It’s the 1st February. As two of my late dad’s songwriting heroes Anthony Newley and Leslie Briscusse once wrote in their much covered refrain ‘Feeling Good‘:-
“It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
Well, it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new month….. Although, suggesting it’s a new life for me is perhaps somewhat stretching it!
My second blog of the day is being created to an aural backdrop of a comedian/writer Frank Skinner audiobook. This a recording of the entertainer’s book telling of his return to touring with his one man show. Including the angst, uncertainty of material and if he was still capable enough following a ten year sabbatical from standup comedy.
As a huge fan of the West Bromwich born jester, he’s one of the few standup comedians, along with Lee Mack and John Bishop, who I’d afford house room. Of course, they’ll be many more jokers who’d make me laugh, however, as yet I’ve not made their whimsical acquaintance.
Most exponents of this entertainment genre finding location of my chuckle button as elusive as a Roman soldier would the G-spot of a chastity belt clad wench. Admittedly, not a great analogy by yours truly, but deeming my original notion of ‘elusive as a nun’s G-spot’ to be disrespectful, it was amended accordingly…… Although, as I’ve now relayed the deleted simile anyhow, I probably shouldn’t have bothered.
What storylines has this new month in store for GJ Strachan. Among the already known itinerary for February is the first of five collections as part of Marie Curie’s Great Daffodil Appeal, numerous scheduled exercise circuit lessons, continuation of the revamping a draft tome I wrote a decade ago, along with a short break in York. Only time will tell what thus far unknown incidents/events the month of February has planned on its watch.
To even out the cathartic benefits I’ll receive from the already scheduled events above, no doubt they’ll be a fair dollop of domestic strain imparted in the shape of opinions allayed by Mrs Strachan’s junior and senior. The pair’s theistically influenced ‘born sick and commanded to be well’ mantra ensuring my cup of joy doesn’t floweth over.
I’m sat in the living room of a cottage a few miles north of Whitby, North Yorkshire, as I pen this tome. The first stresses of the new month being imparted as I put pen to paper in the shape of my football amours Leeds United, who with minutes left are losing at home to a side they’ve battered for the whole game!
Consequently, unless there’s late drama at Elland Road, we will lose the top spot they fought valiantly to secure in midweek after trailing 2-0 on 25 minutes. An event that’ll join the inevitable stress trigger musings both Mrs Strachans will proffer within the next 29 days on monthly detritus pile.
Ah well, never mind, worse things happen at sea; or so I’m told by a close acquaintance who’s chairman of the Leeds Shark Attack Victim Group.