Wednesday, another bin day and, on this occasion, an oncology review day. I do my usual eighty eight minutes of pre rising rituals, including a poem and then get up to shower.

553
It takes eighty eight minutes 
to do my life each morning.
Messages, emails, news feeds,
TV listings and my vitals.
That’s it.
From then on its all vertical potential,
Showers, to do lists and inspiration.
Occasionally there is disease control,
talks with oncologists, dates in diaries
and a rearranged timetable.
I wonder if I’ll talk to anyone today,
someone outside the household.
Hermit time makes the cogs turn,
wheel inwards and soar into fantasy
in which a hero overcomes all. 
What falls is ink on paper
and another jotting in the series
scalds the marks of the journey.
So now the difficult bit,
getting on with life
and doing the ordinary.
I message:
“is anyone out there”

							533 27-05-2026

I make breakfast and then retreat to the sofa to type up my poem and draft the blog while I wait for the oncologist to call. At 13:00 ” he who made a pact with the devil” calls. He asks how I am, how my bowels are, how my numb hands are and explains the options. He says that he cannot predict which of three groups I will fall into regarding PSA rise. One group goes for 12 months, one group goes for fourth months and one just rises. I was given the option of resting, quitting or carrying on. In essence it was up to me. I chose to go for cycle 8 this Friday on a reduced dose to see if the PSA will come down any further. If it does great and cycle 9 is a possibility, if it doesn’t then there is no point in going on with the rechallenge and I have to consider the possibility of a sister drug. Same family, same side effects! Maybe worth a go. So my dye is cast, back to pre chemo steroids tomorrow.

To celebrate my partner and I go for a bacon roll and a drink in the local garden centre. We chat about some of the issues but my partners mother and other things as we enjoy our rolls. Having enjoyed our break we walk through the till and pay for three bags of compost. While I collect the car my partner collects a member of staff to load the compost into the boot of the car. We drive home and I head for the sofa and the Paris Open to watch Djokovic struggle in the heat against a Frenchman. I’m not a great fan of Djokovic but I am now always drawn to the veteran players, I always root for the elder player. We older folk need to stick together. As Djokovic looses the third set, I loose interest as it means the match will drag on for ages and my attention will never last out that long. I think there should be a time limit on tennis matches. Once it gets to two and a half hours whoever is ahead should win. I read review articles about chemo rechallenge, specifically for prostate cancer. It seems all the reviews show that the current studies and trails show that is you responded well to the chemo (specifically Doxetaxel) the first time then there was a reasonable chance you would respond well in the rechallenge. My PSA has reduced by at east 50% so far. The related relapse time ranged from approximately 12 months to 50 months. I suspect the 50 months may well be an outlying result due to some specific elements of the particular study, but one can hope. Djokovic wins in four sets in 3 hours 50 minutes. A victory for age.

The evening rolls in. I water the sunflowers and eat tea before intending to watching another European football final. This time its Crystal Palace that is going for a trophy. I shall watch and go to bed knowing that I need to start my pre chemo steroids in the morning.

Monday, a Bank Holiday, and its a very hot day. I get up and sit on the patio having eaten breakfast and taken my meds. I sit in the sunshine and write a poem felling overwhelmed, but not quite sure why.

532
So its thirty degrees plus
and I am up to my eyes
in rules. 
All the shoulds and oughts 
that would keep me alive.
The exercise I struggle to do,
the diet I should eat,
the tasks and to do list
that would give me 
quality of life. 
A life of denial of 
Dis and dat
to keep me healthy.
But I’m not, healthy that is,
I’m fighting prostate cancer
and the more ill I feel 
the greater the rules,
the rights and wrongs of 
survival grow.
If I gave them all up
what would become of me?
It all ends in death anyway
so what am I clinging to?
Life of course,
But I’m not sure why anymore.
If living becomes filled with tasks 
then life becomes a chore,
a series of tick off jobs
with no guarantees.
I tell myself its part of the battle,
the taking control,
of how I fight my corner
so I can stay longer.
Again I wonder for what if 
I cannot function well enough
to do the ordinary,
to be good enough.
I wonder if I’ve already lost
and what is worse is that 
I’ve mislaid my ability to be reckless.
A simple glass of wine,
an indulgence or two
seem to pass me by.
Remind me,
what am I living for again.
Just the satisfaction that I’m not dead yet?
Well that’s no life at all!
I think I am a coward,
I do as I’m told
I take my meds
I give my bloods
and struggle on,
what was it I’m looking for?
Quality of life!
Oh yes that,
It seems I have fucked that up.
A neat realisation as I wait for the 
pain killers to kick in.
Its all a malaise
in which I cling to words,
words to read and to write 
as I try to make meaning of all this.
It feels very alone 
and maybe that’s the point.
There is no one but me 
who can live and die this conundrum. 
It’s a rule.

