Thursday and both my partner and I are awake early as she has a date with an endoscope at 9:45 at our local general hospital. I eat eat breakfast and drink coffee out of sight as my partner cannot have anything before the procedure. We both prepare our “waiting at hospital” bags and I then drive us to the hospital. Surprisingly there are plentiful parking spaces and being practiced at this we have pockets full of coins to pay for our pay and display. No fancy card stuff at this hospital. Parking payment here is still in the leech ages. We find the Vanguard unit, a pristine portacabin like structure growing mushroom like on the outside of the hospital and enter. My partner is whisked away and I settle down and read my latest book, Birdy by William Wharton. So time passes. Relatively quickly my partner reappears and is looking for me. She is still mildly woozy from the atheistic, so I guide her back to the car as I would a tipsy chum. On the way we meet a bloke who asks if the pay and display is coin only, he has the desperate look of a novice who is all at sea without plastic. We take pity on him and take him to our car where I hand him our ticket that has hours to run on it. He is much relieved and goes back to car to extract what I take to be his aged mother from his car.

Rather than going home I drive us to a garden centre where my partner can at last get a drink and nibble a scone to break her pre op fast. We sit and chat while she recovers fully. We do not linger too long before getting home and settle down to resting. I have poems 361 and 362 to type up and file away. I have to make a decision about whether I am going to take a poem to this Saturdays face to face poetry stanza meeting. I’ve already shared my inoffensive ditty about my waist size here a couple of days ago this is the darker one I said I would share later.

Forged in Worker Association concerts,
random tickets for loggia, box or stall, 
or museum trips,
I learnt culture.
Aspiring working class
exposing children to better things. 
There were rules;
No debt,
work hard,
achieve at education,
be socialist, liberal and tolerant.
Go on marches, ban the bomb,
and avoid South African goods.
Segregation is bad,
fairness and equality are the way.
Be a good co-op member,
look after family and neighbours,
we are in this shit together.
My mother a life- long Labour member
died a racist, swamped
by all the fruits of her efforts.
A community she no longer recognised,
surrounded by tongues she did not speak,
beholden to people she had fought for.
She did not understand how being white
put her out of being right. 
Told to feel the guilt of privilege,
told her life of struggle 
or family and friends 
was all wrong.
Of how she was ignorant,
uninformed and disposable.
Even before we got woke 
she craved release,
it had all become too much,
her world had turned.


Now dying her son 
feels the underachieving 
white teenager rage again.
The drudgery today boys 
and the still told, “your
not good enough” youth.
Everything here is not for you,
Ignorance is yours,
Fault is yours,
and the community wonders why 
there is resentment when the message is,
The future is not for you,
There’s no place for you.
So suck it up worker boy
We don’t give a fuck
That’s the way it is
Init.

So it circles 
Generation on generation
Without concerts or conscience,
Art or consideration.
There will be a backlash,
blacklash and barbarity 
and a new era darker than before.
This sceptred isle,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm,
This England
Hath made a shameful
Conquest of itself.
Fucked init.

As I said a darker poem, which is really about the loss of kindness, something my friends and I had talked about at a recent lunch together. I am not sure if kindness has declined or if it is the effect of age and changing social structure. It does feel as if the the working class boy I was, and perhaps still am, is still out there in the youth of today, just a bit more obviously black and white. Having typed this up I know its not anywhere near my favourite Shakespeare Sonnet, 116 but it at least I’m having a go at trying to make sense of my universe. I slip into a nap and when I rouse myself I find that my partner has also napped. Now recovered from the hospital trip neither of us fancy food so we snack. Our garden guy turns up and is chipper having moved on from his girlfriend and tells us about the holiday he has booked for next summer in the sun. He sets about cutting the grass while we slide into an evening of Outer Range, a sort of Stranger Things meets Wyoming cowboys. Its an early night for me I am suddenly crashed and spoonless, I think this is the result of my chemo drugs. Something is going on, I will just have to wait it out.

Friday, well this is finding out in style as I wake up at almost half past ten. Clearly my chemo drugs are having an effect in terms of sleep. I remember they did this before, I also think it is more marked as I come closer to my 28 injection, which is due this coming Monday. It feels as if there is an interaction going on but probably not something I could conclusively demonstrate. So I get up and mechanically make the bed, head down stairs and make myself a late breakfast. I’m in a strange mood, vaguely irritated and dark, a good indicator that I need to train today or otherwise I will not be good company this evening when my partner and I meet friends for dinner. I draft the blog to keep me busy and grounded. My morning meds taken I move on.

