Wednesday, I am awakened at 8 o’clock with a coffee and a time check. I check my Fitbit and confirm that I slept poorly last night, probably due to the excitement of yesterday and the information that I am consciously and unconsciously processing. Anyway I do not have time for any namby-pamby reflection I’ve got a date with the chiropodist at 9 o’clock. I borrow my partners car and drive to the next village and arrive so early that the “foot shop” is not open. I buy a paper and sit in the car completing the quick crossword until the appointment time. The chiropodist is her usual cheery self as she soaks my feet in a magic potion (probably eye of newt and tongue of lark with a dash of oriental mushroom), then its out with the tools and away she goes shaving, clipping and filing until the final rub over with a smooth and oily unguent. Oh how my feet sing with delight, this is truly a pampering and a luxury.

I drive home, dump the car and go to the village café for breakfast. I settle down to complete another puzzle but get chatting to the old boy on the next table. He was a miner at the village pit for twenty years then worked on the land and did building work. He knows all the farmers around the village and who had what built and what the land cost. He’s still doing gardens and building fences and appears to know most of the old families in the village and is quick to tell you which ones are okay and which ones are “thick”. A chum of his arrives from a visit to a hospital to have a head lump checked. There was no getting away from him till he had shown me the picture of his head wound that he keeps on his phone. Just the sort of after breakfast sight I needed, but that’s old buggers for you, seen it all done it all and don’t give a bugger, its how things are. No snow flaking here, its in your face life, piles and all. Of course its not all quaint, we don’t make anything any more, there are too many people coming to the country and foreigners own all our industries. I guess when you’ve spent twenty years down a pit on the coal face your world has changed more than most. I escape the head wound photo and walk home with the cash I promised to get for my partner so she can pay her mother’s carer when she visits her mother in the afternoon.

Once home I clear away my washing and bring the bin in. I clean up the laundry area and retrieve all the clothing that has fallen down the back of the washing machine and tumble dryer. There is enough to fill the washing basket again. Eventually the place is ship shape again and I sit down to do some life admin and my accounts. The window cleaner appears and says I owe him for one, I tell him he is wrong and that I’ve got the acknowledgement and I counter with a required confirmation of the frequency that they have down for us. I tell him I will BACS the current one, which I duly do once he has departed. I return to the comfort of the lounge and reply to my messages before starting on the draft of todays blog. A friend wishes me a happy Burns night and another invites me for coffee, to which I reply I am available for a skinny organic soya mocha macchiato with extra hot yaks foam yoga mat infused achino, at her convenience next week. I am aware that I am easily irritated at the moment, a sure sign that I am digesting things from yesterday and I feel the draw of the Shed and the need to read quietly or write to occupy me. The fact that I am listening to the midday concert on Radio 3 is also a bit of a give way. Fortunately it is orchestral music, if it had been choral or Lieder I would have looked for something else. There are times when I just do not want to hear voices. It is a hang over from my working days when voices were all suffused with anxieties and anger, when I have my own stuff to process I do not want the distraction of all that other noise going on in the background. Voiceless music feeds my inner voices and helps me to feel my way through what ever is going on for me, words and voices just get in the way with all the other information they carry. The friends I most value are those I can be silent with. I go to the Shed to write for a bit. There is a poem in there somewhere trying to get out about spot welding cancer but it needs time.

I go to the Shed and settle down to write letters. The afternoon inks away until the light fails. I pack up the Shed and return to the house to find my partner returned from visiting her mother. I pop out and post my letters. Back home I get sofa’d and feel at odds with myself and click through TV channels. Yesterdays oncology review is still with me. I stumble across Legend showing old and original Star Trek. What a delight, back to back episodes. My partner and friend go out to eat so my eldest daughter and I indulge in a take away curry. I go for a spicy madras, craving something hot and challenging. I devour my treat when it arrives knowing I might regret this later but frankly I don’t care. I sip water as another classic old fantasy show passes. I’m bored (short hand for my needs are not being met) so I quit TV and read American Gods. That reading and finishing the draft of the blog will do me for tonight, I shall take my newly nurtured feet and go to bed with the intention of tomorrow being a gym day.

Tuesday, oncology day and civil partnership anniversary. I get woken up at 7 o’clock with coffee and slowly emerge. I squeeze into the medium weight tweed suit and I am ready to go by 8 0’clock. What followed was a nightmare drive where every road had road works and delays. What should have taken 30 minutes took an hour and twenty minutes. My partner phoned ahead to say we might be late. We arrived at 9:20 for a 9:25 appointment but still got to sit in the waiting area for a while amongst all the other bemasked ill.

