Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred

Off The Wall Essays From Deep Within A Capricious Mind

Tag Archive for ‘melancholy’


Sitting in an armchair in my mother’s lounge, there’s an audio accompaniment of clattering crockery emanating from the kitchen as I commence today’s journal. This distracting sound courtesy of her returning freshly washed breakfast bowls, plates and cutlery to their allotted sections of the chamber’s cupboards and drawers. A task I ordinarily assist with when visiting Mrs S senior’s abode, but as I wanted to ‘crack on’ with this literary […]

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Where Are The Clowns?

This morning, as we drove back from the White Rose Shopping Centre to my mater’s abode, we passed the Big Top marque of a travelling circus. Witnessing this huge canvas structure, on the periphery of her village, led to an exchange of views between Mrs Strachan senior and myself about the merits, or otherwise of a circuses entertainment value. The discussion was instigated by my mum jokingly (I think) enquiring “Do you want me to get you a ticket?” Leading to […]

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A Bon Voyage Dinner

Yesterday evening the Strachan brood dined out at a local Italian restaurant. We’d congregated to partake in a Bon Voyage meal for my daughter Rachel, who next week flies to Canada for an as yet unknown duration. It was an emotional evening where wife Karen, my son Jonny, his fiancée Jenny, Rachel and me shared nostalgic family tales of yore, pasta recipes, parmesan and the black pepper. It was a moving couple […]

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Now That’s What I Call Melancholic

I struggled to kick off the duvet and get out of bed this morning. I’m beginning to think the anvil bed throw we bought last week was a mistake. It certainly doesn’t do much for the overnight circulation in my legs. Seriously, though, I’m feeling flat this morning. No, not physically from having an anvil resting on me overnight, I mean mentally. I’m not sure why I feel this way as […]

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I’m Sure It’s My Turn To Commentate Gary!

In today’s blog, I want to share the story of a recently found cassette recording of my sister Helen at the age of three. In it she performs an iconic song from the musical Evita. Her vocal performance was of such quality that, upon hearing it, Grimsby impresario Greg Jameson remarked “Well, It’s a better than the shitbag Mary Grebovski!’s version!” No one knew who Mary Grebovski was, but Helen […]

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