My eightieth birthday binge

Ann, Eds, Andre and Lucy dancing

My 80th birthday has been celebrated in style. Everyone who loves us was there, including many of our neighbours, and it was the people there who made the night a joyous success. Edwin and Andre had arranged everything - mostly. They hired the hall, arranged the catering, bought the decorations, booked a DJ and – on the day – with the help of Ben, Kaz and Luke, blew up all the balloons and set out the tables. The one thing they could not order was the cake! Never had Edwin met so much negativity as from those so called cake chefs. None was available, and often declined in a very rude manner. In desperation, he handed the task over to Ann. She too had difficulty, probably phoning many of the ones Eds had tried. Finally, a local person answered Ann's plea on Facebook and promised to bake one, to be ready on the morning of the party. The day started wet and I overslept. The boys left early for their haircut before collecting the hall key, and we followed. I went off to pick up the cake, but I was early at the house and no one answered for a while before her mother came to the door in dressing gown, saying, "My daughter does them. She's still in bed." Eventually she dressed and came down, carrying the most delightful looking confection. Our relief was palpable.

Cutting the cake with Lucia and Theo

The DJ was brilliant playing so much variety over the eight decades, including many of our favourites to which many of us danced, even me waving my stick about. Ann and I went as 60's hippies, Edwin was Taylor Swift, and Andre Ed Sheeran. Ben and Kaz came as a priest and nun, while Matthew and Rosie had the nerve to come us me and Ann! They were brilliant, and Matts looked more like me than I do.

Ben, Andre and Kaz

Lucy and Theo

Mateo, Lucy and Luke

Ann and I trip the floor

Who is which?

I am privileged to have made it through the world for eighty years, for many of them supported by and in the company Ann, the best companion a man can have.  Most of them have been wonderful, memorable years, but all have been defined by the people I have met, especially those who add to our lives as did the people who came to support this celebration. Many of them travelled great distances to be here: Ben and Kaz from Telford, my brother Richard and Chris from Coventry, and Lucy, Matthew and Dan and their families from the north. Even many local friends braved the cold night to come, including our neighbour in his wheelchair. Thank you all so much. You will not be forgotten when I remember this wonderful day; your presence added to the occasion. 

Happy Christmas everyone

Our Christmas Hearth

Yesterday we went to Rae and Malcolm's for mince pies, and now it is Christmas Eve. Edwin and Andre are here to share Christmas and prepare for my grand 80th birthday bash. A large number have said they will come, so we hope the weather holds out. If the snow returns, we may be limited to a few local people. Christmas is upon us, meaning more work for Ann and not much change for me, now I am mostly retired. We have a large box of fruit in the kitchen, and Ann has been so busy she watered the pineapple. As always, the hearth and its warmth take the centre of the room, and Ann has decorated it in beautiful simplicity. It is surely no coincidence that the hearth contains the heart. Christmas shopping this week, Edwin was next to a young couple with a pile of wrapping paper in their trolley when an older man walked past. "Oh," he said, "are you only just doing it? I have a wife and four children and a full-time job, but I got all my presents wrapped a week ago!" 

I always welcome the winter solstice with its hope for longer days and a promise of regrowth. We have passed the turning of the year, and "as the day lengthens so the cold strengthens," as my mother used to say. We must hope we don't get the weather they're experiencing in the US, or our boiler will never cope, even without an energy crisis. It has been quite a year, with three primeministers, a change of monarch, a major European war, and a cost-of-living crisis, all additional to the passing of sentence of execution in my own case. 

I have been watching His Dark Materials, the third part of which is now being broadcast by the BBC. Many have criticised it as blasphemous, but I interepret it as only anti-organised religion. I have always thought it a gross arrogance to presume that any one religious doctrine is the absolute truth and all others are a lie. No one person, surely, can have no more than a glimpse of the unknown. So many glimpses give us a hint of a shadow of truth, but the whole truth is hidden. I attempted to explore it in my book, Girders in the Sand, suggesting that there is a reality beyond that of which we are conscious, His Dark Materials chimes with this, Suggesting as it does that organised religion seeks to control the minds of its adherents, yet beyond it is a deeper truth, wherein there is a mysterious connection between living beings and the universe that created us. It is a book of great depth and thought-provoking subtlety.

A gay wedding

 On Friday, Ann and I were in Middlesbrough for the event of the year - the marriage of Mike and Ryan. The wedding was scheduled for 11:30 in the registry office. We arrived at 11:00, where we gathered on the steep steps to the old Victorian  Town Hall. 

Mike and Ryan with Theo

Ben and Luke

 The two special men were dressed in matching suits and very smart. They and the two fathers were taken into the registrars room where a gentle, patient woman guided us through the brief requirements for the ceremony and verified that all names were correct for the register. Ryan and his father went first to wait before the table, then I walked Mike down the aisle; the first time I have had such a special privilege and I was honoured to be asked. Each father was asked in turn if we were happy to support the wedding, answering "I do"; we then sat as the ceremony proceeded. It was a moving event, with great commitment from Mike and Ryan. The registrar asked if anyone present knew any reason why the marriage should not go ahead, at which point Mike turned to look at us all and said, "if any of youse lot says anything, I'll kill yer!" making everyone laugh. Then little Theo, dressed to match the two men, shyly brought up the ring box with the two rings inside for each to wear. 

Ann and I at the wedding

The two men at the reception

The wedding meal was limited to the immediate families, but as each groom was one of five siblings, this was still a large number. Ann and I sat next to Mike and opposite Ryan's parents. To our surprise and an emotional delight, they gave us each a book marked "John" and "Annie", carefully put together by Ryan with some of our poetry illustrated with appropriate images. We were moved to tears at such consideration.

