Looking for guest columnists!

i'm sending in one now radio, let's see if your e-mag has the guts to publish it -- it's called 'Don’t ban the Swastika, ban the Cross' -- which ABCtales is finding difficult to allow on its thread -- HARHARHAR -- whata bunch of dildos!

they're using their old trick to try and fool me -- showing it to me only when i am logged in -- WHATTA BUNCHA JOKERS!

read your mail, then act like a grownup.

That's I keep forgetting about those darn little brackets!

Would some of my diary extracts from the Worcestershire village of Come-to-Piddle be of interest ?

Bad Bob, Yes...Send some samples.

Word count ?

200-800 words would be good. Series okay, it would be a regular thing...(if every 2 months can be considered regular). I'll take illustration photos as well, related to the article.

Derbyshire is quaint - on the cusp of Robin Hood country... Cromwell was an ogre and slaughted all the monks and burnt down a local monastry... loads of history - maybe of interest to some one ...

Ohhhh....I like Cromwell.....Didn't he take over England after your only revolution, chopped head and things.....The Lord Protector as I recall. There was a very very good book on him about 25 years ago, so damn hard to read though.

Ollie may have been a tad obsessed but he did us all a favour. By pure chance, Denver I happen to have spent my last 18 yrs in the town that claims fame to him.

So, was Burl Ives from there? I bet they have lots of snowmen this time of year. I love snowmen. I make them all the time.

I don't think Ollie did us as much of a favour as Colin thinks, Denver. If my English history isn't too far wrong, it was Ollie that first conquered Ireland and ultimately left us with the mess presided over by evil Ian Paisley, (may he die soon), and scumbag murdering bastards, Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness

Mississippi - I love you dearly, but... Can't you write anything with out swearing. Do you suffer from that - insult disorder thingie??? Sheeeezzzzz

Mississippi - I love you dearly, but... Can't you write anything with out swearing? Do you suffer from that - insult disorder thingie??? Sheeeezzzzz [%sig%]

I'm seeing double! Hey, I knew this guy in the Navy (where else), every other word out of his mouth was "f***,S***,Co** Suc***..." He was hilarious to be around, if he could say a sentence not laced with profanity, everybody would clap. He cussed so much you hardly even noticed it.

what about opinionated politically incorrect pieces?

Perfect rita, you got any?

Jannet honey, I'm trying very hard to restrict my profanity count, but I keep getting provoked be dumb f.. people like, well you know, that twerp that knows all about gypos, sex and home schooling for starters. I will however concentrate extra hard for the next 48hrs, I DO find it distressing to be told I'm a foul-mouthed lout. Sorry

HOW ABOUT MY STUFF , I HAVE AN ESSAYS SECTION TOO -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Butcher , The Baker and The Undertaker The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is a comedy drama about a street of shops in Birmingham/Black Country in England . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- http://groups.msn.com/michaelcasey The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is a comedy drama about a street of shops in Birmingham/Black Country in England . Here's a flavour Wayne buys a delelict pub and his wife is pregnant with twins , things could not be worse , Mrs Murphy comes to the resuce with a loan , and 2 sets of twins the builders work for nothing , God looks down and helps too , Wayne discovers a hidden cellar underneath the cellar , its full of 40year old whiskey left over from the war WWII , the pub was where the local black markerteer left everthing . Wayne and family are saved . The Undertaker has a fued with the traffic warden for putting a parking ticket on his hearse.On the way there' a Jazz funeral , a teddy bear called Patrick , a dog called hairy Amjit who has a mind of his own . The Undertakers sons leaves the business and Percy is at a loss , his son returns with a Prodigal Son plea for forgiveness , "Father forgive me , I now know that computers are not for me , there is no love in computers , but in our business there is love and compassion . The Undertaker tries to blackmail a bent builder who is going to demolish the street of shops where they all live . Peace is restored so the Undertaker becomes the election agent for the builder and takes him on a tour of all the rest homes , so that the builder ends up getting into the Houses of Parliament . The dodgy bookie Smiling Paul has a bet on the election and wins 1million pounds . The Undertaker is furious until her hears that Smiling Paul had a road to Damascus experience and gave away all the money to help save the Chinese restaurant business of his Chinese friends . So Smiling Paul becomes a man of honour , and gets a stunning girlfriend on the way , because the Chinese must honour him . The finale is a kidnap and rescue of the infant daughter of the corner shop owner , united the street of shops saves the day . The writing is funny and tongue in cheek , if some readers see it just as a ma and pa book then good , but if they step back they will see that I'm gently poking fun at my characters . Such as Big Sid the butcher who is like a year around santa . Patrick the baker is trying to have a love life but all the street knows his every move . His mother is relieved when finally he meets the right girl a virgin , who turns out to be the only daughter of the man who saved the bakery many years before , to Patrick's mum its a miracle and the will of god . Bible belt people , simple honest folk will love the book , and forgive Patrick's stupidity because , heck he's a good boy . The New Yorkers and California will love it too because they'll just laugh at the other side of the tale , The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is for everbody , and in translation it will find a bigger audience . I predict 15million sales in USA alone . I finish with a poem from Percy the Undertaker Michael Gerard Casey 10 Reginald Rd,Bearwood,Warley,B67 5AQ 021 429 8576 The Dead and The Living (c) by Michael Casey I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said not to worry as the dead are the same as the living , only the laughter has left them , the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has been lifted from their shoulders , and their voice has vanished to eternity . In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter . I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living , though I find the deceased are always more polite . My father also had a few words to say about the living . He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul , yet they think their existance is everything , that they know everything because they experience many things with their senses . What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short and when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue without them , without their strong , without their weak , without their beautiful or even uglg temporary form , to where I cannot say , only that it is a better place . Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free THE BEGINNING Thats all , now make me an offer

