Sunday, yes its Sunday, it really is Sunday and my first job of the day is to correct yesterdays blog to read Friday and Saturday as I had clearly lost track of the days. My reasoning is that when you stop watching TV and being concerned with the Real World and replace it with reading, writing and reflecting the differences between days become blurred. No post on Sundays is a bit of a marker but then if you don’t get post every other day it can be a bit confusing and feel that Sundays come around too often. As for this Sunday, I laze in bed catching up with messages, emails and Amazon orders. Oh were is my knee pillow? One message amused me, I share it here:

So raising my sloth like self from bed I have breakfast and then participate in the call to my youngest daughter, a regular Sunday marker event. Yep today must be Sunday if I am talking to my youngest. My biggest challenge of the day, apart from getting dressed is whether to enter a poem in the Poetry Society members competition. Its not so much a matter of entering but whether I can cope with the inevitable rejection and failure. Its clear from my previous attempts in the arena, and my Poetry Stanza experiences, that my poetry is, in the eyes of the poetriati, crap and not what is regarded as the genuine article. Inside a little hope remains but maybe not for today. All I have by way of poetic inspiration is a single phrase: “crumulent concreteers” , and that is a long way off being a poem or even a coherent expression of anything tangible. It would appear that this Sunday could be a long draw out affair. While others juggle ferrets and grow Dangerous Beans I caste around for meaning, which probably means I will end up in the garden or the Shed.

I end up doing nothing apart from watching a couple of rugby matches and indulging in lemon drizzle cake. It is my response to rain and a household sewing and working, My entire excitement for the day has been a face to face with my youngest daughter and the arrival of my knee pillow. In truth my injection site as been sore and made me feel less like wanting to prance about like a spring lamb, hence the sedentary nature of my day. It will all change tomorrow as it is the the first of May and a Monday which means I shall screw up all my resolve and begin the serious run in to my Radiotherapy oncology appointment on the 18th of May. A new diet and training regime with an added yoga content is the plan. My moisturising regime has to be adhered to and I probably should be beginning to regularise my bed time routine. Its time to awaken my inner Spring and gambol towards the new experience of radiotherapy. So just the last six hours of April in which to indulge myself and then I become a Spartan. I place where the question “and will there still be honey for tea” will be met with a resounding “no!” I have books to read, a garden to tend and a body to hone, what’s not to get excited about? I’ll see you all in May. So here we go gathering nuts in May or more accurately, “here we go gathering knots in May” meaning here we go gathering knots of flowers, an old May day custom, Pagan of course and apt as I enter Sparta. So an evening meal, football highlights, meds and bed for me in my pupate state before I begin to emerge as a new butterfly for Spring.