Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
It is two months since the summer solstice and the UK is hurtling towards autumn like a thoroughbred horse released from race stalls. The midday sun gets ever lower, solar rays are markedly cooler and I’ve started frantically searching my house for my portable central heating thermostat. The control box not required just yet, but... Continue Reading →
Last week we in the UK, along with several northern hemisphere countries, were ‘lucky’ enough to witness a partial solar eclipse. Northern Spain, Northern Russia, Greenland and Iceland even ‘luckier’ when becoming party to a full sun blockage. Bereft of special filtered sunglasses, making it safe to look directly at this infrequent astronomical event, I... Continue Reading →
“Turned Out Arid Again, Mother!” by Gary Strachan Today started like every day, with the walk. A dishevelled man with three score years of broken dreams emerged from a bedraggled duvet. Standing up he adjusted his boxer shorts which feel like they’ve been screwed on by a spanner. Stretching melodramatically, he adds to the... Continue Reading →
I’ve an unerring urge to use the word expedient within today’s narrative. My motive not to rage bait the Never Use Expedient In Prose Association (NUEPA), although to be honest, if that had been the reason, those stuffy bastards have had it coming for a while! My decision to utilise the noun (or adjective depending... 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 →
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 →
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 →
Looking down, it felt like this working-class northern lad had arrived. His eyes drawn to a multicoloured hippy picnic blanket in front of him; the rug laden with a wonderful smorgasbord procured from a Fortnum & Mason festival stall. His partner belying her usual similar lack of culture by swooning at the champagne feast. Her... Continue Reading →
Perched in a south Leeds café, it has been a productive morning writing wise; culminating in me completing a 1,000-word submission for a writing group while. The topic prompt of ‘colour’ stirring my creative juices, subsequently, spawning an endearing yarn about my partner’s colourful language. I may share this pastiche of old potty mouth’s scattergun... Continue Reading →