Censored

The new Dr Who series is absolutely brilliant. It seems to be working its way through a whole number of social issues, taking in the British partition of India/Pakistan in 1947, the Montgomery Bus Boycott of the American civil rights movement of 1955 begun by Rosa Parks; the morality of companies like Amazon, and most recently a history of the Pendle witch trials in 17th C. Lancashire. This was of particular interest because of the memories my mother had of Pendle Hill, where she used to go for picnics as a girl. Jodie Whittaker is definitely the best Dr Who ever; she pours her soul into the role, and carries us with her on the Tardis to these brilliant locations.

On the news tonight is an item about the polluting effect of cattle, burping their methane into the atmosphere and adding to global warming. We will never be a world of vegans, worthy though this might be, and even we vegetarians enjoy our cheese and butter, so I mustn't be hypocritical; but meat generates eight times more methane than dairy, so just being vegetarians must help the planet a bit. I do think meat eaters might consider going meat free one day per week: surely that is not too great a hardship?

Grandad-John has been censored!!

Talking about global warming brings me round to safeguarding the future for our children and grandchildren. I mentioned to them that Ann had censored one of my blogs recently (see Letter from Colorado), so one of them produced this version of Daily News. They are so clever with their apps; I wouldn't know where to start making a picture like this!

But continuing the theme of averting global warming, perhaps one of the Dr Who series could be a trip into the future, exploring a world where warming runs wild.  Jodie Whittaker has so much developed the social message in Dr Who, she might be willing to give support to anything that could help reduce the disaster that seems to be awaiting the world. It could be called "Warm of the World".

Letter from Colorado

Ann is doing her Christmas cards, and commented how many widows we now have on the list, no doubt hoping she isn't going to join them any too soon.I had an email from Betsy, my cousin-in-law in Colorado, who was thinking of me ahead of the looming radiotherapy. Her husband, Ed, died quite suddenly this year, placing her as the most recent.  There is not yet a single widower.

On the Zephyr to Colorado

The days we spent in Colorado were particularly happy, especially for Ann who had heat stroke from the Utah sun, staying in a house without air conditioning when it was 44+ deg. We went from Chicago through Colorado on the California Zephyr, an amazing journey through the Colorado River Gorge. We often think of Betsy and Ed and the wonderful day we got in contact with them after my father lost touch with his brother in the 1930's. He came straight over with his sister, and we met up for the first time at Heathrow.

Having read the experiences of an American in Texas ("The Funny Thing About Bladder Cancer"), I am so grateful for our health service. It may be a little slower and less up-to-date than the US health service, but it is so comforting to know that the treatments are all available, without having to prove one can pay for them, or being left untreated if one can't.

Ann keeping me in order

Betsy has been catching up via my blog. The readership is growing in the UK, but it would be nice to see a US audience. I find it very cathartic. My only problem is, I'm often too honest about what I think of people, so Ann censors it if she thinks it will offend the people we don't want to fall out with. Ann is tops at keeping me in order, and never afraid to offend me, or tip cold water over me if I upset her. Dear reader, you must understand the torments I face at her hand. But she's worth it!

Showing Tolerance and Respect

This morning was our monthly meeting of our local Labour Party. The chairperson, a formidable woman who keeps us well in order, always opens proceedings with a simple statement: "We are working together to spread our shared values," she said. "We will do that with mutual respect and tolerance for the opinions of others."

Later in the meeting, the group were talking about restarting the market stall they used to run, which for some reason was closed following some fracas with another stall run by the Jehovah's Witnesses. A colleague (we don't call them brothers, sisters or even comrades nowadays) complained that three Witnesses had settled for the morning on a bench on the High Street to display their posters and distribute literature, and as a needy person, he hadn't been able to sit and draw breath. "I could only stand there and say, 'You're wasting your time; there is no God,'" he chided them.

The chairperson stopped him sharply. "I said at the beginning of this meeting, we show respect for the opinion of others," she said. "We don't all agree with that opinion!"

Later, Matthew and Rosie, his new partner, came for lunch. They brought me a welcome gift of home-made marzipan fruits, and we took them to the Flying Shuttle in Haverhill. This can be relied on to serve plates of meat worthy of the name adequate, which they always photograph and post on Facebook for posterity to admire. Returning, we watched the episode of Big Bang Theory where Amy and Sheldon marry. Matthew said it had originally included a "gift" from Stephen Hawking, but because the episode went out after his death, it had been removed. We searched for it and found a clip on Youtube, but unfortunately it froze and said, "not permitted to be watched in the UK", which seems an unreasonable bias against the country that formed him and loved him.

