka katoliczka. Ale przede wszystkim Rita na Malcie, która była przyjacielem pani Murphy, modliła się tak, jak tylko maltańczycy mogą się modlić, a po tym, co oni stawiają przed tymi hitlerowskimi robotami podczas wojen, wiedzą, jak się modlić.

Więc te trofea urodziły się w Birmingham w szpitalu Dudley Road. I to niemożliwe, nie potrafię wyjaśnić wszystkiego, ponieważ nie mamy czasu. Ale okazuje się, że syn Rity był wiodącym lekarzem gyno. On wyrzekł się swojej wiary, poszedł jego tata zmarł, a on z całą swoją wiedzą medyczną nie mógł go uratować. Ale kiedy urodziły się troje, każdy z nich miał maltańskie krzyżowe znamię na ramieniu. Pani Murphy i Rita spotkali się i zawarli umowę, jeśli pomogła jej przyjaciel mieć dziecko, tylko jedną ciążę, wtedy pani Murphy prosiłaby, aby jej syn wrócił do wiary.

Więc Wszechmogący Bóg zabił dwóch ptaków jednym kamieniem. Z pewnością zrobił to, a Ester wyskoczyła z cienia, że ​​pojechała z Vegas do Vegas. Wszyscy byli tak podekscytowani, że panna Murphy płakała, bo nie trzymała się tej roli. Wtedy doc ujawnił się i okazało się, że jest synem Rity. Był starym kawalerem, ale pielęgniarka go kochała od lat. Mówisz o mnie, nie na pewno, wszechmogący Bóg rozstrzygnął wszystkie wyniki w jednym dniu.

Więc zdecydowali się natychmiast wrócić na Maltę i poślubić, zanim zmarła jego starsza matka. Jedynie francuskie służby kontroli ruchu lotniczego strajkują, te sztabki zawsze są strajkowane. Więc Ester przez bitchy fit, dostała Tiny, aby nacisnąć czerwony przycisk na swoim telefonie. 14 satelitów zaczęło śpiewać, a pokój wojenny zbliżył się do bursztynu. Syn on sprawia, że ​​wszystkie satelity wojskowe, trochę jak chrupanie psa, ale z Norad odpowiadając.

Więc aby to krótkie, została przerwana gra wojenna NATO i 4 helikopy wrakowe i odzyskiwania zstąpiły w dół miasta Birmingham. Wziął doktora i jego załogę na lotnisko w Birmingham. Wsadzili helikoptery na płaszczyznę K734ASD i skierowali się na Maltę z Fc15 tomkatami jako eskortę. Ten Zillionaire naprawdę kocha swoją mamę, a także wspólne szefowie personelu kochają ją też. Pani Murphy nalegała, aby odwiedzić cło bezcłowe na lotnisku, to przestraszyło kilka osób, Specjalnych Sił Przechodzących przez wolny od cła. Pani pani Murphy nalegała, aby Rita i niedługo pogrzebać kilka prezentów. Jedna z sił rozmawiała dziewczynę w kasie i, to kolejna historia.

To moja opowieść. Jeszcze nie skończył, syn Estera zadzwonił, żeby zatrudnić cały Hilton, a on tylko podejrzewał ich ton. Więc podniósł Hilton na 3 swoich satelitach. Mafia odbyła spotkanie w hotelu Hilton. Kiedy Tiny i siły specjalne zostały poinformowane, po prostu uśmiechnęli się i wyskoczyli prosto z samolotu i wyczyścili mafię z Hiltonu, więc nie było to marnowanie dnia w odniesieniu do Sił Specjalnych.

Więc to koniec? Nie. Wszystko poszło dobrze i dokument poślubił swoją pielęgniarkę na Malcie, Rita i pani Murphy byli zadowoleni. Klub pokerowy Ester w Vegas był zirytowany, ponieważ Ester tak nagle ich zostawił. Więc ustawiła telefon, aby jej przyjaciele Vegas mogli grać w pokera przeciwko niektórym starym maltańskim mężczyznom.

Wtedy to się stało. Jedna z mafii ukrywała się w szafce i wyskoczyła. Był to pokój pełen ludzi i dzieci. Tiny miał robić swoje rzeczy i ratować wszystkich, ale bał się, że niektóre dzieciaki zostaną ranne przez bezpańskie pociski. Więc musiał zmasować faceta z Mafii, prawdopodobnie Tint umarł, ale wszyscy byliby bezpieczni.