The reception was held in a large venue in Middlesbrough, so large indeed that Ann and I wandered into someone else's reception, and Richard and Chris went into a 50th birthday party upstairs. Mike and Ryan's venue was quite special: tastefully decorated with a dance stage backed by a "Mr and Mr" silver sign. The disco was loud, the food plentiful, and the cake huge. We had returned to the hotel after the meal where I fell asleep, so we were a little late and missed the cake cutting, but not the eating thereof. Almost our whole family was present, including my two brothers, Richard and Peter, and Peter's daughter Laita, whom we hadn't seen for many years. There is so much hatred, bigotry, prejudice and oppression in this world, it was truly wonderful to see so much support for this wedding, where even old traditionalists could see two people committing to each other in love, and celebrate their happiness.

Ann and Chris

With brothers Richard and Peter

Lucy with Lucia and Mateo

Rosie and Matthew

The next day, we dropped Ann to see her sister, Jane, while I slipped down to Middlesbrough to see Arwen and Nye, the grandchildren we had missed on the day. Then, a tiring drive home down the long A1 to two mad dogs thrilled to have us back. Altogether, it was a fantastic day and worth the great effort of getting there. We wish them both well in their commitment to a life together.

Cataract consternation

I have had my cataract for years. It has been my constant, blurry companion, forcing me to squint or close my right eye to look critically at anything, including traffic where the confusing blur of the bad eye distorted an assessment of any oncoming danger. For years, too, ophthalmologists have opined that it "would need dealing with" in the future. Finally, that future arrived, and I agreed to be listed for surgery. To blot out the terror, my mind went numb to the oncoming onslaught, refusing to think of it or discuss it. Ann has had cataract repairs in both eyes, but in vain were her protestations that "you don't feel a thing", and "you'll be glad you had it done". I know how fearful she was of anything to do with her eyes, yet she bravely went through the procedures with no sign of distress. Well good for her! I am not of such metal. 

The cutting was booked for Ipswich, and Edwin volunteered to drive me to the place of torture, as I huddled tense in the car, making guttural one syllable responses at his gently attempted distractions. The receptionist welcomed me in, her smile concealing a malicious, pitying, knowing look that I know must be being their kind exterior. They had a large television on the wall, playing a video of coral fish in a profusion of colour endlessly swimming round their reef to distract us. If I were such a fish, I would have forgotten why I was there, and could also flap around aimlessly and carefree. Instead, I wondered if I had made a grave mistake, and perhaps the cataract was something I could live with. I should call Edwin back and tell him the clinic had overbooked, or a surgeon hadn't turned up, and I had to go home. But I gritted my teeth and numbed my mind, to be led like the lamb to the pre-op room where they filled my eyes with many drops, perhaps hoping to freeze my brain along with the eye.

Finally, I was taken through to the operating theatre. The surgeon was fully gowned and gloved as if about to do major heart surgery, such is the danger of infection. They lay me on the couch, and I wondered if I ought to just admit I'd changed my mind. They brought a bright light into focus, and the surgeon told me to keep looking at it. Ann had said that I wouldn't see anything but the light, but she was wrong - round the periphery of the light I could see silhouetted the bulk of the surgeon wielding his scalpel as he approached. I am not a brave man, and even as he began slicing I thought of telling him I wanted to leave, but instead I gritted my teeth and clasped my hands tightly as he cut deeper, and the light became a blurred vague pattern. He kept telling me to just look at the light, but every time he touched the eye, the light jerked from side to side. There was the soft sound of a muted dentist's drill as he did unspeakable things, constantly calling for "more irrigation", as water seemed to cascade constantly into my eye socket. Suddenly, the light seemed to grow sharper again as I guessed he put in place the plastic lens. I don't know what else he did, but eventually, after the longest ten minutes of my life, he said it was all done and had gone well. 

My God. What a nervous jelly I was. I shook as I stood up, and was led from the room to "recovery", a quiet chair with a cup of sweet coffee. I was even offered a biscuit, but was too shaky to take one. At last, I was back in the car with Edwin. He lent me a pair of sunglasses to protect from the glare of the late, low winter sun, but I didn't open my eyes for the whole of the journey home, glad to be able to keep them closed and rested after their ordeal. 

The most striking effect from the resulting visual correction came that evening when I watched  football replays on television. Suddenly, I saw a vivid effect whereby the bright red jerseys of the players moving across the green grass was thrown into stark three-dimensional relief. I know from my basic physics that this effect, called chromostereopsis, is caused because red light with the longest wavelength is refracted less than the shorter green and blue wavelengths. Even when physically only existing in 2-D on a flat TV screen, red images are therefore displaced on the retina relative to green ones, giving the illusion of 3-D. My poor cataract-stricken right eye had never allowed me to see this effect before, but now it is stunning!

A welcome visit, and a disappointing repair

We celebrate a delightful lunch

 A delightful weekend with Ben and Kaz, with a great evening drinking and putting the world to rights. They not only stayed with us, but cooked for us - even buying the food on the way over. We had a delicious full Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, including home-grown carrots and parsnips in honey and orange. Absolutely delicious, and wonderful to see Ann able to rest for once while someone else does all the work. The dogs, normally given only dry food, were salivating with excitement as they sniffed something they hadn't realised existed in their little world - the smell of roasting beef!

