Tuesday and I wake up in the spare bed as part of managing my cold. I’m up at 8 o’clock and breakfasting as Tesco are booked for this morning. I take root on the sofa feeling decidedly grotty and settlle down to read my latest book that was prompted by Sophie’s World. Its David J. Chalmers book The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Functional Theory. Its a fascinating but hard read. Its one of those books that you have to pay attention to, but then philosophy books are like that.

This is definitely a book that is going to take a while. A friend recommended small bites and perhaps a lay down afterwards. I have to say it is a fascinating issue and one that chimes in with my old psychological and therapy life. It is also pertinent to some of my thinking about where I am at the moment. A sort of sorting out what are priorities and what can be jettisoned. This morning there are timely diversions from the heavy stuff like a Tesco delivery and the post also arrives. There is a Tesco flurry of unloading and squirreling and the excitement of unwrapping the Blackburn Hawks ice hockey jersey. Yes I know I said I would not get any more but this was a snip and I liked this one as soon as I saw it.

Lunchtime rocks around and I discover I have not printed off tonight’s concert tickets. My partner and I are going to hear Rachmaninov’s Piano concerto No.2, the really difficult one that is pretty dynamic, followed by Scheherazade. It should be a great concert. Post lunch my partner goes to the gym and I retreat to the sofa to draft the blog and to contemplate a short burst on the rower. Suddenly there is a thunderstorm and hail! So this is Spring?

The evening is spectacular. The concert is just brilliant. I am still awestruck by what happens when an orchestra plays. I listen to most of the concert with my eyes closed, and let it flow through me. I remind myself that it is always worth the effort to go to live music. What an evening. I get home with my partner and watch the last ten minutes of the first leg of the European cup, a pleasing away draw for Manchester City. I draft the blog, take my night meds and go to bed totally spoonless with my phone and book hoping for a calm night with as much sleep as I can muster.

Bank holiday Monday and I am up at 7:30 and in the shower as I am off to the hospital for an MRI scan. There is time for coffee, muesli and meds before I get myself in clothes with no meatal and I remove all my jewellery. I try to distract myself with morning TV but it just irritates me so I stare into space for a bit and fill in the medical questionnaire about the history of metal in my body and allergies. I was asked the other day if I had an allergies when I bought a bottle of water at the gym. Firstly why would I buy water if I had an allergy to it and secondly if I had an allergy to water I would be dead given the water content of the average human body. Another mindless arse covering ritual that has crept into the world. Peanuts on aeroplanes I get, water for humans not so much. Any way I drive to the hospital this Bank Holiday Monday to find the car park almost empty (that is a first) and the hospital itself equally bereft of people apart from the odd person outside in a dressing gown having a fag.

Reception for radiology is closed but there is a helpful message directing me to Area C at the end of a corridor. I arrive at the reception at Area C to find no one there so I wandered about as you do in these case and found an unmasked person sitting in waiting area C who reassured me that someone would be out soon. A useful piece of instant volunteering that seemed apt given this is coronation volunteering day. (The WRVS café was closed, that struck me as ironic). A woman appeared and booked me in and then asked me to wait back in area C. I did as I was told until a nurse (hopefully) escorted me to a curtained cubicle and inserted a catheter in my arm, painlessly and disinterestedly, done one done them all I guess when you get cooperative veins like mine.

So I sit waiting with my catheter in my arm looking at the view wondering if I had enough time to read Terry Pratchett’s Reaper Man that I had brought with me. The view was stark and I was beginning to wonder if I had been forgotten.

