I’d proposed not penning a blog today. Intending instead to commence a significant rewrite of a tome written in 2010, which I’d remissly disregarded, leaving unloved and gathering dust for a decade.
However, after a troublesome time attempting to gain White Rose Shopping Centre’s (WRSC) wifi access, circumstances conspired against me causing an itinerary rethink. Eventually, access was secured on a latent store network, however I experienced ‘Page Timeout’ errors attempting to retrieve the draft prose requiring an edit.
As this poorly performing internet conduit granted me entry into the WordPress edit functionality on my website, your truly’s semi-reluctantly resolved not to waste anymore time faffing around, utilising this barren time productively. Concluding the book rewrite would have to wait until access to a more performant wifi channel was attainable.
Delays experienced while seeking unmitigated network entry, along with subsequent latency and timeouts while attempting to download the tome craving rewrite, resulted in GJ Strachan suffered thirty minutes of creative impotence. A frustrating half hour where cathartic benefits manifesting from post gym session serotonin rushes were promptly diminished by the WRSC’s capricious internet conduits.
Anyhow, this turn of events has meant I’ve inadvertently had to rescind yesterday’s assertion of having a blogging hiatus until the weekend. I make no apologies for penning this piece of work, though, I’m merely explaining why today’s writing plans went south from my original itinerary.
This term’s Garforth Community Choir (GCC) rehearsals commence this evening. This get together the inaugural of ten x two hour sessions which, as with gym attendance, rarely fails to raise my serotonin levels. Not a longterm fix, mind you. Nevertheless, though, I deem a short term rise in spirits as a key ‘hit’, especially during the darker moods (of which there’s been plenty of late).
Singing aural harmonies within the bosom of a choral clan is a marvellously therapeutic pastime. You’re never alone when amongst a choir family; unless they ostracise you for stealing the group’s Christmas Club money, akin to Arthur Fowler in fictional TV soap Eastenders.
Footnote – Coming to think of it, I think Pauline’s hubby stole a horticultural clubs Christmas fund. That being said, I’d suggest victims of any theft by a trusted club member would be furious. Venturing a horticulturist affiliation won’t be any more sensitive to being victims of financial misconduct than a collective of choral comrades!!
My gym session this morning was my first venture for months to John Smeaton Leisure Centre (JSLC). My Body Line card allowing me access to any of the Leeds city council run recreational facilities. On Monday my Fitness Circuits class took place at Garforth Leisure Centre.
I was relieved to locate the fitness programme a personal trainer devised me many moons ago. The recent tardiness of my exercise regime manifesting worries, during an audit of customers, they might’ve binned the plan with the words ‘We’ll never see this lax f***er again!’
But no, the piece of card with a litany of cardio vascular and muscle development exercises was sighted exactly were I left it on my last tarriance to the JSLC. It was a bit dusty and written in Egyptian hieroglyphics, but apart from that you’d never’ve guessed how long it’d been since our last rendezvous.
Tomorrow, I’ve booked another Fitness Circuits class, this time at JSLC. Hopefully, after that session I’ll be able to acquire a performant enough network at the WRSC, allowing me capability to download a Word document from OneDrive and me to at last commence the aforementioned rewrite.
2 kids who've flown the nest, 1 wife whose flown with Jet2. Born at a young age in 1960's Leeds, the author became interested in the literary life when his wife bought him a dog. Having an allergy to dogs, he swapped it for a typewriter. Being unable to train the typewriter to retrieve tennis balls, he reluctantly turned to writing...... Website - www.writesaidfred.org