To the very gates of hell a reminder of the power of prayer in Covid 19 times

I’ve had this idea as part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher for a few years, it may not make it into the book if ever I get around to finishing it. A book is a year of your life. Whereas a story is an hour, a big difference. Now read on.

DECEMBER 11TH, 2014 13:02

To The Very Gates Of Hell ©

By Michael Casey

Mrs Murphy watched in horror, just yards in front of her Fr. Dan was going to be slain, the Colombians had him surrounded. Their guns were drawn and there was no Hope, he’d be as dead as a doornail in seconds. He was her favourite priest no he’d be gone to meet his maker. She could see his face, his eyes were fixed on hers, Pray for me he begged.

Fr. Dan  was not afraid of the Colombians, but he was afraid of his Final Judgement, he has killed two men in anger when he was younger. He had confessed this to Mrs Murphy when telling her that her soul was spotless as driven snow compared to his.

Some thugs had teased him and tortured him, trying to make him say bad things about Mary, the Virgin Mary. They had carved curses on his back with knives, but he would never say bad things about Mary. When his chance came he broke free and used all his Martial Arts skills to survive. Only he killed 2 of them and crippled 2 more with the other 2  running for their lives.

Jesuits know how to put the Fear of God into bad people, but   Fr. Dan feared God too, he had committed a mortal sin, thou shalt not kill, and he had killed twice. Now he was afraid, afraid for his soul, at this moment of his death he was afraid. His eyes were beseeching, Mrs Murphy would witness his death and his soul would burn in Hell’s fire for all eternity.

Mrs Murphy wanted to charge the Colombians down and run at them, but they had their guns ready, the situation was hopeless. Mrs Murphy did have Faith though, the Faith of a Child, as the bullets flew her heart broke, her womb exploded in love and fear, she lost her mind, but she kept her Faith.

I’ll go to the Gates of Hell and I’ll jump in the way, like jumping under a bus, I’ll catch Fr. Dan’s soul and stop it going into Hell. I’ll wrap my Rosary around the Gates of Hell, keeping them closed. God is good, God is good, it cannot be the end for Fr. Dan he’s such a lovely priest.

In Hell it was so dark and cold, the deepest of deep space, she couldn’t really see further than her hands holding her Rosary. If only she had her friends with her they would weld the gates of hell closed, nobody would burn in hell ever. She knew how to pray, she knew how to pray.

She felt heavy cold as ice breath on her neck, she could hear mocking laughter, but she could not see anybody. She tried to say her Rosary only her lips stuck together it was so cold, she tried to move her fingers though the beads, her mind was numb, it was like being turned into an ice cube. There is no love in hell, no love at all.

Mrs Murphy stumbled to her knees, the laughter, the icy laughter increased, the cold, the numbing cold went down her neck and to her very core. She had to force herself to remember why she was there. She was there to save a soul, she started with the Our Father. She continued with the 1st Hail Mary. Fr. Dan was a good priest, he had refused to say bad things about Mary, they had tortured him, they had tortured him.

Jesus, Jesus forgive him, Mrs Murphy wanted to scream but it was so cold, so very cold. If only she had somebody saying the Rosary with her. The Gates of Hell cannot withstand the Power of The Rosary, he mother and her grandmother had told her. Mrs Murphy was using her best beads, the  ones that had been repaired when she was praying for Big Sid when he was shot. But now she was praying for a soul, not just a life.

Mrs Murphy managed to move her lips, it was just so cold, so very cold in the dark space of hell. Hope sprung from her lips, Jesus, Mary and Joseph she managed to scream, a scream that would be lost in the dark cold depths of space that was Hell.

Mrs Murphy’s head was spinning, her womb had exploded, she had lost her mind, she was dizzy, she wanted to vomit. But she had to pray on, she reached the 2nd Hail Mary on her Rosary. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she could hear her grandmother praying, she could hear her old dear friend Mrs Casey praying, she could hear Mrs Noonan praying.

On she prayed, it was just so dark and cold in the deep space of Hell. But then in the very distance she saw a light, a tiny tiny flicker, like the lights in the window of houses in Cromane at Christmas, like the lights in Dingle over the bay. Help was on its way, help was on its way.