At last I was called in to the MRI suite. My bag, coat and hat all went into a metal locker before I entered the metal free area of the machine. Again ironically the key for my locker was metal so had to stay to one side out of my possession. Not a full proof security method but Hey Ho onwards. I was invited to lay down on the flat bed of the scanner and a contraption put over my pelvic region. My catheter was connected up to an automated pump that would at times inject contrast fluid into me. In my left hand was placed a panic bulb and told to squeeze it if it all got too much and then I was slid into the machine with a cheery “we will see you in about 40 minutes”. I always respond the same to these tubular environments and that is to regard it as a time for breathing exercises. I forgot to mention that before inserting me into the machine they put ear phones on me to block out some of the noise. So here I am trying to relax and focus on my breathing when the process starts. The science is fascinating the high voltage surges through the powerful magnetic field creates sounds, the typical banging and chattering that an MRI produces. Its like attending a very bad avant garde music concert. Here is an example.

So after about 40 minutes with only one half time announcement that told me the next one “is quite noisy”, I was slide from the machine with my ears ringing and feeling slightly disorientated. I was shown to the locker, retrieved my things and told I could go as soon as I was ready, then left alone. I wandered out and found my way to the front entry of the hospital where I thought that after a piss I would sit in the café and have a nice coffee and a bun. As I mentioned before the volunteer run café was not open so I resorted to a bag of liquorice all sorts and a bottle of water. No one asked me if I had any allergies! I drove home, made coffee and sat down to draft the blog to find my lap top had a “bootmgr image corrupt” and would not boot. I dragged out my computer box from the garage and retrieved my start up USB and then played for a while to get my machine straight. I succeeded and finally got to start the daft blog, but whilst doing so I notice an Amazon man come half way up the path and then turn round and go away. Almost immediately I get a notification with a picture of my package left at a front door that certainly is not mine. I check my front door and porch and my Amazon cupboard is bare. Time for a quick feedback burst, and then I wonder if I will ever see my book. At this point my nose runs and I head for the Actifed. Clearly this is going to be one of those days! Its likely that from now on, for the rest of the day, anything I try to do will turn to rat shit. As it turns out the evening arrives and I watch football followed by Bill and Teds Bogus Journey. By the time that’s over all that is left is an adjustment to the Tesco order, taking my night meds and trying to get some sleep.

Sunday, and I wake and find a household already awake and sipping hot drinks. We breakfast together lazily and chat about the coming of Dangerous Beans my grandson arriving in July. After our breakfast my youngest daughter and her partner pack up their things and drive off back to the forest. I go to my garden and spend hours pricking out my seedlings until I have trays of small pots of cosmos and cornflowers. There are moments of quiet reflection as I sit on the swing seat and look at the garden; the sky is blue, the sun warm and there are hawks in the sky. I am so fortunate to have this space in the world in which I can retreat and reflect. When I worked all those years for a home I was not aware that this jewel would be part of it but here it is, and as I tend it so it tends me when I most need respite. I check the garden camera and I am delighted to find videos of the hedgehog roaming the garden and also of our visiting fox.

At four o’clock I drive my partner to the cinema to see Guardians of the Galaxy chapter 3. I discover that I find the going into a cinema is full of irritations. All mine and probably unreasonable but I find the constant rustling of food packaging and chattering just gets on my tits. It seems that the species is incapable of paying attention for the duration of a film or to do it without eating. Just me I suspect but it is the background noise that permeates everything. The film was very enjoyable and full of humour and some surprising moments of pathos. Without spoiling the film it was tricky seeing Rocket, my internal visualisation for fighting my cancer, be put through the metaphorical wringer. It just goes to show how imaginary characters and fictions can acquire meanings and emotional pertinence in our lives. Like in Sophie’s World the characters reach a point beyond their fiction. In our stories are wrapped our struggles for meaning and knowledge. I suspect this is not new to anyone and more a case of me being a slow learner. The bottom line was that Guardians of the Galaxy was a bit of a surprise.

I drive us home where we eat an evening meal and watch the coronation concert. Interesting content but the drones, wow, the drone pictures in the sky were awesome. I know its all controlled by computer but the effect is stunning. I loved the blue whale in the sky. Football highlights obviously follow accompanied by night meds. Tomorrow I drive to the local hospital in the morning for a MRI scan to set the baseline for my oncology appointment on the 18th of May. This feels like the business end of the stuff I have been trying to do in the Run Up To Radiotherapy. Just eleven days to go now.