						532 25-05-2026

As the day warms up to its scorching heat I alternate between soem gardening and sitting in the fan cooled lounge reading or doing odd life admin tasks. My eldest daughter gave me a copy of her board report from her doctorial Viva. I read it through, its a really good report. It is clear that the board was very impressed with the content and quality of her work. The whole devising of a new methodology is impressive. It is a well deserved PhD and one that has real relevance to people and the criminal justice system today, which is more than can be said for some things that get awarded the same accolade.

Slowly over the day I finally get my sunflower seedlings planted up in their new containers. I have to do this in stages but I eventually get it done. I just hope the bloody squirrel does not dig them up. I will be interested to see how they survive, they are supposed to be purple “teddy bear” sun flowers. If they survive and grow they should be spectacular.

With the sunflowers out in the world I take pictures of the new flowers that have bloomed today in the ever increasing heat. The peonies and the roses seem to be the most happy in this heat. I take more pictures and then retreat to the cool of the lounge and its cooling fan.

Due to the heat the family eat late and then I and my partner finish our binge watch of Death Valley and the joys of Timothy Spall playing an actor. We round off the evening with the final episode of Grace. I took my meds and went off to bed while my partner continued to isolate to fully recover from her recent bout of vomiting and diarrhea.

Tuesday and I am up early after a terrible nights thrashing about in bed. I did not sleep more than two hours at any time last night. So I am up at 7:30 and in the kitchen making the breakfast. I eat breakfast, take my meds and then catch up with drafting the blog. With the drat as far as it can go I wander into the garden, raise the sun shade and then roll out the hose and top up the tiny pond. No sign of any frogs, I think the pond is toxic. Once refilled I try and get the solar pump working and eventually after a lot of scrapping I get it going again. Its ideal weather for the solar pump so I am hoping it will help clear the pond a bit. It is still brilliant sunshine but the forecast says there is a thunder storm on the way.

My partner and I share a pizza for lunch after which I read a bit of another new book. It is the sixth in the “Before the Coffee Gets Cold” series by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. I have read all the others and like the unusual premise of them. You can go back in time but you cannot change anything, It leads to some very interesting situations and is very philosophically Japanese.

The afternoon passes with reading and some more light gardening. There is some poetry admin to do to make sure that all my back ups are in place as I prepare to publish again in a few weeks. I return to the garden and despite the forecast suggesting a thunderstorm I water the garden with the hose. Despite the odd rumble of thunder there is no sign of rain. I slip into the evening very tired, I eat tea and then watch TV till I take my meds and get to bed. Tomorrow I have an oncology review which will determine if I start cycle 8 on Friday on a lower dosage. \its an important decision.

Saturday starts early at 5 o’clock due to my partner being ill. She has been up all night with sickness and diarrheal. It later became clear that her brother has the same thing. It seems they caught it from visiting their mother in hospital. As the paramedic put it later “hospitals are just one big petri dish!” It seems he was right. My partner was so bad i had to ring 111 and they sent out their emergency ambulance. The tqo para medics were very good and did a lot of tests and assessements. They concluded that hospital was not necessary and that management at home was the way to go. They rang their senior consultant to confirm their findings and to sign off the care plan. Once they had gone my partner began the long journey back to health by sipping water and sleeping.

I tried to keep things going by doing the meter readings and doing a Tesco order for the next day along with some washing. As for the rest of the time I watched women’s football, men’s rugby and films. punctuated by a Nando’s chicken meal, a shared experience with my eldest daughter. Eventually I went off to bed with my night meds and just pleased their bug had not got to me. In all of the toing and froing of the day I also downloaded my blood results from Fridays tests. They are very much the same as the previous set, which by and large is a good thing. My PSA had risen from 4.1 to 4.3, which was a bit dispiriting but I guess 0.2 is a reasonable deviation.

