Tracking the Cat

Tracking the Cat ©

By

Michael Casey

Well Summer is here and we think of sex, sea and holidays. But what if you are a cat, what if you are Totoro our cat? Totoro as you know pleases herself she is a cat after all. So what does she get up to. You’ve seen those programmes on the telly where they track cats, we don’t need any programme on tv, we have Totoro.

Totoro is named after the cat from the Studio Ghibli films if you haven’t heard the name before. My daughter’s Godfather thought it was a silly name but he is just a church organist so what does he know about cat names? He knows more about riding his bike than he does about Studio Ghibli, but I digress.

We are lucky because there are 20 or so gardens backing onto each other, which means Totoro can stretch her legs and pooh in other people’s gardens, no more litter tray in our house. When I speak of  other people’s gardens, she, Totoro is spoilt for choice. She does not jump from our garden wall more like launches herself as if from a circus cannon from the garden wall to the neighbour’s fence.

That is why a cat’s hind quarters are so big. Then like a grappling iron her front paws hawl her up and over the fence, then with a jingling of her two bells and her Best Bitch medallion she is away, up and over other fences. A Lesbian friend of my wife gave out the medallions one Christmas, so Totoro ended up wearing it along with her two bells. By doing this we can hear her coming, as can any birds, or the families of magpies that nest nearby.

When Totoro goes walkabout she has a choice, a choice of owners, who think they own her, by they don’t know her. Like the song in the First Wives Club, you don’t know me. Totoro has to decide will she have:- Polish, Japanese, French, Spanish, or even English food, should she be bored with Ocado delivered Whiskas. Or Chinese leftovers from our house. Then there is the Indian Curry house over a few more fences.

We know she visits the curry house because she comes home smelling of curry. She may just be sitting near the chimney, a chimney is full of heat and flavour. Sometimes she comes home smelling of Chanel, if only she were a dog she could bring some  home in her mouth like a retriever.

Totoro likes to go out late at night, so like any parent I am concerned and tell her to avoid anybody called Tom. When I lock up at night I wonder what she is up to, but I have done my best, besides she is neutered. Sometime I call her name adding a few words in Japanese or Chinese, she is bilingual after all, we are a Birmingham/Shanghai family after all. Sometimes she will will return other times she will not.

I might get up in the night for green tea, so I squish plastic and suddenly she’ll appear thundering over fences six feet high, plastic means that Aldi Cajun chicken is being opened, and she’ll sell her soul, or one of nine souls for a treat of Cajun chicken from Aldi. Once she’s back in the house at 3 am or 4 am I give her a stern lecture as any dad would to his daughter, 2 equals 14 in cat years somebody told me. Then I’ll give her a stroke and tell her to go upstairs to bed.With the sounds of her bells jingling I smile as I finish my green tea before returning to my own bed.

However some nights she stays out all night or most of the night,  so what am I to do? Like any concerned parent, I cross my fingers, and may even bless myself and ask Saint Martin de Porres to keep an eye out. I’ll leave an upstairs window open and a night light on to guide her home.

All in all being a parent to a cat, to Totoro is very rewarding though I do feel like Quasimodo waiting for the bells, the bells. The bells signify Totoro is home and safe. For a cat in the house turns a house into a home. The Bells, The Bells jingling away its like Christmas every day.

All Quiet on the Western Front

All Quiet on the Western Front

By

Michael Casey

Well my viewing figures have dropped off from USA, I think it may just be because the West Wing are all in Holy Lands, Muslim, Jewish and soon to visit Rome. So they cannot get to their desk to see what I’m saying today. I bet Theresa May would have liked a consoling word from Donald Trump. The policy of pay for your own social care has gone down like a lead balloon.

I have to declare an interest, nearly 20 years ago our dad went into a home after his near fatal heart attack, I was in the bed right next to his on the very same ward 20 years later. As for the home, the family paid for it, it cost 6 years salary in today’s money. The price of a house. Obviously we all thought it was unfair that he had worked hard all his life paying tax, but if you pissed your life up a wall you would have got it free.

That is the reality, who is going to pay for all the care? Two million extra over 75s who may need care. So who pays. Obviously we’d all love for the State, the Taxpayers to pay, but when the elderly are in the millions, what should happen. In the old days University was free, my brother bought my little sister a tricycle with his grant, a fiver I think. He went to Queens Oxford and my little sister got a tricycle, 50 years ago.

