Thursday and I wake to a morning meeting in 25 minutes. So its a coffee and straight in front of the laptop. The work meeting is with the team and we are briefed about the current updates. It looks like we might be able to begin to contemplate visiting services again. We agree a date to meet face to face for first time in two years. So in April there will be a trip to London. Strangely we end up talking about waking people up. It is a strange Kafkaesque world we live in sometimes. The meeting ends and I make myself a bacon bagel and open the parcel sent to me by my sister. It contains two beautiful books, one of poetry and one of evolutionary biology. They are hard back tomes in solid dust, they are truly classic books.

I now have a pile of at least seven books to read. It is an indication that my life balance is not right, there should be more reading time. I also get mail this morning and one of those is a letter from an old colleague and fellow member of a TC group that I belong to. It is a lovely thoughtful letter which I read and reread over a cup of coffee. At lunch time I walk with my partner round the village to buy a paper and nibbles. On the way back we meet one my nieces and a nephews wife with her delightful baby daughter. We chat as we walk and then say farewell to return home.

I attend to my washing and put it away before I pack my kit bag to go to the gym. I get to the gym and do an hour on a cross trainer. My hour burns off 706 calories and takes me 7.96 kilometres. I shower and drive home to a coffee and a scone. My partner and I eat dinner and I settle down to watch a football semi final while my partner does her singing practice. I am tired and indulge in chocolate, a sort of non drinkers getting pissed therapy. The football ends and I draft the blog.

Its been a tired day, a day where it feels like a flog. I am not sure whether today has just been one of those flat days that we all have or whether it is a consequences of the medication. Its 44 days since I started the new medication and I am still not sure if it is making me tired or if I am just sicker or older. I’m certainly older but I’m pretty sure that its not to blame for my bouts of tiredness and low motivation. Its been a demanding week and tomorrow I go for another scan. It just adds to the sense of being beleaguered that cancer and the consequential life style brings. I return over and over again to the fact that cancer does not take a day off, the consequences of this is that I cannot, so I keep finding ways to re-motivate myself, but its tiring and that’s how chocolate wins. My sweet tooth will probably be my down fall.

Wednesday, its report writing day, a dyslexics nightmare, but it is the down side of being involved with people organisations. I get up fortify myself with peanut butter toast and coffee, down my meds and log on. That is at 9 o’clock. One dish of chicken soup later and its five o’clock. I send the completed report to the report co-ordinator work. My partner returns from visiting her mother. We are both done so its fish and chips for tea. The television goes on and I watch football in a catatonic state of energy less stupor. I’ve not paid my tax bill or trained and I’ve no motivation or energy. I write the blog and leave it to the pixies to sort out the rest of life. Tomorrow is a team meeting so I’ve no idea how the day will go.

Monday and its jab Monday. How quickly it comes around. I’ve taken my prophylactic paracetamol yesterday and this morning I take more with my usual morning meds. I tuck into a muesli breakfast and then walk down to the GP surgery clutching my Degarelix injection pack. Its 8:50 and on the dot the nurse appears and we debate which side its going in today. After some toing and froing and some consultation of notes and diaries we agree that this month its going in the let side. Apparently the current wisdom is that the injection now goes in to one side of the belly button and not the lower flabbier bits of the belly. After the stuff is in and I have a small fluffy cloud next to my navel we discuss a shingles vaccination. Apparently they come in a live and a dead version. The nurse is keen, I’m cautious so we agree that I will raise it with the oncologist on the 22nd. I return home and settle down to do my admin and have a coffee when my phone rings. It is my friend who is battling long COVID. We chat about the COVID situation and how long COVID is draining and tiring not to mention the frustrating of constantly balancing how to spend what energy is available. While we are talking my partner appears holding our house phone and tells me the hospital are calling. I take the call to find that I am being offered my bone scan this afternoon at 1 o’clock rather than on the 10th of February. I accept, my reasoning, in for a penny in for a pound. The cost will be not going to the gym as this scan comes in two parts.

