From a Distance

From a Distance ©

By

Michael Casey

Well, what shall I say? The news is so full and tragic. Too many cooks spoiling the broth, death and despair everywhere. And yes, Trump is still lying, I think all Press should just report one thing. I had the vaccine so take it. Then ignore him. You see if you cut out the bad bits everything seems so much better.

Like food with mould on top, scoop it out and eat the rest, I believe you can do that with jam, and when you are in a jam anything will do. Though in a traffic jam you are stuck there stranded, and bored. Though I myself am never bored, too many years doing Babysitting on Computers that’s what we called it 40 years ago, and I cannot believe it, so long ago, I was still a teenager when I started in 1978, DEC PDP 1170 and all that. Too many days off midweek due to shift patterns, this gave me Radio 4 time, which is the internal BBC world service, so that was my education. 20 years of it. Then I launched myself as a writer, 33 years ago. So, 53 years in love with words. And no I’m not 95, only on pain days, in my head I’m 20.

So, from a distance I can chart my progress, my growth, and not just were I cut myself shaving on my chin, shaving early. When I look back, I can see where I was and what I was doing. Mainly observing, like a sparrow on a washing line, a line I used before, because I looked out the back bedroom window, and saw a sparrow on a washing line.  See observation is everything if you want to write. Things appear so you use them, like a sparrow on a washing line scavenging, and you can repeat them and fill up a page without trying.

The smell of roast dinner wafts towards me from the kitchen, so I investigate, but the broccoli is overpowering, so makes me feel sick. Though if you have had Covid 19, then you cannot smell or taste any of it, so I suppose if you have no nose or tongue now, just close your eyes and remember it instead. But as I normally eat with my eyes, I’d be spared any of it, so thank God all of you out there for your boring senses. And have pity on those who’ve been through it, and a word of warning to Birmingham Alabama, get Vaccinated and Mask Up, do you really think the liar Trump really cares about you? Only when you save yourselves can you save anybody or anything else.

So, from a distance things look, taste, smell better or maybe worse. News is the first draft of History, as a podcast out there says. Though some “news” stations are just Lies, spouted by over inflated personalities, on even more inflated salaries. I must go visit the garden centre later, why did that spring to mind?

Moving on, as a child I had hand me down clothes, I loved my sisters’ dresses most, but the knickers were just pants. Now half of you believe me, the rest of you are still trying to pronounce Birmingham, over here on the borders of The Black Country, which refers to soot and pollution, for any trigger happy misunderstanders. We pronounce Birmingham as BirmingUM,  and I have a “posh” Birmingham accent, as my mother had a thick Kerry accent, which we could only hear on the phone, and dad could be mistook for Welsh on account of the Welsh guys in the steel works. As well as decades of listening to BBC Radio4, in the days before local accents were “allowed”. So, there you have it. Google Lenny Henry, should I say Sir Lenny Henry, a comedian, who left school with no qualifications, and remember pieces of paper don’t show intelligence, as intelligence is Speed of Thought. He is now also a PhD, so in fact he is Sir Lenny Henry PhD, and he does loads for charity. And yes, my pieces of paper, and thank you for your pieces of paper was the very first put down I received. My pieces of paper, or my 20 books so far, book 21 will have this in. My 2,000,000 words or so, those quantify my Speed of Thought. But then again, you may all be believers in the liar Trump, so only God can help you, and in God you Trust, it’s written on the dollar bill, it was in Miracle on 42nd street, I believe in Fairies and Santa too.

I’ve side tracked myself. Though a trip to the kitchen did get me some beef slops, which were very nice, though the cat may be disappointed. It reminded me of CPNEC were the food was legendary, I’m Beating my Beef, Chef, was one comment I remember from when I wandered through the kitchen on security patrol. It’s also a metaphor, for any comedians out there reading this.

I got lynched for telling my girls to go to bed at a more reasonable hour, 4am is too late. Strange hours will bite you on the bum eventually, and brain fog is too high a price to pay as you wanted to stay up late binge watching Modern Family, which is great by the way. But I was in bed at 2am. Ok late, but remember my Tinnitus already messes my head and sleeping, if I level with you, and yes Level 42 is playing as I speak to you. This all goes back to influences, and using what’s all around you. If you look in your fridge and say there is nothing to eat, and there are eggs, then you can convert the left overs into something, five loaves and two fishes kind of moments. So, take a moment to think, Dad is not just a burnt out old has been, as one kind person said to me, though when I saw him last he was scavenging from the dustbins in Saint Philips churchyard. Which may prove the point, look after yourself or you may end up a beggar.

or a horticulturist

which is a posh prostitute, but that's a Shakespeare use of words