What I move onto is reading. My partner makes me a bacon sandwich after which my plan was to read briefly and then train. The reality was that I read solidly all afternoon until I finished Birdy. I got to a point where I simply could could not put the book down and had to know what the outcome for the to main characters was to be. It was a rollercoaster between philosophy of reality and the reality and brutality of war.

I am long past when it is practical to train before dining with friends but I am stimulated and will have stuff to talk about. So I slide into the evening with a shower, food with friends and then hopefully a night of sleep in what ever form my medication dictates. Poetry stanza preparation must wait. Tomorrow will bring gardening, football and poetry face to face.

I woke up this morning after a disrupted night. When I am on Enzalutamide I get some of the side effects, but the worst one is hot flushes, which afflict me most at night or when I am fatigued. Last night was the first night after a five night break so I guess my body was going to respond like this. At the moment I am holding off the other major side effect of raised blood pressure by doing what training I can do. The rest are a bit more ambiguous, tiredness, risk of falls, bone thinning, restless legs ( a night affliction that when coupled with hot flushes is a real pisser), headaches, memory and concentration decrement, mood changes (inevitably low or depressed, these things never get you high), and skin changes. Add to these breast swelling, loss of sex drive and a metallic taste in the mouth then life can be a hurdle at times. I am fortunate in that it is the hot flushes, tiredness and the occasional headache that most effect me, that and the loss of concentration when I get fatigued, usually latter at night. Any way last night was one of those that combine side effects to give me a thin nights sleep. My partner brought me a decaf coffee, recommended to reduce the hot flushes and blood pressure effects.

Once I am up I am focussed on my days to do list, which is of course in my journal, another handy hint to avoid the memory side effects. I ring my GP surgery and get my 28 day jab appointment for the coming Monday. Normally I get in early but this time I am in at 3:50, which means my soreness and other responses to the injection will be pushed on a bit. With this done I head to the village chemist and collect my monthly regular drugs. I feels like a pill tsunami or pillpocalypse over the last couple of days. Onward to the village shop for a paper and malterzers before settling in at the village café. I am sitting there minding my own business eating my sausage and bacon rolls, sipping hot chocolate and doing the crosswords when an older couple come in with there young male child. This five or six year old starts saying to to his olds “look at that man”, and then “its Santa Claus, he’s got white hair”. For those that have not seen me for a while I now sport a long white pony tail down beyond the middle of my back. That’s what happens when you swear not to have your hair cut again after it falls out at your first lot of chemo. I play along I tell him I’m having a day of in the summer and that I’m letting the elves do the work today and as I leave I tell him not to tell anyone he has seem me as I will only be out and about again at Christmas time. He smiles and gives me a wave, his olds laugh.

Its sofa time as its the England women’s football team playing the Australians in the semi final of the world cup. Whoever wins goes onto play Spain in the final on Sunday. Its a reasonable game and to the mass chagrin of the Aussies they lose 3-1 to the English lionesses. A final to look forward to on Sunday, another excuse to eat maltezers. My partner goes off to see her mother and I clear the kitchen and get my training kit on. I really do not feel like it but I do and go to the garage for a row. I set myself up for another half hour session at my lower level. I am finding it difficult to resist the temptation to extend the time or put more effort in but I am determined to be controlled in this first week of training. I regard it as an exercise in discipline so I set out very deliberately to row at about 75% effort in as rhythmical way as possible, not changing pace or effort for the full half hour. I manage it and end up with a 5+ kilometre distance and 350+calorie burn. That will do nicely for today. It takes me to more than 136 PSI points on my fitness app but my fitness age does not reduce from 53, it was 42, but it will move if I am consistent.

Post session I relax, take my vitals, all good there and take a pee, all good there, no blood, and settle on the sofa to draft the blog. My partner returns home and we begin the slide into the evening. An evening where my partner has to prepare for an endoscopy tomorrow morning, so our day, or at least the morning is going to be spent at our local hospital.

Its Tuesday and been a long day, or at least my body feels like it has been. It started well enough with decaf coffee and breakfast as I settled down to watch the first semi final of the women’s world cup. It is a game where everything happens in the last ten minutes. Spain finally come out 2-1 winners over Sweden. I get my washing in and have lunch with my partner before hanging out my washing and getting another load in.

Just after two o’clock I drive into town and then walk from the central car park to the hospital pharmacy. I am very hot and I am thankful that there is not a long wait before my name gets called and my bag of drugs is proffered. I walk back to the car and return home glad to be out of the car fumes of the city. Its noxious and sickening. Once home I check my phone and find two texts purporting to come form my bank and asking me to respond to a link. Scam I think and delete them. I then try to buy an item on Amazon and have the card declined. I ring my bank and find that someone is trying to use my card. The upshot is that my card is compromised and is now withdrawn, and a new one wings its way to me. My banking sorted out I set about filling my drugs wallet with cycle three of my chemo drugs.

