CYCLE 5 DAY 13

Is it possible to die of Mr Sheen inhalation? This is the question I ask myself after an afternoon of cleaning and organising the office. It is true that it is, for the moment, pristine both in sheen, shine and ship shape order. No more dead flies, deceased moths and immobilised insects lay strewn across the flat surfaces, nor can one write memos to self in the dust, which in fairness was handy at times. Now all is sparkling but reeking of polish.

 This was my contribution to tidy up Sunday, which was temporarily suspended by the visit of my partners brother to deliver birthday presents to her. One cup of tea led to another and so we idled some time away chatting round the kitchen table in true Sunday fashion. It was an ideal time to sort out Christmas arrangements of who was doing what, who was working and when. There was the discussions of Christmas dinner for my partners elderly mother and what state I would be in, given where I will be in my sixth and final chemotherapy cycle. All of this being the usual Christmas juggling when things are uncertain. I think we got to a manageable place.

 Once our guest had left we ploughed on either cleaning or wrapping Christmas presents and comparing lists. By the end of the afternoon it was time to get work things ready for the morning trip to the GP and then onto a work meeting in Derby. All this achieved we sat down to dinner as Richard Attenborough stood and patted the last two North African white rhinos and waxed lyrical about us humans slaughtering other species and generally fucking up the planet. This was of course followed by His Dark Materials in which children have their souls detached from them by some evil religious organisation. One could almost get sentimental over Songs of Praise. My inner mammal could take no more so I went for a bath, leaving my partner to take my Amazon delivery of litres of mouthwash and kilos of squirrel and bird food. I like to think that when I am gone and people are scratching around for something nice to say about me they will at least say “Oh yes he fed the birds and a squirrel.” So post bath I blog and promise myself an early night. I might even let myself read for a while.

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