Wednesday was a busy day, I woke up knowing that I would need to train and that the garden would need to be put to bed for the winter. After taking my vitals and checking my social media I got up and make breakfast and take my morning medications. I am in my training kit but there some chores to do first. Eventually I get to the garage and set the rower for a 45 minute session, as it feels like all I can deal with. The session is a bit of a flog and in the end I get to my preferred standard.

After the session I have a shower but as I go to apply something smelly post shower I drop the top and then discover the state behind the bathroom cabinet under the sink, so I set to and clean it up, organising the contents as I go. Not a job I expected but once done was useful.

I head for the garden and put the garden furniture under cover for the winter. It is a sessional ritual that seems to get pushed back further in the year. So with all the furniture under cover I can relax for the year.

With the garden packaged I sit down and spend ages trying to find myself an “outfit” . None of the clothes that I have that I consider presentable fits me any more so I am looking for something I can look nice in. As my body has changed with the drugs that have been put into it I need bigger clothes so I need to find something flattering. After a long time trawling the internet I return to “some like it Holy”. I have some stuff from this company that no longer fits but I really like, so I am hoping a new outfit will be equally likeable. I order a set of Oxford bags and a matching V waistcoat and hope it arrives quickly for a night out on Saturday. Before I know it I am into the evening eating pie and chips before more European football, night meds and bed.

Thursday and I have slept deeply, my partner has left for the physio and aqua aerobics. I go through my morning rituals and eventually get up and cook breakfast and take my meds. Today is the day I refill my drugs dosettes for the next two weeks, so I spend time popping pills from packets into the the daily dispensers. A tedious job but one of the rituals that maintains my external scaffolding and sees me through the tasks of each day. I take the opportunity to spend a lot of time booking tickets for shows at the local theatre way into next spring. Its all part of a strategy of getting out and about and keeping my brain fed with new experiences. With at least five trips out booked I stop and go into the garden and finish off some garden tidying. When my partner returns we go out to the garden centre and after a quick drink load up a bag of bird seed and go home. Without stopping my partner and I walk to the village shop. I buy sultanas and apricots that have become my new sweets. Once home its crossword time until the evening meal and more European football but I get bored with it and it turns into a Rom Com night. I try to draft the blog for the two missing days but I get progressively more tired and having taken my night meds I go to bed about 1am tired and dissatisfied. I know that I am battling against the feeling of being in limbo as I do not know what my cancer is doing and the coming week is full of scans and tests before I go away for a weekend. My next oncology review draws ever closer and it feels that this one could change the direction that my treatment takes. That is what is in both the back and front of my mind at the moment, which appears to be making focusing on anything but mundane task the order of the day.

Tuesday and I wake up feeling quite perky as my partner goes off to the gym and my eldest daughter goes off to work. I am free to make breakfast and take my morning meds once I have taken my vitals. My vitals have been good lately and I am still pondering whether it is the steroids or the lack of refined sugar that is responsible, perhaps both. Having popped my closes into the tumble drier I sit down to start writing new content for the new website that is under construction by my publishers at Ruler’s Wit. The idea is to have separate site for the poetry and to use it to promote new work and talk about the whys and wherefores of the work. I am into my second page when my partner returns for lunch.

I drive us in Elsie to a tile and bathroom fitments shop in a local village where my partner and I go through the vast selection of tiling. To our mutual surprise we find a tile that we both like and think suitable. Without too much fuss we order the tiles we need, finding out in the process that the chap serving us is the nephew of our tiler “Bob”. Small world eh? On returning home I resume drafting stuff for the new web site, having retrieved the washing from the drier. I do a crossword and then send the content off to the website builder and start to draft todays blog. The evening meal is approaching and I know that tonight is a European football night so I know what I will be doing, although I have to say I think I am tiring of football, it has become formulaic and boring a lot of the time. It seems to have lost its ability to excite anymore. I could find myself inadvertently in Rom Com night before I down my night mends and head for bed.

Saturday and I am up early as “Bob” is arriving at 9am to strip the parquet floor tiles off the office floor. I just have time to have breakfast and my morning meds before “Bob” arrives armed with hammer and bolster. He also had a pair of knee pads the like I have never seen before, clearly a man who spends a lot of time on his knees laying tiles. He set to work and got on with getting ready for the afternoon poetry stanza. “Bob” was extremely efficient and had the tiles up in a couple of hours, well before I needed to go out. Money passed hands and we agreed to meet up with him and his builder friend on Monday to decide on the next steps.

