Its a Wednesday and I wake up after what seemed a night of being tossed about on rugged seas. I have finally got to sleep late and as a consequence wake later in the morning. I check my vitals and they are more or less okay. Once up I dress in my training gear, I’m trying to make the effort. I take my morning meds and head for the garage and the rower. I am tempted to go for another 45 minute session but sense prevails and set off on another 30 minute session. As I begin to pull I am listening to Alexei Sayle’s Imaginary Sandwich Bar, I’ve not tried listening to stand up comedy before as an accompaniment to my exercise, and I have to say that the content was good but it is not a natural fit to training. I think I miss the sounds of Rammstein but I am not fit enough to be driven along by their music just yet. The session went quite well, at least I made 5k.

With the session over I switch my attention to getting rid of some old metal washing line props and unpacking the new ones that have arrived. I end up sawing the old ones up into chunks so that I could get them into the bin. An arduous task but its one bit of clutter less to deal with. Buy now I am feeling hot and bothered so take a quick shower hoping all the time that the water pressure does not drop and leave me dripping wet with no shower. Mission accomplished I settle down to think about whether or not to enter a poem into the Poetry Society Stanza competition as the closing date is midnight tonight. The theme of the competition is “Counting”. I do have a poem the fits the theme so I decide to have a punt, why not I think, you never know, I tell myself, but of course I actually do: no chance! So I submit a poem and know that, that is going to be that. Here it is;

400

Like my poems life is curated,
it is by filling the abacus that I know the days
since cancer took me.
Now my life is a plethora of numbers,
singularly or in pairs they see inside.
"Is my arithmetic good" I ask
after every vial of blood,
pot of urine or dollop of poo.
My life is enumerated, recorded
so that I and others may tend me.
All my ins and outs in digital,
averaged, plotted and watched
for waning and ebbing.
Life is moonlike, changing shape
dependant on reflection, angles
and the tremulous rotations
of a system trying to maintain
it's dynamic equilibrium.
By these calculations
I gauge how many more 
mathematical days I have left
to count.

                                                                          400 15-07-2024

I think that fits the theme of “counting”, however I am sure that there will be far more eloquent and clever poems entered, but in some way it legitimises me thinking of myself as a poet and motivates me to continue to pursue the Americans for a new book deal. The next couple of hours is spent trying to find a Spa break so that my partner and I can have at least a couple of days away but the search is fruitless, its been left too late. Both my partner and I search but we are out of luck. I start to draft the blog.

We come to the evening and my partner has another shot at finding a short break at short notice. To our mutual surprise my partner found a two day break at our favourite Spa, so tomorrow I and my partner head off for a two night break. Bit of a surprise but that means an early night and some speed packing in the morning and the careful selection of reading material. Hopefully this Spa break will be more successful than the last time, when I had to come home due to my bladder stone problems. This time I laze and do absolutely bugger all apart from rest.