Tuesday and I wake up in a strange hotel bed to the sound of other guests wandering corridors and banging doors. Before I can do anything my phone pings and there is a message from the friend I am seeing in the afternoon, she is ill an cannot see me. As I read the message I am aware that all is not well with my nose and I realise I have a nose bleed. Not a Niagara of blood but one that requires pinched nostrils and tissues. This is a real surprise and I am mindful that it is a contraindication to my taking Apixaban. I dress and go for breakfast dabbing at my nose. I eat my breakfast quickly gathering slightly bloody napkins as I go and then return to my room. Despite having said I would eat with a friend in the evening I decide I need to return home. I message my friend and start to pack. I am about to pack Elsie when my friend appears an gives my Christmas present and wishes me well. I checkout and drive home.

Elsie is a delight to drive and gets me home safe and sound. I ring my doctor’s surgery and report my nose bleed. The receptionist says she will pass my information on and sure enough I get a message back quite quickly. Apparently if my nose bleed lasts more than ten minutes I am to go to A&E or ring 999. I’m not sure what response I would get from 999 to a nose bleed. Anyway if I start to have frequent short duration nose bleeds then I have to go to the GP. Accompanying the message was an information sheet on how to manage nose bleeds if on blood thinners. 1. Use a prescribed nasal cream 4 times a day to prevent mild infection. 2. avoid blowing my nose for 2 weeks. 3.sneeze through my mouth for next 2 weeks. 3. avoid hot drinks for 2 weeks. 4. stop taking aspirin for 2 weeks. I read and take heed after which I unpack my clothes and send messages to people.

My partners visitor arrives and they sit and chat for ages until they go out for a meal. I order an Indian and settle down to watch the crucial Scotland v Denmark world cup game expecting a torrid affair and Scotland tragically but predictably beaten to an automatic qualifying place in next summers finals How wrong I was, it was a pulsating match with the swing of momentum going one way then another. In the end Scotland overcame a brave Danish side by scoring two sensational extra time goals. The crowd went wild, the commentators lost it and my mate on WhatsApp went wild too. Somewhere a lot of whiskey got drunk. I took my meds with a cold Lucozade and went to bed.

Wednesday I wake up feeling not so good as my partner got ready to go and see her mother. I took paracetamol, a scarce occurrence in the early morning and read my messages and emails before taking my vitals. My vitals are holding up well but I was feeling cold and decidedly off. I find myself jotting a poem, a reflection of where I am at the moment. Everything is overshadowed by the need to make a decision after last weeks gruelling oncology review and its inevitable that what I write at the moment reflects this. This is what fell out of my pen this morning.

474
My oncologist magician
Has run out of rabbits.
Now its old coney 
or lots of money
for a new bunny.
I could do nothing 
or be a guinea pig
but that’s about it.
Prognosis from the 
battered black hat
is four to six seasons,
maybe two cherry blossoms.
So I try to watch the toppers
as they get shuffled 
in my head
and tentatively point.
No lagomorpha, 
only a road to 
morphine. 
                                  474 19-11-25

I finally get out of bed, have my meds with a bagel and fruit juice and retreat to the sofa to catch up with the blog. On getting up I find that the 20 kilo bag of squirrel and bird peanuts have arrived alongside a squishy parcel that I have to forget for Christmas. My partner returns from seeing her mother just as I am putting new light bulbs in the kitchen lights and the cooker hood. With bulbs in place I return to blog drafting until its time to take a walk down into the village to buy extras for the meal tonight which my partner is cooking for her friend. I was not going to be here so I shall make myself scarce and give them time to chat. An opportunity for me to read or write until Shetland is on the TV. So that’s my evening sorted unless I do some heavy research on the options I have to choose from. Or I could begin to fill in my ” After I’m Gone ” book, one of those opportunities to write sensible wishes for once I am gone or to have a real laugh by insisting on bizarre post death wishes. I guess its time to find out if any of my family are eyeing up any of my prized possessions.

So I slide into late afternoon and a refreshing drink and jam doughnut and then onto the evening and ultimately meds and bed. Tomorrow I would have been driving home from York so I can afford another slow day but then I must get my arse in gear and start to train again and do the serious research and thinking. I am beginning to feel that I need to get this decision done, I can get on with Christmas then and my partners birthday.