I drove to the new venue for the poetry stanza, which I had researched for parking beforehand. Its a new venue for the group so it was exciting to be traveling to a new venue. I arrived at the new venue and found it to be locked so I sat in the churchyard and ate an apple and read a letter from a friend that had arrived that morning. Dead on the dot of 2pm people arrived including the woman who was to let us in. The group had two new attendees along with a few old hands. I gave the group a choice between my “donkey” or my “cat ” poem”. One person jumped in quickly for the “donkey” so that’s what they got. By five o’clock we were done and I drove home in Elsie, still getting used to the feel of the new car, but I have to say she is very very comfortable.

I get home and settle down to watch a rugby match on TV and then move into the evening, watching Strictly and some other stuff. I cannot do all the football highlights so take my night meds and go to bed.

Sunday and for some reason I am knackered and struggle to get up by noon and even then I feel crap. Did I over do it yesterday or is this just one of those crap days. When I do get up I feel like a slug on downers but I do repackage a copy of Man to Man that has been returned to me as the address I sent it to no longer hosts the newspaper I sent it to. In repacking the book I amend the accompanying letter and as I do so I realise the mobile number I put on the original letter was wrong. The email is right so I just hope they use it. With the repacked ready to go tomorrow I slump, already out of energy spoons so I watch another rugby match until tea time and the evening slips into gear. Of course I watch the Strictly results show and am appalled by the wrong person going out. I crawl towards bed, having taken my night meds and hoping to wake up pin a better place convinced that I have probably fallen asleep earlier.

Monday and I wake up feeling far more chipper than yesterday. I take my vitals and get up and into my training kit. I intended to have a hearty fried egg sandwich but the lack of eggs stimmed that so it was plain toast and another hot water tat starts my day. My partner has gone to aqua aerobics so I head for the garage and the rowing machine. Given how crap I felt yesterday I know I need an hour’s row to staff off the drug side effects, so I set the session up and get going. By the 30 minute mark I am half a kilometre down on my standard so I try to pick up the pace a bit. By the end of the hour I have caught up and I have managed to reach my standard of 12 kilometres and burnt off 800+ calories, so go me.

After having rested for a while I shower and drink large amounts of soup to recover. There is a quick trip to the post office to send the repackaged book to the local newspaper and then it was back home to start drafting the blog and awaiting the Tesco order delivery and “Bob” the tiler to arrive with his mate “Bill” the builder to look at the office floor. Unexpectedly Tesco deliver early, so there was a lot of squirreling activity to get it all away . Not long afterwards “Bob” and “Bill” rock up and we do the standing on a floor assessing the what is required. We decide that a waterproof coating will go down and then a leveller over which the tiles will go. They suggest a couple of tile provider and we note the names and the fact that we need 4.5 square metres of tiles to cover the office floor. “Bob” says he will source the waterproof coating and give me a bell when he has it and arrange a time to do the work. So its time to draft the blog and move into the evening. As my partner has her singing lesson tonight and my eldest daughter is at her art class I shall choose a suitable ridiculously violent film. Tonight I shall go to bed a much happier person than yesterday and tomorrow I am looking forward to visiting a tile shop.

Thursday and after the usual rituals of meds, vitals and a fried egg sandwich its time for a trip to the recycling centre to get rid of old carpet tiles and underlay. My partner accompanies me, its a bit of a day out. The bloke at the entrance of the dump is less than cheery so when I ask which bay my ties should go in I get a gruff ” 8″ without any sign of recognition that I was human, its not like the place was busy, I’m sure we could have found time for a chat about the current geo political situation but I feel I might have got a “its shit” response followed by a terse “fuck off”. No doubt he was just doing his job, he could for all I know have been interrupted by me just as he was struggling to find a rhyme for orange.

With the old tiles jettisoned into bay 8 my partner and I dove to an out of the way rural centre for bite to eat and a wander round the various little shops on site. This is where we come for diffusers and odd presents. As per usual we bought diffuser refills, which I later found I could get on Amazon and some new diffusers, these being no more than cane sticks. The going rate for 10 sticks is £3.50, which I found on Amazon for £4.66 for 120 sticks, that I think is the price of POSH. On the way home we dropped into one of our favourite garden centre and picked up soem more plants but alas failed to find trailing pansies, all sold out. Bit of a blow but I am sure we will recover.