No SEVEN times as many go to University, or Uni as its called. Everybody thinks its a right. SEVEN times as many, if you have a child you could afford to buy the child an ice cream, but if you had SEVEN children what do you do?

This is simple Maths, and we says Maths in England not Math, we are not Americans. I won’t make the obvious Diane Abbott jokes. So what do you want for your Society? Education and Care, yes we all do, but who pays for it with all the high numbers? Perhaps Nicola Sturgeon in Scotland will lend us some money from all the Oil she still thinks she has. In fact that has all but gone. Scotland will become an Oil Rig scrapyard centre as a means of making money, according to a news report I saw.

There is a money tree being planted the length and breath of UK, right next to the wind farms, the wind from the turbines helps the £50 notes grow faster, in Scotland they have £100 notes, but I’m not jealous, good luck to them. Before I forget I stumbled over this picture of the Heather and Bonnie Scotland, it was GREAT, so do go visit Scotland, it looks amazing. And for the record when I was working in a hotel at CPNEC, the Scots guests were truly nice folk.

With all the lack of money the Political Parties have to explain who will pay, who will pay. Only they won’t they’ll just try and trash the rest. Our Liberal party seems to have dissolved at the moment, and Labour now has a stick to beat the Tories with namely Social care. Before Labour would have said soak the rich now they will defend the Grey vote, because it could help them win after an amazing fightback, or rather Tory own goal.

Boris has been leashed and tethered so far in this Election Campaign so I fully expect him to be let loose to attack Labour. If 80% of the Labour team said their own Leader was rubbish before, why is that not being repeated Ad Infinitum? If his own team have no faith in him, why should you. It seems as if the arrogance of being an expected runaway winner has come home to roost.

At the start of the Election I said it would NOT be a landslide and I predict 45 seats win for Mrs May, if she can character assassinate Corbyn then she will win, but now she will have to work really hard. The irony is that Labour will be defending the Rich and their Greed, and that way they can beat Mrs May, Politics really is that Topsy Turvy.

Terms are all relative, and I’d not bothering to put everything in speech marks, punctuation gets in the way of thought. I write for your ears after all. I am glad of one thing though. Tribal voting seems to be ending, Tactical Voting is coming to the Fore. It always should be like that. No Party deserves our loyalty, just as no petrol station nor grocery store deserves our undying custom.

They have to work for us and not the other way around.

One final thought, my mother was born in a shack on the shores of Cromane Lower opposite Dingle where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed. See photo below.My dad was a blacksmith in Kerry too, they came to England in 1944 with just the clothes on their back.  Dad spent 40 years sweating in asteel works in Smethwick.Their children studied hard, in what is now called inner city Birmingham, my bothers went to Queens Oxford, and Downing Cambridge. I’m the writer in the family. My children, the grandchildren of Irish peasants if you like, and the grandchildren of a very poor Shanghai people, and a Shanghai mum, these girls will be a Doctor and maybe a PhD in English. So if this can happen in 1 and then 2 generations why should anybody vote Tribally for any Politician.

We did it for ourselves

And What Did you Do in Life?

And What Did You Do in Life?

By

Michael Casey

I’ve just been looking at the newspapers on the Internet this Sunday morning, and it makes for some very sober reading. Apart from Pippa’s wedding, they all had a great time, so good luck to them all. However parallels from History scream out. Harry is dating a divorcee while North Korea is playing with its toys, and Russia is quietly and not so quietly stirring the pot and punching above its weight. Trump has signed  a 110,000,000,000 dollar arms deal. A casual remembrance of History will remind you of WWI and WWII.

People are starving and we, as in us Humans are playing with toys that could destroy or pollute the world. So it reminds me of a piece I wrote recently called Redemption, where aliens minding their own business decide to intervene to save us. The line from that story is, and how did you know Jesus, dad. I helped him carry his cross to Calvary the alien replied to his son. I also wrote a piece in July 2009 called Nobel and Me. Nobel as you know read his own obituary, and then changed, Nobel by the way invented dynamite.

Back in 2009 I was leaving Pinsent Masons, and indirectly it gave me time for writing, though all I wanted at the time was a new job. Arthritis and Unplanned Quadruple Heart bypass, as well as CkD, kidney problems were not even thought of.

So with this in mind I was thinking how would the powers that be fare as they had their Exit Interview, exit from this life into the next.

So what did you do in Life? I was a Politician. Next. Give me a chance to speak. You had enough time already. Give him a job cleaning the chewing gum off the pavements. I don’t like the look of him, make that 10,000 years of chewing gum cleaning. But that’s not fair. Are you going to argue with Me?