Ester spojrzał na posąg Matki Boskiej w kącie sali balowej, my 2 Żydów sam w pokoju pełnym pogan. Niech mi będzie, że umiera, starzeję, niech mi nie jest Tiny, on jest dla mnie synem, nigdy nie dostał tej dziewczyny, o której marzyła. Wyciągnął jej zdjęcie na papierze, tak ładny, a potem czerwony po lewej stronie. Proszę Maryja, jako jednego Żyda, zbawić wszystkich tych pogan.

Moja babcia zwyczajowo prosiła, żebym śpiewała dla niej, dlaczego nie śpiewasz dla mnie.

Ester wstał zgodnie z życzeniem jedynego innego Żyda w pokoju, więc Ester śpiewał coś, co wszyscy poganie pokochali. Śpiewała Ave Maria, Ester zaśpiewała Ave Maria. Raz po raz wszyscy wstali i wyzywająco śpiewali Ave Maria. Facet z mafii był zdumiony, ściana dźwięku, Phil Spector produkował Ave Maria.

Mały zauważył, że może dać mu przewagę, a on skręcił do przodu gotowy do skoku, gotowy do ratowania wszystkich. W tej chwili modlił się Ester, Tiny dostał się do swojej dziewczyny, gdyż kelnerka przeszła przez dalekie drzwi. Była piękniejsza niż porównanie, a po lewej stronie jej twarz przypominała plamę wina. Teraz dziewczynka została zażarta przez całe życie ze względu na jej wstyd. Ale też miała wizję, a raczej głos we śnie. Mężczyzna z morza poślubi ciebie, najbrzydszy człowiek na świecie jest jedynym wystarczającym dla ciebie.

W tej chwili Tiny zobaczyła jego dziewczynę i obaj wiedzieli, że proroctwo zostało ujawnione. Czy to wszystko skończy się śmiercią. Obydwaj prosili, aby Dziewica ocaliła drugich, niech żyją, nawet jeśli zginęli. W tym samym czasie dziewczyna, Rose była jej imieniem, chwyciła spodek i rzuciła to jak frisbee uderzając faceta z mafii w jego adam jabłko. Jak dusił Tiny'ego Przeleciał sam z Saint Michaelem, sam Archankiem, trzepiąc skrzydłami za sobą. Facet Mafii został rozbrojony i zamknięty.

To wyjaśnia, dlaczego każdy pancernik Marynarki Wojennej w służbie zmierza do Malty. To prawda, musieliśmy prosić generała o specjalne pozwolenie. Zgodził się tylko, kiedy powiedzieliśmy mu, że Rose znała numer usługi Tiny'ego, marzyła o tym wiele lat temu.

 sometimes God loves us too much, far beyond our worth, I'll tell you more in a week

Whats on tv tonight

What’s on Tv tonight? ©

By Michael Casey

Well we were all watching tv tonight and we ended up with a very good selection. We saw a hour documentary on the Singapore hotel, it was 10 times bigger than the one I used to work at, 2500 rooms in Singapore and yes I think we all should visit it. You can google and find its name in seconds. It has 3 towers with a surf board and infinity pool on top.  As a former hotel worker it was very interesting for me, my daughter could see the kind of work I used to do 10 years ago. My Shanghai wife lived and worked in Singapore 20 years ago, before she met me, and we changed our lives together.

Next we watched a programme on Mammoths in Russia, this was very interesting, this was another hour, my small daughter is thinking of being the next David Attenborough so this interested her a lot. I told her she’d have to get a PhD if she really wanted to do serious study in these subjects.

Now they are watching Chocolat a film set in France, I’ve seen it before so I’m talking to you all instead. So why am I sharing our family viewing habits? Simple, just as the family that prays together stays together, so the family that watches tv together stays together. The family unit is better if it has something in common and is not a collection of strangers with the same name living in the same house.

Your best friend and his brothers may come around to watch the Manchester United game as you have the biggest tv, they bring Polish lager and sausages to keep them going while they watch, they say hello to their little sister in the kitchen as they steal a few bananas. She calls them all monkeys and they all make noises like monkeys before they go back to the tv room. But this is family, they build the house you and their and little sister are living in. Now till the end of time they will come around to watch the Manchester United game, wasn’t it a great idea to put a huge satellite dish on the roof.

All over the world families of all kinds gather to watch their favourite shows together, this is family. Nowadays more families gather to watch Karaoke shows together than go to church together. Perhaps priests of all sorts should practice singing like Sinatra, then there would be more bums on seats. Though I would not advise that the congregation hold up score cards after each sermon.

With modern technology we can time shift our viewing, record and  watch later on, even days later on, but I contend that the family viewing is a good thing, it bonds families together, when we are all spread all over the place all over the time a central time to watch tv bonds families. If you add food, either formal or informal then you a FAMILY.