By the time tea time comes around I am out of spoons and very tired. I watch both a football match and a television series before taking the first dose of cycle three and drafting the blog. I go to bed early and wait for the drugs to kick in. Tomorrow I will need to train to hold the side effect off.

Monday and I am brought coffee to wake me. I get going quite early and pretty soon I am driving my partners car to the garage to have its MOT done. While the mechanics work their magic I go to the café down the road adn have one of their special breakfasts and a hot chocolate. There are enough calories in this meal to to sustain a family of four for a week. I return to the garage and drive away happy with an MOT pass.

Once home I am too full to do anything other than read, however I had not been home long when a friend back from holiday rings me. We chat for a while and catch up with our news. Its a real pleasure to hear her news and to exchange views on some issues. After the call I continue to read the book through to the end. So I can now start my new book. Before I do this I decide to train again. Like yesterday it is a half hour session and done at only 80% effort so I do not reach any of my usual targets, however it makes me sweat and feel the effort.

Post training I change and return to my new book, Birdy by William Wharton. It is so different from the last book. The evening starts with tea and a bit more reading before I succumb to watching another couple of episodes of a Strike series. For me its night meds and off to bed. Tomorrow apart from being the first semi final of the women’s world cup it is the day I pick up the next cycle of my chemo drugs from the hospital pharmacy, so there is to be a trip into town in the afternoon.

Saturday was a ridiculous screen day as I managed to watch the following:

• Two women’s world cup football matches (England beat Columba 2-1)
• One rugby league challenge cup final
• One international rugby game. (England beat Wales)
• The entire 3rd series of Strike
• Half of Highlander.

Somewhere in that I also went shopping at the garden centre for food and eat meals. No wonder I was too knackered to write a blog on the day. I just took my night meds and fell into bed with a sense of delicious decadency at having used a day in such a way but then hey I’m retired so why not, I do not have to be productive any more, although I did clear the kitchen and put the dishwasher on before crashing into bed, so I consider that my contribution for the day.

Sunday I wake up to my partner bringing me a decaf coffee. I weigh myself before drinking it and find although I have put on weight I have not crashed through the obese, fat bastard barrier of 98 kilos, I shade it at 97.8 kilos. My partner and I chat and then we ready ourselves for the gym. She is going to train and I am going for a change of scenery and a hot chocolate. I’ve also decided to radically reduce my screen time as yesterday was way too much for me, I shall read instead and confine my screen time to the blog and perhaps a little evening TV. At the gym my partner disappears off to the changing rooms and I settle down with a book, but my brain pixies interrupt me and I find myself writing two poems. I do not know where this stuff comes from. Clearly its from my head, I do not fish them out of some sort of ethereal ether but I’ve no understanding of the why and when questions that arise. Any way I set aside my reading and pick up my current journal/note book and begin to scribble. It is always the same I have no conscious idea of what’s coming but clearly my unconscious decides its time to dump whatever its been work on and out it pops from the end of my pen. Apparently on this occasion it was time for me to confront my waistline. This is what the result was.

Its time, 
to say farewell,
bite the bullet
and concede to the scythe
like the inevitable harvest.
I yield.
Carefully I select
the items
and with them the memories.
With each comes stitched
in remembrances.
Each pair a transitional item
that will be jettisoned,
recycled or forgotten.
This is reality confrontation
at a brutal level, 
a mirror that wont be denied
and is now avoided.
I'm never going to to be the same 
and gone is the possibility.
I am beyond any clever fix
My waist will never again be 36.

Well this was a bit of a surprise even though I had been recently contemplating storage issues around the number of ice hockey shirts I have acquired. I write another more dark piece but that can wait for another day. My partner re-joins me and we have coffee before returning home.

Once home I decide I can no longer put off training, I’ve been feeling shit lately and I know the only way to lift it is to physically exercise. Its not rocket science or therapy, it just how it is. If I do not train I do not counteract the side effects of the chemo and I do get the endorphin lift that I need either. Its been 17 days since I trained for fear of pissing blood after training so today will be the gentlest I can manage. I set myself up on the rower and select thirty minutes at my low level and set off. I am desperate to earn PSI points on my fitness App as I have not been above 100 for days and my fitness age has crashed from 41 to 52 in this short time. Everything screams decline despite all the other arithmetic saying I am doing well. So for half an hour I gently row. I still get hot and sweaty and elevate my heart rate but I am not going to reach my normal levels. I know that and I am content with that. By the end I’ve done a session at about 80% effort adn still go over 5 kilometres and 300+ calories. That will do me today.