So I set off to the hospital, to the nuclear medicine department. Its a familiar journey now and easily done. I park and look to see if pay and display is required, not that I have any change with me and the last time I was here there was no IT to take the toll by card. I remember raving about it in the blog. To my surprise the pay stations are all taped up and there is a new brand spanking pay shelter by the exit. There are state of the art cameras which clock you in and then out, if you have paid before you leave at the shed. I skip to the nuclear medicine department with the relief of not having to worry about finding change. I arrive at reception and book in where I ask to abandon my trend built in filter mask for “one of ours”, a bog standard blue thing. Not trendy at all. A nurse appears and takes me of to a clinic room. There is the name, birthday and address check and then the nurse plays seek a vein. Actually with me that’s easy as I have good veins even if they are a bit “wobbly” as one nurse put it while trying for the fourth time to get a catheter in. This nurse pops the catheter in my arm and then disappears to get the radio active marker injection. She comes back and screws the metal keeper into my catheter and then injects me followed by some saline to flush it through. We agree that my come back time will be 3:30 and I leave to tackle the car park IT. Its a breeze once I get my head round it. I pop in my registration plate, tap on the photo of my car and then wave my credit card at the machine, job done. I drive to the barrier and after a short anxiety provoking wait the barrier raises and releases me.

I get home quickly and have soup for lunch as the advice was to drink a lot of liquid. I clear the kitchen, do a cross word and puzzle and then its time for me to go back to the hospital. I arrive about 3:20 and go to the scan waiting area. have The Lost Daughter with me so I settle down to read. A nurse comes out and tells me that I am up in five minutes so I need to go for a piss before the scan. I do as I am advised and then wait to be called. I have taken all my jewellery off and left it at home and changed into a pair of soft trousers so there is no metal on me anywhere. The nurses check my identity again and then I get laid out on the machine. We are about to start when the operator appears and says that they have to put the last woman through the scanner again to capture the images they need. So I clamber off the machine and return to the waiting area and my book. Time passes until the woman appears again and then I get recalled to the scanner room. They tucked me up on the scan bed and lower the camera over me. My response is to close my eyes and drift off, the only thing I need not to do is move, so a bit of a controlled nap seemed in order. Twenty minutes later I am told its all over but to lay tight until they have checked that they have the pictures that have been ordered. A couple of minutes later the nurse is back and tells me I can go. So I return to the car park pay shed and have my second go on the machine. I drive home feeling tired and aware that my injection site is beginning to feel sore.

That soreness progresses. No one wants to cook so we order take away from our local Indian. It arrives in record time and takes us by surprise. Putting the ironing aside we sit and eat our meal. There is NCIS to watch as we wait for Tesco to deliver, which they eventually do and the family do the empty the trays race in double quick time. There is more TV but I am feeling sore and like I have been through the shredder so I head for bed once I’ve done my meds and more paracetamol.

Tuesday, its bin day round here. I wake up feeling decidedly ropey, my gut is sore and I do not feel I have slept particularly well. In fact my fitness tracker tells me I have slept 8 hours 54 minutes but I do not feel like it. I hear my daughter go to work and shortly after my partner goes to the physio having brought me coffee. I check my mail and messages and finally get up for a muesli breakfast. I am due to be in a meeting at 10 o’clock but I have not got the link so I am emailing folk to get the link. Nice people send me the link and then I sit and wait my turn. A drug worker is delivering some drug and alcohol refresher training. Its really good and I now know how to administer naloxone to a passed out heroine addict. Always a useful skill to have if you happen to have some naloxone to hand. Its either a jab or an inhaler up the nose. He also introduced the drugs wheel, which I found really useful.