Warmth seeped into Mrs Murphy’s body, the Darkness flickered and with an explosion of Love the cold and dark of Hell disappeared. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and caught Mrs Murphy as she fainted. I thought it was all over she said, Michael laughed, it’s never over, it’s never over. Mary, Mum heard the Rosary so she sent me to investigate. Every Rosary everywhere is felt by her, by her womb. He hasn’t got a chance against the Rosary, never has, never will. And is he wants the argue he’ll have to talk to my sword said Michael as he brandished his sword.

But, Fr. Dan is dead and his soul must be heading to Hell, Mrs Murphy interrupted. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and cried at the same time. God is good, and as you know his mercy is infinite. Come now I have to put you back together. But Fr. Dan’s soul is in peril, he must be shot and dead in the gutter by now insisted Mrs Murphy not understanding.

Time is just a joke as far as God is concerned, explained Saint Michael as he gathered up Mrs Murphy. He had to get her back to Earth and save Fr. Dan’s life in moments. Brandishing his sword Saint Michael flew through deep space on his way to Birmingham.

The observatories noticed a bright light from the deepest deepest part of space, it was moving fast, too fast. Many times faster than the speed of life. It was heading for Earth, if it hit earth it would be the end, the end of Civilisation and everything. It was impossible, where had it come from?

Michael did an orbit of the moon and had a look at the space station, one lonely astronaut had lost his love of life, Michael could feel the lack of love. So Michael waved at the astronauts before heading for Birmingham. Birmingham the centre of the universe, well for this one night.

Saint Michael gently lay Mrs Murphy down, her body and soul and heart united again. Saint Michael strolled towards Fr. Dan the Colombians had pulled the triggers, the bullets were flying, the bullets were flying. Saint Michael winked at an unbelieving Fr. Dan, Michael wrapped Fr. Dan in his wings and started singing, Ave Ave Maria, it was all angels’ favourite song.

God is good Dan, said the Archangel, and Mary said she was so proud of you too, she’s never stopped praying for you. You have many decades of work to do, just don’t be too hard on yourself. And as for the Colombians, they have no idea what’s going to happen next.

 &&&&&&&&

 ok folks, this is part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher which I haven’t even finished writing. I may never get around to it either. This would be chapter 12

 I’ve written 1.5 chapters so far and have ideas for the book, really I want to dictate it, IF I had the software OR had access to a legal secretary who would be fast enough to type it for

*****this could have been the last thing I ever wrote, I know you wish it was. AS a couple of weeks after I wrote this I had my unplanned bypass, it was supposed to be a triple, but 6 months afterwards I was told I had 4 grafts, hence a QUADRUPLE HEART BYPASS. hence the confusion over triple or quadruple if you just dip into me.

thin me just after my op in Jan 2015

List of Books Written by Me

Posted bymichaelgcasey08/05/2020Posted inUncategorizedEditList of Books Written by Me

List of Books Written by Me ©

By Michael Casey

1.The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

2.Shoplife

3.Essays and Plays

4.Blogs 2011

5.300 and Not OUT

6.Shorts 2013

7.More Shorts 2014

8.Quick Stories

9.Still Alive 2015

10.Undiscovered Words 2016

11.Still Smiling 2017

12.Altogether Now

13.New Horizons

14.14 Up

15.15 Down

16.Sweet Sixteen

17. 17 Again

18. 18 New Views

19.The Final Cut of The 19th Hole

and I am now 130 pages into 2020 Words which will be book 20

27 is my target, then I can die happy.

Though I’d rather meet a Korean speed typist, dictate Tears for a Butcher,

and fall in love, as she types for me,

marry and have 4 kids and start a Kpop band, and live 40 more years,

but that sounds like Fiction

I’m having a lazy day today VE day 75,  my dad was 23 at the time,

the pubs did not close for 2 days and everybody was drunk,

that was my dad’s memory.

my own contribution to World Peace is Laughter,

that’s one reason for all the Translations

Arabic Altogether NowALL for KoreaKOREAN Quick StoriesWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015Wydanie polskie Still Alive 2015 – Copywin Wiersze dla wszystkichVietnamese Translation The Butcher The Baker and The UndertakerTURKISH tRANSLATION OF bbuThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationsspanish-bbuSpanish BBUportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019abcportuguese-bbu2019PORTUGUESE BBU2019polish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translationschinese translation BBUchina-bbu-converted-1China BBU-convertedChina BBUbengali-translation-of-bbuBengali Translation of BBUbbu-russian-translation-microsoft-wordbbu-italian (2)bbu-in-arabicbbu-germanBBU UrduBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU ITALIANBBU IndonesianBBU in KOREANBBU in Indian HindiBBU in HebrewBBU in HebrewBBU in ArabicBBU in Indian HindipersianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019В поисках индийской принцессыWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015win Wiersze dla wszystkichThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationspolish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translations페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには – CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