I change and do my vitals as I listen to the radio on my ear buds until I feel recovered. At this point art leads to life and I take out all the waist size 36 trousers from my wardrobe space and rearrange my ice hockey jerseys. What I am left with is a strange collection of leg wear. Two pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of burgundy trousers, a bright yellow pair of golf trousers and a pair of brown herring bone Oxford bags. I guess I might be shopping in the not so distant future. I have to admit the yellow golf trousers are a bit bright even for me, where was my head when I bought them I wonder. I have just about finished this adventure when I am told my youngest daughter is face timing us. Before going to join the call I go for a pee and to my relief there is no sign of blood, I cannot express what a relief that is. I join the conversation and it is clear from the off that my youngest daughter is knackered and just wants to rest so I keep the conversation short and let her get the rest she needs. As I am back on the sofa I start to draft the blog, it already feels that I’ve spent too long looking at a screen evening.

My evening meanders towards its conclusion, mostly screens and then my night meds. Today was a reasonable start, lets see what tomorrow brings.

Friday and I wake early for no particular reason and I am brought a decaf coffee by my partner who has got up for work. I do my usual routine of checking emails and messages and then get up for toast. A women’s world cup quarter final is on, Sweden v Japan, which Sweden win 2-1 in normal time. While the game is on I refill my drugs wallets for the next two weeks. I cannot add my next chemo cycle until next Tuesday when I will pick them up from the hospital pharmacy. I also mend my partner’s mothers watch as the strap had come adrift. After the match I clear the kitchen, take and record my vitals and get ready to go out to lunch to meet old colleagues including one who is home from Bermuda for a few days. For once it is sunny, so I am hopeful for a pleasant afternoon.

My expectations have been fully met by this afternoons leisurely lunch. As on one of my friends pointed out I was the only English person there, the rest being Italian, Welsh, Argentinian and Nigerian. The lunch took at least four hours to complete, a lovely mixture of good food, company and conversation. My Nigerian friend flies back to Bermuda tomorrow so it was good to have the chance to chat to to him about the future and family before he returns. As always he had stories to tell of his travels which made us laugh. There is too little of this in life. Long lazy meals with friends are real treasures. Of course we argued over issues but that is what lively, bright people do.

I drive home in time for a light tea and chat before doing my vitals and settling down to a quiet evening of Fat and Furious, some digit between 1 and 200. It’s just wallpaper to drafting the blog, taking meds and going to bed. Tomorrow is a big day, England play Colombia in the quarter final of the world cup. The taster before is Australia (hosts) v France so it will be an exhausting morning. It could be a demanding day as there are two rugby league finals and and international rugby match to watch, not to mention the first Match of the Day highlights programme of the first week of the football season. I am hoping that the saturation will see me training again on Sunday.

Its Thursday, oncology review day. I am awake quite early and check my emails, messages and bank accounts. Once dressed its time for breakfast and to get organised for my 1 o’clock oncology review by phone. I update my excel spreadsheet for my vitals and get it to calculate my average blood pressure for this cycle of Chemo. 128 over 78 is a good average healthy blood pressure. I am satisfied with that. I take trip to the village shop and buy a paper, pastries and get cash from the ATM. Back home I do the crosswords and puzzles over a coffee and pastry out on the sunny patio.

My review time gets closer and my partner makes me a light lunch before the call comes through. He who made a pact with the devil rings on the landline at just past 1 o’clock. He tells me what I already know about my blood results, I fill in with my stat for the day, namely my PSA has fallen 74% since the 30th of May. We are both chuffed. I note that those things not in the normal range in my blood results are heading in the right direction. I tell him what my average blood pressure has been over his cycle, which seems to please him. He tells me that he will get the pharmacy to ring me when they have my next cycle and that he will ring me again in 4 weeks If everything is still tickety boo then he will prescribe my three cycles in one go and we will have a review after 12 weeks. By my reckoning that will take me close to Christmas, so there is a plan till the end of 2023. Roll on 2024.

All of this takes about two minutes maximum and then I am on the end of a dead phone. This must have been the faster consultation on record. I start to draft the blog, type up yesterdays poem and add it to my “All I Have” folder and then prepare to go to the Curve tonight to see Cirque, a singing musical and circus entertainment. Of course the issue is what to wear, but I will figure it out. Before the garden guy will arrive to tart up the garden, drink coffee and chat. So an uncharacteristically busy evening ahead of me and I still have my partners mother’s watch to mend.

