New Year's Eve

Ann in the George and Dragon

Yesterday, we did some last-minute shopping in Waitrose. Or to be more accurate, Ann shopped for the extra bits of food she wanted, while I walked the dogs. We stopped for lunch in Long Melford, where I took this picture. Ann says I take bad photos of her, and refused to post it on her Facebook page, but I think she looks great, so I leave it here for the world to judge.

It is the end of a turbulent year, bringing many changes to our lives and futures other than the baleful cloud of Covid, that has hung above us all like a gloomy portend of humanities ultimate demise. We will let the year end slip quietly away, with little celebrate save getting through twelve months of hospital visits and fear of travel. We have lost two good holidays we had planned for abroad, and with the sword of cancer hanging over me and the commitment to a year of treatments, I do not see us getting far next year either. We shall have to enjoy the delights that Britain has to offer, and book times away as best we may.

In keeping with our quiet fade to 2021, we had a modest lunch at the Swan, then a visit to a garden centre to try and buy a bigger pot for one of Ann's plants. Ann seems to have green fingers when it comes to house plants; they all run wild, and need constant repotting or splitting. I cannot grow plants, as I forget to water them and they wither, but I grow cacti from the wild deserts, that thrive in arid soil. They do well enough, but even they have now grown and need repotting - a job I keep promising to do one day.

Winter sunset over Rodbridge

We stopped at Rodbridge park on the way back, to give the dogs a good run among their many friends - for the bright sun and unseasonable warmth had brought forth a whole platoon of dogs, chasing balls or each other but mostly running free, which suits our two country tykes well. Then to a quiet night, just two of us, and a few nibbles and some booze to while away the hours till midnight, and its promise of hopes to come. 

My new coat from Mike

Some time ago, I had admired Mike's new coat when he visited. His amazing generosity led him immediately to buy me one too, a thick quilted and lined affair, ready for the worst of winters. Thank you Mike.

Seasonal celebrations

Ann makes Christmas

Boxing Day at The Mill

MA brings in the first birthday cake

Christmas is a mixed time for families. We rarely have a large gathering: most of my side of the family are rooted across England, north and west, and Ann's through her sister's  also sit up north. But the local ones came: Edwin and Andre for Christmas dinner, MA and her family in the evening for games and the traditional lucky dip. This year, Edwin was tasked with setting the theme and getting the gifts. He chose "Epidemics through history", with each present wrapped in a tasteful Coronavirus paper, with imaginative gifts to represent such things as the Spanish Flu and HIV/AIDS.  

Ann always makes a superb Christmas dinner, vegetarian but with a prime nut roast, and a vegan joint to slice, with all the trimmings. Edwin brought in a heated frying pan of brandy to pour on the Christmas pudding, then set it alight. There was a great whoosh of flame that nearly set his beard afire, but we all admired the effect. 

Birthday evening

We see much of wild life living in Hundon. In the front garden, a squirrel hung by his tail from a branch, upside down, to rob the "squirrel-proof" birdseed box. At the back, a red kite settled on a branch of a neighbour's tree before circling round us, scaring off even the pigeons from feeding from the fallen seeds.

Boxing day saw us frantically phoning round to find a place that would serve a meal, to save Ann from further work. For all their moaning about losing income from all the restrictions, a surprising number of pubs and restaurants were closed completely, or only serving drinks today. We finally found The Mill at Sudbury that could accommodate four hungry souls at 3pm. Alas, they only had a fixed menu with one vegetarian option, a Thai curry. The waitress checked with the chef and reassured us that this was "very mild", but it turned out to be bursting with chilis, burning the mouth and tongue, and inedible for gentle palates. Later, we walked it off strolling through Sudbury as thick fog shrouded the flooded river and dripped from the bare trees. 

My birthday always follows hot on the heels of Christmas, making it doubly difficult for the present givers. I think Ann bought the only decorated cake left in the shops: it was from the theme of Frozen. She refused to cut through the beautiful pictures of Elsa and Anna, peeling them off to preserve them unwounded by any knife, so we each had a slice of cake iced with tiny border of blue ice. MA and family came over for afternoon tea, helping serve the cake. In the evening, Edwin and Andre had invited us for a meal and a second cake, so I may know I am well and truly one year older, although alas my creaking body leaves little doubt of that.

Celebrate the Winter Solstice, while awaiting the Omega Armageddon

Cheers to the Winter Solstice

Ann and I like to celebrate the Winter Solstice. I hate winter: it is cold, dark, miserable and damp. I sit under a blanket, shivering with extra jerseys, long socks, or even a coat. Outside, the bare trees are dripping incessantly as though weeping for their lost glory, and underfoot is a sea of mud, waiting to change into treacherous ice before the season is done. The days are short and gloomy, under a monotonous grey sky. But amidst this bleakness, one day stands firm - the turning of the year, when we know we can look forward to gradually lengthening days, brighter skies, and the return of warmth. Thus do we celebrate.

This year, our celebration took us to the Clare Swan. They have had a torrid year with all the restrictions, and even this night, in the midst of the week before Christmas when the place would normally be booked solid with works outings or family celebrations, we were the only souls in the place. Nick was on his own, gloomily serving two permanent bar props in the saloon, and us in the dining area. Following a previous example, we decided to eat out to help out, so went for the full three-course Monty, splitting a bottle of his finest Chablis between us. He had not lit the fire in the restaurant, expecting no guests, so we retired before a roaring fire in the saloon for after dinner drinks, joining the two bar-leaning regulars. They were joined by some woman who was sobbing as though with the intense grief of someone who'd just lost a son, though we never did learn the cause of her distress.
 

Getting home, I was so full and bloated I could not sleep and had to be propped on an extra pillar to lessen the regurgitation. Next day, we both missed breakfast and lunch, and ate only a few crackers and cheese for supper, with no wine.

The Covid waves are progressing well. We are now on Omicron, and for once the PM may have called it right - or at least, been guided forcibly by his cabinet and tory rebels to do the right thing. His decision to hold back from further lockdowns this side of Christmas may be proved correct, is Omicron is as mild as its early promise. Needless to say, he is taking much flack for this from his Welsh and Scottish counterparts, and even the WHO have singled him out for criticism - though since the debacle about their investigation into China's behaviour in all of this, I think they have rather weakened their moral authority. Even Witty has turned from hero to villain by starting to spout political advice rather than just presenting the raw data and leaving it for others to make the judgement. We await the next few weeks with interest, meanwhile being "sensible but cautious", without locking ourselves away or trembling behind the sofa. The time to worry is when the Omega strain hits the world. By then, Covid might evolve to be even more highly infectious, completely impervious to every attempt to vaccinate, and totally deadly - wiping out what is left of civilisation with one final hurrah - that surely will be Armageddon.