here's my first essay as guest columnist . Michael Casey 10 Reginald Rd Bearwood Warley B67 5AQ England Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com Web http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey Internet Story © By Michael Casey So all I had to do was send an email , and then I’d be a writer , my book in every shop , my face smirking from cardboard cutouts of me holding my book aloft . My book had a great title , so it was bound to sell . A Nation Of Shopkeepers was a great title , if only people could remember their History , were people interested in History , and for that matter my book . It wasn’t a history book , would people think it WAS a history book , and then not buy it . It was a comedy drama , about a street of shops , interconnecting short stories , for all the family , but would people notice the levels , the strands of humour , or would they say it’s a Ma & Pa book , and miss the joke , just as one publisher called did ? I decided to keep the title , though I had a reserve title , The Butcher , The Baker and The Undertaker . Then I realised the US market would rename it The Butcher , The Baker And The Funeral Arranger . You don’t think about such things when you are writing the book , you’re just happy , on a roll , in love with your own intellect , or just surprized you actually DO have any intellect , then you discover that you are dyslexic , you really are dyslexic , thankfully not a really bad case , just dyslexic . As you proof read you see you have put BUT instead PUT , LEAD instead of READ , things like this and other strange things . Sure there are spellcheckers but or is it put , you have to check it anyway . As you read you are surprized at your own ability . You didn’t waste 4years in journalism school , but your writing is GOOD , Did I write that ? Then your chest filled with pride you get somebody else to read it , and guess what ? They think its crap . So now you have to decide , should I give up or should I carry on ? I gave up for as while , while is a unit of years in my case , my life took another path , so the writing was forgotten , it lay dormant for years , then like a phoenix it arose , or more truthfully , like a tortoise awaking from hibernation , sleep still in my eyes I slowly poked my head out , then back in , went back to sleep again , then finally with the pangs of hunger in my stomach I just had to do something . In my case it was eat , as in really eat , then I turned to my old Atari and realised it was not PC compatible , so I bought a new , or rather an old new Atari which was PC compatible . Then I spent a day copying my files so that I could read them on a PC . Then I wrote a few more pieces before I realised I’d get nowhere in England . The chances of being published were 1 in 2000 . So like a bear , I went back in my cave and slumbered . Meeting my wife Jing Jie was a turning point in my life , and not just because it was like Thunder as Jing Jie calls it , it was a turning point because I had a professional opinion on my writing , from a journalist at the very top of the tree . Her uncle is an editor in chief , so his comments were and are like gold , worth more than my first coffee and Cadbury’s chocolate , the pleasure rush I treat myself to every day , his comments really were that important to me , and I really DO like my Cadbury’s , so being better than Cadbury’s is the highest praise I can give . So I knew the quality of my writing , even if others said and say its crap . Getting a modern PC and internet connection was another turning point . Email in our house is like water and electic in any other homes . Jing Jie can “talk” to her mum in Shanghai every day . To friends all over the world as well . Birmingham IS the centre of the universe .So with hope and fear I had to transfer my files from my old Atari to the new PC . The floppy discs were old and battered , several were unreadable , finally my work , my babies were safely on the new PC . Just to be on the safe side I set up a website , so now my work was on somebody’s server in the US , thousands of miles away , safe from fire or theft . I could also put our new baby’s photos on the web site so that my Chinese family in Shanghai and Maimi and friends all over the world could see Annie and Jing Jie and me , they could even read my work too . So now all I had to do was market my work in the US , simple really , soon I’d be doing something useful with my life , making people laugh . I’d be a writing whore , I’d get paid to make others laugh , the best job in the world . So how would I set about it ? I got a list of radio stations from the internet and started sending emails galore . I’m talking in the hundreds now , to radio stations the length and breath of the US .They could publicise my site then eventually I’d get published , or my play would get produced . It was simple wasn’t it . So merrily I went about my business , sending emails galore . Years before I used to send off big heavy envelopes with my work in , with more persistance than hope in my heart .”Thank you for your pieces of paper“was the best put down . I once even met a writer and he agreed to to read my play Shoplife , then he wrote back calling me a plagerist , because it was so good . So I used his note as toilet paper , Shoplife was so good because I had 20years of experience given to me by my sister , I just improved on it , but yet I was called a Copyist , so naturally I was angry and used his note to wipe my bum . I wondered why my strike rate was so low with my emails to radio stations , then somebody casually mentioned , “You do know they will just delete anything with an attachment” . In these days of viruses or worms which I’ve discovered is the new trendy word , nobody can risk their PC , so I merrily send and they merrily delete . I’d been wasting my time , but not my money because I’d got a 24/7 package on my internet from AOL .However one radio station did read Shoplife . The DJ or is it Host , he called it hilarious and he could not stop reading it . It turned out he was an actor as well , though isn’t everybody an actor in the US ? So I thanked him , and quoted him in my future advertising .Humour is a funny thing . The things that make English people laugh are not the same as the things that make Americans’ laugh . We are constantly told by people on tv that English TV is the best in the world , the US material we see is the top 10% , the rest is rubbish . But I know I’d never get my foot in the door in England so I had to persist with my American campaign , so now I pasted in my material , no attachments . Just get them hooked , then paste in a sample then direct them to http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey Then bingo part2 of my life could begin ,I’d be the man that made America laugh , a naïve sentiment , but it was honest .Only AOL turns things into zip files and some people cann’t unzip your files , its like wanting sex but your zipper is broke and you cann’t get your trousers off . Such a strong urge , but no forfillment . I switched to MSMAIL and pasted in my stuff , things started to happen , my files weren’t being deleted or too zipped up to be read . At least I wasn’t frustrated any more . Now I had an agent interested , and a new magazine , even a theatre replied .All praise to Bill Gates , and to a Christian called Pat Verato who pointed me in the direction of a few good sites .However some of the sites that I trawled through were just , so very American . Hey , you too can be a writer , just send me 10 dollars and I’ll send you my book “How to make 10 dollars” , and he does . Then there’s magazines you can subscribe to , yes you’ve guessed it , just send another 10 dollars “Writing for Beginners” . There’s all these agents too who are so successful , persuading tap dancing bus drivers to write about Tap Dancing For Bus Drivers , the complete self help book , costs 10 dollars . The agent gets 20percent , and the bus driver pays 5000dollars to print 500 copies , then he can boast he’s a writer , not just a bus driver , and guess what if you pay 10 dollars you can learn to tap dance too . As for me , what do I think of all this ? I’d say just keep on writing , stop your selling , or attempts at selling , just write a bit . Add to your catologue of 3 poems and 2 short stories , then search for an agent . Believe you’ll never be published and then you won’t be disappointed. There is one final thing you can do though , just tell everybody to go to http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey And help find a publisher for my book , and then you’ve guessed it , just send me 10 dollars ! End

Michael, Try e-mailing your submissions to globalinnervisions@yahoo.com. This is not the place to submit work to another web site. visit us at : http://www.give-zine.com/

This month's edition features an ABCtales writer who's quite modest about his literary achievements ... no, not me. Who can it be?

Oh, that must be rita then, her sex is a technicality.

I just love controversy.

