I've been trying to find a copy of Amazon Beaming which I wrote about in my last posting but without success. Morningside library do not have a copy and tell me that it's not held by any Edinburgh libraries, though it might be in the National Library. It's on Amazon but cheapest one is £62 for a second hand copy and from there the price jumps to £670. The price on eBay is similar, so doesn't look as if I'm going to get a copy. If you should happen to have a copy or know where I could lay my hands on one please let me know. Failing that I will read it in the National Library sometime soon.
Last night Emer and I went to the Traverse Theatre to see A Girl is a Half-formed Thing which is based on the award winning book of the same name by Eimear McBride, "an instant classic" according to the Guardian. Emer and I were both hugely impressed by the performance, which was harrowing from start to finish, I was thoroughly exhausted and quite glad when it was all over. I can recommend it but be prepared for some hard hitting drama and not for the faint hearted or children.
Tonight I'm going to the Book Festival with my good friend Anne to see Tracey Thorn talk about her books. She used to be in a band called Everything But The Girl who some of you may remember from the nineties, I think, or thereabouts. She's had two books published in past few years so am looking forward to hear her speak about Dennis Potter and Dusty Springfield amongst other things. Will let you know how it goes. Oh, and I think she also speaks about her singing career. I'm looking forward to it.
Right now I'm packing my bags and getting ready to go home tomorrow. Home being the Isle of Lewis for those of you who don't know. This will be my first trip up there since 2012 and I'm trying hard not to think of it as possibly my last trip there. Whatever way I view it, it's going to be an emotional experience, I think tears are likely when I leave, but will try not to make an idiot of myself crying in the streets. I don't want to let the side down, now, do I?
I'm trying to decide on me reading materials for Lewis. I recently finished Ali Smith's book How to be both and loved it. Great writer, huge imagination, made me want to go to Italy to see the places she set the second (or first) part of the book in. I also just read Colm Toibin's book Nora Webster. Quite brilliant. He's now my favourite living author, since my old pal Roth decided he'd written enough. I think I've just about read all of Colm's books and everyone of them is a great read, definitely recommended.
I'm currently reading Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel García Márquez which I saw being performed in La Plaza Isil Theatre in Lima, a few years ago, in Spanish of course. I've not read the novel until now, even though I always meant to, having enjoyed the performance in Lima but not fully understood it. I'm glad I've remembered now to read it. I shall quote the first line which I'm sure will make you want to read it too:
" On the day they were going to kill him, Santiago Nasar got up at five-thirty in the morning to wait for the boat the bishop was coming on."
Friday, August 28, 2015
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Moving On
I write some rubbish then I read it and delete it. This is why you've not heard from me for some time. That and a combination of extreme tiredness and maybe some degree of laziness, and also the Edinburgh Festival keeping me busy and leaving me no time to write and not a lot of surplus energy when I do have time. But the thing is that writing is good therapy for me so I do it anyway and some of it you get to read and most you don't.
I hope you liked my poem a few posts back. I'm not expecting a rush of publishers seeking the rights to my completed works, but there are some more poems which I might inflict on you. So if you want to see them you have to ask nicely.
My plan is also to write some little bits of family history before my time runs out. The plan for it is in my head and on various scraps of paper, so all I have to do is get it out of my head and off the scraps of paper and into my blog. I want to do that before it gets too late, and I feel if I say it here it will be some kind of prompt for me to get on with it.
My memory is not serving me well these past few months when it comes to my writing. It gets increasingly difficult to find the right word to use. I know it's there some where but I struggle to bring it forth from the depths. I eventually just have to move on without it or use a word that isn't quite right. Even Roget and my dictionary don't help much, as you really need a word to begin with.
I seem to be rambling as per usual. All I wanted to say was that I've had a very good Edinburgh Festival this year. I've mostly missed the festival for the past two years because of my various cancer treatments, so it was good to be able to go to so many events and exhibitions this year. I won't bore you with the details but I feel I have to mention one show in particular at the main festival and that's The Encounter.
It's a play based on a book called Amazon Beaming by Petru Popescu about the American explorer/photographer Loren McIntyre who set out to find the source of the Amazon but got lost and accidentally made contact with the Mayoruna people somewhere on the border of Peru and Brazil. It was the South American/Peru connection that drew me to the show and I am thoroughly delighted to have seen it.
The play was written , directed and performed by Simon McBurney based on his interpretation of Amazon Beaming, with the help of brilliant sound technicians. It's a one man performance lasting for two incredible hours where he takes us right into the Amazon forest and river, and to the village where the Mayoruna live. If you ever get the opportunity you should see this astonishing piece of work. I hope to find the time to read the book and also look at some of McIntyre's publications. He studied ethnology at Universidad San Marcos in Lima. Which is nice. He also did discover the source of the Amazon in Apurimac region of Peru and it's named after him, Laguna McIntyre.
The best way to give a flavour of the play is with a little quote taken from the book:
"There was always the same question when opening the unknown: What to do with it?
Thoughts, thoughts. Like spaceships, whirling somewhere in a sort of suborbital space. Lying in his hammock, shivering from the cold and hearing the sounds made by the tribespeople who were still awake, McIntyre was aware of a subsphere of his mind in which a different species of mental processes, less explicit and formal, were forever meeting, colliding, mixing. The tribe he had just encountered was part of them."
I hope you liked my poem a few posts back. I'm not expecting a rush of publishers seeking the rights to my completed works, but there are some more poems which I might inflict on you. So if you want to see them you have to ask nicely.
My plan is also to write some little bits of family history before my time runs out. The plan for it is in my head and on various scraps of paper, so all I have to do is get it out of my head and off the scraps of paper and into my blog. I want to do that before it gets too late, and I feel if I say it here it will be some kind of prompt for me to get on with it.
My memory is not serving me well these past few months when it comes to my writing. It gets increasingly difficult to find the right word to use. I know it's there some where but I struggle to bring it forth from the depths. I eventually just have to move on without it or use a word that isn't quite right. Even Roget and my dictionary don't help much, as you really need a word to begin with.
I seem to be rambling as per usual. All I wanted to say was that I've had a very good Edinburgh Festival this year. I've mostly missed the festival for the past two years because of my various cancer treatments, so it was good to be able to go to so many events and exhibitions this year. I won't bore you with the details but I feel I have to mention one show in particular at the main festival and that's The Encounter.
It's a play based on a book called Amazon Beaming by Petru Popescu about the American explorer/photographer Loren McIntyre who set out to find the source of the Amazon but got lost and accidentally made contact with the Mayoruna people somewhere on the border of Peru and Brazil. It was the South American/Peru connection that drew me to the show and I am thoroughly delighted to have seen it.
The play was written , directed and performed by Simon McBurney based on his interpretation of Amazon Beaming, with the help of brilliant sound technicians. It's a one man performance lasting for two incredible hours where he takes us right into the Amazon forest and river, and to the village where the Mayoruna live. If you ever get the opportunity you should see this astonishing piece of work. I hope to find the time to read the book and also look at some of McIntyre's publications. He studied ethnology at Universidad San Marcos in Lima. Which is nice. He also did discover the source of the Amazon in Apurimac region of Peru and it's named after him, Laguna McIntyre.
The best way to give a flavour of the play is with a little quote taken from the book:
"There was always the same question when opening the unknown: What to do with it?
Thoughts, thoughts. Like spaceships, whirling somewhere in a sort of suborbital space. Lying in his hammock, shivering from the cold and hearing the sounds made by the tribespeople who were still awake, McIntyre was aware of a subsphere of his mind in which a different species of mental processes, less explicit and formal, were forever meeting, colliding, mixing. The tribe he had just encountered was part of them."
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Festival Time
I think I'll just put the kettle on before I start. That's better. Like the old lady used to say, there's only one thing beats a nice cup of tea, and that's another one.
It's festival time here in beautiful Edinburgh and I feel I should make the most of it. But that voice keeps coming back to me and won't let me forget that this could be my last Festival. I feel reasonably well most of the time, though I'm mostly incredibly tired and lacking in energy. It's difficult to accept that I will never get my old fitness levels back. I grieve for my old self and suffer constant feelings of loss for the person who I used to be.