So the team I am talking to are now refreshed about alcohol and drugs and I do my bit about Enabling Environments. I feel slightly woolly headed but I get through it. I have the over riding sense that the team do not care really, some really sour faced individuals in there looking bored and disinterested. I really am getting tired of dealing with people on teams and zoom, it all feels disconnected and open to abuse. I did a TC review last week and one of the review team never put themselves on camera, rarely spoke and used the “chat” function to make comments. For me that’s just fucking rude and disrespectful to the service she was reviewing. That may not be very woke or compassionate or tolerant or caring but either your able to do a job professionally or not and hiding yourself from colleagues and clients is hardly normal. Its the equivalent of my oncologist seeing me with a paper bag of his head and talking at me with a megaphone from a hundred yards away because he’s feeling a bit “not like it” today. Anyway I finish my stuff and log off.

I do some admin and then I go for a lunchtime walk with my partner round the village, picking a paper and some food up from our co-op. We lunch together and then I get ready to go to the gym. I arrive at the gym feeling sore and fairly crap. Thankfully the club is sparsely populated as the pool is closed. I get a cross trainer and start out accompanied by my randomised i-pod. It goes better than expected , there is a dip in the middle of the session and then for some reason it feels like my lungs open up and I get second wind. It goes well, very well in fact as I set a new personal best. I burn 740 calories and go 9.25 kilometres. Nobody is more surprised than me. I swab down my machine and head for the showers. I am in the lounge drinking my post session americano, black, when my friend rings and we chat about long COVID and what is and is not available to support her. I had read an article on the subject today and shared what i could remember. She had another call so I moved on to the drive home.

I get home, put the bins out, park the car in the drive and then unpack my kit. I’m feeling progressively more sore and tired and head for the sanctuary of the sofa. My partner cooks tea and we sit and eat. I start to write the blog while the family watch the Bay. Its going to be an early night for me as I have a report to write tomorrow and more training to get in.

Friday and its a day of work. I am up in time to have breakfast and then I am in front of my screens logging into a review meeting. I am part of a four person team one of whom is late and then does not turn her screen on, which pisses me off immensely but I say nothing as there is a job to be done with the therapeutic community. We discuss issues with staff and members over the morning and have sessions with the team. At the end of our time we give our feedback to the community. They are a good team and we hope that what we offer them has been useful. Now there is the report to write.

I write some notes and then have a late lunch of soup. I walk to the village chemist and pick up my prescription. Its that time of the month again and I will be working towards my Monday injection. The post brings me the date for another scan on the coming Friday. I go out to make sure the squirrels have food for the weekend and find I have run out of their food so I drive to the garden centre to get more. I find they have peanuts but have no stock of specialist squirrel food. I return home and immediately order squirrel food from Amazon, which will arrive tomorrow. I have also ordered Elena Ferrante’s The Lost Daughter. Having seen the film and been surprised and intrigued in equal measure I want to read the book from which the film was made.

By the time that it is dark its time for me to train. I really do not feel like it but I pull on my kit and get myself into the cold garage to row.

The session is a difficult one. I feel guilty that I have not done more training this week so I row for 15 minutes at my usual level 5 but then move up to maximum level 8 for the final 15 minutes. Its hard work but at the end of the session I’ve still only done 6222 metres and spent 404 calories. It feels like I have put in a lot of work but not really gained anything from it. I flop into the evening of mindless TV, food and an early night.

Saturday and its a lazy start towards a bacon bagel breakfast and a morning of getting myself ready for a late lunch date. The squirrel food arrives along with the Elena Ferrante book. I immediately look at the ending and find it was not what I expected from the film and feel a bit miffed but I am to find out later when I start reading from the beginning that it is one of those books that tells you the end to start with and then works you through to the moment before the end. So I shall read on in due course as I am finding it an easy read. Whether this is because I’ve seen the film or not I do not yet know. I drive to my lunch meeting with old friends and colleagues. One of them has flown in from Bermuda in order to attend his granddaughters christening on Sunday, so its a flying visit before he returns to Bermuda on Monday. We dine, chat, reminisce and talk about the responsibilities and feeling towards our parents and the old in need of care. We enjoy each other until the early evening when we go our separate ways. I drive home to an evening of football and TV including a film, The Edge of War. I’m too tired to write the blog and I need to get myself to bed.