Friday, yesterday now, and I recall the day as one of bits and pieces but most of all the day my youngest daughter and her partner arrived to visit us for the weekend. Of course I’m most interested to know how my grandson is coming along. The answer is very well. Of course there is shopping to be done for food and meals to be prepared. On the way to the garden centre to buy food we stop off to drop a package in for return. I note that the local pillar box has been adorned for tomorrows coronation.

Along the way the new powder dispenser for the washing machine arrives. I get the fitting sorted but as yet have not had the chance to test it. The day whiles away but of course regardless of everything I am still in Sparta adn that means that I need to train so I get changed and go to the garage. I decide that I need to make an effort today so although I select to go for 45 minutes I up the resistance level and as soon as I make the first pull I knew it was going to be long session. I am pleased to manage 9+ kilometres and to also burn 600+ calories.

I change out of my training kit and record my session in my journal. When I check the fitness app I find that my fitness age has dropped to 40. Here I am stage 4 cancer and the fitness age of a forty year old. How ironic is that? My partner gives our youngest daughter the things that she has bee knitting in preparation of the arrival of our grandson in July. The industry and skill is excellent.

It’s then time for a family meal and a meander into the evening. I watch Have I Got News for You and then read before taking my night meds and going to bed.

Saturday, coronation day, arrives and I sleepily wake to find the household up . Three things happen, breakfast, coronation and I finish reading Sophie’s World, a book within a book, within a book. A very interesting read. Now its time to see how our village is celebrating in the rain. Of course there is Morris dancing, which in this case provided the spectacle of a washboard player and some interesting dancing.

As is the tradition it starts to rain hard and so we return home. I update the blog and then I get ready to train for the final time this week. I decide a short half hour at my lower level to end the week. I set everything up, or so I thought, and set off. It goes well and I find myself racing at the end to hit the 7 kilometre mark and the 400+ calorie burn. I make it! Go me. However when I check the fitness app on my wrist it has been paused since 6 seconds after I started. “Bollocks” was my response to that.

I finish the session and go to the sofa to fill in my diet and exercise journal. After a few minutes I go upstairs to change and then go to pick up my spare drugs wallet. When I get to my drugs draw I find that the wallet is empty. So I gather up all my necessary drugs and go to the lounge and fill up my drugs wallets for the next two weeks. Just as I finish the wallets the evening meal is ready and once again we sit down as a family and dine. We chat and comment on todays coronation experience. I clear the kitchen, set Daisy (dishwasher) going and join the family on the lounge and draft the blog as I watch Dalgleish. I’m tired and looking forward to not training tomorrow, I am hoping above all that when I weigh in tomorrow morning that I will weigh less than last week, then and only then will I allow myself a treat. For now I cruise through the the rest of the evening looking forward to the day of rest tomorrow. After that its Bank Holiday Monday and I get to do another MRI scan.

Thursday arrives after a good nights sleep. After a quick comfort break I am back reading Sophie’s World, the chapter on Hume. By 10:30 I think its time to get up and prepare myself a muesli breakfast during which I check my messages and mail. My solicitor has contacted me and I need to make some decisions about the recent party wall issue. I sip my coffee and reflect before setting up the blog for the day.