A Nudist's guide to Walking

A Nudist’s Guide to Walking ©

By

Michael Casey

As everybody is talking about Covid 19, I don’t really need to say too much about it in my writing. And we’ll all be sick to the back teeth with Plays and Films all about it. Why? Because 7 billion, 7,000,000,000 of us have experienced it, so do we want to pay a dollar to see the film of it? No doubt howls or rage, but would you want Christmas 365 days a year? That’s taken the howls down by 6,000,000,000 at least. Now to amuse you all, while you spit at the screen, here’s an account of my Locked Up Life, what I am being a hypocrite, or just another government adviser. No, I don’t have any women sneaking into to my home to give me “personal care”, maybe I should put my address and phone number at the end of the post.

Now as you know I have to be careful having had a heart bypass, so I stay indoors and things are delivered, in a way not much different to my life prior to Covid 19, though as a government advisor, I do get recreational visits from women twice a week. That’s a joke should you be speed reading this. So, what do I do for exercise? Well going to the toilet 20 times a day is my exercise, as the toilet is far away from where I am sat most of the day in front of my PC, though I do use a 9 or 10 year old tv as a screen for comfort, and soft toilet paper too. 20 x 40= 800, so toilet time is 800 metres, because I walk or run there and back every time I have to go.  I did not realise it was that much, it explains why my belly has not got even fatter.

Obviously, I’ve been told to stay indoors, because I’m such an ugly ____, insert a word to describe me, you really are such cruel people. I  wouldn’t let you in twice a week, such horrid horrid words to talk about me. So I do need a bit of other exercise, up and down the stairs to use the bog is not enough, so what do I do? Well if you’ve read the title of today’s talk, I go walking in the nude. The weather has been so kind, so I take advantage of the weather.

At night when the coast is clear I disrobe, and sneak out the front door as naked as I was born. Letting the breeze blow the cobwebs away is always nice, better still if there are no cobwebs, and if there are then you have not been exercising enough, I won’t elaborate, let’s just say you’ll have nothing new delivered at Christmas. So gently and gingerly I skip down the garden path, winking at our garden gnomes, who hide their eyes behind their fingers. Have they never seen a manly man naked in a front garden before?

Then I look left and right and decide spontaneously  which direction to go, in the end there only is one direction, so humming Harry Style’s hits I prance off. As I go along the pavement I look all about me, the whole street has been abandoned these Covid 19 days, so I move into the centre of the actual road, and off the pavement. I can wiggle my way manfully, stopping occasionally to touch my toes. I am so fortunate I have such a firm pair of buns, a lifetime of standing and prancing around computer rooms and foyers and so forth has made me such a tight arse. If I really were a government adviser women would visit twice a week to interrogate me, just how did you get such a tight arse, would always be on their lips.

So, I nimbly walk about my area, up down and around and back again, a circuit in the twilight, my hairy mass and ever so gorgeous tight ass on display as I go about my way. Then tossing my head backwards I let my ever so gorgeously soft and silver hair wave in the twilight twinkle of the stars. Aliens from above would remark, why is that fat fool prancing around naked in the dark, I thought it was only us aliens who never wear clothes. Though he has such a tight fat arse, perhaps we should abduct him, and get him to breed with us aliens, then we aliens would have great arses like him. He can keep his silver hair, us aliens are all Gingers, it’s a know fact, aliens are Gingers.  

After 20 mins, I have had enough exercise and its is time to come home, nobody will recognise me in the dark, beside I have no clothes on, so how could they identify me. Well apart from the A3 size brown and hairy birthmark on my left shoulder, but nobody would ever see that in the dark. I get home and the garden gnomes avert their eyes again, though one local cat  runs away in fear, seeing me naked before them. A takeaway deliveryman spots me and pukes all over the pizza he is delivering, pepperoni of course.