Monday and I am up and making warm drinks for my partner and I. We chat over the day and then I take my vitals, which are all good. Breakfast is a simple bagel affair accompanied by my meds. As I am going to York later in the day I fill the bird feeders and the squirrel feeder. My attempts to tip the water out of the swing seat cover are disastrous and I have to sort out a bodge to see the winter through. With all this stuff out of the way I pack my overnight hold all and my travelling office and load Elsie the car.

The journey to York was an easy one, Elsie floats a long very nicely. I make one stop for a snack and to fill the tank. By 2:45 I am checking in at the hotel. Once in the room I unpack and ensure the radiators are working as the roads were being salted on the way up, a sure sign its going to get cold. I spend time listening to the radio and then clip my nails. I have found that with gel nails that have grown it makes typing tricky. I jot a few notes, shower and then get ready to meet a friend in the hotel reception bar. She arrives and we take a seat it in the restaurant. With the food ordered we chat and catch up. Of course my recent experience at the oncology looms large and I am able to ask about how it looks from the outside. We chat through the meal until its time for my friend to go. Back in my room I fill in my journal and draft the blog before taking my meds and going to sleep, having set my alarm for the morning. The conversation has been helpful and I go to bed edging closer to a decision about my options.

Friday rolls up and I am still unsure where I am in my head but I know today I shall be seeing a friend for coffee. I have toast and meds and get ready to go out. My partner is also seeing a friend today so I guess we are both taking the opportunity to talk to as many people as possible during this thinking time. I drive off to see my friend who takes me to our usual coffee place. It is pouring with rain and we hunker down in a booth. The place is packed despite the terrible weather. As I am hungry I eat an eggs Benedict but this version is served on a croissant rather than a bagel, I do not recommend it. My friend and I talk for a long time, long enough to have another drink and chocolate cake. Its useful to talk about my situation and then about unrelated things then returning to the tricky stuff. All this time is continues to pour with rain.

Eventually I get tired and my friend drives me back to her house where I pick up Elsie, the car, and drive home. Once home I settle into an evening of the Night Manager. At the end of the evening I take my meds and go to bed still no wiser about what to choose but clearer about the process I need.

Saturday, and it is a poetry Stanza day. It clashes with some tasty rugby matches, so I set the laptops up in the office so I can keep track of the scores and get a glimpse of the England v New Zealand match. I had submitted a neutral poem deliberately as I am not ready to share the poems that accompany my current Sticky Wicket situation.

457
Jim Harrison has me in one:
“an average poem destined
to disappear among the millions
of poems written now by 
mortally average poets”
as he weaves spellbinding
accounts of nature 
and its profusion in 
a way far beyond me.
Some have the gift, 
some read and wonder
and some blunder about
unseeing.
The one eyed man 
sees so much more
than I.
                                 457 14-08-2025 
                                  	Tim Harrison lost an eye aged 7 when a girl hit him with a                                                       				        broken bottle during an argument. That’s America for you.

There are lots of good poems in this Stanza meeting and I find myself ignoring the rugby and more engaged with the poetry. At the end of meeting I slump into the evening and of course Strictly, I am not sure what the fascination is. With the dancing out of the way my partner and I watch the last episodes of the Night Manager before taking my meds and going to bed. In the gaps between all the activity I sort out my hotel for a visit to York on Monday through to Thursday when I can talk to more people about my situation. After that there will be research and a decision. IN the meantime I try t keep calm and follow the process.

Sunday and its a lazy day, when I am not even going to think about the decisions I have to make and let the whatever is going on in my unconscious to get on with it. After a lazy rising, breakfast and meds my partner and I walk into the village and down to the village hall and the Christmas craft fair. It is a mixed bag of stuff but we do find us some glass things including a miniature to go into our collection.

Once home I once again settle to watch rugby, football and the Strictly results show. As I watch the results unfold I draft the blog and mentally pack for the York trip. It feels as if I am still calming myself down and also drawing up some mental Pros and Cons lists. Each of the options I have will require certain things from me and I think I am beginning to know what they may be. For now I am keeping it simple, now it’s time for food and meds and bed. The Wicket is still Sticky.

Wednesday and it a crucial day, todays the day of my oncology review where I know things will have to change. I don’t bother with my vitals I just get up and get ready to travel to my appointment with my partner. When we are both ready and I have a suitable suit of armour on, all black with some finery I order an Uber. It is pouring with rain. We arrive at the hospital and do the long walk through it to the oncology building and check in at reception. We sit and wait, watching others go in. I am suddenly called by the nurse to be weighed. She weighs me fully clothed including my much laden jacket. 104.2 kilos, ridiculous unless something strange has happened since I weighed myself (naked) in the morning. Goes to show how much crap I carry around with me and the weight of my clothes. I go back to waiting. I wait and wait till long after my appointment time. and then I am called.