I am still sore from Mondays jab which is a bind, usually I am through it by now especially if I have trained, but it appears not this month. A decide to make sure I know where I am going on Saturday for the next meeting of the Poetry Stanza meeting, its a new venue. I Google Maps it and virtually walk up and down the road till I find what I am looking for and feel confident that I know where I am going and what it looks like and importantly where I can park. What follows is the decision of what poem, if any to take to the meeting. I go through several of my latest but they are not my cheeriest but in the end I decide to give them a choice between a cat and donkey and run off enough copies of both to take with me. I am hoping this solves my indecision and might might prove interesting to see if it taps into the groups unconscious. I provide both below for you to choose.

451
Farewell Onion,
you have gone
on the same day 
as Ozzy Osborne.
Both have run their course
and in their ways 
lived their lives to the full.
For one a domestic life
for the other a rock star,
but both meant so much 
to those around them. 
One quietly in the bosom 
of a family
the other in the glare. 
One sat gently purring 
the other roaring. 
Both were fun
both independent
but Onion never
bit the head off a bat;
a mouse perhaps 
after all that's what
cats do. 
                                                                          451 23-07-2025

468
Half Eeyore, half Polly Anna,
but it seems only Eeyore
drops onto the page.
My partner grumbles 
"what about the happy stuff".
She's right of course
and I wonder 
"where does the good stuff go? "
Seen but overwhelmed?
Felt but swamped,
in a war
where only the poppies 
get noticed
at the end?
There you go again!
Bloody Eeyore!

468 06-10-2025

Both have the merit of being short, so I leave it to you to choose. With the poetry admin out of the way I cook myself pasta and settle down to watch more of the HACK on TV. Toby Jones is just superb as the editor of the Guardian, in a star packed caste. Its off to bed early once the kitchen is cleared and my meds taken.

Friday and I over sleep! So after the taking of my vitals, drinking my hot water and checking my messages and social media I finally get up. A quick fried egg sandwich to accompany my morning meds and I ready to draft the blog. I thought I had done it but in my haste to get to bed I clearly did not. While I am tippy tapping on my laptop my partner plants the new flora that we bought yesterday until there are no more plants at which point its time to seek lunch. Of course we go to the local garden centre and have a snack and dump all the old and empty pots that we have acquired over the last few week as we have replenished the gardens beds and pots. Doubtless we will be back at the garden centre picking up old pots when there is the next flurry of potting on to do. All that’s left to do now is get the tools and the garden furniture undercover for the winter, should it ever arrive and clean down the patio. After that we will have to make alternative activities count for the winter months. I do buy a hygrometer to check to see if the floor in the study is damp.

As soon as we are home I read the hygrometer instructions and then look to see if I can lift one of the original tiles in the office to test the underlying media for damp, but find the underlying floor tile service is sound so there is no entry for the tester to go. I see this as a result. and settle down to do todays crosswords in the paper. Today I am on form and whip through them like a dose of salts. As I am coming to the end and contemplating training Amazon deliver my bargain reed diffuser goodies and my driving shoes. I am have taken the desperate measure of getting driving shoes as I have found that the memory foam that gets into so many shoes make for crap driving shoes, tomorrow I shall try them out when I drive to the poetry stanza meeting .

The evening arrives with a hearty stew to be eaten before watching a rugby game on TV followed by the concluding episode of HACK and of course Have I Got News For You. The night meds will be taken of course before I get to bed knowing that “Bob” the floor tile remover will be knocking on the door at 9am. I check my dairy and try to get a sense of how long I have to go before my next oncology review, of course I know the dates but it is what will fit in between now and then, some of it medical and some of it diversion. My anxiety is that I become very busy in an unwanted way after the middle of November, until then I am edgy, I am not sure the arithmetic will hold the logic am looking for. I have a sense the oncology boys and girls will be pushing more of the decisions onto me as they run out of options. Maybe I will be surprised.