I then spend the morning up to my eyes with death admin. I to and fro with the solicitor and then do the same with a surveyor. I now have three files related to my sister. The bureaucracy of death is growing ever complex. I also take the plunge and contact the funeral director about my sisters ashes. The up shot of this is that they are going to be sent to me. Death by post, that’s a new one to me. So this is how I make my way to lunch time and the walk to the polling station with my partner and eldest daughter. Its a real dilemma as the only candidates are either conservative or liberal democrats. Of course the conservatives are non starters which leaves the other lot. There are no Labour, Green or credible independent available so its down to tactical voting. This of course is my fault, as it is everybody else’s who leaves the local politics to others. This is the reaping of what my inactivity has sown. I return home to a smoothie lunch and as I am preparing this treat I put my washing in the machine. The machine then plays tricks with me in that the softener compartment of the powder dispenser empties itself before the machine starts its cycle. I get the machine going and then, smoothie in hand search the internet for a replacement powder dispenser. I have just finished ordering the replacement when a friend rings on her journey to the vets. We chat for a while and catch up with how we both are and the immediate issues we face. Its good to her from her and although there are hurdles facing her there is progress.

By the time I have faffed about a bit it is time to hang my washing out and get changed to train. So while my smalls and other garments flap in the breeze I get ready to train. In the garage I get on board the rower, set the controls for an hour and get underway. It is not a time of reflection or thought, in fact there is not even much fantasy. I childishly watch the numbers click by as I row towards certain combinations of numbers until the later stages when I am making the effort to reach distance, stroke and calorie goals. Although I started slow today I burnt 800+ calories and rowed over 12 kilometres. By the end I was pretty much spent however I need to keep this going over the coronation weekend and beyond.

The training gear is dumped in the laundry and I flop on the sofa to record the session in my food and exercise journal and then I draft the blog as I rest and recover after the session. I intend a gentle evening. Tuna Pasta, Dalgleish and Mock the Week followed by night meds, moisturising and oblivion. Perfect.

Wednesday the 3rd of May, the third day in Sparta, that state of mind that is battle before the real fight of Radiotherapy. It is the assembling the resources and the troops before the big push, should it come. So I am awake at 8 o’clock and so I read Sophie’s World for an hour before getting up for breakfast. By the time I am up the house is permeated by the sound of work voices so I down my muesli and meds and go to the gym, collecting two exciting parcels from the postman on my way out. I sneak a quick look at the contents and find they are both the ice hockey jerseys I am expecting.

The gym is a bit thin on the ground as I buy my bottle of water to take to the gum floor with me. £1.86 for a large bottle of water, that won’t happen again, its time to reclaim my water bottle from the depths of the kitchen cupboards. I go to the gym floor and find all the cross trainers taken so I bide my time and quite soon one becomes available. I hop on board and set myself up for an hours session. I’m feeling irritated as I have the misfortune to be next to a mouthy, loud, “in’t bro” arsehole on his phone while pretending to train. I crank up Rammstein, remind myself that the arsehole will go away and breath deeply trying to ignore the intolerant urge to punch the arsehole into next week. As foretold by reasonable rational me the arsehole does eventually wander off and I continue my session in blissful peace. I do a 65 minute session, sipping water as I go. The session turns out ok, I burn 600+ calories and go 6+ kilometres. By the time I get to the end I am knackered and walk the gym floor to cool down.

I shower slowly and make my way to the lounge to drink coffee and eat an egg and bacon roll while reading more of Sophie’s World. The book is edging its way through philosophy’s history and I have managed to get as far as Locke. Its been a good refresher to date and of course raises interesting questions about the nature of mortality and what being a person actually means, which at this moment in time feels more than pertinent. Woven into the story is a mystery concerning the characters in the book who are teaching and learning the philosophy through discussion and dialogue. I’m about half way through and I am interested to see what the book has to say about my pet like, existentialism. By the end of two cups of coffee I am read to return home.

Once home I am of course immediately trying on my new ice hockey jerseys. There are two kinds of jersey, (pay attention Oswald minor at the back), the first is the heavy winter jersey clearly meant for the winter season and then there is the light mesh versions that are either summer season wear or light training versions. The mesh ones are excellent summer wear and my two news ones are of this type. One of them has come from the Ukraine, while the German one has come from a chap in England.

