Friday and for the first time in ages I wake up in my normal place. It seems the households colds and ailments are almost over so we can stop avoiding each other in our efforts to stay healthy. My partner makes breakfast for everyone and after taking my meds I head for the shower. Just putting in a grab rail in the shower has made life so much easier as I hop with confidence into the bath to have my shower. Smelling sweet and feeling refreshed I drive my partner and I to the gym, where my partner goes off to do her Aqua class and I settle down to play with my laptop, check my messages and tuck into a bacon roll and Americano

At about two o’clock my partner returns and we pop next door to the beauty salon to have our nails done. My nails are suffering from the chemo and are developing black lines and the nails themselves are a bit fragile. The young woman doing my nails pays special attention to my nails and also gives me a hand massage to loosen up my hands. At the end my hands feel reinvigorated and my finger nails feel much better. My partner is having both hands and feet done so I book the next appointment and pay the bill for both of us. On returning to the gym lounge I find I have poems bubbling about so sit and write for a while. They are, what I call, catch up poems, which summarise the ordinary of where I am. I find it useful sometimes just to take stock. Getting stuff out of my head and onto paper seems to help in some way.

494
It’s been fourteen days	
since I crashed in chemo.
At last I can taste again,
food is real and not flannel,
my digestion has settled
and at times I have energy.
I have a weekend,
Lunch with friends
but then its Monday.
Injections, bloods, soreness
and the wait for results
before a Wednesday review
and a Friday poisoning.
Trying not to let it take over
Feels like juggling ferrets.
This is te logistics of survival
And the price of extra time
to keep on making meaning
of all this “stuff”.

								494 30-01-2026

495
Today was Tony’s funeral.
I did not go.
I chose not to watch
the internet stream. 
Instead I remembered 
him reading improvised poetry
and the immortal line,
“The queen mothers knickers.”
I recall his anger and dismay
at being told he could not
hug a child in distress.
He seemed always to be building
new things in Africa
and championing the have not’s. 
But I always return to 
“the queen mothers knickers”
and Tony’s magnificent 
Master of Ceremony’s 
Voice.

						495 30-01-2026

My partner joins me and after getting comfortable I drove us home. I make a start on the family blog while my partner catches up with her mother and starts the tea. My eldest daughter is preparing to send her PhD files off for submission. Its a Friday evening, no football, no rugby only Death in Paradise to look forward to. It was traumatic last night to find that we had watched all the available Brokenwood Mysteries and had t move onto the new Bergerac series, not impressed so far, but with Zoe Wanamaker and Paul Glenister in it, it should pick up. For me its all about an early night as tomorrow I get to have lunch with a group of old colleagues and friends from my prison and therapeutic Community days.