Wednesday and I wake to the sound of my partner going to see her mother. I check my social media and emails before taking my vitals. My blood pressure still seems to be at a stable lower level after the introduction of steroids to my meds. I get up and get into my training kit determined to train again today. First comes morning meds, now enhanced with the steroids, thankfully in pill form, followed by breakfast. With the basics out of the way I set about clearing the office of all the things still on the floor and taking up the rest of the carpet tiles and underfelt boards in readiness for “Bob” to remove the parquet flooring on Saturday. Why on earth the flooring has risen the way it has is a mystery but what is clear is that it needs to come up. After a lot of grunting and heaving I get everything out, which leaves it clear to begin work on. Not a pretty sight and having everything that came out of he office strewn through the house is a pain but necessary.

With the clearing done and the old felt and tiles in black bags ready to go to the recycling centre tomorrow it is time to train. By now my partner is back and planting yet more flowers in the garden, I go to the garage thinking a quick 30 minute session will do but end up setting myself 45 minutes instead. I think I have some sort of morbid need to push myself to avoid what I think steroids will do to me. From the off I try to keep a good pace going and it seems to work quite well, by the end of the session I am well over 9 kilometres and over 600+ calories burnt.

I am knackered after the session, which I record as I rest over a pint of orange squash. Eventually I get myself together and go for a shower. Feeling more human I go to see what my partner has done in the garden and find her popping the last of the forty plants we had bought to bed out for the winter. I rake up the fallen leaves from the Acer tree at the top of the garden and then invite my partner to walk down to the co-op with me to get soem fruit. I am craving fruit since I stopped eating sweets and other goodies, so with the garden packed away we walk down to the village and plunder the fruit racks in the shop.

Back home we are in time to see the garden guy arrive so its coffee making duties for me before I unload our fruit haul and settle down to a few odd bits to nibble. I scribble a poem that reflects how how I feel at the moment as the roses get pruned and coffee drunk.

470
“Fuck I earn my life”
is what I think 
as I gasp nine kilometres
and forty five minutes
after pulling the first stroke. 
I am looking forward to Christmas,
in seventy one days,
it means chocolate 
and an Armagnac, 
to celebrate my 
sweet things celibacy. 
Not quite purgatory,
but not quite Limbo
as I fight my way through 
the next wave
of scans and bloods
and anxious waits. 
If the arithmetic is wrong
then I’m on the 
path to gone,
if good the bout
continues.
There is a line in the sand,
I have to be up to scratch,
and earn my right to stand. 
You see chocolate 
does not come easy.   					470  15-10-2025

The evening arrives, gardener gone and I start to draft the blog while my partner makes tea. I shall slide quietly into the evening meds knowing I should write something for the new poetry website but also knowing I am too tired to do it tonight, what I have done today is going to have to be enough.

Tuesday rolls around after a poor night, my jab site got me out of bed at four in the morning requiring paracetamol. I take my vitals as my partner goes off to the gym. My vitals are good, there seems to be a sight decrease in my blood pressure since the introduction of the steroids, I will need to see if eh arithmetic bears this out or not. On getting up I get into my training gear and have a fried egg sandwich breakfast with my mornings med. While my food settles I up date my blood pressure spread sheet and look at the average blood pressure so far this cycle with the added steroids. The figures suggest a dip, whether it is the steroids or the contiguous withdrawal of sweets, cakes, biscuits add treats from my diet I do not know but I hope, and it is just a hope at the moment that my PSA is staying steady, a fall would be a bonus. I send happy birthday messages to my eldest grandchild in Sweden who seems to like the present I sent him.

With my partner out at the gym and my eldest daughter out to work I decide to try and train. My jab site from yesterday is sore so I decide on an half hour session with the aim of just getting to the end of it. The garage is colder than it has been for a while so I press on and get going. By the end I am breathless but happy that I have got over my par distance of 6 kilometres.

After recording the session I gather together the Amazon parcels that have arrived for me. My author copies of The Cancer Years Anthology: Man to Man have arrived as have the padded envelopes that fit them. I spend some time with my partner doing face time with my youngest daughter and then I set about packaging up the review copies of Man to Man. I have gone for a mixture of local and national media. I have no expectation that any of them will respond, and I am not sure what I will do if they do respond. Its one of those “don’t hold your breath” times. I am pretty sure the Poetry Review will ignore me, as I am not a “name” or a prize winner. With several padded envelopes tucked under my arm I trot over to the post office and avoid answering the questions from the inquisitive post person who seems interested in all the addresses. With the books on their way I return home with a newspaper. There is a quick email to my publishers to let them know what I have done and then get on with drafting the blog as I hear tea being prepared.

