With a soundscape of distant radio music and children’s brio while frolicking in nearby gardens, GJ Strachan perches garden patio table in situ. His self-appointed mission the scribbling of a second Spring Bank Holiday Monday chronicle.

Sheltering from early afternoon solar rays under a hefty parasol, I’m currently afflicted by epiphany impotence. Potential topics for my literary sequel currently elusive as a Kanye West smile. I shall soldier on, though, with as ex-cyclist Lance Armstrong’s words of “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” ringing in my lug hole.

Additionally, subscribing to Roman Emperor/philosopher Marcus Aurelius’ advocacy of “You have power over your mind – not outside events. Realise this, and you will find strength.” providing further motivation to locate these clandestine creative notions.



I’ve just returned from the local store, where among my purchases I secured a curry flavoured Pot Noodle. This impulse buy an attempt to convince myself I’ve lost none of my maverick behavioural traits while prevailing daily entertainment options afford me the very thinest of gruel.

I’ve not consumed a curry flavoured instant snack food for decades but, as I thoroughly enjoyed the dried noodles with curry powder flavouring, I’ll endeavour not to be as tardy  between future rendezvous.

On landing back in chez Strachan, perspiration ridden from the thirty minute return meander from Tescos Express in full sun, I was greeted in the kitchen by Mrs S senior. Immediately following me dumping them unceremoniously upon the kitchen table, like a giddy child she rummaged though the two bags of groceries. Her aim no doubt to witness if GJ Strachan’d picked her up a confectionery treat; such a her favourite Cadbury’s Wholenut bar.

Whilst foraging the comestible bounty procured by her eldest offspring, on spotting the instant noodle pot, she assumed the role of a half assed Masterchef judge. Proffering a disparaging “You’re not gonna eat that s***e are you?

The statement her ‘go to’ saying for a host of foodstuffs she doesn’t find appealing on the eye, regardless of whether or not she’s even consumed the fare. A habitual show of Tourettes which never fails to raise a smile on yours truly’s visage.

Later, between fork filled scoops of noodles from pot to gob, I pointed out to the matriarch my snack was surprisingly flavoursome. An observation given short shrift, provoking the predictable motherly retort of “Your joking aren’t you….. It must be like eating bleeding cardboard!”

Hopefully Maggie will hold greater culinary store in the ranch steaks I’m pan frying for dinner tonight. A simple enough dish to prepare, which when served with meat juices oozing from the settling beef, sides of flocculent chipped potato, buttered sautéed mushrooms/vine tomatoes and sprinkled with cracked black pepper, is wonderfully fulsome fodder.

My culinary skills by no means cordon bleu, however it matters not. After all, I’ve a wide enough repertoire of recipes in my locker to ensure, on a daily basis, a tasty main meal is presented at chez Strachan’s table.

Most importantly, though, my chef skills are adequate enough to ensure Pot Noodles are only required as an occasional lunch snack for yours truly, not an accompaniment to Maggie’s main dish of the day…… Regardless of how jocular I’d find that situation, particularly mum’s scornful visage and comments of irk, there’s times such whimsy just isn’t worth the subsequent ear ache!

Keep well!