I get back inside and get myself a Stella from the fridge, I deserve it. So on I go with my night-time nude exercise, nobody will ever be the wiser. Unfortunately there is an App, and everybody is using it, not the Covid 19 App, but WhatsApp, I have been filmed, and everybody but everybody in Old Forge and Singing Anvil has recorded and shared my dusk dancing and prancing in the dark. I have even been edited together to cover all my routes, a full HD video of dear naked me.

Then one night as I have my key in the lock, a voice behind me, it’s a policeman, he follows me inside my home. I’ve been spotted, it’s a fair cop. And indeed it was, for it was a fake moustache, the Policeman was really a women in disguise, she had come to take down my particulars. The rest you can make up for yourselves, as we practice with handcuffs…..

    

Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings

Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings ©

By

Michael Casey

I was sitting in the bathroom, and I wondered what I’d regale you with today, and the thought occurred Hidden Secrets, Hidden Meanings, best ideas sometimes come when you are sitting down in the bathroom. Wednesday 23^rd May 1979, was a memorable day for me, because I’d just got out of bed in the afternoon after a night shift. By 3pm Andy Madden was dead, so that’s 41 years ago, he died of a heart attack and I tried to save him. I was still 20 at the time, so it was a rude awakening and introduction to death, face to face death. I’ve mentioned it before, but now 41 years on, I’ve given his name.

Andy had no family and he was our lodger, him and his wife, she was a cleaner down Dudley Rd, hospital, now renamed City, for some unknown reason, it’s on the Dudley Rd, directly opposite Saint Patrick’s RC Church, my home church so to speak. When people die, their secrets are revealed, well if you have to tidy up after the dead, I’ve just counted I’ve known 5 of our lodgers who died over the years, luckily the local undertaker is a family friend I could say.  Add on lodgers who bailed out, or you evicted finally after so much bad behaviour, that the local Police encourage him to leave after he’d made a verbal commitment, Jock had a birdcage but no bird, then that could be 10 or so. So, with this upbringing I know stuff that some people don’t know, or have not experienced, because they’d had tidy lives.

If I bring in William Shakespeare for a second, you get all these denialists who say he could not have written this or that. One great documentary series explained his education, and wool trade connections, and he may have even been a secret Catholic. Which means like me he had a varied life and life experience, which helps if you end up a writer. Simple really. Now back to the theme, when you die people have to clear up, sometime literally. As you pooh the bed when you die, if you didn’t know, when my mother died, my brother washed all the blankets in the washing machine. No, not something you’ll want to know or ever hear about, but a sad reality of death.

You go through a room with bin bags at the ready and pour the stuff into the bag, as far as Jock was concerned the right verb. Then there was the bird cage but never the bird, he did in fact return for the bird cage. His room was deep cleaned by my mother, as for his mattress it was burnt at the bottom of the garden, without the use of any paraffin. So much soaked in whisky meant it went to blazes so fast, I just remembered too we had been on the family holiday probably to Abegele and he’d been promising to leave, so mum was livid, he was  forever playing catchup on the rent for his bedsit. NO, we weren’t horrible landlords, our price was the cheapest in Birmingham, I can remember my mum nagging dad to put the rents up. Remember we were a family of 8 plus a cat and a dog, how could mum feed her 6 kids, despite dad working up to 16 hours a day in the steelworks.

The accidental purchase of the house next door, had been a life saver. Dad’s brother Dan lost his wife in childbirth, on her 10^th child, dad’s brother Willie was about to buy the house next door. So, when Dan lost his wife, Willie a bachelor went back to Kerry to help raise the family. As for the house next door, dad’s name was put on the deed instead, simple, and that’s how Fate changed all our lives. And that’s why it really is a Casey Clan, so hello to all and any of them should they stumble over this. I think it is Morris who has the Casey family farm now, and yes my own dad was one of 10 too, and mum one of 7 but Timothy died age 7 of rickets.

Time for roast potatoes, I am Irish after all, then I’ll continue. Well I’ve had my spuds, and my mum used to use a milk bottle to mash them, sometimes with the milk still inside. So, if you were late to the table you wondered why the milk bottle had mash all around it. Where was I, tidying up after the dead, yes you find their secrets. And they can be disturbing, the girlie magazines under a cushion, or neatly sacked next to the Bible. A diary filled with hate and bile, or old photos, of long-lost friends. Coupons and cuttings, hidden secrets or collections, he was a Villa fan, or loved science, he had all 100 parts of a science book published weekly in parts. Or just stale old clothes, not even the Charity shop would want, bagged and not even tagged, and thrown straight into the dustbin.