And what did you do in Life? Silence. You refuse to confess? SCREAMING. I WAS THE LEADER. On your knees, on your belly like a worm. Now whisper to me, just exactly what did you do in Life. I was a leader. No, you were a Butcher, while the people lacked a Baker, and you led them to the Undertaker. I was a leader hissed the Snake. This one is for you Saint Patrick, get him out of my sight. A zillion years at least crawling like a worm in the dirt.

And what did you do in Life? I did nothing, I was afraid to do anything, I hoped it would all go away if I did nothing. I was the head of the UN. Reincarnation for you. But I thought this was the Final Judgement? God loved that film Groundhog Day, so UN, you get a zillion chances to see if you can finally get it right. And a zillion more chances until you do.

And what did you do in Life? I was a thief, a liar and a fraud, I stole and I cheated on my wife and my girlfriend simultaneously. I had a heart attack while cheating with my lover. Are you Casanova? No I just wished I was. Why should you be allowed in? I should not. I deserve nothing but pain, and Hell’s fire. Casanova was hugged and embraced like a long lost brother, like the Prodigal Son himself. There is more rejoicing in Heaven for a repentant sinner than for many many good men after all.

And what of you? I destroyed the world in fire storm of Nuclear War. I had to, my country was under attack, so I had to. My beautiful Earth, my Eden floating in space destroyed  by you. What is your name? What is your name? We are many, we are ignorance, we are war, we are Leaders without a soul. We are arrogant, we do not care, we kiss babies that are our bastards, we are Leaders of a planet dying and burning in the wreckage of Nuclear war.

God has they last Word , just as he had the first. This is a dream, a warning to you all. Love God Love him a Lot, and never hide behind the fences of faith and ignorance. This really is your last chance. Time has been rewound so you get a chance to save my Eden, I created Time so I can rewind it, use it well, don’t Love Money so much that Evil is allowed to flourish, burn down bridges that promote Money not Love.

Michael Casey what are you doing hiding there? I was afraid, I did not know what to say in answer to your question. And what did you do in Life? And what did you do Michael? I broke my parents heart while they were alive. And now its too late. Look can you see through the clouds. Hold my hand Michael, can you see your mother pouring the tea for everybody. And your dad too.

They were so proud and still are, my son is a storyteller just as I told him stories when I was alive, can you hear your dad boasting to everybody.

I can hear my dad, but I’m so weak now, all buggered up as my dad might say, with arthritis pain and surgery pain and so on. Yes, but from this well of weakness stories surge and pour out onto the page. Yes, but nobody knows me. Do you want fame? No, just a nice house and something to leave for my daughters. I could do with less pain though, but I’ll accept the pain for a long life.

Are you haggling with God, the Almighty? No but my friend Padre Pio said always ask for the Big Grace. And its because of him I have a family in the first place, its in Padre Pio and Me. 

I am the Almighty I KNOW EVERYTHING ALREADY. Sorry, I just feel so helpless sometimes. But you keep your sense of humour.

Well yes, eventually I might make some money for my daughters’ future. 

I am nothing, my Future is dust.

That’s what they said about Jesus as he hung on the cross…  

Catering to an Audience

Catering to an Audience ©
By
Michael Casey

Well its been as active day, and thank God my pain levels from Arthur my arthritis have gone down after a few really bad nights. So today we went to have a peek at another house, on the internet it looked oh so good, but as soon as we arrived it looked worn out, and as soon as I looked inside it was way too small. In less that 5 mins I knew it was rubbish. We have to satisfy the needs of the girls, it must not be too far from their school, so this limits our choice, we have to cater for their needs.

Catering for others needs really is a pain in the a, the a, well you get my meaning. If you organise a Prom as my daughter has you get criticised for the menu or the decorations. At least this will educate my daughter, you NEVER volunteer for anything, just ask anybody in the Army. I suppose its a way of learning, the hard way, which some may say is the best way.

In my own life everything has been the hard way, so you’ll have to forgive me if any cynicism shows through my Altruism, that’s the only ism I profess, Altruism. Did you spot it through my 1,000,000 words? No. Ok, please yourselves as Frankie Howerd would say.

When I write do I say this will please that audience or this audience. No I don’t. I have put in a few references and whether they have worked or not you’ll have to ask my Polish readers. Otherwise I tell the tale and hope its simplicity crosses all barriers, judging by the readership all over the world in over 25 places on the Map.