My oncologist has a student with him, I am not fussed, “He who made a pact with the devil” askes me how I am and I reply “curious”, not out of bravado but because I know already he has no magic rabbits left to pull out of his hat. The Enzalutamide and steroids have stopped working, the PSA continues to rise and I now have an enlarged right kidney. He runs through the options and I and my partner asks questions, and there is talk of quality of life and the like. It comes down to doing chemo, the nasty toxic hair loss type, going private, being a guinea pig on a trial, having a stent in my kidney, or not, and doing nothing. He is at pains to point out that there is no right answer. He provides an average prognosis but its just a guess really based on iffy data. So that was it. I am to stop my current chemo pills and steroids right now. He will see me in two to three weeks, it would have been two but the fucking doctors are having a strike, cunts! I am given a bloods form and we leave. He tries to be comforting but I’m not in the mood, I have all the decisions to make, I am on a Sticky Wicket.

We walk over to the hotel opposite the hospital and I conjure up an Uber. The journey home is silent. Once in the house the kettle is put on and I immediately take the Enzalutamide and the steroids out of my dosettes and from my drugs draw and junk them. There is not a lot said and in the end my partner goes to see her brother in the village, I change into my training kit and go and row for an hour in the garage. I row slowly, its all about just doing it and trying to get on an even keel and get my brain thinking straight.

By the time I have rowed my partner has returned and is cooking and we all slip into the evening. There is food, football and Shetland to watch before going to bed. My night meds are now much reduced, I go to bed exhausted trying not to think about anything, but of course I do, but not cogently at all.

Thursday arrives and I find my partner ready to go to the physio and then onto “bobbing about in the water” with the gym ladies mafia. She brings me hot water and I then take my vitals ,which are okay, but there is no longer a cycle 31 to record them under and I wonder what heading to record them under. I write a couple of poems, of which one is below, modified for the blog.

472
I am searching
for a name.
What do I call
my blog now?
Now that chemo
does not work
and I have choices
to make, 
none of them good.
He, the oncologist,
listed my options, calmly:
have a stent,
be a guinea  pig,
do chemo again,
the hair falling out kind,
go private,
do nothing.
“Take your time” he said
“I will see you in three,
would be two 
but there is to be a strike.”
The Uber home was silent,
My partner went to her brothers
And no doubt wept
while I rowed an hour. 
So what do I call this?
Purgatory perhaps 
but no sin is involved,
It is a Sticky Wicket
And there you have it. 
					472 13-11-2025

I get up and shower before making a fried egg sandwich and taking my morning meds now without the steroids. I am down to just 4 tablets a day, in any other circumstances that would be good news, but not so right now. I idly wonder if I will get withdrawal symptoms from the loss of the Enzalutamide, I guess I will have to wait and see. With my partner out I start my Christmas wrapping. I had squirrelled away several packages, which I now retrieve and wrap. I have given up on cellotape and now prefer stickers, so much easier both for me as wrapper and the recipient as ripper. I am part way through when my partner returns from her cancelled gym class, so I have to ban her from the wrapping room until I can finish and get everything away. I have lunch while drafting the blog and continue on until its time for me to go to the chiropodist.

It is truly one of my delights to have my feet done, I always come away with happy singing feet. It feel like looking after myself from the bottom up, chiropodist, urologist, oncologist, beautician (nails), dentist. My chiropodist is a single practitioner and very much in demand, when I work out what her earnings must be she’s doing very nicely thank you. I drive home to continue drafting the blog and sliding into the evening now dark well before 5 o’clock. Tonight there will be chicken crock pot followed by England v Serbia in a word cup qualifier followed by Celebrity Race Across the Word on catch up. Then I am off to bed for a second night without Enzalutamide. I have plans to talk to people but I have things to organise first and a lot of research and thinking to do over the next two to three weeks. This is truly a Sticky Wicket.

Monday and I wake early as it is 28 day jab day. I am still taken aback by the last set of bloods and the hospital follow up but today its back to the routine stuff that is supposed to be keeping me alive. I get up and down my morning meds and then set off for the GP surgery. I am early and the nurse calls me early so that’s a win. I explain to her what is going on, not that she can do anything, and we get on with the jab. The bonus is that I get free B12 jab today as well. She notes that my GP has asked for bloods over the next week and a urine sample, I tell her that I am having urgent bloods tomorrow at the hospital and that the GP will have to get in line for taking blood from me. The nurse says that the GP can see my results if he goes on ICE so she will make a note in my notes for him to access tomorrows results. I thank her and leave for home. On the way I grab a paper, some cash and a bag of four jam doughnuts, I thought why not and did not get any answer to stop me.

