I’m currently making the most of sitting in an environment of rare serenity in chez Strachan. For the first time in a week I’m writing a blog without a distracting background soundscape, such as the murmur of daytime TV, nor the thunderous snoring of my mother or Coco (the canine buddy I’m dog sitting until tomorrow).
As I write, the TV, which my mum ordinarily can’t function without, is on standby. Both she and Cokes are sat in their respective seats with eyes shut, mercifully though not with a habitual lusty snorting accompaniment of which they both excel.
The lab/retriever cross’s evident fatigue no doubt consequential of venturing on two walks by 10am this morning; the first of which occurring at 6.45am. As well as walk the dog twice, this early start enabling me to make Coco, mum and my breakfasts, dry a laundry load and change all upstairs bedding.
Today in the UK is Father’s Day. My son Jonny has kindly bequeathed me a charming bottle of chianti, some snacking packs and a toilet roll laden with tongue twisters and gags.
I’m informed by my eldest offspring, the latter trinket a gift to entertain me during my morning constitutional…… Jonny stating he plans a similar offering at Xmas, only this time containing vignettes of my written whisky. Something which I’m not taking as a show of reverence from my son and heir..
My daughter Rachel was due to take me out for Father’s Day lunch. However, the twenty-something has a requirement to isolate after the NHS app messaged to advise she’d recently visited a venue where someone had tested positive for coronavirus….. Well, that was her excuse for not journeying to see her old man on the day dad’s are celebrated by their progeny, anyhow.
Instead she’s going to treat her grandma and me to lunch on her upcoming off day from work in midweek. Subsequently, my mum’s managed to wangle a free lunch out her granddaughter on the coat tales of my Father’s Day treat……. Chuffing parasite!….. Only kidding Maggie.
I’m currently enjoying my last few hours with Coco, whose mum Samantha will venture over the Pennine Hills presently to take my furry friend home. It has to be said, the week I’ve spent in Cokes company has been a great fillip to GJ Strachan’s prevailing low mental health. The loyalty, love and unrelenting giddiness lifting my esprit levels, which’ve lain lower than crocodiles testicles of late.
I get my new car delivered tomorrow. The motor a retirement treat I’ve afforded myself, replacing the trusty old Vauxhall Astra which’s been my mechanical wingman for the last eleven years. This vehicle leaving me after over a decade of splendid service; it sharing in a raft of good and bad plot lines which’ve delighted and blighted my existence in almost equal measure.
An eleven years when I reluctantly had to accept everything has a shelf life, regardless of how much you fight that change. Sentiments expressed far better than I ever could in the following lyrics of Quincy Jones song ‘Everything Must Change’; hauntingly sung in the Oleta Adams video below.
“Everything must change
Nothing stays the same
Everyone will change
No one stays the same
The young become the old
Mysteries do unfold
For that’s the way of time
Nothing and no one goes unchanged
There are not many things in life
You can be sure of…
Except, rain comes from the clouds
Sun light up the sky
Hummingbirds do fly
Winter turns to spring
The wounded heart will heal
But never much to soon
But everything must change
The young become the old
Mysteries do unfold
But that’s the way that time
Nothing & no one goes unchanged
There are not many things in life
You can be sure of…
Except, rain comes from the clouds
Sun lights up the sky
Hummingbirds do fly
Rain comes from the clouds
Sun lights up the sky
Hummingbirds do fly
Rain comes from the clouds
Sun lights up the sky
Hummingbirds do fly
Rain comes from the clouds
Sun lights up the sky
Music makes me cry”