I and my partner get called in. He who made a pact with the devil is there to greet us. He asks how I am, I tell him I am physically fit but what about my PSA. He goes over the options. None of them are fun but the upshot is he doesn’t have a clue why my PSA is going up. We both know that my body has done the inevitable and found a way round the effects of the medication by changing its own cell surface chemistry, clever old mother nature, bitch. Any way one option is to change my antiandrogen to a new one, Enzalutamide (Xtandi), I cannot pronounce either of them because I am dyslexic so I will refer to it as “new shit”. However before he prescribes me “new shit” he describes a PETT scan which apparently can see how much of my body is cancer ridden, which he says is going to be more than all my other scans can reveal. If we do this we get to know how extensive my cancer is and then as he put it they (the medics) can see whether radio therapy is worth a shot. He described it as (and I kid you not) as “spot welding” bits of the cancer. There will either be bits worth “spot welding” or there isn’t but either way I get to be prescribed the “new shit” once its done. This is all of course my choice and he gaily informs me that there is “no right answer”, so its down to me. (Is this where medicine is these days, it seems a bit odd). I decide on the PET scan on the basis that I want to know how much shit I am in. The rest is admin, a new blood form, he will refer me for a PET scan and book an appointment for me in February, but I have to make sure that there is sufficient time between the PET scan and an appointment with him so that the results can get to him. I am to monitor this and liaise with the cancer nurses. He runs me off a crap printer copy of information about the “new shit”, gives me a new blood form adn waves us off. I and my partner walk to the car and drive into town to look at rugs.

I eat a scone in Lewis’s café as a belated breakfast and my partner and I chat. We get the first scan pictures of our new grandchild. It is a momentous day. We send messages and talk about it for a while and then go rug hunting. The rugs in Lewis’s are not what we want and so we leave town and drive home, where I get out of the tight medium weight tweeds and slip into more comfortable trousers. I drive us to a village down the road where I have booked a table for lunch at a rather nice restaurant. We settle down to an anniversary three course lunch. It is excellent food and a good celebration meal to mark our anniversary. Feeling well fed I take us to our local shopping centre and we go adn buy a rug. More accurately we discover that what we want is not in stock in store so we order it over the internet while in the store. It will arrive on the 29th. While there we stroll to a sofa shop and accidentally find a recliner sofa and chair that we both like. We are tempted and talk to a salesperson. We decide to have a coffee and thin about it, which we do. The upshot is we decide to drive home and check the measurements.

The measurements don’t work out. The things in the shop are bigger than what we have, which is a potential problem. So there will need to be a period of thinking to be done. My partner begins to tidy the house as we have a guest staying tomorrow and I settle down to read about PET scans and the intended “new shit.” I am stupid. I should stop reading about the “new shit” and the drug trails with there outcome data, death rates and side affects. I particularly love the way the researchers talk about toxicity levels and the levels of side effects. By the time I have finished reading the real research and outcome information in the journals and papers, not the Janet and John shit that McMillan put out, I am thoroughly dispirited. This is going to be a crap period of time by the sound of it with fatigue and headaches as a minimum. I could get lucky, all I can do is keep doing the things that keep me fit and that the “new shit” (four tablets once a day) once it starts has some effect on my rising PSA levels. Until the new PET scan is done and I see “he who made a pact with the devil” in February its steady as I go as usual.

I get to the evening and start to draft the blog, deciding that this is worthy of a new stage, namely Rocket Booster stage. I just need to continue to Rocket but with renewed vigour till I get to do the next oncology review with the PET scan outcomes. I confess I find it difficult to find yet more enthusiasm and energy but wat else can I do. There is bugger all on TV so I read and look forward to the gay banter with the chiropodist tomorrow morning as my feet soak in her warm magic potion and she pleasures my feet into a state of contentment. I finish my medical admin and then read myself towards sleep.

Monday, I wake to a household out to work. Coffee, muesli and meds and I am ready for the day. I clear the kitchen, empty bins, and take a parcel to the post office. That done I start to write letters until a friend calls and we chat about how we are and what is going on for us in our respective situations. At the end of the call I send a link to something we had talked about. By the time Tesco deliver in the early afternoon I’m feeling tired, but its short of a couple of things so I take a walk to the shop to get the missing items. On the way back I post letters.

