Green

Green ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I thought I’d write something more main stream today, that’s if anything of mine is main stream. My favourite show is on tv at 7pm, 100 Days Plus, a 2 hander about USA/Uk politics so I have an hour to paint green all over the screen. Why Green? Well I just wondered to myself could I write about anything, and Green popped up, so this is my self imposed challenge.

Green in big in Ireland and I’d call myself Irish having Kerry parents, though others might say I’m just a Plastic Paddy, having been born here in Birmingham, just down the road from where I’m speaking. If you Google earth you can actually see me stood outside my house, my white/silver head stands out, not green at all.

We say the grass is always greener someplace else, when in fact once you get there you are sadly disappointed. Then you pine for the green green grass of home, though having Tom Jones as a neighbour might be a pain what with all the ladies knickers scattered all over your lawn. So your lawn is never green, more like pink and frilly. Though Tom did ask his dad what he was doing, he was getting ready to go to work down the pit. So Tom said, never again, so his dad retired on the spot. I don’t know did his dad spend his retirement cleaning up knickers off the lawn,we’ll have to ask Tom, Sir Tom Jones that.

When you are new to something you are green, just as a sampling is, with time the sapling grows into a tree, and birds nest high in its branches, with just Totoro our cat finding blood sport in its branches. The tree blossoms and its leaves spreads providing shade on the grass below, this is where Casanovas of all ages take advantage of green girls on the grass, and so a new generation, my generation is born, on the green green grass of home.

With experience we all all no longer green, or maybe just our abandoned clothes. Life gives us experience so we go from a novice to an expert in our chosen profession. You might be a bottle washer in a bar or a hotel, the crash of failure sprinkles the floor, the floor sweeper gets more experienced too as you work together. With experience you are less clumsy, you make Tom Cruise in Cocktail look like a clumsy clown, you can grab toss and throw and cage your bottles like a circus performer. You are no longer green, you are a star shining silver and bright. As for your colleague, with his broom he looks like a soldier on parade doing tricks, but with a broom not a riffle, almost like a ballet performance, or something from Cirque du Soleil, all with his broom. Obviously the two of you marry and then its back to green grass.

Green is of course the Irish national colour, and Pakistan uses a version of green too. Then there is my old school uniform, yes that too was green. So you can discover my old Grammar school now. People used to be green with envy when you got into grammar school, before spite began to raise its ugly head in education, you can discuss that amongst yourselves.

So life begins with green, and as you take the hard knocks of life its like a bruise which goes through all the colours of the rainbow before it goes. I’ve been punched in the head, don’t cheer you horrible people at the back of the class, so I know all about how a black eye works.By the way the French say un bleu, and porn films are called film blanch, ask your green French teacher about that in the morning and see just how red she goes.

So you have a black eye or whatever they call them in Thailand or Korea wherever you are reading this, and it changes colour and goes through all the colours of the rainbow, so life too goes through various colours and hews. As you grow up and get some education in a good school, or through listening to life and Radio4 your brain expands, without any substances, just experiences that colour you and your life.

You may get a mentor directly or indirectly, it might just be the bus driver on the way to work or school, he’s always happy and perks you up,so you decide to be like him. Its very easy to be sad and blame everybody else for the black storm clouds in your life, you have to say &^^**( that I’m going to be happy. I’ll be like Bobby the bus driver, that’s his real name, I was not using trashy alliteration, maybe I’m colouring my words for effect, to add colour to their meaning. So you go off and make money and have a limousine hire service like Smoking Joe Frazier did, you remember Bobby and you go back and give Booby a job or just look after him. Why did you help Bobby, because when you were green he encourages you to go for Gold, so you remember his kindness. You repay him 1000 fold.

