Tuesday and I wake up to find my partner still home due to a cancelled physio appointment. She brings me a hot water and then goes off to the gym to do an aqua session. I get up and make myself a muesli breakfast and take my morning meds. My muscles are aching after the last two days training so I take some time to update my journal and prepare it for the coming month. by late morning I am fully organised and prepared. I get into my training kit and wonder if I am doing the right thing, there is always the anxiety that if I over do it I might induce the dread blood in the urine but I am willing to chance it as the benefits outweigh the down side. The garage is cold even though the weather forecast said it was going to be in the 70s. I strap into the rower set the session for 20 minutes, put my ear buds in and tune into Sophie Elis-Bextor’s Kitchen Disco and get under way. It feels a tough session, my body complains but I realise at the 10 minute mark I am doing okay and might improve on yesterdays session. Being driven I pull harder and faster with the result that I do indeed exceed the previous sessions this week. This is a typical case of no gain without pain, not a view I necessarily agree within this case it fits the situation.

So my body was feeling rough but produces a session that is the best yet since I went back to training. I take that that to mean that there is potential to get back to a decent level of fitness. It provides the motivation to continue with my efforts, my diet and water only intake. I wonder if I will be able to row for an hour by Christmas? After a few minutes to recover I take a shower to refresh me and give my body a treat. Feeling refreshed and revived I take to the sofa and start the draft of todays blog. I have been looking on the internet at where my poetry collections get offered and I am surprised at how many stores say they offer it, a lot in America, I think. I am convinced the Americans I first dealt with ripped me off, I’ve never seen any royalties from there. Maybe nothing has ever sold, but I am suspicious.

I wander into the afternoon waiting for the return of my partner before deciding on which task to take up next. My partner returns and we decide to go for a bite to eat and a coffee. We go to a local garden centre that does good coffee and average tuna melts. Having eaten we drive to the garage next door to check my tyres but the air line was not working. I drive on and go to another garage where I check my tyres and to up my fuel tank. Once home I feel fatigued and decide to have a nap. Feeling slightly groggy I rouse myself and go and fil the bird and squirrel feeders. Between the birds and the squirrels they will eat me out of house and home. The light leads I had been waiting for get delivered and I set about making up one to put into the bathroom light that needs mending. By the time this is done its tie to eat and watch England’s football team beat a ten man team. I take my night meds early, watch the first episode of strange American thriller, The Crowded Room. I draft the blog, put the bins out and go off to bed feeling tired.

Monday and I wake up late and slightly achy after yesterdays exertions. When I do get up I get into my training kit before taking my morning meds with orange juice. Then its into the garage and onto the rower. I’ve no ambition beyond doing my 20 minutes so with ear buds in I start out on my row. My body complains but I push on to the end. I am pleased as I find that I have gone further than yesterday and further than the last session 152 days ago. Somewhere inside a small voice is pleased that I can still do this. with the training out of the way I indulge in a toasted tea cake and some water.

In the early afternoon my partner and I go to a local garden centre for a bacon roll and a coffee. While there we peruse the seeds and plants and end up buying some bedding plants for the pots that need reinvigorating. Once home I retreat to the sofa and spend my afternoon reading Cicero’s essays on friendship and old age. Its good stuff but quite dense. After the evening meal my partner goes to her singing lesson while I watch The Big Bang Theory. The evening comes to a close with me taking my night meds and getting to bed relatively early. Tomorrow I shall see if my drugs order has gone through as I plan the travel to our holiday destination on Saturday.

Sunday and wake up after a late night watching Strictly on the i-player. Todays the day I start my recovery properly. There is weight to be lost and fitness to be gained before I can declare myself body fit for Christmas. So no more sweets, biscuits, puddings or nibbles till Christmas and regular exercise, for me that means the rowing machine needs to be used and oiled. I g o to the bathroom for the first of the day and then weigh myself. Its horrific, fat boy weighs in at 104.9 Kilos, that is unacceptable. It is a combination of comfort eating sweet stuff during the misery of 8 months of chemo therapy and the bucket loads of steroids I have taken during that time. All of this must change. I get into my training gear, put my ear buds in and march towards the garage and my rower. I strap myself in and set the rower on level 3, the last level I trained at pre chemo, and set the time for twenty minutes, and then I am pulling away.