When you go through somebody’s stuff you are not even a burglar, certainly not when it’s single working men who lived in bed sitter land. It’s sad, they get up go to work in the screw factory or wherever, go to the pub, go home, go to bed and that’s the sad circle, and sometimes they wash in the bath. On the other hand, you get to hear plenty of tales, and it could be said it motivates you to do well at school. Though in my own case it did not motivate me at all, other things did, but that’s another story.

With the ringing of Tinnitus in my head, the doorbell rings and my “slot” arrives, so I’ll leave you for today, I could have said more, but I’ll just say this. If I can be a Writer, then all of you can, so write then post it somewhere, even if it’s on the door of the fridge in a plastic wallet. Shakespeare started somewhere and why not emulate him, because I don’t want to be copied, I just want, well if you’ve read my stuff before then you know what I want, so go hunt while I answer the door.

Optics and Reality

Optics and Reality ©

By

Michael Casey

When I left Pinsent Masons Law Firm over 10 years ago, and they really are very nice people by the way, I shared a piece called Nobel and Me. I had sent a farewell email to the folks, and one of the Lawyers and I think we had up to 400 in the building, or was that total staff? Anyway, one of the lawyers said he liked the piece of writing and good luck with my future and the writing. These past 10 years have been my busy time for the writing, and then I became a hausfrau, and my Health got bad, arthritis, heart bypass, tinnitus etc.

I am very very fortunate though as I’ve had my Golden Years with my daughters. My mother called the time my dad was made redundant and the decade they had the Golden Years. Five years ago, I could have ended up dead, and you would have all been spared my 1,600,000 words in total. So I’ve had 10 years with my daughters, and I’ve watched them grow up, and I’ve moulded their characters, no dad has had the time to interact with his kids as much as I have. So, I’ve been very lucky, though the kids may not think the same. I’ve also had time to write, though nowadays it’s all I really can do, and some of you may wish I’d stayed at Pinsents, or just wish the Grim Reaper got me 5 years ago. I was lucky, a neighbour of a similar age, also with 2 daughters at the same school as my girls, he died in his bed.

So, that’s the short version, and you will have gathered if you read my stuff, I really do hate Pretension. What you see is what you get. Ask Derek Willins if you like, he said it a bar, and he was getting the beers in, he was my boss, though he may deny it, being shamed and associated with me might dent his street credibility. I watch things and I get ideas, it’s over 20 years ago since Derek said that by the way, it was in my Market Research into Alcohol days, yes really, it was a real job, ask ACNielsen if you don’t believe me. I’ve flourished into a Writer, though you may use another W word. So what has this got to do with Optics and Reality? I’m just giving you some background, just as I should remind you I’ve watched too much tv and radio news, 50 years’ worth. If I had pocket money growing up maybe I’d have watched less tv and listened less to BBC Radio 4, which is the Internal World Service if you are an American reader.

Which brings me to Optics and Reality, maybe you should read LinkedIN Profile and CV before you continue. So I’ll assume you have and I’ll march on, like a Christian Soldier, Mr Watts my old Physics teacher was in the Salvation Army, I just remembered that, I can even remember his face and the 2^nd year classroom we were in once. See my brain is just a sewer, or a smoker’s chest full of phlegm. Maybe it’s the phlegm that keeps the Covid 19 out, not the nicotine.

One thing has one image, one picture, the desired picture, but the sad reality is far far different. You see me one way, but as you read you discover more. Don’t just look at one piece of the 1000 piece jigsaw, or even 10000 piece jigsaw. The same goes for Optics and Reality.