But I've learnt to live with who and what I've become and I'm determined to make the most of whatever time I have left. With that in mind I bought myself a new car, which cost £250 more than I paid for this flat back in 1978. Or was it '77? It's a lovely wee car, Ford Fiesta Titanium Turbo they tell me. Very powerful and too fast, with lots of high tech which I'm finding difficult to come to grips with, but getting there, slowly. My first biggish trip will be up to Isle of Lewis, tickets booked for ferry on 31st August, will drive up on 29th and spend two nights in Inverness then a week in Stornoway.
I've been to see the Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Portrait Gallery and also the Baileys Starburst at the National Gallery, both excellent exhibitions and well worth seeing. Lee Miller was a war photographer, who knew Picasso from about 1937, and from all accounts probably knew him intimately and went on to take many pictures of him over the years that followed. Some great photos here, especially one of the two of them together after Paris was liberated in 1944, when she went direct to his studio having arrived in town with the soldiers she was accompanying.
I loved the David Bailey exhibition. So many people I've known all my life, brought back so many memories, very moving for me. He seems to have known just about everybody worth knowing or sometimes not so worth knowing. Great photos of Stones, with Brian Jones always side on and never full face, maybe he knew he wasn't going to be around for long. Also couple of nice ones of Dylan from 1986. Bailey was born in Leytonstone and started taking photos there in the early 60s of the East End's bombed streets waiting to be rebuilt, landscapes in ruins. My first trip away from Lewis was at that time and I kept looking for myself in any of his pics, but no sign of me.
There's an enormous poster of a photo he took of Alice Cooper with a snake draped around his body from 1977. Alice kept snakes as pets. The snake looks vicious as does Alice. There are also some harrowing photos he took of Ethiopian refugees fleeing to camps in Sudan in 1984, at time Geldof and pals did their massive fund raiser Live Aid.
You will like the one of him and Warhol in bed with Bailey taking the photo. Very strange, but it's what Warhol wanted. Such a laugh. That's all for now as I'm going to my first Festival event, a play at the Traverse called An Oak Tree, by Tim Crouch.
It's festival time here in beautiful Edinburgh and I feel I should make the most of it. But that voice keeps coming back to me and won't let me forget that this could be my last Festival. I feel reasonably well most of the time, though I'm mostly incredibly tired and lacking in energy. It's difficult to accept that I will never get my old fitness levels back. I grieve for my old self and suffer constant feelings of loss for the person who I used to be.
But I've learnt to live with who and what I've become and I'm determined to make the most of whatever time I have left. With that in mind I bought myself a new car, which cost £250 more than I paid for this flat back in 1978. Or was it '77? It's a lovely wee car, Ford Fiesta Titanium Turbo they tell me. Very powerful and too fast, with lots of high tech which I'm finding difficult to come to grips with, but getting there, slowly. My first biggish trip will be up to Isle of Lewis, tickets booked for ferry on 31st August, will drive up on 29th and spend two nights in Inverness then a week in Stornoway.
I've been to see the Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Portrait Gallery and also the Baileys Starburst at the National Gallery, both excellent exhibitions and well worth seeing. Lee Miller was a war photographer, who knew Picasso from about 1937, and from all accounts probably knew him intimately and went on to take many pictures of him over the years that followed. Some great photos here, especially one of the two of them together after Paris was liberated in 1944, when she went direct to his studio having arrived in town with the soldiers she was accompanying.
I loved the David Bailey exhibition. So many people I've known all my life, brought back so many memories, very moving for me. He seems to have known just about everybody worth knowing or sometimes not so worth knowing. Great photos of Stones, with Brian Jones always side on and never full face, maybe he knew he wasn't going to be around for long. Also couple of nice ones of Dylan from 1986. Bailey was born in Leytonstone and started taking photos there in the early 60s of the East End's bombed streets waiting to be rebuilt, landscapes in ruins. My first trip away from Lewis was at that time and I kept looking for myself in any of his pics, but no sign of me.
There's an enormous poster of a photo he took of Alice Cooper with a snake draped around his body from 1977. Alice kept snakes as pets. The snake looks vicious as does Alice. There are also some harrowing photos he took of Ethiopian refugees fleeing to camps in Sudan in 1984, at time Geldof and pals did their massive fund raiser Live Aid.
You will like the one of him and Warhol in bed with Bailey taking the photo. Very strange, but it's what Warhol wanted. Such a laugh. That's all for now as I'm going to my first Festival event, a play at the Traverse called An Oak Tree, by Tim Crouch.
Sunday, August 02, 2015
The Spirit of You
The Spirit of You
Will I ever find you
Will we see each other again.
To hold you again
To feel you beside me
Your fingers on my skin.
To become one with you
Reach out and find you there
Your dark black eyes
Looking down on me
One more time
With that sad look you
Seemed to keep for me.
To walk along the river bank again
Hiding amongst the trees
The birds singing for us
My heart filled with
The joy of you
The spirit of you.
by Donald Maciver
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Miles to go
Today was another difficult day with Dr McLean. She does not have the easiest of jobs, that's for sure. She tells me that all the tumours on my lungs have grown since the last scan. The largest now being 14 mm, grown from about 9 mm. The rest have grown proportionately, the next biggest being about 9 mm and on down to about 6 mm. There are no new ones one my lungs and the cancer has not spread to any other organs. Which I suppose is good news of sorts.
She showed me the scans on her computer screen, this being third time I've seen them, and they definitely look bigger. I can see a clear difference from my last scan, they look more threatening some how. It doesn't make for easy viewing. I am very disappointed as I'd been hoping for a no change result, or at least minor insignificant change. No such luck.
She would now like to start me on chemotherapy with a view to slowing down the growth or maybe even reduce the size. But there is no guarantee that the chemo would have any effect. It's a case of suck it and see, so to speak. Cancer treatment offers nothing but uncertainties as far as I can make out. It seems to be a question of lets try this or that and see where it takes us. But I have to be upbeat and put my faith in the good doctor.
I had thought about this possibility before I went to see her, so was prepared and in control of things. Better that I decide on these things than to lose all control of my life. I asked her if we could delay treatment for a couple of months or three, if this wouldn't make too much difference to my treatment. She agreed to my suggestion and I will go back to see her on 17 September. In meantime I can phone her anytime to begin the treatment should I feel it necessary or should I begin to develop symptoms, or more than I already experience.
So that's where we are now. I need to make some decisions as to how to spend the next couple of months. The first thing I'm planning is a trip up to the lovely Isle of Lewis, to visit my home land for one last time. I'm planning to go week commencing 2 August.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Dreams
Tomorrow I will see Dr McLean to hear the results of my latest scan. It's four months since last scan when I was told tumours were slowly growing. Let's not worry about infinitives at this time. So let's hope they've not quickened since then. It would be so good to be told that they remain at same size as in March, but I guess that's too much to hope for. But one never knows.
I remain quietly confident but realistic and prepared for whatever she might tell me. Well I think I'm prepared for it. The mind plays tricks on me. I dream every night now, or should I say I am aware of my dreams, sometimes scary dreams, though not nightmares. They frequently take me back to my childhood and youth, and all the places I've lived in over the years, and people I've known. Probably including you.
Sometimes my dreams and real life become entwined when I wake up and I struggle to sort out what's going on. My iPhone alarm goes off on the pillow beside me every day. Today it became part of my dream and it took me ages to work out to turn it off. Quite scary really. I think all the drugs I've been on have upset my psyche and my brain struggles to sort it all out. Maybe I'm dreaming writing this.
I had to spend half a day at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary on Monday to get my diabetes sorted after the steroid effects knocked it out of kilter. I had to start taking insulin, though I've now come off it, I hope for good. As the nurse was showing me how to use the penject I was taken back to days of yore and watching my mother injecting herself with insulin and thinking how I could never manage that.
The doctor I saw was a nice young chap. They're all so young these days, don't you find? It turns out that his father also comes from Isle of Lewis, from same village as my father. He's going to ask him if he knows my father's family. His father is 62. So you see what I mean about his youth?
I'm now getting calls from Royal Infirmary and Western General hospitals on a daily basis. Can't believe how well looked after I am by health service.
All for now. Celtic have just lost a goal to some Icelandic team, the silly sods.
I will write a post tomorrow to let you all know my scan results.
I remain quietly confident but realistic and prepared for whatever she might tell me. Well I think I'm prepared for it. The mind plays tricks on me. I dream every night now, or should I say I am aware of my dreams, sometimes scary dreams, though not nightmares. They frequently take me back to my childhood and youth, and all the places I've lived in over the years, and people I've known. Probably including you.
