Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
“If only I don't bend and break, I'll meet you on the other side, I'll meet you in the light. If only I don't suffocate, I'll meet you in the morning when you wake.” Thoughts and emotions I heard relayed last Friday evening. To clarify the above wasn’t delivered as a morbid goodnight message from my partner, Sarah. An audio... Continue Reading →
As I commence penning these observations, I am sitting outside my campervan on the periphery of the North Yorkshire seaside haven of Scarborough. Situated within a pleasant camping park, the surrounding areas provide an aesthetically pleasing accompaniment to my literary toil. I am unsure of the specific names of the rolling tree lined hills bestowing... Continue Reading →
Yesterday, yours truly returned from spending Christmas at mater's to reacquaint myself with the role of housesitter at my marital home in east Leeds.. GJ Strachan's Boxing Day one of greater dietary self-restraint than witnessed during Christmas Day's over indulgence. Instead, my time filled writing, watching classic old movies, an Alan Partridge episode and consumption... Continue Reading →
The scene played out at midnight on the periphery of Leeds city train station. To the backdrop of sparkling city square Christmas lights, a bearded middle aged man huddled in his Superdry wind cheater amongst a throng of almost a hundred fellow revellers. Like minded individuals who similarly sought refuge from the biting cold, along with... Continue Reading →
The show one of my hosts in Canada stage-managed at Kingston Grand Theatre came to a conclusion yesterday evening. Speaking to production staff at an end of run dinner, they submitted that performances of David Lindsay-Abaire's play Rabbit Hole had been a great success. The dinner, eaten in a German restaurant on Kingston High Street, named Amadeus... Continue Reading →
This is my second attempt at commencing today's narrative. The hundred or so words I originally penned disappearing into an e-ether after, while hindered by having to wax lyrical on my mobile phone instead of laptop, inadvertently deleted the draft. They say a bad workman blames his tools. However, in my case earlier, it was... Continue Reading →
As a fan of it's excellent first series, the other day I began watching the second series of drama Killing Eve on BBC iPlayer. The story of the hunt for a psychopathic Russian hit woman played by Jodie Comer; the Scouser winning a Best Actress BAFTA for her convincingly evil portrayal in the season one. Last... Continue Reading →
As I start this monologue, yours truly lounges unceremoniously in a dining room armchair. Ten minutes earlier I was dining unceremoniously in a lounge armchair?! This maverick misuse of architectural design a juxtaposition of which I've a self-indulgent weakness. On commencement of this sentence my wife Karen has kindly wandered from the kitchen bearing gifts... Continue Reading →
Recently, I've felt moved to pen a few unreliable memories from my upbringing on Low Fell. The Gateshead borough which on its southern border, shared with Low Eighton and Birtley, resides one of the countries most iconic sculptures, the Angel of the North. When I left my parent's three bedroom semi-detached home on Dorchester Gardens in 1987... Continue Reading →