I of course keep one of them on while I sort out my training kit, hang out my towel and then record todays gym session and food in my diet and exercise journal. With the world sorted I take to drafting the blog until my partner returns from seeing her mother. When I log into my blog web site I always check the numbers of people who have visited the site and the number of visits. I was taken aback to see that according to the stats monitor that there had been 437 visitors and 836 visits today so far. I checked the identities of the visitors and found very few repeat people, or at least addresses. I’ve no idea what this is about but occasionally I will get an unexpected spike in the figures and I suspect that there is a technical glitch that lets a lot of SPAM or something like through to the site. Either that or it is counting hits for some one else’s site and adding them to mine. Hey Ho! as much as I would like to think that as many people might be interested I think it highly unlikely that this is anywhere near the reality.

I move into the evening aware that I have very few spoons, if any, left for the rest of the day, which means I am likely to watch the end of Murder in the First Series 3, read and then go to bed, rattling with night meds and smoother than a fresh jar o’ Skippy. Full marks to anyone who knows where those song lyrics come from.

Tuesday and the Bank Holiday nonsense is over and its back to work for the rest of the household while I drink coffee and read in bed before getting up for breakfast. Once up and dressed I attend to some basic email stuff and some general life admin before I begin to think about training. In my Sparta state I am pressed to train earlier in the day to ensure I fulfil my training requirements. By noon I am in the garage and strapped onto to the rowing machine and ready to go, with Composer of the week in my ears. Today, William Walton. I pull for an hour burning 800+ calories and going 13+ kilometres. Its a good session following on from yesterdays effort in the gym.

I change and prepare chicken soup for lunch, no roll note. Its time to go to the Shed but before I do I notice that the Iris in the front bed have come out so take a picture of it. There is a profusion of nature going on in my garden that is quietly getting on with it.

I get to the Shed and sit and write letters for a while. I’ve got a new stock of butterfly stickers which I liberally apply to the letters. My ink supply has run out and I need to open my new bottle of drawing ink but before I can do that I must rinse out and clean my triple ink well and refill flask. Its a messy and job but I get it done and successfully fill my inkwell with the new ink, I try my five most used pens adn find the new ink flows well with all of them. I close the Shed up and walkover to the post box to send my letters on their way. I’m reading when the garden guy turns up so I make him coffee, pay him and move the car of the drive so he can load up some wood. With the bin out for tomorrows collection I am once again on the sofa reading Sophie’s World. I am up to the Indo Europeans now and the philosophy is getting a bit more subtle. A friend rings on her way to shopping after a day of overseeing cake making, its a education strike day so there are children to be occupied. We chat briefly before I get the call that my evening meal is ready.

My evening starts with a meal and then I move the car back to the drive and settle down on the recliner to read a bit more and to start drafting the blog. Now its all about waiting for Tesco to deliver and trying to get an early night, my head is already thinking about tomorrows exercise session. At the moment I am planning the gym. The evening is a challenge, I crave sweet stuff but its not part of my getting ready for radiotherapy. I also have to resist the urge to “graze”. I know its driven by boredom, or in other words “my needs are not being met” so I keep busy and try to feed my brain in other ways. So tonight there will be Tesco, reading, blogging, Murder in the First, a great deal of moisturising and self care before bedding down.

Happy May Day, its the day Rocket and I go to Sparta in our quest for Radiotherapy readiness, although I suspect it will be a road of many bumps and temptations. I wake up with my new knew cushion nestled between my knees adn it feels comfortable and good. I declare my knee cushion a good buy and a new boon to me getting a better nights sleep. My partner brings me coffee and we chat before getting up. There are bacon bagels for breakfast before my partner starts to pursue her to do list and I head for the garden.