Gifts galore - a delightful visit from Mike and Ryan

Mike and Ryan visited today. It was a delight to see them, and hear their news. they came with their dog Wilson, a rescue Staffy. He is soft as soap with us,  but had been trained as a fighting dog so is unable to mix with Byron and Bronte so stayed in the car.

Their new business enterprise for designing web sites is going from strength to strength, so we will be watching its progress with enthusiastic interest. Amazingly, they have brought us a cornucopia of presents: Ann received a Wuthering Heights themed scarf and handbag, plus wine and perfume. I was given whisky, brandy, a book, a huge box of liquor chocs, and a fine aftershave among other things. We were stunned, and have never been so spoilt.

Later we took them for lunch at the Baltic Amber. Ryan is an interesting and very bright man, and he and Mike gave a lively account of what their system offers over rivals. They seem well organised and purposeful in their plans, and clearly on top of the market they serve and rival institutions. Over the food, Mike and I opened up about his difficult childhood and problems that had concerned him, which was very emotional and we lingered for a while over our soft drinks. They returned to our home for a quick drink (no alcohol!) but had to leave all too soon for the long trek north. We look forward to seeing them again next year, and hope then they will be able to stay for longer.

Mike  and Ryan visit

In Men Whom Men Condemn as Ill

In men whom men condemn as ill

I find so much of goodness still,

In men whom men pronounce divine

I find so much of sin and blot,

I do not dare to draw a line

Between the two, where God has not.

by Joaquin Miller

Ann looks at her amazing presents

The long immunotherapy journey begins

I am strapped to the drip stand

The long road of immunotherapy has begun.  On Wednesday I was summoned to Addenbrookes for the blood tests. One can tell one is in a Cambridge teaching hospital. Along one long corridor were a sequence of Searle-like cartoons depicting the history of the University (and the city) starting with its founding in 1209, when scholars fled Oxford after some of their number were hanged by the local citizenry, and working through a number of eminant people who studied or taught there. Another corridor is lined with quotations from Shakespeare, but to bring the place back to earth one notice pinned up read: Thank you for practicing social distancing. Being Cambridge, someone had crossed the spelling through to correct the American 'c' with an English 's'.

I duly attending the bloodletting room, giving several pints of the precious stuff, then they said I was all done. It is a long walk from the oncology outpatients to the carpark, but I was nearly there when my phone rang. "You were meant to see the doctor as well," said the voice, so back I traipsed. It was for very little. A young registrar asked if I was still OK, and tried to reassure me that I might not get any side-effects. Driving home through Hundon, a funeral cortage had assembled at the bottom of our hill. The coffin was in place in the hearse, which was clearly ready to move off. At the church as I drove post were many more black-tied or skirted people waiting at the entrance, with more walking down the hill carrying food for the wake in the village hall. It is the first funeral I've spotted in Hundon, but Mary-Anne says they are quite common, the village being peopled by so many elderly souls. She's a great source of comfort as I start my treatment.

 Today, I had the first course of immuno. The list of potential side effects is long and chilling, for all are common and potentially serious. In these days of uncaring Covid, Ann is not allowed to accompany me, and being a weekend the hospital was eerily quiet with empty corridors and a silent, deserted outpatients. Only the treatment bays were busy, arrayed with comfortable upholstered chairs, probably accommodating up to sixteen people at a time. The cannula was inserted, the drip started, and I just had to wait patiently for two hours while it ran through. The senior nurse, Nithia, had been there for sixteen years and was very professional and competent. She ran through a list of problems I might encounter, accompanied by a box of tablets for potential sickness and another for diarrhoea. There is not an organ in the body that might escape the onslaught, and I did feel progressively sick as the poison dripped away into my system. Perhaps it is psychological, but I was glad to take one of her tablets.

Afterwards, I drove to Edwin and Andre's apartment to pick up Ann. Andre was out visiting friends in Ely, but was expected back shortly and when the doorbell rang, Edwin said that must be his Amazon friend and pushed the intercom to release the main entry door, calling through the speaker phone "come on up, love." The man came up with a delivery and it really was Amazon rather than Amazon man. He threw the parcel at Edwin and fled rapidly down the stairs. Andre came in a few minutes later, to berate Edwin for chatting up another man. I was glad to get home and relax, for the nausea continues and I feel very washed out.

Hospital visiting week

 This is hospital week. Yesterday was Papworth for surgical follow-up - and happily the new X-ray is clear. My lung has re-expanded, with no fluid or partial collapse, and the surgeon confirmed he had removed it all. Yippee!! I told the surgeon I currently feel much better even than before the op, and he said, "make the most of it. The time between surgery and immunotherapy is usually your best time." Oh thanks, a real gloom-monger. I had left Ann at the Scotsdales Garden Centre, and Edwin was there when I went to meet her with tea and cake and an invite to go on to their apartment for dinner, so that was a good day.

Today I go to West Suffolk for my regular cystoscopy. This is the most painful and uncomfortable examination of them all, as any man may imagine. It is not pleasant having a tube and camera pushed up one's intimate bits, and poked around all corners of the bladder while a huge colour image is flashed up on the large monitor for all to see and comment on. I'm just thankful that thus far they have been clear for three years, which is good for bladder cancer. With that and the successful metastatic melanoma removal, I live in hope of a few more good years. Tomorrow I go to Addenbrookes for the oncology check and blood tests before my immuno, then on Saturday does the actual treatment begin.

Nick at the Swan, Clare

I continue to paint, though now somewhat sporadically. I am working on a large full-length joint portrait of Ann and me on our wedding day. We had little money when we married, so had no professional photography, relying instead on the cameras of guests and relatives, so we don't have many. Also, these old photos are hard to work from as they are small and contain little detail. I have however completed a portrait of Nick, the landlord at the Swan in Clare. He is always very friendly and welcoming, with a distinctive face and it was a pleasure to paint him.

Celebrate while we may

 We have been invited out twice this week - a record indeed. On Friday, we went for a wine and nibbles evening at the home of one of the men in our Hundon men's old codgers group to say farewell to another member moving from Hundon to Linton in Cambridgeshire. It was the first time we had met all the wives, and the first time most of the wives had met each other, but the conversation flowed freely with the drink, and everyone amalgamated well, and some new friendships were made. In the end, they even suggested they ought to hold a rival meeting of wives each time we met.