Edwin and Andre finally returned from Brazil after a wonderful holiday, only to come back to cold, dark rain, a baggage handlers strike at Heathrow, the Heathrow Express stopped, and full cancellation of the Kings Cross to Cambridge service. When finally through customs at Heathrow, they had to take an Uber to Liverpool Street and pick up the slow stopping service to finally reach Cambridge and rescue their car. To crown it all, Andre was ill and vomiting and now has confirmed Covid, so we won't be seeing him for a while.

I now know how useful en-suite bathrooms are. Our bathroom basin has been leaking since the plumber repaired it. Yesterday, I plucked up courage to tackle the job and succeeded in removing the basin, to find it had small cracks in the base. We therefore decided it was time for a new one, so I was in Sudbury this morning traipsing round every plumbers' suppliers looking for a new bowl. Most didn't have anything at all, but even those that did have some on display said it would be five to seven days for delivery. My final visit was to Plumbers City, which again was negative, but next door to Wine City. I was more successful there, coming out with a box of assorted white wines to cheer us up. Finally, we have found a bowl on Amazon which promises next day delivery, so hopefully only one more night of having to traipse down the hall in the middle of the night.

Celebrating Abdul

Abdul reaches the final!

One of Andre's good friend and workmate, Abdul, has reached the final of Bake Off. It is not a program we normally watch, but we have watched this series faithfully in tribute to Abdul, and this week he got through the semi-final to reach the last test. The contestants are each allowed to invite a number of family and friends to the final, and I know Andre and Edwin went down to the marquees in Berkshire this summer to watch it with Abdul's partner. They all had to sign NDAs and had their phones confiscated, and they have both been faithful in refusing to drop any hints about how Abdul got on. They will still be in Brazil next week, so won't be able to watch the final, nor catch any glimpse of themselves in the crowd of supporters, but we will watch it. The semi-finalists feature on the cover of Radio Times this week, so we will buy a copy for them to keep.

Our son Dan paid a flying visit yesterday, on his way back to Yorkshire. We went into Clare for lunch at the Swan, before he headed for home, but coming out of the Swan, the road was blocked for about twenty minutes while the meat wagon unloaded carcasses for the butcher's shop. Dan said he'd come all the way up from London without getting into a single traffic jam, until he hit Clare.

I often wonder why non-scientists have such difficulty with basic concepts. I get a copy of Artnet news in my email each week, generally filled with new artists' work, or interesting stories. This week had an article titled  “The World’s Oldest Map of the Stars” by Sarah Cascone. There have long been rumours that Hipparchus, the inventor of trigonometry and greatest overall astronomer of antiquity, had drawn one of the first star maps, but it has been lost to antiquity. Now a new document has been found in the Vatican Library that is a palimpsest, i.e a parchment on which old writing has been erased and overwritten. A clever student researcher has discovered that the original scratched out writing was probably a copy of Hipparchus's star chart, thus confirming its existence. This is a fantastic discovery, and well worth writing up in an arts newscast. However, Hipparchus's other great discovery was the precession of the earth’s axis. Precession is the slight wobble we see on anything that is spinning round, such as a gyroscope's wobble. Sarah Cascone repeatedly called it "procession", as if the earth and the other planets were marching round the sun like a coronation parade. By studying Egyptian historical records, Hipparchus found that the appearance of Sirius in spring had grown two weeks later every 1,0000 years, until it no longer coincided with the flooding of the Nile. He then correctly predicted the earth's precession every 26,000 years. It is even mentioned in poetry:

Canto IV

   Though no one man could dare compute the course of heaven,

   Yet some there were who puzzled at the wayward signs:

   Slight noted shifts within the ordered span of lights;

   While agile planet wanderers would errant run,

   Charted by watchful men through scores of centuries.

   Egyptian goddess Isis named bright Sirius,

   Whose dawn approach foretold the rising, fertile Nile:

   Yet even she would lag two weeks each thousand years,

   Until too tardy to predict a flooding land.

   This long, through dynasties of Pharaohs, did it take

   To chart numerous regressions in the mystic seven,

And note a perturbation in the spin of heaven.

 from Girders in the Sand

Another minor infringement is in The Importance of Being Interested: Adventures in Scientific Curiosity, a wonderful book I am reading by Robin Ince. Even he mixes his units in one place, quoting the speed of light as 300,000 kilobits per sec, instead of kilometres per sec. Perhaps he thinks light travels through a computer at the speed of information.

My dreams lately are very vivid and disturbing. Ann says I no longer snore, but have started shouting out in my sleep, which disturbs her even worse. The first night, I dreamt of being chased and attacked by a great bear; the second night, I was swimming desperately with a huge crocodile beside me; the third night it was an oversized serpent, looking more like the Basilisk, baring its fangs at me. Then I dreamt I was attempting to tackle some rough terrain in something like a camper van. It required two people to pull the tarpaulin over the frame to create something of a shelter, but I was struggling to do the job alone and failing badly. 

A call from Cassandra

The Addams Family: Hand in the woods

The dogs fail to comprehend the concept of summertime and winter time. They had been fed regularly at 8:00 am and 5:30 pm throughout the summer. Now they insistently nudge me to be fed at 7 am and 4:30 pm. I am gradually extending the wait time, now at 7:30 and five but they give me such a pathetic look as they wait, as if to say, "why are you starving us?"

We visited the boys' house today to water the plants, so I could walk the dogs in a lovely, wooded walk behind their house. Although a town, Bury-St-Edmunds has more and better walks than our village - but that isn't difficult, as Hundon doesn't seem to have much of anything. 