It goes okay, I am of course tired but happy that the calf muscle I strained three weeks ago has held up and I have managed the full 20 minutes. I sit on the rower giving myself a minute to recover and then take a photo of the machine’s monitor, so I can compare the data with the last time I trained. I make my breakfast muesli and open a fresh bottle of water. I take my steroids with the food but today is special, its the first day of reducing my steroids below five milligrams, down to four. This is the beginning of the tricky bit of tapering off steroids. At levels below 5mg it will become apparent whether or not my body has switched on its own adrenal system or whether I am going to suffer from adrenal insufficiency. Time will tell and I shall be watching out for fatigue and the other symptoms of the insufficiency.

I check how long its been since I last trained and it turns out that it was on the 30th of April this year, that’s 150 days ago. When I compare my performance today to the last training session back at the end of April I find I am only ten metres short of the April session and expended 1 calorie less than in that session. Given what the last 150 days have contained I am pleased with todays session. In a months time when I reduce my steroids again by 1mg a day I will increase the level of effort to level 4 on the rower. If I keep tapering my steroids dosage by 1mg a month I shall be free of them by February and if I am persistent a few kilos lighter.

With the morning exercise and reduced meds done I record it all in my journal and think about cooking tonight’s meal, I ‘m going to cook my special smoked paprika chicken one pot using the smoked paprika that our Hungarian guest brought us, but in order to do so I need to go and get red wine and bacon. My partner who is gardening decides to accompany me so we walk off to the village shop. This is something I have not done in a while and is a symbol of my perceived inability to do things due to the chemo fatigue. My partner and I arrive at the village co-op quite hot as I had worn my leather biker jacket and she her fleece. We gathered up the food we needed and managed the self check out but not before some one came and ratified that this 78 year old was old enough to buy alcohol. The walk back home was slow. I stowed the goodies and then took to the recliner to start the draft of todays blog before watching the Leicester Tigers play Saracens.

My team lose at the rugby and I make my way to the kitchen where I prepare paprika chicken one pot. There is some football to watch while the food bubbles away. The food is good and moves my partner and I onto watching Zero Day starring Robert De Niro. It keeps us going till I take my meds and head for bed. Day one of the “body fit for Christmas” has gone well, I hope day two goes as well.

Its Friday and I wake up late and rouse myself to get up and make breakfast and take my morning meds. Its a tricky timing day as I need to wait for somethings to arrive before I can send out the review copies of my latest collection. Eventually the posting boxes and the labels are all together and I can start the process of packaging things up. Firstly I have to make sure that I have the right addresses for the recipients. It takes a while to do the research but I eventually get the ten or so addresses that I need. Three daily news papers, two radio stations, a TV channel and a couple of prostate cancer organisations. Armed with my research I start to assemble posting boxes, which I realise I will need to tape up for security. I go and root out my collection of coloured gaffer tapes and in doing so manage to drop a pack of them on my head. Undeterred I carry on and make up the first boxes. I also dig out foam envelopes for the book to go into and then run off the Ruler’s Wit letter head letters to various editors, managers and directors. Of course if anyone responds they will respond to Ruler’s Wit, the publishers so I may never know, at least not quickly. With all the component parts.

By four o’clock in the afternoon I have a pile of ten boxes to go to the Post Office. I load them into carrier bags, which my eldest daughter and I lug across to the post office. The chap behind the post office till does a sterling job of stamping up the posting boxes and eventually hands over my list of tracking numbers. While I have been “boxing” my eldest daughter has gathered up a paper and treats for the evening. I return home relieved that the task is done. Somewhere in the day I have exchanged emails with the publishing team and decided to have hardback versions of my last two book made. It means that all of the Cancer Years series will be in hardback and may physically survive for longer.

The evening is filled with watching the end of The Recruit and the start of a series called Cracked. The later is poor and I think I will be searching for a more engaging series to watch. Finally I go to bed having taken my night meds and watched some of a Timothy Daulton Bond film. I conclude that he was underrated but I do not stay to the end of the film.