I watched the Abu Dubai grand prix this afternoon. I do not usually watch motor sport, but as aficionados will know, this was special, with Hamilton and the Dutchman Verstappen entering the race neck and neck with equal points. One only had to finish before the other to take the world F1 championship. We were all rooting for Hamilton, hoping he'd take his eighth championship for England, but it was not to be. However, it did feel as though something was not right with this race; there was a crash near the end of the laps, and a safety car drove slowly round as the wreckage was cleared. No cars were meant to pass the safety car, leaving Hamilton over ten seconds ahead, and with three lapped cars between him and Verstappen. But unexpectedly, the race steward let the lapped cars pass ahead of the safety car, allowing the Honda to move up to just a few seconds behind the Mercedes. From there, it succeeded in moving ahead of Hamilon on their fresher tyres. It seemed to me, a mear novice, the most unjust decision in sporting history, so I'm glad they are appealing the decision.  

At the Baltic Amber

Today we went to the Baltic Amber for a fine meal curtosy of Richard and Chris, my brother and sister-in-law. We even had a good bottle of wine and post prandial cocktails thanks to their generous gift - so thank you both! It was a timely gift, for next week I have four separate hospital visits, moving from Papworth to West Suffolk, to Addenbrookes, and ending with my first immunotherapy treatment on Saturday. I hope to remain well on these treatments, but am aware that they can have bad side effects, and I may not feel up to much celebrating if the treatment goes unfavourably.

The return of the wanderers

The new Turkish restaurant in Haverhill

 Edwin and Andre have finally returned to the fold after their US trip. They should have been out of quarantine at the weekend, but because of delays in testing, it was not till Tuesday morning that they were given the all-clear. This meant Edwin missed his regular trip to UEA in Norwich, but at least he could run his sessions from home. They came round on Tuesday evening, the first time in over two weeks since we have seen them, and shared a first rate meal at the new Turkish restaurant on Haverhill High Street (highly recommended).

Bronte dog is getting old, and like her owner she is stiff getting up, and sometimes walks with a limp. She can no longer jump in the car, and even with the aid of a step to get in, I fear she will damage her hip or legs jumping out again, so I took Byron alone when I had to go to one of my hospital checkups. He had become more reluctant to get in the car recently, probably because he's squashed in next to Bronte who makes her dislike of him too obvious. But this time, alone, he couldn't wait to get in and was so happy there. After my hospital visit (alone because of Covid restrictions), we had a great walk on Hardwick Heath, just behind the hospital.

The consultant, a dermatologist who is nominally responsible for monitoring my melanoma, usually keeps trying different creams or tablets to ease the bad pruritus, and this time was no different. I think he is working his way through the ABC of dermatology, and gave me yet another diagnosis for it with a new cream to try. I have added it to the cabinet pharmacopeia of creams and lotions I have amassed. Even Edwin and Andre managed to smuggle through security a veritable caseload of tablets and lotions for me to try, each unique to America, and I must admit that between them they have given some ease.

Ann and I have been invited to take wine with the people who live down the road in Hundon at the Old Chapel, former home of the United Reformed Church which is its turn was once the Congregational Chapel. It was still in use when we came to Hundon, but its poor congregation led to its closure and conversion to a house. It is still surrounded by old gravestones and reputed to be haunted. Yesterday our friends Rae and Malcolm came for afternoon coffee. At least that was the intention, but we all went straight to the wine. They know Jim and Sue at the Chapel well from when the U3A was running (University of the Third Age); they used to do art together before Covid closures drew a line under everything. I hoped they would come too, but they will be seeing their grandson's play tonight, so Ann and I will go alone.

Christmas cake day

A frosty Hundon sunrise

To avoid waking Ann, I usually take my clothes into my office to dress. This morning I carried them in as usual, and brought in my dirty laundry from the day before, which I threw down the stairs ready to carry to the washing machine. I started to dress, then realised I'd thrown the clean clothes downstairs. But to compensate, I woke to a brilliant frosty morning to drink my morning tea as I prepared to go online for my first calls.

Our 'new' neighbours have been there for five years, and yesterday we finally had our long-promised coffee morning with them. The last proposed visit had been cancelled because their dog had to go to the vet; this morning, it still had a bare patch on its tail. It looks as though it has been attacked by a fox, or a very fierce cat. Their house is the old vicarage, and the last time I saw it was when I had to break in through the front door with the police because the vicar had had a stroke and lay collapsed on the floor. 

Edwin and Andre should have visited yesterday evening to tell us their tales of America, but unfortunately they had still not got their PCR test results back, and were confined in quarantine, now five days after they landed at Heathrow. They finally got the all-clear this morning, so may be coming this evening. 

Ann has baked all the Christmas cakes, and it is my job to marzipan and ice them. Her cakes are very popular, filled as they are with sweet, dried fruits and warming brandy, and so rich they easily last all year. She used to bake six, but the numbers have gradually reduced so I had only four to cover this year. Now they have their ribbons round and are ready to be decorated and handed out. It is Sam's birthday today, so we can give MA theirs when they come round and Edwin his tonight. We only do a small one for ourselves, but it still takes the full year to get through it.

Family visits and good cheer

Arwen and Matthew visit Hundon

It has been a busy time for visitors. On Thursday/Friday Matthew, Rosie and Arwen came down. We are reluctant to let the dogs loose with a baby or small child in the house, so we have to keep them locked away. This is hard on the dogs, but easier on the child who otherwise might get knocked over or worse - the dogs have a very loud bark and can be frightening. But we can't lock the dogs away for 48 hours, so Matthew and crew stayed at a hotel in Saffron Waldon. 

It was a bright, sunny though wintery day. with a penetrating, cold north wind. They had left Middlesbrough in a snowstorm, though we had no more than flurries. But with double jerseys, scarf and gloves I managed a walk with them all. Ann, meanwhile, had a long-standing luncheon engagement with Mary-Anne, who took her to Bury, so she was out all afternoon. In the evening, we went to the Swan in Clare for their Christmas dinner, and a high standard it was, Matthew and Rosie enjoying the full turkey treatment while Ann and I sampled the less meat-inspired dishes.

