Sunday and I wake up already knowing that it will be Argentina that England face in the semi final of the world cup on Wednesday. I am slow to get up but when I do I take my meds and have a couple of yoghurts as breakfast. my partner has gone of to retrieve her others wheelchair and deliver it to the care home. I take the opportunity to dig out my old CD player in order to play the birthday CDs that I have yet to play.

Its a long time since I actually sat and listened to a CD so this is a real treat. It also means I can play the CDs at a loud volume and get the real feel of the music. My first indulgence is the Stones new CD, Foreign Tongues. I love it, its so “Stones” and the whole CD is packed with great tracks. Its back to their blues roots and sharp observations of the world. The lyrics to some of the songs are barbed and clearly aimed across to America. All tracks are written by Jager and Richards except an Amy Winehouse song and an old Chuck Berry classic.

Having listened to the Stones I move onto The Vandoliers album Life Behind Bars. They are an American country rock band who my eldest daughter has been to see on tour here in England. The lead singer is a trans woman from Texas, which can’t be easy. The music is very much of its type, it a good album but not outstanding. The cover design is quite good.

Having enjoyed my listening so far I turn to my third album, a new one from the Cure, who I used to like. Tracks from Boys Don’t Cry like Fire in Cairo were fun and very Cure. This new album, Songs of a Lost World is very different. At first I thought I had a dud disc as there appeared to be no lyrics but eventually the words came in. Fir example is took six and a half minutes to get to the song words on the last track of the album. This was a pattern through the whole album. Its mostly the Cure being self indulgent and trying to “make meaningful music”. Its a terribly desperate album. It feels like others have done this sort of thing better.

So my musical morning comes to an end when my partner returns from visiting her mother, We have lunch and then sit for a while on the garden swing seat and plan more for the garden. With a new plan we go to the garden centre where we fortuitously find exactly the square pots we wanted. We add some additional food and I sneak jelly beans into the basket before we return home. Once home I settle down to draft the blog and discover that the men’s Wimbledon final is just starting at 4:30. Two big servers beating each other up, so everything goes on service and will no doubt go to tie breakers.

So it’s tennis and then food into the evening as my eldest daughter makes her way back from a party excursion to Norwich. The serious business of finding a new drama series to watch. The evening passes and I finish my night with night meds washed down with raspberry lemonade. Tomorrow is a day to spend in the garden and to write something.

Friday arrives and finds me having slept little in the heat. I get up for breakfast and meds as my partner goes to the gym. During the morning I ge a message confirming my car service booking but I also get the proposed cost, a whopping £527 My immediate response was “Fuck off”. I ring the franchise and tell them to shove their service, I’m not paying £500 to have an oil filter changed and new oil plus a visual inspection on a 74 plate car with 2400 miles on the clock. Its a liberty and typical of this trader. I’ve had experience of them before when they tried to charge £300 for a stuck seat belt and one they damaged at an MOT. I fixed the problems with a can of WD40 and the car passed its MOT at our local garage. Sandicliffe in Loughborough are just opportunist fly boys whose service centre cannot be trusted. So I shall be booking my car in with my regular local garage.

When my partner returned from the gym we went to the local garden centre for a drink and something to eat. With my lunch done we go and seek out some square planters to establish the Eacheana (Coneflowers) for the summer and get ready to plant out bigger plants in the Spring of next year. We also pick up more compost. Once home I hide from the sun and watch some of the Wimbledon tennis.

The day progresses until the evening when the family eat and wait for todays world cup quarter final between Spain and Belgium at 8 o’clock. Spain win 2-1and with that I take my meds and go to bed. Its still very warm and in the small hours I decamp to the spare room and discover that I am most comfortable wrapped in a cotton kimono. I finally manage to sleep.