360degrees is the clue Michael Gerard Casey 10 Reginald Rd , Bearwood , Warley B67 5AQ 0121 429 8576 The Butcher the baker and the undertaker by Michael Casey Chapter Three .... Mystery Patrick rolled out of bed , flicked the switch on his radio and was already in the shower when the alarm sounded . The alarm had been given to him by his mother when he had left school , much against her wishes , to become the wage earner just after his father had died . The repeat was sounding on the alarm as he got out of the shower . Patrick was drying himself in time to the music , exaggerated pulls of the towel over his muscled body , after years of manual work he was very fit , though he did have an ever so slight paunch thanks to his mother over feeding him at every opportunity . He did have one other physical "defect" as his mother called it , a tattoo which said "Lynn" , an early and long forgotten girlfriend , Patrick hid this tattoo by always wearing shirts , never tee shirts even in the hottest of summers . After his two toasts and large mug of coffee it was time to go to work . The flat above the bakery had two entrances , one an outside stairs along the side of the building , the other an internal stairs which led to the bakery below , it was the internal one which Patrick always used in the morning . He would have a word with the French brothers about the nights baking before setting off in his green VW , the French brothers had worked for his father , so Patrick just left them carry on , why upset a system that worked ? Patrick liked his job , early rising did have its benefits , such as being able to see dawn each morning . Dawn was Patrick's favourite girl if he had a more artistic nature then "Dawn" would be the tattoo on his arm . The reds ,the purples , the yellows and greens being scattered by the rising sun , the clouds making breath taking patterns over the canvas of the sky . Like a mirror above the sea shore , for some of the patterns seem like a sea washed beach , the sand still wet with the occasional footprint in it , and all this in the sky ! Then the ever rising sun coming to chase the last of the darkness away , the sea of sunlight breaking higher and faster , its fingers reaching into and around the dark of the night , fingers of light poking holes in the dark . Dark outlines of buildings appear , salvos of sunlight dancing on the roofs , piercing the gaps between buildings , the morning flight of sea gulls on their own early morning raid . The red then the yellow then the gold of the rising sun defying gravity as it rises like a shimmering hot air balloon into the sky creating morning , daily a natural childbirth . The slap of light had brought life into the baby called day as Patrick arrived at the dairy , he looked up at the sky and smiled , he really did love dawn , he even wished he was a poet so he could sing dawn's praises , though he had never admitted this to anybody not even Tracy , he was just glad he was an early riser , a milkman , a midwife at the break of day . So parking his VW Patrick went to his float , disconnected the battery charger and loaded up his milk ready for his round . It was 5.20 by now , he'd been awake for just under an hour , four hours or so of delivering then the rest of the day was his . Patrick liked the freedom the job gave him , he was his own boss , he had time in the afternoons for the bakery business too . He liked the fresh air , the gentle breezes , being out and about , meeting and greeting people . He had left school when his dad had died because he thought he should be the master and wage earner of the house . Yet he did not go into the bakery business , he had claimed it was like being a stoker in a ship , so to prove he was grown up he had become a milkman , by chance his eye had caught an advert for milkmen , so he became one . Patrick left the dairy and made for Canning St. which was the first road on his round , this was a street of bedsits , lots of one pint orders , Patrick was like an infantryman dodging sniper fire as he ran backwards and forwards along the street ,occasionally he'd forget an item so he'd run backwards to snatch it from the float before hopping forwards again towards destination doorstep . After Canning St he drove to the corner where it met Dover Rd , here he waited for a while till a light appeared in an upstairs window , followed by a curtain moving and the window being pulled open . It was old Helen , so Patrick snatched a carton of orange juice then gently threw it to her ; Helen caught it like a wicket keeper , in turn she threw the money down to Patrick , even after ten years he always dropped it . This unusual delivery started when her husband was alive , she had argued with him and gone on hunger strike in the bedroom , after two days she had got hungry , so she had whistled to Patrick , so her emergency delivery had begun , and Patrick had gained a regular on his round . Now Patrick's friendly face was a source of comfort for Helen . It was the people who were the joy of the job for Patrick , seeing things and people instead of stoking the ovens in the bakery was Patrick's delight . Now after all these years he could do the job in his sleep , which was useful as on occasions he'd be out late the night before in search of a girl . Out late trying to become a "man" whatever that was supposed to mean . Like all men in his late teens Patrick wanted to "grow up" , when in fact it did happen he wished he hadn't bothered , it was such an anticlimax . He met a sweet smelling girl all made up and eager , eager to "grow up " , both were ignorant about real maturity , both thought it was a state of the body , what had the mind and feelings got to do with it ? Quantity and boasting about it were King for that age group . Patrick had awoke feeling full of himself , smugg even , it had been a lot of fun , the girl beside him snuggled up to him and they were about to have seconds when there was a noise . It was her parents , they had returned early from holidays , the parents were going to give them both heartburn . Patrick had to make a hasty exit , the girl said she was a schoolgirl , panic was written over Patrick's face , she added sixth form college , yet the night before she had said she was twenty and in all her war paint she was . So Patrick left via the window , then scrambled over the garage roof his clothes clutched in his hands , he had to get dressed in a telephone box , that may be alright for Superman , but for Patrick he no longer felt a "man" . he just felt an idiot . He had to rush home and shower , as he did this the radio played The Boxer , the line of the song said "I felt so lonely I took some comfort there" , Patrick switched the radio off . He really hated that song , it made him think about what he had done , he didn't feel grown up any more he just felt used , and who had used him ? Only himself . His mother had never explained what she meant about finding the" right girl" , but at least Patrick had an idea what the wrong girl was , he always learnt from his mistakes at least that was in his favour . So Patrick could do the job in his sleep , which was useful if he'd been out the night before , at least on his milk round he was safe from the "wrong sort" of girl , like the one from his teens . Or was he ? Nancy was the talk of the dairy , some had even boasted about the "manly" things that had happened . When Patrick took over the round he found out about Nancy at first hand . Nancy would stand naked behind a frosted glass front door , as soon as the milk bottles clinked on the doorstep she would slowly open the door and pick up her milk . When Patrick had first seen this happen he was shocked to say the least , Nancy being such a fine figure of a woman , though Patrick did think that if his Mother had seen Nancy she'd have said that Nancy alone would need a milking parlour to herself , not to mention the size of her milk yield . So Patrick stayed out of temptations way , he was like a Tornado pilot , only Patrick dropped his milk before banking away and off at at a fast rate of knots . One morning Patrick was on automatic pilot ,he'd met a nice girl the night before , only as ever Patrick was honest when asked his opinion. It was all his mother's fault really she had always said "Tell the Truth and shame the Devil" , so Patrick did . The nice girl on this occasion had asked what he thought about her dress , so he told her it made her look a bit frumpy and though her make-up was good , very good even , he really did prefer the natural look . The girl instead of getting the compliment she was fishing for ended up with the truth , as for Patrick he got his face slapped. So he had spent the rest of the evening drinking ,consoled only by the fact that at least he didn't have a drink poured over him , which had happened on occasions . Why couldn't girls be straight forward and honest , were he and his mother the only honest people about ? On other occasions Patrick would end up being the shoulder to cry on , he'd meet somebody nice , he'd end up consoling them if they had just split from their boyfriend , on one or two occasions he'd get a peck on the cheek before the girl dashed off to phone their boy , leaving Patrick muttering "I'd be better off as a priest or marriage guidance" , then he'd go to the bar to drown his sorrows . He did have one or two lasting girlfriends , usually nurses or girls from up North whose bluntness matched his honesty , honesty to the point of bluntness . So eventually it was the shop girls from near his bakery that he fell for , till finally it was Tracy who put up with him . Until they split that is . It was years ago after another night of drowning his sorrows that he was on his milk round , on automatic pilot . He reached Nancy's door left the milk , and was looking around for somewhere to take a leak , he had drunk a lot the previous evening , when the door opened . "Can I use your bathroom please , " croaked Patrick as he hopped from one leg to another . "Help yourself , " smiled Nancy as if she was a piece of cheese in a trap and Patrick was the mouse . Patrick dashed upstairs , tripping as he went , the naked Nancy closed the front door , the trap had been sprung , and my what a big mouse she had caught . "I'll make you a coffee , " Nancy shouted up the stairs , before she ambled to her kitchen , she started to sing . Patrick came down the stairs and headed for the kitchen , he was attracted by the smell of coffee and the siren singing . Like the ancient mariners he was heading for the rocks , very soft rocks and only two of them , yet rocks none the less , and they would sink him . If only he had an anchor then he'd weather this storm of potential lust , if he had an anchor then he wouldn'd be in this situation in the first place .Patrick sighed , both from relief of having an empty bladder and the taste of good coffee . "Is there anything else I can do for you ? " tempted Nancy from the other side of the breakfast bar . "I wouldn't mind two toasts with some jam on , " slurped Patrick as the warm coffee slowly revived him . "You're such a tease , " replied Nancy as she flicked his nose with her finger before putting the bread in the toaster . As for Patrick he closed his eyes and yawned , he was at home having his early morning coffee , in a few minutes he'd get in his VW and drive to the dairy .A bare hand feeding him toast woke Patrick from his reverie , the bare hand was attached to a bare arm , which was attached to a bare shoulder , which was attached to a bare everything . Patrick's eyes had went from toast , to hand , to arm , to shoulder , to everything , then to arm again , then to alarm . Patrick dropped his cup and ran for the door, this was no dream , it was reality , the mouse knew he was in the trap , and no matter how nice the cheese , this mouse wanted out , and fast . "Don't you want any more ? " laughed Nancy to a retreating Patrick . Patrick in his haste and fear tripped over in the hall , in seconds Nancy was leaning over him , she laughed at him , it was better than a slapped face or a drink poured over him , but right then at that moment Patrick would have prefered the drink poured over him . Patrick knew how the mouse felt as the cat played with it , helpless , waiting to be killed , for life as you know it to end . This was how a naked lady standing over his spreadeagled body made him feel . Then still laughing she stepped over him to open the door , for a second Patrick flinched . "Go on little boy , go back to your float , " Nancy laughed as she held the door open for him . Patrick scrambled out and was halfway up the garden path to safety when a gust of wind blew , there was a bang . Patrick looked back to see a naked Nancy stranded on the doorstep . "Help me Mr Milkman , I'm locked out , " she cooed . Patrick froze , what was he to do , should he jump on his float and get out of there fast ? Another thing his mother had taught him was to be a gentleman , so looking up to the sky saying "Why me God , why me ?" he turned around to help a damsel in distress , Patrick was a fool to himself. "Have you got a key ? " he demanded . "Search me , " teased Nancy . Patrick was so panicy that he did , opening the palms of her hands to look for a key , when you panic your reason just leaves you , nobody believes they'd behave like a headless chicken , but they always do , well so did Patrick . As for Nancy she just thought it was great fun , she even adopted the search position , arms against the wall and legs spread back . While this was happening an early riser over the road from Nancy's had opened his curtains and saw what was going on . It certainly was a revelation , like a scene from Benny Hill . The man watched open mouthed , a naked woman and a clothed milkman searching one another , there was more to come as well . "What if I give you a leg up , the bathroom window is open , " said a desparate Patrick So slowly Nancy climbed up Patrick's body and reached for the bathroom's windowsill ;over the road the man was leering by now , his wife joined him and gave him a dig in the ribs before going to ring the police , her husband carried on watching , just so he could give an accurate report to the police , he was in the neighbourhood watch after all . "I can almost reach , if only you were taller then I'd be able to get in , just another inch , just another inch , there that's it , " chirped Nancy. She was standing on tiptoes on Patrick's shoulders and he in turn was on tiptoes , it would have made a very good circus act . Though a naked woman on tiptoes on a milkman's shoulders who was on tiptoes too would never be allowed on Xmas at Billy Smarts Circus . Over the road the man from the neighbourhood watch was looking at events with glee , a coat hanger in his mouth would not have produced a bigger lustful smile . His eyes were like rockets straining for lift off , if they weren't attached to his head they would be in orbit around Nancy's body . "That's it , that's it , yes , yes , now jump , " announced Nancy . So Patrick jumped , Nancy had both hands on the window ledge , soon she'd be inside the house and Patrick's problems would all be over . But he had counted Nancy's goose pimples too soon , she swung like a pendulum , as did the fleshier parts of her body . The man over the road could contain himself no longer , he fainted just as his wife was returning to give him another dig in the ribs . She looked at her husband's slumped body , then looked at the state of play . Nancy had fallen on Patrick and was thrusting her behind in his face , she'd managed to scratch herself . This was too much for the wife , she in turn fainted , landing on her prostrate husband . The sound of falling bodies allerted the couple's children who rang for an ambulance , so now both Police and Ambulance were on the way , really if the Fire Brigade had been rung first then all would have been resolved earlier . "Look , a scratch , a scratch and I've broken my best nail , " screamed Nancy , who was literally talking out of her nice though scratched behind. Patrick would have laughed if he saw this on candid camera , but he wasn't he wanted to be sick and he was desparate to go to the toilet again . He hopped about like a chicken in front of Nancy's house , a henhouse , or more importantly a locked house , just how was he going to get in ? The sound of alarm bells , the approaching Police and Ambulance startled Patrick . He wanted to make a fast getaway , in his milk float . But he had an idea , he ran to the float and reversed it over the garden till it was underneath the bathroom window . "Nancy , quick just climb on the roof and then you'll be able to get in the window , " he histed with relieved urgency . "You're joking of course , after what you did to my bum , come off it , " sneered Nancy . Patrick clenched his fists and holding them at his side he started to hop around the garden again , such was his panic , he resembled a manic Irish dancer who was trying to escape from invisible chains . The Police and Ambulance arrived , this galvanised Patrick into action , contorting his face like a gargoyle on a cathedral he sneered at Nancy . Then like a frightened cat he scrambled onto his float , slipping on the early morning dew which had collected on the roof . Getting to his feet again , angry that his trousers were now damp Patrick hurried to get into the open bathroom window before he was spotted . "Splash . " "Shit , shit , shit . " Patrick in his haste had landed in Nancy's bath water , she had not emptied her bath as she wanted to catch her milkman that morning . Now not only had she caught her milkman , she had also given him a cold bath , perhaps it would have been more fitting if it was asses's milk , but Nancy was no Cleopatra and Patrick was certainly no Mark Anthony . Wriggling like a landed fish Patrick slithered down the stairs , fumbling the catch on the door before letting a laughing Nancy in . "That really was fun , we should do it more often , do you want something hot ? " cooed Nancy . "Bang . " The slamming door was Patrick's reply as he jumped on his float and made his getaway , though he was more like a retreating snail leaving a trail of water behind him . He just hoped he hadn't been spotted . A young policeman not yet a Sergeant happened to have been called out , his name was Mulholland , the Mulholland that Patrick had gone to school with , now he was very observant , so of course he had seen all . And all of Nancy was very nice , once Mulholland had sorted things out he went over the road to speak to her . It would be nice to get a cup of hot tea before he went back to the station , besides he'd also get something to tease Patrick with too , and that couldn't be bad could it ? And who said a policeman's lot was not a happy one ? Patrick finished his round , leaving snail like trails in his wake , he felt like a man saved from the sea , only he wished he had drowned , or at least had not got up that morning . When he'd finished he put his foot to the floor and raced back to the dairy , that's if 30mph could be classed as racing . At the dairy the other men were back from their rounds too, they gave one look at Patrick and to a man said "Nancy", the gales of laughter were stronger than any storm Patrick had ever been in during his short life . Head down , avoiding their gaze Patrick headed for his VW , he stalled it of course . "Perhaps the engine's drowned ! " laughed the lads . Waving goodbye with two fingers Patrick went home , he needed a hot bath and a change of clothes . After soaking in the bath for half an hour Patrick's spirits had returned , only there was a final indignity . He had been listening to the radio , the new number one was played , it was Benny Hill's "Ernie the Milkman" , Patrick swore at the radio as he turned it off , that was another record he hated . So much for Patrick's past , not that he was a Casanova of the dairy , not by any discription , his float could never be called his trusty steed ,his means of escape , no , things just happened to Patrick . An hour or so into his round and Patrick would meet Ken the postman , they would both have a breather . Ken would bring his thermos of tea from the bottom of his postbag , then with Patrick providing the milk they would share a cuppa , this one cup of tea a day was all that Patrick would ever drink ,he was not like a "proper Irishman" , because he didn't drink tea . "How's things this morning , Ken ?" "Not too bad today , I've got no junk mail to deliver so the bag's not too heavy . Sometimes I think the Post Office thinks they have Rambo delivering all this waste paper , not to mention all the trees that must have been killed , and for what , junk mail , " arching his eyebrows in despair Ken sipped his tea . "You're right there , mind you somebody must read it or else they wouldn't keep on sending the stuff ; personally I twist it up and use it to light the gas fire with . " "Well I'm glad the kids have gone back to school after the half term , I thought I might strangle them . " "Why's that ? " "Postman Bloody Pat , that's why , that programme has got a lot to answer for . Everybody thinks they are a comedian calling us postmen "Postman Pat" , well it just pisses me off ! " "But they're only kids after all , just make sure Big Sid doesn't hear you he adores Postman Pat , after all his grandchildren do , so he does . " "The kids aren't so bad , its the teenagers , the bleeders , they think that they are so funny , as if they're the first ones ever to say it , if you heard "Postman Pat we love you" a hundred times a day for a whole week of half term then you'd be pissed off too ! " "I suppose you are right then , well thanks for the tea , see you . " With a wave to Ken Patrick was off , in his rear view mirror he could see Ken muttering dire threats to Postman Pat . Ken just wished he could personally deliver a parcel bomb to Postman Pat , now that would make his day . Patrick smiled as he drove away , one day Ken would have to eat his words , he just knew it . At Kings Place Patrick remembered that he had to get a solicitor for Percy , so he rung the bell at no.58 . "Hello , its not Friday , you cann't want your money ? " "Its not about milk , I need a solicitor , or rather a friend does . " "I don't do legal aid work ," replied Miss Samson as she put her earrings on and glanced at her watch . "Its not legal aid work , my friend can pay , he's a well established business man , with his own business for over a hundred years , " replied Patrick indignantly . "He must be very old then , " replied Miss Samson a little bored already . After a few seconds Patrick realised she was joking . "No , but anyway , he had a parking ticket , he left a note saying he'd ran out of petrol and that he'd be back with a jerry can . But he sill got a ticket . " "He'll probably lose ,here's my card get him to ring me , " she thrust her card into Patrick's hand and closed her front door , then headed for her garage . "And what "business" is your friend in ? " "He's the undertaker in the High St. , Percy Frost , they are a much respected firm . " "With a name like that , he'll catch his death of cold , " replied Miss She Samson dryly as she got into her car and drove off . "She should be called "frost" the way she's carrying on , " observed Patrick as he picked up her empties and jumped into his float . Patrick had just a few more deliveries to make when he recognised Miss Samson's car , it had broken down . He thought it served her right for being so off hand to him . She had the bonnet opened and was cursing her luck as Patrick stopped his float alongside . There might be a laugh to be had at her expense , so putting on his best "helpful" face Patrick shouted from his cab . "You've not ran out of petrol have you ? " "No , but you are running low on milk , are you sure that thing of yours will move without the gold top in the back ? " was Miss Samson's icy reply "You are a wit aren't you ? What's up then ? " said Patrick still teasing "The fan belt is