Thank you to DWP Wester Hailes

This post is by way of a thank you to my colleagues at the DWP office in Wester Hailes, Edinburgh for their fantastically generous donation to Maggie's Cancer Centre.

I have now retired from DWP and yesterday my pals in Wester Hailes had a dress down fund raising day to celebrate my retirement, with all the proceeds going to Maggie's Centre. I brought in some cup cakes and chocolate doughnuts to say thanks for having me in the office for the past eight years and they raised the amazing sum of £174. I think I'm allowed to use the word amazing in this context, if it's good enough for Brian Cox, it's good enough for me.

Amazing as there were only about 30 folk in the office yesterday. I am so impressed, I can't say thank you enough. You are a fine bunch of people.

Special mention to Liz and Lesley for organising it all. I've known Liz for many years, too many to mention here, and Lesley for quite a few, and I know the amount of work you do fund raising for so many good causes over the years. You deserve lots of praise for your efforts, and a medal would be awarded if it was up to me. I know we tend to hide under our desks whenever you appear on the horizon, but we love you both really.

And I've not forgotten Liz that you are waiting part two of my Leaving DWP post, and I promise it will be here soon, and you will get a mention, for sure. But I won't reveal any of your secrets, so don't worry!!!

Anyway thank you very much to all the fine staff at Wester Hailes DWP. Your generosity touched my heart and I'm sure Maggie's Centre will be hugely grateful and impressed. THANK YOU.

This afternoon I'm having lunch with my DWP visiting team colleagues, and then my farewell event in the Newsroom tonight. Celebrating forty years of debauchery in DWP!!! Wonder who will turn up?

A Joke

Airplane is coming in to land and pilot is announcing arrival etc, but then forgets to turn off the speakers. He can be heard asking his co-pilot what he's planning to do later.

Co-pilot says he's planning on having a couple of pints, and then getting the knickers off that new stewardess. Uproar in the cabin, and the aforementioned lady is running towards the cockpit.

She's stopped in her tracks by an old lady who says, there's no need to rush dear, he's going for a couple of pints first.

If that's in bad taste, blame Tam on Radio Scotland...

Eighteen Weeks, Dylan and Toibin

Last Thursday I had an appointment with Dr McLean, my oncologist. I was expecting a quick once over so she could be sure that my body had survived the five weeks of chemo and radiotherapy without lasting side effects and that I had no ongoing problems.

All seemed to be in order and going according to plan. She confirmed my scan dates and appointment with Mr Speake, who will operate on me sometime in October, and told me that the team would discuss my case on 3 October and Mr Speake will put me in the picture when I see him on 9 October.

She then told me that she would not see me again until early December when she would be arranging more chemotherapy for me, which will last for eighteen weeks. I knew that more chemo was a possibility after my operation, but eighteen weeks came as a nasty little shock, and means my treatment will still be going on come next May, when I had hoped to be seeing the back of it all.

I was so taken aback by this piece of news, that I couldn't think what to ask her and now, of course, I'm full of questions that I should have asked but didn't. It has taken me a few days to adjust to this but I think I've got my head round it now. I assume that Dr McLean has known this all along but didn't want to burden me with too much information all at once. She must have been thinking, let's get him through the radiotherapy first and then hit him with the eighteen weeks. But I think I would have preferred to know from the beginning what lay ahead of me.

I still feel optimistic, hopeful and determined to make it through this mess, but I must say the past week has been confusing if not a bit frightening. I mean eighteen weeks, come on now comrades as old Duncan Hallas used to say to us, get a grip here, what with me planning to go to South America next year, they will have to get a move on in 2014.

I'm listening to the new (old) Dylan album, Another Self Portrait, as I write this. He helps me make it through. Where would we be without him? Lost? The album is terrific, Dylan at the height of his powers, song writing, musical and singing. Greil Marcus said in reaction to the original Self Portrait, in 1970, "What is this shit?", but he writes the liner notes for this one. He has changed his mind about it obviously. So many great songs even one called "Spanish is the Loving Tongue"  soft as music, light as spring, adios mi corazon".... lovely, Bob.

Been finished reading Colm Toibin's new book The Testament of Mary. It's a fifth gospel told from Mary's  point of view. Beautiful piece of writing, sad and moving, but inspiring, and daring. The holy father will not be amused I'm sure. If it doesn't win the Booker I shall be surprised, but as the chair of judges is Robert Macfarlane I'm sure whoever wins will be well worth it, and I will needless to say eat my hat if Toibin doesn't win, and of course read the winner. If I have time.

With Emer to see What Masie Knew

That's three weeks now gone by since my last dose of radiotherapy, slowly beginning to feel less tired and able to go further for longer. I have a new system for my stoma, a big improvement, much easier to use and less intrusive. Thanks to my stoma nurse Mary S. Three more weeks to wait now for my scans, for which I now have dates. Will be seeing my oncologist, Dr Mclean on Wednesday for general check up, and to make sure the chemo isn't killing me, or something. It's strange how she has become my oncologist. Very possessive, but it seems right somehow.

Now that I'm feeling fitter I have managed my first ride on the top deck of an Edinburgh double decker bus. There is no better way to see Edinburgh than from the front top seat of a double decker. Well there may be but I can't think what it might be right now. I've also managed my first walk down the High Street for about four months, and it felt fantastic. Is there a more beautiful, historic, exciting High Street anywhere else in the world? I think we all know the answer to that one.