When I am home I put out the clothes I intend to wear tomorrow to my oncology review. I shall be comparing data with the oncologist and seeing where the logic in the arithmetic takes us but my concern is whether my waist numbers fit the trouser waist arithmetic. Having laid my clothes out I go back to reading American Gods.

The evening rolls round and is a mixture of reading and Silent Witness but the most crucial bit was getting the medical admin ready to take tomorrow. So the evening comes to an end with night meds and bed. Tomorrow will either be a damp squib or shit either way this might be the last ROCKET DAY and I will be into a new phase.

Sunday and I wake up to frost adn cold. I settle down to read American Gods while my partner brings me coffee. We lay in and I read until we are both hungry. We get up and eat breakfast, I take my meds and then we ring our youngest daughter to catch up. There is a flurry of domestic doing, such as washing and dishes and then I am getting ready to go to the gym.

At the gym I get in to my kit and go looking for a cross trainer. To my chagrin there are none available and so I settle for a recumbent cycle. My intention is to do a short gentle session, a lazy Sunday session to just keep me ticking over. It goes to plan and 35 minutes later I am relaxing and thinking about a few weights.

I wander over to the mats by the mirror wall and select some weights to use. In checking my Fitbit app on the phone I manage to take a picture of myself. Its not a pretty sight but I was coming to the end of my clean training gear.

The weights session turns out to be a revelation. I find I can still do some of the sets but when I get down on the mat to do some floor work I have a surprise. It is painful to lay flat on my back and I cannot lift the weights bar from above my head when I am flat out. I’ve clearly stiffened over the last couple of years and I need to begin to get some stretching done on a regular basis, perhaps yoga and I need to get more weight work into my routine. It makes me wonder about more core work. Of course the paranoid fantasy is that as I age I develop a curvature of the spine.

I finish my mat session and then head for the shower and end up with that gratifying clean and warm feeling. In the club lounge I sip coffee while waiting for my partner. On the drive home we try to check the tyres but the air line is not working at the garage, so we just return. I sort my washing and settle down to watch a rugby match having done a crossword. The evening gets going with a meal and then I draft the blog as the usual Saturday night programmes roll on. Of course it all moves towards Happy Valley and football highlights.

The coming week is going to be an interesting one with the highlight being the oncology review. It could be that Tuesday will be the last ROCKET DAY as I move to another phase or not. I shall see what comes my way and adapt appropriately. Onward and with direction.

Saturday and I wake up tired having crawled into bed just before 2am. I discovered just past midnight last night that my Patient View account had been locked so I could not see my blood results. I cast about the internet to find out what is going on. I find that the Patient View platform has been jettisoned for something called Patient Knows Best, am allegedly nhs platform. I spend an age registering and getting into my account to see if I can find my blood results. The platform is unfamiliar but the format seems less easy than the old app. Eventually I find my notifications and there are my most recent blood results. They are in list form and have to be mined out. In the morning I adapt the hard copy print outs from the old platform and transfer them over. The highlights are that my PSA has risen again, meaning its has more than doubled in 85 days. This is not good news. I also find that some of my blood results are not there. Platelet count, white cell count and haemoglobin are all missing. I think this is a result of only one blood vial being taken. In my head its an admin error. So I go to bed at 1:45am dispirited by the results.

I wake up in the morning late to a warm coffee followed by a hot coffee. A jigsaw company delivers to me a gift I intended for someone else. They put the intended recipients name on it but my address. An aggravation that I will need to sort out. I get up for a late bacon bagel and then start to research PSA levels and prognosis. I discover that there is a thing called PSA kinetics and velocities. I read that there are models for calculating PSA kinetics and the relationship between the velocity of PSA doubling and survival time. I find that that there are at least 22 ways of calculating the PSA velocity and that some apply to some phases of prostate cancer and to its progression. The more I read the more complex it becomes and the more “woolly ” the whole concept of PSA kinetics and its use gets, until the bottom line comes out as a dependency on individual cases. The more I read the less answers there are. It makes the review, that will include scan results, on Tuesday all the more important. I start to draft the questions I need to ask.

The poetry stanza I was due to attend goes by the board. I can’t focus on listening to a group of people of intellectualising a bunch of poems while I have the results in my head along with all the other stuff I have read over the last 18 hours. In an effort to get out my partner and I go to the garden centre to buy meat and veg. We had intended to eat but when we saw the queue and remembered how slow the service is we shopped and left for home.

