The Writer Michael Casey 28th June 2019

michaelgcasey Uncategorized 29/06/2019 5 Minutes

The Writer Michael Casey 28th June 2019

this is me, fat tum and all, but ever so charming
Thanks to Egypt, Poland, Australia, Libya, Netherlands and UK for being today’s readers
so far today on Wordpress.

 And somebody is reading the Korean translation of Still Alive 2015

Hello to the Trumps in Korea too, here’s something for everybody

K POP saves the World ©

By

Michael Casey

As I flagged yesterday I’ll write something about Pop Stars today, I’ve even changed my usual Font. I did think of one thing and then another, then I had a splat idea. Its the Jackson Pollock school of writing after all, as we lie in our beds the Angel of Death approaches, and the Dove of Peace is just a tiny tiny mustard seed in comparison. I am talking of the looming nuclear war in North Korea.

Read these two links before I resume, with a fresh coffee in my hand.

http://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/world/north-korea-threatens-to-sink-japan-reduce-us-to-ashes-and-darkness/ar-AArUtCD?li=BBoPWjQ&ocid=mailsignout

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzJvBgsFjvQ&list=RDEzJvBgsFjvQ&t=4

The 1^st is a worrying news item, the 2^nd is K Pop.

I’m listening to REM as they sing “Everybody Hurts” I’ve chosen their Automatic for the People album as the backdrop while I talk to you all. Sorry Justin and your Beavers I’m not going to mock you, you do a good enough job on your own. And Snoop you walk your own dog, Eminem go back to school, but Justin dear Justin, I taught you everything you know, now its time to use your 20/20 Vision.

Instead I want to talk about Music, if it be the food of love play on. I wish I could lip sinc the entire film Moulin Rouge as I love it so much. My favorite scene is where the black guy punches the count and save Nicole Kidman. But I digress as ever, but I have such great legs so I should be in a dress. So today’s idea is K Pop for Peace.

23 million people in North Korea are being led by somebody who could be a fat rapper, who has spent everybody’s 50cents on Nuclear Bling, who could poison his own country’s water supply when the mountain where the testing is done collapses around him. In the South everybody has everything, they even have FOOD. So what are we to do to avoid the 1^st Strike from USA, or a very close 2^nd strike if the Panzi, which is a Chinese word for Fat or Pig, tries to get in first. The Logic Of Madness, this is actually a simple concept if you put yourself in the shoes of the madman. This is where the madman kills everything he loves, such as his own family, and then everybody just cannot understand why. Sadly we see such cases in the newspaper from time to time.

The Dear Leader loves nobody, he is corrupt and just loves his own position. So why will he listen to say a fat guy with silver hair in shades from Birmingham? He has not looked in the mirror and changed, he has not had a road to Damascus experience, he has no Soul. He hacked our NHS, it was only saved by a young guy who is now in Jail in USA for something, its due in court soon. A comedy about North Korea, not very funny in the artistic sense resulted in Sony being hacked. People forget Koreans are very clever, even if just in the Military sense in the North.

So what are we to do?

Pack up all your troubles in your all kit bag and sing, yes sing. All you Rappers and hard men out there, why not sing for Peace. I dare you to have a Dream, like King and yes like Abba. Pop stars always say in answer to what is their one dream, world peace, that was until one DJ punched the pop star, be realistic the interviewer shouted.

So Snoop follow your dog’s lead, 50 Cents lend us a penny, no not for a pee, just show us your sparkle, and all the rest of you out there in Hard Man Wrapper Land. Your time has come. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. And the answer is sing Take me Home Country Roads and all the John Denver hits. Yes, all you hard rappers out there, Sing Country. And may Buddy Rich rock and roll in his grave. As for all you gyrating girl singers there is room for you too, as I sit here talking to you Love Hurts plays again, so you Ladies can sing that and shake as only you can shake, while I finish my Lemonade.

Then here’s the clever bit track back from Sony to North Korea and let them hear the music. Let them have a Soul, let them dance. All of North Korea’s public address system is taken over by music. First the rappers singing country, they will be the storm troopers of love. Then Let the music sing let the music take over. Surround North Korea with K POP the only language they understand. From South Korea, from Japan and from China too, not forgetting a few Russians.

Constant K pop, the music of fun and laughter and very pretty girls, not forgetting Gangham Style. Broadcast at them on every radio frequency, on every IP address, take over the North Korean nuclear program with K Pop Music, and not forgetting Abba. The Dear Leader presses a button and all he gets is every tv and computer coming to life with K Pop, and then the population have something to really cry about.