I've also signed on for a couple of classes with City of Edinburgh Council and been to my first cancer support group at Maggie's Centre, which was excellent, will write more about it another time. I met a Stornoway woman there, who turns out to be known to two old friends of mine.. although she only knows about one of them at moment. Smallish world.

Not only all that but I also managed a second trip to the cinema, to see What Maisie Knew, with my good friend Emer. Good movie, with Steve Coogan and Julianne Moore playing two terrible disgraceful parents giving a no holds barred exhibition of how not to parent. Excruciatingly painful at times but also very funny. It's based on a novel of the same name by Henry James. The stand out performance is by the wee girl playing Maisie. She does not say much, though she's on screen most of the time. But she does not have to say much as she must have one of the most expressive faces I've ever seen and gets through enough emotions to last her a life time and a half. Extraordinary and delightful performance. Her name is Onata Aprile and I'm sure she has a huge career ahead of her, which I hope to witness.

Thank you to Emer for coming with me, but not just for coming to this film, but for being my good friend for over twenty years. I won't say how many as don't want to give your age away. Thirty something I think you told me last week!! Thank you for all your support, not just for past few months, but for what seems like a lifetime, which it is I suppose. You are a beautiful person, I doubt if I will ever be able to pay you back for everything. I have many memories of concerts, and bands and films we've seen together or with other people. So many and too numerous to mention. Maybe we will make a list next time we meet. Anyway Emer I love you.

Louise Michel

I was listening to Great Lives on Radio 4 this week and was very pleasantly surprised to hear that Paul Mason had chosen Louise Michel as his subject, in fact I was astonished that he even knew about her, never mind that he would rate her so highly as to choose her as his Great Life. So thank you for that Mr Mason, and I shall listen to you more intently and carefully in future, and maybe even read one of your books.

I first heard about Louise Michel in 1979 when the late great Paul Foot delivered a brilliant talk about her at the SWP annual Easter Rally. In those days, from the late seventies to sometime in the mid eighties SWP used to gather in the thousands to hear the best speakers and left intellectuals in the UK speak on various topics. You had to be there.  The cream of British Trotskyism was there, Tony Cliff,  Duncan Hallas, Paul Foot, (all dead now) Eamon McCann, Nigel Harris and many more. Every one of them a superb speaker but Paul Foot exceptionally talented. Maybe we shouldn't all have gathered in the one place; easy targets for the British state don't you think?

When I heard that Paul was doing his talk on Louise Michel I thought to myself, what is this shit? Well I didn't really, but just couldn't resist a wee dig at Greil Marcus who opened his review of Dylan's Self Portrait album with these words, though he now says he was misunderstood, but that's what they all say Greil my man. Just accept that you were wrong to be so nasty to our Bob.

Anyway back to Louise, who was brought totally to life by Paul. Some of you reading this were there at the time and probably heard the talk. Let me know if you remember it and your memories of our times in Skegness. Derbyshire Miners Holiday Camp I seem to recall we used to take over for the weekend. Wonder what became of the Derbyshire Miners and their holiday camp?

For those who don't know her or have never heard of her she was a French revolutionary socialist, anarchist, teacher, poet, writer, fighter and one of the leaders of the Paris Commune of 1871. One of the greatest and most important episodes in European working class history and she was central to it. Paul Foot of course told us all about her story as he described the Commune and why it was important to our history. Unforgettable performance and Louise Michel has been a heroine of mine ever since. How could I have doubted Paul Foot? Ridiculous.

Those of you reading this who never heard him speak have missed something special. He delivered some brilliant talks on Shelley the one on the revolutionary nature and power of Ode to the West Wind being spellbinding in it's brilliance. Lots of thanks to Paul Mason for reminding me and I would recommend a listen to him on BBC iplayer. It should be there till Monday at least. Lets finish with Shelley himself and his Ode to the West Wind:

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth

The trumpet of a prophecy? O, Wind,
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind?

That will do me, couldn't put it better myself.

Eh Joe and The Great Gatsby

I didn't make it to much at this year's Edinburgh Festival, what with one thing and another and me being so tired after all the therapies, so it was a huge delight to get to my one and only show, a Samuel Beckett play for TV adopted for stage by Atom Egoyan and presented by the Lyceum Theatre and starring the great, the one and only Michael Gambon, as Joe, one of my favourite actors of all time. I went with my wee brother, who seems to follow me around to all Beckett productions, these days, most of them anyway, or so it seems. It's a pleasure having you on board of course young man, and you do seem to know more about Beckett than anyone else, so an expert in the family is always a good thing to have.

Joe sits in his bedroom, alone, checks the doors, windows and cupboards, draws the curtains, which are even on the cupboards and doors, just like my mother had in Aird Tong. Then he checks under the bed, and who hasn't done the same, just in case the bad man/woman is hiding there? Thankfully I've never come across anyone hiding under the bed, so far, but one can't be too careful with that sort of thing, I could well understand why Joe was being so careful.

We then see him, centre stage on his bed, sideways to the audience, and he hears a woman's voice, an ex-lover, remonstrating with him. His face is projected front stage, at least six feet tall, craggy, saggy, baggy, lined, every movement or no movement, full of depth and meaning, every emotion there, from a to z, as  quietly, revengefully, threateningly, the almost friendly voice, reminds him of his past misdemeanours and tells him the story of another rejected lover who killed herself, very slowly over days. Gambon never says a word, but it's more powerful for that. The disembodied voice is Penelope Wilton, whom we never see, but who dominates the theatre.