Sunday and its blazing hot. My partner seems to have had a better night. I get up and make breakfast, which I eat sitting on the patio. I put my laundry in and sit chatting to my eldest daughter. I go to open the shed and find the keys missing. In the end I use a spare key but thereis no sign of the original. I take the new sunshade ut of the shed adn wrangle it into the patio table and sit in its shade for a while. I start to draft the blog and in order to see what I am doing enlarge the cursor pointer to a huge size, which seems to do the job okay. The garden is throwing up new flowers and there is now an urgency to get the young plants in the frames into the garden or into planters. Perhaps that can happen when the heat drops a bit this evening. It is fiercely hot at the moment, the garden thermometer says its 30 degrees. Here are some of the current stars of the garden.

Time to eat cookies and drink more water. This is the last day of the football season so at 4 o’clock the last games will be played and I get to watch to see if my team, the mighty Brentford, make it into Europe. It is unlikely as they are playing Liverpool, but one can but hope. I am disappointed to find the game I was going to watch is not on one of my channels so I end up watching the running results show and experience th ebb and flow as the results come in. With 25 minutes left Brentford need to find a single goal to be in Europe, but it looks unlikely.

The evening beckons and the Tesco order is awaited, but it appears thee are a lot of substitutions. Eventually I take my meds and head for bed.

Friday and its jab Friday. The alarm gets me going at 7 o’clock. I have breakfast and take my morning meds before I drive down to the GP surgery. My usual nurse does the injection. When I mention I need to come back at 11:40 to have my bloods done she offers to do them. She says that she would not normally do them this early as she is on her own and its tricky if people feint. She says she knows I am not a “feinter” so she will do it. After examining my arms she decides on using my right arm with the words “we will pop the tourniquet on and see what happens”. Not something you hear very often on a Friday morning. As it turns out there is success and the two required vails of blood are soon taken. I drive home and have a quick nap.

After a brief time I get ready to go with my partner to have our nails done. I drive us to the salon at the gym. We are a bit early due to me being 30 minutes previous. We go in and get seated at our specified tables and my beautician sets to work on me. Forty five minuets later I am done, nails looking smart and trim. I am also sporting a new sun on one of my nails. I discussed with my beautician what to have for the world cup and we decided a football and a English flag will be done.

Having sorted out the next appointment and paid the bill I return to the gym lounge and settle down to read while I wait for my partner who is having both hands and feet done. I indulge in a Lucozade sport and a bacon brioche. I continue to read Conn Iggullden’s Inferno. It is clear that Nero at the age of 22 was a real bastard. My partner joins me in the lounge but there is no time to dawdle as my partner is going to visit her mother in hospital. I drive us home where I change clothes and retreat to the sofa to continue reading and ultimately napping. Outside the garden is at 30 degrees but my body tells me its cold, so on the warmest day of the year I am on the recliner under a blanket with warm leggings on. This is what happens in response to my 28 day injection and will go on for the next twenty four hours. I continue to doze until my partner returns and we eat a chippy tea.

The evening is a TV evening as my injection becomes more sore and I enter the “withdrawing junkie” stage of my reaction to the injection. It will pass, I just have to sit it out. My blood results should come through just after midnight but given that this is a bank holiday they could be late so tonight I will take my meds and go to bed and see what the morning brings. I am hoping to get some of the promised sunshine and plant out my sunflowers tomorrow. I have started the process to publish the next poetry collection, I’m hoping for an August publication.

Thursday, a rest day (aren’t they all), before tomorrows 28 day jab and bloods. I over sleep again and find when I wake my partner has gone to the physiotherapist and left me a hot water. I take my vital, which again are good except my heart rate that remains elevated. I have few messages and less emails to respond to before checking my news feeds. My partner returns and makes me cheese on toast while I get up. I do the days crosswords and take delivery of a new book, Conn Iggulden’s Inferno, a book about Nero’s fall. It’s arrival prompts me to wish my son in law a happy birthday as we have given him Conn Iggulden’s book as a birthday present. It was his request for the book as a present that spurred me to buy a copy. I thought it would prompt me to read something new that I would not normally read. I’ll be interested to see what I make of it. From an initial look it is clear that a lot of research has gone into it.