Cry with happiness because K-Pop has saved them from the starvation of the spirit. This should be a cue for a Rapper to sing something good, but are any of you good enough? I’ll have a sip of lemonade while you reach for your dictionary. But I’m sure King would know what to say. Or do we just ask the King, Elvis to say a word now. Yes maybe Mr Gangham Style himself should start singing in the Ghetto. North Korea needs to leave the Ghetto and enter the sunshine. Sing Rappers sing, Take me Home Country Roads, in Korean.

Translations, everything remains my copyright

persianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019China BBU-convertedChina BBU-convertedВ 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 وmy new bedBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

Belgium Man, Belgium

Belgium Man, Belgium

As you know, BELGIUM is the worse curse word on Earth, if you don't believe me then go and read The Hitchiker's Guide to the Universe, I can remember hearing it on the Radio, decades ago.

So why should anybody in Belgium read me, there is the European Union and Nato headquarters there. So are the Europeans so sick of Brexit that  the read me instead, or is it just a stray journalist, like a sheep dog escaped and mating with the local Alsatian. WALOOOOOOOONs they might howl.

Or is it Jim Mathis asking his old friends at Nato to keep an eye on Casey, I doubt if I've corrupted more officers higher up the scambled egg chain. Scrambled egg is the slang for all the rankings marked on shoulders of uniform. Though one Private did have a waitress dump food all over him,  he was nearly saluted to death by all the men, as the scrambled egg and tomatoes on his shoulders increased his rank to General in special services, though obviously not silver sevices. The private did present his privates to the waitress and they went and had 13 children and formed an army of their own.

Belgium Man, BELGIUM

You'll be in the glass house for a year if you say that again to  Mathis. Though he is retired now
 and has joined a tribute band, singing Johnny Mathis songs, he kept all his uniforms so he didn't need to change anything. It's all over his kit. J. Mathis, perfect. He is such a crooner, Bing Crosby would try and kill him, he'd be so jealous. And we all know how that would end.

There is chocolate in Belgium too, though nobody sends any to me. You just sit there in the cafes and by the canal and have your nice beer, very nice beer, Stella Artois,and you never send any to me, not even a selfie of the Press Pack, with General Mathis singing like the Rat Pack.

BELGIUM, man, BELGIUM

so send me Stella, either the girl or the Lager, you did read my Michael Casey Pole Dancer from the other day? Do keep up, I don't mean your 14th Stella Artois in 2 hours, are you journalists or a bunch of school girls? Let me put my glasses on, why are you all dressed up like japanese school girls?

Because you did not get invited to Osaka with Trump, so you decided to dress in women's clothing and pretend you were there, while you stayed in Belgium.

BELGIUM MAN,BELGIUM

well I'll finish now, I have to shave my legs and slip into my cocktail dress and Japanese wig, If you cann't beat them, then join them. Or was that another Beer Comercial?

Hiding the Fat

Hiding The Fat ©

By

Michael Casey

I just looked out the window 30 seconds ago and I was wondering what to write about, I mean talk about today when I spotted a fat girl bulging out of her clothes. She may or may not have been pregnant, you wouldn’t want to ask just in case she was just fat. Now 1/2 my audience may hate me already, I think half do already, so is that 3/4s hating me now, you can do the Maths for yourselves. That’s the trouble with words you cannot say anything or the Snowflakes will be upset. A reality is a reality, so let this big guy through to the toilets, ok I’m just a fatso, so there to you too.

When you are fat you tend to try and hide it. I have a big bum, but it’s behind me, so it’s not a problem for me. But if you are in a scrum then that might be a totally different situation, as your head is nearly up my bum as the ball is thrown in. So perhaps you shouldn’t play rugby with me. And why are rugby players’ balls bigger than football players’ balls, because they sell more tickets. Or it could be that they need to buy more shampoo after their heads have been up each other’s bums in the scrums. Which reminds me there was a book called The Art of Course Rugby, I read it 50 years ago maybe, if you can track it down it is very very funny. And no there is no mention of the best shampoo to use after your head has been up somebody’s bum in the scrum.