bust . Why does it always happen when you're in a hurry" "It's Murphy's Law isn't it , besides you can always use your tights to replace the fan belt , it was in a commercial on the telly the other night" "Yes , I'll just hitch my skirt , flash my knickers , and take my stockings off . Why don't you ring a few doorbells and we'll have an audience , " snapped Miss Samson , her temper rising . "The A.A. can be here in a few minutes , why not call them , you can relax to the sound of the car stereo while you wait , " said Patrick defensively . "I'm in a hurry , I do have a very busy schedule . " "I could always give you a lift , " said a deadpan Patrick . He was surprised when Miss Samson grabbed her briefcase from her car then jumped in the float beside him . "High Ho Silver away ," she shouted pointing forward like John Wayne in a Western . So off they went , at full speed ahead , a milkman acting as a chauffeur for a solicitor . After a while they both started to laugh , the oddity of the situation sinking in as their tempers eased . "You do know of course that my name is Murphy . " "I should have guessed it . I'm sorry I'm a bit brusque its just that I've been working so hard lately , I'm going to be made a partner in the law firm I'm in , only they are really making me work for it , " she sighed . "That's ok , I know all about hard work , there is no such thing as easy money , well perhaps pop stars get it , " mused Patrick . "And their agents , then we have to sort out the legal mess . " As they drove to her office they continued to talk , Patrick could see that she was a nice girl after all , its just the job taking away her femininity , taking the round and the soft and turning them hard and square . Circles becoming squares , colours becoming dull shadows . "Well here we are , you don't want an extra pinta too do you ? " "No , but going to work on a float is better that going to work on an egg, though I'd rather my own car , " laughed Miss Samson . Then she jumped out of the float , pausing to lean back in and give Patrick a peck on the cheek . With that she was off , transformed back into a legal lady . Patrick touched his cheek and half smiled , giving her a parting glance he headed back for his round , he did have work to finish after all . Once Patrick had finished he headed home , stopping off at Peter's to buy some fish . "It's good for your brain you know , " Peter's usual greeting . "I'm brainy enough . " "Yea , but you're Irish so you should eat it every day . " "Who won Mastermind the other year ? " "An Irishman ." "So stop taking the mick . " "I bet he ate fish every day though , " was Peter's final shot . Peter always spoke of fish eating as if it had some magical property , some ancient cure . He was going to continue with his fish propoganda when Sgt.Mulholland arrived . "Hello , Muls , does Police intelligence need more fish then , " joked Patrick . Sgt. Mulholland ignored Patrick , he was looking serious in fact . "Are you Peter Harrison of Peter's Plaice ? " he intoned . Peter looked above at his sign before answering . "Seems so . " "I am asking you will you accompany me to the Police station ? " Peter and Patrick exchanged glances , Sgt.Mulholland wasn't kidding . "Why , am I under arrest ? " asked a mystfied Peter . "No , lets just say that you are helping with enquiries . " "Enquiries into what , I'm only making a living selling fish . " "Will you come with me of your own free will ? " asked Sgt.Mulholland bracing himself as if Peter was likely to run away . "Ok , I'll come , " turning to Patrick Peter asked "Will you look after the shop, I should be back in half an hour ,it's more than likely just a parking ticket . " "Ok , I'll keep shop , " replied Patrick . Patrick watched at Sgt.Mulholland led Peter away ,he wondered what was up , but it was something simple no doubt . He was still pondering Peter's arrest when Percy arrived . Percy was as ever immaculate , the immaculate burial was his trade . Dignity and poise , the air of a consultant at a hospital , that was Percy . A lifetime in the trade so in seconds Percy could tell the weight , height and measurements of a client or any potential client . He used to custom make his coffins , so it was appropriate that his sidekick ,Bill, was a former gents outfitter . The one made clothes for life , the other made "clothes" for the afterlife and both were very accurate in guessing the size of clients . "Why are you here then , are you trying to kill us with fish as well as bread and milk ? " joked Percy . "It'd be more work for you if I was , " repled Patrick . "Where's Peter then ? " "Muls arrested him , its more than likely just a parking offence . " "He'll need a solicitor just to be on the safe side . " "That reminds me , " Patrick searched for the business card , " this is Miss Samson's card . She said ring her in the afternoon . " Percy took the card , glanced at it , then put it in his waistecoat pocket "She wasn't very optimistic , but give her a ring anyway . " "Ok , can I have some lobster and kippers please . " "Coming up . How's business then ? " "Rob has finished now , he's already looking for premises . " "So you are down one man then . " "Two , Andy has gone on a computer course , so I'm down two men . Bill may have to do some work , he's not even on the payroll either , " sighed Percy as he reached for a very full wallet . "My you are raking it in , " observed Patrick as he took the money for the lobster and kippers . "We only rake it in when people pay , I mean I cann't reclaim goods , although a coffin is a nice piece of wood I cann't repossess it like a table and set of chairs can I ? " "I never thought of it that way . " "I cann't dig the coffin up and dump the bodies back into the ground just in a shroud like poor old Mozart can I ? " "Here's your change , sorry Percy , " replied Patrick , he knew he had hit a raw nerve . "It's ok Patrick , I'm sorry too , it's just that with Andy leaving the family firm could die out after all these years . And God knows what Rob will get up too . " Percy left , the expression on his face was like a doctor who was about to tell somebody that their nearest and dearest had just died . Patrick gulped , he'd managed to put his foot in it . George came along and laughed to see Patrick as a fishmonger , he promised to tell everybody on the street . Late in the afternoon Peter rang to say that he'd need a solicitor . So Patrick rang Percy and got him to read Miss Samson's number out over the phone . Then Patrick rang Miss Samson . "Hello , its Patrick Murphy your milkman . " "And chauffeur . " "Yes , well another friend of mine needs a solicitor , it seems he's been arrested on some drugs dealing charge . " "I should give you a percentage for all the new business you are bringing, your friends all seem a bit bent . " "Please don't tease , can you help ? " "Of course I can , I AM a solicitor . Now can you tell me , is your friend guilty ? " "Of course not Peter is only interested in fish ,the ones he sells and the tropical ones he keeps . That and the odd lager . " "Ok , I'll take the case . I hate cases where the client tells a pack of lies then changes his plea . If I know the truth from the start then I can plan the defence better , I just hate losing . It makes me look bad . " "I'll meet you at the Police Station then . " "There's no need , I am fully qualified , even if I am just a woman . " "I'll be there anyway , besides it'll be good seeing law in action . " "It's not Crown Court you know , " said a tired Miss Samson . "Well I'll be there anyway , see you , " said Patrick hanging up the receiver . At the station Miss Samson was talking to Sgt. Mulholland when Patrick arrived . "Well it seems to me an open and shut case , so if he surrenders his passport and somebody stands surety then you'll let him out on Police bail . I mean the drugs were obviously planted in his fish , he was not involved , he just got caught up in somebody's plan . " Without pausing for breath she turned to Patrick and told him . "Well if you want to be useful can you go to Peter's flat and collect his passport , then come back with a hundred pounds of your own then your friend can go home , all you'll have to do is sign on the dotted line . " Patrick felt as if he was a child being corrected for bad behaviour , such was her tone , he stood still for a second , but unlike a child it was not the calm before tears and whailing . He just looked at her , licked his lips as if he was about to speak then thought better of it . She was just being efficient , very efficient , enough to silence Patrick even . When Patrick returned , he signed on the dotted line and Peter was released . "Don't leave town or head for the hills , do you understand ? " asked Miss Samson , sounding like a school teacher . "I'll just rush home , mu tropical fish need feeding , one is expecting too , " said Peter as he dashed out of the station . Sgt.Mulholland spoke to Patrick while Miss Samson gathered her things up . "Where did you get her from ? " "What do you mean ? " "She's the top legal brain in this town , or the county come to think of it , " whispered Sgt.Mulholland . "Really ? " replied Patrick his eyebrows arching in surprise . "I'm not joking , I never do when I'm behind this desk . The word is that she is going to be made a partner in Gamble and Timms . " Sgt Mulholland tapped his nose conspiratorily . "Oh she told me that this morning , as I drove her to work , " replied Patrick trying to appear haughty . Sgt.Mulholland looked shocked to say the least ,he pulled himself up to his full height and gazed down disbelievingly at Patrick . Patrick knew it was his best chance to get one over his old school friend . So first looking at Sgt.Mulholland then to Miss Samson who was starting to walk out of the station , she never believed in wasting time ,so he spoke LOUDLY . "Oh , Miss Samson , I do hope my driving was good enough this morning . " Miss Samson looked at Patrick , who was hurrying to catch her up , as if he was a total idiot . In a second though she saw Sgt.Mulholland's expression , she knew Patrick was playing to the gallery , so pausing a moment then licking her lips she joined in on the act . "Here take my arm , you can carry my briefcase too , Patrick . " She gave him a little girl lost smile too , from behind it looked like a loving smile , so Sgt.Mulholland was impressed to say the least . A high powered solicitor was normally well out of Patrick's league , or his own for that matter , perhaps when he made Inspector , but Patrick and a solicitor now that was something . What Patrick saw and Sgt Mulholland did not was Miss Samson crossing her eyes . She was taking the mick out of BOTH of them . Patrick lowered his eyes in sorrow , but Miss Samson was not having any apology , as they went out of the front door she stopped and kissed Patrick full on the lips , turned and waved to Sgt.Mulholland . "Sorry , I shouldn't have done that , its just that me and the seargent are old friends , we were at school together . " "Well so long as you never try and use me EVER , " said a severe looking Miss Samson . "Ok , its just that I felt important , just by being in your shadow , " replied Patrick shrugging his shoulders . "That's ok . " Miss Samson kissed Patrick again , this time was even better than the PRETEND kiss for Sgt.Mulholland "I'll give you one thing though , you do kiss well , and you have a nice body , " she said with all due consideration . "God , you know how to make a men feel little . " "Well its no more than women get every day of the week from when they are fourteen to when they die . Besides you DO kiss well , " with that she threw back her head and laughed . "Can I buy you a drink then , or are you going to ask me ? " pondered Patrick . "Well ,I suppose it wouldn't harm me , now that you know I'm no dumb blonde . " "But your hair is ginger , so that could never happen , " smiled Patrick . She crossed her eyes again and pulled a face , tilting her head she looked at Patrick before