Fake News, You Pick and Choose

Fake News, You Pick and Choose ©

By

Michael Casey

I stumbled over Nick Robinson in my Guardian today, what he was doing in my garden, probably stealing rhubarb, that Johnnie friend of his is a bit of a custard, they are a right pair of jokers, and they both wear ear muffs indoors. Strange People those Radio 4 types, 4 types of what you may well ask.

I had just finished my prayers, 6 visits to my church of ablutions, you get an extra grace if you sprinkle three times on the floor and use 1/2 a roll of paper a day. My CkD specialist told me that one, or was he just being funny, you can never tell with specialists, there are so full of long words.

I read in the Daily Snog, an online resource for students of New Media, ok its a scandal sheet published online, with the slops from TNZ, the kind of stuff that was locked up in that safe and never published in the News of the World. Anyway I read that Nick Robinson and that Scots fellow are really best friends, more than friends, they even finish each other’s sentences and they went on a cycling holiday to the Vatican on unicycles after they had finished their mountain climbing holiday in Holland. I think they are actually brothers separated at birth, yes really. It was in the Daily Snog in a column under how to breastfeed your boyfriend, a tip to get pregnant. No not in that column,in another column just under that one.

Playboy died I read it in Live News, its an online paper for undertakers, they have such a quirky sense of humour, so would you if you were dealing with cold dead people all day. A bit like Political Journalists interviewing Politicians, I suppose you are right, I’d have to ask my friends Julian and Sandy, they work on the Daily Rag. A Political Newspaper? No an online resource for Window Cleaners, or is it Anger Management? Anyway they have Radio4 on all the time, the button broke on their DAB Radio, so as they push the cart around cleaning windows they listen non stop. They once cleaned all the windows at the BBC, the things they saw you would not believe. Throwing darts at a Piers Morgan photo was a common feature.

I think I’ll read the Obit to Playboy in the Telegraph, they wouldn’t cover it in the Guardian, they are too pretentiously posh, I think its because they are all Virgins, or is it Vegans? They all wear sandals anyway. Was Nick Robinson’s piece in the Guardian? Yes, because his dad wears Clarks or was he a clerk. I cannot remember, who checks facts anyway, I’m not a journalist.

The BBC is so boring and biased, it was in a link I clicked on which was in FB,or somewhere, I just click and read, follow the amazing facts column then take a right click followed by a left then a right again, just past all the dating sites for Vegans and Guardian readers, or was it Virgins and Gardeners? Something about throwing seeds into furrows and a lot of tilling the land, or was that land girls and grandma? How cares, where was I? The print size is so small on the screen, how kids can read off their mobiles is beyond me. Anyway it said the BBC was biased, so it must be true. All the Politicians agree.

And on it goes, I hope Nick and the crew forgive me, and when the Scots guy gets back from his mountain climbing holiday in Holland he might split a bottle with his best friend Nick. And no not over the head, you are not launching a ship, you are celebrating friendship.

When I saw Steve Hewlett on tv I always thought he was a nice man and listened to his words. Quality really does count and a scholarship in his memory is a great idea. There is so much rubbish all over the place so we need to preserve, protect and defend quality News and Information. Is Mark Zuckerberg doing the same thing in USA, or is he just polishing his image ready for a run at the Presidency?

Sometimes the best position is influence, when you have the power you may not be up for the job, so influence is always better than power. So quality information or journalism is the best gift we can give to any population. Otherwise wolves in sheep’s clothing take over. Satire and Cartoons also have a place in Journalism, so Political Cartoonists should also be encouraged and given space. The joy of the Internet is that there is no lack of space, it’s the BBC’s job to lay the buffet table and they let people try what’s on offer.

As for me I have to get back in the kitchen and do the washing up before my wife gets home, otherwise you’ll be reading about a new surgical procedure , Wok removal from Anus, in the online magazine Blacksmith’s Son and Cutlery, the essential guide for BBC Producers…

Don't be too quick to judge

Don't be too quick to judge (c)
By
Michael Casey

I was talking to my local shopkeeper who works 16+ hours a day in his shop.

He seems to think I'm the idle rich, ok just idle as I have no money.

My wife supports me as I couldn't work a real job due to all my weaknesses or

illnesses.

SO he and others just think I'm the joker they see buying stuff in their stores.

They don't know about the decades of hard physical work I did, the 12 hour

shifts, including 12 hour night shifts.

the 14 years of night shifts.

They don't know of the 3 years of visiting my dad every single day in the old

 people's home on my way to work, and then at weekends

They don't know  of my life and my battles of my family and our battles.

They don't know of the 30 years of writing, the stories don't write themselves.

They just don't know, they just don't care, they just want cheap shots everywhere.

