I was having a snack and I hadn’t though of what to talk about today, the usual state of affairs, when I caught my own reflection, as I was reflecting on what to write about. Obviously I though who is that tasty looking man in the window, as tasty as my snack, then I realised it was me, such over arching modest. You’ve all just choked and spat your sandwich out all over your screen, or Big Brenda from accounts has just done a maneuver to save you from choking, so tonight she is doing more maneuvers under the duvet. So thank me for choking you, now you have found your future wife.
So what was I going to write about, you don’t care Brenda will always be there for you, so much for appreciating the Writer. Yes, I was going to talk about Art and Design, it says so at the top of the screen, while you and Brenda and being obscene, but in the best possible way. Now, where was I, I sound more and more like Frankie Howerd, yes, Art and Design. There is a way of making things nice, it’s called curves, or Women, as God designed them. So if you look around you what looks best. Yes curves. Curves in Design, look at your keyboard, not keys if you are bored, but keyboard, it’s curvy at the edges, even the keys are curved and smooth with a bit scooped out so your finger tips can slide in. All very simple, but the feel is so important. Nobody wants angular and rough, smooth and curvy is the way. Look at all the objects in your home, curves everywhere. If you have straight lines it is not Nature, man made objects were originally straight and boring mass produced, until Art and Design crept in.
Look at the old monitors in computer rooms, they were chunky and heavy, I can remember back to 1978 when I first started in a computer room, we had a rust coloured lump of cheddar with green writing, this was the super dupper fancy one. I can remember when I bought my own first flat panel monitor back in 2002 maybe, the staff taxi was a Jaguar so he could fit an old one I sold to him in his boot. Meanwhile I had a flat screen monitor which cost 4 times then what they do now. Writing being my vice, so I had a nice colour monitor. Meanwhile the jag driver had a lump of cheese monitor for his video game playing son.
And on it goes Art and Design. If you look back at those old photos what will you see? Badly shaped items, with extra large shoulders, both the people and the Fashionable clothes they wore. Then as time progressed the lapels got thinner and thinner till they disappeared. Go look at your Google photos is you don’t believe me, see you all looked so horrible, apart from your Gay cousin, and his friend Linda from the chip shop, who when she wasn’t battering fish dress to kill and thrill. Your cousin, was her pretend boyfriend to keep the sharks at bay, though once there was a fight and it wasn’t nice. Linda battered three boys, for saying Gays were, I won’t say, and neither did those three ever again.Linda was also martial arts trained. Her skills did impress this man with the child in his eyes, he was a roofer, he led her to the stairway to heaven, but it was alright he was martial arts trained too, and they were only going up to admire the view.
Anyway, looks sell, whether it is fish and chips, or dinner plates.We got some new plates today, fancy curvy white ones, so my frozen fish fingers will look even better on my plate. As a child growing up, ok I’m still a child, just inside a man’s body, a fat man’s body, well when we had new stuff the lodgers had the old stuff. And if it was furniture the lodgers had our old stuff, and the stuff from the lodgers rooms went on the bonfire. All of which would now be called Antiques, and Arthus Negus would be spinning in his grave if he knew what gems we burnt at the bottom of the garden.
If you compare what you have now to what you had as a child, the look and style is so much better now, though some will say the build quality is not as good, mdf instead of wood. Things are lighter and technology is smaller, what appeared on Star Trek 50 years ago, is now a reality. Then Retro appears, I had a real BUSH radio the new Retro look one is far far smaller and lighter, the old one had a battery almost the size of a tin of beans inside. The one I inherited from Frank Brown our lodger changed my life because I started listening to The World Tonight and Douglas Steward reporting followed by the book at bedtime, me my brother had the radio in our double bed in the middle so we could hear it without waking up dad in the room next door.
So some designs stay in your memory and the thought of their shape brings back memories and smiles. You can buy curvy plastic corners to prevent your kids from poking their eyes out on sharp corners, and yes I did kid proof my house when our kids came along. I’m teased for being like Mr Brown in Paddington, but just you wait and you’ll be the same. You can go through your photos and share memories, nowadays we’d refuse to buy anything that wasn’t a decent design, we don’t live behind the Berlin Wall after all. So now I have designs on my telly, I need to watch more Kdramas. Though I will say the Art and Designs in them will turn your head as well as all the Product Placements. I just wonder am I fashionable enough to be a Kdrama star, email your opinions...