But enough of my formative years in the 1970s, what about the fat girl outside? Tight clothes reveal all, cyclists beware, so if you are fat everything will be on show and cling filmed against your body. If you are happy then that’s fine. But if you don’t want folks to say, she’s so fat, even if they say it under their breath then, by having looser fitting clothes , or a scarf or a shawl you can disguise yourself. I can feel the anger mounting as I talk to you. All these methods you big girls know already. And yes if anybody dares to upset my stick insect girls, I’d throw a hissy fit like in White Chicks. I might even climb up on desk and get my kit off and shake my fat hairy ass, that would certainly distract attention away from their awful evil vile comments about my Princesses, the fruits of my loins. A dad will do anything to protect his girls, even baring his fat hairy ass.

Some girls have big chests, others have padded bras. Some are shy about their assets, some are not. This is where let it all hang out, or strap it down or cover it up comes in. It’s up to everybody to decide, what their style is. Temptation or the Nun look. We all have personal choice. I am of course the buttoned up look, I used to wear shirt and tie for years like a member of Status Quo with my jeans too. All men are bastards as we girls know, so you have to decide what’s appropriate  on where you are going.

As for myself if I open a button or two all my new regrown chest hair is exposed. It’s taken 4 years to get back to full growth. You lie on a bed semi naked and a nurse shaves your chest, and then both legs from the ankle to your naughty bits, then they cut you open and do an unplanned quadruple heart bypass. Without the surgery bit in a different setting it could be called erotic or even kinky, what you get up to in your own bedrooms is up to you.

So you can imagine, should I open my shirt and reveal my hairy 46inch chest, with my bulging belly below, with my pirate, not pilotes, pirate scar in its full 12 inch glory, with my chest hair adorning it like Japanese Knotweed, or should I cover myself up like a blushing virgin. The answer came to me, or rather the gales of laugher, and one person puking all over my pirate scar. Though that’s how I met Betty a nurse who led me away to the car wash and told me to clean myself, then she make me give her dad 2 quid for the use of his brushes.

But nevertheless Betty and me became bosom friends, and she has no scars on hers, she told me, how else would I know? Which brings me back to the behind. We don’t see it, but it is a most useful thing. If you wear tight, skin tight clothes you can really drive the boys wild, so obviously I always wear loose fitting trousers. I’m too old to be chased down the street, and the last boy that tried to pinch my bum I threw him into the fountain at Victoria Square Birmingham. You see in the dark, with my short jacket on all that you notice is my tight 46inch bum, which is too much temptation to some boys. Though when I spin around and they see my face, and my rugged good looks, they do get a fright, and some get such a shock they go of and join the French Foreign Legion.

So don’t mock me for my looks, I just try and wear the right clothes at the right time, something for every occasion. My bum is the same as Donald Trump’s look closely and you will agree, so have pity on me. If ever I end up in a Finnish Sauna all I can do is try and wear the right shade of lipstick, and then everything is based on the size of my personality, because when you lie down naked in the dark, all you have is your personality and see how that fits.

All quiet

All Quiet

not many active readers today, you may all be down the pub after finishing your exams

or Boris and Hunt are too busy with photo opps to read my stuff

Though Hunt's Language company could use all my stuff to help teach English

that's if I've got my facts right

What else can I say

They'll be a new story presently, I have a few chores to do

Somebody was reading an old piece from 2010 today so that took me back

In fact one person mentioned in the story walked past me in the street today

Unknown Region was also reading me, which could be the Space Station

or somebody with a filter on their phone.

It's probably the Navy Seals, the read me during  their down time

And if you believe that then you believe that I'm a Ballet Dancer too, Ballet not BELLY

which reminds me Birmingham is Ballet so here's that story, which will become part of

Tears for a Butcher, the sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

which I'll write or rather dictate when I get a Kpop Singer or Kdrama star to sit and type it

for me as I rattle off the story from my chaise longue

and that will happen  when I weigh less than 100kilos,hahaha

Birmingham is Ballet ©

By

Michael Casey

If you have been  following me on my site you’ll know that the pain monster attacked at 4am this morning, I had a cuppa and as I’d managed to waken my daughter I told her about this story. It will actually form a chapter in Tears for a Butcher the comic sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, assuming I get around to doing it. I have a vain hope that I could borrow a legal secretary, then in 12 weeks the sequel would be done. I’ll just sit and dictate it.

Now why Ballet? Well as you should also know my wife’s first friend in Birmingham was a ballerina from the Birmingham Royal Ballet. I was vetted in a straight bar in the Gay Quarter of Birmingham, by the ballerina herself. The bar is called The Queens Tavern, you can have a beer there next time you are in Birmingham at the ballet, it’s just up the side of the Hippodrome Theatre past the Subway sandwich place.