He is fat, he must eat to much, so he is greedy

In reality he has a medical condition

He smells, he must not wash, he’s a dirty old man, literally

In reality, he has kidney failure, goes to the bathroom 20 times a day

He is inconsiderate, he has the radio on loud all day and even at night

In reality, the Tinnitus is never ending, and seems louder at night

He makes a lot of noise at night, going to bathroom every 2 hours

In reality, his kidneys are destroyed, so he has to go to bathroom so often

He screams at night, he must be taking drugs or drink

In reality the sine curve of pain, comes and goes and hurts, really hurts

He gets up late, he’s so lazy

In reality some nights, he cannot get to sleep till 6 am or later or is it sooner

And on it goes, ignorance displacing unknown facts

But what about in the real big outside world

I’m a Stable genius

But where are the grades, hidden in Davie Jones locker

I have a gift for these things

A relative knows, he pretends to know by association

I’m a great businessman

But went bankrupt, was it 5 or 6 times, help me I cannot count, can you

I am generous, I have a Charity, I love our Vets so much

But a Judge made you return $2,000,000 dollars, and said you could not run any Charity

I’m so clever I had my own University

Which closed

People love me, somebody paid 1000s for a picture of me

You bought it yourself

I’m as respected as Abe Lincoln

So, you sit in front of his statue for the cameras,

 if Abe wasn’t set in stone he’d walk away

Under my Absolute Rule everything is booming

30,000,000 Unemployed, stock market tanking

Covid 19 is a HOAX

Millions infected, tens of 1000s dead

I never lie, it’s all Fake news

Too many lies, 18,000 and mounting

I could go on but you get the picture, lies, damn lies and statistics. Trump may even declare war on China, or then change his mind the very next day, and let democratic Taiwan be invaded. Trump loves a show, that’s all he is good at, SHOW, but running a circus is not the same as running a country. Boasting about winning a Nobel Prize, is just too stupid for words. It also is where I began this piece. Nobel read his own obituary, and he was so filled with shame that he changed and started the Prize.

Will Trump be filled with shame? Will he ever admit he got it wrong, never because he’ll never wear a mask, because that would be the Optics of Failure, and that is the real reason Pence did not wear a mask when he did tour, and everybody was all masked up. Optics in Election year is all that matters. Photo opportunities and flowers, the sweet smell of success, when the stench of death and failure and 30,000,000 unemployed. Nobody standing up to him, a sober straight person is what is required in a crisis. Not a self-centred egotist, who boasts about his TV ratings when people are dying and hurting, who probably hasn’t paid any taxes in 10 years, hiding everything, except his tv ratings.

So if the United States is to survive as the Unites States, people have to speak up, and speak loudly, and get off the couch and Vote. Post in Voting is what is needed, and then the People’s Figures will be counted, or do you prefer to be sheep, and just watch a Clown bring down a Nation, because he looks so charming on tv, oh so Optical,

 BUT IT IS ALL AN ILLUSION.   

What Binds Us?

What Binds Us? ©

By

Michael Casey

I just checked my readers for today, as I do every day, that’s why I always have a ruler with me, to slap their knuckles if they misbehave. Yes very old school, my dad’s teacher in 1920s Kerry in fact said “One Day Casey you will hang” But my dad had the last laugh, out of dad’s  kids 4 of the 6 of us, became Teachers, though I only did Esol, but I am  open to offers if you can tempt me. Now today from Colombia to Korea and Singapore I’m being read, I won’t rattle off the list, 80 countries in total. But it brings me to my point, what binds us.

Many things bind us, our family, our faith, our football team, our gang, fear of our mum and her tongue lashing us. Having something in common binds us, working as a team, or sharing the same canteen.  Things bind us, they make us stronger.  If you look at a bridge you’ll see how the ropes twisted together makes the thing stronger as you cross that river in Colombia or wherever you are today reading my stuff. So, rope or metal is weaved together to make it stronger and it can then support the weigh as people or animals or trucks cross it. So, it is with people too, if you bind them you make them stronger.

A strange thought came to me as I checked out who was reading my rubbish today, what if my scattered readers all met, say at the United Nations. They wouldn’t be able to speak each other’s languages, no doubt English would be the Lingua Franca, though the French would pretend they could not speak it, and insist French was the language of Diplomacy. My scattered readers, what can they say? Michael Casey, and then smile and mention Big Sid, or Smiling Paul, or the Gavin twins, Amjit and Patrick, not forgetting Mrs Murphy. They might not be able to use each other’s language but they can mention a name and they all smile, why are those people in that book so stupid, or clever, or poetic, or just so full of love. So, a fan club, unites, not that I’ll ever have a fan club, the point is there are things we all love, or characters in a book who we like the most. Fan conventions especially SciFi allow people to dress up and be like their favourite star or character, thus the love of this brings people together. I have actually met the real Chewbacca and r2d2 when there were fan conventions at the NEC  in the early 2000s, and yes they both asked for my autograph, NOT.