Sometimes my dreams and real life become entwined when I wake up and I struggle to sort out what's going on. My iPhone alarm goes off on the pillow beside me every day. Today it became part of my dream and it took me ages to work out to turn it off. Quite scary really. I think all the drugs I've been on have upset my psyche and my brain struggles to sort it all out. Maybe I'm dreaming writing this.
I had to spend half a day at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary on Monday to get my diabetes sorted after the steroid effects knocked it out of kilter. I had to start taking insulin, though I've now come off it, I hope for good. As the nurse was showing me how to use the penject I was taken back to days of yore and watching my mother injecting herself with insulin and thinking how I could never manage that.
The doctor I saw was a nice young chap. They're all so young these days, don't you find? It turns out that his father also comes from Isle of Lewis, from same village as my father. He's going to ask him if he knows my father's family. His father is 62. So you see what I mean about his youth?
I'm now getting calls from Royal Infirmary and Western General hospitals on a daily basis. Can't believe how well looked after I am by health service.
All for now. Celtic have just lost a goal to some Icelandic team, the silly sods.
I will write a post tomorrow to let you all know my scan results.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
A Little Wager
For a while back I didn't think I would live long enough see another footie season commence. So I'm delighted to see that I'm still here as another season heaves into view. Incidentally the Guardian was recently taken to task for incorrect use of hoves instead of heaves, so I was particularly keen to impress with my correct usage there.
Yesterday I was feeling more confident about future possibilities than I have for a long time, so thinking about prospects for the new season I popped in to chat with my local bookie and see what he thought the odds were for Man United to win the league. He reckons the odds are 11/2, which seems quite generous, given all the new signings recently. What with Schweinsteiger, Schneiderlin, Depay and Darmian joining us, things are looking very exciting indeed. I will have to teach my Mac Book Pro how to spell all these names for future reference.
I decided that these odds were far too good to miss so I put a small wager on my team to win the league and hope to live to collect my winnings next May 2016. There's confidence for you. Let's hope Dr McLean has good news for me when I see her on Thursday for my scan results. If I win the bet I think I might donate my winnings to young Ben, as he will be getting ready to start secondary school about that time. If I'm not around someone will know what to do with the dosh I'm sure.
Stoke City are 3000/1 to win the league. Seems about right so worth a pound of my hard earned pension. I aim to see both teams in the new season. I feel I'm as well to make plans just like all the rest of you and live as if I have a long life ahead of me. Though having said that nothing really allows me to forget my cancer.
I was hoping to go to see Amy at the cinema this afternoon, but unfortunately I was not well enough to go out this morning so had to cancel my trip. I hope to go later this week. Will let you know how it goes. I'm off out now and will come home to watch the end of the Open on tele later, and hoping for a Scottish win, so come on Paul Lawrie.
Yesterday I was feeling more confident about future possibilities than I have for a long time, so thinking about prospects for the new season I popped in to chat with my local bookie and see what he thought the odds were for Man United to win the league. He reckons the odds are 11/2, which seems quite generous, given all the new signings recently. What with Schweinsteiger, Schneiderlin, Depay and Darmian joining us, things are looking very exciting indeed. I will have to teach my Mac Book Pro how to spell all these names for future reference.
I decided that these odds were far too good to miss so I put a small wager on my team to win the league and hope to live to collect my winnings next May 2016. There's confidence for you. Let's hope Dr McLean has good news for me when I see her on Thursday for my scan results. If I win the bet I think I might donate my winnings to young Ben, as he will be getting ready to start secondary school about that time. If I'm not around someone will know what to do with the dosh I'm sure.
Stoke City are 3000/1 to win the league. Seems about right so worth a pound of my hard earned pension. I aim to see both teams in the new season. I feel I'm as well to make plans just like all the rest of you and live as if I have a long life ahead of me. Though having said that nothing really allows me to forget my cancer.
I was hoping to go to see Amy at the cinema this afternoon, but unfortunately I was not well enough to go out this morning so had to cancel my trip. I hope to go later this week. Will let you know how it goes. I'm off out now and will come home to watch the end of the Open on tele later, and hoping for a Scottish win, so come on Paul Lawrie.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Candy and Ken
Today was my last day in London for now. I'm hoping to come back sometime soon, which is not something I would have said a week ago. Last weekend were the best three days I've had since my first operation and various treatments began in July 2013. I really didn't expect before I left Edinburgh that I would cope so well, in fact I was quite worried about surviving even a couple of days. Seems that my old body has a bit more left to give me. Not a lot, but enough to keep me happy.
The steroids helped for the first four or five days, but they also succeeded in knocking my diabetes out of control, so that the gains from steroids were reversed by my high blood sugar level. I then had to phone Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh for advice from my doctor there. I had to quadruple my intake of diabetes drugs. It's still not back at a good level, so I've been knackered today and yesterday.
I had a quiet day spent partly with the strikers at the National Gallery, who are members of my old Union. I went down to join them on their picket line and to offer some solidarity from Edinburgh. They are on strike against privatisation of their services and also in support of Candy Unwin, one of the shop stewards, who has been victimised and now is fighting to get her job back.
I was very pleased to see that Ken Loach had also turned up today to offer his support. He's obviously a good man, and knows the importance of solidarity. Not wishing to steal his thunder I left my speech in my pocket and let him get on with it. I took his photo instead. He's a short wee fellow. I didn't think the occasion was suitable for an autograph, so I spoke to Candy and wished them success.
I then went for lunch to the Crypt Cafe in St Martin-in-the -Fields church in Trafalgar Square. It was nice and cool, which was just what was required as it was quite humid outside. It was strange having lunch sitting on top of all these tombs. I assume there are bodies still down there, the church having been there since 1726. Quite a wee while. It's a good place for lunch if you're ever passing by and National Gallery is out of bounds through strike action or even if it's not.
Better go to bed now. I wrote this sitting in the Hotel bar, having an orange juice at midnight. Definitely the first time I've been in a bar this late since before my cancer adventure began. So there. That's progress of sorts. Don't you think?
The steroids helped for the first four or five days, but they also succeeded in knocking my diabetes out of control, so that the gains from steroids were reversed by my high blood sugar level. I then had to phone Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh for advice from my doctor there. I had to quadruple my intake of diabetes drugs. It's still not back at a good level, so I've been knackered today and yesterday.
I had a quiet day spent partly with the strikers at the National Gallery, who are members of my old Union. I went down to join them on their picket line and to offer some solidarity from Edinburgh. They are on strike against privatisation of their services and also in support of Candy Unwin, one of the shop stewards, who has been victimised and now is fighting to get her job back.
I was very pleased to see that Ken Loach had also turned up today to offer his support. He's obviously a good man, and knows the importance of solidarity. Not wishing to steal his thunder I left my speech in my pocket and let him get on with it. I took his photo instead. He's a short wee fellow. I didn't think the occasion was suitable for an autograph, so I spoke to Candy and wished them success.
I then went for lunch to the Crypt Cafe in St Martin-in-the -Fields church in Trafalgar Square. It was nice and cool, which was just what was required as it was quite humid outside. It was strange having lunch sitting on top of all these tombs. I assume there are bodies still down there, the church having been there since 1726. Quite a wee while. It's a good place for lunch if you're ever passing by and National Gallery is out of bounds through strike action or even if it's not.
Better go to bed now. I wrote this sitting in the Hotel bar, having an orange juice at midnight. Definitely the first time I've been in a bar this late since before my cancer adventure began. So there. That's progress of sorts. Don't you think?
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Dusty
I went with John and Lyn to a talk by Allan Gibbons on Dusty Springfield at the Marxism Festival on Sunday night. I'd heard him speak in the past but not for some time so it was good to hear him again. He was very entertaining, informative and hugely funny. A natural performer, who burst into song as the mood took him and as seemed appropriate.
There is a new biography of Dusty just published which inspired him to do the talk. Dusty was one of my favourite singers when I was young. I still remember listening to her in The Springfields when I was but a boy, and then of course she branched out on her own to become one of the greats of her time and since.
She was a bit of a rebel, a socialist even, who refused to play to segregated audiences when she was sent to South Africa to play, long before anti apartheid movement got under way. When she refused to play she was deported, but her black South African fans came to the airport and gave her a guard of honour and cheered her to her plane. Cliff Richard, so called christian, had no problems playing out there of course along with many others. Apparently Queen apologised for playing there and were forgiven by Mandela.