Four times the appointment for my cataract operation has been changed. The first time was because it would’ve been late in the afternoon when I came out and Ann has difficulty driving in the dark, so I changed it for a morning appointment at 8:30 am. They then phoned to say it had been booked in error as that day was a training day that hadn’t been put into the diary. I chose another date, but we then realised this coincided with Mike and Ryan's wedding plans, so they gave me yet another date. Now they have phoned with a cancellation, and as it stands, I will have my cataract done on 25th November. Hopefully this will be in good time to have healed in time for the wedding on the 1st of December.

A Threatening Theo

Ann has tested negative for Covid! She is still off-colour but feeling a little bit better. Meanwhile, Halloween has passed us by, but it was celebrated in the North, where Lucy sent this lovely picture of Theo scaring all the neighbours!

Today, the consultant oncologist phoned for my telephone appointment. She is very blunt and told me directly that they were going to discharge me from the oncology department as there is nothing more to do for me. She said they wouldn't arrange any more scans, as it was a waste of resources and I now require terminal care. She explained that I will go through a period of tiredness, loss of appetite and weight loss, but if anything else happens to me where I need medical care, I must contact St Nicholas Hospice. Oh thanks, Cassandra; but like that harbinger of doom, I find it hard to believe, as I feel reasonably fit at the moment. But following the doom-monger's gloomy prognosis, Ann and I went for a drink at The Globe, a fine old pub already filled with regulars, with a roaring fire in the grate, a huge selection of whiskies, and a wonderful ambience of rural Suffolk.  

Our boys in Brazil

Sao Paulo celebrations

The boys landed in Brazil on the day of the presidential election, and last night they were out celebrating with the masses. São Paulo, where they are staying for a couple of nights, is home to the new president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, who visited the street party after winning. Yet for all the gaiety, music and fine food, Brazil is on the list of the world's most dangerous countries. Unlike many poor countries in Africa and the Middle East, it is a wealthy country, but suffers from the usual problem of inequitable wealth distribution through corruption, greed and mismanagement, so such a degree that many citizens are in poverty and turn to crime. Naturally, the ones with the wealth are the big company bosses who are reluctant to share it, so da Silva may have difficulty wresting it from them, despite his socialist ideals. In Brazil, as in Britain though to a lesser degree, entrenched self-interest backed by 'the establishment' have many ways to hide money and avoid taxes and responsibilities.

Edwin is arranging a grand, costumed, 80th birthday party for me in December. Already we have 39 people who've agreed to come, so it promises to be a grand do. Costumes are optional, but there is a wide theme, with anything from the past eight decades. Making the most of the warm sun and my improving strength, today I delivered two more invites while walking the dogs locally. At home, Ann remains ill, clammy and with a poor appetite. Additionally, she has anosmia. Loss of the sense of smell is a profound loss, yet is unremarked compared to other sensory losses. It renders food tasteless and limits our guard against noxious substances. At a social level, Ann can't smell if she has perfume on, or if the room needs airing or the dogs are causing a problem. We just hope it is a reversible side effect of this Covid.

Mushrooms or toadstools?

Mushrooms or toadstools?

 A brief update on our Covid status. I tested clear yesterday and temperature has settled, though foul taste remains, so I walked the dogs in Clare park where I found an amazing cluster of fungi growing on an old tree stump. I've no idea what sort they are, but I'm guessing they may be poisonous toadstools or else some enterprising chef would have gathered them for their stewpot.

Ann is still getting very high temperatures with a deep cough, and she feels terrible. This was supported by the most positive repeat Covid test we have seen, with a bar that could have been drawn with charcoal. She is managing cups of tea, and a little scrambled egg, but otherwise is taking little.  We just hope she recovers quickly - we are trying to support each other, but I regret I'm rather a weak support. The melanoma monster continues to spread and grow within me, as I wait upon its next outbreak, but poor Laura, who also has the dreaded disease and is much younger than I, has found it spread to numerous nodes in her groin, and is suffering more surgery to hack it out.  Today too, I took my next injection for the dermatitis. They are very expensive - I'm embarrassed to say how much - so I'm embarrassed also to admit I wasted one of them. I pushed it to my stomach to trigger the needle, but nothing seemed to happen, so I pulled it away to look at it. Naturally, it then triggered, and the thick, oily fluid shot out and dribbled accusingly down the radiator. 

Edwin is finally in São Paulo in Brazil. It is their election day for the president, and everyone is compelled to vote by law, so today the bars are all closed and all transport is free, as the electorate have to vote where they are registered. Andre, of course, was not in Brazil to register, so he was required to attend a polling station anyway to fill a form to explain why he could not vote, or he would have been fined. Voting is fully electronic, so the result from a population of 214 million people is expected later tonight as soon as the polling stations close. These modern countries clearly have much to teach us in the UK, who rigidly stick to the ancient method of drawing crosses on bits of paper.

Matthew shares some good memories

 

Seeing the sights of London together

Happy birthday to Edwin in absentia - tonight he is celebrating with a dinner in Madrid; and congratulations to Mike and Ryan who have sent an invitation to join them in December to "tie the knot". 

After my separation and move to Saltburn-by-the-Sea, Matthew faithfully visited every weekend without fail, and continued to visit when we moved to Clare and later Kent. Now he has sent a special get-well card with a poem he has written about his memories of some things we did together. It is a beautiful, moving recollection and brought back so many memories of happy moments we spent together, and I am proud to reproduce it here. I wish I had done something similar for my dad; I always took him for granted, and all the things he did for us and the moments we had together. Thank you Matthew.

MY DAD

Making me proud,

Keeping me safe,

Showing me love,

And so many firsts,

My first time abroad

My first Judo lesson

My first kebab – that’s a big one!