Sunday, I wake, make drinks and return to bed to read The Lost Daughter. I go to the bathroom to weigh myself in and wish I had not. I weigh in at 95.8 kilos! I’ve manged to put on almost 2 kilos in a couple of days. I’m so disappointed and angry with myself. I need a lifestyle that affords me the energy to keep myself fit and reasonable un-fat. It just reinforces my thoughts about not working anymore. Breakfast follows with my meds including the addition of paracetamol to counteract the physical response I sometimes get as a result of the monthly injection and then it is time to go for a walk. I discover that I have very little petrol so I take a detour to fill the car and find that the garage is closed. I drive us to the local park where we plan to walk adn see the deer. It becomes instantly apparent that every one else in Leicester has decided to do the same. We drive into the car park to find it full, in fact overflowing. We do not stop and go off in search of petrol. We finally find a garage that we use and I fill the tank. Feeling confident in the tank we drive back to our local park and walk the duck pond and nature walk. Once home we watch our local rugby team loose by throwing away a game. Time to catch up with the blog before and evening of lazing, reading and drugging.

Thursday and I have a meeting at 9 o’clock. It’s a swift muesli breakfast but to day I make a caffettiera of coffee, fresh coffee to take into my meeting with me. So at 9am I am in front of my laptop with my work colleagues. For the next two and half hours we discuss work and up date each other on the work. At the end of the meeting I have a chat with a colleague and then do a bit of admin. Lunch time comes around and my partner and I drive to the garden centre to get some food for the next couple of days. We have lunch and I print off the documents I need for tomorrows service review. My afternoon is spent in the Shed reading and marking up the documents. I always smile when I read through a work book that are done by services. They always start off being detailed and precise and as the work book goes on the responses get shorter and more fuzzy. By the end of the work book it is almost monosyllabic. People should really start at the back and work forward. Any way after three hours of concentrated reading I have marked up with pretty coloured tags all the relevant parts and responses. I’m about ready as I am going to be so I lock up the Shed and return inside the house. I have also confirmed when I am next visiting my mentor in York and booked my hotel.

My evening starts with dinner and as my partner does her singing lesson I watch TV and idle away some time till I am moved to write the blog. I have not trained. Days like this reinforce my thoughts about stopping work. I have been busy in a work sort of way all day but it does not satisfy me anymore and I end up in the evening feeling that I have wasted a day and that today my cancer got a free ride. It irks me. I know I will get some benefit tomorrow but I am not sure it will make up for the lost time today. It comes down to me being able to put my needs first to keep myself as well as possible for as long as possible.

Tuesday, Tuesday the 25th of January and its a day I need to get up as I have my work one to one early, well early for me. I have breakfast and settle into my place on the sofa and log onto work. We get started on the nuts and bolts and catching up with with items about contact and me bring my manager up to speed with the conversations I have had with services and service managers. With all of that out of the way I tell my manager what I am thinking about the future and my place in it, I explain that I am having conversations about stopping working. I tell her that I am thinking about stopping either on my birthday in July when I am 74 or at the end of the year. It will depend in part on the outcome of my next oncology review in February and the conversations that follow on from that. I think I have had enough, I want to rebalance the home time so that my partner gets more time to do the things she wants to do as well as working full time and I get to garden and write. It seems a more equitable and reasonable way for us to spend the rest of the time we have. There is a limit to how long I can usefully make a contribution to the work and it might be time for younger, more energetic people to do the work. My manager takes it well and very reasonably so it remains to be seen how things work out, but movement is on the way.