Tonight England play Latvia in a World Cup Match, so I shall watch that and then the last episode of Riot Women on iplayer before taking my night meds, putting the bins out and going to bed hoping for a solid nights sleep.

Jab Monday rocks around again and I am slow to get up, preferring to do my vitals, which are all good, and then I get up in time for a fried egg sandwich and my morning meds. There is a nip in the air and so for the first time this year I don a new cotton vest. Now fully layered up I stroll down to the GP surgery and wait for my nurse to call me in. It is my usual nurse who asks how I am and knows that this month the injection is going into my right side, the trickier side. I am soon done and walk down to the co-op to get a paper and some cash. On the way there is a hearty “Fuck off” from an angry male voice behind me, I do not turn round knowing the “Fuck off” was not for me I walk on and let the world get on with itself, I’m really not that inquisitive any more.

Home safely with my cash and newspaper I take the recommended prophylactic paracetamol and set about the days crosswords, three in all, which I manage without the aid of Google, even though one word was really strange. With the crosswords done I order padded envelopes big enough to take a copy of The Cancers Years Anthology : Man to Man. My plan is to send review copies out to the media and with that in mind I set about compiling a list of addresses of TV, radio and press outlets. Not such an easy task but I end up with a list of about 10 potential recipients of review copies. I’m not sure why I am going to do this, I think I just want to get the work out there and see what happens, if anything. My previous experience is that my work has met with very little interest, so I am not expecting much and its likely I won’t be disappointed. However it is a project that will give me something to focus on while I wait in limbo till my next oncology review. A local rag might pick it up, who knows. Not sure what I will do if they do.

With the admin done I start to draft the days blog with an increasing sense of unease as my jab site makes itself known and becomes sore. The Tesco order is imminent as I draft this and the smell of the croc pot evening meal is wafting through the house. Tonight is the night my partner has her singing lesson so I will read and see if anything comes to mind. I am looking forward to continuing to watch Riot Women on i-player before retreating to bed with my meds and the hope that the side effects of todays injection will be short lived. Somewhere in todays puttering and uncluttering I wrote a brief poem.

469
I’ve just binned my Poetry Reviews,
sorry Tim and Charles you where in them, 
but I am overwhelmed. 
So many words and poets,
ideas and inspirations 
I am drowning 
in what I cannot 
swim in. 
I try 
I really try 
to read it all.
This brain food 
is rich, 
like cake,
so many ingredients,
so many recipes for 
being human.
I want an apple,
sin and death,
not tittles, learning 
and competitions,
just guts
here and now. 
Poetry to make a 
tax loss by
and laugh
like Trump.                                 469 13-10-2025

Sometimes, just sometimes it all just feels too much, thankfully it passes.

Saturday and a truly laid back start to the day, spending a long time in getting up and only emerging when feeling suitably decadent at having lazed for so long. When I did finally get up I indulged in a fried egg sandwich to go with my morning meds. The planned visit to a local battle field went out of the window and in stead I joined my partner in the garden to plant up winter pots, hanging baskets and to generally tidy up. In my tidying phase I found a newly dead rat, which I quickly buried in the small animal cemetery that all read contains a family of mice that drowned in the bird seed bin, and a pigeon that brought a beak to a claw fight and lost. With the rat interred and the plant all in I settled down to watch rugby on TV.

Before I knew it it was early evening, tea was ready and my eldest daughter was at the lunge door wondering why my partner and I were not watching Strictly Come Dancing. It was already 15 minutes past dance off time but when I changed channels they were only introducing the couples, no idea what they were playing about at for the first quarter of an hour. Like millions of others we sat and pretended we had opinions that counted or that we knew anything about dancing, although my partner did get her gold medal and I got my bronze way back in the dark agers of our respective youths. She because it was that sort of school she went too (they did Latin for two years!) and me because that was where you could meet girls and get close enough to hold them. Anyway we watched, commented and amused our selves with our observations.

At the end no one wanted to take responsibility for changing the channel on the TV so I did and for the next hour and a half at least we watched programmes about Luciano Pavarotti, amazing bloke, and even more amazing singer. I took my night meds and went to bed hoping that my late getting up would not affect my sleep.

Sunday and I wake quite sprightly and make warm drinks for my partner and I. Today might be a busier day than yesterday. On getting up I am gifted two miracles! the first is two double yoked eggs for my fried egg sandwich and second the angelica plant and small acer trees outside the kitchen window have been bedecked with spiders webs, which in he misty morning hang like lace doylies in the garden. Absolutely fabulous!