Yes we all start green,or waiting for life’s light to turn green, then we can crash over the barriers like a Bolt, and flash through silver to gold and reach for the stars. So enjoy the colours of your life, the red white and blue, the green and gold, whatever they are. How you colour your life is up to you, always remember that it takes all the colours of the rainbow to make a full life, and if you are lucky you will find your pot of gold at the end of your rainbow, And if you don’t there’s always a metal detector, and I don’t mean a sport star’s wife.     

nite nite pain clinic in am

nite nite pain clinic in am

I'll see the pain clinic people in the morning, let's see what they say....

at least I fixed the toilet today

glad to see Thailand joined the fold today

what is their first impression of my writing if  they read about toilet fixing

things can only get better

my sister had friends over at her house so we had the left over drinks and cake

see sisters are really great, have one and you'll never starve

my sister's name is Marie Antoinette by the way

the pain monster has come out to play this evening, its such a random thing

I used to be as strong as an Ox, now I just smell like one

But as my mother used to say Good is Good

so goodnight all wherever you are.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

My Achievement Today

My Achievement Today ©

By Michael Casey

What did you do today? Our mum or dad would say to each of us today, or any day. I used to have a Social on the top step of the stairs, I’d tell my mum everything I’d done at school that day, then she’d pat my bottom and send me off to bed with a kiss goodnight. 50 years later my smallest daughter always gives me a kiss goodnight, so History is repeating itself.

Now what is my achievement today, as we end May and invade June? Well today I put a new handle on our toilet. So I saved myself the price of a plumber, £30 or even £50. The part was 7 quid in my local Pakistani  Aladdin’s cave, they have everything, all the way from China. So all I had to do way take the lid off the cistern and  then replace the handle. So simple even a simpleton could do it. Only I could not.

You see the original silver coated plastic handle broke off, we don’t enjoy the smell from one particular smelly bum in the family, so lots of flushing goes on. This distorted the handle till eventually it came off. So I had to become an emergency plumber. We had to resort to other measures to flush the toilet,  I did suggest I could drink lots of Stella Artois and then use my own fire hose to flush the toilet, but that was deemed too expensive an idea. It was so simple, and I was prepared to sacrifice myself for my family of girls.

So today when the shops were open after the bank holiday, we were drowned in Birmingham, one month’s rain in one hour, I went and got the new shiny metal toilet handle. I came home triumphant my toilet handle in my hand, my bargain my joy was flooding from me. I knew in seconds the new handle would fit, but the plastic nut that held the old one in place refused to budge. 

I poked the old handle out of the way with the new one, but a large plastic nut was in the still in the way. You have a hole in the cistern which the metal handle bar goes through, and then it is attached with its own nut, then hanging from that is a plastic fitment and a hook that attaches to the plunger that sends the water racing down into the toilet bowl below. The bar has a piece of plastic on it with a screw thread so that a nut can attach the handle firmly to the cistern from the inside, so it does not wobble. Then hey presto you put the cistern lid back on and all the magic is hidden, you  can pooh, flush and go.

Well this is the theory. But what do you do if you have a nut stuck to the inside of the toilet cistern? I could put the new handle and its bar through the existing hole, but I could now screw it firmly because I could not put the new nut on from the inside. Now my mother is called necessity, and I am very inventive. To I stripped the plastic from the new toilet handle bar, so now it would slip through the hole in the toilet cistern, but it wobbled. So then I thought about Plumber’s Tape. This is like ribbon for plumbers, you wrap it around a thread  and put a nut on, thus sealing  things. I did actually have some plumbers tape but I wanted a seal and the ability to move.

Sellotape came to the rescue, by wrapping one end of the bar around the  toilet handle bar I killed two birds with one stone. I bulked up and sealed the hole going into the toilet cistern, and it was slippy so could move in the hole and thus allowing a clean flush. By the way the hole is above the waterline, but it does need sealing, just in case there were to be an overflow, so water inside only goes out the proper overflow pipe.

So once I’d finished and tighten the nut connecting the handle bar inside to  the plastic fitment with the hook in, I stood back and stood on the cat’s tail, Totoro is a very nosey cat after all. She was very noisy as well as nosey when I stood on her tail, so she skipped out of the bathroom window. All  that was left for me to do was to christen my toilet, so I lowered myself and enjoyed a good sit down, before flushed  with success I pushed the new shiny toilet  handle. And guess what it worked.

So I’d saved myself a bit of money. I used to watch our lodger do all the odd jobs so I need to thank him Killybegs for the education, 50 years ago and more. Now should you ask what kind of story is this, and what kind of writer am I then you know already. I write about any old S*&^ but I hope I make it entertaining,  because it’s   the way I tell them as Frank Carson used to say.

