In the swing of things

In the Swing of Things ©

By

Michael Casey

Today Australia was there waiting for me when I checked who was reading my stuff. So hello to all the Kangaroos in the zoo and the zookeepers too, who else could it be reading me? Not unless its Rupert Murdoch, or the Dear Leader from North Korea, who’s hiding his IP address. Either way thank you for reading yesterday’s new story, Fat Dave and the DJ. It only happened as I was having a clear out prior to any house move finally happening. So I gave a pile of cds to my Gay neighbours,which led to me thinking there must be a music story in there, and that’s where the seed of an idea came from.

Tonight I was grazing the newspapers and I spotted that Tiger Woods was getting back in the groove, getting back into the swing of things, now that his back has been fused. So that’s brewing in my head as I talk to you all. My own back has fused, and is nearly smoking with pain for a few days, I even missed Easter dinner at my brother’s house. Yes, I missed food and company. So you can imagine just how bad the pain must have been.

Which brings me to Tiger Woods, if ever he comes to Birmingham he can visit Warley Woods there is even a 9 hole golf course he can try. Though I promise not to be as ignorant as I was when the Ryder Cup was on in the Midlands in 2002 or was is 2003? The hotel was packed and I joked to a guest, have you been doing a big of pitch and putt ? To which he replied, no I’ve won the Ryder Cup.

Which all goes to show that you never know what will happen when you work in a busy hotel,which is the attraction of it all. Somebody also asked me once where did I work before and my answer was where there was a locked fire door from the outside. I won’t name names but, my Life and Family is worth more than that.

So what do we mean about being in the swing of things? Well if ever you’ve been to Lourdes you will really see swings in action. The miracle I’m talking about is not just the Grotto, but how the cafes tidy up. You can imagine the traffic of people wanting a drink and a sandwich, the season is 6 months or so then there is no work or business. So hectic is the name of the game. The tables get cluttered and untidy, so the head waiter will give a look and all the staff descend like locusts and clear the tables and tidy the chairs. In five minutes all 20 tables are sorted before the next load of thirsty Pilgrims descend or roost. Il marche bien is what the waiter said when I gave him a look of astonishment. I can also say from my time front of house at CPNEC when it was full on, that we did a similar thing. As Dorienne used to say to me, she could rely on my, it really was a team, all working really hard.

Those are just a couple of examples, but the thing about being in the swing of things is that it is more fun, even though it can be really really tiring. I tell my daughters they should work in hotels to give them some Life Lessons. Habits or is it Hobbits make a difference too, because you hang up your coat and put your shoes away as well as your school bag. Then dad does not trip over your things and is more inclined to give you money for cakes, that if teenagers live a minefield of rubbish all over the living room floor.

When you’ve been sick, or on holiday, or worse been sick while you’ve been on holiday so have had no real rest. Then its hard to get back in the groove, back into the swing of things. You make a few mistakes or you have finger trouble as we typists say. Or sausage fingers that was another phrase used. It’s 40 years since I learnt to type by the way, standing at the bus stop moving my fingers and trying to remember the layout of the QWERTY keyboard. But eventually I got it, though nowadays I never hand write so when people see my hand writing they say YOUR WRITING IS RUBBISH. Yes I see the irony there, but maybe in Australia those kangaroos really do like my writing, and maybe like my typing too.

I’ll get back into the swing of things more tomorrow, but for now I have to get back into my hammock and gently get back to sleep. This ship which we call home has landed on a sandbar and so its time for bed. Though outside Tiger Woods is chipping away at the sandbar with his 9 iron. So by morning Tiger would be able to have freed my ship and I’ll sail of into another day of Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England.