I finish the session and then do some of the inevitable admin work that follows. A friend calls and we chat for ten minutes before we go our separate days to tackle the remains of the day. At lunch time my partner and I walk the village and pick a paper and some food. It is in effect a walk around the block but it blows the cobwebs away. we lunch together and of course I do the crosswords as usual. My partner goes back to work and I go to the Shed. I sit and write a letter at my desk with the candles lit, the heater on and the radio playing in the background. I’m almost out of pretty writing paper and need to order some before I hit “no spend February” or at least “no Amazon February”. I write my letter and contemplate the garden around me. Its a cold afternoon and I abandon the Shed and take a walk over to the post box, putting the bin out as I return. Its getting dark and colder by the minute but I decide that I need to train and get myself into my kit and into the garage. I row for half am hour. I burn 481 calories and travel 7405 metres. I’m tired by the end of the session and sit on the sofa to record it and to rest. We eat tea at 7 o’clock and I settle to watch a film while my partner goes to bathe. The film winds on as does my tiredness until I can no longer do sitting around and go to bed knowing that tomorrow I shall be attempting to complete my tax return on line. What could possibly go wrong?

Wednesday I wake groggy, It seems to take me longer these days to get myself going in the morning. I go down stairs for coffee and my meds. It is time to refill the drugs wallets for the next two weeks. So for a short time I empty pills into the requisite receptacles. It is a fortnightly ritual that prompts me to check that I have booked the GP appointments I need for my blood tests and my monthly injection. Having stowed my meds I get ready to go to the gym. I’ve decide to get to the gym this morning as this afternoon the office is free and I intend to do my tax return.

I drive to the gym and buy my usual bottle of water on the way to the changing rooms. I am on my favourite cross trainer and work steadily for an hour, burning 705 calories and going 8.28 kilometres. Its a good session, better than I expected. I shower and return to the lunge where I order a double bacon brioche and large black americano. Its a real pleasure eating a breakfast not made by me even if it is 12 o’clock. I devour with joy and then drive home. My partner goes to visit her mother with her brother. As soon as she is gone I head for the office clutching an accounts book and paper work. I start to complete the entries, checking my invoices and doing the sums. I eventually feel confident enough to log onto the tax website. Thank god my machine remembered my ID and password. Of course all the info about my pensions was already there so all I have to add in is my income and deductions. The system eventually churns out a calculation, which includes an upfront payment for the next tax year. I baulk at this and argue for a reduction. I submit my assessment and will wait for them to do their 72 hour calculations and send me a demand for the money. At least I have submitted on time. This year I will submit in April as soon as possible. However I am now feeling the relief of having got it done.

My sister rings me so I spend time talking to her as I potter about clearing away my tax paraphernalia. She is in fine form and is going to send me a book. Another reason to stop working, my backlog of books is growing rapidly and reading time is minimal at the moment. My call finishes, I’ve cleared away my stuff and settle on the sofa suddenly tired. There is a football match on TV that I stare at until my partner returns, tired. We eat tuna pasta, I get my washing folded and I start the blog while we watch “The lost Daughter”. Its Olivier Coleman being just brilliant. It will be another early night for me as I have a work team meeting first thing in the morning and then I have preparation to do for a support visit to a therapeutic community on Friday.

Monday and I wake up after what feels like a crap night although my fitness tracker is saying I’ve slept for 9 hours. That is quite concerning because I feel tired and like I have not slept. I get my phone and start my days to do list in bed, my partner brings me a coffee I book next Mondays injection at the GPs, check my prescription order and see what e-mails I’ve got. I check WhatsApps and get myself up. Jeans or loungers? Its a crucial decision. If I go for loungers I could be in them all day and that would be a disaster. I go for jeans and just to try and get myself up for the day I pack my training kit.

A second coffee to take my drugs with and then when I go into the lounge I find my partner has bought me presents and a card. Its the second anniversary of our civil partnership ceremony. Two years ago 17 days after I ended chemo we had our ceremony. I was fat and bloated from steroids and glad to be over the treatment, but it was crucial we were legal and my affairs in order as we did not know how long I had. We still don’t. Apparently a second anniversary is a cotton one. I have cotton scented candles to put in the Shed. I have not bought anything, perhaps my memories of that time get in the way. In September we will have been together for 40 years! That is an anniversary I will not forget.