She once knocked Buddy Rich's wig off his head when she slapped him after he punched her. The band awarded her a pair of boxing gloves.
She was once in Post Office Tower restaurant when she saw the manager abuse one of his staff, so she took a jam tart and crushed it into his hand when he came to shake her hand as she was leaving and told him never to treat his staff like that again. Let's hope the waiter didn't get the sack later.
At the end we all sang along with Dusty as she sang "Going Back" by Goffin and King. You can find it on the YouTube thingee. I thought John and Lyn sang mighty lustily. For those of you who are interested there's a BBC4 programme called Definitely Dusty, worth a look.
I'm dedicating this blog posting to my good friend Mo over there in Snohomish. Mo has been a Dusty fan since I've known her. How long now Mo? Any way this ones for you and there's a wee pressie in the post to you from Marxism 2015. Festival.
At the end we all sang along with Dusty as she sang "Going Back" by Goffin and King. You can find it on the YouTube thingee. I thought John and Lyn sang mighty lustily. For those of you who are interested there's a BBC4 programme called Definitely Dusty, worth a look.
I'm dedicating this blog posting to my good friend Mo over there in Snohomish. Mo has been a Dusty fan since I've known her. How long now Mo? Any way this ones for you and there's a wee pressie in the post to you from Marxism 2015. Festival.
Saturday, July 11, 2015
London July 2015
This is first time I've updated my blog in London whilst sitting outside in the sunshine. I'm waiting for JB to finish his breakfast and join me. I'm sitting in Bloomsbury or very close to it and opposite Elizbeth Garrett Anderson Hospital and across from Saint Pancras Parish Church which now seems to have converted into something called The Crypt Gallery. Very spooky. Along the road there's a Sex mAcademy. Wonder what goes on there. No time to find out.
I'm having a very busy time at our Marxism Festival. Some excellent meetings yesterday with great speakers. We had John Rose speaking on Palestine, Richard Bradbury on the Levellers, Diggers and Ranters, our revolutionary history, never taught in schools of course, Alex Callinicos on the Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx, an update of book he wrote twenty years go. And in the evening we went to listen to John Molyneux on Rubens & Rembrandt: Art & Revolution, which was a brilliant illustrated talk.
I probably did too much yesterday and was a bit exhausted by time I got to bed, not too late I hasten to add. So will take it easy today, maybe cut back to four talks. We have a big debate at 2 pm between Stathis Kouvelakis (Syriza Central Committee) and Alex Callinicos, which should be lively after yesterday Greek government decision.
I was in a shop yesterday with John, when one of their staff spoke to me in Spanish so I answered back in Spanish. He was somewhat taken aback as he didn't speak much himself other than Hola amigo qué pasa and obviously didn't expect me to speak any. So he asked me where in South America I was from, was I Argentinian? It's good to know I speak like a South American seeing as I learnt all my Spanish there, or most of it, other than the bits Marian taught me in Edinburgh night classes. The guy was from Nigeria and a supporter of Scottish independence who wanted to know about the referendum so I left John to explain to him what went wrong.
As I'm writing this outside it's difficult for to see the screen in the sunshine. So no spell check etc. John has just joined me so that's it for now? Shame about our Andy yesterday but the man is just too good for him.
I'm having a very busy time at our Marxism Festival. Some excellent meetings yesterday with great speakers. We had John Rose speaking on Palestine, Richard Bradbury on the Levellers, Diggers and Ranters, our revolutionary history, never taught in schools of course, Alex Callinicos on the Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx, an update of book he wrote twenty years go. And in the evening we went to listen to John Molyneux on Rubens & Rembrandt: Art & Revolution, which was a brilliant illustrated talk.
I probably did too much yesterday and was a bit exhausted by time I got to bed, not too late I hasten to add. So will take it easy today, maybe cut back to four talks. We have a big debate at 2 pm between Stathis Kouvelakis (Syriza Central Committee) and Alex Callinicos, which should be lively after yesterday Greek government decision.
I was in a shop yesterday with John, when one of their staff spoke to me in Spanish so I answered back in Spanish. He was somewhat taken aback as he didn't speak much himself other than Hola amigo qué pasa and obviously didn't expect me to speak any. So he asked me where in South America I was from, was I Argentinian? It's good to know I speak like a South American seeing as I learnt all my Spanish there, or most of it, other than the bits Marian taught me in Edinburgh night classes. The guy was from Nigeria and a supporter of Scottish independence who wanted to know about the referendum so I left John to explain to him what went wrong.
As I'm writing this outside it's difficult for to see the screen in the sunshine. So no spell check etc. John has just joined me so that's it for now? Shame about our Andy yesterday but the man is just too good for him.
Wednesday, July 08, 2015
Preparing to go to another capital city
Very happy and excited to be getting ready for my London trip tomorrow. Preparations going well so far. My first trip for two years and eight months so much cause for celebrations, especially as doctor at hospital gave me some steroids to take yesterday and I can already feel the benefit, more energy and strength. Keep this up and I might manage another Munro to add to my measly fifteen and brings Peru a bit more into the picture, if Dr McLean brings good news on 23 July. Can you believe we're now deep into July and festival will be almost upon us by time I get back to civilisation. And as my mother used to say not a stroke done yet.
I trust you're all enjoying your summer wherever in the world you happen to be. I think the Edinburgh summer came and went last Wednesday.
I went to the summer exhibition at City Art Centre yesterday, just called Scottish Art, as far as I can remember. It's on all four floors and covers landscape, people, still life and abstraction, with a selection of visitors favourite works in the basement/lower ground floor. It's worth a visit if only to amaze at all the wonderful art produced by Scottish artists over the past hundred or two years. Some very well known paintings , many I've seen before, maybe in other exhibitions or galleries but the kind you can never get tired of seeing. It was very quiet when I went on Tuesday, just a few stragglers with their weans in tow. I'm sure it will be busy as festival approaches. Give the cafe a miss. It's quite awful, so go across the road to Fruitmarket Gallery instead, which is much cleaner and friendly.
I also went to the Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Portrait Gallery in Queen Street. Some great photos of the man and his entourage caught in very relaxed mode. She seems to have been very close to him and was one of his best friends, enough to photograph him over a thousand times, and he painted her six times, one of which is in the exhibition along with a drawing and many many of her photos. It's wonderful to be able to see so much of their lives so intimately. I will probably have to go back. I'm a member so costs me nothing but is £9.00 if you're not a member so make most of your visit if you decide to go.
I don't get to the cinema as much as in previous lives, but I managed to see Mr Holmes starring the magnificent Ian McKellen and a young star of the future called Milo Parker, whom I hope to live long enough to see a few more times. Excellent movie, as much about ageing process, friendship and approaching death with dignity as it is about detective story, but that is there to if such is your thing. Go see it for yourselves. I went with my pal Gordon, who told me he was taking me to a 1960 Mexican movie at the Film Festival, but he got his venues mixed up, so we saw Mr Holmes instead and quite frankly between you and me I think it turned out rather well, probably better in fact. But don't mention to Gordon.... I think he's getting older poor thing.
That's all I have time for and I see I've not told you about my art purchase, but remind me and I will do so next time.
I trust you're all enjoying your summer wherever in the world you happen to be. I think the Edinburgh summer came and went last Wednesday.
I went to the summer exhibition at City Art Centre yesterday, just called Scottish Art, as far as I can remember. It's on all four floors and covers landscape, people, still life and abstraction, with a selection of visitors favourite works in the basement/lower ground floor. It's worth a visit if only to amaze at all the wonderful art produced by Scottish artists over the past hundred or two years. Some very well known paintings , many I've seen before, maybe in other exhibitions or galleries but the kind you can never get tired of seeing. It was very quiet when I went on Tuesday, just a few stragglers with their weans in tow. I'm sure it will be busy as festival approaches. Give the cafe a miss. It's quite awful, so go across the road to Fruitmarket Gallery instead, which is much cleaner and friendly.
I also went to the Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Portrait Gallery in Queen Street. Some great photos of the man and his entourage caught in very relaxed mode. She seems to have been very close to him and was one of his best friends, enough to photograph him over a thousand times, and he painted her six times, one of which is in the exhibition along with a drawing and many many of her photos. It's wonderful to be able to see so much of their lives so intimately. I will probably have to go back. I'm a member so costs me nothing but is £9.00 if you're not a member so make most of your visit if you decide to go.