There is a difference between Simplicity and Simplistic go look it up in the dictionary, there’s something for the Philosophy students. When I write I want as many people as possible to understand the tale, without the use of cheap alliteration, or sentences that are so long that you forget what was said at the start.

 I also use small paragraphs, so blame Elaine Polin a NY Poet I once had fun with on FB many years ago, God Bless her for that advice, I also did a piece to camera on video on my Author page on Amazon, that was directed to her by way of thanks. I hope she forgives me all my trespasses, or she may just call me a Brummie.
I do not cater for my audience, I am not a chip shop, I create my delights and then pass them out to my audience like an old grandfather who has just discovered his dead wife’s cook book or dictionary. I rely on my own vocabulary, if its not in my head I won’t struggle or cheat to find more words. It would be like a mechanic walking down the road to borrow a jack, if I don’t have my own jack then I’ll use brute force.

Its more fun for me as a writer to mine my mind for stories and memories, and trigger history within and then put it on the page. Now I hope that doesn’t sound too pretentious, that’s the way I write, if I follow the path of words and it comes to a stile then my style of writing reflects it. What? Just think about it, shall I give you an example to explain?

If you climb over that wall to go scrumping and get caught, what do you do? You pretend you are looking for your cat Totoro or you have lost your kite, so you change your behaviour. You change your story or you lie. Rather like Politicians at election time, if plan A does not work then plan B is brought into action. Or if you are Cameron you have no plan A nor B, so you resign and head for Las Vegas and the lecture circuit. I am available at 1/10 of his rates, so do get in touch.

As I meander through my field of words I give you references, Cameron has just emailed one to me, I’ll have to get a dictionary to understand what it means. So I give you references back and forth, and I hope they will spark memories in your own minds.

If you like I am a bright spark, in the best possible way, you have all the kindling within you, all the wood and all the coal. I just rearrange it in your fireplace and use my spark to bring it to life. Which could be a really really filthy metaphor.

But like all things I write they are always better when I’ve finished, and there are just the warm embers glowing in the dark. Which may or may not be another metaphor. When I have finished writing I read back the piece after I’ve done my security, NHS please follow my example, then and only then when I read it back fully to myself do I know have I catered for my audience.  

 

Tuck Shop Takeover

Friday, 19 May 2017

Tuck Shop Takeover

Tuck Shop Takeover ©

By

Michael Casey

Doreen Hunt had won the Election, she was the new girl at the United School Tuck Shop. A private school for the well top do, ok, for those who had lied and cheated on their taxes and could afford the fees at such a fancy establishment. In fact the parents were all big people, the staff called them the “wobblearses” because they were so fat and their arses did wobble so much. Their kids were just as big, gastric bands were needed, battle of the bands would be nothing to do with School of Rock, but the size of everybody’s gut, and their need for gastric bands.

Doreen wanted to be head of tuck, it was a cherished position, and for her to come in and take over after just arriving at the school was a major cause for concern amongst the rival candidates. Doreen Hunt is a ______ was written on the bathroom walls, such was the level of animosity. The janitor who was 90 years old if a day, soon had  it cleaned off, though he did admire the rhyming couplets, he was the English teacher but stayed on as janitor when he was over 70 because his wife had ran away with his 401K, and he had nowhere to go so he stayed on in a cottage in the school grounds, and acted as janitor and toilet paper replacement person.

Being in charge or Tuck was a position of honour, and it was all about how to run a business and not just helping fat arses to stay fat and wobbly. The other girls resented the newcomer with a vengeance, they said she was not a real blonde, and her hair style was a fake too, she was just copying some guy on tv, they had all seen him once on tv, but they never watched tv news, that was for morons, they were Kardasian fans.

Then the girls noticed that the stocks were going doing too fast, the boxes in tuck store were going down too fast. There was an online database showing how the Tuck shop was doing, it was available so that business studies students could see profit and loss. If they looked out from their dorms they could just watch the wobblearses that would have been just as accurate though not as scientific.

Every day Doreen Hunt walked to the edged of the grounds to the cottage where the old janitor lived. She wore a large Russian hat, it was rather cold and her dad visited Russia often so it had been a present. She had formed a friendship with the janitor as he was always cleaning up the vile graffiti that was left against her.

