Saturday and I wake the quiet of the sea side village out of season. If I and my partner are to get onto the beach for a walk then breakfast has to be fast, and it is. As soon as we can we get down to the beach, only today there are more people out and about. It remains an amazing beach and has not changed in the sixty three years when I first saw it on a family holiday.

Once again we stroll the beach, with me in my Crocs and my training bottoms turned up in true Brit style. On returning it the village my partner and I shop for a paper and some odds and ends. Back in the apartment I set about the crosswords and drift towards the evening after rugby and football. The treat of the evening is going out to eat at the Country Cousins restaurant. As an indulgence I have a small glass of Merlot, which I savour. Just occasionally I have a small glass of wine to see if the reality is anywhere near the fantasy, it rarely is.

The evening passes in a drift of murderous Agatha Christie, before fatigue sets in and its time to take meds and go through my pre-sleep rituals.

Sunday is pack, eat and drive day. And so it was. That plough along mostly motorway taking longer than due to my prostate cancer demanding that I stop more frequently than my pre diagnosis days. Finally I pull into the drive to a brilliant surprise, my cherry trees are in full blossom!

After such a welcome home all else pales into insignificance. Tomorrow is “Jab Monday” so here I am at the end of another twenty eight days. By tomorrow evening it is likely that the side effects of my jab will have kicked in and I will be fairly useless for the next forty eight hours. Maybe I will get lucky this month. So I will take my night meds and add some prophylactic paracetamol. Onward.

Friday and I wake early again, it must be the fresh sea air. I make warm drinks for my partner and I, which we drink as we roughly plan the day. Before getting up I take my vitals and they are okay. My morning meds are taken with breakfast and then we head for the beach. Tide is out but it is blowing hard as witnessed by the para surfers, they are the only other people on the beach apart from a couple of detectorists who are leaving mounds like moles at irregular intervals on the tide line.

Its very blustery but bracing and I am glad of my windproof jacket and Crocs, which seem ideal for this sort of beach walk. Its a kind of “there and back” sort of walk, deciding to turn around at a convenient dryer patch of sand, my partner leading the way with her walking poles, which seem to be doing the job.

Back at the causeway I dry my feet and don socks as well as the Crocs and my partner and I go off to the shop to get a paper and something to put in a sandwich later, then its back to the apartment to do the cross words, read the paper and listen to the tide turn. In a gastronomic change of plan we decide on fish and chips for a late lunch and while my partner goes and gets them them from the chippy a hundred yards from the apartment I lay the table in readiness. The delicious food arrives in sturdy, vinegar resistant, boxes so there is no washing up to do apart from the cutlery. We could of used our hands but the mushy peas would have been messy. I am thoroughly podged and lay on the sofa to have a quick nap. I ask my partner to wake my in half an hour and with that dive under a blanket and snooze. When I wake up more than an hour and a half has passed, my partner did not want to disturb me! So now its time for the ice cream walk. We are not great walkers at the moment due to my sore toes but we manage our usual jaunt despite the wind being well gusty and full of gusto. We can see the waves breaking against the promenade wall and throwing white walls of foam over it. Having walked our walk I pushed on to the sea front and tried to capture the breaking waves and sea spray but also the sound of the waves rolling the giant pebbles back and forth at the waters edge. Its a deep and grumbling sound that speaks of power and relentlessness.

Back to the apartment to read and for me to start to draft the blog, typing stuff up first and then doing the jiggery pokery to add the pictures and the videos, which always takes a while. Its early evening and tea will be sandwiches and cake before settling on some TV. It will be an early night of meds, hand physio and strapping on the finger splint with the magic gel strip. Tomorrow we will brave beach again.

Thursday and its extra Vitamin D day, I’m up early (ish) to clear the kitchen space and make hot drinks to take back to bed to my partner. I check my holiday vitals and find they are all good and then its time to chat and slowly get up for the day. Breakfast goes hand in hand with the morning meds, which as I mentioned earlier includes a block dose of vitamin D today. Its chilly outside as the wind whips off the sea so I and my partner well to go and post the last of the post cards and to get a paper. I lay in a store of Devon fudge, that won’t be coming home.