Both performances are mesmerising and a little bit spooky, disconcerting and totally engrossing. The words of course are what matter and give all the pleasure.... she says to him "You know that penny farthing hell you call your mind....that's where you think this is coming from, don't you?" and later when she is talking about his father she says to him "mental thugee you called it." though I'm not absolutely certain what or who he/she is referring to.  Neil reckons that by the end Beckett is doubting his atheism, at least I think that's what he meant. If not maybe he will come and tell us.

I've also had my first trip to the cinema since being told of my tumorous colon and very enjoyable it was too. It's so exciting being in the cinema, I forgot how much I missed it. I went to see The Great Gatsby, with my good friend Gordon. Excellent movie and superb performance from DiCaprio, who's matured nicely and looks magnificent. I think he's going to be one of our finest actors. He's been in tow of the best films I've seen this year. Tobey Maguire was perfect as Carraway, and Carey Mulligan was beautiful looking and acting wise. The film was in 3D which I had not expected but seemed to add something to the whole feel of it. Gatsby's parties were terrific in 3D, as was his view across the water to the green light across the bay on East Egg at the end of  Buchanan's dock.

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

DWP no more - part one

Last week I retired from the civil service after 40 years of dedicated, or sometimes  not so dedicated, service. I feel a bit like Samuel Beckett, who according to Seamus Heaney, when he was an old man, was sitting in a Parisian cafe with a friend, who like Beckett himself was somewhat socially shy, and after another gap in the conversation, turned to his pal and said "I've been waiting all my life to be old." You can maybe hear his voice if you just close your eyes and listen. Well I've been waiting a few years now to retire and had lots of plans for world travel, if not world domination, but due to the arrival of my tumour nothing is quite as I had hoped or looked forward to. But let's make the most of what we've got and next year is looking good to me.

I've not been working for the past couple of months, due to being in hospital and radiotherapy and other stuff, so it's not quite been the retiral I had imagined. I went in to see my colleagues on my last official day of work, 28 August , and it was good to see them all again. We've arranged one or two celebratory events, which I might tell you about nearer the time. But this posting is by way of a brief reflection on 40 years. So many memories, people, happenings, successes, disasters, friendships, too numerous to list, it's hard to know where to start.

Let's start at the beginning then, why not, seems like a good idea. I began work for DWP, or DHSS as it was back then, on 23 July 1973. A good summer, I'd been living in Glasgow for a year or two, and at the time sharing a flat with my wee brother Neil in Great Western Road, or was it Bank St? We shared so many flats in Scotland's second city I get confused now putting them in order. Anyway he had just told me that my presence was required at his marriage ceremony to the lovely Elaine. It was a bit of a rushed business altogether, because Neil had been a very naughty boy indeed, witness the fact that Gayle is the same age, more or less, as my civil service career. The ceremony was attended by the masses of Glasgow and the reception followed was in a Reo Stakis steakhouse somewhere in the city centre. They were a very popular in Glasgow at the time. Wonder what became of Mr Stakis?

Having seen them off on their honeymoon we set off down the M6 to Cheltenham, where the Department in it's wisdom, had decided to send me -  perhaps they felt a Scottish presence was needed in Gloucestershire. I still remember the drive down there, the first of many, in my Fiat 124 Special T, which I had very recently bought from the compensation money I was paid for losing my elbow in 1969. A pitiful amount, I hasten to add, but was the best I could get without going to court, or so I was told.  Just as well that  I bought that car as there was not much left soon after.

The Special T was very powerful, very fast,  and red. Or was it green? The most powerful car I've owned. There are videos to be found on You Tube of it being raced, if you like that kind of thing. I should not have sold it. I miss it more than any other car I've had, unless you count the Ford Cortina?  I think we drove down overnight for some reason. Maybe because we were young.

I need an editor for my blog, as I seem to have lost the plot here. Where was I again? Ah yes just arriving in Cheltenham where we managed to rent an excellent flat in Lansdown Rd, an excellent flat, in a beautiful old house, with an orchard at the back and other fruit bearing trees. The caretaker was an old lady who very much enjoyed her little tipple, but kept us in supplies of free apples and, which she liked to bring up to the flat at the most importunate moments. She would offer a drop of her sherry, for that was her favourite tope, as an excuse, but she always came  with a pie or some other delectable delight.  It would have been ridiculous to refuse her. She used to sit round the back keeping an eye on things, watching the world go by and putting it to rights as she saw fit. Once or twice we found her the worse for wear and had to help her to her flat. She was a funny old soul.

My first manager was  Mr Gent, and he was true to his name. Most of my time down there in Gloucestershire I worked as a visiting officer, covering most of the Cotswolds, and there are not many more beautiful places to spend your days driving around, than the Cotswolds. As I remember it the sun always shone and it never rained, but maybe my memory is playing  tricks again.

The names of all the places I still remember with fondness. Stow on the Wold, Bourton on the Water, Lower Slaughter and Upper Slaughter, where there was a ford I used to have to drive across, Moreton in Marsh, Chipping Campden and Chipping Norton, Cirencester and Tewkesbury and many more. It seems hard to believe but there were lots of poor folk in the Cotswolds at that time and probably still are today despite  PM  Dave and other rich bastards living there.