Saturday and it is a Poetry Stanza day, via Zoom today. I wake quite late to find my partner has gone with her brother to their mother in the care home. I spend time having breakfast, taking my morning meds and preparing the office for me to attend the poetry stanza meeting. This includes reading all the poems through and thinking about which one I will offer to read. There are some really good poems this month. Unfortunately I cannot share them here but perhaps in the future they will become available. I will share mine though, it is one that is not in the latest collection.

552
It’s the persistent alive
that are the pain.
The thankless resentful
who cling on,
making their children pay
in guilt and anxiety
with no regard for the  
anguish the others
have to contain.
As everything fails 
the character hardens,
the anger and pettiness
rises and is released
on those that love the most,
those that work to
make dying humane,
the care enough
and the pain less.
Fighting to the end
means everyone is the enemy
and all are in the cross hairs 
of discontent and frustration.
Death knocks loudly
but has the door
slammed in its face.
There are more days,
more opportunities
to express displeasure,
to vent the fear of going
and the loss of selfhood.
Everything is taken by nature,
the growing old, the infirmity
of a being ending. 
All around the family 
grits its collective jaw
and makes the arguments
for patience, tolerance
and doing the right thing.
Partnerships absorb the tears,
the helplessness, and self doubt,
and sometimes, just sometimes
whisper “ it would be kinder 
if they were dead”.
But dead they are not
and until they are 
there is no relief 
for anyone.
Either Nature has got it wrong
or medicine got too clever.
Humanity no longer understands
how to do this?

                                                            551 13-08-2026

I spend time before the meeting with my partner on the swing seat and then fill the bird and squirrel feeders before returning to my partner on the swing seat. In very few minutes the squirrel appears as do the birds. They have an uncanny knack of knowing when I have just filled their feeders. No chance of them starving this winter.

The poetry stanza goes well and my “on the nose” poem seems to be accepted. Some of the other poems are just brilliant, especially the ones about how our modern internet living is excruciating. The discussion and analysis of the poetry is always informed and intelligent, there are many good brains in the group. It is fascinating to hear what other people are picking up in the world and what issues move them to write poetry about it. It was a really good meeting.

Post stanza meeting I settle down to draft the blog for yesterday and today, while my partner prepares tea and we both wait for Tesco to deliver our weekly food shop. Tonight England play Spain, so we shall be watching that before sliding off to bed. Tonight is an important night. It is the last night I shall be taking 5mg of my steroids. Tomorrow I start the serious tapering off of the steroids, so I will be down to 4mg as of tomorrow. I have also decided that this is the moment to start to train, so tomorrow I will get my arse back on the rower and endeavour to kick start my body back on the road to fitness. It also means this is my last night of treats, no more sweets, biscuits and sweet snacks. My aim is to be body fit for Christmas. That’s just three short months away.

Thursday and I wake up feeling crap and with a head ache, not sure why. My partner brings me a hot water which I sip as I sort out the next Tesco delivery slot. I get up and have my meds before packing my shoulder bag to take to the gym, I drive my partner to the gym where I order a bacon roll and a black coffee to eat while I set to work on my laptop. I down a couple of paracetamol and check my emails. The draft letter from the publishers is there. I have to say their additions to my draft are a definite improvement. Later in the day I run off copies and start to pack up review copies to be sent out. I spend time trying to decide which poem to take to Saturdays poetry stanza meeting. The choice is wide but I narrow it down to two possible poems. Its a decision I will make on later in the day.

My partner finishes her aqua class and finds me dozing in the gym lounge. We have coffee before I drive us home via the pharmacy to pick up my steroids. Once home I load up my dugs dossettes with my reducing steroids. I move on to reading my energy meters and sending the readings off. The draft letter for the publishers is worked on again and I send off my poem for this weeks poetry stanza.

Amazon delivers the books and the labels I have been waiting for so I am able to make up the first parcel of books. This one goes to the author of the Foreword for the collection. All this admin takes me to the evening meal and then on to another episode of Slow Horses and more in the series of The Recruit. I finish off the blog for the day and take my night meds before going to bed hoping for a lay in tomorrow.

