Sunday, its the birthday youngest grandson. I have just finished taking my vitals, all good, when my partner face times me and I get to see the birthday boy. He is full of beans and it is not long before he is blowing raspberries at me. Its a delightful way to start the day. After the conversation I get up and make breakfast, which I take to the Shed to eat. The sun is out and after breakfast I take to the garden swing seat and relax for a while. I get a message from my son suggesting a face to face call to catch, so we agree a time for an hour hence. While I wait I enter my latest vitals on to the spreadsheet for cycle 14 so far. It all still looks good, my arithmetic is acceptable. My son calls and we talk for an hour and fifty minutes with his family in the background. Its been a while since we have had such a long chat so there is much to catch upon. I enjoy the call and seeing my Swedish relatives as they enjoy the warm sunshine of summer.
After the call I make lunch and watch the Chariots of Fire as preparation for the Olympics, at least that is my excuse for whiling away the afternoon, but what took me by surprise the All Ireland Hurling final. An amazing game that is fast and furious played on a full size pitch. I have to admit I found the game a refreshing watch. It is an amateur game so all the players go back to work on Monday after playing in front of eighty four thousand people. After the game I make tea and start to draft the blog. My evening will be an easy one as I prepare for tomorrows twenty eight day injection and the arrival of the landscapers to install the new front gates. So I will be taking paracetamol, having a shower and hoping to sleep well tonight. I have definitely gone slowly through this week end trying to fully and properly recover, I am hoping that next week I can deal with my injection and the tasks ahead, like my cars MOT. It is a kind of fallow period where rest is the harvest.
Saturday, I wake to the empty house, check my vitals, all good there and then I am up to make breakfast. I clear the kitchen and then set about printing off the poems for this afternoons poetry stanza zoom meeting. I am not contributing this meeting, so I shall listen and keep myself to myself, which is difficult for me. Once I have the hard copies I get them into plastic folders and read them over several times. The group has some really good poets in it and I always feel an interloper. At lunch time Amazon deliver the smart tower fan I ordered yesterday. Of course I am assembling it straight way. It is a beast of hurricane proportions and could probably cool an entire warehouse, efficient is a big understatement. I might have miscalculated the size a tad but by god does it work well. It come with a controller and a phone app, which is cool, and apparently I can hook it up to the smart speaker as well.
The new tower fan beast that is one degree below a chiller. Awesome
The afternoon is taken up with the poetry stanza meeting. As usual the contributions are many and varied. These people really do know what they are doing in the poetry organisation and culture. I hardly speak and do not take a turn to read. It is a connection that I value, strange but there it is. Hopefully by the August meeting I will be able to join in properly. Once over I make my tea and go for a film fest during which I draft the blog. The evening passes till I take my night meds and go to bed. Tomorrow I start my preparation for jab Monday, which means taking paracetamol to ward off the initial side effects. I am listless and need to sleep.
Thursday has come and gone and little of it remains in my head, beyond it being warm and sunny. My partner and eldest daughter finally decided to go see my youngest grandson on his birthday over the weekend down in the forest of Dean. At some point in the later afternoon my partner and I go to the garage and check the car tyres and fill the tank in readiness for tomorrows journey. While in the garage I grab a couple of bottles of Lucozade as I have discovered that it goes down well and provides me with a different taste from hot water. In the evening the family eat together and the either watch SWAT or pack for tomorrows journey. I am not going to be traveling as I still feel vulnerable and shaky. My gut is giving me trouble and I cannot face a longish car ride, I just feel I need time to settle properly after my operation, I am also very aware that this coming Monday is Jab Monday and therefore at the end of my cycle which can be tricky, so over the weekend I will be taking prophylactic paracetamol to counter the after effects of the Monday injection. On top of that the Landscapers are retuning on Monday to install the new front gates and treat the new back gate and patio hand rail. So on balance I thought it best to stay at home and let my partner and eldest daughter go and enjoy the grandsons first birthday celebrations. At the end of the evening I take my night meds minus the Hiprex that I have decided not to take for a trail period to try and settle the disruption to my gut. It may well be that I am just anxious but I have the definite sense that since taking the Hiprex that my gut and shakiness has been worse.