I’ve just about surfaced when a friend calls who is on the way to Ikea to get chairs. We chat for a time about managing energy and making decisions about what is a priority and what cannot wait. We chat until she arrives at Ikea and goes off in search of what is on her list. I continue to get ready to go to the gym when a work colleague rings me up. We talk about work and how we are both managing it and our future plan for it. Its all about balance, what we want to do and what we have got time to do. Both of us are retired from full time work but both are doing stuff while our partners are still working. I am thinking seriously about what I want to do adn how I want to spend my time so that it balances the time both my partner and I have to do what we want to do. Its a useful conversation and reminds me that I need to have more thinking time. By the time we finish our conversation its bout 12 o’clock and I still have not eaten so I have some soup while my partner adn eldest daughter go for a lunchtime walk.

I finally get away to the gym, and I am feeling very unlike a gym session. I get a large bottle of water and head for the changing rooms. The one good thing about training in the day is that there is room in the changing rooms with only a light sprinkling of the foul mouthed macho arseholes whose brains have yet to ripen. So I change and get up on the floor of the gym. I cross train and do an hour. Its a grim experience, I feel crap and cannot get going, but I grind out the hour. I burn 693 calories and travel 7.26 kilometres. Its an average session and it will do. I use a weights machine briefly and then descend to the showers. I dress and get to the lounge and grab a sofa and a large black americano. On checking my phone I am surprised to get a message to say that Tesco are not going to delivery our order today due to a problem with our bank card. I start to phone and get to talk to folk and at the same time move money to the right account. By the time my local branch gets through to me I have sorted out any problem so when the branch agrees to rerun my order it goes through without any more problems. An interesting interlude while I recover from my session. I finally leave and drive home.

I drink another coffee, light the fire and hunker down to get warm. I do the days crosswords and then watch early evening TV. We eat tea and watch TV during the evening and I start the blog early with the intention of getting an early night. So here I am at ten o’clock working my way towards my bed. Perhaps time to start to read pre sleep. Tomorrow I have a work meeting and then I will need to make the effort to train again. This feels like a long haul and I remind myself that my immediate focus is my oncology review on February 22nd. I feels like the out come will have a large in fluence on what I decide to do about work and my life balance.

Saturday and its the day to travel to the great smoke in the south, London. Todays the day the Arvon writers course gets together. So I am up and packing an overnight bag and my back pack, which I stuff my laptop in and a couple of bottles of champagne, real champagne not the Italian fizzy muck which appears to be all the rage. Actually it makes no difference to me as I do not drink since my Jamaica adventure but I like to see others enjoy what I no longer can. Before getting busy with any of the travel preparations and breakfast I decide to weigh myself as I will not be home tomorrow morning my usual weigh in time. So I pop into the bath room and step up onto the scales feeling confident that all the effort I’ve put in all week will have paid dividends. I am bitterly disappointed; 93.8 Kilos, almost exactly the same as last week. I wonder why I bother. Start again Monday.

We eat breakfast, clear the house as much as possible and then pack the car. There is time to catch the first half of a football match and then my partner and I hit the road. The drive is amazingly clear and to my surprise we do not get directed off at the M25 but carry on into London and then around the north circular. God how boring is that I’m turning in to an old bloke. Anyway by the wonders of Satnav we arrive at our Muswell Hill B & B and get shown to our room. We have coffee, change and then at the right time we walk, yes I know, walking in London is pretty brave especially in the dark, to our hosts house. We of course used google maps, aren’t they wonderful, magical talking maps.

The evening is a lovely experience. We sit and eat and drink and catch up with each other. We want to know what each other has been doing since the course and the most import piece of information is whether we have all continued writing. Our host provides lovely food and an environment that is rich in culture, cultures and kindness. So we chat and eat and enquire of each other and then we move to the lounge upstairs. Here we settle down and read to each other. I and my partner read our latest poems. One reads a brilliant start to an Hilaire Belloc type cautionary tale, another reads an extract from her book. Another reads extracts from a short story, another part of her novel. Yet another reads the next chapter from her spikily observant book and the final contribution is a tale of mythical being. Each contribution is discussed and we give and receive feedback. There is lively debate and the stories are explored. It is a rare and lovely experience. Eventually it is time for for people to leave and we slowly disperse. One of the group is in an AirBNB on our route back so we walk with her till our paths divide. As my partner and I walk some bloke walks up and say “Hello my name is Roland”, what are the odds eh? Of course he wants money, I explain to him that I have none because I’m all plastic. He is bemused and wanders off. We continue to walk back to our B&B and then we see a fox! Walking down the road like it owns the place. Really, we travel from the county that has a fox as an emblem adn find one in Muswell Hill.