Then on Saturday/Sunday, Ben and Kaz came down from Telford. Edwin and Andre are back from New York, and going through their hopefully brief quarantine before they come over on Monday to regale us with their merry tales, and Mike and Ryan have requested to come down before Christmas, so with Lucy's visit last month we will have seen all our children/step-children bar Dan, who has exiled himself to the middle of the Yorkshire Moors. In his acting days, Ann and I tried to visit every play he appeared in, sometimes in the most remote corners of London. His Sweeny Todd was superb. I even remember seeing him in the brilliant London Road at its London performance in a major theatre, which resonated because of its local Suffolk connection. Going to the Levington marina in the days when we had a boat, we used to drive past the memorial sites to the poor Ipswich girls who had been murdered and buried in the ditches there. It must be ten years since Dan walked out of our lives, but he has never talked of what went wrong or given an explanation to any of us. As my old gran used to say, "There's nowt so queer as folk!"

Ben and Kaz have been amazing. We had a meal out last night at another Swan Inn, this time in Long Melford, then retired into our library for brandies and other drinks, for an evening of jokes, funny stories and great humour. Even after everyone went to bed, Ann and I were laughing together till well gone 1:00a.m. we were in such good spirits, releasing some of the tensions we have been through over the past weeks. Then this morning, the two took the ladders and various cutting and chopping implements out in the cold wind and drizzle to lop branches off the great maple tree where they overhung the car port, and birds used to take good aim at the cars decorating them with Damien Hirst-like artwork. Now, not content to rest and warm up, they have taken the dogs out for a good walk. They are doing so much for us in such a short time, it is hard to extol them enough. I hope they know how grateful Ann and I are.

 

Intimations of mortality

Finality

We will not speak of parting,
for I will be where you are
as you will ever be with me,
I will carry every day
with the haunting memory
of every thing you said and did
every dream we ever held
and every moment lived.

by Annie Elliott

Last night I awoke from a dream of death. I have not dreamt of death before. Even in my worst dreams, though shaken I survived. I suppose it is knowing the cancer has been growing in my lung for two years, peppering its malicious seeds to every part of my body where they may take root and grow. I dreamt I was in a busy building of many rooms, perhaps like a university, with dormitories and a refectory, filled with bustling young people. I tried to move with them, but sluggish and tired I lay down. Some stranger noticed me, and came across kindly to rest her hand on mine. It was warm and soft and comforting, but her words were, "you are not well, are you?" and I felt the life begin to leave me in the presence of that angel of death. 

I knew my age - it was the same age my grandfather had reached - and I thought it unfair. I hadn't even made four score years, and there were so many things I wanted still to do, and affairs to put in order. I awoke abruptly, thankful that I had not slipped away in the night, determined to fight to the end - not to avoid the inevitable outcome, but to continue my painting and writing and living as long as I can, for my life is good, I have Ann by my side, and I yet enjoy living.

My grandfather's grave in Burnley

If death should be the end

If death is the end, it is better to die
in the cradle without pain or strife;
yet on we live.
Through thought and writing,
by poetry and art,
in children and friends
we live on.
All we are and all we have been
is poured out through them.

When friends die and children die,
do we then die with them?
It is said that when someone dies,
whole worlds die with them.
We each contain a world of thoughts,
of habits learnt and feelings won,
of loves known and memories earned,
worlds awaiting death.

How little passes on;
some trick of speech,
some memory of a distant day's event,
some happy moment.
How little is the recollection now
of once dear grandparents;
yet all that exists of them may be
that tiny and fragmented memory.
Somehow you try to ingrain it
in children of your own.
But you forget, and they forget,
and though their insidious influence
creeps through your every act,
everything that was and made
that individual fades gradually away
into insignificance,
as surely as their name fades
on an old tomb stone until
one can barely read the scratched out lines.

John Herbert Marr

The oncologist speaks

Yesterday, we celebrated the end of the month sharing a fine, leisurely lunch with four friends. Today, in contrast, we were at Addenbrookes Hospital oncology clinic, where a pleasant young man explained the consequences of immunotherapy in great depth before getting me to sign on the dotted line. The specialist explained that the tumour they removed was about 1.5cm diameter, and had been there slowly growing for about two years, so it will almost certainly have seeded to other regions of my body. However, the recent scan was clear so there are no gross masses, and they will give a drug to stimulate my T-cells to fight any cancer cells they find. I am to be treated with a drug called Nivolumab, (trade name Opdivo). I thought the drug sounded familiar - when we looked it up, it is made by Ono Pharma, the very company I have been working with for three years. Nivolumab was called ONO-4538 during its development stage, and I am in the process of developing a modified drug called ONO-4685. So not only is Ono Pharma providing my livelihood, it may be prolonging my life. 

I am what is classified as BRAF negative, which is a form of melanoma less responsive to immunotherapy. Nevertheless, on balance the chances of surviving a bit longer are greater with the treatment than without it. I will have intravenous therapy every month for a year, preceded by blood tests to make sure it's not knocking out my thyroid, liver or pancreas. He thinks I will get the first dose in about a fortnight, so I will keep this blog posted re any side-effects or problems.

Edwin returns to the UK today. He let me know what flight he will be on so I can track him over the Atlantic on FlightRadar. He went to the US in good time; I read tonight that they may introduce mandatory isolation again for all visitors to the US in the near future, meaning family Christmas's will be out yet again for many people. This new variant should have been called xi if it followed the Greek alphabet strictly, but the WHO have refused to name a virus after the Chinese president Xi. They also decided to skip the letter nu in case the Americans confused it with some different "new" virus. So, two letters further on, it is called omicron. Although its presence seems to be increasing rapidly as it displaces the delta variant, it doesn't thus far seem any more dangerous in symptomatology, but governments around the world are panicking like mad and gleefully imposing more and more restrictions. At this rate, we'll all be facing repeat lockdowns and furloughs. Happy December!

We see Dune as a new variant emerges

Two neighbours down the road from us have only been here a couple of years, but have never settled in the village. They call it aloof and unfriendly, so they finally put their house on the market. It sold rapidly within three days, but alas the purchasers dropped out at the last minute, so they lost the house they wanted. They will put it on the market again in the New Year. We have never seen the house since it was a rectory occupied by Father Jeremy, but finally the present owners invited us in this morning for coffee. Then as we were about to go, they phoned to say the dog was ill. They couldn'd get in to their normal vets, so they were having to take it to Saffron Waldon and the coffee morning was cancelled.  

We saw Dune yesterday, but I need have had no fear that it would expose the ending before I reached it in the book. In fact, it didn't get anywhere near the end - they stopped it before the book was halfway through and had the nerve to call it Episode 1. It was the most tedious two hours fifty minutes I have experienced in cinema, filmed in dull sepia monochrome, with no focus as drawn=out battles and mayhem raged about the weakly drawn characters. Ann mentioned that she had lost three hours of her life she could never get back, but after the brilliance of the book I felt that more than time had been taken from me. I cannot recommend avoiding this film enough. I cannot believe they hope to make a followup Part 2.