I try and enjoy every day despite my pain, I try and sleep a night without screaming aloud in pain.

No not every day, nor every night, but far too many to mention.

Having to nap because the energy is drained from me is an indignity , and no I'm

not asking for pity.

I have to accept my life for what it is, and make the most of a bad body, a weak

body that'll not live a long life.

So please don't stick that knife in me, I have more than enough pain already.

Pray that I can outlive all the pain and see my girls grown and graduate, for I

have more that enough on my plate without ignorant hate.

*******

Banana Skin

Banana Skin ©

By

Michael Casey

Sandra Saunders was a great legal secretary, in fact she was called the Wind at the firm where she worked, because she typed so fast and she also had a flatulence problem, but only if she ate prawn sandwiches on rye. Sandra was the pride and joy of the senior partner, though he was always wise enough to ask did she have a good dinner. If she had had a prawn sandwich he always said that he felt rather warm and would she mind if he had the window open.

Sandra knew that he was saving her blushes so she loved him the more. There were many young pretenders who came and went over the years, but none could get within 30wpm behind her astronomically fast typing speed. The senior partner rewarded his treasure with cases of champagne left behind her fuchsia in her front garden, timed to arrive 5 mins before she got home.   

So the years rolled on and Sandra grew fat, and a bit windier, but the senior partner just opened the window more frequently. Sandra was 57 when tragedy struck, she slipped on a banana skin while she was collecting her prawn sandwich. She twisted her ankle and broke it, but that was not the worse of it all, ahead of her Peter the new wiz kid boy at the firm had ran to beat the traffic lights outside the firm while he was busy eating his daily banana. He got hit by a bus, the banana skin he had in his hand flew in the air and Sandra had slipped on it. In a way Peter had saved her life as she would have stepped into the road behind him otherwise. So a banana skin had saved her.

The senior partner knew something was wrong when Sandra was 90 seconds late, alarm bells rung in his head, he could see the commotion outside. So the senior partner ran outside. Death and disaster lay on the pavement. The senior partner could see that Peter was moments from death now so he held his hands and said the prayers from Jainism. Then taking off his jacket he folded it like a pillow and put it under Peter’s head. First aiders and police and ambulance arrived but all knew they were too late. Turning to Sandra the senior partner bent down and gently carried her home to their firm. It was only when he had put her down in the comfort of the first aid room that they both realised how bad she was. Otherwise it could have been a scene from an Officer and a Gentleman, the senior partner being Richard Gere.

As they waited for the ambulance to take her away they talked, Peter had in fact saved her life. The senior partner was such a gentle gentleman, and indeed he was. Not unless you met him in Court, then the opposition always had the flatulence problem. Sandra said she thought she’d retire early, seeing somebody die was such a shock for her, besides her Pension Pot was huge. The Senior Partner understood, so Sandra took 12 weeks off sick on full pay, as that’s how long a twist/break takes to heal. Of course flowers and champagne arrived once a week as well as an Ocado delivery of prawn sandwiches.

Sandra did come in to work but if she had to pass the scene of the tragedy every day it would have been too much. So she put all her things in a banker’s box and left. The senior partner did try another legal secretary but after, was it 20 years he missed his hot wind, his faster than the wind legal secretary. Then he had a brainwave. He could dictate and she could type and email it back to his personal office printer. She would still be at least 20wpm faster than even the best replacement. When the senior partner put it to her she was happy to oblige, she had to keep those fingers nimble after all. The firm installed a new private superfast wifi and Apple Mac PC to handle everything, and threw in a media bundle. Law firms look after their staff, but you will work 60 hours a week and have luggage full of papers after all. And no I am not joking, as this humble writer did once work for a major very hard working law firm.

So Sandra enjoyed her retirement with benefits, and in fact became quiet a film buff,for when she was not working exclusively for the senior partner down the line, she watched films. She started sending in film reviews to Mark Kermode and because she was persistent and the quality of her thought was like a legal brief she and Mark became good friends. They ended up discussing this and that and sometimes the other in all the latest films. He even took her under his wing and gave her tuition in film appreciation. Sandra was so good in fact that Mark K, as his friends called him, even dropped by for tea when he was in the area. They had prawn sandwiches and the irony was not lost on him, his name and her wind. But it’s an ill wind that blows no good, besides her stash of champagne was far better than any he’d had at a film festival.

Tragedy like History repeats itself, Mark K was due to watch a few films ready for his film review, when he slipped over a banana skin and twisted his ankle. Mark was in the Pooh, and he was due to meet this new big shot film star. As Mark K screamed as the doctor said does this hurt he remember Sandra and her banana skin, and he has a road to Damascus experience. Sandra would have to cover for him.