Friday and I wake to find my household getting ready to travel to see the youngest grandson for his first birthday. I am slow to get up and measure my vitals, which were okay, before getting up. I wave the household off and then make myself breakfast and settle down to a quiet day. I shower and don a kimono before setting Daisy dishwasher going and settling down to watch the Post Office Enquiry, where it is clear that Jo Swinton the Minister was just plain lied to by the Post Office and one of her senior civil servants. Lunch comes and goes and the next CEO of Royal Mail gets grilled at the enquiry at which point I start to draft the blog. I thought I would feel okay on my own and in general I am but today I just feel generally under the weather, so I am going to have a slow and gentle day and rest as much as I can. As I draft the blog the name of the magazine of Private Eye keeps coming up as prompting the executives of Royal Mail to see the unsafe convictions of sub post masters as a risk issue.
The enquiry comes to an end for the day and I slide into the evening. I’ve had enough of the enquiry and TV so settle on reading for a while before making my evening meal. Its been a hot day and I think about some time on the patio but continue to read and potter my evening away till its time take my evening meds and checking the house is secure go to bed.
small thing upon small thing brings the next step.
Wednesday and I wake up after another grim night when I resoted o co-codamol to get me off to sleep late a night. I do my vitals, which ae good again and then check my messages. There is nothing new so I get up and make breakfast. I do not want food at the moment but I make myself have it followed by my meds. It feels bleak and I ry to think what I can do to make my situation better. The sun is out so I go into the garden and sit on the patio using my “destroy it ” journal to doodle and make cartoons. That is where I stay for the morning, spending some time on the swing seat, where my partner joins me for lunch. We chat for a while before she goes to see her mother.
I make myself lunch and continue to watch the Post Office Enquiry. It is less bloody today and the junior minister does quite well. A friend rings me having just come away from her Blue Badge assessment, she is still fighting long COVID and the confining consequences on family life that it continues to have. After the rigours of the assessment she was going home to rest. I continue to watch the enquiry until my partner returns and gives me the parcel that has arrived for me. It is a surprise present from an old friend and colleague. It is the history of Brentford, my team through news papers fron way back to the modern day. Its a beezer gift and I am well chuffed. I send him a photo to him with me and the history.
A wizard birthday gift.
I return to the patio to sit with my partner until she goes to make tea and I go into the garden to dead head peonies and prune the sweet bay tree by the Shed. After that small burst of energy I return to the patio and start to draft the blog. Perhaps tonight is the night to light the chimenea and switch the patio lights on. The family dine on the patio, the first time this year and as we the sun sets and a small chill enters the air I light the chimenea for the first time in years. I’m so glad the decision was made to do the upgrade of the drive and the patio. There is nothing like watching a real fire burn and feeling its warmth.
Real fire, so mesmerising.
So we sit and watch the flames and I of course feed the ashes every so often to rekindle the flames. As the chill draws in so I move closer to the chimenea and return to drafting the blog. All around me the wood pidgeons are cooing and flapping in the trees at the end of the garden as they get ready to settle down for the and give way to what ever nocturnal wild life is going to scuttle about tonight. It is truly dusk and I wonder if there will be bats, perhaps it is also time to turn on the patio lights. I am truly like a child with a new toy. It is so calm and quiet this evening I wish my body would follow its example. The slightest breeze fans the flames and I continue to watch, knowing that the Great British Sewing Bee can be watched on catch up TV. As dusks falls I turn the lights on and I know the effort has been worth it.
So lovely when it all comes together.
I will sit here enjoying this time until I need to get more layers or to become more comfortable but while sitting here I’ve decided to stop taking my Hiprex, which is a prophylactic to discourage UTIs by sterilising my urine and gut but I am sure that it is this that is making my gut feel so acidic and uncomfortable so I am going to trial run it for a few days and se if it makes a difference. So this is where I leave the blog tonight, taking myself in hand and having an early night with amended night meds. Although I have lacked energy I feel today has been a day full of gifts and that cannot be bad.