Back at the apartment its time to settle down to do the crosswords, read the paper and read. I have bought Harry Martinson’s Aniaria, A review of Man in Time and Space. Its a an epic poem about space flight, not many of those about. Its made up of 107 poems or sections, actually 106 in the addition I have as one verse has been omitted.

So I read for a long time until a brief break for a snack lunch and then my partner and I go for a walk up to the haunted house and the most famous car park in England (self proclaimed).

The walk back is easier as the wind is behind us, but neither of us want an ice ream today, so while my partner buys frozen chips I take pictures of Westwood Ho! out of season, its quiet and I half expect tumble weed.

With chips in hand we return to the apartment and a coffee over which I draft the blog. My bruised foot is still giving me jip but it is much improved. I periodically remember to do my hand physio and massage my operation scars with Nivea Crème. Evening sidles up and I return to my poetry sage and drift into the evening of quiche an TV before going through my pre bed rituals and meds. The time seems to be going past quickly now and still my writing journal remains bare.

Wednesday and I wake early and before I can sink into my usual rousing routine I find myself in the shower. It’s a powerful rain shower and very warming. It’s one of the upgrades to the apartment along with it being a walk in shower. It makes me wonder if we should take to bath out at home and install a walk in one. Once showered I make warm drinks for my partner and I and return to bed.

Breakfast is eaten to the accompaniment of the sea rolling the giant pebbles around just across from our apartment. my partner re-plaits my hair in readiness for our first walk into the village.

After I am braided we go for a walk to the post box and then to the chemist, I am desperate for a nail file and clippers as I have split a nail and its really irritating as I keep catching it on my clothes. I am lucky and find all I need and we are able to move on to the next shop to get the odds and ends we need to survive, like dishwasher tablets. On the way back there were the most enormous lilies in a front garden, I’d not seen them so large before and assume the southerly climate favours them.

The shopping is dropped into the apartment as is two layers of clothing, the sun is out and its quite warm, With the adjustments made we head for the café round the corner for raspberry lemonade and a massive warm fruit scone with all the trimmings. Its a real treat and I am fascinated by the local people who are coming in and out. Back at the apartment I do the days crosswords, while my partner reads on the patio in the sunshine. So time passes until it’s time for the ice cream walk. Donning the most comfortable shoes I can manage my partner and I walk to the promenade and look out over the sea under a blue sky.

We walk the back way to overlook the back of the pebble ridge and on the way discover an extraordinary facility, a self service dog wash: I kid you not! How a dog manages it is beyond me but there it was as bold as brass and here is the picture to prove it.

Can only be a matter of time before someone tries to use it on a child. My partner and i have done the required time out and about and head for the ice cream van back along the sea front and there we sit 99’s in hand and and just watch the sea. It’s looking bluer today and I reflect that, unlike furniture and other objects I cannot grasp its shape or weight, I find it difficult to get a “sense” of it and I find that mildly disturbing. We watch it for a long time.

Once again back at the apartment I settle down and send birthday flowers to my sons partner in Stockholm and then I set about drafting the blog, while my partner makes tea for us, pate to start and pasta to finish. And so the evening begins and for the first time in days I can begin to feel a poem sloshing about inside me, not formed yet but gradually forming adn incubating. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe never, I just have to wait and see. In the mean time I shall eat, read, watch TV until its time for my meds and all the other bedtime rituals that I am locked into at the moment as part of my war on the cancer and the other minor skirmishes around my body.

Tuesday and the second full day on holiday, I wake up in the strange bed listening to the quiet. I seem to have slept okay and get up to make warm drinks for myself and my partner. We chat and discuss the experience of having nothing to do and dreams. Eventually we get up and go for breakfast at the little café round the corner, which being out of season I thought might be empty but it is almost full. We get a small table and peruse the menu. I go for hot chocolate and the double breakfast. This is a real treat as people come and go. It’s nice to just sit and chat over a meal. With breakfast done we return to the apartment to rest. I write postcards while my partner reads and knits. Outside people are walking by huddled up against the chill breeze.

Early after noon and are out again, this time to post postcards and to have an ice cream as a reward. The post box is traditionally yarn bombed and this time is no exception. There is an Easter version of the Wallace and Gromit penguin atop the box. Its a real splash of colour and fun.