The other visiting officer for the Cotswolds was my friend Ivan, a Welshman, from Haverfordwest  who was a lovable rogue and always setting up or closing deals. I never knew exactly what he got up to but he seemed quite well off. I remember that he never used a brief case, always carried papers and files in the boot and under his arm. Would be sacked for that today, but those days we didn't carry laptops and memory sticks, everything was in our heads, I think. 

Ivan and I used to meet once a week in a pub in Chipping Campden where we played dominoes with the locals for money. I don't remember making much money out of it but we had good times. All the work got done of course. Back in the office in St George's Rd we had Betty keeping us on out toes and controlling everything. Our office looked out onto Cheltenham Ladies College playing fields and Betty would remonstrate with anyone caught spending too long staring out the window. Not that I did I hasten to add.

This is way too long but I'm not up for editing it, so will leave it at that with me stuck down in Cheltenham, waiting to return to the land of the brave. So lets call this part 1.

My mother and Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney died yesterday. Thankfully he has left us enough poetry to keep us going for a few years or more. I saw him once in Edinburgh, I think when he delivered the Sorley Maclean lecture in 2002. A lovely man and great story teller to boot. He was very fond of Sorley and translated from Gaelic, Maclean's masterpiece, Hallaig. He reckoned that Sorley should have been awarded the Nobel prize for literature and who could argue with that. I met Sorley a couple of times and had the good fortune of hearing him in Edinburgh and other places doing his readings. I took many non Gaelic speaking friends to hear him, male and female, and they were invariably entranced by the man and his poetry. I visited his house up in Braes in Skye one time and saw him walking about outside but I was too shy to go up to say hello, even though I had spoken to him in Edinburgh. I think I was afraid he would not have remembered me!!! Which undoubtedly he wouldn't have.

My mother didn't of course know Seamus Heaney, just in case any of you thought she was a secret lover of his. She probably never heard of him. But reading his poems often brings her to mind. He seems to have known her without ever having met her. For that I will always be grateful to him and continue to read his poems. I'm not sure whether it's correct to use my when referring to my mother, it's not as if I was an only child, far from it, and maybe the rest of them feel I'm being too possessive, but it's just that saying our mother just does not feel right. Don't know exactly why. Or maybe it's because our seems too competitve as if I'm comparing her to other mothers, of which I'm sure there are many fine examples, but none quite like her. Yes I know I'm rambling, no need to go on about it. I think it's chemo fog.

She used to do her washing every Monday, starting early. In the old days all by hand so it was a full days work, but later when she was persuaded to get a twin tub it took just half a day. There used to be a washing line grand prix in the village to see who got the clothes out on the line first, so she was always on the look out to see if next door had the washing out early. Something  to do with the Calvinistic work ethic maybe, hard work being good for one etc. She usually won the race, until a younger woman came and built a house next door and was up even earlier. We did suspect a certain sloppiness in her washing technique which gave her an edge.

Sometimes we used to help her hang the clothes out, if we were off school and more often help her bring them in once they were dry. I remember the winds howling round the gable end and being blown off my feet by the blasts. I'm reminded of this by Seamus' poem Clearances:

The cool that came off sheets just off the line
Made me think the damp must still be in them
But when I took my corners of the linen
And pulled against her, first straight down the hem
And then diagonally, then flapped and shook
The fabric like a sail in a cross-wind,
They made a dried-out undulating thwack.
So we'd stretch and fold and end up hand to hand
For a split second as if nothing had happened
For nothing had that had not always happened
Beforehand, day by day, just touch and go,
Coming close again by holding back
In moves where I was x and she was o
Inscribed in sheets she'd sewn from ripped-out flour sacks.

I couldn't have said it better myself. So beautiful, so many memories, makes me cry. I could have chosen other verses from this longish poem, but this will do for now. So many other poems, the man was a genius, way and beyond the call of duty.

I rhyme to see myself, to set the darkness echoing, from the end of Personal Helicon. I love that phrase to set the darkness echoing....

O charioteers, above your dormant guns,
It stands here still, stands vibrant as you pass,
The invisible, untoppled, omphalos.

From The Toome Road. That last word you will probably need to look up, but it's worth the effort. If I rememeber I will tell you about my own personal  1973,Toome Road episode.

I also like Postscript, reminds me of Isle of Lewis and driving all round it many times, and also The Harvest Bow, which he wrote for his father and reminds me of mine.

Thats all for today, all these poems and more can be found online in poemhunter or poetryarchive or other places. Go read....

Forty years later

Dark Side of the Moon, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and a rector

BBC R4 reminded me this morning that it is now forty years since the release of Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. Obviously, I hear you say, but there is a slight possibility that there is someone somewhere who has never heard it. Unlikely I know but we cater to all types on this blog.

It was 1973, I was living in Cheltenham, and my pal Mike took me for a drive in his Jaguar XJ6, or was it an XJ12; he was showing off as he often did, and probably still does, in the nicest of ways of course, and he was playing this cassette tape which turned out to be Dark Side. It was before the days of surround sound but Mike seemed to have the world's finest music system installed in his car. He was a bit like that, a tech kind of guy. I was more impressed with his tape than his car, or maybe not, I don't really remember, but the music I've always remembered and still play, on CD of course, though I've also got the vinyl version and probably the tape that Mike undoubtedly copied for me. Happy days. One of the great albums, which will be played long after none of us are around and Lady Gaga is long forgotten.

