I’ve got a followup appointment with my cardiologist tomorrow. A meeting to discuss my post-heart attack progress, results of my last ultrasound and the recipe for butter-free Butter Chicken. Apparently his signature dish which he quirkily titles ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter Chicken’. Cardiologists, the scourge of take-away restaurant owners, cheese manufacturers, pie-makers and
Tag: inspiration
A decent bottle of Bordeaux, a device which decanters wine prior to its onward journey into the glass, along with a hardback book titled ‘Grumpy Old Git’s Guide to Life’. Tokens of love bequeathed by my two adult children, showing their appreciation for the unconditional love I’ve bestowed upon them for almost three decades. Yesterday’s
Today’s narrative is the 1,500th I’ve written since embarking on this literary odyssey in March 2015. The spring day I setup my website writesaidfred.org, leading me on a locutionary path of cathartic reflection, self-esteem reconstruction and acquiring awareness I’d completely undersold my capabilities for almost half a century. I’m angry with myself for the decades
This morning I spent a couple of hours with a fellow volunteer collecting for Marie Curie Cancer Support (MCCS). Our partner in fundraising, arranged as part of ongoing Tour de Yorkshire celebrations, the Garforth Community Choir (GCC) – A melodious band of brothers and sisters whose upbeat harmonising attracted MCCS benefactors like nectar lures a
It’s my birthday. Without wishing to appear overly melodramatic, a landmark two recent medical afflictions nearly deprived me of. January’s cardiac arrest and a gastric haemorrhage earlier this month a duo of unwelcome life events that battered me physically, but thankfully thus far haven’t broken my mental spirit. Anyhow, enough of the morbid what might’ve
During a period of pondering over my own mortality post cardiac arrest, one of the notions I briefly dwelt upon was what I’d have missed most should the coin have landed on the other side and GJ Strachan hadn’t survived the incident. Despite being capricious of mood and, as my mother would say, exhibiting a
“That famous writer’s block is a myth as far as I’m concerned. I think bad writers must have a great difficulty writing. … They have become writers out of reasons of ambition. It must be a great strain to them to make marks on a page when they really have nothing much to say, and
I have often walked down the street before But the pavement always Stayed beneath my feet before. All at once am I Several stories high Knowing I’m on the street where you live. Alan Jay Lerner’s lyrics from the song ‘On The Street Where You Live’ from the 1956 musical stage production of My Fair
Sadly, the inspiration I sought for today’s narrative topic wasn’t behind door number 14 on the advent calendar. That’s unless I decide to muster a yarn about a red-nosed reindeer indulging in a game of table tennis – A subject path that for many reasons I’ve quite frankly no inclination of embarking on. Consequently, I’m