Once home I do the crosswords and then buggered about killing time mostly. I tried to write a poem but could find nothing, all I ended up with was a number, 472. I guess if there is anything to come it will do in its own good time. So I drift thinking about what is to come over the next three days, and I suppose I strive for some sort of clarity in my own mind, but mostly about the questions I need answer to. My evening is filled with food and a film about Richard Burton and his mentor PH Burton, played superbly by Toby Jones, what an actor he is. I follow this up with a documentary about Sister Mary the nun who made an iconic (non pun intended) art series. A strange but unshakably religious woman of eighty who the Carmelites offered the opportunity to become hermit. She accepted with great joy and now lives in a caravan on the estate of the Carmelite nunnery. An Oxford English graduate who left with a first class degree she has an incisive intellect but cannot do people. I thought it was inspirational of the Carmelites to even consider providing the opportunity to be a hermit. Not a solution that many would have even considered a possibility. I go to bed with my night meds done and hope tomorrow goes well.

Tuesday and I wake up and do my vitals, all good there. Then I am up and downing my morning medications and some toast and marmalade. There is a bit of procrastination and then its Uber time. With in two minutes I have ride and my partner and I are off to the hospital to get my urgent bloods done. Its a silent ride as I focus on what’s to come. Of course the hospital is notoriously difficult to get dropped off at and always a means a walk through the length of the hospital complex. We arrive at the oncology building and get directions to the “Bloods room”. In my head I am expecting people in bat – gowns to be hanging from the ceiling but of course they are standing around nonchalantly chatting to each other. I take a ticket,C25 and my bloods form and take a seat. There is no wait at all as I am whisked in and asked if I have a preference for which arm I get drained from. I proffer my right arm as my left one is still bruised from the scan canula and Friday’s bloods at the GP. I am getting good at not wincing when the “slight scratch” moment comes. In a jiffy the collection tubes are full and I have my cotton wool fluffy cloud strapped to my arm . A quick visit to the toilet and my partner and I are heading for the hotel opposite the hospital as it is the easiest place to be picked up from. I order a Uber as a little group across the way at the rugby club commemorate remembrance day. We are soon on our way home with out chatty driver who discusses the pros a cons of modern phones and social media.

Once home my partner and I get in the car and go for lunch at a garden centre. I crave something different but end up with soup and a sandwich. Conversation is slow, I am preoccupied with tomorrow’s oncology review. I have strong feeling that nothing good is going to come out of it, the logic is in the arithmetic and although some of the arithmetic is on my side there is a lot of grey areas that it will be difficult to get the oncologist to clarify. I fear a clash. Of course todays bloods may crash through all that so I have to wait and see but in my head I am running scenarios and none of them have a happy ending. We return home, I fill the bird and squirrel feeders and then settle down to research fight and hotels to Stockholm as my son and his partner are to wed in March and to Handfast in August, an old Swedish tradition. My attendance so much depends on what happens with my health between now and then, so I will continue to research options and see what happens. I start to draft the blog and then start to think about what poem I want to take to the Poetry Stanza this weekend. It is a zoom meeting so I feel there is not too much hanging on this at the moment.

My evening is gentle food and medication and thoughts about what to wear for my oncology review. My clothes are my armour, I want something that reflects my taking it seriously and enforces being taken seriously. I am not a beaten down slob overcome by my condition but someone who rails against it and will not meekly be done to. There will be no decisions about me without me. A friend sent me a message that says the following:

I know there are rougher days than today or tomorrow to come, the worrying thing is how and when the rougher days will arrive. Tomorrow might give me a hint.

Sunday and I wake up feeling relatively okay. I make warm drinks for my partner and I and then take my vitals.. They are reasonable, so I move on. I decide that dodgy kidney or not I will train today, I also decide after some reading that if push come to shove I will catheterise to see whether or not I am retaining urine or not. As I have the skills it seems a reasonable option and it would put control back in my hands and would tell me whether the enlargement of my kidney is due to a blockage between the kidney and the bladder or between the bladder and outside world caused by pressure from an enlarged prostate on the urethra. I shall be interested to see how that goes down with the oncology bloke or who ever I eventually get to see in urology. So with a strategy to give me back a modicum of control I can focus on the fact that my chemotherapy medication and steroids is not working so will need to see what the oncology boys and girls have to say on Wednesday. Going to be a big week.

