Shoot That Metaphorical Arrow

Upon entering the living room in Chez Strachan on the morning of 14th February, I was greeted by an unexpected audible ping. With it being Valentines Day, the poet within me romanticised this aural distraction may’ve emanating from Cupid’s bow string. Its source the forceful triggering an arrow in my direction; a gesture of amour…

The Way We Were

As I meander down today’s literary path, my mind’s in a poetic place. The catalyst to these notions yours truly’s inability to shake the refrain The Way We Were from my neurological corridors. The Alan Peterson/Marilyn Peterson/Marvin Hamlisch Academy Award winning collaboration currently repeat playing in my cranial jukebox. The tune, mooted as resurrecting Barbra…

A Decent Proposal

Yesterday I got completely blindsided when I was asked “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?” It was a question I wasn’t expecting, coming as it did during a conversation about flue location limitations after recent changes in gas fitting regulations. It appears the bloke servicing my boiler was as chuffing random as yours truly! My wife may disagree, but…

An Anything But Brief Encounter

It was a dark unforgiving Lancastrian afternoon. In a scene not too dissimilar to Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson’s farewell in the 1945 movie Brief Encounter, an enamoured couple stood on the platform at Manchester Piccadilly railway station. In a matter of minutes the train would leave to distant parts. Tears welled in their ever…

Are Those Real Arrows She’s Using?!

This morning, as I entered the living room in Chez Strachan, I was greeted by an unexpected audible ping. I foolishly romanticised that the noise was that of Cupid’s bow string, as it forcefully triggering an arrow in my direction; a gesture of amour from a love struck valentine. However, this notion was soon dispelled…