The Ghost in the House

The Ghost in the House ©

By

Michael Casey

George was a ghost, only he did not know it. George thought he had a nap and when he got up from the bed he saw the private ambulance move off from outside his house. George wondered was it old Mrs Patrick from no75 opposite, only as he looked over the road she waved at him from her bedroom window. So she was alive and kicking, so who had kicked the bucket. George’s stomach rumbled so he went downstairs to the kitchen, he’d left some old pizza in there for days, he could reheat it for the 5^th time, it would be ok, he had great stomach he could eat anything.

As he reached for the fridge door handle George noticed something, no matter how hard he tried he could not open the fridge door. He banged on the fridge, but there was no sound. George thought he was just a little hung over, he’d had 10 pints of home brew, it was old, but it was a sin to waste it. Old pizza and very old home brew from his back room by the kitchen. That was why he needed a nap, now he was awake but things seems strange.

The doorbell rung, George could see it was the Happy Clappy Christians from the church up the road, so obviously he wasn’t going to answer. He might just puke all over them, he felt strange very strange, like a politician who’d given up the booze. George sat down by the kitchen table. He felt somebody tap his shoulder, it was Mrs Patrick. You don’t look too good you know she said. I don’t feel too hot either George replied. Hold out your tongue, George obeyed , Mrs Patrick inspected his dirty tongue.

George then wondered how she had got in the house, before he could ask Mrs Patrick proclaimed, you are dead. George could not comprehend, who was she to tell him he was dead, and how did she get in the house anyway. Mrs Patrick smiled. George reached for the fetid bottle of milk on the kitchen table and drunk it all. At least that felt better.Mrs Patrick smiled sat down next to him. You are dead, and so am I, but nobody knows I’m dead yet, my neighbours are on holiday, when they get home they’ll know I’m dead, the stink will tell them.

George should have been shocked but maybe all the rank home brew had calmed him. So he was dead, and his aged 95 year old neighbour was dead too. A couple of corpses, without being a couple that is. Just neighbours. So what happens next asked George? I don’t know I’ve never been dead before replied Mrs Patrick, I’m not one of those Buddhists, or one of those Christians always being born again like ice cream salesmen in a van.

I’d give you a cup of tea but I cannot get the fridge to open to get fresh milk, said George. I had that problem too replied Mrs Patrick. But though I want a cup of tea more than anything else I just cannot have one. Do you think an angel comes and takes us to Heaven? It could be the other place mused Mrs Patrick. You did have rather a large number of girlfriends shall we say. Its normal I am a man after all, what did Hugh Grant say on the radio. Well I’m sure God loves all of us, just the way we are, or were.

The pair of ghosts sat in silence for a few hours till darkness fell, just looking into space. Do I get tired and sleep at night now that I’m a ghost wondered George. Mrs Patrick thought for a minute before replying, you see I’m so old I don’t mind sitting in my chair all then time. But you might want to move about, you might bored, and to be honest I may be very old, but as a ghost I’m a newbie. So I’m still getting used to the idea.

I only came over to see if you were alright when I saw the private ambulance take you away. Two of your girlfriends were stealing your wallet before the private ambulance too your body away. You are very kind Mrs Patrick, they were not girlfriends, they were pro pro , ladies of the night said George matter of factly.

I’ll see you out then said George heading for the door, only he could not open it. So Mrs Patrick walked straight through it, bye she called over her shoulder. George wondered would he be trapped in his house forever. He closed his eyes and walked through the door, he was in the middle of the road, a car was coming. It drove straight through him. He would have been killed if he were still alive. He was just thin air as far as the car driver was concerned. He’s lived till he was 52, now he was nothing. Too much alcohol and too many ladies of the night had killed him.

Mrs Patrick waved from her bedroom window, passers by held their noses, what was that smell,what was that smell. George felt sorry for her. All alone and dead in her bedroom. No children nor grandchildren were wondering how she was, she was dead in her bed, unloved and unnoticed. George closes his eyes and walked into her house. It was so much better than his, but he didn’t notice that smell himself, he did not notice the smell of death.

Mrs Patrick came down and they went downstairs to the kitchen, they’d have a cup of tea,or at least pretend to. In the kitchen the cat was dead on the floor, Tinker her cat had died of hunger, his owner had died so the cat died too. The smell was terrible, Mrs Patrick averted her eyes so George suggested they sit in her living room instead. They sat in the armchairs pondering their futures.