Edwin and Andre at the Space Centre

Edwin continues his journey through the USA, going to Washington, then through Philadelphia into N. Carolina where they celebrated Thanksgiving in true Yankee style at a dinner for twenty people. The meal was held in the house of the parents of the fiancee of Andre's sister - if that's not too convoluted. They are strong Catholics and offered a prayer of thanks where each of them named something they were grateful for. Andre's parents are very strict house church. They will not drink alcohol or sing and disapprove of many accepted practices in the modern world. They also consider religious statures as idols, not allowing any images in their church. As they were leaving, the grandmother in the house gave them a present as a token of friendship between the two families. It was a gaudy statue of an angel. 

Now another variant of the Corona virus has emerged. It only emerged five days ago, but already we are being forced back into masks and potential lockdowns. This virus seems to have a life of its own, behaving like no other virus. Even such nasties as smallpox did not mutate and were eliminated with a vaccination program. Ebola, another highly contagious and fatal disease, can be controlled by isolation. But Covid mutates frequently, each variant seeming more potent than the last. It is not being contained by isolation or antiviral treatments, or the vaccination program. It is not good to talk conspiracy theories, but this virus is so completely nasty and untameable one feels that it was almost designed to be this way. 

Edwin and Andre will now have to take the full PCR tests on their return. They have to take it within two days; as Ann says, this will give them plenty of time to pass on any infection they've acquired, but the government don't seem to consider this. We just hope there are no cases in America before they return, or they may be subjected to full lockdown. 

Dune and driving again

 

Behind the Tiguan wheel

Finally I am back behind the wheel, after four weeks forced abstinence. The respiratory consultant had advised me not to drive for this time, but on checking it was a legal requirement, so I would not have been insured. My first trip was not romantic - it was to ferry Ann to the dentist, but we did take the dogs and I had a good walk with them by the river in Hadleigh while Ann suffered in the chair of doom. I always think hygienists are more sadistic in their treatments than the dentists. It is strange to be driving again; we have had the car for three weeks, and I feel that everyone has driven it but me. I couldn't even take it on its test drive when we bought it! But it is a lovely high car, and feels much more sturdy than the Jaguar, and far better suited to our rutted muddy Suffolk winter roads.

Edwin and Andre have managed to get to New York. This was a major achievement with the restrictions of Covid, but Edwin booked the tickets early having anticipated the reopening of USA to foreign visitors even before it was officially declared. This is an important trip for them as they will be holding a family gathering with Andre's family, presenting Edwin to his mother and father. Andre's sister Flavia and her fiancée will also be there, so it will be a grand reunion. 

Edwin in New York

On other news, I had my repeat whole body scan last week to check if the melanoma has spread its black wings further afield, and will see the oncologist next week to discuss future management. Lucy had mentioned that a friend from her childhood, Laura, also has metastatic melanoma and is receiving immunotherapy, therefore I made contact with Laura this week, first by email and then by phone. She is incredibly positive about a nasty condition, despite bad side effects from the immuno. Indeed, her positivity is inspirational and puts my moans about minor pain and breathlessness in perspective. Would the world could be so cheerfully brave. 

Ben gave me a new book a little while back called Dune. It was written a long time ago (1966), and was incredibly popular at the time, but I had never read it. Now I'm racing through it; it's extraordinary in its characterisation and depth of analysis of motivation and storyline. I haven't quite reached the end, but Ann and I are going to see to film version this afternoon so I will see how it plays out before I finally finish the book, for I'm a very slow reader.

Lucy and grandchildren visit, and I walk in the park again

Waiting to eat at the Baltic Amber

Yesterday, Lucy and two of the grandchildren visited after the long journey from Hartlepool. Ann had her booster jab booked for mid-afternoon in Haverhill town centre, so we timed the meal together for after that, going on to the Baltic Amber for a late lunch/early dinner. It is themed as its name suggests on Latvia and the Baltic coast, having been set up by Latvians. It was due to open just as the pandemic hit, so we (and probably no one else) got into it for some months, but we've made up for that time by going on several occasions since. They have an extensive menu including local Baltic dishes, all tastily cooked and well presented, with good cheerful service. The only minor complaint is that the meals are too big - not one of us could finish. For example, Ann had ordered a bread stick starter which came in a large iron pot: almost a full loaf covered in molten cheese and truly delicious, but even with four of us tucking in, half the pot was left. 

It was really good to see them all though, and I think they might have stayed on but Lucy had to get back to relieve Andy of their youngest, Theo, so Andy could get to his golf match. Perhaps next time we will persuade them to stay over. The two grandchildren are delightful now, and a pleasure to have around. Some time ago, Lucia used to come with me to Clare to walk the dogs; perhaps when they come again I will be able to drive once more, and we can walk again together. 

Carved kingfisher in Clare

Habitually on Sunday I used to drive early to Clare to collect the paper and walk the dogs while the park was quiet. Today, Ann had to take me. She walked up to the Coop to get the paper and some shopping whilst I walked the dogs on the circular river walk. It was lovely to be out with them again, and I completed the walk well without getting breathless of having to stop, so I think that is a measure of improvement. I walked up to the town centre to meet Ann, noting that the Warehouse saleroom was closed and thinking Ann would be pleased as she wouldn't need to meet Chris the owner when she walked back to the car. He is a generally pleasant Irish man, given to occasional moody sulks, but also very garrulous making it hard to get away, and Ann generally tries to avoid him. I got to the tearoom upstairs where we'd arranged to meet, and there was Ann sitting next to Chris and his wife. They had been there when she arrived, so she couldn't ignore them and go back down, but had to wear a smiley face and welcome me to say hello also. I managed not to laugh or make some sarky comment, keeping a straight face as I greeted them, but later, over the coffee and cinnamon bun, we both grinned as I knew what Ann was thinking.

A touch of optimism as I make progress

 Things are progressing with my recovery. Today I had the last of my anticoagulant injections; they came in a large box of ready-filled syringes and Ann has been giving them religiously each evening. Yesterday I attended the local Clare surgery to have the purse drawstring stitch removed. The surgery has become a surreal experience. We have to give our names at the door and no one is allowed in without an appointment. A large notice above reception proclaims: "Due to Covid, the receptionists cannot offer advice or take appointments directly. Patients can only communicate with them by phone, and then only after a long process of filling out online questionnaires. The surgery was deserted. There were only four seats spread in each corner of the old waiting room, but no one was waiting. No one came out from the nurse before me and no one was waiting when I left. Normally, there were two or even three doctors working and a nurse and health visitor and three or four receptionists. Now even the phone didn't ring during my brief time, and on the way out the two doctors' doors were open, the surgeries deserted. But for the solitary receptionist and nurse, I saw no one.