• 

• 

We watch the fox trot off and then make our way to the B&B where we go to bed and lay awake with the evening going around in our heads. I have a head full of different “voices”. Such talented people all with their own unique voice reflecting their internal universes and how they make meaning of he world. A choir of meaning.

Sunday and I wake in a strange bed to the sound of my Eric Sartie alarm. Our breakfast is delivered to our room by the masked host. We eat a very healthy continental breakfast washed down with lashings of fresh coffee. Then we are off on a clear Sunday morning while the vast majority of the capital is still slumbering. The drive home is remarkably swift so by lunchtime I am tucking into a bacon bagel and settling down to televised rugby matches. My day drifts by as I watch the games, eat tea and give myself up to TV and the writing of the blog.

I find myself tired, which is why there is not a lot of what I want to say about the get together in detail. It is a group of incredibly talented and educated people who it is difficult to do justice to in a blog. However the evening has reinforced my thoughts about stopping doing some of my work things to make time to actually focus on the stuff I am writing. Perhaps the Poetry Coyote needs time to be.

Friday and I have no meetings so I attend to my emails and messages before getting up. When I do I have a muesli breakfast and clear the kitchen. I decide to go to the gym and get a cross training session in before I go to London tomorrow. On the way I prep the car for tomorrows journey. and then arrive at the gym. I go through my usual routine of changing and finding a machine and then put in an hour session. I burn 707calories over 7.63 kilometres. That’s a reasonable session at this time in my cycle. I spend some additional time on the weights machines, I have neglected my core recently and need to add to my aerobic programme.

I shower and settle in the lounge with a coffee as I wait for my omelette to arrive. I send some messages, eat my food adn then leave for home. On the way I pick up chocolates and drink to take to tomorrows reunion. Once home I dump my training kit and make a couple of work calls. Once I have the work stuff done I check the bird feeders and the squirrel box filling both. I also check the hedgehog canteen but none of the food has been taken so I guess my Schrodinger hog is just that at the moment. I relax with a coffee and do the days crosswords. And so my day bleeds into the evening with an Indian takeaway and TV until I am on my own with the blog and Jason Bourne.

I doubt there will be time to write a blog tomorrow, Saturday. So tomorrow is an adventure in the capital, and I wonder if meeting people again will be as pleasurable as it was meeting them for the first time.

Thursday 8:45 and in 15 I’m due in a meeting. Me the screen and a coffee dead on 9 o’clock. I spend two hours in the meeting and talking with colleagues. It productive and also a good connection. Once I am off screen I do some work admin and then settle down to a dish of chicken soup. My partner and I go for a stroll round the village to pick up a paper and grapes before a light lunch. Just a normal day in the life of a prost8kancerman. Its so normal as to be surreal.

I have an energy spurt, rare recently, and before I know it I am changed into work clothes and I out on the drive cleaning the cars. The cars have become so dirty it is difficult to remember what colours they actually are. After a prolonged splashing and sploshing, drying and shining they are done. I finish the finer details and then I change and head for the sofa and a football match. Dinner comes around my favourite Thursday tuna pasta. Normally I slip into an evening of tired TV but tonight as my partner does her singing lesson I bite the bullet, change into my training kit and head for the garage to row for half an hour. Its a real effort but I keep reminding myself that cancer doesn’t take a day off so I can’t, stick to the plan is the plan.

I finish the session, record it and then get sofa’d to watch the end episodes of Stay Closer, while I write the blog.