Tuesday and I wake to hot water and a timetable to get up as I’m going to accompany my partner to the gym, she to do aqua aerobics and me to have a bacon roll and a shower. So having taken my morning meds my partner drives us to the gym. My partner disappears to change and I await my bacon roll, at which point my partner’s brother appears. We chat and sip our coffees until he leaves for home. Having eaten my roll I head for the showers and indulge in multiple doses of body wash. Feeling refreshed and clean I meet up with my partner and we drive of home. We do not make it home as we decide to eat lunch out at our local Pesto. The place is empty and quiet as we dine whilst outside the sun shines. The food is good and of course I cannot resist the Affogato with a shot of Amoretto. Finally we get home, well fed and content.

On reaching home I head for the garden swing seat to gently rest. I am soon joined by a squirrel who rummages through the lawn looking for peanuts. My partner joins me to read and soon we are joined by a second squirrel, so the pair of them continue to search through the garden for food. And so the rest of the afternoon passes until it starts to get chilly and we retreat indoors to the comfort of the lounge. I check my messages and emails and then I decide to radically reorganise my end of the sofa, which means sorting out my piles of books and all the impedimenta that I have acquired to entertain me or do my life admin. It takes ages but by the end I have a pile of poetry books and a pile of reading books, the unread ones or ones in process at the top. Another pile is completed journals, the current journals and my spare ones. This pile is next to my own poetry book pile and the they are all surrounded by odds and ends that I am sure I will need.

There is more of The Recruit to watch before I take my night meds and get myself to bed.

.

.

Wednesday arrives after a reasonable night sleep. My partner brings me hot water and I get ready to take my partner to lunch. First I have to draft a letter to send to potential book reviewers. With my admin out of the way I drive my partner to a distant garden centre for lunch. We take our time over the food and then spend some time looking at what the garden centre has to offer and in the end we buy some plant seeds before driving home.

I was tempted just to rest but I made the effort and got into the garden where I emptied the pots that had the sunflowers in them. It took a while to remove the canes and retrieve the ties before I got the pots free. I replanted the three pots with Narcisssus bulbs and netted them to prevent the squirrels from digging them up. They should flower in March next year but I suspect that of we have a mild winter they could flower earlier. With everything packed away I return inside for tea and to watch the the final episodes of season one of The Recruit. I finish the blog for the day, take my night meds and go to bed. Today I have felt fatigued but I am hoping its just a passing bad day.

Sunday and I wake quite late to get up and make toast to take my meds with. Our guest has slept well and appears to be enjoying her stay. The morning is idled away until its time to go for Sunday lunch at a local pub. Its a pub that is surviving quite well in a comfortable village. We are joined by my partners brother and we all sit down to a traditional Sunday roast. Going to eat at 2 o’clock is now our favoured time as by then most people have eaten and left, which means even in big venues it is quieter. Quiet enough to have a conversation without having to shout above the background noise. I go for the special pudding of the day, which is, spiced rum and pineapple crumble with custard. It is delicious. We ,with our Hungarian guest, decide that what to eat with a crumble should be in the citizenship test. Any answer other than custard should mean instant failure, every true Brit knows it has to be custard with crumble. We relax over coffee until we finally pay the bill and head for home.

Once home I head for the recline and unashamedly fall asleep while my partner and our visitor drink tea and sit in the garden. By the time I am awake its time to gather and watch a couple of films, one a very English comedy, which I am not sure our Hungarian guest understood all the jokes, but fund funny anyway, and Heat a Sandra Bullock film. By the time the films ended people went off to bed and left me to take my meds and watch Mock the Week.

Monday and I wake up to voices downstairs as our guest is up and about. My partner brings me hot water and I eventually get up to do myself toast and take my morning meds. There is a short time to chat before my partner’s brother arrives to take everyone, except me, to see my partners mother in the care home. Our guest is going as well as someone is going to meet her at the care home to give her a lift to Birmingham from where she can continue her journey to Cardiff. I finish my breakfast and then head for the garden where I refill the bird feeders and replenish the squirrel feeder. It is not long before the squirrel is out and about while I sit on the swing seat.