Furthermore and incredible as it may seem it is now fifty years since the release of She Loves You by a little band called the Beatles, on Friday August 23, 1963, if memory serves. The greatest band of all time of course, I'm sure we can all agree. The boys wrote the song in Paul's home in Liverpool, his father suggesting they drop the yeah yeah yeahs as it was too crude and American, and just sing yes yes yes instead! The pillock.

I first heard this song in the most beautiful village in the world, Aird Tong, on the beautiful Island of Lewis, as I did most Beatles songs until 1966. I don't remember exactly what I was doing at the time or where it was that I first heard it. Maybe lying in bed listening to the radio or maybe someplace else. Maybe someone reading this can remind me. The songs remain fresh to this day and I still listen fondly to them. Happy memories indeed. Sadly I never got to see the band in concert, though I have seen just about everybody else from those days, Stones, Kinks, Animals, Bob (many times), Georgie Fame, Chuck Berry, Van Morrison, Geno Washington and the rest, but never the boys. A pity.

I've recently finished reading Leaving Alexandria by Richard Holloway, ex Episcopalian Bishop of Edinburgh, one of the few bishops I would give the time of day to. He gave up the bishopric because he no longer believes in all the stuff he spent his life preaching to the world. I enjoyed the book in parts but did not find it helpful in understanding what his position is/.was. He certainly did some strange things in his life, but his book is worth reading.

He tells about an old rector, called Albert Laurie, at Old Saint Paul's church in Edinburgh, where Holloway himself preached for many years. Laurie was a great social benefactor and did lots of good work amongst Edinburgh's poor in the early twentieth century. The streets of the Old Town had to be closed on the day of his funeral as so many of the city's poor came out to bid him farewell.

As he got older his sermons began to ramble somewhat. One of his regulars was Professor A.E. Taylor, prof of moral philosophy at Edinburgh University who used to sit at the back of the congregation and could be heard groaning audibly, "No, No, Stop, dear man, stop, please stop. Oh no no no!"

Any of you who have had the dubious pleasure of hearing a Free Church man preaching loudly and never endingly, will, I'm sure, understand exactly how the good professor felt.

Ode 1,5

I think I promised you all a Horatian ode recently so here it is:

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
     grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
         cui flavam religas comam

Simplex munditiis? heu quotiens fidem
mutatosque deos flebit et aspera
    nigris auquora ventis
       emirabutir insolens

qui nunca te fruitar credulus aurea
qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
    sperat nescius aurae
       fallacis! miseri quibus

Intemptata nites, me tabula sacer
votive paries indicat uvida
    suspendisse potenti
       vestimenta maris deo.

My good friend George chose this ode, so you will need to ask him why. Translation will be made available if there is a big enough demand. Apparently John Milton did a translation but I've not been able to find it, just yet. If I do will let you know.

I wasn't allowed to study Latin at school because I took Gaelic and one could not do both. So my classics education is somewhat lacking. George is now teaching me and in exchange I give him some assistance with his Gaelic. A good deal I reckon.

"simplex munditiis" according to George's translation, means "artfully arranged, but meant to look casual", which effect you cannot get in English.

But best of all George reckons that "credulus aurea" means something like "dumb enough to trust a blonde"!  Not sure if this is politically correct these days, but if not blame Horace (or George).

So that's your ode for today. My spellcheck does not like Latin.

Moving On

Cara, Lydia, Niamh, Hester, Kelsey, Orla, Susan, Smaira, Amanda and Alison. Thank you again for taking care of me at the cancer centre for the past five weeks. Just thought I should mention you all by name on here. You are the best.

I now have a six week wait to find out if the radiotherapy was successful in reducing the size of my tumour, to make it operable, which seems like forever, but is probably not. It will be a nervous few weeks I'm sure, so must keep myself busily occupied, see some festival shows, a film or two and maybe take a trip, up north or down south, or possibly to Portobello, where I'm told there are many pleasures to be enjoyed.

I don't expect to have anything more to report on my health situation until early October. I have a couple of appointments with Dr McLean, my oncologist and some scans late in September and then an appointment with my surgeon, Mr Speake on 9th October, when, all being well, I hope to be told it's all systems go for an operation to remove the little bugger. My tumour I mean and not Mr Speake, who's not little and certainly not a bugger. Though he did stick his finger up my bum, but purely in a professional capacity, so we forgive him for that.

A new David Walliam's comedy called Big School began on BBC on Friday night. One of the funniest shows I've seen on tele for a long time, excepting Family Tree with the brilliant Chris O. Dowd, it had me laughing out loud. I don't know where Walliams went to school, but his teachers reminded me of the madmen and women who taught us up there in The Nicolson Institute, maybe he was there in the sixties. Is he that old? Catherine Tate plays a mad French teacher and Frances de la Tour is the drunken headteacher.They are both superb.

There's one scene where Walliams addresses the school assembly on the thorny subject of graffiti and is egged on by another teacher to describe the graffiti in question, so that the kids know exactly what he's on about. Of course it's a drawing of one of the craziest of the teachers having a good time with a sheep. The whole assembly of kids start chanting BAAAA BAAAAAAAAAAA with the teacher in question hanging his head in utter embarrassment. Hilarious, and yes I know, quite childish, but you have to see it and just be childish with them.

I promise a higher tone in my next post, maybe an ode from Horace. So get your Latin dictionaries out.

