Post-haircut, I'm writing this literary effort sitting outside of the Botanist pub on Boar Lane, Leeds. It's nippy out; however, keen to avoid legitimate observations like "Well go sit inside and sit where it's warm you pillock!", I'm reticent to complain about today's late winter chill To be honest, being well wrapped up against the … Continue reading Chilling in the Chill
Recollections of 1970's dental appointments bring to mind thoughts of oral torture chambers infused with odours of stale gas anaesthesia and the flatulence of nervous patients. Visits in which you'd open your mouth for treatment which'd be closely followed by a pain induced "Aaaaarrrrggghhh" - As opposed to the much calmer "Ah" associated with GP … Continue reading Mr Davidson’s Surgery
It's Tuesday morning and GJ Strachan is suffering from a severe case of writers block. Annoyingly, the ordinarily creative segment of my brain currently bereft of an inspirational epiphany or notion. Even the memories of my Gateshead childhood, which have proved so fertile in the past week, thus far unable to produce a narrative topic … Continue reading The Saving Mr Banks
"Who wants a game of Japs and Commandos?.... Who wants a game of Japs and Commandos?" A schoolyard enquiry frequently heard at Oakfield Junior School during my fledgling education years of 1968-1974. A chant ordinarily started at breaktime by a small number of boys intent on attracting recruits for their game. A query made by … Continue reading Schooldays Beside The Old Oak Field
With my wife Karen currently spending time in County Durham caring for her recently widowed dad, I'll be home alone this week. A time I aim to spend constructively by waxing lyrical, scratching around and nattering over Emu's fate since Rod Hull's untimely demise. My wife's home town Birtley located just south of the Angel … Continue reading Birtley Breather
During the half century I've resided on this dysfunctional planet I've been confronted by numerous intriguing life questions. Among them an irritational compulsion to unearth what the Q stood for in the name of my childhood optician JQ Summers. The affable Scotsman who practised his ophthalmic trade in a shop opposite the Cannon pub on … Continue reading Q
Earlier today I published a narrative bequeathing it's discerning reader unreliable anecdotes from my junior high schooldays. These notions manifesting from the depths of my capricious mind; embellished by fictional addendums sourced from a neurological chamber with a door titled 'Random'. Breckenbeds Junior High on Saltwell Road in south Gateshead the subject of that ramble. … Continue reading Breckenbeds Fields Forever?