Saturday finds me emerging sleepily and finding that there is already rugby on the TV, which I watch on my phone. I get up for breakfast and watch rugby, hiding from the intense heat. The patio tiles that I have ordered to use as pot stands arrive. I spend some time barrowing the compost that was bought yesterday to the back garden and setting things up to do some potting up later in the day. The lily’s have burst into flower and look magnificent.

The afternoon is spent potting up plants and relocating pots onto the patio. Its exhausting activity as is the clearing up and getting everything back in the store. It’s a late tea and then some TV before watching England squeeze past Norway to win a semi final place against Argentina next Wednesday. I take my night meds and go to bed very tired.

Thursday and I wake up after a crap nights sleep. I eventually get up and retreat to the recliner to rest. My partner brings me toast and a hot water. I’m stuck for the day with overwhelming fatigue and do nothing apart from some light garden watering, paying my car tax, booking the car in for a service, booking my 28 day injection at the GP and booking my hospital bloods for that same day as my jab. I also write a brief poem and update bits of the the new poetry collection blurb.

545
Words are my only weapon
as I run cycle nine.
My body inert
as it freezes 
under the drugs thumb.
A hollow shell 
that rings
when the world 
knocks. 
Rest is everything,
everything is rest
as I wait for recovery
and the reassurance 
that the poison 
is killing the cancer.
My blood is the spy
that reveals my state
and points me forward. 
Somewhere the words 
are primed 
and ready to 
be fired.

			545	09-07-2026		

As for the rest I nibble food, sip drinks and wait for the evening quarter final football match between France and Morocco. At the end of the game the Tesco order for tomorrow will get completed, my meds taken and I will try to get a night sleep. The heat wave continues, which makes getting to the garden centre to finish off the things that need doing an up hill task. It doesn’t help the fatigue either.

Tuesday rolls around and I take a shower and get myself some breakfast along with my meds. Its a quiet morning until about lunchtime when the boiler service guy arrives. He is very quick and efficient and he is soon handing me the gas boiler certificate. He drives off and I then go to the chiropodist. Having parked up in the Co-op car park I walked over to the chiropodist, which knackers me. I have miscalculated how fatigued I am from the chemo and arrive out of breath and needing to rest for a bit before my feet can get started. Once under way I can enjoy the experience through to the final creaming of my feet. My feet feel great. I rebook, pay and then walk very slowly back to the car. I drive home and slump into a heap.

There is a football match to watch, Argentina scrape by Egypt and Switzerland beat Columbia on penalties. There is time for an episode of Shades of Blue. I unpack a big big birthday parcel from a friend ad take a photo of me with my presents. Such fun.

Eventually I go to bed having taken my night meds, set the dishwasher going and putting out the food recycle bin and waste bin.

Wednesday and I wake up in the spare room. I get given a hot water and then get up to move my car so that my partner can go to the gym. I make a substantial late breakfast and then go to the writing shed in the garden. I have placed my new friend (phenology head) and my moon picture in the writing space. I intend to spend some more time there writing more material.

I sped the afternoon lazing on the garden swing seat until the heat drives me indoors to the cool of the fan. I watch Author Fery win at Wimbledon and move on into the evening. There is no football so at last I get to watch Shades of Blue to its conclusion. Such an American redemption ending that somehow leaves the corrupt police team in tact and the heroes of the piece. Americans are so twisted in their moral dilemmas. Cleary bent cops with good intentions are better than straight police. My partner and I take a time out to water the garden. At the end of the night I take my meds, draft the blog and go to bed.

England win at 4 o’clock in the morning beating Mexico 3-2 with ten men, its my 78th birthday so its a birthday that starts very well. Needless to say I am knackered as I crawl to bed at 4:30 to the sound of the dawn chorus and the sky getting light. I surface about nine o’clock and I am treated to birthday hot water and toast in bed. I have several Happy Birthday messages to reply to as I gradually get myself together. Eventually I get up to my post and a delivery of T shirts. I take my morning meds and get organised for the days heavy slothing and cake eating that waits ahead of me. I intend to do nothing but indulge my inner sloth and revel in the fact that I am alive, vertical and feeL loved and cared about. I also celebrate that I can still create by writing, read and have a garden to tend. As Cicero said what more can a man need or want.