I don't get to the cinema as much as in previous lives, but I managed to see Mr Holmes starring the magnificent Ian McKellen and a young star of the future called Milo Parker, whom I hope to live long enough to see a few more times. Excellent movie, as much about ageing process, friendship and approaching death with dignity as it is about detective story, but that is there to if such is your thing. Go see it for yourselves. I went with my pal Gordon, who told me he was taking me to a 1960 Mexican movie at the Film Festival, but he got his venues mixed up, so we saw Mr Holmes instead and quite frankly between you and me I think it turned out rather well, probably better in fact. But don't mention to Gordon.... I think he's getting older poor thing.
That's all I have time for and I see I've not told you about my art purchase, but remind me and I will do so next time.
Monday, July 06, 2015
The Sudden Wren
Here is a little poem I rather like.
to be a sudden wren
to be the tiny and the fast
to see the endless bounty
within the limitless
and
large
and
be everything
Billy Childish
to be a sudden wren
to be the tiny and the fast
to see the endless bounty
within the limitless
and
large
and
be everything
Billy Childish
Thursday, July 02, 2015
Going on
I had my latest scan on Tuesday. Hard to believe that it's four months since my last one. I'm hoping the tumours are still slowly growing. Maybe I shouldn't have split that infinitive, but I'm told people are not so fussy about these things nowadays, and who knows my tumours may take a hint.
I won't know the results until 23rd July as Dr McLean is on holiday part of the time and I myself am going to London on 9th July for eight nights. She offered to see me this week but I decided to stick to original date as don't particularly want to be given a negative result and then travel to London, with it on my mind, bothering me.
This will be my first time away from home since my return from Peru in November 2012. Apart from a couple of nights in Cupar. Which hardly counts as away from home. I'm excitedly looking forward to my trip and hoping my old body doesn't let me down. The signs are currently positive.
It was incredibly difficult coping with my cancer when I thought I was going to be cured. Now that I'm told that a cure is no longer possible I have no idea how I'm able to cope. Some days are hard beyond belief, especially if things are going wrong physically. I tell myself to get on with it and not give up, even when giving up seems the easiest thing to do.
If I have the strength I go for a walk round Morningside or to Blackford Pond, but often I'm only able to cross the road for a coffee in Caffe Nero, or tea and toast in Blackwoods Cafe. I've not been able to visit the swans so often this year, so they've had to look after themselves without my support, though John L keeps me posted on progress. I aim to visit them before I go to London all being well.
I'm lucky to have so many good friends to keep me company and join me for coffee and a natter. There are very few days when I'm not meeting someone or other of my friends. Occasionally I avoid meeting anyone as I need time to myself to reflect quietly and cope with whatever my body is testing me with at the time.
Thank goodness for Caffe Nero. I do most of my reading there and often chat with my friend John L about various philosophical matters. The staff in the cafe are superb and constantly supportive. Polish, Scottish, Spanish, Italian, Irish, Russian and English. A complete picture as it were.
Speaking of books I'm currently reading Ali Smith's prize winning novel How to be both. Really enjoying it and especially so as she is a Scottish writer, coming from Inverness as she does. Somehow makes the novel even more enjoyable, which is quite silly of course but nevertheless gives me a frisson of extra pleasure, and I need all the frissons I can find. I will try to go to her event at the Book Festival.
I finished reading Colm Tóibín's novel Nora Webster. Also an excellent piece of work, exquisitely heartbreaking. Very moving and typical for those who've read his previous.
All for now. More to follow. I bought an art work the other day.
I won't know the results until 23rd July as Dr McLean is on holiday part of the time and I myself am going to London on 9th July for eight nights. She offered to see me this week but I decided to stick to original date as don't particularly want to be given a negative result and then travel to London, with it on my mind, bothering me.
This will be my first time away from home since my return from Peru in November 2012. Apart from a couple of nights in Cupar. Which hardly counts as away from home. I'm excitedly looking forward to my trip and hoping my old body doesn't let me down. The signs are currently positive.
It was incredibly difficult coping with my cancer when I thought I was going to be cured. Now that I'm told that a cure is no longer possible I have no idea how I'm able to cope. Some days are hard beyond belief, especially if things are going wrong physically. I tell myself to get on with it and not give up, even when giving up seems the easiest thing to do.
If I have the strength I go for a walk round Morningside or to Blackford Pond, but often I'm only able to cross the road for a coffee in Caffe Nero, or tea and toast in Blackwoods Cafe. I've not been able to visit the swans so often this year, so they've had to look after themselves without my support, though John L keeps me posted on progress. I aim to visit them before I go to London all being well.
I'm lucky to have so many good friends to keep me company and join me for coffee and a natter. There are very few days when I'm not meeting someone or other of my friends. Occasionally I avoid meeting anyone as I need time to myself to reflect quietly and cope with whatever my body is testing me with at the time.
Thank goodness for Caffe Nero. I do most of my reading there and often chat with my friend John L about various philosophical matters. The staff in the cafe are superb and constantly supportive. Polish, Scottish, Spanish, Italian, Irish, Russian and English. A complete picture as it were.
Speaking of books I'm currently reading Ali Smith's prize winning novel How to be both. Really enjoying it and especially so as she is a Scottish writer, coming from Inverness as she does. Somehow makes the novel even more enjoyable, which is quite silly of course but nevertheless gives me a frisson of extra pleasure, and I need all the frissons I can find. I will try to go to her event at the Book Festival.
I finished reading Colm Tóibín's novel Nora Webster. Also an excellent piece of work, exquisitely heartbreaking. Very moving and typical for those who've read his previous.
All for now. More to follow. I bought an art work the other day.
Tuesday, June 02, 2015
Blossom
I know there has been an extraordinarily long hiatus in my posts for which you will have to accept my humble apologies. My only excuse is that my feeble, stupid body has been letting me down again and again. The many operations on my bowel are still causing me immense problems even though it's nearly a year since the last one. I have many sleepless nights and hazardous days.
Consequently I am often afflicted by a terrible tiredness which doesn't just affect me physically but leaves me mentally exhausted so that my brain seems not to function, or functions only very slowly, making everything in life a huge burden, so that sometimes I am hardly able to communicate at all never mind write blog posts, and opening emails and my Facebook and Twitter accounts are all I can manage, which is a shame as I've got this brand new MacBook Pro crying out to be put to use.
Some days are worse than others of course. My reading speed was never very fast but has got even slower, so that I'm often still reading The Observer on Wednesday. Mind you I have managed to finish this week's edition this morning, which is good. I am still reading my books but I doubt if I'm going to manage all the ones I've been planning on. There's a pile through there that I'm still hoping to complete before it's too late. I sometimes wonder if having the pile there where I can see them, a constant reminder, is bad for me. But I can't get rid of them, so will keep telling myself I'm here for a few more years. Let's hope so anyway. Maybe I should stop buying books too. But there again maybe not. Someone will read them I'm sure, if I don't get round to them.
The most difficult part of life right now is the frustration of knowing that the cancer is almost certainly growing, slowly (hopefully), in my lungs but I'm unable to take full advantage of this time, before it all catches up with me, to do some travelling or anything much at all. I'm seeing various different doctors and nurses at the hospital to try to get me sorted but so far without much success. I'm back at the hospital tomorrow for another consultation and more advice and maybe some new ideas. I sure hope so anyway.
I want to go to Stornoway soon, maybe this month and I've eight days booked in London in July. I'm still holding out hope for Peru later this year, I will not decide until after my next scan in a few weeks time, and of course only if my other problem is resolved. I also plan on visits to Stoke, Cheltenham, Manchester, Lake District, Spain, Rome and Glasgow. I should be visiting some of these places as I write, at least that was my original plan for this year, bit I'm still hanging around Morningside. What a blessing that I live in Edinburgh, and Morningside with all its many wonderful delights. Come and visit and I will show you.
As the late great Dennis Potter said as he approached the end : " I see it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomest, blossom that there ever could be, and I can see it."
Doesn't need explaining really and there's still plenty left for you to go and enjoy and be grateful. I am.