Having posted the cards we wander off to walk the promenade towards the haunted house at the end of the beach huts, stopping for breath a couple of times. The “haunted house” is a big old cliff top house that has fallen into to disrepair but as we approach we notice a van and a bloke loading a stained glass window casement into his van. Apparently there is a plan to save the house and work has started including saving the stained glass windows in the front.

I and my partner walk back to a well earned 99 ice ream, which we eat sitting on a bench looking out to sea. Its a chilly breeze so we return to the apartment where I write more postcards and my partner reads before we watch the last episode of Protection. Tea is a bit of a challenge as the controls on the hob are not self explanatory so there is a bit of delay during which I draft the blog and the sun goes down.

Tea is eaten and my partner and I settle down to an evening of reading, knitting and TV before I once again go through my nightly rituals of medications, hand splint and massage. All day I have been wondering if inspiration will strike and I will have a suitable seaside inspired poem to share but so far there has been nothing and no signs of any inner bubbling that I am aware of, I guess I shall just have to wait.

Glorious Monday, I’m on holiday and I’ve slept well in a strange bed having retired early last night. I get up early and leave my partner to sleep as long as she wants and begin to catch up with the last three days on the blog. There is a lot to get through and it take a while to put it together. My partner gets up and feeds me marmalade toast, and then potters about while I finally finish drafting and publish the blog. With that out of the way its time to go and see the sea and do a bit of shopping.

My partner and I raid Tesco’s and retreat to the apartment where we squirrel away our food in the giant SMEG fridge and then sit on our patio doing the crosswords and reading the paper, eventually indulging in sandwiches for lunch knowing that there is a walk to be had if there is to be ice cream from the van. Our walk is not a long one but takes us to the end of path to the end of Westwood Ho! We saunter back to the ice ream van and order our 99’s and then sit and eat them in glorious sunshine and watch the sea. It feels like we are truly arriving for our break. With ice cream done there is a short walk to the small row of shops that constitute the shopping opportunity overlooking the “bowling green” to the sea. We buy postcards and soap and then return to the apartment to settle down to a quiet time where my partner start to knit a jacket for the youngest grandson and I check emails and star todays blog. And so we drift with our patio door open with the sun streaming in and the sounds of passers by all under pinned by the sound of the sea, rolling, and above it gulls giving an occasional screech.

Its soon time to think food and the coming England football match tonight. Tonight the team has to overcome Latvia. It will be a poor show if they cannot stick a few past the Latvians. If they don’t I am not sure the new German manager of England will even make it to the World Cup.

Friday I wake up and find that I am still fight the battle of a bad gut and a sore and still purple bruised set of toes, so once again I spend the day with my foot being iced and practising the latrine two step to the loo. It does not sound much of an existence but oddly as I laze around craving plain and binding food, I update information into my new daily running journal and acquire a new ISA. The later at the suggestion of my partner who shrewdly pointed out that 4.25% is a lot more then 2.2%. The logic is in the arithmetic the anxiety is in the not quite believing that all this magic can be done on a Smart phone, but it was and magically a new entry appeared on my banking page.

I was able to do some holiday planning with the aid of my new note making App that has a list creation function on it. I just type in random stuff and press a button and it gets turned into a “to do” list. Its brilliant if only I had had this when I was working and being a manager, life would have been even easier. Any way the day passed with odd moments of joy amongst the other stuff, like my denim design crocs arriving, which I hope my bruised toes will appreciate in due course. The good news is that they did.

The evening coms around and there is a football match to watch, England in the World Cup qualifiers against the might of Albania. England manage a professional but deeply boring 2-0 win, and with that I take my meds, give my hand operation scars on last Nivea creaming of the day, don my finger splint and magic gel dressing and go to bed, hoping that my felling of physical emptiness is a signal that my gut is finally settling down.

Saturday arrives and today is supposed to be day out at the States of Independence literary festival at the local university. I make a tentative start to the day by taking my vitals ( all good) and getting myself down to the local pharmacy to try and collect the medications I tried to order on Wednesday. The timing is all a bit tight. As I feared my prescription is not ready but when I explain my situation of needing my injection to come back to on Monday week, as I am going away for a week, they check to see if they can order it for today. They come back and tell me it out of stock, the supplier does not have any. This is bad news as it is a medication that comes in from the EU and is my mainstay cancer drug. I have at least one of these injections stashed away so I will be alright on the Monday I need it, but it triggers fears about the supply chain not working. Its an anxiety I’ve not had before but I am aware that other people with similar conditions have experienced difficulties getting their medications when this disruption happens.