Popaloffoff
is the name of Lech, Boris and Gregorgi’s home village, where Poland, Ukraine
and Russia make love on the map. It minds its own business and likes it when
others do the same. It does not matter is it Polish or Ukrainian or even
Russian territory, it’s Popaloffoff through
and through. Everybody knows each other and any of the 3 languages will do. But
American dollars are preferred, that is always best the world over.
The
Priest in Popaloffoff is called Tolstoy, yes really, he always has a Bible
story to tell, it’s up to you the reader to decide which kind of story you
prefer, a Tolstoy epic from the writer, or a Bible story from Tolstoy the
Priest. Tolstoy the Priest always wears rose tinted glasses, not because he
poses like a Pop star, or because the Bible makes him see things differently.
But for a far far tragic reason, you see Tolstoy only has one eye. There was an
accident or should I say incident, Tolstoy lost his eye when he was a young
man, a young priest sent to Popaloffoff to tend the sheep.
Tolstoy
had and still has a fierce Faith, when the tide was turning in the War, the
Nazi bastards were retreating, the people of Popaloffoff feared they would come
and destroy their church, and their village. Anything to destroy the Soul of
the people. Tolstoy said he’s take the Holy Icon out of the church and stand at
the Pass in the mountains and pray that the Evil Nazis went away, went back
from where they came from. So in the middle of Winter Tolstoy stood for 15 days
holding the Holy Icon aloft. Mary Mother of Popaloffoff protect us. And so she did, Tolstoy lost two
toes and 2 fingers due to frostbite, but the village was saved from the
retreating evil. Tolstoy put the icon back in a leather bag and was still
saying the Rosary when he heard a motorbike.
A Nazi SS
man had wanted to see what was at the end of the Pass, so he had taken a
motorbike and went alone to see what was what. Tolstoy spun around, you cannot
pass, this town is under the protection of the Mother Mary, I have her icon
here. The Nazi SS man laughed and drew his dagger. Tolstoy was tired and weak
after the 15 days standing in the snow. So she has her eyes on your nothing
village. YES said a defiant Tolstoy. So if she has her eyes, then you don’t
need yours. Then the Nazi SS man stabbed Tolstoy in his right eye, leaving his
dagger in the socket. Tolstoy screamed, his scream set off an avalanche, the
Nazi was swept from the pass, only his motor bike remained. Tolstoy’s blood
formed a cross in the snow, not an Iron cross, just a Holy Cross.
Tolstoy
took the motorbike and rode down the mountain to the village, they were safe,
the pass was blocked and the retreating Nazi bastards would not bother them.
The Blacksmith in Popaloffoff removed the dagger and used a red hot horseshoe
to cauterise the wound. He did make sure the horseshoe was the right way up, so
the Priest could say it was good luck. And that is why Tolstoy wears rose
tinted glasses, so as not to frighten people with his looks.
The Icon
was returned to the village, and left in a place of honour. As for the Nazi
bastard, the wolves had his body for dinner they are not picky who they dine
on. So life went on in the village, minding its own business, until Tolstoy was
crying from his one eye saying that the Icon was missing. This was over 70
years later, Tolstoy was still the Priest and though a bit slower, he was still
loved so much. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi came running. Our icon is missing.
Now let
me try to explain, an icon is not photo of your favourite footballer, or a
selfie of a President and a Dictator, though it can be hard to tell which is
which. An Icon is something you treasure, like a wedding ring, or memories you
have of your mother. It has value thousands or millions of times greater than
it’s worth. As a work of Art and Love and Prayer combined it is in fact
Priceless. In fact some Icons if sold would fetch millions of dollars, and
Professional Criminals use Art of a way of moving money, like Bearers Bonds.
And yes
Popaloffoff’s icon was Priceless and worth many many millions, in fact when
Andrew Graham Dixon, England’s greatest Art Expert happened upon Popaloffoff
when he was on a hiking and food holiday with his Italian friend, he cried for
30 mins nonstop. Tolstoy had to give him a hug and Bless him. Andrew Graham
Dixon was so overwhelmed, when he was allowed to examine it, he wondered about
the blood stains on the back, so Tolstoy explained how he’d lost his eye and
some fingers and toes years before. Andrew Graham Dixon cried even more. Then
his Italian friend shared a recipe with the women of Popaloffoff, then
everybody got blind drunk, if you excuse the expression.
