Grayson Perry, The Pre-Therapy Years

Edwin views Grayson Perry's work

Grayson Perry is one of my heroes, so when Edwin invited Ann and me to visit a retrospective of his early work, I was thrilled. The exhibition, The Pre-Therapy Years, is at the Sainsbury gallery at UEA, Norwich. The first part of the exhibition contains modern and abstract work by a number of artists, but entering the Perry display was truly mind-blowing: unlike any of his modern work yet clearly foretelling the direction he was going. The vast majority is his trademark pottery, with which he combines pictorial art and poetry in arresting juxtaposition, using the clay forms as other artists might use a canvas or notebook. The works question any pre-existing mores of sexuality, emphasising so often his inner feminine being, Claire. Throughout the work, he seems to question not just who he is, but also who Clare is, as though searching for her character through a wealth of feminine role models. The whole exhibition is thrilling, yet faintly disturbing. These were the pre-therapy years, stretching back to a period of nearly forty years ago, when he was still freshly wounded from childhood traumas. It is interesting to compare the work with his recent post-therapy work; much calmer, less distressing, yet with an ever emerging technique in handling his chosen clay medium. 

Grayson Perry Plate

In the evening we dined at a wonderful vegan restaurant in Norwich - with some of the best food I have tasted, vegan or otherwise. The whole day out more than compensated for our poor start to the year.

But on Sunday, we had the biggest surprise of all. We had lunch at the Hundon Plough: a fine nut roast with all trimmings. We indulged ourselves with plenty of wine, desserts, and liqueur coffees afterwards. I went to the bar to pay, but the lady said, "There's nothing to pay. Lucy has paid it!" Lucy had phoned the restaurant and paid for our meal on the phone! Unbelievable and a wonderful surprise and treat. The lady added, "I wish I had a daughter like that." "We have," we said, "she's wonderful."

A rotten start to the year

Walking in the shadow of the docks

Sunday, 2nd January. The weather was bright and warm, tempting for a day by the sea, possibly with ice-cream and a meal for our first outing of the year. Felixstowe sounded promising, so off we set. Hitting the Orwell bridge, we were suddenly caught behind a massive traffic queue, with no exit route for several miles. Finally, crawling forward in little jerks, we reached the cause of our holdup: a broken down ancient horse box blocking the lane. 

After the long delay and with the dogs still in the car, we stopped first at Landguard Fort to walk them, ending up at the cafe under the shadow of the great container ships at Felixstowe Docks. We went to the cafe toilets, but decided to go into Felixstowe to walk on the beach before enjoying coffee and ice-cream. No such luck. We had not allowed for the Bank Holiday crowds and could not even park. 

Selfie at Landguard Point.

We decided to cut our losses and head for Aldeburgh, where we did manage to park. But that was all we did. The one pub was full, with people sitting outside with their drinks. The hotel was closed for refurbishing, the one restaurant open had stopped serving. The only available food was if we joined the long queues at the take-away fish and chip shops. We could not spot so much as a decent cafe for a coffee. It was getting late, so we set off for Bury to finally get something to eat. No way - the fates were against us this day. The sky grew dark as night, and it began to rain,  Not a shower of rain, but a total deluge was falling, the roads rapidly flooding, and vision severely limited, so we abandoned the day and finally reached home having had no drink all day, and not so much as a chocolate bar. Welcome to 2022.

Lone Christmas Tree at Aldeburgh

It did not help my mood when Edwin phoned. He and Andre had gone to Dover, which was quiet and where they had a lovely day, ending in Morelli's Italian ice-cream parlour, sending a photo of the two of them with a towering dish of icecream dripping with sauces and sprinkles. They had the sense to leave at 8:00 a.m. so they had a full day there in warm sunshine. I can make no comment.

 

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.