Saturday and its a mission day. Mission to buy a new mattress, neither I or my partner can tolerate the one we have right now so its got to go. The usual cyber checks done, I have breakfast, take my meds and the I am driving my partner to the dreaded retail park.

We park up and head for Dreams the bed shop and are greeted by a an avuncular shop assistant despite the fact that I am clearly double his age at least. He of course asks if he can help, I say “Super King Size, Extra hard, zip together.” He looks happy, someone who knows what they want. He guides us to the “firm” beds and encourages us to lie down brings pillows. We dive from bed to bed with him following clutching the pillows. As a pair we are quick to dismiss some of the products and “maybe” some others before saying “this one”. Its the fastest we’ve ever made a decision and the assistant is taken aback a bit. He looks to see what the delivery time is and looks up at and says those musical words to our ears “this one comes in extra firm”. Instantly I say “we will have it”. There then follows the usual non-essential sales bollocks but all we care about is getting the old one taken away at time of delivery. So in a very few minutes we do the deal, pay the money set the delivery date and wander out of the shop clutching a recycling bag for the old mattress and promising to do the feedback survey and that we would mention Prakesh in our feedback. We must have been the easiest sale he made all week.

Being on a roll my partner returned garments to Next without a hitch and we rewarded our selves with croissants and warm drinks in a vegan friendly café. I sat and watched the flow of people wandering by. A huge tide and a true mixture of cultures, colours and presentations. It struck me that all of them were just getting on with life, a huge silent living process that in this situation had no agenda, no dispute just doing daily life and not wanting that to be interfered with or interfere with anyone else’s. The agendaless public just living as best they can. I’m struck by the thought of where all the other stuff comes from and realise I only know about the other stuff either via social media, which is really a shouting contest, and what my friends share with me about their lives and experience of others. My friend’s accounts of even the bad stuff is far more rational and kind than all the other “noise”. Looking through the glass front of the café makes me feel as if am looking at an aquarium of people, it looks peaceful but I suspect there are predators lurking in this reef. These are just impressions and probably do not stand up to considered scrutiny but there lays the poetry.

Refreshed I and my partner buy the usual gifts to give to the host when visiting for a meal adn make our way home. I watch football and rugby until as a family we go to friends for an evening meal bearing the gifts we acquired earlier. To my surprise and delight they have lit a real fire and we sit before it nobbling things, chatting and watching the flames. The meal is a chance to catch up with all our news and what is happening to the people we know and to exchange view from anything from bombing foreigners to the annoyance of leaving pots and pans in a sink to soak. With midnight approaching its time to bid farewell and drive home through the fog. Once home my partner and eldest daughter go off to bed while I clear our kitchen and then take my meds. I’m too tired to draft a blog, that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Sunday starts with me weighing myself, I am not optimistic, but to my surprise I have dropped 0.2 kilos which keeps me just under the dread 99 kilo mark. I make warm drinks for myself and my partner and slowly we surface properly, comparing notes on yesterdays adventures and trying to get motivated for the rest of the day. The up shot is that I take my vitals, have a light breakfast and morning meds then face time my youngest daughter and the new grandson. I’m hoping they visit again soon, but lives are busy and need to be planned. On the way to the gym we stop off to check the tyres on my partners car. They are way down on what they should be and it explains why the car did not handle as well as usual last night. So we arrive at the gym and while my partner does the healthy things one does in a gym I sit in the lounge drafting the blog, sipping red berry and flower fruit tea and eating a bacon roll. So I am up to date and as a reward sit and read the copy of the original Velveteen Rabbit a friend has sent me. A beautiful book with all the original illustrations. It is a classic. I’m tempted to point out how mundane all this is but maybe its just “simple” because of what lay beneath. Below is my other dark poem that I wrote recently after I found myself breathless and my blood pressure had spiked. Clearly one of my “bad days” but I suspect that this undercurrent of the battle that is going on is what saps my energy and makes me try to keep my everyday life mundane and simple. Like a swan gliding on the surface, underneath it all I am paddling and fighting hard to stay on course. It seems that only in my poetry does this ever really surface, perhaps my poetry strivings are a little less vanity driven than I give them credit for.

Scared,
I am scared,
And find myself shaking,
My body full of anxiety.
All my joints rigid waiting.
The cancer is gnawing at  
Body and soul.
For once I am without options, 
Or strategy to cope. 
I wanted to model death with dignity
But I find myself trembling, 
Breathless and terrified.
I tell myself the arithmetic is good,
And so it is, but it counts for nothing 
When I piss blood
Or my dick hurts afterwards.
I take painkillers, 
I take my meds
And try to rest,
My inactivity dampens me,
And I struggle to the surface 
To gulp in air, 
To pay attention
And to remain calm. 
This is not what I had in mind,
A legacy of bravery for my family,
A model of how it can be done. 
I fear I am failing in my last act,
The lines forgotten,
I am stumbling off the stage,
Not exiting stage left
With a flourish and a kind word. 
Writing this is a diversion,
A declaration of horror,
In one last throw of the dice 
To hold onto something. 
How I envy Lawrence’s bird
Tumbling from its branch,
Never feeling sorry for its self.
Nature made me different,
And it is a divide I cannot hide.
Of course I will fight,
Of course I will go on,
But I have no illusions any more,
Death is making me a coward.
So I may weep occasionally
And feel sorry for myself
As I feel the pull of earth and fire
And an end to it all. 
								363	6th January 2024
 

My afternoon proceeds with rugby/snooker and then I slide into the evening not knowing what it holds for me, perhaps a bath. Or as it turns out Vera, chocolate and then an almost early night to bed full of my chemo and empty of energy.