Modern Sex Education - PSHE

The teenage pregnancy rate has been falling in England for some years, and has finally halved since the Labour government pledged in 1997 to halve the number of conceptions to girls under 18 by 2010. Last night, we hosted a birthday party for one of our granddaughters, and discovered how education was helping this pledge. She didn't want friends there, so it was not a lavish affair, just fish and chips with their parents, and a cake to follow.

They are both at secondary school now, and the older one had had a lesson in Personal, Social and Health Education, or PSHE, but this seems to have become more explicit since we were younger. A nurse came into the class and proceeded to pass round individual models of the relevant male bits, which she drew from a large bag. "I got a black one," our granddaughter said.

Her mother didn't help by asking if it was bigger than the others. "No," she said, "they were all the same size." The nurse then explained the importance of contraception in preventing anything unwanted, demonstrating with a condom, and the girls had to experiment on their own models.

Then the nurse blew hers up to a huge size, until it burst. "Oh, these must be old ones," she said. "It wasn't meant to do that until I put some oil on." They are certainly thorough. The girls will certainly not forget these lessons. The nurse's name was Annie, and our granddaughter kept remembering her Grannie Annie.

Laughing at Bladder Cancer

Down to London this morning for a business meeting. London was its usual hectic self. I certainly felt much more energised than I have for some time. I suspect my tiredness has a strong psychological component, but Ann has an easier explanation: in London, you have to keep moving or you get mugged.

On the tube, and in the inevitable breaks in these meetings, I started reading a book Ann bought me when first I got my bladder cancer: The Funny Thing About Bladder Cancer by Guy Wheatley He certainly captures the positive side of what we go through, from the first finding of blood and the first cystoscopy through the drama of despair and hope as treatments progress. I envy his style - I'd love to have so much humour about it all. But he wrote the book some years after the first diagnosis, so hopefully he's looking from the perspective of being clear. My perspective is looking at a great pit, and I'm still waiting to be able to turn round and look back at it. Interestingly, I always thought the big advantage of private medicine was the speed of diagnosis and treatment, but Wheatley had huge delays despite having private medical insurance. He owed debts to the insurance company for some previous treatments that hadn't been wholly covered, so they called in a debt collector and refused to pay out anymore – even for his cancer investigations – until he'd paid off the debts. 

Ann is the archteacher of business meetings. When I started, I was abrasive, interupting people with my opinions, certain I was right, I generally didn't stay at those jobs for long. Now, I generally keep silent, answering questions if asked. I still think I am right, but I try to keep my opinions to myself. It's funny how little managment want to know about what's wrong with their system. I could offer them a one man Deloitte or McKinsey business consultancy and save them a fortune.

Who is my neighbour?

Ann attended the rheumatology clinic, to be told her broken finger was badly set, and should have been pinned. A bit late now, though, as she doesn't want it reset and in plaster with all the driving that lies ahead ferrying me to the hospital.

After the clinic, we went to Waitrose for lunch and shopping. Walking to the food counter, a thin faced, greying man called out my name and waved. I whispered to Ann, "who's that?" but she didn't know either, and then he waved at her too, so I walked over to apologise that I must have forgotton his name.

"I'm your neighbour," he said. "I see you when I'm walking the dog." Out of that context, both Ann and I had completely failed to recognise him. He and his wife moved in two years ago, and I've barely spoken to him. How much of our lives are like this, we pass each other, we nod a brief greeting, yet never know each other.

Hunting the lump that goes bump in the night.

I returned to the West Suffolk dermatologist this afternoon for my melanoma check-up. He is an abrupt, unempathetic Egyptian who usually just asks how things are, and is always satisfied if the answer is "fine", without wasting too much time checking anything in detail. Today, I mentioned that I thought a lymph gland might be a bit swollen below my jaw, and was uncomfortable at night. He poked it for a moment before saying there didn't seem much there. I added that I'd seen the oncologist at Addenbrookes on Monday, and I thought he might have written about it, so he checked through my record and found the letter.

Until then, he hadn't realised I'd had another cancer treated since I saw him last. Looking a bit abashed, he felt a little more thoroughly, then decided to refer me for further scans on my head and neck, to 'make sure', so at least something is happening, and I'm hopeful that I'll get reassurance.

On the news, all is Brexit. Against seemingly everyone on the cabinet and in parliament being opposed to her, she doggedly holds her course with persistent calmness and patience. She is beginning to win the sympathy vote for her plight, even from hardened labourites, and even from the public who think she has sold us a ribbon-wrapped turd. Yet those opposing her are too custard coloured to oust her, let alone offer any alternative with more than a pig's chance in an abattoir of getting it through Brussels.