A connection breaks down walls and friendship and love or just lust begins, and that forms families, sometimes even after just one night. So, we are bound together. Some binding may just be because we belong to the same bondage club, Cuffs and Links, does not refer just to fancy ways of closing your shirt sleeves, it might also be Cuffs and Links a members’ bondage club. Or you are in a drinking club or a diving club, or selfie taking and accident club. Selfies do lead to accidents as fools fall off things, too many times people die because they were too busy taking a selfie.

A common thing, a connection, starting with cobwebs love, binds and unites and strengthens us. We feel happier if we have a connection and are more likely to help each other. Back in 1999 I was in Barcelona, my last solo misadventure, I had relearnt my Spanish by practising for just 15 mins a day but for 3 months I think it was, the exam was in 1975. Anyway, I was lost and unable to find my hotel, so I stopped 2 old ladies, older people and ladies always help, remember that. So, I stammered “Donde esta Hotel Paral Ley” and the ladies helped. Why? Because I said, “me llamo Miguel” and she replied “ mi hijo es Miguel”  I said I was Michael and her own son happened to be called Michael. The accident of a connect no matter how bad my Spanish allowed me to get help. So, they walked 400 metres with me to the Subway at the top of Las Ramblas, and pointed the way. I then said I was hungry, so they too me to a Tapas bar next door to Dunkin Donuts and told the bar staff, feed this man. So obviously every day for a week I went back to that bar, “otra vez” they named me. Connections work, no matter who spurious.

So, to finish because I need to visit the tapas bar that is our kitchen, why does a Colombian read my stuff as well as a Korean? Not to mention the rest of you. I hope it’s because I make you laugh and mix the almost serious with really stupid ideas. So, as you do whatever you do in Colombia you say to “vuestros amigos” “Miguelito Casey es Loco, pero Que Aproveche” if my Spanish idiom is right. As for Koreans it might be just because I so damn attractive all the girls read me. Though, if that’s true, somebody must have a really bizarre sense of values. Whatever values you have I hope you can see yourselves in The Butcher, The Baker and The Undertaker, and laugh with me and at all my 2000 plus short stories. Because laughing together is the only gift I can bring to the table.

Naming Things

Naming Things ©

By

Michael Casey

So, Boris and his girl named their baby today, so God Bless all 3 of them. This got me thinking, so that’s why you are getting this. I am of course called Michael and I’ll have you know I insist that’s my name, NOT Mike or Micky or any other useless shortenings. I once wore a Dicky Bow at work for a whole day so that they’d call me Michael, I was getting bored correcting them, this was 40 years ago. So, I wore the Dicky Bow for a day, there were 4 or 5 other Michaels but only I was Michael.  When I worked at CPNEC, a hotel right next to BHX airport there were loads of Michaels there too, but I was Mr Casey or Michael, my name was not shortened. When I stumbled into teaching Esol for a year, where my external assessor called me “excellent, excellent and exemplary” on my assessment, there the students called me Mr Michael. So now you know.

Of course those that really really know me call me Sarah, or you sexy vixen, I am of course dressed in drag with my bypass scar exposed through a very low cut blouse, size 46 hairy chest. And my very firm large buttocks are squeezed into tight red jeans, which is the norm for me, as not even Cotton Traders can accept the challenge. I do wear high heels, size 10 men’s size. So don’t call me Sarah it’s Michael M I C H A E L .

Now that I’ve explained that I’ll get on with it, and what am I getting on with, I’m not some pole dancer, despite Morris my friend ratting his stick at me, after he got out of the bath where he squashes his grapes, it is rather a small bath after all. No, he really does squash his grapes he is a big bloke after all, he makes his own wine in his bath tub, what were you all thinking of. What? You are disgusting, go and book online Confession immediately.

Where was I? I lost my drift, it’s very hard drifting you know, especially if you are a coalman. Where’s Julian and Sandy when you need them. Julian has locked himself away for a while, he won’t be reading the news for a bit, but if he practices the One Minute Waltz, I’m sure he’ll get the Just a Minute host job, and he can thank me for it when he does.  See you drifted off for a second, am I repeating myself, it was the eggs I had for breakfast. Which reminds me of my influences, no not 40 year old Whisky, me drink whisky, are you laughing. You, want me to carry on, now who’s the clever dick now, and as for Julian, I could have been called Julian, well my mom once said name a child after her, Julian would do if I had a boy.