Last day at LA5

That's it then. Today I will have my last session of radiotherapy, five weeks and twenty five doses later and it seems like yesterday it all began for me. My last day brings very mixed feelings. I will probably get up on Monday and start getting ready to go to the cancer centre again. It's become such a part of my life that I will miss going there. This seems very strange to feel this way, but that's the way it is.

I'm very pleased that I've got through this stage of my treatment without any major setbacks. It's been exhausting but I won't bore you with the details of that, just take it from me that it wears you out totally. I was going to say that it literally brought me to a standstill a few times, but that would be an incorrect usage, despite what some dictionaries now claim the word to mean. Literally. But it did send me to bed at strange times. The tiredness I mean and not literally.

Which is why I've not been able to write my blog for past week or so. My concentration is not too great. Not been able to read much either. Except the newspapers which bring grim news from around the world, from Egypt to Syria. And of course our own wee Scottish girl stuck there in Peru. Silly girls. I once worked with a wee boy in Lima whose mother got arrested for carrying drugs, while she was on her way back to UK with her wee boy. He ended up in an orphanage in Lima until an uncle was able to come and pick him up. I often wonder what happened to that wee fellow. He was beginning to learn Spanish by the time he left, but I think appreciated being able to talk to me in his own language.

I think the reason I feel confused about finishing my treatment is because I will miss the support and encouragement I had from the girls in LA5, and the nurses and Dr McLean and also being able to chat to other cancer patients and share  experiences. Yes I will definitely miss my trips there, but now looking to the next part of my treatment. Which for now means a six to eight week wait to see if the radiotherapy did it's business.

That's all for now, hope to write more regularly next week, catch up with festival and a movie or two. Just wanted to do this update today, to show I'm still here and doing well.

Cancer Car Park and a silly joke

Twenty four of my friends in Peru have read or at least looked at my blog in the past week. I'm very sad not to be seeing you all this year, but next year I will be there. I'm working on a blog posting in Spanish in next few days, so look out for that. If the tiredness doesn't get to me too much.

We oncology patients have our own free car park at Western General Hospital,  and we're always guaranteed a space. I call it the cancer car park. After a while one gets to know some of the patients coming and going, all with their own weight to carry. I sit in my car for a while and watch them coming and going, reflecting how strange it is that I'm now another cancer patient just like all of them. We need to stick together.

There's a solidarity amongst cancer patients, I reckon, we all know what we are going through but find it  hard to express and explain it, but fellow patients intuitively know and understand. I sometimes talk to other patients in the cafe at the Cancer Centre and in the LA5 waiting room.

James is a young guy, maybe late twenties or early thirties, whom I've been chatting to and got to know a little bit.. I first spoke to his wife while she was in LA5 waiting room, while he was getting his daily dose of radiotherapy. They are a lovely young couple with two children at home in Fife. It turns out that he has exactly the same cancer of the colon as I have, and more or less in the same location. Our treatments are very similar and he is running a week behind me. Such a young guy to be going through this. I really feel for them. Shit happens.

He has a different surgeon but the same oncologist as I have. His surgeon didn't do a colostomy before the radiotherapy, though he's been told he will have to have one after the surgery. I'm so glad now that my surgeon persuaded me of the wisdom of having it done pre op rather than post op. It's hard coping with it but getting easier by the day. I won't bore you with the details, but I suspect life would have been very difficult without it, and probably my therapy would have had to be suspended while they operated to fit one. So well done Mr Speake, you knew best of course.

I hope James gets sorted and lives a long life with his young family. Which I'm sure he will. Folk share the most intimate details of their lives as they sit there in the Cancer Centre. One woman was telling me about her son moving to USA just before she got diagnosed. So proud of him and his important new job. She just wanted to share it with someone, get her mind of things and look forward to visiting him, a trip she has had to postpone.

 A few days later she came back and sat down beside me, I didn't recognise her, but she had obviously decided that we were now good friends. She seemed distant and needing to talk. We chatted again about our treatments and then I remembered who she was. She has spoken to her son on the phone. I told her about Skype but not sure if she took it on board.  She left to go down town to meet friends even though she was exhausted. She was going by bus, so don't know where her husband is and didn't  like to ask. Would hate to be told he had died of cancer or something.

Very Silly Joke: " the jockstrap was invented by Alfred Hitchcock" according to Barry Cryer.

Accelerating to the speed of light

They tell me that the chemotherapy could cause some memory and concentration changes during the treatment, which the doctors call mild cognitive impairment (MCI) or "chemo brain" , but that all will be back to normal after my treatment ends. Not noticed anything yet but if I start repeating myself on here you will know it's the drugs talking and nothing to do with me.

Sometimes when I'm lying there on the treatment couch, which is hard and very metal, I feel euphoric, on a bit of a high even,  thinking, hoping the machine is making me well again. Other times I think what the fuck has happened to me, what am I doing here in this strange room? This was never supposed to happen to me. But it did so get on with it.

I wrote a post on here on Saturday but I deleted it by mistake. I have no idea how or where it went to, a complete mystery. I tried everything to recover it but there's no sign of it anywhere. I wonder where these things go to when they disappear like that? If you see it send it back to me please. And that's why there's been no news for a few days. I must be careful where I put my fingers in future, so to speak. I think I must have been showing off, typing without looking at the keyboard, or maybe it's the chemo playing tricks on me.

