in the shower

In the Shower ©

By Michael Casey

Well its May and the Bank Holiday is over, and so is Thank God my night with Arthur, my arthritis. So I was in the shower and I thought what would I talk to you about today. I had learnt about Resumation in the night while I ws wrestling with Arthur. Resumation is cremation with water, basically a large container with superheated steam that strips the body away and leaves the bones.

 Then the bones are put in a washing machine and the  resulting powder/ash remains are put in an urn as in a normal cremation, the water from the body is purified before going down the sewer. Its more ecological and uses 1/7 of the fuel/power compared to normal cremation. Burial uses all the trees so this new third option pleases the Greens. This is what I learnt from the BBC World Service. 

The original design was to used to destroy disease, Mad Cow Disease in cattle and save us all from the spread of any stuff that could become airborne when cattle were burnt. The French call the disease la JCB, because you use a JCB. Anyway the Scottish inventor then decided to scale it down and apply it to the ecological “disposal” of human remains, he intends to have one in England soon.

Having listened to this with just my Arthur for company all I’ll say is that I’ll stick with burial, but a cardboard coffin and having a sapling tree planted on top of me would be nice, my great great  grandchildren can come visit the tree, I personally think visiting graves is useless, go down the pub and raise a glass to those you loved instead. But visiting a forest, even a forest planted on the dead is fine by me. 

I was going to talk about being in the shower, when you are all alone and vulnerable, when your kids stab the shower curtain with rolled up newspaper, pretending to be just like Psycho. Or turn off the mains and pretend it’s a power cut until they have finished laughing. Or knock the door and use the toilet while you are in the shower. 

And yes they are so so very very smelly, leaving you gasping for breath as they wash their hands in the sink, which makes the water in the shower go cold. So you scream as freezing cold water hits your privates. And you rush for the bathroom window to tear it open so you can breath after your beautiful daughter’s smellathon, Olympic Gold Medal smellathon, no hidden substances needed, all her and her arse’s own work.

Down below your neighbour can see you screaming with your head out the bathroom window and your privates pushed against the bathroom window. She does not mind, her husband died a few years ago, so it’s the closest she’s been to having male company in 20 years. She hurries to fetch her binoculars, she is a bird watcher after all, only by the time she returns, only your fat hairy bum is against the bathroom window.

You return to your shower, promising yourself you’ll put a lock on the bathroom door, or have at least 2 bathrooms if ever you win the lottery. In the shower you flex your muscles and say to yourself you have as many muscles as Stallone, in fact you have as many bellies as Stallone has muscles. If you really really hold in your stomach you can actually see your toes in the shower, but looking at your toes you don’t like your toe nails so you let your stomach flop down again.

You look for your tea tree shampoo, only the girls have used it to wash the cat in, as it will help the cat climb trees so you use their shampoo instead. Only its conditioner and doesn’t seem right, so you reach for anther container and that seems to work only there isn’t enough to do your hairy back and torso too. So you reach for a third container while you still have suds in your eyes, only it’s not shampoo. 

It’s Flash cream bathroom cleanser, and you have just put some on your naughty bits. In a flash you spin around in pain, your body against the bathroom window. Your neighbour has her binoculars ready, so she enjoyed the show, the embers glow in her memory. It was only a flash, but after 20 years it was enough for now.

You hose your bits down and sigh, relief as the pain goes, but you are now perfectly perfectly clean. Your neighbour can testify to that, she may come over to borrow some flash, just to keep her lens clean.

Picking Winners

Picking Winners ©

By Michael Casey

Just a footnote before I begin, and yes it’s at the beginning just to annoy the purists, I write for the ears, I did listen to BBC Radio 4 for 20 plus years before I began writing 30 years ago, that’s 50 years in total, so layout and punctuation is not perfect if you are just a Reader. It’s what is said not the perfect perfection of layout that matters. You may be lain in bed being fed grapes, either by your lover, or by your mum because you are in a hospital bed as you drove too fast on your way to your lover’s bed. So try and get somebody to read this to you whether you are in bed or in a classroom. And if you are in a classroom your Teacher could become your Lover, and you could become President, of France, On Verra.