Before my partner goes to see her mother in hospital with her brother I make some alterations to the a letter of authorisation that my partner needs for the hospital visit. I run copies off and my partner takes them with her. I do some reading but I find it difficult to concentrate as I nibble biscuits and sip Lucozade. It feels as if I’m distracted but I am not quite sure what by at the moment. At the moment I am getting twitchy about getting the next poetry collection ready for publication as a result of knowing that my chemo rechallenge is going to go on for longer than first planned. I think I had the idea that the new collection would be out by the end of July but now that seems unlikely even though I have started work on it. Having thought about it I return to the early drafts and try to bring them up to date.

A friend on holiday sends me photos of the only shoe bill heron in Great Britain. Its a fabulous bird and warrants being seen. Apparently a solitary bird it can stand still for ages as it hunts fish and even small crocodiles.

My evening is to be focused on “Race Across the World” as this is the final and I get to find out who wins the race. I am rooting for the two young guys, who have worked hard to keep in the race and I think of all the pairs the money would mean the most to them. Having said that I would not mind if the young brother and sister won. As soon as its over I shall be off to bed as I have to be up early for my 28 day jab at 8 o’clock in the morning, followed by having my nails done and then a quick dash back to the GPs for a new set of blood samples to be taken. It seems that trying to be kind to myself and requires a more complex juggle than I bargained for. I just hope the promised sunshine arrives.

Wednesday, chemotherapy and oncology review day. My partner takes her car for a service early so I rest and take my vitals. They are okay except the raised heart rate, which is becoming an established pattern and bothers me. I check my messages, social media and news feeds. At ten o’clock I get up and make breakfast and take my meds. After publishing yesterdays blog I spend some time writing notes for the oncology review and then make a start on drafting todays blog. As a diversion I try to mend the food refuse bin that once again the bin men have broken and left the parts in a heap on the pavement outside. What follows is a long wait for the oncology call, so I read some of my new Palestinian poetry book, The Palestinian Wedding, A Bilingual Reader of Resistance Poetry.

The oncologist rings early. My appointment was for 1:30pm but as their clinic is 12:30 to 2:30pm they ring up at anytime now. He asks how I am and I tell him that I am knackered, that I am breathless, my hands are increasingly numb, my gut is bad and my heart rate has increased by about 20%. We agree my bloods are okay, its me that’s not. He suggests we delay the next cycle by a week and that I get a new set of bloods and that we will talk next week at the same time. Once the call is over I am on the phone to the GP surgery. It’s bank holiday of course so the only time I can get some bloods is this Friday, it will have to do. It means going for my 28day injection at 8am and then going back at 11:40 to have my bloods done. I am hoping I can talk my jab nurse into taking my bloods as well, she has done it before. With the admin done I then have to shift every thing in my diary by a week, which means the potential end to chemo moves onto July 30th. It seems that there will be a few hurdles along the way. I really do not want to stop especially as my PSA is still falling, meaning the chemo is working. I hope that a reduction in dosage and the extra week of recovery time is all I need to get to the end.

When my partner returns from having her car serviced I help her draft an authorisation letter for her enduring power of attorney agreement I run off a few copies and so my partner can move this issue on with her mother. I read the paper and do the days crosswords before reading some more and drafting more of the blog. Amidst this I order a new food recycling caddie as the bin men today left ours in pieces on the drive. I am hopeful that the new one will arrive quickly.

The evening is a football evening as an English team is in the final of a European cup final. It is an unusual event so worth a watch. I will have one rest day before my 28 day jab, brought forward because of the Bank Holiday, and then another oncology review. The priority for me is to keep calm and keep my priorities straight. At the moment it feels like I have had a set back but that I can recover from it. All the cancer support sites talk about moving from treatment (not applicable in my case) to palliative care and explain the move from one state to another. I do not like the passivity of palliative care. Its just pain control and a comfortable death basically, I ‘m not ready for that, not yet and when I am I want the happy trippy drugs, the nhs needs to get the “good ” stuff out for me.