The garden is beginning to burgeon with growth and looks quite verdant, however the bird feeders are empty as is the squirrel feeder. I refill the feeders and check the hedgehog canteen. I have a pang of glumsiness as I find the food I put out untouched. Does this mean that my hedgehog has gone. They are creatures of habit so it could be that the hedgehog is dead. I remove the food and will decide later to put more out once I have checked the garden camera. The camera confirms that the hedgehog is still alive but not visiting as frequently, perhaps there is more natural food available as Spring develops. What I do have is a lot of footage of a fox, its visiting about once a week now, probably attracted by the smell of hedgehog food. The squirrels are also camera stars as they pat down each of the excavations that they make.

Its time to go to the gym so I gather up my kit and prepare my bag. I drive my partner and I to the gym, buy water for the session, forget to take my bottle off the counter adn go to the changing rooms. Once on the gym floor I select a cross trainer and get myself going on an hour long session. I’m going for a full session for the first time in a long time and I am not sure how it will go. I plug Rammstein into my ears loudly and set off at a steady pace. By the end of the session I am tired and very sweaty but triumphant in the feeling of completion. Its a good first session in the new era of Sparta. I’ve burnt in excess of 650 calories and gone 6.9 kilometres, I am happy with that, so is my fitness App, which tells me my PAI score is 200 and that I have earned the maximum of 75 PSI points I can earn in a single day. Never done that before, so well pleased. I go to change and to shower.

Once changed and showered I am in the lounge having a large black coffee waiting for my partner. We drink and compare notes on our sessions. I’m ready to go home and my partner surprises me with the suggestion that we go to the nearby Italian restaurant for tea. We walk across and get a booth where we order ourselves an indulgent meal. The meal is good but there comes a point where I need a piss and this is a worry. Having had a longer session on the cross trainer than I have had for a while I am not sure how my body will respond. It’s in this situation that I have pissed blood before so I go to the toilet with some anxiety. To my relief (excuse the pun) there is no sign of blood. It makes such a difference to my confidence for future sessions and means I should be able to row for an hour tomorrow. The bill comes. Its a card only, no cash restaurant and the fuckers have put on 10% service charge automatically. I hate that, it feels like taking the piss even though the bill says its at my discretion. They rely on people just paying it. We tell them to take the service charge off and they bring us a new bill. I wave a card and then press a fiver into the waitress’s hand telling her that its for her. We leave and I drive us home.

Once home and I sort out my kit, hang my towel out to dry and settle down to write the days blog. I do this as the final of the world snooker championship is taking place. Luca Brecel the Belgium looks odds on to beat the Leicester boy Mark Selby. Its going to be a down beat evening as I have no spoons left to spend today. Already my head is in tomorrow, the need to train, diet and be in Sparta mode. Tonight of course I must remember to moisturise my gut, there are only potentially 17 moisturising days to the Radiotherapy oncology appointment.

Sunday, yes its Sunday, it really is Sunday and my first job of the day is to correct yesterdays blog to read Friday and Saturday as I had clearly lost track of the days. My reasoning is that when you stop watching TV and being concerned with the Real World and replace it with reading, writing and reflecting the differences between days become blurred. No post on Sundays is a bit of a marker but then if you don’t get post every other day it can be a bit confusing and feel that Sundays come around too often. As for this Sunday, I laze in bed catching up with messages, emails and Amazon orders. Oh were is my knee pillow? One message amused me, I share it here:

So raising my sloth like self from bed I have breakfast and then participate in the call to my youngest daughter, a regular Sunday marker event. Yep today must be Sunday if I am talking to my youngest. My biggest challenge of the day, apart from getting dressed is whether to enter a poem in the Poetry Society members competition. Its not so much a matter of entering but whether I can cope with the inevitable rejection and failure. Its clear from my previous attempts in the arena, and my Poetry Stanza experiences, that my poetry is, in the eyes of the poetriati, crap and not what is regarded as the genuine article. Inside a little hope remains but maybe not for today. All I have by way of poetic inspiration is a single phrase: “crumulent concreteers” , and that is a long way off being a poem or even a coherent expression of anything tangible. It would appear that this Sunday could be a long draw out affair. While others juggle ferrets and grow Dangerous Beans I caste around for meaning, which probably means I will end up in the garden or the Shed.

