Maximus Gluteus

Yesterday, unbeknown to yours truly, I spent the day wandering about the place with a huge tear in the rear of my shorts. The revelation only becoming apparent when undressing at eventide, when upon removing the aforementioned article I spotted a bloody big hole where once cloth’d lain. Mercifully, the adornment of boxer shorts’d negated…

Respite

As I commence this prose, my brother Ian’s just left our mother’s home where he’s been providing me respite from carer to our mater. Him affording me a break from the caring role a huge fillip for his elder sibling. Another boon was my notoriously clumsy brother left the matriarchal gaff without breakage. An achievement…

After The Bout

On this day in mid-1960’s my younger brother Ian made his inaugural appearance into the world. Born at our Leeds home, our kid arrived shortly after Cassius Clay’d knocked out Sonny Liston during their second World Heavyweight Championship fight. With Clay (latterly Muhammed Ali) winning by first round KO, Ian didn’t turn up on time to…

Project On Hold

In lockdown my brother Ian and adult son Jonathon, the brood’s musicians, have both picked up their acoustic guitars for the first time in years. My son didn’t actually play his instrument on picked it up, it was raised from it’s stand to undertake a heavy handed flattening of a spider on his spare room…

Naming Confusion

As we amble this vale of tears, we’re confronted by a variety of enigmas; these episodes or habits which appear to defy any sense or logic. Such as my inherently heavy-handed younger brother Ian’s ability to smash crockery with ease while washing up, yet when indulging in post meal plate hurling rituals in a Greek…

Punishment To Fit The Crime

Solar rays envelope large swathes of West Yorkshire as I write. The meteorological god Zeus finally turning off the celestial precipitation tap*** allowing me to finally get into the garden to undertake much needed maintenance. Not my own garden back in LS15, but the lawns and borders of my mother’s WF3 home. *** – I…

Maternal Edicts

Last week I wrote a narrative (Barbershop Strop) during which I spoke of childhood visits to James Thow’s barbershop on Low Fell, Gateshead. During which I broached the topic of my mum’s obsession with her offspring’s locks being well kempt; more specifically an insistence it didn’t lay longer than collar length. My prose about 1970’s sojourns…

“Tonight’s Episode – Hear No Evil!”

This afternoon, a cool wind swirls around the grounds of casa Strachan, consequently the washing line in situ linen sways bewitchingly in my close proximity. A glimpse of the sheets gentle movement so calming it earlier hypnotized me into a drowsy state; a sensation I awoke from as a non-smoker……. That being said, I didn’t…

Who Locked Grandad In The Loo?

On this day in mid-1960’s Kirskstall, Leeds my younger brother Ian made his appearance into the world. Born at home, our kid arrived shortly after the conclusion of the second Cassius Clay vs Sonny Liston fight. With Clay (latterly Muhammed Ali) winning by first round KO, Ian didn’t turn up on time to witness Liston…