I'm now in my fourth of five weeks of treatment, which seems incredible to me, but there you are, I'm down to single figures of sessions to go, nine in fact. All seems to be going to plan and no more hiccups along the way. I'm quietly confident.

There are nine young women in the team on LA5 and I think they've all had a turn treating me. I don't know where the NHS finds them but each and everyone of them is pure dead brilliant. They are obviously highly trained and skilled, but what impresses me most is their ability to make me feel at ease, relaxed, as if I'm the most important patient in the whole wide world. Not to mention their ability to help me cope with the loss of dignity involved in the whole process. It's got to the stage now where I'm looking forward to seeing them every day and wondering how I'm going to cope when I no longer see them.

There are always two radiographers with me and they have the task of getting me into position for the treatment to hit the spot. There are three laser beams aimed at my bum; one from each wall and one from the ceiling, which have to be aligned exactly with the crosses which were tattooed on me by the oncologist a few weeks ago. Once I'm face down on the couch I'm not allowed to move anymore. I'm allowed to breathe but that's all.

The girls then have to jiggle about with my bum, one on each side, until all the lasers are in alignment with my tattoos. So I have two young women fighting over my bottom. Their hands are nice and warm, and somehow or other they make it all feel quite normal, so that I don't feel any loss of dignity. Thank you one and all. You are a credit to the NHS and I shall never forget you, no matter what happens afterwards.

Then they leave me on my lonesome in the room, which has very thick lead and concrete walls to keep any radiation inside and to keep them safe outside. The accelerator delivers it's doses of proton particles to my tumour at just under the speed of light, which is about 187,000 miles per second, or was last time I checked. This is all quite astonishing to me. Of course there's nothing to be seen, but I still check to see if I can spot any of these protons flying through the air, but to no avail.

One needs faith in these situations. A bit like belief in God, nothing to be seen but he's up there somewhere. Or so I'm told. The accelerator works it's way around to each site and does the deed. It has a kind whining sound it makes as it works away. Meantime the radiographers are watching from the room next door to make sure I'm OK. And then it's all over for another day.

LA5

I am now half way through my radiotherapy treatment, thirteen down and twelve to go. So that's all good. But I'm incredibly tired. Just want to lie down all the time. Went to bed last night at seven and watched Robin Williams on my ipad till I fell asleep, a few minutes later. Not that Robin was boring, far from it. I wonder about semi colons sometimes, does anyone use them anymore?

I go to hospital every day for my radiotherapy. The machine that treats me is called LA5 and is a linear accelerator of which there are eight in the hospital, mine being number five. The science of it all is quite astonishing and beyond me, but I'm grateful that it's there and that some bright scientist somewhere had the inspiration to use the science for oncology purposes. Thank you whoever you are or were. I guess there was more than one of you. It beats making atom bombs don't you think?

There are a lot of people involved at the hospital making sure that I get the right dose and that it's targeted and delivered accurately. I wonder sometimes how they do it and how they know its all going to the right place. They've explained it to me, more than once, but I'm afraid it's beyond me to explain it all on here. I just trust them. My life in their hands for sure.

My oncologist is called Dr McLean and she is one of those people who immediately inspires confidence and makes you feel at ease and assured that she knows what it's all about. She starts of the process using the CT scans to plan my treatment and then lets the physicists know exactly what she wants done and they then design my treatment so that the accelerator can be programmed.  She showed me the plan and how the linear accelerator has been set up and knows what is expected of it. It made sense at the time but I must admit it's a lot of faith to be putting into one machine. This thing is going to save my life so it better be on the ball. They don't hide anything from you, good news or not so good.

So far all is going well apart from my tiredness and some pain. That's all for now. Need to rest before I drive to hospital. More tomorrow on the actual treatment itself, which is a daily excitement.

Cancer

Yes I know it's been a while, but I'm still here and doing fine as far as anyone can tell right now. And yes I did say I would post on here regularly and maybe even promised to do so on a daily basis but things got in the way and it was hard to sit down and write again. But it's time to stop making excuses now and get on with it. Thank you to those who have been checking out my blog recently but finding nothing to read. Will do better in future.

This post will be by way of an update on my cancer (still unnamed) and my treatment so far. My five day stay in hospital turned into two weeks and they sent me home with a colostomy, which was nice of them. They said it was necessary in order to give my other treatment the best chance of success.

I will require five weeks of daily radiotherapy treatment which began two weeks ago on 15th July and will end on Friday 16th August. This is supplemented by a daily dose of chemotherapy in tablet form. I had to stop taking the chemotherapy for two days last week because my white blood cell count dropped to an unacceptable level. I'm now back on it but a lower dose and more frequent blood tests to keep an eye on it. This combination of treatment leaves me feeling extremely tired and all I am promised is that by weeks four and five I will feel tired. So that's something to look forward to. I will need to find another word for the tiredness condition I suppose. Any suggestions?

It's raining here in Edinburgh today after five weeks of the most unexpected but hugely welcome  sunshine. I guess five weeks is as much as we have any right to expect. Must break off now as I need to go to Waitrose to do my week's shopping, which they will deliver for me at 2 pm so long as I've been through their till by 1 pm. Home delivery is required as I'm not allowed to carry anything heavier than a bag of sugar, which I never buy anyway, so what's the use of that. Waitrose deliver for a very small charge and they give me a free Observer to boot so I feel it would be churlish of me not to take advantage of the service.

