Gary Strachan – "Write" Said Fred
Whimsical observations from deep within an erratic mind
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... Continue Reading →
A few days back, in the narrative Adieu To Grandad Jack’s Ladders, I relayed the tale of chucking a 53 year old set of step ladders into a skip. This garbage receptacle hired for use in a purge a multitude of items garage in situ. These steps, which'd been my paternal grandfathers elevation aids, hadn't... Continue Reading →
Today, due to an itinerary containing domestic chores of higher priority, GJ Strachan's daily journal commenced later than usual. As a consequence of beef casserole preparation, along with ironing a pile of recently laundered clothes, my arrival at the laptop keyboard was delayed until the sun'd already passed over the yardarm. Incidentally, use of 'the... Continue Reading →
I'd a fractured slumber overnight; my disrupted sleep pattern proving as erratic as Mr Magoo's driving skills. Falling asleep at 9pm, during an episode of Netflix drama 'Unbelievable', I woke around 12.40am disorientated, wondering why I was wearing a Scooby Doo fancy dress outfit. Footnote - A fractured slumber isn't to be confused with a... Continue Reading →
Yours truly's itinerary for today incorporates the 'verve infusing' chore of ironing laundry - Clothing and bedsheets amassed after yesterday's sojourn through washing machine and dryer...... Incidentally, that was the laundry, not GJ Strachan, navigating the washer/dryer. Footnote - Yeah, I agree I probably didn't need to suffix the word ironing with the word laundry.... Continue Reading →
It's the 1st January 2021, and the Christmas tree is down. I've no idea why it's down, I'd have thought it'd been glad to see the end of the 365 day s***show that concluded at midnight. I'll have to see if MiracleGro manufacture a horticultural version of prozac to pep the fella back up. Clearly,... Continue Reading →
Bank Holiday Monday brought forth an early reveille for yours truly. Given a 8am - 1pm window for my boiler's annual service, a rarely used watch alarm was set for 7.30am. Making my breakfast early on a cold, dark wintertide morn an activity I'd not undertaken for a long, long time. Footnote - All other... 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 →
This morning, upon opening advent calendar door number fifteen, I was greeted by the 'Souls of the Oppressed'. Although affable enough spirits, particularly when you take into account the terrible suffering they've endured, I'm beginning to hold misgivings about investing in Torture magazine's festive calendar***. Todays's bestowal as disturbing as the 'Fingernails of No Return' which... Continue Reading →