My mother used to say when we watched a film and the ending of the film was rubbish or of beyond belief that the ending was “far fetched like shit from China”, I had to explain that one to my Shanghai relatives, it means beyond belief only, would a Shanghai person bring bicycles from Birmingham?  No that would be far fetched, like bollocks from Birmingham if I reversed the phrase.

So in a way was the way I met my Shanghai wife far fetched? And was my mother a gypsy and predicted it without even realising it? Though she never met my wife, and it was only because my brother saved my dad’s life and I spent 3 years of constant daily visits to the old people’s home that something far fetched happened. Something that could come from a tv show, all the way from China. I’m sure I can hear my mother laughing  in Heaven. 

Writing Comedy an Idiots Guide that Fails

Writing Comedy an Idiots Guide That Fails ©

By Michael Casey

Well first of all a big thank you to the Polish readers out there, 20,500 was the score when I checked a minute or two ago. Why? I have no idea and a famous British comedian Eric Morcambe once said if it works it works, don’t analyse the Joke. So am I tempting Fate this April Fool’s Day 2017? Or Poisson d’Avril if you are French, and I also get French readers, not unless its Roman Polanski in Paris and the fashion guy with the fingerless gloves.

 They read my stories avidly you know, they even ring each other up and compare notes on my latest story. He, that’s me, is total rubbish says Polanski, yes total rubbish says the fingerless gloves Fashion designer, Lagerfeld, I just remembered his name, anyway Lagerfeld thinks I’m total tosh too, see a 3word alliteration just for you.

When you come over for cheese fondue just bring 2 more packs of TUC biscuits, it’s my monthly treat says Lagerfeld. And what film shall I bring from Blockbuster Video asks Polanski, who has a gold membership card and can now get 30% discount. Oh I heard that Paddington is a gem, if you can get Paddington 2 as well then we can make a night of it, my VHS  video recorder has been fixed now replies Lagerfeld as a model parades a new 500,000 design in front of him. More buttons is all he says, it is for the Korean market and they just love buttons after all. And thanks Roman I just got 10 crates of Chinese champagne from a grateful Shanghai client so we may as well try it with all my staff, actually it’s not too bad with cheese fondue.

As Lagerfeld uncorks all the Chinese Champagne the 1^st Paddington is  placed in the VHS video recorder, as Polanski is here they watch on a small 15inch tv with a little table laden with cheese fondu  and Chinese champagne. They had a debate for 6 months before they upgraded the tv to colour, they are real Film People after all. In a corner covered with a sheet is a Mark Kermode, you don’t want to miss any of the film after all, once started you can never interrupt a film, this is not Sky Q after all.

The loyal staff are facing the opposite direction, they have a 102inch UHD tv screen with a sound bar that could keep the North Atlantic out, or an over eager boyfriend, they have the latest blue ray versions. Carl really does look after his staff, his family. So merrily Roman and Carl enjoy their film on VHS, the TUC biscuits go down well too. Tears are shed when Paddington is in peril, Polanski and Lagerfeld have to console each other, but are so happy when all is well at the end,  now they shed tears of happiness. 

Then Lagerfeld and Polanski discuss the film craft in Paddington, and Lagerfeld scribbles down an idea for a duffle coat, his billionaires cliental will go mad with desire for it. Almost as much they’d want to breed with Michael Casey to have pretty half half children just like his own. Roman and Carl laugh till they cry just at the thought of that idea.

Then they play poker, Lagerfeld changes his gloves for this, Polanski thought he’d fleece Lagerfeld for the 10 dollars they play for, but Lagerfeld treats the poker as seriously as he treats everything, apart from Michael Casey, he is the fool from Birmingham who gives him so much joy, well in Michael Casey’s imagination anyway.

Just as they are finishing their epic game of poker and Paddington has been replaced by the Kardasians on the mega tv Polanski and Lagerfeld laugh till they cry at the serious antics of the Ks. I couldn’t make a film to parody the Ks they do it so well themselves, says Polanski. I could make dresses for all of them, they would be made of paper bags, Walmart paper bags, or maybe Prix Unique bags to be a little more chic. Then Roman and Carl collapse into each other’s arms laughing.

So that explains just how I have French readers, it a Polish reader and a German in France, making dresses for Chinese Billionaires, who all want to breed with me to have beautiful children, who may or may not have silver hair. Just one thing Carl, if I may call you by your Christian name, can you remove the covers from Mark Kermode, he has to get back to the BBC in time for the Film review.

Happy April Fools’ Day everybody from the Birmingham Fool on a Hill.

Voice for Voice

Voice for Voice ©

By Michael Casey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All is Revealed

All is Revealed ©

By Michael Casey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Writing Means to Me

What Writing Means to Me ©

By Michael Casey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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