Its dentist Tuesday, in fact its early dentist Tuesday, so I am up early and into the shower. Can’t go to the dentist smelly. It takes a lot of spoons (energy) but I feel refreshed and outside world ready, even if I am just walking a few hundred yards down the road. Having scoured my teeth I miss out breakfast and a few minutes after my partner has gone to work I walk down to the dentists. I have a short wait, during which I continue to read Cosmicomics by Calvino. The main character seems now to be in the present but remembering the formation of crystals in the development of the planet. I am quickly called in and my dentist sets to work. There is a lot of work to do to prepare for a long term crown solution to my missing filling of a front tooth. As the work progresses I feel more and more shaky, a combination of the work being done, anxiety and shakiness. At one point I have to stop, I’ve had become very cold and I think I was experiencing “tattoo flu”. My dentist is extremely good and attentive and notes when I need to slow down but gets on with the job, giving my a commentary on how much is done. At last she says “last ten minutes, all the major stuff is done. ” There is one last scan to be done so that the external company can 3D print my new tooth. Its an amazing bit of technology. Then I am done and I think every one is relieved that we got through it. I am shaky and leave via the receptionist who takes for half the fee for the full work being done. I’m due back in two weeks to get my new tooth stuck in.
On my way home I buy a paper, a load of soft sweets and a Lucozade to get some energy into me. On reaching home I hunt out my metal straw in order to drink the Lucozade as my mouth is still very numb from the dentists anaesthetic. I accompany the drink with a few jelly babies. As I wait for the sugar rush I do the days cross words and watch in the background the Post Office Enquiry. One of the Fujitsu system security men who wrote court “expert” witness statements is being torn into shreds by the lawyers. This is the most blood bath like session I have seen to date. When they break for lunch to mop up the blood I make myself filled pasta for lunch. After lunch Andy Dunks continues to be given a torrid time about his court statements that helped convict some postmasters. Once again it is clear that no one explained to this poor guy what it means to be an expert witness in a court of law and the principals of not going beyond one’s own direct knowledge. Clearly the lawyers manipulated some of the “expert” witnesses so ensure risk and blame were shifted off the post office. I start to draft the blog as I continue to recover from the morning. I clear the kitchen and return to waiting for the Tesco delivery as the rain stops and the weather brightens up. I am cheered up by reading the paper and noting that there has been some one older than me to have written and published there first novel. Previously I was aware that Mary Wesley publisher her first book at seventy two but Shirley Hughes wrote her first full length novel at 84 and her last on at the age of 94. I am tempted to start my novel Albertine’s Revenge.
It appears that quiet a lot happened on this day over the years.
By the mid afternoon I am getting twitchy that Tesco have not delivered. I put the bins out for tomorrow and note a Jaguar is parked, the owner points to small retriever type dog running down the road and asks if it its mine. Apparently it had run out into the road. I think its our neighbours dog so I knock on their open and ask my neighbour if he is missing his dog. He is and so the adventure of Mable starts, At one point there ae at least three cars parked up and the driver plus me and my eldest daughter trying to get a very skittish Mable to come home. Mable has no road sense and at one moment the traffic on the village main road comes to a standstill. Mable is still running around the block when Tesco arrives to deliver to us. As Tesco man unloads our order Mable is reunited with her owner. There are lots of thumbs up all round and the good Samaritans move on. My Tesco order is squirreled away and I return to continue seeing the Fujitsu chap be systematically butchered. Its real lamb to the slaughter job. After the excitement of the Mable chase and everything else in the day I get to the end of the afternoon without much energy left.
I guess my evening is going to be lazy and filled with reading and SWAT unless I start Albertine’s Revenge, but before I can do that I need to re read some Proust. Perhaps the warmer weather will arrive and I will finally get out on the patio and light the chimenea.
Monday and I wake up after another torrid night, mainly not feeling well, in particular my gut. I had been up and down all night and taking meds in the night. When I woke up finally I was feeling strung out and tried to rest before taking my vitals. My vitals all came up normal so I check my messages and then get up. All I can face is toast and honey with a warm drink which I take onto the patio where my partner is reading. I try to relax in between fixing the sun shade and looking out over the garden.
I have been thinking about whether to enter the Poetry Societies members competition with its theme of counting, so as I look out over the garden and wonder if the few spots of rain will turn into a deluge or not I begin to think about words and shapes and colours. Eventually I start to jot in the back of my “Ins and Outs” journal. By the time I am ready to stop I have three more things scribbled down. Below are my initial drafts. I have no idea what I will do with them or whether I shall just leave them alone and move on.
400
Like my poems life is curated, it is by filling the abacus that I know the days since cancer took me. Now my life is a plethora of numbers, singularly or in pairs they see inside. "Is my arithmetic good" I ask after every vial of blood, pot of urine or dollop of poo. My life is innumerated, recorded so that I and others may tend me. All my ins and outs in digital, averaged, plotted and watched for waning and ebbing. Life is moonlike, changing shape dependant on reflection, angles and the tremulous rotations of a system trying to maintain it's dynamic equilibrium. By these calculations I gauge how many more mathematical days I have left to count.