So many memories,

Climbing Roseberry Topping on his shoulders and,

knowing I’d be OK even when he slipped!

Sitting in a dinghy in the sea at Saltburn and,

knowing I’d be OK even when I got flipped out!

Feeling his had reach through the water and pull me back up!

Riding the American Skyliner at the fair – I loved every minute!

But dad didn’t – he was sick and in bed for three days!

Teaching me to swim, which took some patience on his part,

Then buying me a Transformer toy when I did my first full width

of the pool!

Helping him to move house – several times,

Driving seven hours to visit in Kent, just a few weeks after

passing my test

Trips to the Science and Natural History Museums,

Interests we both share and soch a wonderful feeling

Discovering new things together,

Making me proud,

Keeping me safe,

Showing me love,

That’s my dad!

How once we were

 Poor Ann remains ill, coughing, nausea, and loss of appetite. This afternoon, she did a third Covid test and this time it was positive, with a bar even stronger than the control bar. So now we are both lying about, getting drinks for each other, and trying to buck each other up. At least I feel a little better since I've started the antivirals, but Ann is in a bad state today.  

Double trouble

Early morning dawn

This pretty picture tells a story. It is just before sunrise, and the story is what a bad night I had that forced me to rise early enough to see it. I said in my previous post I would not bore people with the symptoms of Covid, for they were already too well known. Well, I'm breaking that pledge. I had a torrid night, wet with sweat, throat sore, and a taste like the floor of hell in my mouth. It is as though I have chewed the most bitter medicine ever made, but unlike a medicine, no amount of gargling or throat washes will clear it out, it persists through my waking hours and into my dreams. The only temporary relief is from the Gin-Gins ginger sweets that my niece Sue bought for me two years ago (see Two-ways-to-manage-bladder-cancer). They are incredible things - so strong they blind the taste buds to anything else going on, and mask even this foul taste, so once again, thank you Sue.

Edwin and Andre got away to London early this morning before catching their flight to Madrid, a staging post for going on to Brazil for Andre's sister's wedding. It is being held in sight of one of the biggest waterfalls in South America, right on the Argentinian border, so should be quite a spectacle. Edwin had to go into Senate House to present his credentials, before taking up his new full-time job as Careers Consultant to the University of London. This is a huge career step, so congratulations Edwin. 

Poor Ann, who has been working so hard to look after me all week, was ill herself today. She suddenly rushed to the bathroom and started a bout of violent vomiting. She slept most of the afternoon, waking this evening but rushing out to be sick again. She has tested negative for Covid twice now, so we don't think that is causing it, and she has had little food and no alcohol at all today, so we can't pin down the cause. I have given her some anti-emetic tablets I was given when I had chemotherapy, so we are hopeful they will kick in and she will get a peaceful night. More updates tomorrow.

Covid strikes

 Now, to add to my problems, I have developed Covid. I will not bore everyone with the symptoms, which are all too familiar from the extensive publicity it has received, but to say it started Monday night, and was confirmed yesterday with a positive Covid test. Happily, Ann is still clear, but we had planned to take the boys and their luggage to London tomorrow to see them on their way to Brazil, so that has gone by the board. I do not feel like eating much, and am mostly sitting in my chair still in pyjamas, while Ann repeatedly tests my high temperature before feeding me paracetamol and drinks. We were advised that vulnerable patients may need a course of antiviral medicine, so this morning we phoned the GP (twice), the oncology nursing team, and finally 119 which advised contacting the emergency 111 number. I spent a long time chatting to a lady who asked many questions, finally concluding that I needed an emergency ambulance. I don't feel that bad, and the last thing I want is an ambulance turning up outside the door with blue lights blazing, so I refused, whereupon she said she would contact the clinical team for further advice. A little later, one of the clinical team phoned to agree I probably needed antivirals, so she said she would contact the Covid medicine department to arrange it. Now I am awaiting a call from that team to decide how they should proceed. 

The team was very efficient. They called back to say they agreed that antivirals were my best bet, and they would have a prescription ready for me at West Suffolk Hospital, so Ann went in this afternoon to collect it. I am still having high temperature spikes etc, and don't feel very energetic, but at least it is being treated so I am hopeful of improvement soon!

Kites

 To know the date of one's demise is a privilege granted to few, yet the knowledge carries distressing burdens. At our last meeting with the oncologist team at Addenbrookes, Ann challenged them with the unenviable question, "How long does John have?" The reply was starkly uncompromising, "Twelve months." This was on the autumnal equinox, September 21st, so the countdown has begun. Already, one month has passed of the twelve I have been allocated, with a memorable visit to Brussels, but it is hard to plan too far for the future, so one ends up living day to day under the ultimate deadline. Logically, such times are unpredictable, and as a GP I was careful to be vaguely hopeful when asked a similar question. It is the question many people with terminal cancer will always ask, but to be given a hard date produces a strange situation where I ring next year's equinox with a black box and begin the final countdown. I have three hundred and thirty-three days left for delight and enjoyment, or creative production, though not much sign of novel inspiration at the moment. Happily, I remain pain-free and active, with a brain still ticking over even if, where once words flooded in readily to hand, it sometimes takes an age now to remember the word I want. I retire each night with a brief question, will the weary heart fade quietly; will unwelcome death creep in this night? Yet sleep comes gracefully with many vivid dreams, and I wake refreshed, glad to take each new day. 

