Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
7am this morning, my beagle Bella and me exited the metallic gate of our home, embarking on a short ten minute stroll to the local park. A sojourn which takes us past around ten residences before turning right onto a 200 metre dirt track road and across the main road adjacent to the treelined parkland.... Continue Reading →
Scene - The morning of 25th December 2025. In the living room of a terraced mid-20th century built home, on the sofa/chaise, a middle-aged couple prepare to exchange yuletide gifts. Beneath the high ceiling typically witnessed in residences of this era, the male of the duo (Gary) catches sight of a huge wrapped present bearing... Continue Reading →
“Don't leave me this way. I can’t survive, can’t stay alive, without your love. Don’t leave me this way.” Those sentiments from an opening chorus of a Communards refrain are often communicated by my beagle Bella’s sad sideways glances when about to be left home alone. Yours truly's parting assurances of “I’ll not be long!”... Continue Reading →
It was an early dog walk this morning. My needy beagle/alarm clock Bella deciding a 6.40am stroll would be a splendid way to celebrate the dawning of 7th August 2026. This previous start not so much a case of the early bird catching the worm, more the early dog walker gets to pick up poop... Continue Reading →
Today sees another small step in my ongoing penmanship rehab. A further attempt to reinvigorate a passion for writing which has largely forsaken me since last December. A devotion waning in December 2025, after succumbed to a wave of self-doubt about my art; consequently becoming overwhelmed by lethargy and low-spirits. A malaise I’ve now resolved... Continue Reading →
A few weeks back, some sixty-six million years after dinosaurs became extinct and slightly before yours truly commenced penning this narrative, I rehomed a dog. The hound in question a four your old beagle who, for the purposes of the narrative (and because it’s her name), I shall call Bella. With details of the rehoming... Continue Reading →
Every now and then when not wandering around my residence pondering why I don’t cast a reflection in mirrors, yours truly revisits narratives penned during COVID lockdown. Scores of my diarised vignettes, published on my website, providing retrospective insights into my thoughts and deeds under the pandemics grip. A time when I assume the mantle... Continue Reading →
Easter Saturday bequeathed West Yorkshire's populace warm(ish) Bank Holiday temperatures. Consequently, yours truly ventured out to take in a local league cricket match. A game which, although not partaking for over a decade, I played my mid-teens to the cusp of middle-age. Cricket a game of which I've written about on numerous occasions, in particular... Continue Reading →
In one of his trademark offbeat observations on the BBC TV gameshow ‘Would I Lie To You?”, likeable funny man Bob Mortimer claimed the distant memories he was about to recount were like “Fingerprints on an abandoned handrail.” This humorous, but idiosyncratic, observation describing how he only had vague memories of the absurd yarn he... Continue Reading →