401 15-07-2024
401 Every little effort, the smallest movement drains me. I wonder if I am talking myself into weakness, abandoning the positive mind set, and settling from something less than me. Is there some deep seated vein of self pity or longing to be nurtured woven into my being. All those years of exploration, reflection and challenge, missing the mark out of trying to avoid the uncomfortable pain of being me. I thought I was doing my best when in fact it was my unconscious that has done a better job and let me achieve the conscious world I craved. Now it seems that when death is on the cards neither can be hidden from each other.
401 15-07-2024
402
Chiminea made for onomatopoeia amidst the mumbling of innumerable bees and the furry flea filled flicking of squirrel tails. This is what drizzles out of my dazed mind when serious soul stuff is all gone. Sitting in my garden having cooing competitions with pidgeons and wondering where the wildlife has gone. Not the feathery, scaly kind of nature but my own. A head full of pixies that would drain brandy, eat the hottest curry and throw themselves around on roller blades. Those stay up all night argument days talking drunken shit and feeling clever, well I never thought it would come to this; thinking froggerel and writing doggerel in my garden sanctuary.
402 15-07-2024 Foot note; Shakespeare made up words why shouldn't I?
Just before lunch time Amazon deliver five kilos of peanuts with the shells on. I have decided that my squirrel needs to work for his nuts and to enhance his diet with roughage as well as a lot of protein. I store the nuts a way and fill the feeders, strewing a few peanuts around to encourage the wild life to work a bit for its rewards. My partner and eldest daughter go out for lunch and get myself soup and cheesy bread as I cannot face going out today. I just want to rest being aware how fatigued I feel and that I am due at the dentist tomorrow for phase one of a new partial crown. I dine and start to draft the blog with the Post Office Enquiry going on in the background. Sir Stephen Lovegrove seems to be competent but his claim not to be aware of the postmasters convictions and the Horizon problems seems unlikely in this modern age of risk and awareness. The enquiry day comes to an end and I continue to draft the blog as my partner and eldest daughter return from lunch.
The biggest challenge this evening is going to be what to eat. At the moment food appears not to be my friend, so plain and simple is the way forward. Hopefully the evening will be simple with a diet of SWAT to watch. My watch word is to be kind to myself.
Saturday and in a fit of energy I take my partner to the garden entre with the best breakfast menu once I have filled my drugs wallets for the next two weeks. I take her in my car determined to drive and to give my car n airing as I’ve just re-taxed it. To my relief no warning lights come up and the car drives well. The restaurant at the garden centre has few people in it, which is good so we are shown to a table where we order breakfast. I go for the full gardeners breakfast and a pot of hot water. My partner and I chat until the food arrives by which time a party of at least two families arrives and is seated adjacent to us. They are going to be married in a couple of hours time apparently. At least one combination of people round e table are going to be. My Gardner’s breakfast is good but the pot of hot water is not so good and has a funny look and tasty about it. As the wedding party get noisier the more uncomfortable I get so we leave but buy a hanging basket on the way out.
It is ridiculous but this simple activity has tired me out. When I get home I hang the hanging basket out front and retreat to the recliner for a while, whilst my partner goes off shopping for fruit and veg. Apparently chocolate eclairs count as veg. There is some life admin to be done and post to be read but it all seems manageable. I watch the women’s Wimbledon final and all the emotion that goes with it. There is the natural glee and despondence of winning and losing, which is fine, what I cannot take is the desperate manufacturing of extra layers of emotional meaning and story that bloody Claire Balding tries to wring out of every moment and every opportunity. Any hint of relationship with someone dead is squeezed to get the most “televisual” human story out of it. The winner probably just wanted to go and celebrate without all the morbid shit that Balding is dragging up. With the final over there is the men’s doubles to watch in which there is a Brit in one of couples. When the Brits team finally win as an unseeded couple beating a very pissed off looking seeded pair of Australians (He He!) the Brits Finnish partner blubs and blubs and blubs. The Brit of course maintains an appropriate demeanour of joy with out hysteria, as it should be, after all it is tennis not a matter of life and death, no matter what Clare bloody Balding tries to make it.