squeezing up her lips to say . "Yes , I'll buy you a drink . But I've got to go home to shower and change first . " "I could meet you in an hour if you like , " said Patrick glancing at his watch . "Ok , come to my house , we can toss a coin to see which pub we go to . " An hour later Patrick was at Miss Samson's house . She had let him in then skipped upstairs , to finish drying her hair . She left him in her study ; the study was tidy but like an over stuffed turkey , ready to burst , for on two sides were wall to wall bookcases , neat piles of books lay in front of her desk too . On the walls were real oil paintings , pictures of the countryside . Beneath the large window was a soft leather sofa , in the corner was a battered teddy bear , who appeared to be reading Dirk Bogarte's "Backcloth" . Patrick smiled when he saw the bear, it proved that deep down Miss Samson was still a little girl , which might be the best way to be , for children never stop dreaming . So taking the book from the bear he began to read it , with the bear now perched on his lap . He was still reading when Miss Samson entered the room . "Do you like reading stories to bears then ? " she teased . "Well the book's ok , too many adjectives for me though , perhaps its more to the bears liking , " he smiled back . "Personally I love Dirk Bogarde , I just wish more people would read his stuff , he is VERY good . " "Well I've only just prowsed ,but too many adjectives for me , I mean some of his sentences are just too long , " said Patrick as he got up from the sofa leaving the teddy bear to finish "Backcloth" . "He's great to relax with after I've finished my work . " "As youv'e finished how about us going out for this drink then . " "OK . I'll let you choose , but you have to pay for the drinks then , " answered Miss Samson . "You can tell you have a good commercial brain on you , " said Patrick shaking his head . "It's a woman's world isn't it , " she smiled broadly . Patrick looked at her . She was really pretty , the long ginger hair no longer up , which was part of her official look , the glasses discarded for contacts , the straight skirt swopped for a floral pattern dress . The official daytime "I am a solicitor" look , replaced by a country girl look she could have almost walked down from one of the canvases on her wall . "The cat got your tongue ? " "No , just looking . " "Do you like what you see ? " "Well after a few pints I'll tell you ? " Miss Samson smiled as she slapped his arm for his cheek . "You can only spot a pretty girl when you're drunk then , heaven help you and the girl for that matter , " she shook her head in mock horror . Then she laughed , her ample chest heaving beneath her dress . Patrick just stood there and took it , perhaps it was the sight her heaving chest that mesmerised him , or the smiling owl like eyes . Or because it was so nice to hear gentle teasing laughter , Tracy laughed at him , Carol Samson was waiting for him to laugh with her . So he did , their eyes met and they twinkled , the spark passed from her eyes to his and back again . They both felt like children , free of the cares of the world , innocent laughter , unhurting laughter , soft laughter without any hard edges , laughter that tickled like a feather . Patrick defended himself by crossing his eyes , then pretending to be unable to uncross them , so he banged the side of his head before uncrossing his eyes . This made Carol laugh afresh , her whole body quivered like a jelly , their eyes met again and the spark past back and forth between them , they twinkled in fact . As they stopped laughing they realised that they had been looking at each other as lovers do , not as people who'd really only just met . They wern't having just a bit of fun , the spark had passed between them , they had twinkled even . So now they were embarrassed , they both coughed , then laughed nervously this time , they were like teenagers now not children , nervous teenage laughter replacing innocent childrens' laughter. "Well where are you taking me then , " said Carol in her best solicitor's voice . "I could take you to somewhere nice , there's a wine bar in town , a new one , I'm told its very nice , " Patrick ventured . "You don't look like a wine person to me , in fact I'd say you have the beginnings of a beer belly there , " she said tapping his stomach . "That's not beer , that's my mother , every time I go around to visit her she insists on over feeding me , its like the feeding of the five thousand only for one , " he said defensively . "Why not take me to your local , I mean this is only going to be a one off after all , so why not show me the real you , instead of pretending to be what you are not , " she said matter of factly . Patrick looked hurt , perhaps Carol was being defensive because she had realised things had got too friendly too soon , or she was just being honest . They exchanged glances , then Patrick shrugged his shoulders , it would be a nice night out , so why pin all his hopes on the impossible . "OK , if you want to slum then , you can come to my local , though you'll get looked at . Everybody on the street is trying to marry me off , I was only thinking of your best interests when I mentioned a wine bar . " "So you are a gentleman then , a knight in shining goldtop with a float as a trusty charger , " she touched his arm as she said this , she didn't want to hurt him , he did seem a little sensitive . Patrick smiled , he just hoped the pub was not too full , he was concerned over the gossip that would be created by him being seen with a solicitor. "Come on then ," she said as she grabbed her coat and headed for the door. At the Trader Patrick steered Carol to a nook , while he went to the bar . He came back with a half of lager for himself and a glass of wine for her , Carol was smiling as he returned . Solicitors are like psychiatrists in that they are trained to spot the smallest of detail , the one usually on paper , the other in behaviour and conversation ; so to Carol it was obvious why she was sitting in a nook , it was obvious too that Patrick never drunk halves . "Are you going to wash your hands in that ? " she joked as she sipped her wine . "What do you mean ? " said Patrick as he downed half the lager in a gulp . "Go back to the bar and order your usual PINT , only solicitor's clerks drink halves , and posers too . As you are neither go and get yourself a PINT , " she pushed him out of the nook to emphasise her point . Patrick looked crestfallen ,as Carol's eyes were smiling she was not being harsh , just practical . So Patrick went back to the bar , returning with a tray , on it were two pints and another glass of wine for Carol , plus four bags of crisps . Well he had to prove his own level of practicality , he wanted to avoid being seen too , so if he got the drinks in all in one go he wouldn't have to go to the bar again . "Touche , you certainly know how to treat a girl , four different flavours of crisps , I'm sure you'll be asking me to marry you next , " Carol fluttered her eyelids at him . "You're in a funny mood aren't you , its not just being out with me is it, not that I'm anything special . " "So you've noticed . OK . I'll tell you but keep it under your hat , I am now officially a partner in Gamble and Timms . It'll be in the local news at the end of the week . I'm just so happy , all the hard work has paid off . They told me just as I was leaving to sort Peter's difficulties out. So now I am a partner , I'll be with them for life now . Not that I would have left anyway , WE are the best firm after all , " her eyes shone as she spoke , she seemed to glow ,as pregnant woman do ,inner happiness . Patrick let her speak , for the floodgates were now open , all the years of yearning had come to fruition . The dam behind which her learning and refining and endless practicing had swelled , had now been broken . The river of law was flowing , everything would be swept along in its path . As water is vital for life so Carol's river of legal learning was vital , for it brought clarity , it cleared obstructions , it paved the way for progress , it was clear , it pushed the dirty water of life away . Patrick was in awe as she spoke , she reminded him of his mother such was her zeal . There was a passion within her , its creed was the law , good versus evil , it welled up inside her and gushed out of her like a warm gyser , warm and flowing blasts of liquid law . Patrick had finished both pints by the time Carol had finished , she downed the rest of her glass of wine in one . Then looked him straight in the eye , her breathing was heavy . "Sorry , I got carried away then . It's just that people cann't think of the law as something that can be loved . I mean men love their cars and their football teams , but mention the Law and people would think you are daft . There is great sensitivity in it , it just needs correct handling before it reveals all it secrets . " "Sounds like a woman , " said Patrick as he started on the crisps . "It's comments like that which annoy us women . " "It's the truth though , " said Patrick as he tried another crisp . "You are probably right , if you get me another glass of wine then I'll forgive you , " said Carol giving her best servile smile . At the bar Peter was telling Wayne the publican how Patrick's friend the solicitor had got him out of jail when Patrick came up behind him . "Oh , this is for you by way of thanks , " said Peter holding up a carrier. "What's in here then ? " wondered Patrick . "Oysters , you can try them out on your friend in the corner , " answered Peter giving Patrick a knowing look . "Look , I'm just having a quiet drink , we'll probably never have another and you lot are already marching me up the aisle . " "Well here's a pint for you and a wine for her , now go back to her , but don't bother with your usual chat up lines , she looks too sophisticated for them , " said Wayne as he poured the drinks out . "Thank you very much , " scowled Patrick . Wayne and Peter's laughter followed him back to the nook . "What's the joke , " asked Carol motioning to the bar with her head . "Oh , Wayne and Peter are already planning OUR wedding , every time I'm seen with a girl the whole street wants to marry me off . " "And what's in the carrier ? " said Carol as she began to open it . "Oysters , as you can see , " said Patrick into his pint . "My , I am being spoilt , wine and oysters ! " said Carol pulling a face . "Well we could go up the road for a Chinese , then back to my flat to try the oysters , that's if you want to . " "You are being yourself now aren't you , no offer of candle lit dinner in a restaurant or something like that . " "I don't really know how to handle you , you mock , but its friendly , yet I still feel uncertain . " "Well that's the best way to be , keep 'em guessing , it keeps them eager, that's what my mother always said , " laughed Carol . So Patrick and Carol left the Trader and headed for Kang's takeaway . Behind them Wayne was smiling as he wondered how long this one would last , a solicitor was well out of Patrick's league , that was certain . Patrick entered the takeaway first , though he did hold the door open for Carol , he just wanted to get the order in fast then go . Kang looked up from his newspaper and smiled his crooked smile , as his finger twitched at the ready to write down the order . Kang noticed in an instant that Carol was with Patrick , his smile grew , his slanted eyes forming extensions to his smile , one giant smile smoothering his face . "This your new girl , she much prettier than Tracy , are you going marry this one , or maybe it too soon , you on rebound now , though this one is very pretty , the prettiest of all your many girls , " pronounced Kang giving his instant summing up of the evidence in front of him , ie. a pretty lady . Patrick smiled back through gritted teeth , Carol cocked her head first looking at Patrick then back to Kang before licking her lips . "So he's a bit of a lad is he ? I just hope he