I intend no more for this days blog. I shall meander through this day leisurely until the evening football match between Portugal and Spain and then go to bed a year older and pleased to be so, I have a lot in front of me including a new poetry collection and some leisure time away. There is if course finishing Cycle 9 and doing Cycle 10 to brining this rechallenge to an end. Reach this and then I can rest for a while and recover for the last of summer and, what I am sure is going to be, an Indian autumn.

Sunday and I wake up feeling very chemo’d, fatigued and listless. It is my last day of being 77, new things await me. I get up and have breakfast before my partner goes to see her mother in the care home. I crack on and clear the kitchen and put my washing away. I also sort out my T shirt collection and tidy up my clothes shelves.

I spend time on the garden swing seat reading a new book and generally lazing. I spend a lot of time in the back room reading and resting before finally giving in and watching some tennis. The evening arrives as does an evening meal before watching Norway beat Brazil in the world cup and of course a Tesco delivery. There is more Shades of Blue to watch before the 1am kick off of England v Mexico. However the kick off is delayed by an hour so I slide into my 78th year waiting for the match. My partner goes to bed and I draft the blog waiting for the game. Night meds are done all I need to do is stay awake.

Friday, its chemo rechallenge return day, it the day Cycle 9 starts. I meander through the morning doing breakfast and my morning meds quite early. At some point I end up on the garden swing seat just staring at the sky. I tinker with the the computer and run off theatre tickets for May next year. There is a light lunch and then I prepare my chemo survival bag and include the pastry and kit kats my partner has bought for the occasion. Then its into the chemo routine. Firstly the Uber ride and drop off.

As we walk into the oncology unit we stop to buy fresh strawberries from the hospital fruit and veg stall. I hand in my “dance card” and buy a bottle of water. My partner and I get settled in the waiting area and I whip through the days cross word. To my surprise I am called in on time, I get measured, height and weight, and shown to bay 20 in the chemo suite. So it then begins, the tray of medical goodies are produced, and the hunt for a suitable vein to stick the canula in. One get selected and the needle slide in. My vitals are checked and as always my blood pressure is up as is my heart rate but not enough this time for there to be a check with the on call doctor. My pre meds are pumped in and then there is a 30 minute saline wash through. I get my poetry book out, set my water and nibbles out and put my chair into recliner mode. It’s now a wait before my poison gets pumped into me.

Its a strange soft anxiety that arises as I’m being prepared for chemo as I become aware of how odd it is to have needles put into my body and all sorts of liquids being pumped into me. Its not normal and as I edge towards the end of this set of cycles it becomes more and more not normal, which means I am not habituating to the process. It still feels odd. While being “flushed” at the end of the session I chat to the last remaining fellow “poisonee”. She was up at 4am making cakes before her ambulance arrived to bring her to her session. She was done by 1:30pm and ready to go home but here she still is at 5o’clock, her ambulance is taking more than four hours to fetch her. All she wants is to go home to bed, as she has another cake to make tomorrow morning at 4 o’clock. Apparently her chemo and steroids induce insomnia coupled with joint pain, I think I get away quite lightly with my fatigue. We leave the suit together, she in her wheelchair me on unsteady feet. I immediately head for the loo to get comfortable and meet my partner in the waiting room. We head for the hotel across the way where we get an Uber home.

My evening is pizza and football based. I intended to go to bed early but I got caught up in the thriller that was Argentina v Cape Verdi so end up in bed at 2am having had my nightmeds.

