Its Tuesday and I finally wake up at 11.11am feeling totally crap. Yesterday’s 28 day injection is not only sore but I feel nothing but fatigue. I feel like I have been beaten up and left for dead in a hedge. I do get up and take my morning drugs with some orange juice and then I rouse myself to put my washing away and refill my dosettes with my drugs for the next two weeks. On checking my mail I find I have some blood results from the GP. There is nothing spectacular in them, in fact they are normal for me. Later in the day I get a message from the GP telling me to book another set of bloods for the end of November. I have to do that for the oncology team any way so its not an imposition.

I putter around down loading the poems for Saturdays poetry stanza meeting and trying to get my phone to access my emails. One of the poems that comes through is a poem about a performance of The Rite of Spring, it prompts me to watch a YouTube video of it, which answered the question of which woodwind instrument starts the ballet off. It is of course the Bassoon. Unfortunately the poem does not match the drive, intensity or primal feel of the ballet, but it prompted me to watch it again. By mid afternoon I am knackered when my son rings to ask for a chat. We agree by WhatsApp to have a pee break before we talk but I get a message to hang fire as there is a car crisis going on. So I drink my diet Coke, nibble on some Bourbons and draft the days blog. Eventually my son rings me and we talk cars and the strange fact that diesel needs to be warmed up when the weather turns cold and in Sweden it turns cold very suddenly. Tonight is a football night, England women v Greece in a world cup qualifier. I have no energy left but will rouse myself to see the bins out and tidy up the back bedroom as tomorrow we have an engineer coming to upgrade our house security system. Probably wiser than just buying more baseball bats.