Tuesday comes around and its a sunny St Patricks day. My partner brings me hot water and a round of buttered toast before I get up and shower. By the time I have got myself together and taken my morning meds its time to drive my partner to the gym for her morning aqua class. I settle down on a sofa and read Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson.

I have read about the first fifty pages and laughed a lot, which I take as a good sign. Whether or not I was supposed to laugh quite as much I am not sure but I think from the tone of the book I rather think I was supposed to. Interrupted only by a bacon roll and a Lucozade sport I read for the full juration of the aqua class and subsequent shower at which point my partner and my eldest daughter appeared ready to be driven home.

Once home I made myself lunch and sat down to read a letter from a friend. In fact it was two letters. I read my letters slowly and to the taste of peppermint creams, a current favourite. It would appear that I am not the only one that is having a difficult time and I was sad to read that my friend has gone into hospital for a procedure. As the weather is sunny I change into shorts and set about finding homes for all the books and toys that my grandsons used over the weekend. I even put new batteries into the book that plays tunes to the sing along pages. With the decks cleared until next time I head for the garden and refill the bird feeders. My garden flock get through a considerable amount of seed but more voraciously through the fat balls impregnated with seeds. I retreat to the lounge to and check my emails to see if anyone has put forward poems for this weeks Stanza meeting. There are two or three poems that I move to my Stanza folder before sending mine off. I decide to go with a none cancer one, I am not in the mood to be sharing that stuff at the moment so I choose something more neutral.

507
Feet on cold lino
nose against the frost free
little space scrapped 
on the window in my room.
There is a smog
pierced dimly by gas light
and the clip clop of
the Sunlight laundry horse.
Its pig swill day,
the bucket is out
and I want to see
who collects it today.
The trees, still with
see me in the dark
white war rings,
loom indistinctly.
Today some sixty five 
years on in progress
I watch an electric cart
pick up my plastic bin
full of food scraps,
not for swine
but to feed my thirst
for electricity.

			507 11-03-2026

With my days admin out of the way I draft the blog as the sun sets and the heat goes out of the day, time to put the heating back on for the evening. There is tea and then more Brokenwood Mysteries, possibly a quick look at the football, but I am not very interested as all the English clubs are struggling and look like missing out on anything European this season. There will be night meds and then sleep but not before I have checked that I have everything ready for tomorrows oncology review. It will be by phone and I am guessing it will be another thirty second wonder when I will be told my PSA is down and I am good to go for Friday, when I will start cycle 5, the half way point.