But now,
but now the Holy Icon of Polaloffoff was missing. There had been a bus of
tourists, who had had visited the day before, but they were long gone. That’s
if it were them, but who else could it have been? Mother Mary of Popaloffoff
Speak to Me, Hear my Voice, Hear my Prayer said Tolstoy the Priest, tears still
streaming from his one good eye, as he fell to his knees in the middle of the
square outside their church. Bori, Lech and Gregorgi sunk to their knees
besides him, soon the entire village were on their knees praying. Mother Mary
of Popaloffoff was moved, Tolstoy could hear a quiet voice in his head, I am
always with you. Do not cry, an Icon is nothing, compared to my love.
Tolstoy
shook his head, I know, I know forgive me, but we want you back where you
belong, here in Popaloffoff. Mary smiled, Tolstoy smiled, he’d bring her back
if it was the last thing he did before he died. WE RIDE said Tolstoy as he got
to his feet, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi wondered what he meant. They followed
him, to the shed by the church. Inside was the Nazi’s motorbike, still in mint
condition. There was no time to argue, Lech and Boris sat on the bike with
Gregorgi and Tolstoy squeezed into the sidecar.
As they
roared off they sent a text message to Andrew Graham Dixon, our Lady of
Popaloffoff STOLEN. That’s all it said but they knew he would help. In fact
Andrew Graham Dixon sent a message to every Art Collector he knew, nobody could
attempt selling it on, and if they did Andrew Graham Dixon would know and he
had friends in Interpol. This was Sacrilege, then he cried, before having his
beans on toast, with lobster and a Guinness.
The trio
of cousins did not know where they were going, they were just doing as their
old priest told them. When they got to new main road they stopped. Left or
Right? Tolstoy took off his rose tinted sunglasses and looked to the Heavens. A
tiny voice in his head told him Left, so they went left. The Trio of Cousins
wondered what was going on, but said nothing. On they rode, further and further
away from the village.
They came
across a car with a puncture, so they stopped to help. They had to be good
Samaritans after all. They did not have a jack just a spare tyre, so Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi lifted the car while Tolstoy helped change the tyre. A
family with a baby thanked them, as they were about to go Tolstoy asked had the
baby been baptised. No, was the reply, so on the spot Tolstoy baptised the
baby, with Lech, Boris and Gregorgi as Godfathers. The family were deeply
touched and shouted God Bless You as they rode away.
See a
Blessing, said Tolstoy. But Fate and Evil always rears its ugly head, they were
running out of petrol. They stopped at the side of the road, and what appeared
coming from the opposite direction. A gang of Hells Angels. Tolstoy said, God
is Good, as the Hells Angels approached, but he reached into his boot and
brought out the dagger the SS Nazi had put in his eye. He’d kept the dagger all
those years, now maybe he’s need to use it to defend himself.
The Hells
Angels circled and pulled over besides them, Tolstoy took off his rose tinted
sunglasses. Perhaps they’d be impressed by his scar, they were. One lady on a
bike actually puked. Then the leader of the Hells Angels spoke, Hi I’m Wayne
from Fort Worth, we are on a biking holiday, how can we help. They were tourists
on a trip of a lifetime.
Tolstoy
explained. Son of a Bitch, said the Hells Angels in Unison. Wayne texted his
friend in the FBI, those bastards wouldn’t sell the icon in USA, or his name
wasn’t Wayne Duke Hazzard III. So the Hells Angels said they’d ride with them
part of the way. They had some extra petrol so they’d all be underway. Tolstoy
asked could he ride pillion with somebody as he was a bit cramped in the
sidecar with Gregorgi. So Tolstoy rode with Mary-Beth.
As they
rode Tolstoy asked, did she enjoy being a Hells Angel, she replied it was a bit
of fun at weekends, as they had no children. Tolstoy remarked you have the
breasts for a great mother, Mary-Beth laughed but there was sadness too in her
laughter. So Tolstoy silently prayed for her and all the Hells Angels. Further
up the road they went their separate ways. But first Tolstoy Bless all of Them,
may Our Lady of Popaloffoff protect you. He also showed them a photo of the
icon.
Little
did he know, little did the pretend Hells Angels know, what the future would
bring. And on they rode, Tolstoy listening to the quiet voice in his head which
was leading him to the Icon. It was getting dark, and they would have to stop
for the night. But there was no room at the inn, a Beer Festival was taking place,
so everywhere was booked out. But they were welcome to stop in the hay loft
above cows in the barn.