There was a bang and a crash at the back door, opportunist burglars were breaking in. This really angered Mrs Patrick especially as they slipped on Tinker he cat. George and Mrs Patrick screamed, they screamed so much as they were so angry. The burglars saw the ghosts and fled out the front door, straight into the arms of the Police who were investigating the smell.

The burglars were more that happy to be caught, they were so afraid of ghosts. Mrs Patrick’s body was discovered dead in bed and Tinker was scooped up and buried in the garden. Mrs Patrick’s body was taken away in a private ambulance. George consoled Mrs Patrick, she had tears in her eyes. Look Mrs Patrick why not come live with me, I’m only over the road after all. So long as you don’t treat me like one of your ladies of the night, replied Mrs Patrick. You are 95, laughed George. I was a looker when I was young I’ll have you know, insisted Mrs Patrick. So arm in arm George and Mrs Patrick crossed the road, two ghosts together, united in death.

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

 

a deluge of writing awaits at https://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/

https://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.co.uk/

click here

Monday, 28 May 2018

AS we had a deluge I thought I'd give you a deluge of my words

AS we had a deluge I thought I'd give you a deluge of my words

now read all the posts you like

BUT

please buy a book or two as well

and yes everything is my copyright.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

3 Way Ping Pong (c) by Michael Casey from 2013 I am NOT on FB anymore now

3 Way Ping Pong©

By Michael Casey

I have a friend, two actually, on FaceBook who inspire me, we make each other laugh. They are in New York and have American accents I suppose, me, I’m in Birmingham, the English one. Though in Birmingham we pronounce it “Bermingum”, no long drawn out BirmmingggHAAM. Is the saying a common people divided by a language? Or maybe the other way around.

Now E & S, I’m protecting their identities, as their children may disapprove of them talking to strangers. Now E & S live together, they are related, me I’m in Birmingham with a Shanghai wife and two bilingual daughters. E & S speak and write American English, me I read/write English English. However there can be days and I mean whole days when all I hear is Chinese, as my wife screams to her mom in Shanghai. Chinese people are very loud, especially over the Internet.

So if you like E & S are my refuge. Good morning I’ll start with, as I put my bowler hat on and open my umbrella, it’s always raining in England after all. I may send a link from a newspaper over here, and they reply with a link from over there. Ping replied with Pong. Now first E may reply before S counters, it’s like having two pitchers at the Red Socks, so occasionally I have to duck.

Now E and S are poets and writers, E has a big vocabulary, luckily I have a very big dictionary, and best of all the Internet makes everybody a spelling bee, and I can find out the meaning too. Being over here she cannot see the expression on my face when I don’t know the meaning of her big words. While she is typing her next sentence I can run for the dictionary and/or Wikipedia, so I can smoothly and effortlessly seem intelligent, when it’s my turn to return service.

So this goes on, with photos of what S has baked or made for their breakfast. I’m putting the pounds on and that’s just by looking at S’s photos of cakes galore. So S is a poet, writer and baker. Then splat, is it E returning service over the cyber table tennis table? No it’s a photo of pancakes that they are having for breakfast. I’m sure my Internet connection is slowing down due to all the maple syrup in the status updates.

E will say something and I will repost as I move closer to the net, S will make another comment distracting me from my left hand side. Then Taiwan or Arab friends pop up with news, and I’ll comment on Esol English  lists, I’m jumping from here to there, hither to thither, now how do I explain those two words to Esol English students.

I have a new post to share so I post it, after putting it on my own site https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/  In nanoseconds and I’m not exaggerating E has read it, she’s an executive editor, she reads fast. S told me once E was at the dentist and somebody dropped a magazine and before it hit the floor E had read it.

So this is how I use the Internet and FB too. FaceBook is a form of Ping Pong, and Ping is an IT word after all. Ping Pong is how FaceBook works, and don’t forget I have a Shanghai wife so I know all about Ping Pong.

Now what about FaceBook itself? Well Facebook is a 3 ring circus, with high wire acts, with juggling, with lion taming, and not forgetting the clowns. And the staff? They are roadies, they set up the tent, allowing me, E and S not to mention the 1,000,000,000 rest of you to play the game.