I return home empty handed and eat toast and marmalade determined not to panic. My partner and I get ready and we drive into town to the States of Independence book festival at the university.

We arrive, me with a bag tight with copies of my poetry collections, well you never know. We tick ourselves in and begin to roam the stalls of book sellers, self publishers and publishers. I meet someone I know from the poetry stanza who is looking after the local writers group stall. To start with I am a bit bemused it feels like a craft fair but with books, it could easily be a a 3P affair, (Pick up, Put down and Piss off) experience but I get talking to some people about what they do and I find some that do what the Americans do for me. I show them my books like a child going “look what I’ve done” and they say they can do what the Americans have been doing for me but a lot cheaper. I am interested and take their details. They suggested an anthology, which is an intriguing though but at the moment I think I just want to test the water with a new Cancer Years collection.

Time for the first presentation of the day and my partner and I choose to go and see one about how the University writers course had researched, written and illustrated a graphic novel of seven stories based on Leicester folklore. It had students and professionals there talking about their roles and a snippet of video explaining the project. There was some interesting bits in it, but I am not sure how taking a Indian folk tale and translating it into a modern day story set in Leicester so as to reflect the nature of the city is quite reflecting the folklore of Leicester rather than creating new stuff, but there you go that me.

Our next session saw us in the headline session with Anthony Joseph being interviewed and reading his poetry. He was very entertaining and interesting having been a musician first then a poet and also a novelist. My partners comment was that she could listen to his voice all day and it is true he had a rich and relaxed voice. It was a good session, its always good to see poetry being brought alive by being read, especially by some one who has a good “voice”. When I Look a the notes I made (yes of course I did!) I note that I have written “What a fucking necklace! This refers to the huge bead affair that was hung around her neck. Spectacular is the word.

After a lunch time sandwich we go back to the festival and attend another session by a block called Rob Duncan who has aphantasia, not that being aphantasic is something that you have more something you are. Aphantasia is the inability to form mental images of objects that are not present. Rob Duncan is a writer so he did a work shop on how he creates a visual world for people when he cannot create a visual world of his own . In effect he creates things for people to see in the their “minds eye” when he does not have one. Too this end he has developed “rules”, more like guidelines on how to construct a description that will do the job, understanding that everyone who reads it will create their own “minds eye” version of it. He got us all to pick up a key from the desk and then to apply the formulae to it and some brave people read what they had written. You apparently give a general location (environmental context) and then add a small visual detail followed by another sense fact in the environment. It was quite fun to do as we were encouraged to expand it if we had time. (it was a very short exercise). Here is mine:

“In the nursery on a winter’s day, dim and baby powder smelling, the key protruded from the box of magic treats. Only the nanny, tall and bleach clean, was allowed to dispense the treats. A vile tasting potion to keep a tiny soul alive.”

Having seen the session through we had a quick break and moved onto the Open Mike session where people had pre booked to read a poem or two. We sat and listened to several people read their poems, some good, some indifferent and some rathe lovely. Mostly connecting the poet to the work, so the really creepy guy who read his poem about a breast pump was put down as just strange. The Mexican woman who write a cautionary poem about her kind were out and about and not to be messed with was good. When all the signed up poets had read a couple of extras got up. I could not resist despite being nervous. I had been struck by how flat or monotone most of the reading had been so I decided that I would go with my ye ha poem “God bless America” a celebration poem of getting my first collection published in the USA. I hope I was suitably energetic and ye ha, but it only struck me half way through that there might be a sense of not wishing to bless America in the room with this audience. I was clapped politely . With the fun over we returned home.

It had been a tiring but interesting experience and I just sat in front of the TV and watched rugby and football. The evening passed with watching more stuff before going through my night rituals, taking my meds and going to bed quite early.

Sunday, I am up and finishing packing for the holiday. Last minute checks done and odd things stuffed into nooks and crannies of various bags. The car gets packed and then that point of no return comes. My partner and I get in an we are off. I know this route, M69, M6, M42, M5, J27 follow the sign posts to Barnstable, then Bideford and finally Westwood Ho! Of course I use my phone maps for the last bit but we arrive via one pee stop and a sandwich at about twenty to four. The car is unpacked and I am knackered. My first thought is to see if the ice ream van adn the ocean are still here as I remember them from last time. They are!