Now if you put your 4 pints of Stella down on the coffee table Boris, and those three Subway sandwiches, eating alone again, then I’ll begin. Remember as ever these are all my copyrighted ideas.

Catherine and Damien were ecstatic they had scored top marks in the Law exam, in fact along with their friends, Peter and Paul all four had scored top marks. All because one of the partners suggested they go to visit Marcus in the old people’s home, the one owned by The Old Forge and Singing Anvil Coop, but that’s another story which I’ll tell you later. But you may need another 10 pints of Stella Artois and 6 more Subway sandwiches Boris, but Annie can clear the table away for you, or Bettie her twin sister.

Now where was I, yes Catherine and Damien and the other two had visited Marcus in the home, after his stroke he needed a little help but otherwise he still had it. So with Marcus’s help the four of them scored the highest ever scores in the Birmingham Law exams. Now it is a tradition that the Law firm that gets the best results gets a bottle of whisky from the other firms. As you may know if you wander around Saint Phillips cathedral area, we have a lot of lawyers in Birmingham. Obviously I worked at the best firm, Pinsent Masons, but I digress.

So back to the tale, grace a Marcus as the French might say, the foyer of Catherine’s company was littered with whisky. Not bottles but cases of the stuff. As her company the gained the top 4 spots, the other firms thought it was only fair to send not a bottle but a case of whisky. I am probably underestimating the figure, but 30 firms sending 30 cases of whisky, equals 360 bottles of whisky.

The senior partner arrived and raised half an eyebrow. It’s the legal results Sir, explained Tony on Security. We got a case instead of a bottle seeing as we did so well. 360 bottles. Yes Sir 360 bottles, litre ones too. The senior partner smiled, well if you put 5 cases upstairs in the boardroom. And the rest Sir? Well if I remember rightly it’s your Regimental Reunion soon, would it be an imposition if I asked you to dispose of it. 300 bottles may be a little too much to ask you to dispose of? I suppose we might find a good home for it all. Thank you Tony, said the senior partner. The senior partner stopped for a second, no he hadn’t changed his mind, oh by the way, ask Maggie our cleaning lady for the hangover cure, it works wonders, so I am well informed, touching his nose as he skipped away smiling. It was a happy ship their firm, one big happy family.

So the night of the Regimental Reunion arrived, Tony had hired a room in the local bar, in the corner the prize, 25 cases of whisky. Not your rubbish stuff from Asda or any other supermarket. 40 year old malt whisky, they were lawyers after all, they had standards to maintain. In a neighboring bar Catherine and the others were celebrating too. Catherine and Damien were having a quiet fag, when 3 lads asked could they have a light, when Catherine held out her lighter one grabbed her arm, they were going to be robbed. Catherine let out a scream, one of the lads pulled a knife.

Inside the Regimental Reunion things were going well, very well in fact, half the Tonys were tipsy.Ex army tend to work as security in Law Firms, and they always but always are called Tony,its almost like a religious cult. Ex army,law firms and the name Tony. If you don’t believe me ask Tony Cruise,the action film guy, is real name is Tony by the way. Catherine’s scream was heard, and like a mother running to save her baby half the room exited. But they were too late, blood had been spilled and bodies were on the floor.

Somebody else had heard Catherine’s call, it was a ballet dancer new in town, like a new gun slinger. It was Anton Bollockoff from Russia. He had dashed and pranced and pranced and dashed, three times in fact. He had kicked them high and low, and low and high and high and low again. The assassins were on the floor bleeding. Are you ok, my dear said Anton looking into Catherine’s eyes and she looked into his. It was thunder and lightning, may I introduce myself. Damien screamed,the Tonys ran faster, as fast as 40 year old malt whisky allows you. You are THE Aton Bollockoff, the ballet dancer, screamed Damien, he was so excited. He had been rescued by THE Anton Bollockoff, nobody would believe him down the gay bar.

The Tonys arrived and bounced the three criminals against a wall or two. You are banned from Birmingham yelled a RSM, another Tony took their photos, do you hear me YOU ARE BANNED FROM BIRMINGHAM, yelled the RSM. Now get lost, he would have used stronger language, the kind RSM have qualifications in but there was a lady present. Damien explained all. Tony from Catherine’s law firm thanked Anton Bollockoff if ever you need a favour just ask, you saved one of my girls and boys, I owe you.