With the fridge empty my partner and I take Elsie ( the new SUV) to the garden centre butchers to get meals for today and tomorrow. Our favourite coffee house is rammed so we return home for drinks. I unpack the storage boxes that will contain the hundreds of soft toys that have been acquired and then I watch rugby on TV while catching up with drafting the blog.

I check that I have a supply of soluble paracetamol as tomorrow is my 28 day injection day. Its that time again and its on the right hand side this time which means it is liable to be worst than usual. If it is bad I will lose a couple of days as my body protests at the introduction of more chemicals. Its my fist injection since starting steroids so I am intrigued to see if it makes any difference. So at the end of the evening I down my night meds with a non alcohol lager and head for bed gritting my mental teeth for the day to come.

Its a Friday and I wake to a day of mundanity. My partner is going out for lunch so I will be amusing myself. I take my vitals which are all good. The impression that I am getting is that since starting on the steroids my blood pressure has decreased a bit but I will not know until I have done the calculations at the end of this cycle of Enzalutamide, cycle 30, on the 22nd if this month. With my vitals done I get up and have breakfast and my morning meds, there after I am puttering about with messages and social media stuff. I am not feeling top notch but I decide to train, so its off with one set of clothes and on with another to train in. An hour session feels beyond me today so I settle for a 45 minute one. Once strapped onto the rower my routine does not allow me to chicken out to once started I am committed. It is a beast of a session, I am sluggish and cannot get any rhythm and it stays jagged to the very end, but getting to the end feels like an achievement today.

Having recorded my session in my journal I shower and have lunch. I spend time emailing my publishers and trying to get up to date with where we are and what I need to be doing to finish off the agreed work. I have decided to send some review copies out and draft a letter to go out with the books, but I send it to the publishers first to see what they think. By the end of the afternoon I am spoonless and have no energy for anything other than eating tea, watching rugby, Have I got News for You and the last ever episode of Miranda. By now its time for my night meds and to draft a quick days episode of the blog. Despite my cutting out all sweets, cakes, biscuits and nibbles I do not feel I am losing weight but I will find out at my Sunday weigh in. I seem to lack energy at the moment but plan a trip to Bosworth Battle Field tomorrow, which has a museum and a café.

Thursday and its a busy day to get up to, but first there are vitals to take and to do my ritualised morning meditation. My partner is preparing to go out for the day with a friend as I get up and have breakfast. When my partner’s friend turns up we discover the door is not working. Noted, it goes on the chore list. First I clear the floor space of the office to expose the erupting tile flooring so that, we will call him “Bob” who is coming to see if he can finally end our life of a bumpy office floor and to re-tile it. So I set about numbering floor tiles and taking up underlay to expose the eerily buckled wood block tiles which have been glued to a layer of red terracotta kitchen tiles. With that done I set about mending the front door bell, which turns out to be a simple battery replacement, although not an AA or AAA but one of those coin like 2033 things. This of course means I spend a long time hunting through my man things to find the right battery, however being that sort of bloke that prepares for the worst I of course have some tucked a way. Its a simple task to put in a new battery but incredibly time consuming.

“Bob” arrives and I show him to our erupting floor tiles. He is bemused but has seen something like it before caused by underlying changes in foundations caused by a change in the earth deep down, which causes an up thrust of soil; the opposite of subsidence. He has a dig around and we chat about possible ways forward. We agree that we can not do anything sensible other than get the first layer off the floor and get his builder friend to be able to look at and advise on the appropriate sealing or screeding required and then to either tile or floor over it so as to allow flexibility for expansion and movement in the future. We agree a date for the first layer to come up and then we will take it from there. “Bob” goes off and I am left to get on with the day.

I set about making a pie for tea, which I appear to be quite competent at. For mem the secret is in the sauce that is prepared to go into the pie and I lace mine with red wine and secret ingredients. With the pie ready for popping into the oven I clear the kitchen and then sit down and have lunch. I move on to filling my dosettes with my drugs for the next two weeks and then its time to start drafting the blog. These tasks take me to the time to pop the pie in the oven before spending the evening watching England play Wales at football and then the final episodes of Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue, so Agatha Christie, part appalling, part intriguing. I will take my night meds and look forward to training tomorrow.