This week too, the melanoma nurse at Addenbrookes finally phoned. She told me the team had held a meeting to discuss my case. They have requested a repeat whole-body CAT scan to confirm there are no more obvious metastases, and the oncologist will arrange a meeting after that to discuss possible immunotherapy. As Ann says, this is very positive. I will finally be able to ask them about my prognosis, and find out what I face with further treatment. The scan and immunotherapy are both expensive procedures, and they would not offer them if they thought there would be no benefit, so this all suggests that hope lies ahead.

Today our friends Rae and Malcolm came round to take us out to lunch. While I am unable to drive (I'm half way through my ban - another two weeks to go before I can even try my new car), Ann is having to drive us everywhere so she is usually unable to drink when we go out, so this was a rare chance for her to share a bottle of wine with Rae. We went to The Plough where I enjoyed a delicious mushroom and stilton burger, followed by a crumble and custard. I'm definitely getting my appetite back, so that's another good sign. 

I almost fall into trouble

This morning, Ann drove us to the Sudbury Garden Centre for a coffee and cake. It was good to get out, but we couldn't take the dogs in Ann's car so I walked them a short way in the field opposite. I have mentioned before Byron's instinct for balls and his knack in finding them. Some time ago, he found a football which he enjoys running round the field with. I had kicked it into the hedge before I went into hospital, but he remembered exactly where it was so made a beeline for it. He goes for a long run with the thing hanging from mouth, then brings it up and rolls it with his nose towards me to kick. The ball does not go far with my kicks, but Byron cares not - he still catches it and runs half round the field before bringing it back for a repeat performance. So though I can't walk far or fast, he still is getting lots of excercise. When we finally leave the field, I kick it back down the hole in the hedge. I know he will remember and go straight to it tomorrow.

I regret I have developed a nervous disposition as I have aged, and always jump when the dogs bark. After a spell in the studio working on my new portrait, I made Ann and myself a hot drink and was carrying them in when the back doorbell rang. Byron barked loudly as he rushed past, and I jumped so violently I almost emptied both cups over the floor. Going to the door, a young girl was delivering a parcel. I always stack too many things in my car, and Ann had emptied it ready for selling on Monday, so boxes and bags littered the lobby. Being a clumsy guy who doesn't look where he's going, I tripped over one of the bags and shot forward through the door, almost falling on the girl with the parcel. Happily, disaster was averted as I grabbed the door frame, otherwise I might be writing this blog from the Haverhill police cell.

We head to Waitrose and buy a new car

Our new car

Today, we bought a car. We hadn't intended to. Indeed, we had set off  for Sudbury just to get some shopping from Waitrose and walk the dogs, but Ann had read that Suffolk Trade Centre had a VW Tiguan newly in, and wanted to see what it looked like. 

My own car had been damaged before I went into hospital. I have no recollection of scraping it, but it had a graze across the front wing so we took it to our local guru, Terry, for assessment of the repair. He came out laughing, "here again?" Yes, I have used his services several times, but this time I have no memory of damaging it. He agreed, someone else may have done it in the car park. Very common, he said. He assessed it as 3 days work, but said he'd better add a couple of days in case there was extra work by the time we brought it in. As we left, he said he ought to book a week aside every month to allow me to come in regularly. But he did offer a good price, probably discounted for repeat orders. 

We walked round  the Tiguan and it looked clean enough and of a right size, so we said we'd just get the keys and look at the inside. Nice leather seats, automatic and, though much smaller than the Jag, room enough for two dogs in the boot. Duncan, whom we've known for many years, came over and said, why didn't we take it for a spin? So we thought, why not? I am banned from driving for 4 weeks following my operation, so Ann drove. It is certainly smooth, and holds the road well. Importantly, it is much higher than the Jag, so much easier to get in or out of. These days, I sink down in the low Jag seat, and my weak legs struggle to get out again, but with the Tiguan I can just slide out. 

Being unable to drive for the four weeks, I had been intending to get the car tarted up by Terry and get a quote from We Buy Any Car to get the money quickly and give us time to look for a new car. But we thought, there's no harm in getting Duncan to give us a quote. So he did, and it matched the top end of what we thought we might get, and he said he'd take it as it was, scratches and dog hair included! Such is his despair to obtain new stock in this rare time of second-hand car famine, he even ignored the scuffed alloy wheel and the scratches over the boot back where the dogs scramble for purchase when they jump in. We shook hands on it, and we can pick it up on Monday. It was then too late for Waitrose, and Ann didn't want to drive it any further anyway in case it acquired a new scratch. So we simply went home having bought a new car.

I have started to prepare canvases for my new portraits. They are primed with gesso, ready to sketch the outlines. I used my new full-size easel. It is very thin and rickety, but it managed to support the large canvases enough to prepare them.

Today also, our friends Rae and Malcolm came for morning coffee and cake. Yesterday, Ann cooked the four Christmas cakes. She does four because it has become a tradition to do one for us and three for others such as Mary-Anne and the boys. Later, I will marzipan and ice them, but we let each recipient do their own final decorations. There was cake mixture left over, so Ann made a small loaf cake, and that is what we sampled. Her Christmas cake mix is one of the richest it is possible to bake; any more fruit and it would be a fruit pudding. Also, she soaks it in as much brandy as it will absorb, so the coffee and cake morning was a great delight.  

A walk in the sun

"Caffeine and Kindness" at Rodbridge

 Ann has always been generous to people who come to us. She always makes the window cleaner or gardener, or any workman we have to use to keep the house going, a cup of coffee and biscuits, yet no one ever invites Ann for a coffee. We have lived in Hundon for 20 years, and so often have neighbours promised, "you must come round for a coffee soon" that it becomes a mantra, yet not one neighbour has ever invited her round for a coffee. Ann now has to sit with me 24 hours a day, and the only break she has had was when Edwin took her to Bury while Andre stayed with me. 