My partner and I are both hungry so my Country Kitchen to see if it is open, it is and we book a table for 6 o’clock. It is literally less than five minutes walk away so we arrive, check in and are shown to our table by a sweet and diminutive waitress. No. 19 our table. The menu is explained to us, we order small glasses of wine and a start after which we will attack the carvery. The starter is huge, pate, so we do as we were in structed and have a rest before getting to the multi-meated carvery. I indulge in roast beef and all the trimmings with additional roast spuds and mustard. It is what my old grandfather would have called a proper “blow out”. It was was just what I an my partner needed after the journey. We waddled back to the apartment absolutely podged. However once the jeans were off and we had watched an episode of Protection there was room for a coffee and a few After Eight mints. Tiredness won in the end, it always does, and my partner went to bed followed shortly by me after I had dug out all the things I need to go to bed with. So with my meds in me and my finger splint strapped to my hand I finally flop in to a strange bed with the sound of the sea somewhere in my ears.

Thursday morning and I just want to cover my head and sleep after a night doing the larine two step. I tentatively look in my energy cutlery draw and find a single spoon. I try to sleep but fail and eventually my partner brings me hot water, which I sip before doing my vitals, which to my surprise are okay. In an effort to try and capture what’s going on I write something on my new notes App in the hope that it will let me move on this morning.

439
When I'd rather be asleep 
than awake, I know I'm in trouble.
When all the niggly bits
out weigh the rest ,
then it's desperate.
When nothing is a crisis
but everything needs tending 
in an endless round of care
that's when I hanker
after sleep.
Its the insidious side
of cancer warfare,
chipped at slowly,
like Chinese torture,
every drop washing away energy,
a man under erosion. 
I crave a kindness or two
just to know  that 
someone sees it
before I pull the covers 
over my head.

                                                                    439 20-03-2025

I finally get up make toast (its going to be a toast day) and take my morning meds with the additional vitamin D as a treat on this Spring equinox day. Retrieving my ice pack from the freezer I strap it onto my bruised toes and begin to draft the days blog. Already I am tired and I am supposed to be seeing Paul Muldoon at the university tonight. I even bought some of his poetry to read to prepare but I’m not hopeful of stretching my one spoon that far, although I know that other poets from my Stanza group will be going. Its 11:20am and I am already fatigued.

All day I rest trying to recover from a grim stomach upset. There is a call from a friend, which was really good. Hearing someone and talking with some one out side the household is a real pleasure. I watch Under Milkwood and in the evening the last episodes of Adolescence. By bed time I am exhausted, I take my night meds and a Dioralyte with a couple of plain biscuits and head for bed. Did I mention I am exhausted.

Its a Wednesday I realise as I wake up at 7:30 and a loud voice in my head shouts “Bin day” and my outside mouth shouts “bollocks” as I realise I did not put the bin out last night. So its into a set of joggers and an ice hockey jersey to pad downstairs and put the bin out. While I am up I make warm drinks for my partner and I and return to bed. My bruised toes are a nice colour from yesterdays mishap but mobile. My partner goes of to see her mother with her brother while I breakfast and construct my “to do” list for the day. Its not ambitious and is mainly rest and ICEing my bruised foot. So I settle into the morning having taken my morning meds and eaten breakfast. Doing much with a ice an ice pack strapped to your foot is a bit inhibiting but by the time early afternoon comes round I have achieved quite a lot. All the door hinges in the house now run squeak less, the Rentokil insurance is paid, I’ve transferred information from my old journal to my new one and I have opened an ISA. The last being the scariest but it all seems to have gone magically well. My drugs are ordered and now I am free to give my hand attention and do the physio on it that is required at regular intervals. I also get a surprising quick response from the National Theatre at home website who I contacted about them taking for an order twice. They were very apologetic and have issued a refund. That was a result I was not expecting.