I end up doing nothing apart from watching a couple of rugby matches and indulging in lemon drizzle cake. It is my response to rain and a household sewing and working, My entire excitement for the day has been a face to face with my youngest daughter and the arrival of my knee pillow. In truth my injection site as been sore and made me feel less like wanting to prance about like a spring lamb, hence the sedentary nature of my day. It will all change tomorrow as it is the the first of May and a Monday which means I shall screw up all my resolve and begin the serious run in to my Radiotherapy oncology appointment on the 18th of May. A new diet and training regime with an added yoga content is the plan. My moisturising regime has to be adhered to and I probably should be beginning to regularise my bed time routine. Its time to awaken my inner Spring and gambol towards the new experience of radiotherapy. So just the last six hours of April in which to indulge myself and then I become a Spartan. I place where the question “and will there still be honey for tea” will be met with a resounding “no!” I have books to read, a garden to tend and a body to hone, what’s not to get excited about? I’ll see you all in May. So here we go gathering nuts in May or more accurately, “here we go gathering knots in May” meaning here we go gathering knots of flowers, an old May day custom, Pagan of course and apt as I enter Sparta. So an evening meal, football highlights, meds and bed for me in my pupate state before I begin to emerge as a new butterfly for Spring.

Friday, seems an age ago, only it was yesterday. There are two things that stand out, training and a meal out. These were both delightful except that they were preceded by my monthly injection and an additional B12 jab. So by the time I was ready to train my gut was sore and I was taking paracetamol to ease the pain. Ditto the evening meal. There was also a nasty surprise in the redirected mail from my deceased sisters house. The neighbours have signalled their intent to extend their property and it affects the partitioning wall, so there is going to be a lot of jiggery pokey and legal argie bargie before it is resolved. The last thing I want is our estate agent trying to sell the house while next door is a building site that threatens to overlook part of the property. There were trips to the post office to send documents to the solicitor. Oh happy May Bank Holiday.

The training session was my first in six days and an act of defiance really as I felt sore and was determined not to let a full week go by without session. I decided on a gentle hour at a “jogging level”. I strapped in and began to pull into my rhythm. By the end of the session I am trying as I realise I might be able to make the 13 kilometre mark. I do and I am pleased.

There is time for me to recover adn shower before driving of to the next village and meet friends for an evening meal. The company is good, the best, with lots of conversation and catching up with what we have been doing. We are in a “gastro” pub and our fellow diners are all around us. The bars of he pub are also open. Having eaten our main courses we take a break to let it go down and continue to chat. By the time we contemplate puddings or coffee we are informed the kitchen is closed and the coffee machine is on its cleaning cycle. Its half past nine o’clock for Christ sake. Last orders bell rings at 10:30 and we are the last people in the pub. I conclude from this that pubs are dying, no longer are they community places, they are no fanciful food outlets who want you to eat, pay and fuck off. We pay and leave saying our farewells in the car park having fixed another date to meet.

Once home I take my meds and more paracetamol and watch tonight’s Have I Got News For You before going off to bed. The day appears to have been fuller than I first remembered when I started todays blog. I’m not sure if this is good or bad or perhaps just inconsequential. However in the day I found time to start Sophie’s World.

Saturday and I wake up after a disturbed night. My foot is giving me gyp so my partner examines it and applies a soothing ointment. We get up for breakfast and I put the evening meal in the crockpot. There is shopping to do so we go to the garden centre and load up with vegetables and bacon. On returning home I do a Tesco order and settle down to watch the women’s international rugby. England romp their match and the Welsh manage to beat the Italians for the first. Its soon time for the evening meal and an evening of film and the excitement of seeing my football team win. This Saturday is a bits and pieces day, a kind of clearing the decks for the days to come. I am marking time till my injection site feels less sore and my foot eases. Sometimes its good to breathe and pay attention to it.