Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
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 →
Yesterday evening I attended an Open Mic evening at a chic Harrogate eatery. To clarify, an Open Mic night isn't attending a event to be entertained by a candid fellow called Michael... Unless, of course, the amateur turn is a forthright chap called Michael... In which case, you are attending an Open Mic evening presented... Continue Reading →
Yesterday, while strolling the avenues and alleyways of this fair metropolis. I bumped into an old acquaintance; a keen amateur runner who goes by the nickname Frank Microwave-Oven. My pal’s unlikely pseudonym borne from him receiving static electric shocks when coming into contact with post-race foil blankets.. The covers aimed at keeping athletes warm at... Continue Reading →
This morning, as I tentatively peeled back door 10 of a homemade advent calendar gifted by my partner Sarah, yours truly was greeted by the word ‘Bollocks’. Her mischievous cardboard festive trinket bearing 24 curse words, each carefully chosen from my beau’s vast swearing vocabulary. These off-colour greetings hidden behind numbered doors haphazardly carved on... Continue Reading →
It was a Saturday lunchtime. Two bearded men, both scarlet of face, both baring ready smiles stand outside a Wakefield charity shop. One man adorns a red suit/hat with white fur edging: his facial hair a similar albumen coloured hue. The other fella also standing adjacent to Santa’s outdoor grotto dons a khaki Superdry branded... Continue Reading →
Yuletide preparations continue apace in chez Strachan. With nineteen more sleeps until St Nick breaks into my apartment with an immunity afforded from his benevolence, my pre-yuletide plans are well placed. Gifts are purchased, and arrangements to distribute the presents have been made. Additionally, a kind invite from friends to celebrate Christmas Day with them mean I’m... Continue Reading →