The evening meal follows, which is where I discover that a chocolate éclair is a fruit. Some where in this early evening time I find the energy to lay a fire in the chimenea on the patio thinking that I might light it later and enjoy the full lighting and comfort of the new patio. It is a fantasy that remains just that, a fantasy. Having bought season six of SWAT my partner and I settle down to watch several episodes before my partner goes to bed adn I clear the kitchen before going to bed. I am taking my night meds when I notice on the news that some one has had a go at shooting Donald Trump, but failed. Why has it taken so long is my question, not that shooting people is a good thing ever but given America and its mass weaponry tinged with its current polarisation I am surprised no one has had a go before. So having taken my meds I go to bed.
Sunday and I have had a shit night where I resorted to taking a co-codalmol at three in the morning to get to sleep. The result is I wake up with birdcage mouth, cricket ball gut and feeling as tired as when I went to bed. Eventually I get up and make my partner and I warm drinks and we read and chat for a while until my partner gets up to make breakfast while I check my vitals. My vitals are okay. Breakfast is close to being brunch and by the time it is eaten and I am settled the garden guy turns up with his petrol mower to annoy the neighbours before he goes on holiday to Greece for a while. I’m now looking forward to the men’s Wimbledon final and of course England taking on Spain in the final of the European Football Championship. A friend has bought me a “Wreck this Journal” as a birthday present and I start work on it by tagging pages that need things stuck into them and numbering the pages as well as breaking the spine of the journal as instructed. A brutal first move for a book lover to do.
The birthday present I have started to wreck, in an organised way of course
I now have two thing to turn to when inspiration is low, a reminder that nothing flows unless the tap is turned on and selection of taps to try. All very useful as I keep working away at the third collection of the Cancer Years poetry series. Having started the wrecking process I try to catch up with drafting the blog. In the background there is the arrival of princess Kate at Wimbledon and of course bloody Claire Balding instantly comments on her recent cancer treatment. Time for lunch.
Post lunch the Wimbledon finalists come on to court but my partner and I head for our favourite garden centre for plants. We arrive to an almost empty garden centre and have the run of the place. Its the end of season for bedding plants so its possible to buy entire trays for cheap as chips money. My partner and I load up a trolley and are soon heading home with a boot full of goodies. Once home the trays of plants are unloaded and the planting begins as Carlos Alcaraz wins Wimbledon. The raised beds have been moved by the garden guy this morning along with having cut the grass and make the ideal place for the new plants. There is a concerted burst of planting and watering and pretty soon the plants are all in new homes. Its beginning to look like the garden is being retrieved after the chaos and damage that having the new patio being built created. Slowly but surely the garden recovers, with a little help.
By the time all the plants are in and the tools are cleared away I am spoonless and return to the recliner. All I can do is watch the end of a Bond film and add to the draft blog. It’s two hours to go before the big match so I am hunkering down and preparing for the evening meal and then the game afterwards. I am not optimistic but hopefully I am proved wrong.
Nope I was right to be pessimistic, England lose 2-1 with a tepid display. Nothing for it but to watch an episode of SWAT followed by the BBC prom of Verdi’s Requiem, which seems most apt. I take my night meds and go to bed hoping for a better nights sleep. Onward into a new week and still fighting to find some equilibrium, some confidence in my body, and a sense of some sort of wellness or at least recovery.
Fight, feed the army, be kind to Rocket, remember Cancer is the enemy.
Friday and I wake up having have a much better nights sleep. I check my vitals and they are okay. There are no messages or cyber litter that needs to be done so I get up and make breakfast. My morning meds are taken and I note I still feel under the weather. I am beginning to thing that this is related to the growing cocktail of drugs I am taking. In particular my gut, which seems to be particularly sensitive at the moment. I am trying to get in to proper clothes everyday and not slob about in lounge wear. My first move of the day was to finish reading Prospects by Kate Wilson and send her an email telling her how much I had enjoyed it. My second chore was to nudge the landscapers about when they are going to deliver and fix our new gates.
By the time Wimbledon starts I am fed up with myself and start to tidy my little corner of the world, putting books away and repositioning the garden camera. While I am in the garden I fill the bird feeders and put the few peanuts I have left in the squirrel feeder in the hope of seeing him/her again soon. The garden is still providing splendid flowers, mostly due to the hard work of my partner and the garden guy. I empty the water tower and discover that the middle tank is not filling, meaning that a replacement tank is needed if it is going to work at full capacity, it will however continue to work as it is for a while.