Once home I watch a rugby match. Once it is over I get ready to train. I was not going to but the blood result just convince me that I have little I can do other than stay physically as fit as I can. All the reading I do on cancer tells me that it always comes back to eating a good diet and exercising, not drinking, not smoking and sleeping well. As I don’t drink or smoke, eat well and sleep well it leaves me with exercise. So I get into my kit and get myself into the garage. I set the rower up for an hours session and get started. An hour later I am done, its still only 5 degrees in the garage.

I have been using my new Fitbit and the HUNT study index to monitor my training and how fit I am. According to my latest read out from the fitness algorithm my physical fitness age is 60. My blood oxygen is consistently between 95% and 100%, my average daily heart rate is 62 so I am in reasonable shape. Could I do more? Maybe. I move into the evening eating tea and then drafting the blog against the background of TV. I while away time to midnight just to check whether the missing blood results turn up.

Friday and I wake up groggily and then realise that its vampire day. My partner brings me coffee in bed which I snooze to coldness before getting up and selecting clothes that give easy access to my arm veins. I down my morning meds and plod off to the GP surgery in a bright but very frosty morning. I check in and get called immediately. In the blink of an eye my blood is in a labelled vial and I am walking home.

Once home I while away a few minutes until I know the village café will be open and then I go to buy a paper and make my way to the café. The full breakfast is great. I sit in the sunny window seat so that I get a grandstand few of the near misses on the village roundabout. They are frequent today as the winter sun rifles in at a low angle to blind 50% of drivers approaching the roundabout. The tooting of horns and mutterings of disapproval by fellow diners is frequent this morning. I do the crosswords in the paper and luxuriate in the deliciousness of cooked for breakfast. It has a very nurturing, caring feel about it, a kind of kindness to the self. I return home buying potatoes and flower on the way.

Once home I find a letter waiting for me. I put flowers in a vase and then settle down to read my letter. It is one of the pleasures of my life to read a letter from a friend and it deserves the proper time and attention to be paid to it. I especially love letters that point me in the direction of brain food and this letter did just that. I have some busy learning ahead of me. New poems arrive for Saturday’s Stanza meeting. I print them off and put them in my “Stanza” file ready for Saturday. I take time to read them and see if there are any that grab me enough to volunteer to read them. I reread my own contribution, I am just pleased I will not have to read it as I have no idea how to pronounce the German in it. In the Stanza meeting your poetry gets read by someone else and then the group respond to it while you listen. Only when they have had their say can you then speak. I have at least corrected the version I sent and removed the spelling mistake so that Haifisch is now spelt properly. For those that missed it on the 20th of December here it is again.

AS I PRESS ONE FOOT
AFTER ANOTHER 
IN THE GYM 
I SENSE THE RHYTHM
THAT TOOK ME,
MARATHONED ME
AND TOLD ME
YOU’RE ALIVE.
I REACH FOR THAT FEELING
LIKE A LOVERS ARMS AROUND ME,
I NEED SALVATION
AS I FIGHT 
TO STAY ALIVE.
I STRIDE ON
RAMMSTEIN LOUD IN MY EARS
HAIFISCH
HAIFISCH
HAIFISCH
DRIVNG ME 
PERPETUALLY MOVING
TO STAY ALIVE,
I AM AFRAID IN THIS STRUGGLE.
HAIFISCH
HAIFISCH
HAIFISCH
IN DER TIEFE ES EINSAM
IN THE DEEP IT IS LONELY
SO DIE TRANEN SIEHT MAN NICHT
SO NO ONE CAN SEE THE TEARS.

All of this came to me when I was on the cross trainer with Rammstein very loud in my ears. There is a a driving rhythm to the piece and the two quoted lines were the ones that stuck in my mind. It all seemed to fit the feeling at the time. It was not until I researched the spelling and the translation that I learned Haifisch means Shark or that the lines that had stuck with me actually fitted the context of what I had written. My good old unconscious can always be trusteed to do right by me when it comes to poetry. I can’t wait for somebody to read it and then what the group make of it. For you alone I will tell you. Its actually about being alone and scared in the fight to stay alive in the face of cancer. If you don’t keep moving (like a shark) you die. However like all my other poetry it ain’t ever going to win a competition or get published, at least not until I get my finger out and push that project forward.