Consequently I am often afflicted by a terrible tiredness which doesn't just affect me physically but leaves me mentally exhausted so that my brain seems not to function, or functions only very slowly, making everything in life a huge burden, so that sometimes I am hardly able to communicate at all never mind write blog posts, and opening emails and my Facebook and Twitter accounts are all I can manage, which is a shame as I've got this brand new MacBook Pro crying out to be put to use.
Some days are worse than others of course. My reading speed was never very fast but has got even slower, so that I'm often still reading The Observer on Wednesday. Mind you I have managed to finish this week's edition this morning, which is good. I am still reading my books but I doubt if I'm going to manage all the ones I've been planning on. There's a pile through there that I'm still hoping to complete before it's too late. I sometimes wonder if having the pile there where I can see them, a constant reminder, is bad for me. But I can't get rid of them, so will keep telling myself I'm here for a few more years. Let's hope so anyway. Maybe I should stop buying books too. But there again maybe not. Someone will read them I'm sure, if I don't get round to them.
The most difficult part of life right now is the frustration of knowing that the cancer is almost certainly growing, slowly (hopefully), in my lungs but I'm unable to take full advantage of this time, before it all catches up with me, to do some travelling or anything much at all. I'm seeing various different doctors and nurses at the hospital to try to get me sorted but so far without much success. I'm back at the hospital tomorrow for another consultation and more advice and maybe some new ideas. I sure hope so anyway.
I want to go to Stornoway soon, maybe this month and I've eight days booked in London in July. I'm still holding out hope for Peru later this year, I will not decide until after my next scan in a few weeks time, and of course only if my other problem is resolved. I also plan on visits to Stoke, Cheltenham, Manchester, Lake District, Spain, Rome and Glasgow. I should be visiting some of these places as I write, at least that was my original plan for this year, bit I'm still hanging around Morningside. What a blessing that I live in Edinburgh, and Morningside with all its many wonderful delights. Come and visit and I will show you.
As the late great Dennis Potter said as he approached the end : " I see it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomest, blossom that there ever could be, and I can see it."
Doesn't need explaining really and there's still plenty left for you to go and enjoy and be grateful. I am.
Friday, March 27, 2015
My New Life
I was feeling brave at my last consultation with Dr McLean. We were discussing my scan and having a good look at all the tumours on my lungs, not a lovely experience, and deciding on the best way forward. Which turns out to be a scan in four months time and meantime no treatment.
I asked her how long this could go on for and after some time she said, maybe a year. I think she meant that I could possibly go on like this for a year, but I lost my bottle and didn't ask her to clarify. I guess I was scared she meant I had a year left to live. Having thought about it some more I've decided that she wasn't saying I had a year left to go.
So lets get on with things.
I have decided to start a new life. I think I've probably started a few new lives in the past but none of them consciously or by design. I don't know how long my new life will be. Not as long as my old one, but long enough for me to get some enjoyment out of life. At least it will be once my surgeon sorts out my bowel problems.
The main thing is that I do not intend to let my cancer dominate my new life. Of course that will be difficult at times, especially when I need more treatment, but I'm hoping that is some time in the distant future.
I realise having just said that cancer will not dominate, that its easier said than done.
So I have to have a plan my life a bit more. I will aim to do something interesting or new or exciting everyday. Sometimes that will be nothing more than meeting a friend for a coffee, going for a meal, maybe a movie, hopefully a few theatre visits, many trips to Edinburgh galleries and museums, and do some travelling. I also plan to complete my family research including my father and his brothers war experiences.
I will of course continue with my blog. I hope that cancer will be less intrusive in my postings for a while at least. I plan to create an iBook. This will be mostly based on my blog postings over the past ten years. And maybe some other bits and pieces.
When I bought my MacBook Pro I paid for a years one to one training at the Apple shop in Princes Street and I'm really pleased that I did. The young folk who work here are excellent and very helpful and understanding. One of them noticed that my blog would be a year old in August 2016 and told me that we would celebrate its anniversary. I hope to be here to celebrate with him.
I'm writing this post upstairs in the Apple shop, with views of the Castle behind me and Calton Hill in front. What more could one ask for? This is a good life. Let's hope there's lots more of it to come.
I asked her how long this could go on for and after some time she said, maybe a year. I think she meant that I could possibly go on like this for a year, but I lost my bottle and didn't ask her to clarify. I guess I was scared she meant I had a year left to live. Having thought about it some more I've decided that she wasn't saying I had a year left to go.
So lets get on with things.
I have decided to start a new life. I think I've probably started a few new lives in the past but none of them consciously or by design. I don't know how long my new life will be. Not as long as my old one, but long enough for me to get some enjoyment out of life. At least it will be once my surgeon sorts out my bowel problems.
The main thing is that I do not intend to let my cancer dominate my new life. Of course that will be difficult at times, especially when I need more treatment, but I'm hoping that is some time in the distant future.
I realise having just said that cancer will not dominate, that its easier said than done.
So I have to have a plan my life a bit more. I will aim to do something interesting or new or exciting everyday. Sometimes that will be nothing more than meeting a friend for a coffee, going for a meal, maybe a movie, hopefully a few theatre visits, many trips to Edinburgh galleries and museums, and do some travelling. I also plan to complete my family research including my father and his brothers war experiences.
I will of course continue with my blog. I hope that cancer will be less intrusive in my postings for a while at least. I plan to create an iBook. This will be mostly based on my blog postings over the past ten years. And maybe some other bits and pieces.
When I bought my MacBook Pro I paid for a years one to one training at the Apple shop in Princes Street and I'm really pleased that I did. The young folk who work here are excellent and very helpful and understanding. One of them noticed that my blog would be a year old in August 2016 and told me that we would celebrate its anniversary. I hope to be here to celebrate with him.
I'm writing this post upstairs in the Apple shop, with views of the Castle behind me and Calton Hill in front. What more could one ask for? This is a good life. Let's hope there's lots more of it to come.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Sequamur
Last week I went to see a Gaelic play called Sequamur which was on here in Edinburgh at the venue called Summerhall, formerly affectionately know as the Dick Vet.
Sequamur is the motto of my old school The Nicolson Institute in Stornoway, where I spent six, mostly happy years, except for the odd moment or two which were not exactly happy. But that's for another time.
Sequamur means Let us follow, though after seeing the play, in many ways, let us not, as the author Donald S Murray, from Ness, also a former pupil, says.
The play was written for the centenary of the First World War as it affected the people of Lewis and especially the pupils of the Nicolson Institute and their headmaster (rector) William Gibson. Those of you who went to the Nicolson Institute, and there are one or two of you reading this, will remember that in the old Francis Street building there was a brass memorial plaque on the upstairs landing commemorating all the school pupils killed in the First World War.
The author was inspired by memories of that plaque and by reading an account of the speech made by William Gibson when he unveiled the plaque and spoke about his former pupils and their sacrifice, wondering if it had been worthwhile. They obviously held him in the highest regard and many of them went on to write to him from the trenches of Europe or from Gallipoli, where so many of them fought and died. Those letters and the speech are now held by Museum nan Eilean in Stornoway amongst all Gibson's papers. Extracts from some of the letters are printed in the programme for the play and were used by Donald in his background research.
I found the experience very moving and emotional and I'm so glad that I was well enough to go. The play ended with the roll of honour for the Newington area of Edinburgh scrolling up on the screen behind the actors, to the sound of the bagpipes playing the last post, which I thought was coming through the speakers, until I saw the piper march through the theatre and stand in front of the stage as the roll scrolled on. Fair took my breath away, as they say. And couldn't help but think about my father and his brother, and their war history and then I remembered my own mortality and had to work hard not to embarrass myself with my tears.
I spoke to the author afterwards in the cafe and told him how much I appreciated his play. He had been to Gillespie School the day before to do a workshop for the students there studying Gaelic and I was very impressed to see so many students watching the play. Well done all concerned for a superb production.
Sequamur is the motto of my old school The Nicolson Institute in Stornoway, where I spent six, mostly happy years, except for the odd moment or two which were not exactly happy. But that's for another time.
Sequamur means Let us follow, though after seeing the play, in many ways, let us not, as the author Donald S Murray, from Ness, also a former pupil, says.
The play was written for the centenary of the First World War as it affected the people of Lewis and especially the pupils of the Nicolson Institute and their headmaster (rector) William Gibson. Those of you who went to the Nicolson Institute, and there are one or two of you reading this, will remember that in the old Francis Street building there was a brass memorial plaque on the upstairs landing commemorating all the school pupils killed in the First World War.