I get up and into my training gear before having bacon sandwich and fruit juice alongside my morning meds. While I settle down I bring my blood pressure data base up to date and work out the cycle averages in readiness for Wednesday’s review. So far my blood pressure averages are holding good. Time to get into the garage and get a decent rowing session in. I strap my self down and set the session for 45 minutes. I have a pace setter broadcast in my ears as I get going. Its a tough but good session and I put my current condition out of my head and just keep a good pace going. At the end I smash my 9 kilometre standard by over a kilometre and I have burned off more than 600 calories. No bad for a bloke who was being considered for a hospital call in.

I record the session in my journal and after a drink and a bit of a rest I set about storing the unused floor tiling in the garage and then putting the books and ornaments back into the office. It all goes to plan, and I realise that some of the best literature in the word sits in the small book case in the office. It reminds me that I need to get back to some solid reading. I am running out of energy so take a shower and settle down to watch Wales v Argentina, which the Argentines romp. The evening approaches and soon its time to settle down to the Strictly results and the drafting of the blog.

Of course there is a Tesco order to finalise and I have to get ready for tomorrow’s 28 day jab and this time there is B12 to be stuck in my arm as well. Its the start of an important few days, I think there is going to be some tricky decisions to be made over the days to come. My concern is that I will not be given the time to think about it. Medics are not keen on taking the patient’s views into account, it interrupts the industrialised process of medicine.

Saturday and I wake to my blood results that came in last night and I see instantly why the hospital team had contacted me. I am shocked at the drop of my kidney function and the huge rise in my Creatinine level. There is nothing I can do except take my vitals, make warm drinks, have breakfast and settle down to a weekend of football and rugby. The weekend will soon be over and I will start my run of 28 day injection, extra bloods, oncology review and chiropodist and whatever urology input there is going to be. Its quite difficult not to feel a twinge of anxiety and get ahead of myself.

So I am settled on the sofa to watch rugby and to draft the blog, and then have a face to face call with my youngest daughter who reports that all went well with her scan. Apparently my new grandson to be is doing well. Today the office will be put back into some sort of order now that the new tiles are down. “Bob” the tiler has done a good job so now things can move forward.

Some time this weekend I need to take my youngest daughters advice and pack my survival bag in anticipation of being called into hospital, this time I will make sure I take ear plugs and enough books, as everything takes so long. Urology is never painless and for me there is a library of experiences I would rather not repeat. For now I try to relax.

Friday and I am up early to go to the GP for my pre oncology review bloods. I have a hot water, grab my bloods form and go to the surgery. I explain what’s happening to me to the nurse and jokingly ask for a good set of bloods. She is a quick and painless as usual and I and I am soon walking to the co-op to get a paper. Once home I find “Bob” the tile grouting the office floor. I make myself breakfast and settle down to do the days crossword. I read for a bit until “Bob” finished the grouting, when I paid him and went on his way once he had give advice about grouting our bathroom tiles. At this point my partner went to the gym.

I set about getting the office door to close. I tightened the door hinges and sanded the bottom of the door until the door closed properly, another small household chore done. With the tools put away I recycled some boxes and once again settled down to read. By mid afternoon I finished I Am Legend. A friend rings me and we have time to chat for a while. It was good having time and being able to catch up. With my partner back from the gym I have a sandwich and make sure my blood results sheet is ready. The prostate nurse rings me back. She has seen my results and shown them to my oncologist who refers the results to urology consultant, who is not replying to the nurse. She tells me that my results are “not terrible, she has seen worse” but will not go into detail. She said her plan was to get the urologist to see the result and if necessary “get me in”, but he had not responded to her. “getting me in”, which I assume meant getting me in to hospital, which was news to me and came as a big surprise to me. So she could not tell me what was going to happen. She said she would ring if she found anything out. So I am left hanging not knowing what is going on. I try to be calm and reasonable and agree that if I do not hear anything its probably okay. But who knows.