So they
did, and luckily the cows did not complain about the smell, in their leathers
they’d managed to get very smelly. In the middle of the night there was a
commotion, one of the cows a prize one at that was having difficulty giving
birth. The Inn Keeper came out running in his night shirt. He was so worried
for has Beauty, for that was the name of his cow. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi knew
what to do and they must hurry. So Tolstoy gave them the Nazi’s dagger and they
cut the cow out, before sewing the cow back up again. Blood everywhere, but in
fact two cows were born, one in fact a bull, that’s why the mum was having
difficulty. When the boys had finished the vet finally arrived. He was
impressed to say the least.
The
Innkeeper was delighted and in the morning made breakfast for all 4 of them,
himself. Then Tolstoy said Mass in the carpark for everybody, and everybody
said God Bless, and the cows in all the fields mooed in unison. Lech, Boris and
Gregorgi wondered would they ever catch the Icon thief, but Tolstoy always said
God was Good, and still the little voice in Tolstoys head encouraged him. In
fact the voice was getting stronger, so Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon was
getting closer to them.
They
continued along the road, and there was nothing but fields, fields and fields.
Then they noticed a sign, Air Strip this way. They stopped the bike, in the
distance was a small aircraft. Fly, Tolstoy Fly was what the old priest could
hear in his head. So the floored the motorbike, went as fast as they could go. But
it was too late, the light aircraft was going to take off.
But then
Luck shone on them, the light aircraft turned around, it was heading towards
them, it had been taxiing to the end of the strip. Now they had a chance. A
chance to play chicken. Lech headed straight for the plane. The pilot thought
he was mad, and so he was. You never steal from Popaloffoff, and never from a
church in Popaloffoff, and Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon belongs in only one
place, Popaloffoff.
Tolstoy
stood up in the sidecar and took the Nazi dagger from his boot, then he prayed,
guide my hand Mary of Popaloffoff. He threw the dagger into the engine as Lech
passed underneath the light aircraft. 70+ years ago the icon had saved village,
now he would save the icon.
The plane
stopped, and the engine caught fire, luckily they had a fire engine at the
strip. Unlucky for the pilot and his 2 passengers there were Police galore
hiding. All 3 bad guys were arrested. You see Andrew Graham Dixon and Wayne had
both contacted Interpol and the FBI immediately. It turned out Art thieves were
on a road trip, but now it was the end of the road, or rather the end of the
airstrip for them.
So
Tolstoy was reunited with his beloved Icon, and several more were rescued. As
for the dagger, Evil had been turned to good. One of the Policemen knew of a
motor bike museum, so the Nazi’s motor bike was retired too, after it had been
turned from Evil to Good. Then Tolstoy and the boys were given a helicopter
ride home with the icon.
Tolstoy
held the Icon of Mary of Popaloffoff aloft and then sunk to his knees in
praise. It was decided to put a laser alarm around the icon, the strange thing
was though that Tolstoy could walk through the laser without setting it off.
Our Lady of Popaloffoff knew he was a friend after all.
There was
the sound of thunder, coming down the mountain when she comes, singing ai ai
wippy ai ai hey, as she comes. This was 9 months+ later you see Mary-Beth did
have breasts for children. She had twins, and every other biker chick had had a
child too. Mary-Beth liked to ride a bike, but, well, you know. So Tolstoy
baptised all the babies, and Lech, Boris and Gregorgi suddenly had even more
Godchildren. They all had new leather jackets too, on the back was the image of
Our Lady of Popaloffoff with the Logo “Our Lady of Popaloffoff Angels”
the writer Michael Casey with bypass scar from 2015
I’ve updated this 1st April 2021 I’m Michael Casey from Birmingham England, the fat silver haired writer in shades. Beware of Others with the EXACT SAME NAME, they are not me, and would not want to be me …
I’ve done loads of writing, about 2,000,000 Words worth over 33 years now But before I started I LISTENED to BBC Radio 4 for 20 years, from the age of 10 or younger Frank Brown our lodger, went back to County Tyrone and he gifted us his Bush Radio. He’d be nearly 100 now if he is still alive, so say a prayer for him 50 years in love with words, and I still look so dashing. I have a picture in the attic, just like Dorian Gray I’ve also had an interest in Politics for 50 years with my dad heckling the tv and Politicians.