Enjoying sun and cake

My surgery was sold as "keyhole" surgery. After a shower, Ann removed the dressing from my entry wound yesterday. The whole area is bruised and swollen. It feels as though they kicked my ribs in and then jumped on them. Ann says the wound scar is large, and she can't imagine the size of key that would be needed to fit that hole: it's big enough to get a fist in. However, we had a positive day yesterday with my first trip out and walk. Ann drove my car with the dogs aboard to Rodbridge Country Park in Long Melford, a lovely expanse of rolling grass, rabbit holes, mysterious hidden ponds and woods set out alongside the river Stour. After the walk, I sat quietly in the sun while Ann bought coffees and cakes from a mobile van, billing itself as "Kind Heart Coffee" promoting Coffee, Kindness and Community. It goes from place to place, bringing warmth and friendship to areas where people might be stressed or alone such as hospital carparks. I sat in the warm sun after the walk feeling much improved. I must say, that coffee van was warmer and more welcoming than the whole of Hundon.

Mysterious gifts arrive

On Monday we received a mysterious parcel. It contained two huge boxes of classy chocolates, biscuits and teas and other goodies, and some bottles of fine wine. No note was attached, and we spent some time speculating who might have sent such expensive and unusual items. Finally, Ann tracked down the doner: it was Mike. Thank you so much for such wonderful and thoughtful things. I wasted no time sampling the fine chocolate, and the other things will be tasted soon.

My new Foundation Buddy

Watching with my Foundation Buddy

Edwin and Andre came round last night. Ann made us all a first rate shepherd's pie with all the trimmings, and it was delicious. It is easy to eat for strength with such food. Edwin and Ann are less keen on sci-fi then Andre and I, so the two of us watched several episodes of the new Apple TV Foundation series while Ann and Edwin chatted in the library. 

It is a high standard production for visuals and acting with dialogue up to the original of Azimov, so it is a brilliant series all round. I had wanted to watch it for some time, so am very grateful to my new Foundation buddy for encouraging me to do so. A new episode is released each Friday, so we will probably watch it independently to cover the series, then watch new ones together. 

I must admit, recovery from the lung resection is not the simple procedure I had hoped it might be. Everyone told me it would be painful, and it is: but I'm taking the painkillers the hospital provided every 6 hours, and they do hold it at bay most of the time. Also, the cough is more worrying - deep and productive, with nasty strings of black stuff the result of the hacking, and the tiredness, all in all like I'd just worked a shift in a coal mine. Not pleasant at all, and weak and breathless when I do too much. I am resting, of course, but I can't do much else! Ann is having to do everything, even to walking the dogs and emptying the bins.

Going home, bruised but surviving

The cannulae are removed

 Yesterday Mr Peryt visited once more and said I looked well and could go home. The drains had been removed from my chest wall yesterday and today the last of the cannulae were taken out. Hurray. I contacted Ann immediately afterwards, and she came for me about 11am, to restore a little normality back into our lives. It is good to be home. I am tired, but taking regular pain medication which seems to control everything allowing me to do the deep breathing exercises and cough to get up the gunge off my lungs. 

I am banned from driving for 4 weeks, which pleases some people but not the dogs, as I always take them with us in the back of my car. Ann's is too small to take them, so they will have to stay home whenever we go out. Not that I've been out yet! I'm confined to relative rest at the moment, forbidden to do any lifting or anything strenuous for a while, least the chest wound gapes or leaks air into the pleural space. I also have to take an injection each day into my stomach to stop DVTs, so life is not all sweetness and light despite the rest. 

The wedge resection of my lung is completed

Grandad John after surgery

Yesterday was the day of surgery to remove the metastatic melanoma from my lung. I was nil by mouth from midnight, and due to go down at 1pm, being third on the list. The first case was a bronchoscopy, so they said it shouldn't be too long before they called me, but in the event the second case dragged on overtime, until finally they called for me at 3:30pm. They said the second case was still blocking the thoracic theatre, so they had to prepare the cardiac theatre for me. I greatly pity whoever was in the other theatre: they must have been there for over 5 hours when I went down. They prepped me, put a couple of cannulas in, gave me oxygen to breath then knocked me out, and I knew no more till 7:30pm when they returned me to the ward. I had booked supper before I went down, but that was gone so I had no more than a KitKat and water. They were still running a morphine drip into my arm, so I was fairly pain free, though I did vomit in the night. I could not move from the bed, and was glad to use the urine bottles they provided.  There is much talk at the moment about people opting to change sex. Women are welcome to dress in boys clothes and call themselves Bill or whatever, I have no problem with it. They can insist on being addressed as he, but they will never know the simple pleasure of making patterns in the snow, or the simplicity of using a urine bottle while lying flat in bed, knowing there will be no leakage, anymore than I will ever know the pain of menstruation, or the joy of having a child grow within me. 

Next day, Mr Peryt the surgeon came round at 8am to tell me how well the surgery went, and they had managed to remove all the lump with a single wedge resection, which sounded positive. They removed the oxygen tubes and stopped the drip, and a physiotherapist walked me round the corridor then checked I could do 13 steps up to manage the staircase when I went home. Finally, they pulled the drain out from my chest wall - a large double hosepipe of a thing, through which air and blood-stained fluid had been sucked to keep the lung expanded. A purse-string suture was put in place and drawn tight to close the hole and prevent air from re-entering.

Ann visits

Only one stated visitor is allowed, and they have to book a time slot and are limited to three visits per week.Finally, Ann was able to visit at 3pm, bringing clean pyjamas, treats from Edwin, cards, and a ray of sunshine in her face. Never was a visitor so welcome. I could see the boys waiting outside and waved to them as we talked on the phone. It was Edwin's birthday, but I had been so knocked out I had forgotten, but Ann reminded me so I could wish him well on the phone.

The boys wave hello

Being prepared for surgery

The day began early while it was yet dark. At 6am, a nurse/barber entered to shave my torso and arms. I had a hairy chest, and soon the pile of soft fur grew in a mount on the paper towel he had spread over me. A little later, others entered and marked a cross upon me to indicate which side to cut on. The surgical team entered to tell me I was third on the list, so would go down approximately at 1pm. 

Washed, preped and ready to go

I have squirted Octinisan anti-MRSA nasal gel up my nostrils, had a second shower, covered myself with antiseptic gel, donned surgical pants and gown, and have struggled to pull up knee-high anti-embolus tights, which are a fetching shade of white.  A large notice on my door proclaims "NBM", so I've had nothing to eat or drink since yesterday and I'm thirsty. I'd love a large shandy right now. Many people have sent good wishes and prayers. Edwin joined Andre's prayer group last night, and the whole group prayed for me! Ann's Catholic cousins in Glasgow and her American cousin in California have joined in the prayers. I don't know any muslims or buddhists, but I'm covered on every front Christian-wise. 