I eat lunch with my partner, after which I start to draft the blog while my partner cleans her car. I need to crack on with my physio and start to write my holiday list of things to do. I can feel myself getting short of spoons (energy) , I guess I jumped the gun this morning expending so much early energy putting the bins out. My GP keeps sending me messages about having statins and I keep ignoring him. I want no more medications than I am on thank you very much, I have enough trouble doing what I need to do to minimise the side effects of the stuff I am on without having to del with more crap going into my body. I am stable at the moment and apart from the odd bruise I am fine, I just get tired easily. Being handily retired means I can nap or rest when I need to.

The evening arrives and finds me feeling decidedly “off”. My gut is bad but I continue to regularly ICE my bruised toes and do the physio routine for the scar management on my hand. After a couple of episodes of Adolescence and a dumb film I call it quits as I have no more energy left, I take my meds and go to bed hopping to sleep quickly and deeply.

Tuesday, I think I start like this to remind me of the things I do on a Tuesdays, like today Tesco will deliver and the bins go out. However it is Tuesday and s usual I check my vitals and my messages. I send some as well as today is a friends birthday. My partner has already been to the shop, had breakfast and is reading a newspaper before going to an old colleagues leaving lunch. I write a poem on my new Notes App after a chat with my partner. Not like me to write early in the morning but it’s happened a couple of times recently.

438
I am like a drummer,
Someone who hangs around with 
musicians.
I just loiter around poets,
with their proper tunes and rhymes
and scribble soul notes,
random stuff with no effort to attend
to the niceties of metre or flow,
or whatever real poets do.
I listen to them in process,
I hear the nuances striven for,
the analysis of words and meaning,
and I realise I’m not even like a 
drummer, who at least keep time.
I guess I am a groupie,
because words touch me
and I am in awe of those that sculpt
them in forms that move me
to dance, laugh, sing and cry
inside my head 
or on my face.
Perhaps I’m just a lazy bastard
that just can’t be arsed,
fearing failure if I really tried,
like the dyslexic infant
who hid, played truant
and eventually escaped 
by ignoring the rules.
So now like that chid
I press my nose against a window
and wonder at the marvels
in the poetry shop window
knowing they are not for me
but for clever kids. 
This pen this ink refuses to lay down
and here I am scribbling on scraps
still looking for something
that says this is how my world is. 
Can you hear the word symphony
that’s playing somewhere
inside this private auditorium?
I’m neither stupid or uneducated
just put together different
with all the rough edges left
and unable to show my workings.
This pen this ink refuses to lay down. 	
									438 18-03-2025

When I do get up I find my partner reading he paper so I join her with my breakfast and my morning meds. I do the crosswords and then head for the garden with a club hammer intent on preparing the way for a new cold frame. As an initial step I propose to move a paving slab on to the lawn before putting the new incinerator on it to burn the old cold frames. I start to “walk” the paving slab to the lawn but it doesn’t want to go and trips my up with the result that one corner drops on my toes. Falling to the floor with a hearty “Fuck” I know I am going to have a bruise or two but need to crack on. As it turns out I am right about the bruise and the need to ICE it.

The incinerator is burning nicely as I demolish the old raised beds and redistribute the compost in readiness for a new cold frame. It a lovely sunny windless day and I am pleased to have made the effort when I hear some one down the road shouting about the fie and telling me to put it out. I carry one. The next thing I know is that my eldest daughter is standing at the bac door saying that a woman has been to the front door and been rude to her and is asking me to put my fire out because she does not want this woman back again. This is the first I hear about it. I am not chuffed but I am not going to pick a fight right now, I have cleared the area I need to put the cold frame in so I stop feeding the incinerator.

I clear away my tools and retreat inside just in time to meet the Amazon man delivering the new cold frame that I intend to install tomorrow. By the time my partner returns I am sitting feet up with icy chips strapped to my foot. After a chat I go for a bath to rest and see how my toes are doing. The bath is a real treat as I can sit back and listen to soft music and munch my way through a bacon sandwich. I languish until I start to reach the wrinkly stage so I get myself out and head for the recliner where I can continue to ICE my toes and start to draft the blog. I continue to ICE (Ice, Compress, and Elevate.) and blog till its time to stop and turn off my brain and watch TV.

The evening is slow and eventually after several ICEs and my night meds I head for bed to strap on my night splint. It would appear that my “frilly” bits are having a tricky time but come Sunday I head for a weeks break where I can rest by the sea.