She brought him the out of date chocolate bars, and Gerry the janitor loved them, in fact they were keeping him alive, his funds were low and the school didn’t really pay him, so out of date chocolate bars kept him alive. Now this friendship went unnoticed until one girl whose dad was in the FBI was on the roof trying out some binoculars her dad had given her.

So the cat was out of the bag, and now for sport and spite the school spied on Doreen Hunt and 90 year old janitor. There was even a website for the spies, though only 20 in the school had access to it. They watched and sniggered at Doreen behind her back, they even said she was his lover. They soon worked out that the Russian hat hid the chocolate bars.

Still the vile graffiti appeared and still the janitor removed it, with Doreen Hunt sitting in a cubicle gently crying. Gerry would recite Shakespeare’s sonnets as her cleaned. Doreen Hunt was soon top in English, the best English student ever in the entire history of the school, and the school went back to the civil war. But that was another reason for the girls to hate her. Girls can be cruel.

More graffiti appeared and Gerry didn’t come to remove it, the girls just laughed. But then self interest kicked in, the toilet paper had not been changed in the entire school. So Doreen Hunt was sent to investigate, her Russian hat on her head. They teased her openly, we know about the out of date chocolate bars you hide in your Russian hat. Doreen stormed off tears falling down her face.

Doreen called his name Gerry Gerry, watched from afar from the roof of the school by the FBI daughter. Only Gerry did not reply, he was lying on his back inside the cottage, he had tripped over his chocolate eating cat Babushka . Doreen pushed the door open and screamed, her screams so loud that the FBI daughter nearly fell off the roof. The girls came running, the Kardasians were not on tv for a week so they were all so very bored, but a scream was interesting.

Is he alive? I’ve twisted my ankle came the pained reply. I tripped over Babushka my cat. The girls all crowded in, the cottage was immaculate, as it should be, he was a janitor after all. The walls were piled high with toilet paper and Shakespeare and other books. He was an English teacher too.

Doreen has been a good friend to me, but you lot have been a load of, and he let them have it with both barrels, and as he was both an English teacher and a janitor, he knew how to swear and ever so eloquently. On the floor  in front of them was a man old enough to be their grandfather, who had only survived a week on the floor with a twisted ankle because Babushka his cat had brought him Cadburys’ chocolate bars just as a dog would. Doreen has insisted that Cadburys was best so she had caused a stir of resentment at the Tuck shop.   

The girls were shocked, Gerry smelt terrible as anybody would who’d been soiling his pants for a week. Doreen looked around her, Gerry had been her only friend at the school. The girls felt the Tsunami of guilt descend on them. Sorry they all whispered one by one, we need to get you to a hospital. But Gerry wouldn’t leave his cat, his saviour Babushka.

The FBI girl knew what to do, she’d called her dad and he arrived wearing a Russian hat, in fact a whole fleet of cars carrying parents wearing Russian hats arrived. A nurse and a doctor also arrived wearing Russian hats. The FBI daughter had lied and said they were holding a fancy dress party so her dad should turn up in a Russian hat.

Gerry was looked after, janitors are very hard to find, even 90 year old ones. The other parents didn’t want the school to close down, where else could they dump their horrid little daughters. If Gerry sued the bad press would close the school forever. When Red had told the other parents this they believed him.

Doreen Hunt continued having English lessons from the janitor and Babushka got fatter and fatter. As for the wobblearses, they were still wobblearses but at least they were not horrid any more. Everybody wanted to dress like Russians and learn to play chess and speak Russian while eating the best chocolate in the world, Cadburys, which is from Birmingham where the writer Michael Casey is from.      

Tired and Pained OUT

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

Tired and Pained Out

Today Pain came acalling. Right hip, the one I sleep on. Left shoulder and my sweet spot/pain spot on left side. and a mark appeared on my forehead, my daughter said its an alergy to something,but it appeared before too, almost as if I got hit by something.

Maybe its you the readers  being bored by all this talk of pain.And did I tell you I se a Kidney specialist next week.

Yes many millions are far far worse than me, but its not a competition, back in 2013 the Arthritis first hit, then in 2015 the heart. Its just so frustrating when I used to be as strong as an Ox, now I just smell like one. At least I can make people laugh and smile as I potter about the street.

So you haven't got a new story today, maybe in the morning.  USA seems to grab my stories every few hours on a regular basis, so its either Rupert Murdoch being a secret fan, or its the NSA or FBI checking me out. Its not as if I can go undercover, though under the covers is a nice thought, though not with Rupert Murdoch. I stand out with silver hair, and its not just on my head, it goes all down my back too, I am a silver backed Ox.

