Oh Bruvver

For a variety of reasons, today’s the first opportunity I’ve had to sit scribing a daily journal for almost a week. Included among these blog creation blockers a visit by my younger brother Ian; along with yours truly taking advantage of weather improvements to undertake several hours of spring garden maintenance.

Footnote – Incidentally, as I’ve only one brother and it’s inclusion adds nothing to the sentence, I’m unsure why I felt the need to proceed ‘brother’ with the adjective ‘younger’. Likewise, adding a prefix ‘spring’ to ‘garden maintenance’ doesn’t augmenting the descriptive. Consequently, I’d remove them if I could be bothered. However, it appears my writing break’s done little to cure my inherent laziness…….. Or, it seems, deterring trite and pointless footnote inclusions.

Being deprived of his company since our mother’s funeral in late October, it was a real fillip to spend time in our kid’s company for three days. In a world where the human condition makes entrustment a game fraught with jeopardy, my sibling and lifelong best friend is one of the few people I trust implicitly and I’d missed him greatly.

As we’ve spent most of our adult life residing in different areas of England, our get togethers are fleeting and infrequent. This contact habitually restricted to an occasional stolen phone call, Zoom quiz or social media message.

Recently, during one of those quiz pictorial rounds, Ian was inexplicably unable to identify our late parents home from a photo of the back garden. This despite spending a number of hours last year sat in the very patio area emblazoned on his laptop screen in front of him……. With this in mind, it was a relief he managed to find his way here without too much drama; appearing on the doorstep at around 8pm last Friday evening.

My bruvver

Upon his arrival, over a takeout curry swilled down with a considerable quantity of wine, IC Strachan updated GJ Strachan with how things were currently playing out back in Gateshead, where he lives with partner Anne.

With his characteristic altruism and ardour, my kinsman candidly relaying some of the more idiosyncratic life episodes which’ve occurred in the intervening period since our last get together.

Events such as his realisation using underpants as a makeshift soup bowl wasn’t without jeopardy…. Especially if wearing them at time of the broth being poured!!

He also spoke of a recent outer body experience during which his soul converted to catholicism. Deeming it a religion controlling patrons through guilt, an event Ian found particularly unsettling.

I endeavoured to lift my bro’s spirits by pointing out a plus side to the episode- That being, at least catholicism doesn’t require circumcision; however this did little to diminish his discontent…… A reaction I’m guessing borne from knowing you can’t circumcise a soul anyhow!

Friday evening reaching its denouement with two inebriated Strachan lads, a knocked over glass of wine and drenched table cloth requiring a hasty wash prior to midday’s house viewing from a prospective buyer…… To my disenchantment, next day, not only were a couple viewing the home unpersuaded to make an offer, they omitted to say how well I’d laundered the table cloth.

After a brief recovery period from our previous evening’s festivities, on Saturday Ian and me spent the evening in the local pub of good friend Sarah.

Finding my our kid affable company, her first impressions of my bro were positive…… Well, apart from complaining his myrrh aftershave redolence made standing next to him smell like being present at a Catholic Mass.

After Sarah informed our kid there’s communion wine up for grabs during these services, he hinted church attendance maybe something he embraces with far greater enthusiasm going forward.

I’m unsure what surprised me more….. Our Ian indicating he might start attending church services, or that Sarah had a clue what went on during these ecclesiastical clambakes!

Anyway, I’m off to say two Hail Marys for telling porkies about my little brother.

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