The prompt for this morning’s writing workshop was ‘ray’. A prompt manifesting initial notions of the song Do-Ray-Me from musical The Sound of Music; or at least it did until research showed it is spelt Do-Re-Mi.

Upon learning the correct spelling of the song title, I was confronted by the conundrum of whether to go ahead with observations about the refrain made famous by Julie Andrews. Mainly, could I get away with that approach as it is spoken as ray, and as such counting.

After a period of contemplation (two seconds) I decided I could. A decision validated when the only other idea I had utlising ray in prose was to wax lyrical about 1970s England goalkeeper Ray Clemence. Not knowing a right lot about ‘Clem’, apart from he played for Scunthorpe, Liverpool, and Tottenham, I thought I’d get more mileage out of a Do-Re-Mi narrative.

Well, that’s what I thought, anyhow. However, when it came to populating the barren paper in front of me with all things Do-Re-Mi my creative juices were arid. Consequently, I decided to go off on a literary riff, reprising prose written a while back about a different tune from Rodger & Hammerstein’s musical.

A vignette telling of my aspirations to one day reach a level my brother Ian attains when writing poetic song lyrics. This episode beginning when I asked my younger sibling what his secret was. 

Misunderstanding what I meant; Ian candidly revealed his guilty secret was owning a Boris Johnson onesie. Not wishing to dwell on this idiosyncratic revelation, yours truly clarified I was referring to his secret for creating such thought provoking and melancholic song lyrics. 

His words ordinarily tugging at his listeners heart strings, steering the audience away from hasty dichotic thought and deed. Alternatively encouraging a more dialectical approach to their thinking.

IC Strachan not as prolific a writer (output wise) as his elder sibling. Yet, unlike his bro, Ian’s sonnets contain prose which cleverly challenge bookworms to unpick its enigmatic plot line. This literary approach a great deal more erudite than GJ Strachan’s knockabout whimsy.

Seeming flattered I sought to pick his brains in a bid to develop into a more versatile writer, he assured me there was no secret. Relaying his creative style was a gift from God for his 5th birthday. A bequeathment which he appreciated significantly more than M&S vouchers, presented by the Almighty on his 4th birthday.

My sibling going on to advocate “Give writing song lyrics a go, Gaz…… It’ll give your penmanship a fresh approach, removing you from your blogging comfort zone.”

Encouraged by these brotherly words to the wise, I concluded our phone call, affording myself a half hour’s solitude to explore if I bore similar creative wherewithal. Hopefully going on to mimic my brother’s more highbrow wordsmith style.

After around thirty minutes I rang my brother back to ‘perform’ the song I’d written, a piece going by the work in progress title of ‘Crows From The East’. A little ditty I planned to sing to the tune of Edelweiss from The Sound of Music.

With Ian watching, intrigued as to what his erratic brother had created, it was with a mixture of pride and trepidation I began warbling the lyrics:-

“Crows of the east.

Crows of the east.

Every morning I see thee.

Crows of the east.

Crows of the east.

You look happy to see me……”

At this juncture of my refrain our Ian started laughing, interjecting “That’s not an original song, Gaz!….. Your merely singing Edelweiss but substituting the word edelweiss with crows of the east!”

“It’s hardly plagiarism though, Ian……. After all, I’ve adapted the lyric to say how happy I am to view the crows of the east, unlike Christopher Plummer who was enchanted by sights of edelweiss……. Meaning it still has a freshness.”

“Well, it’s absolutely crap, Gaz!” Ian chuntered with broad grin enveloping his visage.

“I could sing you the other song I’ve written in the last 30 minutes, or so.” 

“What’s that called then, Gaz?”

“Crows of the west.” 

“Is that a song where you replace the word edelweiss with words crows of the west?” my sibling inquired rhetorically. 

“Errrrrr, yes.”

“So basically it’s the same as your other song, just with the word west replaced by east?”

“Errrrr, yes.” 

“Well I’m not interested in hearing it then, Gaz!” I was told firmly.

Irked at our kid’s indifference to my art, I informed him “You’re a patronising get, Ian!”

Upon him grinning back at me knowingly, I vowed to expose the staunch Labour supporters secret Boris Johnson onesie fetish…… So now you know. Pass it on!