Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred

Off The Wall Essays From Deep Within A Capricious Mind

A Walk On The Lakeside

As part of gradually upping my post-cardiac arrest exercise regime, I increased the distance of yesterday’s daily stroll to three miles. This my longest walk since last November when I took on the not inconsiderable challenge of circumnavigating TV presenter Piers Morgan’s ego.

That a draining test of my physical and mental resources which, although failing to break me, led to subsequent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) attacks when exposed to breakfast TV show Good Morning Britain.

At this stage of my recovery, I was happy to cope with that distance of walk without physical detriment. Even though it’s longevity was aided by the route being  predominantly of flat terrain – The circumference of a small West Yorkshire reservoir. Apart from my trusty old GTN spray, which accompanies me everywhere since the identification of my heart issues, this was a jaunt I took in solitude.

En route there were a few polite exchanges with fellow ramblers of “Morning!”, “Does your dog bite?”, “Do you bite?” and “Did you know your flies are unfastened?” However, apart from those instances of small talk I circumnavigated the south Leeds lake with only my thoughts as company.

These notions random, erratic and heavily stacked towards the subject of whether the girl band Little Mix are in anyway related to self-serve confectionery Pick &….. Later, while walking to my car for the return journey home, I concluded it was unlikely, but would keep an open mind on the subject.

On reaching the car park, I bumped into an old work colleague who I’d not seen for years – A fragrant lass called Trixie Trebor who’d just arrived in situ to walk her goldfish Archie on the same waterside route I’d just completed.

I’d not seen Trixie since 2008 when I went by the name of Carlton Cluck, and we’d competed against each other in the Rothwell’s Stupidest Name contest. Neither of us were from Rothwell, but through the sheer ridiculousness of our monikers we were granted wildcard entries.

It was great to see Trix, as she likes to be referred to. A feeling that seemed to be reciprocated by this old acquaintance whose eyes express her every emotion. I can say without fear of contradiction, Ms Trebor possesses the most captivating eyes I’ve ever seen on anyone who walks goldfish.

Jumping in and out of his bowl, which was being towed along the tarmac car park on a skateboard, Archie seemed happy to see me – Well, as pleased as any goldfish has looked when making my acquaintance. Yours truly’s relationships with the little gold/orange coloured water-dwellers haven’t been the most cordial due to my resentment that even they possess longer memory spans than me.

When not taking Archie for a stroll, Trixie Trebor fills her time in working voluntarily for a private detective agency that seeks out missing Tupperware lids, along with socks that mysterious disappear in the wash.

Capricious of nature, you’re never quite sure where you stand with Trix. However, she’s a good heart (which is bloody more than I have at the minute) and, if nothing else, is worth knowing should you struggle finding the matching lid for the Tupperware dish you’re using.

Married with eight kids, when it comes to recalling the pain of childbirth, Ms Trebor obviously shares Archie and my memory span.

After a brief chat with my old acquaintance, she headed towards the reservoir with Archie. A move instigated by the goldfish impatiently banging his head against the side of his bowl, as if to gesture he wanted his owner to get a move on.

fish

Categories: Blogs, fiction, health/medical

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