Anton Bollockoff knew when to leap so he leapt. If I could get into a good Italian restaurant tonight with the beautiful lady that would reward enough. Catherine swooned, delayed shock, Anton caught her in his arms. This was love at first sight, and the Tonys were there to see it, Damien was slightly disappointed, but he believed in love, he has watched Moulin Rouge 12 times already.

So Tony took their photos too, he explained henceforth they were on the Angel list, never wait, straight to Heaven at any place in Birmingham where there was security. As for the 3 bad guys, they were on the Hell list, forever barred. Photos were appearing on mobiles all over Birmingham as he spoke.

So thanking the Tonys, Damien, Catherine and Anton Bollockoff made their way across town to the new gay bar and then to the Italian restaurant. Were they afraid of meeting any nasty people along the way? No because Anton was with them. Besides every security camera along the way was following them and as they passed every bar and eatery a security guy or girl waved and spoke into their radio. It was as if the Queen was strolling by, with security watching.

Damien had everything, a bright future in the law beckoned, but he wanted love. And you cannot buy love. He waved Catherine and Anton away as he queued outside of the new happening gay bar. He had a slight tear in his eye, all he wanted was somebody to love. He’d have a great future but without somebody to share it with. He brushed a tear of envy away from his eye. At that moment Martin appeared, Martin was the head of security, he was just checking the lines. Do you want a tissue he asked as he handed Damien a tissue, then looking at his phone he said, you are on the Angel list come with me.

Once inside Damien had a cocoa with Martin, you can’t have alcohol while you are working after all. Damien offloaded his life to Martin, it turned out that as well as being a body builder, Martin’s dad was a lawyer. Only they had argued so Martin ended up having a security company instead of a law firm. They say that God works in mysterious ways, but that night they had found each other, 60 years they were together, but I’ll leave the future to God.

Meanwhile Anton Bollockoff and Catherine were walking hand in hand through the backstreets till they arrived at the best Italian Restaurant in Birmingham. All the time security cameras and doormen charting their progress. The Regimental Reunion was I full swing, Tony was happy his eyes were everywhere protecting his children.

At Don Camillo’s Anton and Catherine instinctively queued, a security giant and his small blonde pig-tailed girlfriend ushered them in. Paolo was a ballet nut and when he saw walked through the door he screamed. The best table in the house given to them, best food and wine was produced. Catherine was all loved up, here in front of her was THE Anton Bollockoff from Russia. He was wearing a very tight shirt and even tighter cream coloured trousers. She was in love in lust and in love again.

People would have asked for autographs but one look from the pig-tailed security girl stopped that. Paolo refused payment, Anton said why not come to the ballet tomorrow for a full dress rehearsal, and the nice security people. So it was settled. Anton told Paulo to step outside then he asked Catherine to lean on a lamppost.

What happened next cannot really be explained by a ballet baby such as I. But I will do my best, with Paolo standing on the steps of his restaurant Anton floated back and forth only to return to stroke Catherine’s hair, her face and shoulders. Away and return, away and return. A crowd of hundreds appeared, held back by security. This went on and on and on, like singing in the rain but without the rain, this is Birmingham not Manchester after all. Anton stroked her hair, her face, her shoulders, her behind, her breast, her thighs. Ever so gently, ever so romantically. Women and men fainted in the crowd, erotic dancing, ballet dancing while fully clothed. Catherine’s breathing increased, the crowds breathing increased. Anton Bollockoff was making love to every woman in the crowd.

Finally it was just too much, 40 mins of balletic foreplay, Anton stroked a stroke too far. Catherine wheeled and sprung, she tore his shirt off in the street, Bollockoff shirt off in the street. This would be The Sun’s headline in the morning. She jumped on him and began to devour him on the bench outside the old church that was was now a 70s disco nightclub. For God’s sake get her to the church on time.

The security saved the day as ever, the couple, it was close but not quiet, the couple were grabbed and carried up the street to the Novotel. They were flung through the doors of the Presidential suite. But then something wonderful happened as they stood naked in front of each other. Not the urge, the urge was there, very much there. They just showered together and each other but then they stopped, naked but in love. They spent the night talking, they were up all night, talking. Can it be true, can it be really true? Yes. The exact same thing was happening for Damien and his new life long love. Both couples had stopped on the verge of coupling. They wanted to be sure it was LOVE.