Strangely, I don't feel despondent but am cheerfully enjoying the health and days I have. Ann is working hard to build me up for the battle to come, even to the extent of getting beef and ale pies against all her convictions, to give me iron and protein to strengthen my natural immunity to fight the beast within. I have another paper accepted in a peer-reviewed journal, Astronomy, and have been asked to submit another to a journal called Galaxy, which published a previous paper and for which I have acted as  occasional external reviewer, but I do wonder if I can complete another paper. One thing did come to mind though. With the hindsight of age there is so much I wish I could have asked my grandparents, but as a child never sought to know. Grandad was born in 1874, his father, John Moorhouse, in 1836, and his grandfather, Roger Moorhouse was born in 1794. My grandmother, Grace Kershaw, was from a large family with many brothers and sisters that I never knew because she died so young, but mum would have known, yet never talked of them. If any one of them had left a diary of their lives, how fascinating we would now find it. I am therefore resolved to write my own recollections as objectively as I can, though doubtless glossing over more embarrassing episodes, in the vain hope that perhaps some grandchild or distant great grandchild in their more mature years may enjoy reading of how life was in the deprived 1940's and 50's.

My life has now spanned eight decades so to celebrate, Edwin and Andre are arranging an eightieth birthday binge after Christmas to which all friends, rels and neighbours are invited. He is theming it as a costume party, with any costume in the decades of my life starting from the wartime forties, so breakout those drainpipe trousers, winklepickers and mini-skirts! It should be fun.

Kites

Then into this great divide

Comes the Lord of life’s short reign – 

Old death, whose ghost

Hangs round us all, waiting:

Here a day less,

There a day more – 

To step leisurely from the gloom

And claim us to his bosom.

Uncaring, untiring,

Never sleeping, never smiling,

Solemn and grotesque he waits a while

To give us pause and tempt us on

To think we’re kings whose much crazed notions – 

Given wings by tiny moments leant by him – 

Exaltingly strike upwards.

Soaring kites that test the air for half a day;

And then he pulls the string.

And down we plunge into his waiting arms,

As if we’d never flown.

 JHM

Brussels

Edwin presents to the Brontë Society of Brussels

We spent a memorable weekend in bustling Brussels, and are now in the process of recovering. Not, I hasten to reassure the reader, because of anything bad about the visit, but rather because of a surfeit of all things good. We stayed at the friendly Brussels Moxy, where Andre entertained us on a cushion guitar.

The explicit reason for the trip was to accompany Edwin who had been invited to give the opening talk and presentation to the Brontë Society in Brussels. For anyone unaware of the powerful connection between a major European capital and the tiny, remote, Yorkshire town of Haworth, it arose from the time two of the sisters, Emily and Charlotte, spent time in Brussels learning French and teaching at a school for girls in the city. From this an active Brontë Society was born which thrives still, with regular walks, meetings, and talks, in this case centring on the influence of the Brussels' school on Charlotte's life through her two late novels, Shirley and Villette. 

Andre entertains

Afterwards, the speakers were invited to lunch which we also attended, and where I was sat next to an American called Jones, a journalist for the political journal, Politico. 

Choosing chocolate

Later, we explored the bustling central area and covered arcades where Andre could stock up on  rich Belgian chocolate to take to his family (especially his grandmother) when they visit for his sister's wedding in Brazil. We finished at an old bar called, appropriately, À la Mort Subite, or Sudden Death, where we were served hot chocolate, and Ann sampled a red cherry beer. Wherever he goes, Andre has a habit of meeting people he knows, or making new friendships. He had already met a Brazilian couple and here we remet Jones, this suggesting Brussels is a compact and friendly place compared to some European cities.

Enjoying Sudden Death

On Sunday, the boys went off to Train World, always a popular theme with Edwin, while Ann and I relaxed at the hotel before strolling to a nearby square to enjoy an al fresco lunch in a warm, autumn sun before finally leaving for the Eurostar return to London. At least, we almost left; I arrived at the station to realise I had left my silver-handled walking stick in the hotel room! Andre promptly ran to get a Metro train back to the hotel, returning with the stick brandished in victory. He  had already received a compliment on his fine cane, and said it made him feel quite classy. It did have a use though, besides propping me up, for as we shuffled along the queue to board, the four of us were pulled out of the line and fast-tracked through check-in and customs, as the staff spotted I was a vulnerable person! The trains are so fast and comfortable now, it is only two hours from London to Brussels, which is much quicker than a journey to Haworth will be. However, we are determined to return to the Brontës' roots soon, inspired by our memories and Edwin's talk.

Sunday lunch in Brussels

A time of leaks

Annie All Alone

It is a time of leaks, indicative of a time of reflective decay. First, the monitor on our oil tank needed a new battery - a simple job according to the manufacturer's instructions. Just unscrew the transmitter from the tank, remove four screws to take off the top, and replace the battery. No problem, and it worked fine. A few days later it stopped again. I repeated the process, but it was now full of water. Clearly the O-ring had unsealed. I stripped it down, cleaned it all, blew it for a while with a hair dryer, reseated the O-ring this time caked with grease to try to keep our moisture. Again, it worked fine for a few days. The plumber told us they often leak after they've been opened, so we sent for a new one which he fitted. Today that too has stopped working.

