Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
"....Oh June, like the mountains are blue Like the pine I am lonesome for you..." After bidding good riddance to the month of May and a tentative welcome to June's advent here on planet COVID, the above sentiments from Laurel & Hardy's refrain Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia play continuously on loop upon my cranial jukebox. Like... Continue Reading →
With a soundscape of distant radio music and children's brio while frolicking in nearby gardens, GJ Strachan perches garden patio table in situ. His self-appointed mission the scribbling of a second Spring Bank Holiday Monday chronicle. Sheltering from early afternoon solar rays under a hefty parasol, I'm currently afflicted by epiphany impotence. Potential topics for... Continue Reading →
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... 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 →
Perching my posterior on a dining chair ready to commence today's prose, the whirring of power tools are my uninvited audio companion. This din not a consequence of my wife's new addiction to the Sky Pneumatic Drill channel on cable TV. No, this audible intrusion the result of my neighbour's ongoing conversion...... Thankfully, Karen only... Continue Reading →
Friday 11th May - When I woke I'd not much planned for my day. Conspicuous by it's presence, the white space from my old school paper diary forlornly stared back at me - It's chaste pages bereft of itinerary. As it was, my morning was anything but empty. If it had been pre-planned in my... Continue Reading →
Sunday 6th May - In Friday's narrative The Last Ship I penned a parody review of Sting's theatre production of the same name. A thought-provoking drama infused with music manifesting from the creatively fertile mind of the ex-Police frontman. Within the monologue of this offering I omitted to mention that during a former life Sting taught... Continue Reading →
Tuesday 24th April - I'm Bexley Wing in situ, sitting on a waiting room sofa adjacent to my wife. Our attendance at the Leeds hospital wing necessitated by her appointment for monthly oncology treatment. Patients left and right aren't clowns and jokers - Although we are 'stuck in the middle'*** of patients and their brood.... Continue Reading →
Saturday 21st April - Yesterday, a scattering of my dad's ashes were mixed with the potting compost of two azaleas bought in his memory. A big fan of the shrubs that thrive in acidic soil, we thought it a fitting tribute for our late family head. My siblings and mother plan a similar homage to... Continue Reading →