Then they slept.  

In the morning the Sun screamed out Bollockoff Shirtoff in the Street. As the couple talked and slept their love had gone viral. Everybody but everybody in the crowd had filmed it and uploaded it. Ballet Lovers Website crashed 14 times, such was the pull of the ballet. By afternoon on the streets of Bangkok you could buy a DVD of Bollockoff and the Mystery girl. To say Bollockoff was huge was a massive understatement. But what would transpire after breakfast would dwarf.

Catherine arrived at her law firm and Tony smiled, she kissed him on the cheek. Tony on security blushed, he was like a proud dad, as all law firm security people are. Now a major new client had been visiting and as Catherine spoke fluent Italian she was ushered to the boardroom just to be on hand. Now as luck or Fate would have it, the client had been at Paolo’s restaurant the night before. This could be tricky very tricky, but he was a Ballet Nut. He did not want to want to talk about contracts just ballet. Catherine looked helpless and trapped for a moment, the senior stepped in, not as elegantly as Bollockoff but just as nice.

If Catherine doesn’t feel too overwhelmed then I’ll permit it, he ventured, senior partners love their staff almost as the Tonys on reception, but with much posher language. Forgive me, I am just a farmer replied the Italian in clothes worth at least 10,000. He bowed and kissed her hand. So they talked business with Catherine doing a bit of translation. As talks had gone well, extremely well, the Italian could not keep his mind off Bollockoff’s performance. Catherine decided to do some of her own venturing.

Actually, there is a full dress rehearsal today and Anton said I should sneak out over a long lunch break and come and see him perform. The Italian screamed and dropped his man-bag leaving a tiny tiny scratch on it. Could we, please, we have finished here, my cousin Marco would be so jealous if I saw Bollockoff first. The Italian gave his best pleading eyes to he senior partner. Well if you are sure the business is closed. The Italian drew out his most expensive yet stylist pen and signed the 200million deal.

Let’s go and see Bollockoff he screamed in delight. The senior partner leaned over his phone and asked Tony on reception to tell the Italian’s driver to be ready. In the ride down in the lift Catherine told the Italian how she had met Bollockoff. So when the lift doors opened Tony was a superhero, putting Bollockoff on the angel list had been angels’ delight for the Italian. Bollockoff was at the restaurant as the Italian magnate and he had seen him dance in the street. The Italian kissed Tony on both cheeks, you should have a reward, Tony’s eyebrows formed question marks. The senior partner shrugged his shoulders, the Italian asked sheepishly would his man-bag be a suitable reward. The tiny scratch on it meant the Italian would not be seen dead with it. With the senior partner nodding his assent Tony accepted the gift. It was a PacoMacotaco man-bag not that Tony knew that till he googled the label inside. Retail value 4000.

The car whisked them to the ballet, the lights had gone down but they were ushered to a box. The music started and the lights came on. As their eyes adjusted to the light Catherine could see the security from the restaurant and Paulo from the restaurant in the boxes beside them. Then as she looked about she realised the Hippodrome home of the Birmingham Royal Ballet was overflowing. Every security in  Birmingham had come. Invite one, invite all.

Bollockoff and the Birmingham Royal Ballet were on fire, his energy had supercharged everybody. The fact that the other newspapers  had followed up on the Sun’s headline really made everybody feel happy. The show was an entire tour de force or whatever the French say. At the interval a miracle happened. Everybody got a drink, the Chairman of the Federation of Security Personnel Birmingham Branch had slapped down his American Express card and said fill everything and have every ice-cream in the building ready. It was a military operation, everybody but everybody was fed and watered in those 20 mins.

Happy with smudges of ice-cream on their lips which eager girlfriends more than eager to lick off slowly, the security all sat in eager anticipation. They were not denied anything. Ballerinas danced and Ballet dancers pranced. It was like Christmas for a child. Grown men cried and their girlfriends had to console them, and they’d console them much more when they got home to bed. Afternoon delights are a regular feature if you work late nights.

The Italian sneaked out his iphone and streamed a minute to his cousin in Milan. The cousin was so lividly jealous. As the curtain fell the entire audience leapt to their feet. The community of Birmingham security has lost their Ballet Virginity, and they wanted more,and when they got home they would have more ballet, but the horizontal variety. The corps to ballet bowed and the audience screamed.

