Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
Friday saw me venture north to visit my son Jonathon and fiancee Jenny's new home in the suburbs of Thirsk. A town which when I last visited, in December 2019, yours truly idiosyncratically described as follows in earlier prose:- "An enchanting North Yorkshire market town - Without doubt the most beguiling place I've visited which's... Continue Reading →
Thirty one years ago tomorrow, at just gone 3am, I became a father for the first time when my son Jonathon made a belated appearance at a Bedfordshire hospital. His arrival followed a harrowing seven hours for his mum, and me shouting myself hoarse with frequent cries of “Heave!”….. An unhelpful yell that, in hindsight, probably made it appear there... Continue Reading →
This morning, while prepping questions for tomorrows Zoom quiz with the chaps, I've been researching old 1970 TV commercials online. From this trawl down memory lane, I've just productively completed penning ten 'true or false' inquiries. Vigour further inflated by evocations of fond childhood recollections flooding the old cranium during my random delving. Ad tag... Continue Reading →
Six days after my central heating boiler started leaking, today an engineer is at last attending casa Strachan to (hopefully) repair the dripping box. Consequential of warranty red tape, ie the installer not sending it to the appliance manufacturer, the progress of securing a gas fitters service has been sloth like. Sadly, the swiftness companies... Continue Reading →
Today's chronicle is the first I've had the opportunity to pen for three days. Far more important existential events have required my attention in the previous 72 hours than sitting self-indulgently crafting prose. Anyhow, yours truly is back with quill and parchment, more as a mental health efficacy than any enthusiasm to wax lyrical. At... Continue Reading →
As a club cricketer over three decades, today I'm moved to pen a soupçon of club cricket tearoom recollections. A between innings undertaking which's for generations predominantly lain in the hands of amateur cricketer's wives, mums and girlfriends. Warm-hearted volunteers giving up their summer Saturday afternoons, ensuring attending teams/crowd are provided with sustenance, a warm smile and the occasional rollocking... Continue Reading →
This morning, in preparation for the arrival of a garbage skip later this week I've undertaken the stress busting task of smashing up a single bed with a lump hammer. Like pounding a punch bag, which I undertook during circuit sessions when pre-COVID gym visits were allowed, it's a chore bequeathing an immeasurable lightening of... Continue Reading →
As alluded to in yesterday's narrative Variety Show, last night was Zoom quiz evening. Three hours during which seven like minded fellows engaged in inquisitorial combat. It's victor afforded the spoils of a half empty 2 litre bottle of Castrol GTX motor oil and a bag of scampi that'd lain unloved for 17 years in... Continue Reading →
This morning, upon opening door 17 of the Strachan advent calendar, I was startled when confronted by a sharp creaking sound. Uncertain of its source, I concluded the noise had either emanated from my yet to warm up middle aged limbs, or was a consequence of rusty calendar door hinges. With the festive adornment's cardboard composition, I swiftly... Continue Reading →