I clear out the covered raised propagators of old pots and trays and get them ready to go to the recycling bins at one of our garden centres. It is turning into a sunny day so I take pictures of the flowers that have started to flower for a second time this season and those still about to bloom.

I return to the swing seat and take in the garden and the blue sky. Almost inevitably I pen another poem.

560
My world gets smaller.
There are fewer messages,
a diminution of letters
and less emails.
The world is busy 
and I am not,
so my world becomes
squirrels and bird feeders
in an autumn 
uncommonly warm.
It feels like stasis,
a standing still
of the soul.
In my head
a long to do list
none of which
impels me to action.
Me and the squirrel 
potter in the garden,
him living and me
glad to have read Cicero.

                                                            560 21-09-2026

I return to the lounge and start todays draft of the blog but not before ordering some posting boxes. I intend to send out more review copies of my new poetry collection. It was a futile exercise last time but I’m willing to try again if I can get the publishers to play ball. My partner and brother return from the care home visit having safely handed on our visitor to her next lift on her journey to Cardiff. In due course my partner and I dive to the garden centre for a coffee and something to nibble before I buy bird seed and suet balls for the garden feeders. As we leave the garden centre we add our bags of old flower pots and trays to the recycling piles in the car park.

Once home I stow the bird fee in the containers it he garden shed and ensure they are secure. With on of the days jobs ticked off I return to the sofa and the blog as my partner prepares for her singing lesson this evening. I need to talk to my publishers and get my review distribution letter sorted as I shall soon be in a position to send copies out. Of course I will try the Lancet again, but I am not sure where else to direct them, perhaps Chris Hoy and the TV presenter Nick Owen, fellow prostate cancer fighters. Of course there are charities like McMillian and Prostate Cancer UK, Tackle Prostate Cancer who might be interested. In terms of the poetry world I will of course try The Poetry Review, but with little hope. The Telegraph, The Guardian and the Times Literary Review are all possibilities and maybe one or two on line magazines like Ink, Sweat and Tears and perhaps Magma. It would be nice if there was some local interest but I doubt it exists. For all of those kind people who have actually bought my work I would nudge them to write reviews on their suppliers websites. Amazon could do with a review or two. I actually thought about writing a couple myself but that is just not cricket and would be very poor form indeed.

Evening arrives and tea is eaten before my partner begins her singing lesson and I resort to TV violent films, it is my one chance. I will progress to a late edition of Mock the Week before I down my night meds and go off to bed. Tomorrow is a gym day, that’s shorthand for bacon roll and a shower. I have to say I have felt better today, my calf muscle seems to be well mended and I have had some energy to think and potter with. What I need to do now is grit my teeth and begin the long haul back to fitness. I want to be Christmas body fit!

Friday is a quiet day so I take my time getting up and taking my morning meds. I discover that I have begun the day with a headache so its not long before I am taking paracetamol and trying to rest. This is me for much of the day, trying to stay quiet and waiting for things to get better. One bright moment was the arrival of my new leather biker jacket. Its a Joe Browns real leather one much like the one I have got too fat for. It teaches me that once again you get what you pay for as this jacket is a million miles from the rubbish plastic thing that China served up as a biker jacket. Class costs. By the evening I was feeling a bit more chipper and managed to do some life admin related to the latest poetry collection. By the evening I am TV fit and watch a couple of decidedly family friendly films before taking my night meds and getting myself off to bed. Its been a slow day that I just had to go with.

Saturday and my partner brings me hot water before I get up for breakfast and my morning meds. Then its all go to get he house ready for the arrival of our house guest, a previous carer for my partner’s mother, who is coming over from Hungry to work. Bins get emptied and I re-tighten the loo seat as well as packing stuff away. I get a message to tell me that the Kindle version of the latest poetry collection is now available. I start to watch the mid day football match until our visitor arrives. My partner makes lunch and then goes off with her brother and our guest to see her mother at the care home and I watch the end of the match while starting to draft todays blog.

My afternoon is all rugby until the evening meal. The family watch the start of the new Strictly season with our guest from Hungry. At the end everyone goes to bed and leave me to take my meds and finish the blog before bed.