I retreat to the Shed to write letters and think about training today. My Shed is always a welcoming space and I settle down to write letters and update my correspondence journal. I spend a couple of hours writing and then return to the house and wander over to the post box to send my letters. Back in the warmth of my lounge I watch more of the Sandman series as my motivation to train today ebbs away. I slide into the evening and watch TV and a rugby match simultaneously before returning to the blog. Its all a distraction as I wait to see if my blood results will come through tonight. Its always the same at this time before an oncology review, a mixture of curiosity and foreboding that things will change for the worse. Behind that is the irritating question as to whether or not the medical profession has any new magic if it turns out that things are getting worse. First things first, the blood results tonight and then move on. Tomorrow will see me at the poetry Stanza hoping that someone else reads my Shark.

Thursday, its gas pipe day so I am up early, breakfasted and writing a to do list for the day. I am in on my own as the household have gone to the warmth of their work places. It is not long before the gas guy knocks on the door to disconnect the gas supply and then disappear. For me it was then just a case of working through my to do list.

• Poetry update
• Poetry Stanza preparation
• Book Tesco and do the order
• Pay the Rentokil insurance
• Check the garden camera
• Cut and manaicure my nails
• Sort out the gas man when required.
• Train.

Its not an impressive list but when things like needing to pay Rentokil takes more than five times, the tasks and the time stretches out. By mid afternoon I am through the list. Along the way it has been pointed out to me that the poem I submitted for this coming Saturdays Stanza meeting has a mistake in it. I have fallen foul of my dyslexia and spelt the German word Haifisch with an L in it instead of the i. I have to make the correction and resend the entry. Haifisch is the German for shark. My new book arrives, its another Neil Gaiman, American Gods. I dip in and quickly fond myself wanting to read more.

The gas is back on quite soon adn my partner returns just as I am getting ready to train. I go off to the garage and strap into the rower for half an hour at a slightly higher resistance level. Its cold in the garage but the extra resistance means I work a bit harder. Its a reasonable session with a calorie burn of 400+.

I return to the house and record my session as my partner makes tea. We eat and I start to draft the blog while my partner does her singing lesson on line. I return to American Gods and will retire early tonight once I have downed my night meds as I have a vampire session in the morning as I give a blood sample in preparation for my oncology review next Tuesday.

Wednesday and I wake up to the usual sound of work going on in the office. I check my messages and social media and then get up for my usual muesli breakfast. I settle into my new book from my friend. It is what I do all morning, read and wonder at another’s creativity and imagination, not to mention the skill of writing in such a clear and effective way. Its a brilliant book and if you are an adult with childhood memories this will find a place with you.

Having finished the book I have lunch with my partner before she picks up her brother and goes to see her mother. I spend time putting washing away and getting my training kit packed before I drive to the gym to train in the warm. I get to the gym and get myself on a cross trainer and set off. I have discovered that my Fitbit is able to monitor elliptical training so I am able to monitor my PAI (Personal Activity Intelligence). It is an index of fitness based on the findings of the HUNT study done by a Norwegian health Study involving 230,000 people over 35 years. It calculates a personalised Index to be able to maintain optimum fitness. As long as the PAI score is 100 calculated on a rolling weeks activity then you are at optimum fitness. As you get fitter it gets harder to earn the PAI points each day. After todays session my PAI is at 229 with my fitness age at 64. My session on the cross trainer goes okay apart from the fact that I mis-keyed 45 minutes which meant I did 54 plus a 5 minute warm down. I survived and it did not lead to me peeing blood. So another 600+ calories gone and another 6+ kilometres travelled.

With the gym session done I have a shower and a coffee. The drive home was a rush hour flog. Once home I packed away my kit and recorded the session. My partner was making tea but she presented me with a present. A Rocket present that amused me and which I set about completing there and then.

Well that was an interesting new way to spend part of an evening. I do not believe that a 6 year old could do it like the box claims. I eat tea and settle down to draft the blog and do some life admin before we do the preparations to be gas less tomorrow. Its been a day of brain and body feeding so I am now pretty spoonless. Tomorrow our gas is cut off to allow a re pipe to occur and I am to be the only one home to oversee the ins and outs of the workmen. For now its time to get my night meds down me and head off to bed so I can be up before the gas man knocketh.

Its Tuesday and I wake up knowing today I shall be going to a funereal. I’m just about coming into consciousness when my phone rings and a friend is on the line on the way to the M.O.T station. We have the luxury of being able to chat for a long time and catch up with how we are both coping with our situations. Its good and helpful to compare notes and to hear how things are moving forward. I find it very supportive and helpful when I am able to have these conversations. We say farewell and I get up to make breakfast and to get my funereal clothes out and ready.

