This effort littéraire is my first creative offering since the 12th September. A prose paucity consequential of several life episodes, rendering free time at my laptop of a premium.
Amongst the culprits causing this dearth of written dialect were a couple of short breaks, along with a multitude of tasks borne from moving home a month ago, along with the recent procurement of a camper van.
Of late GJ Strachan’s life has certainly been busy. And I should know, I’m GJ Strachan…… Although on reflection, as I’m almost certainly not the only GJ Strachan in the world, I best amend this paragraph’s inaugural sentence to read ‘Of late this GJ Strachan’s life has been busy’.
After all, for all I know the other GJ Strachan’s inhabiting this capricious globe may have a ‘To Do’ list as empty as a Donald Trump promise, or Boris Johnson’s recollections when it comes to remembering Christmas parties attended during COVID lockdown.
Consequently any other GJ Strachan’s, I’m sorry for making assumptions about the banality of your existential zeitgeist……. Oh, and if your current itineraries happen to be as barren as touched upon, I’ve been there fellas!….. I’m sure it’ll get better….. If not get in touch; I’ve a Samaritans phone number gathering dust somewhere.
If truth be told the camper van purchase was a bit of an impulse buy. Sure Sarah (my redolent partner) and I had fleetingly spoken about the possibility of making a purchase of this nature. Ossett’s finest in particular seeming very keen about this new outdoor addition to ‘the family’….. Especially when she heard I was paying for it.
Seriously, though, we both agreed it’d be something that’d hopefully maintain and likely enhance brio levels within our relationship. A union underpinned by a brew of bellicose partying, silliness and an ability to curse with such untamed rapidity our swear box has taken out a restraining order…… On the plus side, though, the swear boxes overwork is what’s paying for the camper van, so there is an upside to this unnecessarily excessive verbal brashness.
Sarah and I have christened the converted VW Transporter Victor. A nome du plume we bequeathed upon our new ‘child’ with the affection and excitement ordinarily afforded by new parents of human progeny.
Footnote – Instead of utilising the word christened above, perhaps I should’ve penned baptised. After all, no theological ceremony of any denomination took place when naming our motorhome. Sensibly (in my opinion) we’ve resolved not to influence Victor’s future religious leanings; he can make those decisions for himself when he’s old enough.
Although we’ve enjoyed short local treks out in Victor, due to yet not obtaining a couple of key accessories for an overnight break, Sarah and/or me haven’t taken an overnight break in old Vic. Hopefully, though, our trips can shortly begin in earnest once the gas for the dual hob has been obtained, along with fitted of a kador strip for awning fixings.
Like residing in a city centre apartment until recently, outdoor living adventures are something I’ve never previously experienced in the half century plus I’ve tread this capricious planet. However, I’m truly excited by the possibilities available following the camper vans purchase.
Victor’s addition to Strachan’s brood also means that, at the very least, I’ll have a roof over my head should the worst happen when my apartment tenancy runs out in February 2023.
There I go again; bloody assuming things……. After all, who says that come February old Vic’s engine might’ve given up the ghost, or he may no longer be in my possession. Our beloved motorhome stolen by a hot fingered break away faction of the caravan club. A cabal with scurrilous plans to utilise him as a getaway vehicle during heavy handed raids on Go Outdoor outlets.
Anyhow, calm down and take a step back, embarking on a moment of reflection, Gary. Life’s good and everything will turn out right in the end. And as for life episodes which will challenge, after the detritus you’ve had to deal with in the past decade, you’re more than equipped emotionally to deal with these imposters.
To close, I wanted to highlight the perils and uncertainties political correctness can introduce for us writers. A conundrum highlighted by a simple comment I received after Victor’s recent purchase.
This unremarkable scene beginning when an acquaintance remarked via text “Word on the street is you’ve got a new camper van.”
I thankfully thought better of responding this way, however, my immediate impulse on receipt of the verbal proffering was to mischievously inquire “What is my van camper than?”
A query I thought would be funny to back up with “It’s all subjective, but I’d suggest Victor is no more avant-garde than any other four wheeled vehicle of this nature.”.… Me going on to impishly add ‘And in the case of the fictional Frank Perpignon’s jewel encrusted motorhome , significantly less camp.”
Keen not to breach any boundaries of social acceptabilities, the ideas remained locked away in my erratic neurological corridors…… Well until they were aired just now. A move which most likely has undone all the initial good work of remaining shtum.
Incidentally, I’m re-assured to hear my friend who used the expression “Word on the street…..” hasn’t taken up employment as a Starsky and Hutch stool-pigeon?!….. I don’t want any goddam grasses within my friend zone!
Anyhow, welcome to the family Victor!!