Bollockoff stepped forward, I am sorry if my performance was not perfect it’s my first time on this stage but I promise to improve here in my new home, Birmingham. I met somebody so special last night and we spent the entire night talking , just talking. So did I screamed Damien and Martin in unison. The audience roared their approval. Things could not get any better. Catherine screamed out, I love you. Italian and the senior partner could go to hell she was in love. The entire audience screamed out I love you.

The corps to ballet bowed, the applause and screaming lasted 10 full minutes was like a pop concert. Then when the screaming stopped Catherine screamed again. It’s me, I love you. The spotlight moved to cover her, he’s seen her in the Sun now he’d spotted her in the crowd. The audience gasped it was her, the girl dancing or rather ripping his shirt off from Bollockoff. Anton saw the love of his life and dived into the crowd. His ballet dancing had lifted them up, now it was their turn to lift him up. So walking on palms Anton Bollockoff reached his girl. It was like Romeo and Juliette. Marry me and have all my babies he said in Russian. What did he say asked the audience? The Italian who also spoke Russia stood and with tears in his eyes translated. He said Marry Me and have all my babies.

Versuvius erupted, Catherine was lowered to Bollockoff’s level and still standing on the hands of security they kissed. Then hand in hand they walked over the hands to the stage. The Italian kissed the senior partner he was so happy. His Milanese cousin would die, absolutely die. After a few more bows the corps to ballet were about to leave the stage when Anton hissed, do you trust me? Yes. So the Corps de ballet left the stage by walking over the hands of the audience.

It took 90 seconds to empty the theatre they were all trained security personnel. Then outside the Hippodrome Anton reprised his dance from the night before, but with the Birmingham Royal Ballet improvising around him. If my mother were alive she would have thrown a bucket of water on them. As it was the Fire Brigade had been doing some routine checks so they decided to sprinkle the ballet. It was an utter internet sensation. Kirov can Bollockoff was the headline on the Sun the next day. Two days with 2 ballet headlines in the sun, was the editor drunk, or just drunk on ballet.   

Linking his arm through the senior partner’s arm the Italian walked back to the law office, the crowds had gathered, his car could never get through now. I like you, your firm, your security Tony, I like everything, like a family, and I adore the ballet. This is the happiest day of my business life ever. Only when I bought the racing car company comes a 2^nd closest, to this day. Ballet in Birmingham day, I think I’ll tell my biographer to write a whole page about it, maybe two.

The Birmingham Royal Ballet went inside to change, Catherine and Anton decided to consummate their love in a box of the Hippodrome. Damien and Martin were ahead of them, in a box on the other side of the Hippodrome. As they say Ballet is Universal, the Birmingham Royal Ballet encapsulates it all. And yes I really was vetted by a Chinese Ballerina from the Birmingham Royal Ballet in the Queens Tavern about 20 years ago. Where do you thing the ideas come from?

      

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/l/B00571G0YC   to buy my 18 books

Defenceless Little Old Lady

Defenceless Little Old Lady ©

By

Michael Casey

Miss Hannigan was very nice little old lady, she was forever carrying her two red leather shopping bags back and forth as she went to the shops. She had a nice little pension and had never married, as no man was good enough, she always said with a faraway look in her eye. There been admirers, but that was another story that was too painful to go into. But now she was as regular as clockwork, thanks to the prunes, and she kept the same schedule. She could afford Ocado to come and deliver, and sometimes did, they were very nice delivery boys after all, but she liked human contact in the shops so she went shopping with her two red leather shopping bags.

Miss Hannigan knew everybody and everybody knew Miss Hannigan, she went shopping every day so of course the knew her. She didn’t go shopping on Sunday of course, Sundays were for church and choir, she played the piano in the church hall. Her voice was very very loud too, her past made her voice loud. You see Miss Hannigan had been a teacher all her life, so she knew how to shout and sing loudly. Then when Annie had been on tv the kids all began to sing back, We Love You Miss Hannigan, and they really did despite all the rigours of teaching. Miss Hannigan taught English, so when a weekly test was finished the kids all sung, We Love You Miss Hannigan, and then burst out laughing.

So Miss Hannigan had had a nice life, she’s had 1000s of children, though secretly she’d have loved one of her very own, so she could tell her own child just how special they were to her. Now the thing about routine is that it is the best way and the safest way to run your life, you don’t forget where you left your keys or where your underpants are, because they are always in the same place. Covering your bum, or on the 2^nd shelf in the wardrobe, or in the washing machine on steam clean.