Now where was I? Yes I’m here on the page, my words all naked before you, don’t try and imagine me like that, as you’ll be very sick, not unless you like Orangutans. And yes I throw in the odd word just to see if you are listening, you may be in a school dormitory somewhere, or in your dad’s new garden shed ready to right your new memoir.

Shall I begin? Are you sitting comfortably, ok I know Lech is as drunk as a skunk in a corner, you can wake him up later and tell him the best bits. By the way Lech doesn’t really exist he is just a figment of my imagination as are you my Readers, Pakistan and Spain joined my crew today, have you got nothing better to do, or are you a former English student of mine trying to track me down?

Ok, I’ll begin, I just need to rearrange my cushions, when you are 100kilos this is important, or 17.5stones if you want my real weight, about as much as the new Heavy Weight Boxing Champ. So how do you pick winners such as the new boxing champ? He’s good to his mum I want him to beat the Ukrainian guy, or he looks taller so I want him to win.

The Inland Revenue were on their knees praying he’d win, the tax take is enormous. If he were to keep on winning then they’d get millions. The Chancellor and Mrs May were watching together in Downing Street, knock his block off, uppercut, body blow, left hook, right hook, combination, give him everything you’ve got, knock him out the ring.

Mrs May isn’t a natural boxing fan but with this Election and Brexit on her hands she has to get the anger out her system before she has to go into the Ring with the EU. It helps her when she is talking about Jezza too, the mental strength she needs, watching a bit of boxing gets her juices flowing. She has her line ready too, Geography is History, she learnt that when she was at Oxford.

She was only the Vicar’s Daughter but just wait till Christmas, that’s when she’ll dump the Brexit because she’s got her super majority. And the EU will be left holding the baby. The EU nationals’ rights is a red herring, reciprocity was always the plan, but you don’t tell everybody everything like a 5 year old.

See I’ve picked a winner, or a loser, but the winner does take it all just ask Abba.

How do you pick winners? Oh he is just so handsome, and he likes older women, so I might stand a chance with him too, I’m 87, I WAS A TEACHER TOO. If I wave more do you think he’ll come over here and give me a French kiss. Mais Oui Madame, non je suis Mademoiselle.

I love his ties, they always tangle so low like a pendulum covering his flies, and his tan, he looks so Healthy, and Orange. He looks so nice, like a Born Again Minister, his teeth are good too, does it say on the flyer who his dentist is? If we wave a lot do you think he will come over here and talk about his Policies. Forget the policies, just get his dentist’s number.

She looks so serious, like a head teacher who’s caught you behind the bike shed

 with the head girl. I don’t know if I like her or not, she is reliable, but I fancy 

a change. Maybe if we give her the address of your dressmaker, Carl Lagerfeld? 

No Dummkopf, I really must return those  gloves, the fingertips were missing. 

No HansKneesandBumpserDaisy, they could make her a nice new orange dress, 

just like Mrs May’s.

What about Putin, do you think he lose? No, my friend  Mickhail has the contract

 to print the results for the next 15 years and he says there is no change due.

 But Putin does have a nice smile, and he is an action man, he can do so many

 things so well. I heard he was going to drive a nuclear submarine next, 

North Korea sea and so on.

Who do you think will be the next Pope? God Knows.

Redemption

Redemption ©

By Michael Casey

The neighbours are noisy again dad. I know they are just like children showing off, or having a party while mum and dad are out. Why are they like that though? Because their parents are modern, and don’t want to put them over their knee and pull down their pants and slap their bare arse. Didn’t that happen to Michael Casey when he was four for ringing Mrs Patrick’s doorbell and running away. Yes, and even though he hid in the Pantry his on mother meted out the penalty. And he still remembers it 50years plus later.

Why don’t you go next door and do the same to our neighbours dad? I am tempted, but it would be such a shock for them, you know me in my position, lowering myself to their level. But they are so noisy dad, and all the neighbours on the block would thank you. I am not the bully on the block, people don’t even know that you and me exist, we are so quiet after all, you could almost say we are undercover.