By the time I have finished my excursion in the garden I am breathless and tired. I get myself a decaf coffee and retreat to the recliner in the lounge where a couple of men are slogging it out in the Wimbledon semi finals. I root out my jotting journal and write a “thing”, possibly a poem trying to capture my frustration of how I am at the moment. The important thing for me is that I am trying to get myself creating again. Of course the aim is to create the third collection in the Cancer Years series.
400
I go back to "to this pen, this ink" as my starting point. It cuts away the blankness of a virgin page and a listless mind. This discontent with self and sense of distance from where the being wants to be. Ill at ease with body and struggling of mind it is difficult to find beauty, energy and direction. Bogged down in desired recovery and feeling a disappointment to all those trying so hard to love and nurture. Here on the page lays the battlefield with its cover and camouflage, trenches and emplacements. Having escaped from the wreckage, a survivor swimming upwards hoping the breath holds out until that lung filling moment when air washes the face and life is affirmed with a gasp. Not a last gasp but a babies first, life assuring full of the journey to come. So up I swim straining for the surface. It hangs in the balance, I hold my breath and hope it lasts.
400 12-07-2024
I scribble some other bit and pieces but it is senseless and I stop, enough is enough. My partner returns from an afternoon of pampering and talks to our youngest daughter and our grandson. A friend rings me and we chat for a short time, catching up with what is going on in our families and with ourselves. The evening arrives and I start to draft the blog while the evening meal is prepared. There is no plan for the evening, I guess I will see what comes along. What will come along are meds and bed with the hope for a good nights sleep again.
Thursday and I get up after a torrid night. Real difficulty sleeping but in the end succumbed and took a co-codamol at 2:30 in the morning. So this morning I get up make breakfast take my meds and shower with enough time to rest for a bit before I go the dental hygienist appointment. I feel like crap, tired and shaky but I’m determined to get it over and done with. I am hoping it will help get rid of the bad taste in my mouth that I think my meds are responsible for. So I start the blog and then rest for while.
My visit to the dental hygienist was mercifully short. I made it quite clear that this was not one of my good days so they got on with it. I returned home picking up a paper on the way back where I spent time doing todays crosswords. A late lunch for me before I watch two excellent semi finals at Wimbledon. I am feeling less well as the day goes on so by the time my partner returns with her friend from a day all I want to do is rest.
The evening is passed with catch up TV and a brief update of the blog, Mainly I finish reading Prospects by Kate Wilson. I take my night meds and go to bed hoping that tonight I will be able to sleep. It seems my body is taking its time recovering from my operation. Perhaps am just being impatient.
Wednesday and I wake after a reasonable nights sleep but still feel fatigued. I do my vitals and find they are reasonable, not brilliant, but reasonable. I usually listen to whatever meditation music my smart speaker wants to play me when I do my vitals, it provides a period of relaxation or reflection but this morning on a whim, and I am not sure where it came from, I ask my speaker to play me some Incredible String Band. not really thinking that it will have any. To my surprise it does and I spend quite a long time listening to the randomised tracks from some of their albums. I saw this group live with a group of community charity volunteers that redecorated old peoples houses lead by a bloke called Peter Warren, who was inevitably nicknamed Peter Rabbit, at the Festival Hall in 1968. Same year I saw Hair performed in London with the same group. Psychedelic Folk was the tag at the time and very underground at the time with Williamson and Heron being the strange couple who made up the core of the act.
An album I used to own in my hippie days.
Ah the days of kaftans and being in the underground.
Ah how things have changed and yet not at all.
After a suitable period of hippy recollection I finally get up and dress in hippy trousers and T shirt (it would have been tie dyed back in the day) but now a hand made present. I make breakfast and take my morning meds still feeling a bit delicate. I have to keep reminding myself that it is only four days since my TWOC (Trial Without Catheter) and although things are going well I need to be patient with myself. I start to draft the blog as the lunchtime Wimbledon start approaches. Of course I am focussed on tonights semi final match between England and the Netherlands. Its a a way of so I need to shake a leg and do something this afternoon that earns me the game tonight.
I go to the Shed for the first time in ages and write letters and even make it to the post office. I have earned my lazy evening in which England reach the final of the European football competition. I take my night meds and go to bed, tomorrow I face the dental hygienist.