Saturday and I surface groggily and let myself come round slowly. I have a hot water and finally get up to make breakfast and watch an early international rugby match. I do a Tesco order and check my messages and newsfeeds having put my washing in. I watch some more rugby and then hang my washing out and take a swing seat break. My partner returns from the garden centre with more plants, lunches and then sets about finding homes for all the new plants. I return to the sofa and begin to draft the days blog. My post chemo fatigue makes drafting or writing anything a hard process, it just takes more effort and things do not flow as usual.

My day continues with more rugby, the retrieval of my washing from the line and then an evening meal while watching the first world cup football match as Canada get beaten by Morocco. As the evening progresses I can feel I am loosing my sense of taste. There is another match to watch and then I can take the last of the additional steroids and go to bed. I’m tired and I can feel the chemo fatigue kicking in.

Thursday, the last day if my Chemo Summer Holiday. I wake early, check the football results, USA beat Bosnia. I fall back asleep till nine o’clock and then get up. I shower as the shower now works again, I think the low water pressure was the result of the heat wave. As I towel myself down I get a call from a friend who is on the way to have a massage. We agree that if there is another heatwave like the last one we will adopt the siesta as a way of life and nap in the middle of the day. We chat for a while and catch up on our news and how our families are doing. At the point where the driving getting tricky we say good bye. I get myself into some new clothes and make myself breakfast. I eat this as I add my chemo steroids to my dosettes and finally take todays meds. By lunch time I am hungry and I am ready to get in the car and be driven to the restaurant for lunch. The place is posh but the food is great, so I indulge in melon and ham to start with followed by the speciality shepherds pie and rounded of with crepes in orange and a liqueur. So what does a speciality cottage pie look like then I hear you ask, well here it is.

I do not make a habit of photographing my food but I made an exception for this pie. The large sprig of Rosemary was a surprise. The meal was excellent and a great way to celebrate my birthday early. At the end of the meal the waitress asked if we wanted coffee or any other drinks She looked at me and I said “a decaf black please”, She just looked at me as if I’d said something offensive. My partner introjected with “he means Americano”, at which point the waitress scribbled on her pad and moved on. I wonder how long it will be before the word black disappears from the language. My partner pays the bill and hands over a tip for the waitress before we leave. Its a brief walk to the car and a short journey home.

On arriving home it becomes apparent that the garden guy has arrived and is in the middle of mowing the grass. We chat for a while before I add more support to the sunflowers and then retreat to the sofa and start to draft the blog for the day and let my excellent lunch go down.

Tonight there will be a football match but for now its time to nap. My siesta last a long time and before I know it I am watching Spain play superb football and beating Austria by three goals. All that is left is to watch the current American police drama to the end of series two, take my meds and get to bed. Tomorrow is the end of my Chemo Summer Holiday and it is back to my Chemo rechallenge.

.

Wednesday and I wake early knowing I have to move the car from the drive as today the tree and hedge folk are coming to give our hedges their annual trim. So by 8 o’clock I am dressed and heading for the car. With the car (Elsie) safely parked up across the road I make breakfast and take my morning meds. My next task is to prepare for my oncology review this afternoon. I have decided that I will go for my 9th cycle, the blood result figures are too good to pass up. The arguments are always about benefit versus Quality of Life and I have reached the conclusion that Quality of Life is a too mercurial notion to base a medical intervention decision on. The trick has been to find a balance between chemo and the fatigue it causes. By reducing the dosage, which appears not to impede its effect on my PSA levels, and adding an additional rest week it appears that the chemo is manageable. So I shall wait for my phone call and plead my case with the oncology team.

So while I wait for the tree and hedge folk to finish with the next door neighbours garden and get to mine I draft the start of todays blog and read more of my newly acquired poetry books. All of this with one eye on the clock as tonight at 5 o’clock England take on the Democratic Republic of the Congo in the world cup. No idea how that will turn out. Inevitably I jot a poem.