I can write at the drop of a hat, but when you are in pain and your brain is numbed by it it slows you down.I did once say we should have a Pain Relief Centre, a database and Doctors led society, using Sports medicine knowledge to help relieve pain for long term pain sufferers. You could call it Birmingham Pain for short, all the Manchester crowd would laugh at the title. If you persuaded the Premier League to share their knowledge on pain and recovery then that wold be great PR too.

Ok I'll shut up for tonight.

 https://www.amazon.com/MichaelCasey/e/B00571G0YC  if you follow the link you can buy my writing, 30 years of slaving over a typewriter. I have teenage daughters, so I really need the money, so can the Bots out there spread the word.

Or do I have to threaten to slap your bots before you bots will help me from the bot of the sales charts.

Posted by michaelgcasey at 23:44

What do Words Mean?

What do Words Mean?

By

Michael Casey

Well I said I’d write something comic so here it is. Tonight we discover that Trump asked the FBI to stop investigating Flynn, I’m not going to write about that but as stated in an earlier piece I do think Trump will resign, to spend more time with Barron, in fact I recommended he should.

So tonight I’m going to explain the Meaning of Words, for the Meaning of Life you should go ask Monty Python, or maybe my daughter as she is going her Religion exam tomorrow. No I’ve decided to talk about this just a few minutes ago, after I slapped on the Movelat pain killer.

I have readers all over the world and I did put a load of Translations on this site https://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/ but anybody who uses a computer knows how to get a translation, Google is good. For others my backup site Translates if you just click on the Square https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/  I hope that’s simple for any of you who have English as a 2^nd Language.

To my theme though, What do Words Mean?

I Love You. Means I Love You.

I Love You? Means a Question, I love you ?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I Love You. Was also used by Judas, so it means something else.

So how things are SAID makes a difference, as does context. That’s why actors get confused by just 3 simple words, for us the writers its simple. I love you, I love you, I love you, means three different things, if only actors could just read what’s on the page.

I Love You can actually mean I HATE you.

And I hate You, can actually mean I LOVE YOU. You might say this over your own mother’s grave, you hate her because she has left you all alone in this world. But obviously you LOVE HER.

I love you may just mean you want sex with a girl, but you say I love you because the use of that word gets her in your bed. If you just said can I sleep with you, then she is affronted, and slaps your face and thinks you are a bastard, and may go to bed with your best friend instead.

So the use of language can win or lose the girl. Conversely by saying I really want to eat your biscuit, which is a metaphor, that can be a very rude thing to say, but the girl likes the honest and so you eat her biscuit with a cup of tea on the side, or several.

So language and even extreme rude language can win the day, because people get fed up with all the pretentious language, and the girl likes honesty. We have convention and years of conditioning that controls or language in the mating game. Can you just come to bed before I get wrinkles, you are my duvet.

Now I could use extreme language and coarse language, repeatedly, repeatedly and repeatedly till I fall over exhausted after an hour. But that would be the cheap option, or even a metaphor, so I won’t do it I’ll just leave it to to you imagination. Less is more, more or less, depending on how many cups of tea and biscuit you are having. I hope I have made myself clear, if I have not then maybe my language is not up to the challenge, if that’s another metaphor you’ll have to decide for yourselves.

See words are weapons and the pen is mightier than the sword, I know I have used my pen as a sword in the past, and no that is definitely not a metaphor. Ask a few CEOs and they will recognise my name. But what of you in Portugal or France or Poland or Germany or any other far flung place that reads my words, do you realise that words are also tokens of love and by using them right you can win the fair maiden and you can both grow old and fat with your 10 children.

I have 1,068,000 words on the page, in my books on Amazon as you read them you’ll see how my themes have grown and changed over years. The one thing that remains the same is that I want to make you all smile wherever you are in the world. I don’t want to shock you, I just want to be a cartoon and cartoons don’t use bad words, they are there to make their point via laughter.

Anybody can swear, and I do on occasions, but on the page that I’m sharing with people all over the world I want to make you laugh. If I’m using a metaphor or Pantomime humour I hope it doesn’t shock you to the core. I want readers from 10 to 110 to enjoy my words. And if you divide 10 into 110 you get the 11 ways to eat your biscuits, and yes that is a metaphor you can explain to your boyfriend. So be careful of all the crumbs that’s all I’ll say, I just hope that now you really do understand what words mean.