Dad, the neighbours are at it again, even the Wembley crowd for the boxing last night weren’t as noisy, I really think you should go around and say a few words. But even if I did they’d be at it again as soon as my back was turned. You could say you ae a very important person and that you have friends in high places. They may shut up then, they really are making so much noise and upsetting the whole neighbourhood.

Thanks dad, they’re not making so much noise now I can get on with my homework, I want to be a Doctor after all. A Doctor or What? I haven’t decided yet, I may even become a Professor just like you dad. Dad glows with pride. I have made them quieten down, I was naughty I messed with their power supply. Like you did before? Yes, but don’t tell your mum or she’ll kill me.

The noise drops, but it soon returns. Dad looks at his child working hard at his books, he looks skyward and mutters, give me strength. Son, I have to do something now, forgive me, but the noisy kid on the block really does have to realise now he is just a nothing, less than nothing. Please forgive me Son, I’ll make it up to you.

So like a Navy Seal the Alien ascends from the ocean floor, he has been observing planet Earth for millions of years. Now North Korea has been behaving like a bully on the block with the noisy disco party. All the neigbours are upset and afraid. Only an Alien has the power to shut him down. 

Standing by Kim’s bed the Alien whispers in his ear. Disarm and go live in Switzerland again and eat Camembert again. Korea should reunite, and as for all your toys, your noisy toys that fly in the night sky. Who do you think has been switching them off? Or do you want a massive earthquake to destroy North Korea? The choice is yours, my patience is over, and no this is not a dream thanks to too much cheese.

The Alien enters Kim’s mind and puts the fear of God into him, frozen with fear that lasts forever, there is no end to time in your mind. The Alien walks away, as he does every missile Kim has in his toy cupboard explodes.

Dad does this mean we have to leave now? Yes, I’m afraid it does, I did promise Jesus never to reveal myself as humans would not be able to grasp the idea of Aliens as they call us. 

And how did you meet Jesus, dad?

 I helped him carry his cross to Calvary.

ExPats

Thursday, 27 April 2017

ExPats

ExPats (c)

By

Michael Casey

I just looked at the Stats and it gave me an idea straight away, so it’s your own fault for what I'm writing right now. 8.30pm let's see when I finish. So you are all ExPats reading my stuff, Russians in USA reading my Russian Translations, Koreans reading my Korean Translations still in the USA. And on it goes, even some reading English in England or English in the USA.

What makes ExPats so different, so Special, well in their own mind anyway. ExPats are the True Believers, they are better than the originals, Greek Americans are better than Greeks, and Italian Americans are better than the real Italians in downtown Rome. That’s what I mean by True Believers, nothing to do with any Religion, that’s the thing about English you can use words to mean what you want to mean.

They are ingredients, just as an egg is. It’s when idiots deliberately misunderstand to promulgate, their own ideas and not the facts on the page, that’s when you get trouble. See I used a big word then, PROMULGATE, I hope it translates well into Russian or any other language I may post it in.

But I nearly side-tracked myself, you can have a beer and a sandwich with Uri and the boys down the weightlifting gym and discuss it. As for me I’ll get back to ExPats, can you tell Lech to stop picking his nose, I’m talking, yes I know he has a big nose, but we haven’t got half an hour.

Now I’ll get complains from Nose Surgeons about teasing Lech, you just cannot win, everybody has an agenda, I’d love to have an agenda myself, it’s a kind of fast car like a Ferrari, go look it up in a dictionary, page 789 of the Oxford English Dictionary for Misspellers, 7.99 on Amazon.

Where was I, yes ExPats, the ExPat left their country for a better life abroad, whether it was the sun, the sea or the sex in some foreign place. Whether it is Spain or USA or Australia, or any other place you can think of. In Lethal Weapon Danny Glover wanted to emigrate to South Africa, nowadays some may want to emigrate to North Korea, if you have a thing for Parades. But I’m side-tracking myself again, the point is you are living the Vida Loca someplace else, so you are very happy, but you long for or even pine for your Homeland.

