Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
During my fledgling years my main love was association football, as an old Pathe news commentator may've dubbed the game in his authoritative BBC English tones. In particular, I was enamoured by the all conquering 1960s/70s Leeds United teams managed by Don Revie. Accomplished exponents of a game that led to a boyhood pipe dream of... Continue Reading →
It was a return whose profile paled into insignificance compared to, say, the prodigal son in the New Testament parable, or the rekindling of Robbie William's career with band Take That. Neither was it an event which'll shake the British music industry to its very foundations; producing vast column inches, penned with prurient glee by... Continue Reading →
Yesterday in my essay Face Value I wrote of yours truly's recent reacquaintance with a few vinyl albums of my youth. These original long playing records evoking memories from my fledgling years; melodic antiquities which I've habitually revisited of late. These vivid recollections bequeathed by musical imprints indelibly marked on the tapestry of my life, manifesting visions... Continue Reading →
Among the many emotions manifesting from exposure to certain pieces of music are memories evoked by its lyrics and/or melody. Anthems that are indelibly etched on our life canvases, bringing to mind memories of joy, sadness, despair and wonderment at why there's a brass band in our living rooms. Recently I've been enjoying listening to... Continue Reading →
I've the pleasure of my mother's company as I commence this essay, Costa coffee in situ. This infrequent event of her presence while writing follows her request to accompany me to the White Rose Shopping Centre (WRSC) - Her mission to "Buy some bits for Christmas." An inquiry I was happy to accommodate, but only... Continue Reading →
It's Sunday morning and I've taken temporary residence in my new 'go to' writing domain; Costa coffee at the White Rose Shopping Centre (WRSC), Leeds. A caffeine infused environment which provides me with inspiration, an Americano with milk, along with a less distracting background noise than home - Casa Strachan, where my paragraphs are frequently... Continue Reading →
A trumpeter is serenading me with an instrumental version of Frosty the Snowman as I commence this literary offering. To clarify, the guy isn't just serenading me in the front room of chez Strachan senior. He's part of a quartet entertaining the massive queue of kids/parents below the mezzanine which bears the coffee shop where... Continue Reading →
I woke this morning relieved to find yesterday's unforgivingly icy breeze had abated. This glacial wind rendering my body heat as frigorific as temperatures experienced during 1980's nights out on Newcastle's Quayside and Bigg Market. A deeply uncomfortable coldness not abetted by being bereft of a coat, even in sub-zero temperatures. Sartorial stupidity that ensured that... Continue Reading →
Living back in the matriarchal abode has many challenges, one of which the regression back nearly half a century to experiencing admonishment for actions my mother finds irritating. This includes the incessant tapping of my fingers on the kitchen table, bad table manners and the increasing use of curse words, which in recent months have... Continue Reading →