We had the plumber in yesterday because the kitchen tap had sprung a bad leak that drained into the cupboard. He brought a beautiful new tap, so that seems sorted. He has now gone on holiday but will sort the oil monitor when he comes back. Today, we found another leak round the sink in the bathroom, which had formed a tell-tale puddle on the floor, so we needed to find another plumber. He came within the hour, and diagnosed a leak from the waste exit point. Once such fittings were metal with brass nuts and thick rubber washers. Now they are thin Chinese plastic with O-rings like thin pieces of wool. He cleaned it all, but alas the weak plastic nut cracked as he tightened it. Being Saturday afternoon, he had to visit B&Q for a replacement and was forced to buy a complete sink drain and trap. Unfortunately, the new unit was even more flimsy than the older one and somehow the seal got damaged, so that too is leaking into the cupboard. He will now have to come back next week with a replacement unit, so in the meantime I have taped up the sink to remind us not to use the ensuite.

On a brighter note, Annie has discovered a new app for her iPhone: the ability to extract an individual from the background and is sending a batch of pictures she has produced. Also, the prednisolone steroids seem to be working. The diarrhoea has eased and my appetite improved, so probably the consultant was right that,  even though it was stopped in April, I had some form of delayed reaction to the immunotherapy - possibly a colitis of some kind. 

I used to write a lot of poetry, even seeing a number of pieces published in Literary Review. Following the generous comments to my new Sunflowers and another poem written at Haworth shortly after Ann and I met, I have dug out another older poem to ponder. So often have I floundered through life, wondering if I was able to move on, and each time Annie has been there to pull me through! Now she is there again, cheering me on to renew the fight a little longer. Thank you, Annie.

The Swimmer

I used to swim for my country – 

A few powerful strokes

and I was through.

Body thrust to the winning side,

every dive a winner.

Now I struggle to stay afloat,

flailing in their shallows,

lungs gasping,

I flounder slowly across

thinking I shall never reach that shore,

ready to yield and sink by the moment.

Until a helping arm grasps and pulls me out

and I lie, spent upon the side,

without a cheer for England.

 JHM

Dreams and memories

Dry Stone Walls

Dry stone walls lie crumbling;

At the year's end,

Each stone marks one long month passed.

Here, you stumbled on a frozen ground

And stretched a hand for steadying;

Here, I held you till we brought the night

To weld the hollow chinks as one.

There, you leapt in yielding chase

Across the moorland to my hot pursuit.

And there, we lay in breathless wonder –

Shadowed by these stones from prying spring.

That rock, heavy with a rimey moss,

Gave itself to cushion your frail face

Through all of summer;

These were pulled by argument,

Ripped from their ancient bed

To spoil an autumn hill-scape.

Weakened, gaunt, exposed, grey winter's blast

Loosened to prise free these last

Until a sheltering sheep might lean them down.

Now, with the year's death, falls my love.

In badly weeded borders, bare with neglect,

written at Haworth, 1 Jan 1989 JHM

For some weeks I have had bad diarrhoea, going up to five times through the night, and of a type I am reluctant to describe in a homely blog. After some attempts to see my GP, I phoned the oncology nursing team at Addenbrooke's. They got me back onto the Oncology Day Assessment unit next morning, and the doctors arranged a follow-up scan. 

Then on Monday afternoon (who said the NHS shut down for a funeral bank holiday), they phoned back with an appointment to see the consultant on Wednesday pm. Such a rapidly arranged appointment will alway trigger apprehension, in this case warranted. The whole team pushed passed Ann into the tiny room: registrar, nurse and the consultant, who was clear and direct. The melanoma has spread with more secondary nodules in the lungs, and a large new growth in the liver. She bluntly confessed nothing more could be done, but they would arrange to liaise with the unit at St Nicholas Hospice for any additional support. They would also write to the GP requesting an appointment with the community dietician to try to reverse my weight loss. Also she will start large doses of steroids to dampen down the diarrhoea, assuming it to be bowel inflammation as a late consequence of the immunotherapy I had had, even though this stopped in April. Ann insisted on some sort of prognosis, which we have not been given, and the nurse suggested it might be twelve months, so I'd better make the most of each day. Ann suggested we might hire a boat, since we got rid of ours. That cheered me enormously, and I dreamt that night of visiting various boatyards to see what we could get. It was more exciting than a sexual dream (which I don't have anymore), for though Ann probably has ambitions to cruise down a river, my dream took me out to sea and to some of the ports we used to visit.

Thank you Kaz and Ben!!

Yesterday I am feeling stronger again, perhaps braced by a good dream, and I was able to take Ann to her hairdressers and walk the dogs, then take a light lunch in the Swan garden in the in the last of the autumnal warmth. Later Edwin took us over to Bury for a takeaway, followed by a lively game of "Go Fish". Today I had to go back to Bury to help Edwin sort out a problem with his new phone, then tonight, on grandson Luke's birthday, Kaz and Ben sent a most wonderful and moving gift of a champagne to celebrate our days together. Thank you both so much for sending such a joyful message into our lives. We particularly remember Luke's birth twenty years ago, as we were on holiday in our caravan in Wales that night when the biggest earthquake for many years struck Gwent, tilting the caravan and causing Edwin to fall our of his bed! Happy birthday Luke!

Sunflowers

Sunflowers

In badly weeded borders, bare with neglect,

we scattered seeds to brighten dismal autumn’s darkening day.

Birds flocked down, bright squawking, cheerful creatures,

glad to feast on the diet we had strewn.

That autumn, not a single flower showed ‘bove bare earth. 

But —high behind the fence, bright against a low sun — 

stands a burst of sunflowers: strong, brilliant, capped in gold, 

proclaiming our lives in gardens new.

Within the house, we live our ebbing lives,

once with hopeful promise sown: ending now.

Birds of time have winged away our dreams

and flowers of youth decayed to graveyard slime

midst borders choked with growth we did not seek.