Tuesday and I wake up feeling rank. My partner brought me hot water and toast, which I consume alongside some paracetamol. I take my vitals, blood pressure is okay but my heart rate continues to be elevated. I rest as best I can and end up tapping out a poem on my phone.

531
It’s me tapping out bars
on my mobile
as I lay in bed
feeling shit and scared.
My heart rate up 
my energy low
this is a bad day.
I’ve downed the paracetamol
and now I wait on numbness.
Then, perhaps, then 
I’ll take my meds,
dress and try to be human.
Tomorrow I’ve a decision to make,
can I face a cycle 8?
I tell myself I’m not quitting
but it feels like that.
It doesn’t feel good
but I’ve no strength.
The cost is high
to see my PSA fall,
there is little left of me.
Friday is to be a double day,
28 day jab morning
chemo afternoon.
The thought of the aftermath
is a scary one.
This is not sustainable,
I need some respite 
but I need to fight,
what will become of me
if I rest?

							531 19-05-2026

Eventually I get up and spend time filling my dosettes for the coming two weeks. Because I am not sure if I am going to be doing Cycle 8 I omit the chemo days steroids. I take todays meds and then distract myself with drafting the blog. As I am doing this my eldest daughter returns from work and hands me the mail which includes a proper letter from a friend.

I spend the rest of the day staring into space listening to old episodes of “Just a Minute”. There is no energy in me and my gut is severely off so I drift into the evening and the final season of Bancroft. By the end of the evening I feel rank. I take my meds and go to bed craving sleep, which comes in fits and starts.

Sunday and I wake to the sound of young lungs being exercises in the early morning. I rise later and join the family for breakfast. I take my morning meds and settle down to play with my grandsons. They ae both a delight, one a fully functional and energetic toddler the other a young alert baby who is sitting up and taking it all in. He is very smiley and a well tempered young baby.

As the morning draws to a close there are naps to be had and feeds to be given before everything gets packed into the car ready for the journey home. Somehow everything gets fitted into the car and the small people are strapped into their safety seats followed by the adults. I wave them on their way till they are out of sight. My partner attacks the clearing up and I collapse in front of the TV to watch the climax of the international women’s rugby championship. I even managed to watch my local team thrash their opponent’s. The highlight was the English team overcoming the French, who started very well but gradually wilted under the prolonged power and skills of the English team. The evening meal was taken and then my partner and I finished watching the German spy drama which was our current viewing series. I finished my day watching football highlights, taking my meds and going to bed once the kitchen had been cleared.

Monday starts early, relatively, for me. I take my vitals and drink the hot water my partner brought me before she left to go and see her mother in hospital. I get up and get into my training clothes before eating breakfast and checking my messages and social media. It appears the world is as boring as it was yesterday, laced with the usual state violence and random senselessness of humanity, usually religion based or due to emotional stunted development. Of course human “thickness” is a major contributor to this unedifying soup of of daily inhumanity. I go to the garage to train. I first have to move all the stuff cluttering up the entry and the rowing machine. I really do not want to do this session but I strap myself in and set off for my 20 minutes. Its been 17 days since I last trained due to how crap this chemo cycle has made me feel. I do grind out the session but as I suspect the distance is under par. I am just glad that I get to the end.

After a quick drink of Lucozade I make the bold decision to shower. I am just drying myself down when the window cleaners turn up and ring the door bell. I ignore it and just rest wrapped up in towels until I have the energy to sort out clean clothes. My partner returns from her hospital visit and after a while we head for a garden centre.

It is a real pleasure to have a bacon roll and a black Americano made by someone else. My partner and I chat and discuss possible future remodelling of part of the house. We reach a tentative agreement and then go shopping for new plant pots and along the way pick up a new hanging basket for the front of the house. Once home I retreat to the recliner and begin to draft the blog. The evening meal is taken and then my partner and I search for a new drama series while we wait for the Tesco order to be delivered. Once delivered the goodies are squirrelled away and I head for bed feeling tired after todays efforts.

My blood results come in at 12:45am and they are good new. PSA down again, eGFR is holding up, Urea and Creatine still out of range but yet again fall towards the norm. Potassium is up slightly but maybe fizzy drinks and fresh orange juice do not help here. This is the reward for hanging on in there and doing the chemo rechallenge. I do have to get back to rowing each day before the next cycle. I am expecting that on my oncology review on Wednesday that I will get the go ahead for Cycle 8 as the bloods are good enough.

