Saturday and I wake the quiet of the sea side village out of season. If I and my partner are to get onto the beach for a walk then breakfast has to be fast, and it is. As soon as we can we get down to the beach, only today there are more people out and about. It remains an amazing beach and has not changed in the sixty three years when I first saw it on a family holiday.

Once again we stroll the beach, with me in my Crocs and my training bottoms turned up in true Brit style. On returning it the village my partner and I shop for a paper and some odds and ends. Back in the apartment I set about the crosswords and drift towards the evening after rugby and football. The treat of the evening is going out to eat at the Country Cousins restaurant. As an indulgence I have a small glass of Merlot, which I savour. Just occasionally I have a small glass of wine to see if the reality is anywhere near the fantasy, it rarely is.

The evening passes in a drift of murderous Agatha Christie, before fatigue sets in and its time to take meds and go through my pre-sleep rituals.

Sunday is pack, eat and drive day. And so it was. That plough along mostly motorway taking longer than due to my prostate cancer demanding that I stop more frequently than my pre diagnosis days. Finally I pull into the drive to a brilliant surprise, my cherry trees are in full blossom!

After such a welcome home all else pales into insignificance. Tomorrow is “Jab Monday” so here I am at the end of another twenty eight days. By tomorrow evening it is likely that the side effects of my jab will have kicked in and I will be fairly useless for the next forty eight hours. Maybe I will get lucky this month. So I will take my night meds and add some prophylactic paracetamol. Onward.