Now I know a thing or two about roadies, when I was a concierge at CPNEC we had the Arena next door. Roadies stayed at the hotel. All of them wear shorts and they have tattoos on their calves, it’s too hot to wear long trousers. So I can reveal this final piece of information, Mark Zuckerberg has tattoos on his calves. If you don’t believe me just go ask him, does he ever roll up his trouser legs when he’s paddling at the beach?  Ping Pong.

i only use the more glamorous photos

Getting Ready to Go Out

Getting Ready to Go Out ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I’m Home Alone my 3 girls have gone out, I think Bicester Village is the destination, where they can meet other members of the family, the Chinese family that is. I was watching my Shanghai wife transform herself before she left. She colonised a corner of the breakfast bar while she put her makeup on, she had of course brought our dustbins in from the street before she began. Now as she squats in the corner by the fridge she transforms herself. No longer the 16 year old face, as eyebrows and lipstick and a bit of rouge is added. She becomes the woman wolves want. Luckily she is martial arts trained, so she discards her leopard leggings and National Geographic body warmer and morps into a lady with matching attire. And ages 10 years, but still is 20 years younger looking that she really is.

My daughters discard the house PJs for teenage looks, I ask my small daughter did her trousers, or should I say culottes shrink. She gives me a look that would kill most, its the Fashion is her reply. My other daughter has a short skirt on. When she was born they said she had long legs and would no doubt be wearing short skirts, so the were right 17 years ago.

Totoro our female cat wonders what is going on from her perch on top of the fridge, so she does the cello as she licks herself, all my girls cat included are preening themselves. Then with a See You they are gone. So Totoro leaps off the fridge to find a spot on the sofa. She’ll have peace until the shoppers return.

As for me I look out the window and wonder when will my drawers be dry, we have a 2 washing lines full of clothes. I am tasked to bring all the washing in before a May shower gets it. Forever the housewife. I also have to seek out the best offer on toilet paper, which brand where offers the best options, 100 rolls of toilet paper for my ever so sensitive bottom. In days of old you used to pick your spot and then use a blade of grass to wipe your ass. As my mother often told me, you can Google Earth Cromane Lower County Kerry to see where she was born, though the stone building has now been rearranged into part of my cousin’s house.

I may go out later myself, I’ve just emailed the story so far, what’s above this line to my girls, they should have reached Bicester by now, so while they eat cake they can read about themselves, Home Thoughts from Birmingham if you like. What am I like before I go out, do I preen myself? I used one of the girls’ various brushes to tame my silver locks and my wild eyebrows then I blow several kisses to myself in each of our mirrors. With girls in the house you have to have plenty of mirrors, I of course am far from vain. If I were I’d steal some concealer for my wrinkles, luckily as I am fat I am wrinkle free. Ok, don’t magnify those photos of me, you are so cruel , and you three, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi can you just stop preening your facial hair in my mirrors.

I then head for the bathroom and splash a bit of Jeyes Fluid behind my ears after first having a pee. Then making sure I have closed my zip, carefully, old men leave their flies open or so I am told, so you have to check yourself in the mirror before finally leaving the house. Luckily my dandruff seems to be in control lately so I can skip gaily to the shops. Ok I limp to the shops, I like the word gaily,but sadly some old words have been requisitioned by one denomination or another. Should I say I manfully stride to the shops concentrating on trucking right, which are words from a 10cc song?

Meanwhile Totoro our cat farts, she is alone so she is the Queen, as you know my kids wanted a pet, so I said they could have a dog if I died, or a cat if I had a heart attack. A few weeks later I had my unplanned quadruple heart attack, it was supposed to be a triple but I was told 6 months later I had 4 grafts. Hence Quadruple Heart Bypass. So Totoro came to live with us 3 years ago.

Once I hit the shops, I will buy brown bread, we really love it now. And whatever offers I can find in the store, I have to get honey for my honeys too, its good on breakfast cereal they tell me. I use a bit on Kafir my Polish yogurt drink, which is supposed to be good for me. So I have to get ready now, I have to decide which plastic reusable bag I will take with me. I don’t want it to colour clash with my clothing do I? Who knows I may get a trolley in the future, but it will be a manly trolley, or I could get a wicker basket one with a walking stick attached. It will be even harder for me to decide what to bring to the shops with me. Maybe I’ll get a dog and send it to the shops for me?

Well Celine Dion has finished singing in French to me, she keeps on saying she wants Oxygen, so maybe I should put JM Jarre’s Oxygene on for her to listen to. Though it could just be that Totoro our cat has been farting really bad, I’ll go open the windows for Celine.