OK, so I’ve been too far Around the Horne, and Julian you can explain it to the Youth, you are good at explaining, the kids today will totally misunderstand, they’ll think Around the Horne is some form of sex education. So, where was I, I’m listening to the Beatles as I talk to you, It’s Wednesday Morning, which is a lie it’s Saturday and Boris and his girl have named their new baby. Now it’s Yesterday and that’s another lie, why do they keep on lying, next they’ll say they are better that the Stones, they were all too “stoned” to tell the difference if you ask me. And now I can hear Hippy music from the Beatles so I was right after all, trust your Uncle Michael, and I was in fact named after my Uncle Michael. The space between us, did they have Social Distancing back then in the 60s? Just a thought, how can I think straight with a sitar playing everywhere and those bongos or whatever are making my head spin.

I’ve switched the Beatles off, they thought they could turn me on, but with a manly command “Computer Stop” I’ve switched them off, all those years in the hotel, me and my booming voice, I can be so masterful when I like. Jules, just stop sniggering or I’ll tell Sandy to stop bringing the shopping to you. I’ve just looked at the tally in the corner over 740 words, and still I haven’t got to point, sorry it’s the Gerald Wiley in me, and NO , that’s not a double entendre, Julian you really must explain it to the kids. Everything breath I take every move I make, they are misrepresenting me. It stings, it really stings when I’m misunderstood, what try Polygrip on my dentures. Julian that was wicked, you’re supposed to be the straight man keeping order, and playing the one minute waltz. I do not have DENTURES, I know they look so good, but they are all mine, I did inherit them from Steptoe.

Living Years is playing now as I continue, and NO I’m not going to stop yet, though I will put some roast potatoes in, so I have something to look forward to when I finish. What have you got to look forward too? Well Jules is a good player, he told me, so it must be true. Finally, I remember what I was going to say. Why do we name things? Because it gives us power over the thing, it shows affection to a thing, it differentiates from one thing to another. Here’s Julian, and that’s Michael. Simple really, Julian would not want to be mistook for an 18stone super model with gorgeous silver hair with his shades perked provocatively on his head and a massive chest. What I’m stretching the Truth? Who does Julian think he is, the BBC?

Wait, right there I have to sort out the washing, do you think I have servants?

Well I just had an emergency, our cat Totoro was watching the washing spin around so she followed it with her head and got very dizzy, so she collapsed. I had to give mouth to mouth to our pussy, but Tororo is fine now, I’ve got whiskers in my mouth, so I had to spit them out. But Totoro did help me hang out my washing, I throw it on the line and she puts the clothes pegs on, I saw it on Blue Peter, how to teach your pussy tricks, it was very educational and practical at the same time.

But why have names? Well you cannot keep on grunting, well apart from Heavy Metal people, Steelworkers, not musicians. Though they do both bang a lot and have a lot of rhythm. Put this there and do that, with thingy, and bobs your uncle, not unless your sister in law has forgotten to shave again. That’s why shaving was invented, to differentiate between the sexes, simple really.

We name things to bring order, I’ll have 17 pints of Stella and a packet of cheese of onion crisps. It just would not work with, I’ll have 17 dodas, and a chapaa of onion crisps. It would sound too much like Lenny Bruce was getting the drinks in. So, by using words we get the right thing, the right stuff and not the wrong stuff. It must have been very tiring having to give names to everything, Mr Webster or was it Pepys must have been very tired when he was finished. No wonder he went to Greggs for a pasty was that what caused the Great Fire of London? But at least the Arabs invented numbers so he could write his insurance claim out properly.

This has been a meandering tale, I didn’t name names, but I did drop a few hints, you can name things for yourself, I have to take my roasters out now, they should be ready to eat. I’ll tell my girls I burnt them, then I won’t have to share them. This is what parental responsibility is after all, LYING. Ok be good Julian, if you don’t  get that job on Just a Minute, a least you can become a Lounge Bar Piano Player, be Les Dawson instead of Nicolas Parsons, or I am no vicar,  no I did not say wearing no knickers. Switch your hearing aid on.