A Table and a Chair

A Table and a Chair ©

By Michael Casey

Well today is a special day, 29^th Feb 1988 was the day I finished my first ever book, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. I have posted the final chapters In Search of an Indian Princess online on my sites and for some reason Poland loves it. I hope they nag the Polish Media and I can get a media deal of my own. We just need to find a translation other than Google Translate. I do have over 1,000,000 words after all, in 12 books on Amazon.

Now I was going to talk about Chat Show, but I thought that was too easy a topic, so I’ve ended up picking this, a Table and a Chair. When I wrote my book, using a typewriter I balanced it on an old tall stool with a red seat. My dad had bought it at an auction in Digbeth Civic Hall in 1973, and so 16 years later I used it as a table for the typewriter. I also got a cassette recorder back in 1973, I can remember listening to a tape of Status Quo while I revised for my exams. My daughter is having a stack of mocks as we speak, but she’ll have to get used to them if she wants to become a Dr, or pathologist, 10 more years of exams at least.

As I wrote my book shivering in front of the gas fire I sat on an old barn chair which had the back sawn off as it had already broken. I brought this chair with me when I moved house, my mother always nagged me to return it as it was perfect to stand on while she washed the outside windows. So that was my table and chair as I became a writer, by the time I had finished writing the book I was a writer, I had learnt as much as I would ever learn about the craft, the rest is just practice.

I suppose 29 years on it’s time I unmasked the muse, the man who suggested I wrote a book. His name is Pad Webb or Patrick Web, then he was16 when he started in the computer room, now he is 46 maybe and a computer engineer, although he could be anything now, ashamed and in denial about ever knowing me, he may even grow a beard to disguise himself. Hang on he did grow a beard, so perhaps he is bald and fat now, I’ll probably never know, but it is all his fault, so if you meet him in a pub, buy him 2 pints of Stella Artois and a packet of cheese and onion crisps as a “punishment”.

That’s one table and chair that was very important in my life, an old stool and an old barn chair. The stool is behind my bed with my dab radio on, the barn chair is languishing in the rubbish room as we call it. Though miraculously today I did spot a great house, one which I’d buy immediately, though it will no doubt be snapped up by somebody else. But if God is good as my mum used to say then I’d move into that house with my old stool and the old barn chair, and I’d wash the outside windows while standing on that chair.

Mums are very powerful and the kitchen table and the corner chair beside it were a confessional and a place of hope. That table was mahogany and very heavy, it’s been in the family house over 60 years now. Mum used to recite German verbs for my sister to help her learn for a test. Mum didn’t know what they meant but she was a great reciter. Ich Bic Dir Du Bic Dir, is all I seem to remember so forgive me any German speakers out there, Carl Lagerfeld will no doubt roll his eyes and drop a stitch, as he makes a pair of oven gloves for Meryl Streep, with “you are so hot” stitched into them in silver. I’m glad they have kissed and made up, life is more important than the wrong envelopes and such things. When they both kneel down for their pillow fight tonight maybe they’ll pray we finally get our dream house. Then they can beat the hell out of each other but with pillows full of love, and feathers.

That kitchen table of ours was where dad counted all the money from the lodgers’ gas and electric meters, and yes the money smelt of gas. When it was all counted I’d take the money down the road in dad’s dinky little black leather bag, the one he had his dinner for work in. Then I’d ask my Mohan at the bottom of the road did he need any change. He’d throw the money into the safe at his feet, then he’d get out his wad with 100s in and peel off 40 or 50 quid or whatever it was and hand it to me. He never counted or weighed it, we were his neighbours after all. In fact I can reveal part of his character was in my novel, one story even was based on a true event at his corner shop maybe 40 years ago now. Let’s just say Indians are very good at hockey, and if you are a shoplifter you better be a fast sprinter or you will find out just how good they are at hockey.

You know when you are rich when you have fancy tables and chairs, or you even have a dining room. Me I never had a fancy table, we still use a coffee table for our family meals. If you have an Oriental wife, or Shanghai to be exact, then you have little tables with lots of dishes on. The coffee table has  been replaced a couple of times but the Oriental theme continues, so my wife feels at home, and I don’t have to fill my home with over-sized furniture.

Simple things do make a difference, so when/if we finally move house I won’t throw away my 40 year old stool and 40 year old barn chair, I have to bring them with us, because they have meaning and love attached to them. And Carl Lagerfeld hurry up with those over gloves for Meryl Streep, she’s going to cook a really good Sunday roast and you are invited, and yes she knows you won’t want a morsel because of your diet. But we both know whatever she was wearing at the Oscars wasn’t very good, but don’t tell her I told you, it can be our secret, and I nearly forgot please return my old barn chair and the stool when you have finished playing musical chairs with Meryl Streep.