By coincidence, someone I used to correspond with about our ideas on galaxies, dark matter and the Universe, got in touch last night with a question, having read one of my papers. I dug out the paper and framed a response, so this was all suitably distracting, but I then added the bombshell that I was actually in hospital and would have surgery in the morning. I think he lives on the East Coast USA, but is otherwise unkown to me, but he too sent his anonymous good wishes. 

I could not order breakfast or lunch, but the dinner lady recommended a light ommelette for dinner so I've ordered that. I don't anticipate being up to anything much once this violence upon my person has been accomplished, but they promise I will be hungry later. I trust the prayers will see me through, so I shall update this bulletin once I'm capable of rational typing again.

Admission to Papworth

 I left home asbut though it were the last farewell to England. The dogs were moping with their ears back and tails down as though they knew something was afoot. I stepped outside to breath the clean autumnal air, so crisp and fresh, so final with the leaves. Ann drove me to the door of Papworth Hospital, and we said a sad goodbye ere I donned my mask and was forced to locate and show my letter before the bouncer on the door would let me pass into the vast cavern of Papworth reception hall, eirily empty and silent during Covid restrictions. 

I tried to enter a lift, but they have a strange system whereby one has to enter the chosen floor from an external keypad: once trapped in the lift, we can only go to the floors preselected by the staff. I had to get out and enter Floor 5 and await a different lift to arrive. Another patient got in with me. I knew she was a patient, as she had no uniform and, like me, carried a bag and a stick. I assumed she too was going up to Floor 5, as it shot past her destination and she lamented, "I wanted Floor 3", a member of staff explained the unusual rule, so she had to go back to the reception area and try anew.

Now I have been admitted to the ward and have had a succession of visitors - more in one hour than in 6 months in Hundon. Someone called to check my name and afix an arm band, someone came to take an order for lunch, then a porter to wheel me down to a back lift for a chest X-ray, another to measure BP and vitals, another two to take bloods for cross-matching, a surgical minion to tell me I will have to sign more consent forms, someone else brought my lunch, a guy popped his head round and said "I'm Greg, I'll be in later", without saying what he did or why I might expect his later visit.

My luxiory suite in Papworth Hospital

Then a nurse came to ask many more questions about my mobility and state of mind, though she threw me when she asked what year it was and where I was. I thought she must be losing it if she didn't know, but then realised she was checking I didn't have dementia. "Can you get out of bed yourself, and walk unaided?" she asked. I said I could. "You won't be able to after tomorrow," she cheerfully informed me. That sounds a bit bleak.

Then an ECG with a shaved chest, followed by a form to consent to my bits being used for research. Finally, an anaesthetist came, a tiny Australian lady, to describe the procedure in tedious detail including all I might expect and all that might go awry. Unlike Ann, I have not read anything about it, for I reckon I'll find out soon enough. But my blissful ignorance was shattered by this woman who described in detail how they will be forced to place an extra large tracheal tube down my throat and into the main bronchial passage to facilitate the collapse of the lung, this making the surgery a little easier. I will be left with a sore throat, a large drain to help the lung reinflate, breathlessness and a horrible cough spitting blood! I wish I'd never asked. Oh, now I remember - I didn't. They just told me anyway.

The room itself is large and airy, overlooking the Gog Magog hills from the fifth floor, so a good panaramic view. It has an en suite bathroom and shower ready for tomorrow's ritual to begin. I will keep you posted as and when I can, dear readers, for now it grows dark as the day flees the dreaded night ahead.

Edwin's graduation ceremony and party

Dr Edwin Marr, PhD

Thursday marked the final milestone in Edwin's education when we attended the degree award ceremony at Anglia Ruskin University. We each had to show our Covid passports to get into the Guildhall for the robing and photographs, and again to enter the Corn Exchange where the ceremony was held. As any religious service, we all stood as a brass band heralded the procession of a mace bearer and distinguished academics who took their places in some order of seniority or precedence unknown to we mere mortals. Speeches were given and then the names of scores of BA's, BSc's, and ordinary Masters were read out to order their march across the stage to doff their mortar boards to the Vice Chancellor. Finally, at the very end of the proceedings, the names of a very tiny but much more distinguished group were read out, and the new Doctors of Philosophy stepped into the limelight. Each had the title of their thesis read aloud to us, and then were presented with their new gowns and very distinctive head gear, each placed carefully by the Vice Chancellor upon their shoulders and heads. The Vice Chancellor was a somewhat short lady, and Edwin had to bend the knees before her to come within reach while remaining vertical. 

Edwin receives has gown and Tudor Bonnet

Afterwards, following more brass band music and a reverse order procession, we repaired to ARU for a celebratory glass of bubbly and much congratulations. The hour was then late, for to make up for the backlog of ceremonies from last year when all was locked down, the University has had to hold twice as many this year, and we were the last of three on the same day. We then migrated to a wonderful Cambridge restaurant, the Ivy, to enjoy a late meal booked for 9:30 pm. For it is a great advantage of a city that places stay open late, and contrasts grossly with little Hundon, where our pub only serves meals four nights a week and last orders are at 8pm. We finished very late and well oiled, but could take a taxi back to Edwin and Andre's apartment where happily they had made a bed up ready for us.

Celebrating with home-made Brazilian chocs

On Saturday, we were late stop-outs again, for Andre had organised a huge party with some of his Brazilian friends to double celebrate Edwin's graduation and his birthday. It was held at a beautiful house with an enclosed garden in which were erected two gazebos and firepits. Andre had been baking Brazilian specialities all week, and had commandeered the freezers of several friends to store them in. The house was awash with wine and speciality cocktails, and even Mary-Ann, Sam and the two girls came to the party. Ann and I left early, but again we were rather late finishing. Edwin had given us a spare key, so once more we could fall asleep at their apartment. The wild dancing had begun before we left, and the party itself went on until 2am, so we certainly didn't hear the boys come in, but I gather they had a good time.

Ann in party mood awaits her drink

Next morning, to sober reality, I had to report to Papworth for an official PCR Covid test. I then had to promise faithfully that I would isolate until my admission to the ward on Tuesday. So though I walked the dogs on Sunday and again today, it was in an isolated spot in the country where I met no one. Now my bag is packed, and I am getting last minute instructions from Papworth about what to bring and what I must do once I am in the building. It is all very strict and well regulated. I may be able to report more once I am on the ward, as I hope to be able to use my laptop there.