544
July starts with a review,
Do I or don’t I
go for cycle nine?
The bloody arithmetic 
is good and with it
the logic of continuation.
I wonder if I have forgotten
the pain that comes 
with the toxic poison,
but the thought of 
longer life is primal 
in its pull.
Inexplicably the having more 
appears to be irresistible,
except for those in extremis,
but I do not know if my head	
could ever be there.
Time will tell,
I suspect there are tests 
to come.
Then I will see.

							544 01-07-2026

As the tree and hedge folk bring order to my hedges the oncologist rings to do my review. His recommendation is to quit and have a nice summer, but I would regret not knowing if further improvement was possible. Post chemo falls into three groups. firstly the group whose PSA rises almost as soon as they stop chemo, the second group have a gap of four to six months before their PSA rises again, and finally group three whose PSA may not move for a year. I have no way of knowing which group I am in but as I understand it the lower I can drive my PSA down and the higher the percentage reduction from my baseline PSA measure the better are my survival chances. So it is a gamble. The oncologist says he has one more rabbit to play, a sister drug to my current chemo, his concern is that my neuropathy does not receded it might interfere with more chemo. The sister drug has similar side effects to my current chemo, so I am sticking with the devil I know and trusting it will reduce my PSA a bit more. My decision is made and the oncologist agrees to let me go for it. So I am now expecting a message from the chemo suite to tell me when to turn up on Friday.

All I have to do now is grit my teeth and watch England play DR Congo and probably Belgium at nine o’clock. I must remember to load my chemo steroids into my dosettes to start taking tomorrow as pre and post protection from the poison. The tree and hedge folk leave and our hedges are for a while well manicured. So far today has been a productive one and set the household fair for a while. There are now other things to get done around the house, which I will set my mind to in due course. For now that is enough for me for one day.

Tuesday and my latest blood results finally came in at 1:20am so they were there when I woke up this morning. I was was not sure what to expect but was pleasantly surprised when i looked at them. My PSA had dropped more, my eGFR was up and the best its been since my kidney decided to play up, and my platelets were into the 200 zone. With PSA score of 3.1 it means that I have reduce my rechallenge baseline PSA by 69%. This last cycle (number 8) has produced a 10% reduction from the baseline using a 75% dosage. That is a good result I think. Tomorrow I have to decide whether to progress to Cycle 9 and under what conditions. At the moment it feels like the logic is well and truly in the arithmetic.

The lowest that my PSA has ever been is 0.2 in July 2020, can I get to that again? On average each cycle in the rechallenge has produced a reduction of 0.8 in my PSA. If I do two more cycles (the maximum I can do) then the expected reduction would be by 1.6, taking the total down to 1.5. So a range of 1.4 plus or minus 0.5 seems realistic. I would have taken this in December when my PSA was at 10 and rising.

Having spent time mulling over the results I make myself breakfast and the go to the garden and spend time with my new poetry collections and reflecting on the blood results. My partner returns from her visit to the gym and we decide to go to a garden centre for an afternoon scone and coffee. While sipping our drinks and devouring our scones we chat about the blood results. Its a tricky decision as the balance between the logic being in the arithmetic and “Quality of Life” is a complex one. The old arguments of logic versus the subjective feelings of the self surface and basically, as my partner points out, “only I can make the decision.” So I have until tomorrow afternoon to make up my mind. At the moment arithmetic as a way to long live seems to hold sway over me, but things could change.

On returning home I settle down to draft the blog and sort out which world cup football matches I will watch tonight. After last nights shock results see Paraguay and Morocco dump Germany and Netherlands out respectively any future games are more exciting. It seems anyone can knock anyone else out. Some how I cannot see France being dumped but Norway v Ivory Coast is trickier to call. There will be family tea and todays crosswords to do before the first kick off. After that I shall be staring at a screen until the defeats and victories come to an end and I can down my meds and go off to bed. Tomorrow is my decision day when my oncology review will decide if my chemo rechallenge continues. It is also the day that the tree and hedge folk come and do our hedges at the same time as they do our neighbours, so I shall be making hot beverages and sharing biscuits.