Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
"Morning has broken, like the first morning; blackbird has spoken, like the first bird." What better way to start my new week than singing the uplifting inaugural lines of a traditional hymn..... Well, apart from perhaps fragrant Aussie actress Margot Robbie bringing me breakfast in bed. Which with all due respect to the refrain's author,... Continue Reading →
As I start this episode of GJ Strachan's prevailing existence, an angry West Yorkshire breeze is doing it's damnedest to blow the eight digitalis, which until yesterday stood vertically with sentry-like authority, into the next village. The gusts rendering flaccid the Plantaginaceae, which pre-zephyr proudly patrolled my borders with an upright gait. Sadly, now these foxgloves have acquired a... Continue Reading →
Sitting at my garden patio table, sipping a cryogenically cold lemonade to combat a thirst worked up during my recent walk to the food store, I currently seek topic inspiration for this second blog of the day. Despite witnessing a chromatic canvas, courtesy of adjacent cottage garden shrubs to my left, epiphanies escape me. I... Continue Reading →
This afternoon's scheduled garden maintenance has been scuppered by the lower back trauma consequential of previous horticultural chores. Subsequently, I'm sitting at my patio table accompanied by an amalgam of laptop, sporadic muscle spasms and frustration one of my lockdown pastimes has been furloughed. If it wasn't bad enough enduring COVID-19 induced lockdown, now I'm... Continue Reading →
The lower back trauma I wrote about in Gaining Groucho’s Gait, although significantly less uncomfortable, continues to plague me. Sporadic spasms when making sharp core movements reminding me the back injury still holds unwanted tenancy. The sprain's eviction notice evidently not yet bearing fruit. Bereft of pain while sitting, or laying in bed, occasionally the... Continue Reading →
It would've been my old man's 84th birthday today. At 9am precisely, and in no particular order, he'd have commenced a ring around of his three offspring in turn. After my siblings Ian, Helen and I had bestowed birthday wishes upon Malcolm, in his engaging Leeds accent, he'd have expressed gratitude for his presents. Our... Continue Reading →
This morning, I undertook the horticultural equivalent of painting the Forth Bridge, when manually removing the plethora of weeds squatting on my lawn. The task of hand eradication necessitated by not possessing a chemical alternative. The products I required not stocked at the small store where I purchase comestibles. And, until yesterday, I was loathed... Continue Reading →
Despite it's best efforts, COVID-19 was unable to affix the ruining of my birthday to it's mammoth collateral damage rap sheet. To be clear, when correlating against the utter global devastation sweeping along in coronavirus' wake, even if lockdown had guided my celebrations down a route to purgatory, I realise the episode wouldn't warrant mention... Continue Reading →
Yesterday, I afforded my readership a narrative titled Making Unwanted History – Part One. Within this piece I suggested the stark times consequential of China's alleged opening of a COVID-19 Pandoras Box will most probably feature as the biggest existential event any of us will ever experience. This unwanted accolade of living with a coronavirus affected... Continue Reading →