So how do you compensate for being in a Foreign Land, easy you pretend to be in your homeland, so you paint your house in the National Colours of your Homeland, even if it is 3 or 4 or even more generations ago. If you are in the USA naturally you’ll  have a flag post outside with the largest possible flag of the USA too, just to prove you are a USA citizen. You’ll also have 10 guns of military grade too, you are a true American after all.

Though you live as if you are still in little Italy/Greece/Korea and any other 10 countries you can possible think of. You keep the Language pure and slap your cousin if he speaks Japanese or English or whatever the native language is of where you are now living. He must speak the language of your mum or grandfather or whatever generation it was when you first came to this foreign language. So You keep Japanese/English or whatever, pick your own group of languages. You speak the original mother tongue and not the language of your adopted country.

Language is the mother’s milk that keeps you Special, it makes you proud, so you may have Shamrock all over your bedclothes or shirts that you wear. They could be Welsh dragons, or Heather on everything. Or you wear Bruce Lee emblems on everything. Whatever it is, it represents to Image you have of your homeland.

 It could be a Tee shirt with a man falling over holding a bottle of Vodka, now would that be Polish or Russian or Ukrainian? Now immediately those 3 Nationalities hate me Until I remind them, a REAL Polish/Russian or Ukrainian would not fall over, they are real men who can hold their Liquor. So it must be a fake Tee shirt from the Czech Republic. Ok that was just an Example.

Some people are so touchy about the Homeland, they don’t live there, they chose to move away, they haven’t been there for 4 or more Generations, so why are they so touchy? Now that is the big question. It’s like Christmas, people want to pretend they are nice and want goodwill to all men, but they’ll kill that SOB if their neighbour parks one inch over their parking space outside their house.

So really Expats are living a dream, they want all the benefits of their new country, the sun, the sea, the welfare, the food, the education  system etc, or the decent football teams, or even the best violent Ice Hockey, now that’s why the emigrated to Russia/Czech/USA, or Canada, you kidding me Canada, though the film Goon about ice hockey was  very funny.

Whatever reason it was/is people are living somewhere else, but they want to pretend they are still at home, so they don’t get homesick. A little bit of home stops the homesickness. I can remember in the 1970s my mother was so utterly homesick, I can remember it so well, I could cry if I gave you all the details. So in 1973 she went back Home to Kerry with her sister and my sisters. Me and dad went too, 6 months later at Xmas, instead of revising for my mock exams, I did pass them, and a year early.

The pretence, or rather the treasuring of the old ways stops them from being forgotten and being neglected in the new world. However when you go back to the old country, you soon discover that you have been living in a bubble. The memory you have been treasuring is not the reality, you have created a relic and are living in it.

Now I’m throwing these ideas at you so you can look in the mirror and see if I’m right or have I just been a Devil’s Advocate. Time and Tide waits for no man, remember I am the son of Kerry Immigrants, my parents came in 1944, the war was still on, D Day had not begun. My own wife is from Shanghai, so I hear Chinese every day, and my 2 daughters are bilingual, even Totoro our cat is bilingual. So I live a two culture life and I can see how my multi-national neighbours live, I taught English as a 2^nd language to 3 different Nationalities too, so I hope you’ll see I’m not just Pontificating, see I slipped in another big word too.

In the end it’s not the flag you wrap yourself in, be it an old flag or a new flag. It’s how  you love your neighbour as yourself, will your neighbours bring you food and look out for you because they see you as being like themselves though culture and language are so very different. You the Native are being loved by the Samaritan newcomers.

In Gran Torino you have a film about “love” across Cultural divide, it’s a good film and Clint Eastwood’s highest grossing believe it or not. So to all my Russian, Polish, Ukrainian and even Czech readers, the Tee shirt I mentioned  with the man falling over drinking your vodka, it was Clint Eastwood, because as we all know he’s just a girl who can’t handle his vodka. Luckily I’m in Birmingham or he may just pee all over me. 

9.45 so 1,15 to write this

 

Posted by michaelgcasey at 21:47