The author was inspired by memories of that plaque and by reading an account of the speech made by William Gibson when he unveiled the plaque and spoke about his former pupils and their sacrifice, wondering if it had been worthwhile. They obviously held him in the highest regard and many of them went on to write to him from the trenches of Europe or from Gallipoli, where so many of them fought and died. Those letters and the speech are now held by Museum nan Eilean in Stornoway amongst all Gibson's papers. Extracts from some of the letters are printed in the programme for the play and were used by Donald in his background research.
I found the experience very moving and emotional and I'm so glad that I was well enough to go. The play ended with the roll of honour for the Newington area of Edinburgh scrolling up on the screen behind the actors, to the sound of the bagpipes playing the last post, which I thought was coming through the speakers, until I saw the piper march through the theatre and stand in front of the stage as the roll scrolled on. Fair took my breath away, as they say. And couldn't help but think about my father and his brother, and their war history and then I remembered my own mortality and had to work hard not to embarrass myself with my tears.
I spoke to the author afterwards in the cafe and told him how much I appreciated his play. He had been to Gillespie School the day before to do a workshop for the students there studying Gaelic and I was very impressed to see so many students watching the play. Well done all concerned for a superb production.
Monday, March 09, 2015
A Bit of a Result
Today I got some reasonably good news from oncology, which is a first for them.
Dr MacLean tells me that the cancer has not spread to any other organs and there are no new tumours on my lungs, which is all good news. However the tumours that are there have all grown in volume since the last scan in November, but the growth is small, none of them having doubled in size. The largest is now just over 8 mm across and the smallest just about 5 mm. I think there are seven or eight of the little devils.
I had hoped for a no change situation, but I guess this is next best thing. At least it's not aggressive so that's a bit of a result.
Dr MacLean is happy with the result and thinks I might go on like this for some months and maybe even longer. But no way of telling. I don't require treatment for the time being, so no chemo for a while. I will return for a scan in four months to see how things are progressing, slowly I hope, and maybe even six months should I decide to do some travelling. This will depend on progress sorting out my residual bowel problems and me getting fitter, which is partly dependent on me getting some complete nights of sleep, bowels permitting.
But enough of that for now. I feel happier than I have for a while, at least as happy as it's possible to be with incurable cancer. So onwards and upwards.
This will be short tonight as I'm awaiting the arrival of my pal John B to watch the big game with me and I've a few calls to make before that.
"The sky seemed to split apart from end to end to pour its fire down upon me."
Meursault just before he pulled the trigger, as reported by A. Camus.
Sometimes I feel the same.
Dr MacLean tells me that the cancer has not spread to any other organs and there are no new tumours on my lungs, which is all good news. However the tumours that are there have all grown in volume since the last scan in November, but the growth is small, none of them having doubled in size. The largest is now just over 8 mm across and the smallest just about 5 mm. I think there are seven or eight of the little devils.
I had hoped for a no change situation, but I guess this is next best thing. At least it's not aggressive so that's a bit of a result.
Dr MacLean is happy with the result and thinks I might go on like this for some months and maybe even longer. But no way of telling. I don't require treatment for the time being, so no chemo for a while. I will return for a scan in four months to see how things are progressing, slowly I hope, and maybe even six months should I decide to do some travelling. This will depend on progress sorting out my residual bowel problems and me getting fitter, which is partly dependent on me getting some complete nights of sleep, bowels permitting.
But enough of that for now. I feel happier than I have for a while, at least as happy as it's possible to be with incurable cancer. So onwards and upwards.
This will be short tonight as I'm awaiting the arrival of my pal John B to watch the big game with me and I've a few calls to make before that.
"The sky seemed to split apart from end to end to pour its fire down upon me."
Meursault just before he pulled the trigger, as reported by A. Camus.
Sometimes I feel the same.
Sunday, March 08, 2015
Another Appointment
This is the time of year my late mother liked best, as the days get longer, the dark nights drift away and spring approaches. I like it too, more and more as the years go by. I have to make the most of these little moments of bliss as there may not be too many more left for me. Mind you I'm still hoping for a few more. I wouldn't like you to think I've given up on the future, short or long as it may be.
I should know more tomorrow about what the future holds for me as it's time for my appointment with my oncologist, Dr Maclean, again. She will be giving me the results of my latest scan which I had ten days ago. The best I can hope for is that the tumours on my lungs have not grown since my last scan in November, or are developing very slowly and that no treatment is required. The alternative outcomes are too grim for me to describe on here. I feel if I write it I might be tempting fate, so best not to. Not that I believe in fate, sounds too Calvinistic.
It's a strange feeling knowing that as I sit here and await the news my doctors already know and have probably discussed my prognosis. It doesn't seem right somehow.
I'm not going to write much more today. I know I've been very lazy recently when it comes to writing, but my excuse is my ill health. I miss a lot of appointments and arrangements with friends because I can't leave my flat and I certainly am not able to concentrate on writing. Even reading gets difficult. Sometimes I'm still reading the Saturday Guardian and the Observer on a Wednesday or Thursday. Mind you it does save money as I don't need to buy a paper during the week.
Having said that I'm still working my way through various books, the latest one I finished was called A book of death and fish by a Lewis writer called Ian Stephen. A bit of a challenge as its well over 500 pages, but well worth the effort. Maybe best suited for folk who love the Island but don't let that put you off. It's highly recommended in a review by Robert Macfarlane whose new book Landmarks I bought for myself today. I hope to get the time to read it and maybe get to meet Robert if he comes to this years book festival. Maybe my friend John L and I will go again and this time get to the front of the queue to speak to him.
I hope someone among you will be reading and recommending Robert Macfarlane long after I'm no longer here. " he has a poet's eye and a prose style that would make many a novelist burn with envy" or so says John Banville, whose judgement I think we can all trust.
I've bought myself a MacBook Pro and still getting used to it. I really like it and hope to post lots and lots to my blog now that I've spent all that money . Mind you it's not as if I can't afford it as my plans for trips to South America begin to look less likely.
Tomorrow I might find out.
I should know more tomorrow about what the future holds for me as it's time for my appointment with my oncologist, Dr Maclean, again. She will be giving me the results of my latest scan which I had ten days ago. The best I can hope for is that the tumours on my lungs have not grown since my last scan in November, or are developing very slowly and that no treatment is required. The alternative outcomes are too grim for me to describe on here. I feel if I write it I might be tempting fate, so best not to. Not that I believe in fate, sounds too Calvinistic.
It's a strange feeling knowing that as I sit here and await the news my doctors already know and have probably discussed my prognosis. It doesn't seem right somehow.
I'm not going to write much more today. I know I've been very lazy recently when it comes to writing, but my excuse is my ill health. I miss a lot of appointments and arrangements with friends because I can't leave my flat and I certainly am not able to concentrate on writing. Even reading gets difficult. Sometimes I'm still reading the Saturday Guardian and the Observer on a Wednesday or Thursday. Mind you it does save money as I don't need to buy a paper during the week.
Having said that I'm still working my way through various books, the latest one I finished was called A book of death and fish by a Lewis writer called Ian Stephen. A bit of a challenge as its well over 500 pages, but well worth the effort. Maybe best suited for folk who love the Island but don't let that put you off. It's highly recommended in a review by Robert Macfarlane whose new book Landmarks I bought for myself today. I hope to get the time to read it and maybe get to meet Robert if he comes to this years book festival. Maybe my friend John L and I will go again and this time get to the front of the queue to speak to him.
I hope someone among you will be reading and recommending Robert Macfarlane long after I'm no longer here. " he has a poet's eye and a prose style that would make many a novelist burn with envy" or so says John Banville, whose judgement I think we can all trust.
I've bought myself a MacBook Pro and still getting used to it. I really like it and hope to post lots and lots to my blog now that I've spent all that money . Mind you it's not as if I can't afford it as my plans for trips to South America begin to look less likely.
Tomorrow I might find out.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Cells
Sometimes as I sit here contemplating my fate and other things such as consciousness and spirituality, I can't help but think how different things might have been.
It's quite possible, indeed almost certain, that as my surgeon, Mr Speake was busily removing my tumour, some infected cells had already made their escape and were lying dormant in my lungs waiting for their moment to start their terminal duty.