Thursday and I get up, take my meds and accompany my partner to the gym. While my partner bobs about in the aqua class I read and write. I also drink coffee and eat a bacon roll. I am reading The Correspondent by Virginia Evans. It is a story told through correspondence so as a letter writer it really appeals to me.

After a brief lunch with my partner I shower and the continue to read and write. A short verse comes out.

559
I’ve declared a state of
partial remission.
After seven years
I finally reach the criteria.
In my second 12 to 18 month
prognosis I achieve a first.
Its bitter sweet
and ironic.
The worse the life expectancy
the better the condition,
is this some cruel joke 
or an act of whimsy 
my body and cancer 
have contrived. 
False hope before the hammer blow
and the appearance 
of Death and Binky,
his horse,
to take me off 
to the great
Terry Pratchett
disc in the sky.

						559 17-09-2026 
						David Lloyd lounge. 

In no time at all I go into the beautician to have my nails done. As my nails have started to settle down post chemo I decide to have my subtle sparkles revived. At the end of my session I go home with my partner and rest over adjusting the Tesco order for tomorrow. As the evening arrives so Amazon deliver two copies of my new poetry collection, The Cancer Years: The Rechallenge. It is always a thrill to have a new book in my hands. I am pleased with the way it has turned out. It feels like a proper reality and a proper collection that has a context. I know the world at large are not interested but the whole idea of the poetry and blog is that there is something for family and friends to know me by. The interesting thing is the way poetry becomes its own thing as others read it and alter it. It acquires a life of its own and no longer mine. Its a strange experience. Now I have the new collection done I need to post some more readings on the YouTube and update my poetry website.

I ease through the evening with the new series of Slow Horses and then draft the blog. I take my night meds and go to bed feeling that today has been a good day.

Wednesday and I wake up after a reasonable night’s sleep. Our house guest has left early as usual and my partner gets up and brings me hot water and toast. I was hoping to be okay today but it soon becomes clear that I am not. My gut is still sore from the injection and I feel rough. Post toast and chat I get up to take my meds. My partner’s gym class is cancelled so we agree to go to a garden centre for a bite to eat. I was going to drive but my soreness is a pain so my partner drives us.

My partner and I indulge in bacon rolls and coffee while we chat about where we might go for a break. Tenby and Westwood Ho! seem to be favourites. We leave the garden centre empty handed which is unusual for us and head home. Due to my morning disappointment over the plastic/leather bikers jacket I head to Trust pilot to write a stinking review. Unfortunately the process requires log into either Apple, Google or some thing else and of course there are passwords to navigate. In the end its all too much faff and I abandon the task, but vow to return to it. As a result of my buying experience with Manssino I go to my trusted Joe Browns and order myself a replacement biker jacket. It is my one winter clothes buy for 2026/7 as I attempt a Marlon Brando look, The Wild One look not the Godfather image, as I prepare for winter. With the new jacket ordered my partner and I look for a break away in October by the sea side and after research and some consideration we enquire about a place in Tenby. Never been before but it has beaches and people seem to live there without too much trouble, so we await the landlord to reply to us. Going through my emails I note the programme for The Consortium of Therapeutic Communities has no input from the prison TCs. I dash off an email to an old colleague ask if she is aware of any problem. I still keep an eye on therapeutic communities, I think that were a big part of my life so it is not easy to ignore them. I ring the GP and try to book an appointment to talk about tapering off my steroids as asked to by my oncologist. I explain but I am them put on hold. The receptionist comes back to me and tells me the doctor will review it and ring me back! I just know I am about to get caught in between clinicians arguing over who is responsible for me or the process. So I sit and wait for the outcome.

While waiting I write a list of things I do to keep my mental health good. First on the list was “turn off Jeremy Vine”. I then start to draft the blog. Tonight my partner is going out for a meal with a friend so I shall be watching a football match and pondering on whether now is the time to get a layer of nail polish on when I have my nails done tomorrow. These are the issues that really matter, Putin, Trump and the rest of the power crazed, and in some cases religiously bigoted, can find their own ways to misery and demise, I’m too busy to get them out of the shit they have created for themselves. I think clear varnish or subtle sparkles will do. Most important of all is that I should receive the first copies of my latest poetry collection.