is rich too ,I don't like cheap men . A nice strong AND rich man is my type , " she fluttered her eyelids at Kang , before blowing a pouting kiss to Patrick . Patrick coughed , almost blushed even , he hated women who turned the tables and as for Carol she was an expert , Patrick felt vunerable , as if he was being tickled and couldn't stop it . Kang smiled the more , his mouth opening as if to say something but he decided to say nothing , well not until Patrick was gone and then he'd say plenty in Chinese to his wife . "Come on tell me more about Patrick then ? " purred Carol looking Kang straight in the eye , quivering her lips as she spoke . "He rich , he not just milkman , he own the bakery too , him baker , no just milkman , " told Kang a willing victim to her eye lashing interrogation . "Is the order ready Kang ? She IS just playing you up , you do realise that don't you ? " said an impatient Patrick . Kang looked from Carol to Patrick and back to Carol again . Carol gave a slow wink to Kang , followed by a blown kiss . Kang smiled slowly as he summed the situation up , pausing he looked Patrick in the eye . "When is she having your baby ? " Patrick rolled his eyes , Carol looked from Patrick to Kang before bursting out laughing . Kang joined in , as he went in the back to collect the order . Patrick had to laugh too , shaking a fist at Carol . "She is very funny lady . You have many babies too , tell me when the baby due and I get fortune made , I know a man he do it free for me . " Patrick just grabbed the food and taking Carol by the arm he led her outside . Kang was left to scratch his head as he tried to remember the telephone number of the Clairevoyant . "You are in a funny mood tonight aren't you ? " "I'm sorry if I upset you , its just that I'm so happy , now that I'm a partner in the firm . You know solicitors are always on duty , only we don't carry a warrent card . Its just so nice to let my hair down . " "Well it does suit you down , the curves of your hair complimenting your other curves . " "Flattery will get you everywhere , " smiled a crosseyed Carol . "I still don't know how to take you , are you friendly or are you taking the mick , though I do know this much . You want to prove you are better than a man . " "Woman are better than men , its just that we have to prove that we are before men realise the fact . " "As good as a man are you ? Ok , I'll race you to the bakery . " With the words barely spoken Patrick broke into a run , the carrier full of Chinese shaking wildly , leaving a trail of noodles for Carol to follow rather like an Oriental paper chase . Carol with nostrils flared like a race horse chased after Patrick , her long hair was like a horses main as it trailed behind her . She stood no chance of catching Patrick up , he had a head start and after years of delivering milk and working in the bakery he was fit . The crunch of noodles cracking under Carol's furiously moving feet accompanied her heavy breathing as she gave chase , Patrick was the fox and she was the hounds , just like one of the pictures in her study . Patrick stopped outside the bakery , helping himself to what was left of the noodles he watched , Carol's bouncing chest was a pleasing sight for Patrick's eyes , it was better than any Monet canvas , here was light and movement , and it was making an impression on Patrick . When Carol reached the bakery she stopped and crouched forward resting her hands on her knees . She looked up at Patrick , their eyes met , they twinkled even . "Do you want a cracker then ? " asked Patrick proffering a cracker . "You're crackers enough , but I'll have one , " she replied as she straighten up and took the cracker . "If we take the stairs at the side , then we can eat this , " Patrick said as he motioned to the exterior stairs , flicking the carrier towards them . Still chewing the noodle Carol looked Patrick in the eye and moved closer to him , they were about to kiss . No they were not , pushing him to one side Carol skipped up the stairs two at the time . Standing at the top of the stairs with her legs apart and and hands on hips she looked defiant . Patrick may have won the battle but she had won the war . Patrick looked up at her and laughed , she was a typical woman after all , now he would be able to understand her . As he climbed the stairs slowly his eyes met hers , they twinkled even . The scales were going down in his favour , Carol had made up her mind how the night would end , Patrick was going to be pleased , he did not know it yet but when Carol was ready he'd find out for sure . "You are very competitive aren't you ? " mused Patrick , holding back his head and looking down his nose at her . "Yes . " With that she kissed him , they were still lingering over one another when Michael's taxi chugged past on the street below . "We better get inside before the whole world sees us , I just hope Michael didn't look up as he drove past , " sighed Patrick nodding in the direction of Michael's taxi . Inside the flat Patrick found a bottle of whisky which he kept for vistors , finding a clean glass was a harder job as he'd not bothered to wash up for a few days . Like all single men Patrick treated the washing up like a tropical fish , he just changed the water every day . Then when all the crockery was in the sink , he actually did the washing up . He just hoped Carol wouldn't notice , but of course she did . "Did the maid die ? " "I was busy , I do have to keep an eye on the bakery too , as well as getting up early to deliver the milk . Really this doesn't happen all the time , " Patrick said sparing the Truth but not the washing up liquid . "I'll believe you , though it'd never stand up in court , " laughed Carol . "There's a cassette thing over by the settee , put some music in it while I do the washing up , " said Patrick through the steam as he changed the water for his "tropical fish" . "This sounds interesting , R.Cajun and the Zydeco Bros , and this other one Eagle Jazz Band , " observed Carol before sticking both in the machine. "Oh , they were both good , I saw them at my old school club , you know the Bell and Pump by the reservoir , " shouted Patrick over the sound of the cracking plates and the music . Patrick emerged from the steam clutching plates and two spoons , it didn't cross his mind that most people use forks with their Chinese food . Carol who was by now swaying to the music , so she sauntered over to grab her plate and spoon . Still holding the plate she ate the Chinese , tapping out the tune on the edge of the plate , while Patrick poured whisky into half pint glasses . He was not showing Kerry nor Irish hospitality , he just couldn't find the smaller ones , it was either half pint glasses or egg cups , and egg cups would look ridiculous wouldn't they . "It's hot in here too , though the smell of fresh bread is something else, I just love it , it reminds me of holidays in Rouen and Yvetot in Normandy when I was a teenager . God it was so much fun , " Carol closed her eyes and breathed deep , still swaying to the music . It had been above a bakery in Yvetot that the yeast of life had been released in her , and she had flowered . So now celebrating another landmark in her life what could be a better setting . Patrick was unaware of it , but he was finding himself at a point in Carol's personal history. Carol took the glass of whisky that Patrick had handed her , she didn't even laugh at its size , she was in another bakery , she was nineteen again , she was in Yvetot , she was about to experience the bread of life for the first time . "Shall I prepare the oysters too ? " "No , just dance with with me , " Carol's voice sounded faint as if it was in the distance ,and it was , it came from when she was nineteen in Yvetot Patrick had been glad when Carol had decided to go out for the evening with him , but now it seemed as if she would spend the night with him .He wasn't going to complain but he just wondered why , he wouldn't feel used or like a temporary toy . But why ? "Come on , dance with me , " Carol's voice was here and not distant now "Ok , I'll dance , " Patrick sipped his whisky before moving towards her . "You are not very good are you , good job I've got no corns . " Patrick shrugged his shoulders saying , "I'm doing my best . " "So long as you do your best . " With that Carol stopped moving and pausing to look deep into Patrick's eyes , she kissed him . Not the kiss of a friend , nor the kiss of a girlfriend , but the kiss of a nineteen year old girl above a bakery in Yvetot . The scales had come down in favour of Patrick , he was slightly taken aback , literally , as she forced him backwards onto the settee . They stared at each other before starting to laugh , adult laughter , full of expectation , here in England Carol expected that an Irishman did his duty , or rather his best . Patrick moved forward kissing her again . "Are you really sure about this , I mean we hardly know each other , except for me being your milkman for a few years ? " "We are celebrating my promotion , besides we are adults , neither of us is going to get hurt . It will be a nice end to a pleasant evening , the icing on the cake , " she arched her eyebrows suggestively . Carol's ginger hair was down , the balance of evidence was in Patrick's favour , Carol wouldn't wait for the jury to confirm the verdict , she was certain , the scales had come down on one side , so on the other .... Their tongues were like electric eels as they explored the moist caverns which were their mouths , their hands were like slowly turning sails on windmills stroking the sensitive parts of each others bodies , touching each area in turn then back to "GO" to collect œ200 more of pleasure . Standing up in front of the settee they continued , Carol prized Patrick from her . They stood panting as Carol started to undress , she had skin as white and fine as porcelain , or to Patrick's mind she looked the same colour as dough just before in goes in the oven . The only oven Carol was about to enter was the oven of love . Patrick smiled , his mouth gapeing , her eyes caught his , they laughted , they twinkled too . "I'll fetch a hanger for your clothes . " Carol followed Patrick into the bedroom , so that he was startled when he turned around to find her standing behind him . So startled in fact that he knocked over the small bedside cabinet , sending a sea of contraceptives sailing over the floor . "Be prepared was the motto of the Boy Scouts I believe ," laughed Carol . "It's not what you think ,every birthday and Xmas for the last ten years I get this parcel with them in . I don't know who sends them it might be my friend Amjit over the road as some form of joke , or it could even be my mother , she always says I'll get somebody pregnant . Only I'd be the laughing stock of the street if I went about asking . " Carol watched as Patrick gathered them up and pushed them back inside the drawer of the bedside cabinet . It really was a sight , it was the type of thing that could only happen to Patrick . As Patrick scooped up the contraceptives he made a mental note of putting them somewhere else or throwing the things away . "You're ok anyway , I take precautions , its too important a thing to trust a man with . And as for those things , " she motioned with her hand. "I know , its like washing your foot with your sock on , " interrupted Patrick . They looked at each other then laughed , adult laughter , happy laughter . Patrick started to take his trousers off , Carol had ripped the shirt from his back half an hour ago , only his trousers wouldn't come off now . The zip had stuck , Patrick tugged and tugged , wriggled like an eel , a pair of trousers were far better protection than everything in the bedside cabinet . Carol sat on the bed and laughed , her ginger hair framing her face , this was no Mona Lisa , it was carefree Carol . "Have you got any sissors ? I could always cut them off . " Panic gripped Patrick , they had both had a bit to drink , an eager woman with a pa