And there they lay, hiding, inactive, invisible to the most sophisticated scanner in Edinburgh, dodging gallons of chemo drugs sent into my body to seek them out. Knowing that as long as they remained quietly, cruelly, carefully inactive, hiding in some corner of my lungs, the chemo drugs would not find them. This they managed to do over a period of six months when I put up with all the miseries that chemo brought into my life, expecting to emerge at the end clear of cancer.
Of course the little bastards had other plans. It's as if they were waiting for their moment in the sun and knew when the chemo drugs had left my body, so out they came dancing round my lungs and multiplying at a furious rate, so much so, that the radiographer can only tell us that they are there in multiples. I don't think anyone has counted them. Just too many for them to bother, as they know there are enough of them to kill me.
I keep telling myself if only I'd gone to my doctor six months earlier they would not have had time to infect my lymph nodes and blood vessels and would never have found their nasty way round to my lungs. But I try not to dwell on that too much. I can't blame myself for how my life is ending. I can only hope for a little more time to annoy you all with my witterings. Is there such a word? And sorry there have not been many for past few weeks, but I will try to do better.
I will know more on the 9th of March when I see my oncologist again and she has the results of my next scan which should be sometime towards the end of February.
That's all for now. It's snowing here in Edinburgh, but I'm hoping to make my way down to the National Gallery to see the Turner watercolours, before they are put away for another year. I missed them last year, due to chemo diversions and this year may be my last chance to see them, so I think I should brave the snow and get on with it. Bye folks, more soon, maybe on films or something. Tonight is Wolff Hall night.
It's quite possible, indeed almost certain, that as my surgeon, Mr Speake was busily removing my tumour, some infected cells had already made their escape and were lying dormant in my lungs waiting for their moment to start their terminal duty.
And there they lay, hiding, inactive, invisible to the most sophisticated scanner in Edinburgh, dodging gallons of chemo drugs sent into my body to seek them out. Knowing that as long as they remained quietly, cruelly, carefully inactive, hiding in some corner of my lungs, the chemo drugs would not find them. This they managed to do over a period of six months when I put up with all the miseries that chemo brought into my life, expecting to emerge at the end clear of cancer.
Of course the little bastards had other plans. It's as if they were waiting for their moment in the sun and knew when the chemo drugs had left my body, so out they came dancing round my lungs and multiplying at a furious rate, so much so, that the radiographer can only tell us that they are there in multiples. I don't think anyone has counted them. Just too many for them to bother, as they know there are enough of them to kill me.
I keep telling myself if only I'd gone to my doctor six months earlier they would not have had time to infect my lymph nodes and blood vessels and would never have found their nasty way round to my lungs. But I try not to dwell on that too much. I can't blame myself for how my life is ending. I can only hope for a little more time to annoy you all with my witterings. Is there such a word? And sorry there have not been many for past few weeks, but I will try to do better.
I will know more on the 9th of March when I see my oncologist again and she has the results of my next scan which should be sometime towards the end of February.
That's all for now. It's snowing here in Edinburgh, but I'm hoping to make my way down to the National Gallery to see the Turner watercolours, before they are put away for another year. I missed them last year, due to chemo diversions and this year may be my last chance to see them, so I think I should brave the snow and get on with it. Bye folks, more soon, maybe on films or something. Tonight is Wolff Hall night.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Happy New Year (belatedly)
Nobody said it would be easy, but I didn't realise it would be this hard (as the man didn't quite say). I haven't written anything since Xmas day so I guess it must be time I put pen to paper, or at least hand to keyboard.
It's two months ago today I was told that I had metastases on both lungs, and I'm still adjusting to the news. I can sometimes forget about the cancer for an hour or two, if I'm watching a good movie or chatting to good friends or sleeping, but mostly it hangs over me, like the worst enemy imaginable, always nagging and reminding me it's still there waiting for me, knowing only too well that some day it will get me.
I'm walking down the street minding my own business, living my life, quietly nowadays, when the voice comes in to remind me I've got cancer and I know nothing will ever be the same, and I wonder why all these blameless people I see around me don't realise what my life has become. How can they behave as if nothing has changed when I'm feeling so bad?
I read the paper and a young woman of 35 has died of colorectal cancer, leaving behind twin boys five years of age and I know her situation was much more difficult than mine. Then I read that the NHS is cutting funds for some cancer treatments as we can't afford the cost of some new drugs which may prove useful. Where's the justice in that?
I discovered from a BBC radio programme about a new type of radiotherapy called stereotactic ablative radiotherapy which, according to the programme has proved effective in the treatment of some cancers, as it can be more accurately and effectively targeted, and especially effective in secondary bowel cancer on the lung. In some cases 100% effective. So I asked my oncologist about it and she agreed to see me yesterday to talk about it.
NHS in England has told it's hospitals to stop using it. It is more expensive in the short term but less expensive long term as patients require only 4 or 5 treatments as compared to 20 using normal treatment. It was provided in Scotland by the Beatson in Glasgow, but they no longer use it, for some reason which I've yet to fathom. My oncologist insists it was a clinically based decision. There are still a few hospitals in England using it as they were able to make a clinically based case for it. Scottish patients would need to be referred for it by the oncologist and the authority would have to agree the funding.
My oncologist will not refer me or recommend me for it. This is because I have too many lesions (tumours), multiple small ones, though exact number is unknown. She says there are 6 or 7, but no one seems to have counted. There are too many lesions for surgery to be safe, and they use the same criteria for stereotactic therapy decisions. So I have too many for surgery and/or radiotherapy and if I had only a few they would operate, as this is most effective treatment. Which seems to suggest there are no situations where stereotactic therapy would be appropriate. Heads I lose and tails too.
If this is confusing for you, don't blame me. Imagine how it feels for me. What a bugger!!!! to say the least.
A Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for your cards and messages and visits. I plan to see more of you all this year. Tomorrow I'm back at the hospital to see my surgeon Mr Speake.
It's two months ago today I was told that I had metastases on both lungs, and I'm still adjusting to the news. I can sometimes forget about the cancer for an hour or two, if I'm watching a good movie or chatting to good friends or sleeping, but mostly it hangs over me, like the worst enemy imaginable, always nagging and reminding me it's still there waiting for me, knowing only too well that some day it will get me.
I'm walking down the street minding my own business, living my life, quietly nowadays, when the voice comes in to remind me I've got cancer and I know nothing will ever be the same, and I wonder why all these blameless people I see around me don't realise what my life has become. How can they behave as if nothing has changed when I'm feeling so bad?
I read the paper and a young woman of 35 has died of colorectal cancer, leaving behind twin boys five years of age and I know her situation was much more difficult than mine. Then I read that the NHS is cutting funds for some cancer treatments as we can't afford the cost of some new drugs which may prove useful. Where's the justice in that?
I discovered from a BBC radio programme about a new type of radiotherapy called stereotactic ablative radiotherapy which, according to the programme has proved effective in the treatment of some cancers, as it can be more accurately and effectively targeted, and especially effective in secondary bowel cancer on the lung. In some cases 100% effective. So I asked my oncologist about it and she agreed to see me yesterday to talk about it.
NHS in England has told it's hospitals to stop using it. It is more expensive in the short term but less expensive long term as patients require only 4 or 5 treatments as compared to 20 using normal treatment. It was provided in Scotland by the Beatson in Glasgow, but they no longer use it, for some reason which I've yet to fathom. My oncologist insists it was a clinically based decision. There are still a few hospitals in England using it as they were able to make a clinically based case for it. Scottish patients would need to be referred for it by the oncologist and the authority would have to agree the funding.
My oncologist will not refer me or recommend me for it. This is because I have too many lesions (tumours), multiple small ones, though exact number is unknown. She says there are 6 or 7, but no one seems to have counted. There are too many lesions for surgery to be safe, and they use the same criteria for stereotactic therapy decisions. So I have too many for surgery and/or radiotherapy and if I had only a few they would operate, as this is most effective treatment. Which seems to suggest there are no situations where stereotactic therapy would be appropriate. Heads I lose and tails too.
If this is confusing for you, don't blame me. Imagine how it feels for me. What a bugger!!!! to say the least.
A Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for your cards and messages and visits. I plan to see more of you all this year. Tomorrow I'm back at the hospital to see my surgeon Mr Speake.
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