The evening at the Curve theatre watching Cirque was great fun as I have never sat in the front row before next to the cold sparks generator and smoke machines. Smoke so thick at one point I have no idea what the guy with the anchor was doing. All in all it was good fun and included an ice cream. Because my partner had had the foresight to pay for the parking at reception we were able to get out of the car park quickly at the end. A smooth drive home, where we sat on the patio, dank fruit juice and ate Maltesers while reflecting on the show. I finished drafting the blog, took my meds, which are the last of this cycle. I collect my next cycle of drugs next Tuesday and the oncologist will review in four weeks time. If the next review goes well he will let me have three months worth, or three cycles to take up until Christmas. For now though it is time to sleep for tomorrow brings more world cup football but more importantly I shall be having lunch with a friend and old colleague who is in the country for a few days from Bermuda.

Wednesday and I wake late and realise there is no world cup football to watch. I have breakfast, take my meds, do my vitals and then head for the Shed in sunshine. I clean my inkwells and settle down to write a letter. Outside the Shed door the first Hibiscus bloom I’ve been able to grow flowers outside.

I finish my letter and then lunch with my partner before she goes off to see her mother. I return to the Shed and sit for a while until I write a poem. I close the Shed up and then take my letter to the post office after which I do small chores and wait for my partners return . When she does return we sit on the garden swing seat and talk over family business. We eat tea and I watch football in the evening. It has been the rest day I promised myself. I draft the blog and take my night drugs. Tomorrow is my oncology review so I shall rise early and prepare my data and my questions. The aim is another cycle of Chemo. Who would have thought that this would become a life ambition. Soon I will need to start to train and re-engage with the world.

Tuesday rocks up and I wake up to find my partner off to work. Real outside the home work which leaves a space on the drive. I have breakfast and watch th first half of a women’s world cup match. At half time I abandon the football and drive to see a friend to have hot chocolate and a chat. She is one of the people who helps to keep my brain fed with reading matter. to my surprise she produced a book for me. I am intrigued by it and I am already looking forward to getting into it. We chat and indulge in cheese scones and warm drinks.

My friends buys a birthday gift and we return to her house where I pick up my car and drive home. I am back in time to see the second half of the second women’s world cup match of the day. France thrash Morocco. I decide to walk down to the village shop and get a paper but when I get there they have sold out. Instead of going home I go to the village café and treat myself to a sausage and bacon baguette accompanied by a hot chocolate. While there I pick up flyers for what is going on in our local theatres and museums. I’m idling with what things I do in the future that will get me out and about again.

Back home I put the bins out and then settle down to read more of A Gentleman in Moscow. Time passes bye and my partner returns home from work. I do my vitals before tea and start to draft the blog whilst watching one of the last Harry Potter films. So I drift into the evening knowing that tomorrow is a free day before life gets busy with oncology reviews, drug pick ups, shows at a local theatre and a meal with friends. So I will use the day to rest before a burst of activity.

Monday, England play for a quarter final place in the World Cup. I am up just in time for a dish of muesli and decaf coffee before getting comfy on the sofa. What a let off for England. Down to ten players after James gets sent off for stamping on an opponent, they hang on for a goalless draw and then win on penalties after extra time. Nigerians just not good at penalties.

Australia up to beat Denmark next during which I clear the kitchen, put my washing in and get out of my leopard head wearable sofa blanket. I ease my way into lunch watching the match with my partner and starting to draft the blog. The Australians win 2-0. That’s my morning done. I go to the Shed and write a letter and note that the ink I am using is congealing and blocking up the nibs I am using. I am tempted to jettison the drawing ink I am using and use ordinary ink. I hang my washing out and then pop across to the post box and while there I pop into the shop and grab some treats for later. I return to the sofa and settle down to read more of A Gentleman in Moscow. It feels at the moment that my reading ability is getting better. I recline while I read until tea time. Tea over I return to reading until there is a flurry of activity, I bring my washing in, read some more and as my partner talks to our youngest I and my eldest bringing in the Tesco order. It appears getting eggs is no longer a problem. I start to daft the blog before the ritual Monday humiliation of not scoring a single point on Only Connect. I’m just fascinated by Victoria Corren Mitchell having been a professional poker player who won over two million at the tables.

The rest of my evening will is reading, glimpsing TV and finally night meds and bed. Its now seven days since I trained, I am trying to decide how long to rest for. Its not like I am an Olympic athlete or professional sportsperson but I did train almost daily and it is hard to stop even if I know it’s for my own good and even if the oncologist is at me to train at least 3 time a week. This is one of those times where I need to trust my instincts and to trust the logic in the arithmetic. I am getting shack fever a bit and need get out for a bit soon, I am hoping the forecast brighter weather is on its way.