As I am tucking into my muesli there is a familiar thrump of a package being dumped in the porch. I retrieve the package and immediately know what it is. It is another book from my friend who is sending me books to feed my brain. Its a new book to me and a new author so I am excited. My initial thought was to read tonight but I am intrigued by this book prologue and so I start to read.

I read and find myself finding it easy to read and then suddenly its lunch time and I am eating bacon bagels with my partner. Its time to get my funereal clothes on. On these occasions I am old fashioned and tend towards the formal black. A sort of Sunday best approach. I think it stems from a sense of being respectful, I guess its a generational thing. Anyway I get into my three piece suit, a tight squeeze these days, and rig up with watch chain and overcoat. Its a strange combination, formal black and a white pony tail, but if I am honest I think I do it pretty well.

I drive my partner and I to the crematorium, a relatively short drive to a village where I first lived. We arrive in plenty of time and we both spend time looking at our phones and my partner tries to spot people she knows arriving. It turns out that quite a few of the attendees are known to my partner through old work associations. We go into the crematorium waiting area and talk to some of my partners old work colleagues. Then the hearse arrives with the daughter riding pillion, yes riding pillion. The funerealee was a keen motorbike so the hearse is a motor bike and sidecar. We were encouraged to take photographs so here is the hearse.

The funereal is not a religious service and full of readings. It is always difficult to be in a funereal where there is no direct connection but there is always a sense of discovery of someone’s life and an appreciation of all the things that they would have seen in their life. There is no such thing as an ordinary life only ordinary uniqueness.

At the end of the funereal and the polite well wishing and invitations I drive my partner and I to the local Next where we have coffee and pastries. We peruse rugs and sofas and pick out possibilities, but hang fire for consideration and research. We drive home put the bin out and I change into my training kit and make my way to the garage to row for 45 minutes. Its cold, I can see my breathe as I strap up to row.

The session over I return to the house and record it in my diet and training journal. I then settle down to watch a football match followed by a film about the abduction of a child. My partner and I eat tea while we watch. Night meds were followed by bed and more of my new book. Its been an unusual but thoughtful day.

Monday, I wake to an empty house as both of the other residents have actually gone to the places of their work. I check my social messages and media and then make breakfast. I clear the kitchen and tidy up before another coffee. I’m watching His Dark Materials when an old work colleague from the Enabling Environment days. he tells me about his weekend watching Rangers getting to the final of the Scottish cup. We chat about his work and how it is going. We also talk about how I am and our mutual prostate adventures. As men of a certain age we research adn chat about statins and remnd ourselves to have our arses ready for that impromptu prostate check that doctors seem to be fond off. We also swap thoughts about some of the people (not nice people) that we have coem across in our time in the criminal justice system. After almost an hour my friend goes on hos way adn I return to the heartrending end of the Amber Spyglass.

I am just about to do something when the gas pipe people knock on the door. We have a chat about where my gas meter is located and if I have a heat source. I reveal my meter location at which point he has a quick look down the side of the house and told me that there would not be any need to dig on the property. So he tells me that our day to be re-gassed is Thursday. So I shall need to be around to let them in and out during the day. I have some time to kill so I drag put my amplifier adn Stratocaster, tune up and spend some time reacquainting myself with my very limited repertoire. The amplifier is a Peavy a real gnarly amp and very loud, I dread to think what it would do to my eardrums if I actually cranked it up to full. I look more rock and roll than I actually sound.

Eventually the Tesco delivery arrives. I take it in and have an odd feeling that something is wrong but I return to my soup before I put anything away. Before I can finish my soup I get a call from Mr Tesco, he’s missing something and asks me to check my delivery. I do and find two pizzas and a bag of chips, he seems pleased and says he will be with me soon. The pick up goes well and I stow the goodies. The household returns from work and I go to train in the garage. Its to be an hour session on the rower. I actually manage to find “rower” on my Fitbit and set it up to record the session and then set off for the session. Its a struggle but I make it and do 13+ kilometres and burn 800+ calories. Its a good outcome given it was cold in the garage.

I return to the house to record the session and then change before tea. The evening moves on to Silent Witness and then meds and bed, Tomorrow I am accompanying my partner to a friends father’s funereal so I shall be robing up in black suit and paraphernalia for the day.