A little later I get another call, it is the prostate cancer nurse. The urology consultant and the oncologist have decided that “less is best”, god knows what that means. The reality is that the oncologist wants me to have another blood test on Tuesday before I see him on Wednesday. So I shall be Ubering to and from the hospital on Tuesday. I guess I have to suck this up and get on with it. The fly in the appointment is that this is a pre 28 day injection weekend so when I go for the bloods I shall be in the midst of recovering from my jab. It seems that I am in for a shit week. The decisions about my continuing prostate treatment have to be made as my PSA is rising and I have had steroids added to my current meds but this review was going to look at the possibility of radiotherapy. I’ve no idea how that can take place now. I have no idea what the urology boys and girls will want to do with me. Life is going to be interesting.

With all of that out of the way I eat tea, draft the blog and try to look forward to a weekend of rugby and not doing much but relax and look after myself.

Thursday and I wake up feeling like crap, I am not sure why but I do. I check my vitals and find they are okay. My partner brings me hot water and then it is clear I’m feeling off, some toast. “Bob” the tiler arrives while I am still in bed and gets on with laying the new tiles in the study I eventually get up and try to get organised. I walk over to the post office and send a book to the new address I have for a local newspaper. Another piece of vanity, I’m not sure what I expect to happen, but while there I buy Lucozade and a paper. When I return the tiler is cracking on, so I send a couple of emails to see if I can recover the original manuscript and cover files that were sent for publication by KDP as I need them for the American distributor Ingram Spark.

The tiler listens to his loud radio as he works so my partner and I decide to go out for lunch , of course we go to the garden centre and cannot resist buying more winter pansies to go into the pots and the garden. On our return the tiler is still at it but getting to the end so I sit and fill my drugs dosettes. In theory I am good for the next two weeks. As the tiler packs up and goes, to return tomorrow to do the grouting and finish off, my partner and I load Elsie (new car) with the bags of old tiles and drive off to the recycling centre. Its a short trip but successful but allows me to test out the volume control on the Satnav. I now have it on a level e that is loud so it cannot be ignored.

I get home and do the days crosswords and then out of the blue the prostate nurse calls me. Apparently my soft tissue scan has revealed an enlarged right kidney, which might be bad! She asks if I can get a blood test, so I tell her I am having one tomorrow. She gets me to check the form to ensure the relevant tests will be done. She takes me through the crucial scores, eGFR and potassium alongside the creatine and of course Urea and provides the ranges that I should be looking. It’s a conversation full of contradictions, I must seek help if I am above on certain things but I’m not to worry I might be perfectly fine even if I am out of range. She will ring me tomorrow by about 4:30 to see how I am. She might get the result more quickly than me, I will get them after midnight. So now I have something else to keep my attention sharp. I was just worried about my PSA, apparently now I need to be concerned about my kidneys, which given what happened to me in Jamaica in 2019 when my kidneys failed on me is more than a little perturbing. The call ends, I go for a piss, grab a bottle of water and draft the blog.

I doubt my evening is going to be very joyous, I just need to eat, drink water, do mindless things and go to bed so I can be up early tomorrow to go for my blood test. Inside I just scream.

Wednesday and I wake early after a reasonable nights sleep. Today “Bob” the tiler is due to arrive early so I take my vitals, which are good, and get up and dressed ready to make tea and engage in worker talk. I have my meds and clear the office so I can sweep the floor ready for its first coat of waterproofing. I have just about finished and waved my partner off to see her mother when “Bob” arrives. Tea is made, because every knows British work folk do not function with out tea, its part of being British. “Bob” sets to work on putting down the first layer of sealant. Its going to take two hour for it to dry, so “Bob” bobs off while it dries and says he will be back with the leveller in a couple of hours. If all goes to plan ( It won’t, when does it ever go to plan?) he should be back tomorrow to lay the tiles. I have breakfast and start to draft the blog before setting about the rest of my day. I check to see if anything has happened on the new poetry website that is being constructed for me but I find that nothing has been done, I fear that my web builder is not over her COVID yet.

“Bob” returns about 3 o’clock to put the leveler compound down in the office. It doesn’t take long and will dry over night meaning he can come back early tomorrow morning and lay the tiles. So far all is going well on this project. When “Bob” leaves I go for a shower and get ready for my evening out to see Vincent Simone’s Argentine Tango show. My partner drives us to the venue and I note how few people are in the bar. When we go into the auditorium it is only 70% full, clearly Tango is not Loughborough’s favourite firework night entertainment. The show itself was good and I managed not to succumb to the temptation of ice cream. Once home there were meds to take and then bed. My next and I think crucial set of bloods is due on Friday so apart from getting cranky I need to drink a lot of water, its all I think I can do apart from training.