There are bad people in this world, opportunists who will take advantage of you, like Politicians who refuse to debate, because they think everything is in the bag, and don’t want to let any cats out of the bag. In Miss Hannigan’s case there was a very naughty boy who’d seen her walking by every day as he sat in his car smoking his skunk. Skunk stinks, and is a very stupid thing to do. But Skunk is a bad habit unlike Miss Hannigan’s good habits, about knowing where her pants or keys were at any given time. So over time and the haze of Skunk, the naughty boy thought it might be a good idea to steal from Miss Hannigan.

Miss Hannigan was carrying two full loads of shopping in her shopping bags, it was all kinds of everything. She was walking a bit slower than usual as she’d hurt her leg, in fact she’s borrowed a stick from Mr Malik who said keep it. She had taught his children and grandchildren after all. The Skunk user thought this was his chance, he’d steal her purse, she must be rich she went to the shop every day, though really it was to keep loneliness at bay. So the Skunk crept up on her. Miss Hannigan BEHIND YOU, generations of kids would scream,We Love You Miss Hannigan, LOOK OUT.

The wind saved Miss Hannigan, she farted you see, Heinz baked beans was her weakness, they are good for your heart, ask your doctor, even if he holds his nose as he replied. As she looked around to see if anybody had heard her let rip, then she spotted and smelt the Skunk. She had always told the children that a bully must be faced down, so she stopped and dropped her 2 shopping bags, deliberately , so that the contents poured out in front of her. Then she screamed as only a teacher can scream, the Skunk laughed, nobody will hear you, you are too far away from the shops.

Miss Hannigan pressed her Fitbit, the Skunk laughed again, that won’t help you, you old bitch. He’d obviously been to the wrong kind of school. Little did he know, it was not a Fitbit, Mr Malik’s grandson was very big in Tech, it was in fact a personal alarm. Miss Hannigan took a deep breath, looked like she was all alone. Then she cast off her coat, she was there in her pink woolly jumper. It was a leaving present, it had WE LOVE YOU MISS HANNIGAN embroidered on it. The Skunk laughed.

Miss Hannigan grasped her walking stick, then using the contents of her shopping bag as ammunition she let rip, she farted first, then she used Malik’s stick as a hockey stick. FIRE, fire one, fire two, fire three, fire four, fire five. She had not only been the English teacher, she also taught HOCKEY. The Skunk was sunk, hen was battered and clattered with tins of this and that, with potatoes, carrots, a cabbage and a lettuce, she even hooked a box of free range eggs and the had a doze yolk on him.

By now from a distance the cavalry were coming, the cavalry were coming, generations of children came running, a child will never forget it’s teachers voice. So they all came running. The Fitbit was connected to many Iphones too. Mr Malik’s grandson jumped into his Rolls Royce and floored it. A Council meeting was interrupted too, the Lord Mayor in all his regalia came running, the number 92 bus which was always late, just flew. Miss Hannigan was in trouble, they must come, NOW, just as she used to say to them in school, NOW MEANS NOW.

In the distance the Police were coming too, no flashing lights, just clip and clop, but very fast clip and clop. You see Sgt. Dixon was on horse duty and his phone picked up the FitBit alert, there were three other officers on horseback too. They were the four horsemen of the apocalypse as far as the Skunk was concerned. An American tourist happened to be in the local park and filmed and followed on his roller skates.

There was flour in the air, as Miss Hannigan had not stopped firing until everything she had was launched against her would be attacker. Miss Hannigan, Miss Hannigan her children all shouted, hoping she was safe. Malik’s Rolls screamed to a halt. The Lord Mayor arrived, classroom fulls of people arrived. There was one late arrival, hairy Amjit the Alsation dog had ran 5 miles, then just leapt teeth first onto the Stunk.

Four Police horses arrived and backed the Stunk into a corner, dribbling spit all over the stunk. The American tourist filmed it all.

The Stunk was arrested, and as he sat on a bench waiting for a Police van to take him to jail, the Police Horses had the final say. You see running always makes a horse want to pooh.So all four poohed on the Skunk, so everything came up roses. Everybody sung We Love you Miss Hannigan, over and over again. They were so relieved, they would knit a new jumper for Miss Hannigan as hers had got a bit battered rather like the Skunk in all the excitement. Miss Hannigan had never had a child of her own, but as far as all these generations of children were concerned, they loved her like a mother.