I'm also not allowed to use a hoover or do anything much that requires too much effort, so if you're passing by and are useful with a hoover, perhaps you could come on up. Otherwise I shall have to employ a cleaner I suppose.

That's me back from shopping and awaiting my pal John B to visit. I think he wants to go look for some books to read. Well yes of course to read, what else would one buy books for?

My life has changed utterly in the past few months and I'm still coming to terms with it all. My plans for this year and next have had to be put aside for now. No more travelling to South America for at least a year. I'm aiming to be on the road again by autumn 2014. The doctors at the hospital have told me to plan for a year of treatment and recuperation. I will have a CT scan six weeks after the end of my radiotherapy and the team will then discuss my case on 3rd October and if all has gone according to plan and the radiotherapy has done it's business I will have an operation, hopefully in October to remove the tumour.

This is not exactly what I would like to be writing about and certainly not what I expected to be doing in 2013. I will write some more about how it's affecting me but that's all for now. This was only meant as an update on my situation for people who don't see me so often. Hope it's not too boring. Will write some more tomorrow. I've not been to the cinema for six weeks and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms. I hope to sort that out soon......

8,097,982

Apparently my blog is ranked the 8,097,982  most viewed in the old US of A, which is nice, but come on you Americans, surely you can do better than that? So get clicking and reading. Oh and I'm worth $782.61. I think that's if I allow Google to put ads on here, which I have no intention of doing, unless times become really hard of course.

Thanks to my good friend John B for this piece of information. John has recently retired and is keeping very busy.

I've had another call from the hospital today and they have now decided that the MRI scan can be done on Monday, once they've checked me into my ward. This could have something to do with me questioning whether or not they could really claim that the original date of 3rd July could be classified as urgent, in any normal sense of that word. I'm very pleased with that. All I need now is a good result from the scan.

This weekend I shall be busy preparing for hospital. They tell me I should be home by next weekend if all goes to plan.

A Flower and Another Phone Call

There I was sitting in Costa Coffee at Holy Corner, drinking my coffee, minding my business and reading J.M. Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year, not an easy read but worth the effort, slowly of course, its impossible to read him quickly, when Gisela came over and handed me a flower, a lily, and a get well card.

I was so pleased, not to say surprised, to receive that flower, especially as it was the day I'd seen the surgeon and he'd hit me with all his plans for my upkeep. I put it in a vase and it survived for a week, till yesterday in fact.

I've got to know Gisela a little bit over the past few months. She is one of the servers working in the cafe. She is Portuguese, from the Algarve, where her father has a small inshore fishing boat which keeps the family going in these hard times in Portugal. I don't know what he fishes for, must remember to ask her. He has one crew man, his son in law. Must be a nice life being a fisherman in the Algarve.

Gisela has been here for a few months now and lives with her four cousins who have also had to leave Portugal to find work. Thank goodness for Europe I hear you say, we can look after each other, which is so much better than fighting each other. And you're right of course.

So thank you Gisela for helping me forget myself for a bit. You are very kind and thoughtful, Portugal should be proud of you, even though I do say so myself.  You brought a tear to my eye.

I've just had a phone call from my nurse at the hospital. Apparently I've to go in on Monday, for an operation to get me ready for radiotherapy and she gave me date for MRI scan of 3rd July. Doesn't seem to me as all that urgent, so she's going to check to see if it can be brought forward. So happy days...

Things have changed

Things have changed in the past few days and I now face  a more indefinite and complicated few months, probably more like a year than a few months, but with a few hurdles thrown in just to keep me on my toes.

The next step will be an MRI scan on my liver, which hopefully will show no spread to there. They have spotted a couple of lesions which require investigation but I'm hopeful that they will prove to be non cancerous.

Once they give me the all clear on that I will start five or six weeks of radiotherapy, followed by another six weeks of waiting for the radiotherapy to do it's business and reduce the tumour to a size that will allow Douglas to operate safely and successfully.

Unfortunately the tumour is larger and deeper than they first thought, prior to them viewing the MRI scan, although he did warn me that this could be the case. He phoned me the day after their meeting to talk me through all this. Not really talking it through, as I'm left having to go along with whatever he suggests and recommends.

He tells me that the tumour is in a difficult spot and hard to get at. He hopes that the radiotherapy will reduce it sufficiently to give him enough of a margin to remove it successfully and not leave anything behind. He will not be able to give me a prognosis on my cancer until he has operated. He is doing everything to give him the best possible chance of success. I will have to trust him. There was a moment after his call on Friday when I doubted him, but I guess that's normal. I'm back to full trust in him now, in fact I was soon after his call.

So as you can imagine I've not had an easy few days. I've over the initial shock of his call now and getting on with life. I'm back to waiting for news of scans and therapy starting. My life in their hands.

Meantime I feel quite strong and determined, knowing that the next year is going to be the hardest of my life, and there have been a few difficult ones I can tell you. Peru is out now before Xmas but still on for next year.

Part of my therapy will be writing this blog. It's not quite what I had in mind for my blog when I started it back in August 2006. Hard to believe that was seven years ago. But I'm glad of it now as it helps me focus, and maybe helps people I know and love keep up with my progress. I aim to put a post up every day, even if it may only be a few lines some days. I hope I don't bore you all. I will try to keep it interesting and even make it my work of art. Hmmmmmmm............. don't think so Donald.....