Yet o’er the fence, the fresher voices cry: 

cheering sounds of song and happy dream,

carried on soft breezes, bringing joy 

from children delighting in flowers they did not plant.

JHM

For some weeks I have had bad diarrhoea, going up to five times through the night, and of a type I am reluctant to describe on white pages. Last week I managed to speak with a nurse who advised getting a stool sample to test, but this came back clear of nasty infection that might be treatable such as dysentery of typhoid. I tried to phone again this week, but could not speak even to a nurse, and they had no appointment slots, so I phoned the oncology nurses at Addenbrookes, who were magnificent. The consultant phoned back to discuss the case, and arranged for me to go onto the oncology day assessment unit in the morning. Yesterday therefore, I spent the day at Addenbrookes where they arranged an urgent scan, as it was overdue anyway. The young registrar came back to see me at about half-past-seven, to explain they had found some larger nodes on my lungs, and a new growing cyst within the liver, almost certainly a recurrence of the malignant melanoma. She advised me to continue with loperamide (Lomotil) to control the diarrhoea, and I finally got home at eight pm. However, she did add that the team will discuss my management next week, but whether they can offer palliative surgery or chemotherapy at this stage I do not know.

Sorrows come not as single spies but in battalions. Matthew remains very low with poorly controlled diabetes, and now poor Rosie has been taken into hospital. She had had pain in the side for some time, which grew worse at the beginning of the week. She was found to have a ureteric stenosis (severe narrowing of the tube from the kidney to the bladder) due to severe inflammation in the duct. She has had to have a nephrostomy tube inserted to drain the kidney to an external bag until the inflammation eases. She remains in hospital today, in great pain and worrying about keeping two small and active children from climbing on her and dislodging the bag. 

Ann's Sunflowers!

Ann loves her garden so this spring she sowed a mass of sunflower seeds in the beds round the edge. Finally they have come up, some eight feet tall and facing the sun in brilliant splendour. The only problem is, they're all next door! It looks as though the birds, so used to feasting in our garden, assumed the tasty seeds were for them, and ate the lot. They must have flown to the fence and dropped some there - there is a full display all along the neighbour's fence, but we do not have a single sunflower in our garden.

Addenbrooke's Honours EIIR 

Visiting The North

 We went North on Friday to see some of the children and grandchildren who still live there. Ann chose to stay with the dogs, being too tired to travel far, and I did not feel up to the arduous A1, but was kindly chauffeured by Edwin and Andre. They were both working till the afternoon, so it was late when we arrived, just after eight, but early enough for a meal in the bar. We stayed at Guisborough Hall Hotel, a beautiful, spotless and well restored country house. Next day we saw all the children. The boys went to Northallerton in the morning, Edwin having promised Andre a visit to Betty's. I, too tired to stir, stayed quietly in the hotel until their return. 

Matthew welcomes us to their new home

Arwen centre stage

First port of call was to the Nicola's, where Rosie and Matthew are well ensconced with the two new additions. Arwen is a little beauty, and Nye is a bright and active addition to their family. Poor Matthew remains ill with severe brittle diabetes, poorly controlled by diet or medication. He continues to be off work, with no sickness benefit despite having worked for the company for over eleven years. Mateo had been brought by his father, Marco, to be joined later by Lucy and his sister Lucia. We were also joined by her youngest, Theo. Nicola made us all welcome then we all moved on to Mike and Ryan's house in Thornaby. I have been lucky with my ex-wife. Many ex's continue a state of hostility, but Nicola never stopped the children from seeing me, even at the height of our divorce, and never used them in the battle ground. She is now welcoming and friendly, with a warm civility between us, even sending cards and prayers in a way that is both caring and touching.

Uncle Edwin with children

Mike and Ryan have the most beautiful house, each room spotlessly clean and tastefully decorated by Ryan who is a true artist. The living room was in Bauhaus style, with large, framed posters and colour-matched wall panels. Arwen continued her lively streak as an active, normal, mischievous two-year old, throwing Mike's crisps across the floor, but he has great patience, bringing in a dustpan and brush with a forgiving smile. We ordered a takeaway from a place in Middlesbrough that had a wide menu and Andre was persuaded to try a Parmo, the Teesside equivalent of a deep-fried Mars bar in Glasgow. He absolutely loved it, and Middlesbrough went up two notches in his estimation. I have lost my appetite recently, so didn't order anything, but Ryan shared a small slice of his pizza which was fully sufficient.

In Remembrance of Michelle

Next day Ann's sister, Jane, came over to the hotel to see us with her family. We last saw her two grandchildren many years ago, but they are now so grown and mature I would not have recognised them. Later, we drove to Saltburn via the Acklam Road cemetery, resting place for the ashes of Jane's other daughter, Michelle, remembered in the month of her birth. Jane goes each week and had laid fresh flowers in her memory. Edwin stopped at a garage to buy flowers of our own to add to hers.

Andre admires ancient engineering

I am my nosey normal

In the Saltburn Cable Car

We visited Saltburn via the old lifting bridge and transporter bridge, remnants of Middlesbrough's once bright past as a leading engineering town. Both were renown world monuments, but both are now crumbling and unworking, a sign of the decay of a leading Victorian town. Ann and I used to live in Saltburn, so I showed the boys our old house at 38 Emerald Street. The new owner saw my interest from her upstairs bedroom, the window flew open, and she called down to us, before coming down to let us in and show us what she had done in the intervening years. It was a lovely house, and we enjoyed our time there, but of course can never go back. Saltburn at least has kept its heritage and maintained its Victorian railway and cliff cable car.

More Victorian Engineering