Sandra did not want to do it, but she did not want to leave Mark K in the Pooh. And that was how Sandra met Peter Perfect, the new hot film star. She saw his film and the stood in to interview him. He was going to show her the door when she stopped him dead in his tracks. She hadn’t worked for a senior partner for 20 years without learning the look and the voice. So she told him the story of Mark K and the banana skin, and her own accident and how Peter from the law firm had saved her by his death, and how he was a follower of Jainism.

She may have picked him up and bounced him off the four walls of the very expensive five star hotel suite. Peter Perfect was humbled, utterly humbled. So much so that he gave Sandra 2 hours worth of interview. Sandra was asked did she want to take a selfie, she said she didn’t have one of those modern cameras, besides only the girls from the law firm would want such things. So Peter Perfect jumped up from his seat and taking Sandra by her hand they walked down the road to Sandra’s law firm. Pandemonium and together they walked into the reception. The senior partner could hear the noise so he went to investigate, he was first in the queue for an autograph, his daughters just loved Peter Perfect. A senior partner has to make some very tough calls, but this one was easy.Tony ring the fire bell we need a fire drill don’t you think?

So the firm evacuated so that everybody could have time for selfies. Mark K’s big film review was the best ever, he said his Aunty had stood in for him, and that gave Sandra such a big thrill. As for Peter Perfect he stopped being a pain in the butt, and really did live up to his name. He started a new production company called Banana Skins, with the senior partner handling all his legal stuff. As for Sandra she wasn’t afraid of banana skins any more, in fact she had a secret email admirer called Banana Skins who sent her films galore via email from Hollywood.      

A bit of a Fright

A Bit of a Fright ©

By Michael Casey

They say a bit of a fright is good because it gets your pulse going and helps your heart and its circulation. We were watching Don’t Breath on the telly tonight, it was given 4 stars and I agree with it. Very scary and very violent with lots of twists, it was only out last year 2016. Some of it you will say was just too sick, but there is a happy ending of sorts, its a 15 I believe.

So tonight’s question is do you like Frights? The Labour Party here in England do not as they are not even debating Brexit which is the biggest thing in 50 years in the UK. But I’ll leave the political jokes to my heroes the Political Journalists, yes they are my heroes, I’ve been watching all this for 50 years, me and my dad and Robin Day.

So what frightens you? The gas bill and the electric bill frightens me, and they both came this week, the week our fridge gave up the ghost after 6 years,my story Fridge Family Casey explained it all. I don’t like surprises, as they are nearly always bad, or people think they are doing you a favour when you’d rather be left alone. Look what happened to Thomas a Becket, somebody thought they were doing Edward the Confessor a favour. It all ended nastily. Maybe that was the inspiration for the first slasher movie, or the Medieval equivalent.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail had the knight that was dismembered, and still fighting on. This is the stock in trade of horror movies, just when you think they are dead they blink and get up and attack you again. The creak on the stairs is always there, or just the buckets of blood, though my wife is more scared by the creaks on the stairs.

We all love to hide and jump out and frighten people, its what we all enjoy doing as children, parents pretend to be shocked and scared. I used to pretend to be dead and lie on the floor so when the kids came home I was dead. They in turn used to jump up and down on me, and pull my nasal hair to make sure I was really dead, or force open my eyelids, the usual kid stuff. Thankfully they never tried the rectal thermometer.

No post unplanned quadruple heart bypass and with the state of my Arthur my arthritis I cannot pretend to be dead on the floor any more. Which in a way is sad as it means their childhood is ending and teenager attitudes are taking over, me I think you should always stay a child in your heart. It’s sheer coincidence that my big daughter wants be be a doctor, Pathologist is her target, at least you won’t kill anybody I say. My small daughter finished watching Don’t Breath with me, so I suggested she did a PhD in the Horror Genre, after she gets her degree. Something for her to aim for.

Imagine she’d be forever covered in popcorn as a result of all these films she’d see at the cinema, I wonder can you get a horror pass to get discount? Or if you say I’m doing a horrible PhD you get in free. I’ll have to find out for her.

As I said earlier we all enjoy pranking our friends. We had a roller cupboard in the office, 30 years ago and we said it would be funny  if somebody hid in it and then just reached out and grabbed somebody’s leg while the rollers were down. So Neil hid in it and we waited for the next Sunday shift to arrive. Only the temptation was too much for me, so I pressed the close button, and Neil was trapped inside the cupboard.

I should have pissed myself laughing but I was scared he’d be scared of being trapped in the semi dark inside the roller shuttered cupboard. In fact I kind of panicked. So he had to calm me down while he was still trapped inside. He got out in the end by kind of limbo dancing wriggling his way out of the bottom of the cupboard. He was very red faced after it. But I suppose it was his reward for once calling me a burnt out has been. I went on to write 13 more books and get married and have a Chinese Irish family. He got divorced and years later I’m sure the last time I saw him he was scavenging from a dustbin in Saint Philips Churchyard.