I almost immediately had a hit, a play called Shoplife was accepted but not finally produced by a Theatre. The
Kenneth More Theatre, so thank them for sparing you all. This was back
in 1989 yes, 30 years plus ago, the play was written in 1988. So since
then I’m more than good enough, as a writer. Anything else…..
I also had other high praise, so I ignore all the nasty negative people who use too much alliteration. I also ignore those who just cannot write.
Today’s world has much print, but a page will not refuse ink, as my dad used to say.
I tend to write Comedy as I’d rather make you laugh than cry I have written over 2000 short pieces of writing, yes 2000 If you include “chats” 2800 samples, the chats do NOT go into my books when I compile them.
My first book ,a full length comedy/drama is The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker You can read translations of it here on this site Up to 10 different languages/translations have been read on the same day via this site, here on WordPress And in over 90 Countries world wide too so you have no excuse, find your own language and read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
This proves to me that the humour does travel I have readers in over 90 countries now, just to repeat myself From Nepal to American Samoa and all places North South East and West Or its just a hit man on the run, or whatever Unknown Region Means It may also mean that only non English Speakers like my stuff
I did get 21,000 readers in 3 weeks for the Polish version of In Search of an Indian Princess. which is basically the final 3 chapters of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker all by word of mouth. If you add up all the downloads from my WordPress + 13,000 when somebody stole the file. I have had more copies than Boris Johnson’s Churchill book distributed. Maybe 40,000 copies . Though Boris earns more than any of us. Not made a penny from it, free downloads in multiple languages.
I also had a low budget film producer take a look at The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker back in 2013
Book Publishers have said I’ve made the commissioning editor laugh
Radio People say they like my style
So close but no cigar is the story of my life, so all you power people, do something useful HELP ME REACH FOR THE SKY from my position in the gutter looking at the stars
As for my life, I was a computer operator for a market research company into alcohol sales 21 years altogether Call centre guy, like everybody once in their life I was also a Trainee Betting Shop Manager I was a concierge and 10 other roles at Crowne Plaza NEC Birmingham for 3 years. Spent 3 years at Pinsent Masons Law firm in Birmingham I even hid a copy of my comic novel “BBU” in the Law Library at Pinsent Masons, well just for a day..
and I was an Esol English teacher in an Islamic school, for a year, I knew I could teach.
I got Excellent, Excellent and Exemplary on the external assessment, yes really
beside which I’ve had a Shanghai connection for 20 years now, including 2 bilingual daughters
and being a hausfrau a long time too, I’m a great dad, as I’ve had lots of time with my daughters
I can always make somebody talk or laugh, I am an 18 stone George Clooney look alike
Laugh or Die so to speak
I believe my short stories could be used to teach English, just package them up correctly
or App them
Or a Tale a Day from Michael, a story telling App
What else, I was brawn and brains, I used to be as strong as an Ox, now I just smell like one
We have a cat called Totoro, my daughters wanted a pet I said they
could have a dog if I died , or a cat if I had a heart attack. A few
weeks after that in Jan 2015 I had an Unplanned Quadruple Heart Bypass ,
it was supposed to be a triple but it ended up a Quadruple, 33% extra
free so to speak. Now with an add on Hernia pushing through my bypass
scar, it hurts when I laugh, so don’t make me laugh
I also have arthritis and other hindrances that hobble my body and give me pain galore. But my mind is free, though having read my stories you may wish I didn’t bother But I’ll ignore you, and carry on regardless. I do get heckled by my own Tinnitus these past 3 years+, so I have music on all night long to drown it out. I sleep with Miley, Taylor, Eric Clapton and Will Young, maybe I should buy a bigger bed, or just get a better mattress.
That’s the end of the tidy version of my life, if you want more come
and buy me a Stella Artois and all will be revealed. Though 12 pints a
year is my ration.
To finish here’s the list of my 20 books, so far:-
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
Tears for a Butcher will be the sequel to BBU, and it too will be 600pages, however I really need a speed typist to put it down, while I sit and dictate like Barbara Cartland, and hopefully my speed typist would be impressed. ok, that’s your lot,
In future I’ll write then record to my Podcast too
p.s. Don’t forget I have readers all over the world in over 90 Countries now and on some days up to TEN different translations of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker are being read, on the same day, so Media groups do get in touch email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com or send a message via WordPress
1
Michael Casey
aka the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England
