Only a week after the Leeds United family were robbed of legendary centre-back Norman Hunter by COVID-19, his Don Revie era team mate Trevor Cherry, or Churry as my dad’s West Yorkshire dialect would sell you, has also passed, at the age of 72. As I write, I’ve absolutely no idea whether coronavirus precipitated Cherry’s…
Tag: random
Allume Mon Feu
This evening, consumption of a takeaway chicken balti supper fulfilling a week long craving for cuisine from the Indian sub-continent. A modest feast raising my spirits after an earlier fraught encounter with my estranged wife; more of which I wrote in Jees, They Really Built These Things! Before moving on, I’d like to clarify that when writing…
Day & Night Terrors
It’d be fair to observe that prevailing global events adorn a hat named darkly surreal. In varying degrees of severity, these day terrors tainting most of human existences worldwide. This unchartered landscape, impacting everyone’s lives in such epic proportions that if experienced during night terrors would be disregarded as too fantastical to countenance as possible….
Keep It Down!!
It’s been endearing to receive so many birthday wishes via social media. I’m always appreciative when individuals take time to convey regards; a gratitude mirrored when also making space in their schedules for tarries to my website writesaidfred.org and/or read my narratives. With my time predominantly spent in solitude for a few years now, by…
One For Zorro, Two For Joy, Three For….
To utilise urban patois, this afternoon the West Yorkshire sun is cracking the flags. If yours truly could muster enough enthusiasm to paint his current garden view, the spectator of the final oil based vision would be bequeathed an aesthetically pleasing horticultural landscape. This sight incorporating a manicured emerald lawn, sandstone retaining wall, along with…
Starter For Ten
Four general knowledge laden hours passed. An inquisitional tarry undertaken by six northern Englishmen; bonded by decades of acquaintance, fondness of the creative and incriminating photos. Despite quizzical feuding for 240 minutes, or so, the contest concluding with no identifiable winner of any of the segmental battles, or the ultimate war. A disorganised hotchpotch of…
The Glove From Above
This evening, I’ll be partaking in a virtual quiz with a group of Gateshead buddies. As I write I’ve no idea of the question format quizmaster Jeff Patterson will adopt. However, I’m hoping there’s a food and drink category, which among its enquiries includes the insightful catechism “What did Gary Strachan have the morning for…
Animals Are We
At a risk of alienating my readers and social media followers, this week I’ve embarked upon the always risky strategy of publishing my poetry. A controversial pastime which led to the following observations on the blurb of a poetry book I self-published a couple of years back. Today’s sonnet contains a few observations about the…
Bananas
With the bountiful clematis and aquilegia buds a couple of weeks from florescence, chez Strachan’s garden will shortly be illuminated with their first real chromatic views of 2020. The well-established clematis in particular will proudly brandish hundreds of small pale pink flowers; blossoms which cover the whole width of my back fence. Burgeoning effloresce which,…