The place to post your stories is in your sets, I doubt you'll get many takers here.

Michael Casey 10 Reginald Rd Bearwood Warley B67 5AQ England Email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com Web http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey Internet Story © By Michael Casey So all I had to do was send an email , and then I’d be a writer , my book in every shop , my face smirking from cardboard cutouts of me holding my book aloft . My book had a great title , so it was bound to sell . A Nation Of Shopkeepers was a great title , if only people could remember their History , were people interested in History , and for that matter my book . It wasn’t a history book , would people think it WAS a history book , and then not buy it . It was a comedy drama , about a street of shops , interconnecting short stories , for all the family , but would people notice the levels , the strands of humour , or would they say it’s a Ma & Pa book , and miss the joke , just as one publisher called did ? I decided to keep the title , though I had a reserve title , The Butcher , The Baker and The Undertaker . Then I realised the US market would rename it The Butcher , The Baker And The Funeral Arranger . You don’t think about such things when you are writing the book , you’re just happy , on a roll , in love with your own intellect , or just surprized you actually DO have any intellect , then you discover that you are dyslexic , you really are dyslexic , thankfully not a really bad case , just dyslexic . As you proof read you see you have put BUT instead PUT , LEAD instead of READ , things like this and other strange things . Sure there are spellcheckers but or is it put , you have to check it anyway . As you read you are surprized at your own ability . You didn’t waste 4years in journalism school , but your writing is GOOD , Did I write that ? Then your chest filled with pride you get somebody else to read it , and guess what ? They think its crap . So now you have to decide , should I give up or should I carry on ? I gave up for as while , while is a unit of years in my case , my life took another path , so the writing was forgotten , it lay dormant for years , then like a phoenix it arose , or more truthfully , like a tortoise awaking from hibernation , sleep still in my eyes I slowly poked my head out , then back in , went back to sleep again , then finally with the pangs of hunger in my stomach I just had to do something . In my case it was eat , as in really eat , then I turned to my old Atari and realised it was not PC compatible , so I bought a new , or rather an old new Atari which was PC compatible . Then I spent a day copying my files so that I could read them on a PC . Then I wrote a few more pieces before I realised I’d get nowhere in England . The chances of being published were 1 in 2000 . So like a bear , I went back in my cave and slumbered . Meeting my wife Jing Jie was a turning point in my life , and not just because it was like Thunder as Jing Jie calls it , it was a turning point because I had a professional opinion on my writing , from a journalist at the very top of the tree . Her uncle is an editor in chief , so his comments were and are like gold , worth more than my first coffee and Cadbury’s chocolate , the pleasure rush I treat myself to every day , his comments really were that important to me , and I really DO like my Cadbury’s , so being better than Cadbury’s is the highest praise I can give . So I knew the quality of my writing , even if others said and say its crap . Getting a modern PC and internet connection was another turning point . Email in our house is like water and electic in any other homes . Jing Jie can “talk” to her mum in Shanghai every day . To friends all over the world as well . Birmingham IS the centre of the universe .So with hope and fear I had to transfer my files from my old Atari to the new PC . The floppy discs were old and battered , several were unreadable , finally my work , my babies were safely on the new PC . Just to be on the safe side I set up a website , so now my work was on somebody’s server in the US , thousands of miles away , safe from fire or theft . I could also put our new baby’s photos on the web site so that my Chinese family in Shanghai and Maimi and friends all over the world could see Annie and Jing Jie and me , they could even read my work too . So now all I had to do was market my work in the US , simple really , soon I’d be doing something useful with my life , making people laugh . I’d be a writing whore , I’d get paid to make others laugh , the best job in the world . So how would I set about it ? I got a list of radio stations from the internet and started sending emails galore . I’m talking in the hundreds now , to radio stations the length and breath of the US .They could publicise my site then eventually I’d get published , or my play would get produced . It was simple wasn’t it . So merrily I went about my business , sending emails galore . Years before I used to send off big heavy envelopes with my work in , with more persistance than hope in my heart .”Thank you for your pieces of paper“was the best put down . I once even met a writer and he agreed to to read my play Shoplife , then he wrote back calling me a plagerist , because it was so good . So I used his note as toilet paper , Shoplife was so good because I had 20years of experience given to me by my sister , I just improved on it , but yet I was called a Copyist , so naturally I was angry and used his note to wipe my bum . I wondered why my strike rate was so low with my emails to radio stations , then somebody casually mentioned , “You do know they will just delete anything with an attachment” . In these days of viruses or worms which I’ve discovered is the new trendy word , nobody can risk their PC , so I merrily send and they merrily delete . I’d been wasting my time , but not my money because I’d got a 24/7 package on my internet from AOL .However one radio station did read Shoplife . The DJ or is it Host , he called it hilarious and he could not stop reading it . It turned out he was an actor as well , though isn’t everybody an actor in the US ? So I thanked him , and quoted him in my future advertising .Humour is a funny thing . The things that make English people laugh are not the same as the things that make Americans’ laugh . We are constantly told by people on tv that English TV is the best in the world , the US material we see is the top 10% , the rest is rubbish . But I know I’d never get my foot in the door in England so I had to persist with my American campaign , so now I pasted in my material , no attachments . Just get them hooked , then paste in a sample then direct them to http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey Then bingo part2 of my life could begin ,I’d be the man that made America laugh , a naïve sentiment , but it was honest .Only AOL turns things into zip files and some people cann’t unzip your files , its like wanting sex but your zipper is broke and you cann’t get your trousers off . Such a strong urge , but no forfillment . I switched to MSMAIL and pasted in my stuff , things started to happen , my files weren’t being deleted or too zipped up to be read . At least I wasn’t frustrated any more . Now I had an agent interested , and a new magazine , even a theatre replied .All praise to Bill Gates , and to a Christian called Pat Verato who pointed me in the direction of a few good sites .However some of the sites that I trawled through were just , so very American . Hey , you too can be a writer , just send me 10 dollars and I’ll send you my book “How to make 10 dollars” , and he does . Then there’s magazines you can subscribe to , yes you’ve guessed it , just send another 10 dollars “Writing for Beginners” . There’s all these agents too who are so successful , persuading tap dancing bus drivers to write about Tap Dancing For Bus Drivers , the complete self help book , costs 10 dollars . The agent gets 20percent , and the bus driver pays 5000dollars to print 500 copies , then he can boast he’s a writer , not just a bus driver , and guess what if you pay 10 dollars you can learn to tap dance too . As for me , what do I think of all this ? I’d say just keep on writing , stop your selling , or attempts at selling , just write a bit . Add to your catologue of 3 poems and 2 short stories , then search for an agent . Believe you’ll never be published and then you won’t be disappointed. There is one final thing you can do though , just tell everybody to go to http://msnusers.com/michaelcasey And help find a publisher for my book , and then you’ve guessed it , just send me 10 dollars ! End

Can't wait to read about Piddle, will their be present and past articles??? I just love history...

There's a real River Piddle in Dorset, and a pub called the Piddle Inn there - I googled this just to see what you were on about, Jan! There's far too much piddle on these threads as it is.

Do you have competitions too on your site Denvor???

I haven't attempted competitions yet. I need to be a bit more established before I make that step. Probably will at some point though.

I got plennnty radioduncie -- and hey how about snitched pieces??? do they get cherried/nibbed like out here and at that other craphole UKA???

hey where u gone dunciee?