That is the worst kind of horror story there is, so thank your lucky stars for the nice life you have. But do look under your bed, just in case there is more than the pussy hiding there.   

From Airheads to PSB/Radio4 Heads

From Airheads to PSB/Radio4 Heads©

By

Michael Casey

I’m happy enough today, I returned to my own local church just in time to hear the Shona choir nip in and sing a song or two after their practice in the spare room outside the church. I smiled as a guy in front of me removed both his hearing aids as the choir and drums struck up. If you have never heard a Shona choir I think you should try and get to hear one. It really is something magical, it even brought a tear to my eye, though nobody would have seen my tears behind my shades.

Earlier in the day I nipped into the other church to give Molly my new story, Molly and the Flu. I also paid the gas bill and did some shopping, the normal day to day things, meanwhile the wife cut the grass. My Arthur my arthritis prevents me from being too physical, that and my surgery scars, if you brush slightly against my left breast I’ll scream and jump 2 feet into the air, even after 2.5 years. So now you know.

I just watched Airheads on tv and old film from 1994 with the guy from the Mummy in it, its about a rock band hijacking a rock radio station in an attempt to get airplay. I give it 6/10 but its worth a watch. So this set me thinking, how do speech radio people such as I, get their stuff on the radio.On PSB or BBC Radio4.

Over here we have BBC Radio4 which was a very big part of my life for 20 years, from ages of 8 to 28 perhaps, and a few years more. I have heard 100s or even 1000s of plays, and that was before I wrote a few of my own. I used to hang around theatres too, and I’ve watched 1000s of films. I have drunk beer in bars and seen live folk and jazz galore, just in case you think I’m too boringly intellectual. And yes I’ve read by the yard, though nowadays its online newspapers.

So that’s my background, as well as growing up in a large family which was larger still with alcoholic lodgers and a cat and a dog. And all in what you’d call Inner City Birmingham. I am a vacuum cleaner as I’ve said before, so I record everything and it goes into the soup then I ladle it out in a story.

So how do I get these stories on the radio? I even parodied my self http://michaelgcasey.typepad.com/files/127.i-want-to-be-a-radio-star-a-love-story-1.mp3 You can hear it if you follow the link.

Otherwise what do I do? I could stand outside the BBC in the rain reading stories like a performance artist. I could print off a few copies and sell them or hand them out outside supermarkets, but there would be too much competition from Big Issue sellers or our local beggars. I have no Allan Bennett to give me shelter, I don’t even own a van. So what can I do?

I can continue to write, aim for my next million words, try and reach the two million tally. I could add to my 207 recorded pieces of writing, that’s 11hours plus of air time. I could send photos of myself with food down my jumper to all the Radio 4 personal, would that work? Or do I have to pose with my hand supporting my chin. Isn’t the bouncer look good enough, looks should not matter anyway it is radio material after all. I do have a face for radio as Terry Wogan used to say.

I did once hand something in to a radio station, that did not work, though Bauer Media did like some jokes I left of FB or something years ago. And I did get loads of praise but no airtime from a variety of radio stations. So should I try harder? Could I ring in to all the late night radio programmes and banter away reading from my scripts over the phone. So I ad lib my way to their attention, between 2 and 5 am when real people are asleep.

I could take away their dictionary that would really hurt their feelings, I could hide the complete works of Shakespeare, and those desert island disks then they might give in and play some of my 207 recordings. And then I could record the rest of my writing, 1000 more short stories. I could even read my novel on the radio, all 600 pages of it.

Would any of this work? Would I have to offer my body in exchange for radio play? Would anybody want my much scarred body, complete with very hairy back? Would I have to sell my soul, my body just to get my stories on speech radio, or very late night commercial radio? Speech radio is run by very intellectual gay men, or middle aged women. So obviously none of them would lower themselves to have me, or rather my stories on the radio.

I can fantasise about being discovered with just a dictionary holding my lusts in check, but realistically that’s not going to happen. Its as likely as the seoul times having a story of mine on the front page for a week alongside a photo of a K Pop star. http://www.theseoultimes.com/ST/index.html 

K-Pop Saves the World

Though that is what has happened this very week. So the very week I have been pretty weak my spirits soar as have reach Korean shores.

If by any chance anybody with a love of radio does read this I am available as are my 1,000,000 words, perfect stocking filler material. Barry White is singing in the background, He cannot get Enough of my Love, I just wish Radio couldn’t get enough of my stories, Ed Sheeran cannot monopolise the radio forever. Could he not move over for a fat boy in shades, I mean Me not Barry White.