As I stayed up late last night I wake this Saturday morning quite late and eventually get up for breakfast to find the whole family in the garden cleaning the patio and planting out plants. I take my meds and draft the blog before starting my day. There is a cup final and the Eurovision song contest to negotiate today along with other sporting and domestic activities to be done.

The morning is full of grandchildren and my son in law power washing the patio. On top of that the garden guy arrived and mowed the lawn and did some superficial weeding. After some reading to my grandson and of course a sock hunt I draft a poem that came to me in bed as I was thinking about getting up to start the day after everyone else.

530
There is no medal.
No accolade or cheering
just because the PSA 
is down again. 
That’s what chemo
is supposed to do.
Its no good laying here 
being pleased with myself,
in the real world
of visiting family
and grandchildren 
it means nothing.
Its exhausting being toxic,
unable to sustain action,
tired after a few steps
and feeling useless.
Not being able to contribute, 
to carry my load
and add something
is an intolerable place
to be confined. 
So I try 
to be quiet 
and not to rock 
the boat 
or make work for others.
Somewhere in this
is the price
of the war for life,
the battle field 
that consumes me
to which I cannot 
surrender. 

							530 16-05-2026

There after I sink into mindless sport watching until the evening meal and of course the Eurovision song contest. Tonight is a night of meds and then an early night to make up for yesterdays long night wait for my blood results. As a footnote I add that the UK entry in the Eurovision song contest came last with 1 point. The general public failed to give a single point to the UK entry. Our single point came from Ukraine. All those anti tank weapons and we get one point.

Friday 7:30 and I am up in order to be ready to for my bloods at 8:40 at the GP surgery. My partner brings me hot water and toast, which I devour as quickly as I can before getting up and dressed. I take my morning meds and then head for my car to drive down to the GP. I do not have to wait long and I am soon called in by my regular vampire nurse. She is remarkable for speed and dexterity with which she takes blood. I am done very quickly and I am soon back home.

The morning is spent clearing away the accrued documents from the past few weeks in order to clear the decks before the arrival of my youngest daughters family. With chores done I write a poem and then start the draft of the blog.

529
Blood tests today
amidst the political dross
clambering over each other
to perfume imagined miracles
a million miles from reality.
It is illusion 
fuelled by ego
and greed.
The outside world
doesn’t work.
The people are not up to it
or at least the wrong people
are not.
Its a dance where I am the target.
They try to make me excited,
convince me to care,
to believe I am doomed
unless I buy their narrative and 
sell my soul to their madness.
From the banks of life 
It is just a procession of 
fools and deluded oafs 
entwined with each other
with ultimate failure 
the only outcome.
All the while I fight
to keep my head above media,
to ask the questions 
that children and philosophers
pose themselves. 
To challenge myself to be
a better person,
to live kindly, 
to find worth in the ordinary
and to take succour 
in being alive 
alongside the ever
changing change  
of nature. 
I do not think anyone 
will notice if I slip away
and take a quiet moment.

						529 15-05-2026

My youngest daughters family arrive complete with my two youngest grandsons. From then on its all young people energy and entertainment. A picnic type lunch and more play before the family go out for a walk in the village park and play area. I stay at home and rest taking a quick nap. On the families return there are drinks and play and baby management until its time for the evening meal. The family dine together until its the children’s bath and bed times. During the afternoon Amazon deliver my new poetry collection. The collection is titled The Palestinian Wedding: A Bilingual Reader of Resistance Poetry, collected and translated by A. M. Elmessiri. A glance at some of the poems tells me I am going to enjoy this collection.

Once the children are in bed and asleep the evening is filled with chat and TV and all the while I wonder if my blood results will come in on time, usually just after midnight. I feel tired and given that tomorrow is going to be a long day with a cup final and the Eurovision song contest, not to mention vigorous grandparenting activities, I may well give myself and early night and curb my curiosity about blood results until tomorrow morning. It will be night medications as usual and hopefully sleep. In all this I forego attending the monthly poetry stanza meeting tomorrow. No good saying family comes before everything if you don’t mean it.