Welcome Back By Michael Casey

Welcome Back (c)

BY Michael Casey

Well it’s been  a while so I thought you could all suffer  a bit with me again. No you cannot just go down the Pub, if I suffer you all suffer, it’s called caring and sharing after all. So my small daughter kept on coming downstairs from her eyrie where she’s studying to get a drink from the kitchen, but without her slippers and socks. So she got a cold that she couldn’t shake off over Christmas. But did manage to pass on to me, and I’ve been enjoying it these past 10 days or so. I’m so full of gunge and pain I could not face the hill to get to the shops. Luckily you can phone for anything this Christmas.

So you have all had Peace on Earth this Christmas. As for me my Tinnitus has been a real Roman slave, google Up Pompeii for plenty of colour and racy jokes from Up Pompeii which was a tv comedy back in 1970 onwards. We impressed our  Latin teacher so much when we mentioned it, God Bless Mr Hanney. As Tinnitus was making me a slave I decided to play with my phone while listening to Will Young. Will Young  spends his nights in my bed singing for his supper, not literally he’s too clever for that. In actual fact he really is a very clever man, he could be a Political Reporter, he’s that clever, though watching Politicians is a bit bizarre, Laura, is it because they all sung Tell Laura I love her. Who knows the workings of a Political Reporter’s mind.

But that’s just me, 50 years cursing Politicians on the telly, it’s like the Roman Coliseum, I knew Tinnitus came from somewhere, it’s the noise Politicians make, an eternal hiss, and yes I will say read Chapter 9 of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, M.P. Married to a Person, Married to a People, ok as a punishment as you punish  your Stella Artois.

What else do I do at night, all alone in the dark with just Will Young’s voice, voice I said, please clean your ears out, oh, you have Tinnitus too.  It’s much better than Tinnitus One, ok, please yourselves as Frankie Howerd might titter, there was much tittering in Up Pompeii I remember, it was the selling point for 11 year old boys, tittering. If this was tv, I’d pull a face, but as everything I write is Radio, you’ll just have to imagine, or look at my mush belove. Yes, where was I, looking at my bottom in the reflection in the window pane, I was at the bottom of the page, oh do keep up as  Kenneth might interject, though some of you may wish this was the interval, what I came back too soon, you are so cruel, I’ll come and live next door to you. Yes I’ll be the squatter next door, they haven’t fixed the toilet yet.

And what has the last paragraph got to do with the price of nutty slack, well nothing, but sometimes a girl or is he a she, you cannot tell nowadays the way they all dress. What  it’s not Nutty Slack, the local call girl, it’s MZ in a Hoodie, he should change his profile page or get a ZTE phone on Amazon and take a better selfie. Are you all feeling dizzy now? I’ll lead you all up the garden path again, until you are,  I never surrender and wave at Gill from StatMR this time, she’s such a nice lady. Dizzie is a friend of hers they go out rapping every Sunday after church, they wrap gifts for the Sally Army. Did you think Gill with a G could Rap with an R? Well of course she can, she’s gifted, she plays snooker too, she once split a pair and got one in each corner pocket.  Ok, I’m lying now, on the pool table, you see Gill said, Michael, tidy up your own mess,  and threw the broom at me, hitting my pair and knocking them into my pockets. So I’m lying flat out on the pool table with a jug of ice on my Test test Test,  testimonials, and yes i did moan, as my friends from StatsMR drunk the bar dry.

Now this is another piece of nonsense which could have gone any  which way, but Harry couldn’t come, so they sent Clyde instead, he was going to splatter me, but my Navy Seal friends intervened, if anybody was going to splatter me, they would be the first. So I’m speaking from the bottom of the cesspit or latrine. Which goes to prove yet again, that Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham is so full of it, and always smells of it. So send Ck1 or CK Be and then I’ll write sweet smelling prose, and you can all stop holding your nose. So thanks for waiting while I had this flu, now this cuckoo can fly over the nest again.

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