Suits to Fit

Hello, everyone.
The Russian is here....
I have been going through Chris' inbox and found the draft of his last ( I wish I could say latest ) blog. He never finished it. But I still want everyone to read it. In fact, I am asking you to read all of his blogs again and again. They are full of life, passion, humor and love to everyone of you, guys. Please, find some time and go through them again. This will be hard and tearful but do it, please . Because by all of us doing it, we'll remember Chris again and again, just as he was - wearing his humongous heart on his sleeve and loving the life to it's full. By reading his blogs we'll only get better and realise what life is all about - love and joy.
I am sure, each and single one of you will take Chris' name through your life. Please do. Talk to your friends about him, tell your kids about crazy Milton, show him as an example of eternal thirst for life and happiness to your friends and family.
Chris also managed to write a farewell letter that has been read at his funeral. I am planning to post it in his blog later for those who did not have a chance to be there or get a copy of it. 
To make it easier, I have highlighted  in red what Chris had in his drafts and the rest in black is from me.
Please know that the doors of our house are always open for you. Just drop me an email any time and I'll get in touch.
There will be quite a few events organised in Chris' memory this year and years to come. I shall keep you all posted.
Thank you ALL for your massive support and endless cards, gifts, messages, etc. It meant a world to Chris, his parents and myself. You are all amazing amazing people! Thank you from all my heart.

Love
The Russian

24 May 2012 19.08pm

I would just like to start this passage by clearing something up that has been coming back to me from a few readers about a previous entry.  I was going on about JAMES CAMERON... The director of Avatar.  Not DAVID CAMERON the current Prime Minister of Great Britain!  The 'blue people' I was banging on about are the Avatar monsters... Not members of the conservative political party, under the Prime Minister!

A few of you told me in one form or another that you made that 'confusing' and easy mix up!  Uuugh?!? 

Anyway...

I return, dear reader, after my 'double blog' entry with yet another exciting install of what is happening to my family and I!  This time during the last weekend that passed.

It all starts in Bluewater shopping centre in the House of Frazer suit consession.  So, with a wedding on the immediate horizon (Friday night - Smiley Ben and Sakura) there's nothing like realising on the Monday... I haven't worn a suit for over a year, I've since lost 20 odd kilo's, my current suit was on the big side anyway and was knocking on for 3 or 4 years old!

So here we go. We've got this Wednesday afternoon to get it right and pick up a good one.  I saw one I liked but it had this weird stitching, purple it was, running down the middle of the shoulder pad.  Weird, I thought.  I'll give that a miss.  Plus it's a grey suit and I fancied a dark one.

Then less than 2 minutes later, on slips the one.  Woop... Feels like a glove.  Cuts in nicely at the back, arms just right.  The shoulders snug but not tight.  um bongo!  Went about for another 2 or 3 to make sure but they weren't a match for the original don.  So in less than half an hour I was swanning about the place with my new purchase in tow looking at other things.  A flash into a good shirt makers for a new size  crisp white shirt with a French cuff and I'm in like Flynn!

Friday arrives and we're invited to 'smiley Ben' and Sakura's wedding evening.  He's a mate from work.  I'm due in hospital for another session of chemo and hopefully no other complications will delay us nor will ill effects deter us from attending!

All good.  The folks and I are back from London by 4, we're due for dinner with my boxing mate, Reggie and his Mrs Helen at 7:30.  I feel good and we've got a good weekend to look forward to. 

Back at Christmas we received a 2 night hotel voucher for us to use anywhere up and down the country.  Thank you to the Boulton family for that.  Ironically I was looking into a driving trip to 'Shotlandia' and a two night stay in the Highlands.  Very nice.  Sadly the mistletoe trip put pay to that so we decided to incorporate a visit to a hotel spa in Linconshire with an afternoon seeing our friends Maz & Sam who have themselves just got home from weeks of hospital care after a terrible experience, for them.

So nice meal, good wedding, looking buff in my new threads, an afternoon visit to our friends in the sticks (hello) and a great weekend at a hotel spa with a few relaxing treatments bolted on! 

After a nice meal the the four of us made our way to the Painted Hall in the Royal Naval cCllege for the reception and saw lots of faces from work who were also invited along.  It was lovely catching up with a few of the guys from work and both the Russian and i had a lovely time actually 

Woo hoo!

Rocketed up the M11 Saturday afternoon.

This is where it stops....We had a lovely weekend in the hotel with spa treatments and sitting in front of the fire in the bar. Chris even managed to have a small argument with Polish chef for not closing the door properly and the draft coming in and he ( Chris) was very proud of being able to show off his modest Polish vocabulary. I wont go into details what words he mentioned:)
The only thing that sadenned our stay was the fact that Chris started having seizures. The first one happenned at 5am and scared the sh..t out of both of us. However, we had the medications on us and managed to leave this nasty incident behind and had a lovely relaxing day after. There was another fit on our way back home on the motorway but Chris was amazing taking control over it while I was driving and trying to stop on the motorway. Our brave soldier.
Hence is the name for this blog  - Suits to Fit

Chris was and will always stay in our memories as the funniest man the world has ever seen. We missed him terribly this Xmas and New Year. Xmas, Boxing and New Year days will never be the same without his jokes and laughter. He left a massive hole in our lives by passing away. But he also changed us for better. I really hope that he made each and every of us a better person, the one who wakes up every morning and just embraces the life to its full. Love your life, love your family and friends, take care of your health, spare time for those who are dear to you and ALWAYS find time to stop and take it easy. Life is too short to rush it. Life is beautiful!

What a fascinating necklace you have Ms 'Getyourtopov'!

There's a cricket ball on display in our living room which I hit for six back over the pavilion a couple of years back at my mate Iain's, 'stag do - reunion' cricket match.  Its sat next to the ‘shot of the match' trophy I won too.   I sometimes use it when I'm playing the Russian at chess as a tension reliever... No... Not like that.  I maul it in my sweaty grasp as I work over and over the strategy in my mind and the next few moves so I don't forget them.  I might suddenly arise off my seat, pace about and swear.  I'll spot a trap and get excited... Then hope turns to despair as it could be a trap for me!  What haven't I spotted?  Where should I go next?  Can she see what I’m trying to do?

She, on the other had, sits there.    Calmness clouded about her.  Maybe her head is resting on a closed knuckle.  Oooh, hang about, she's going to move.  No... Just change her seating position.  It’s intolerable.    Look, touch her, she's actually cool!  And dry!   

What I'm doing playing chess with a Russian, beautiful intelligent, sexy girl is anyone's guess.    She most probably spent her youth at chess school, right?  Between intensive bouts of ballet lessons, applying to spy academy (which naturally doesn't exist!), queuing for bread and/or extra curricular cosmonaut training! 

So how did my life lead me down paths where I would be faced with such a devious opponent?  I mean;

A;  It's not like I'm jimmy bond and if the chess fails, there's always the Dom Perignon '63 and the old charm to fall back on...

And B;  Why would an erratic, very non 'bond cool' divvy Englishman freely pit his wits against said Russian spy type who had the coordinates to the baddies lair engraved on that diamond pendant that's plunged between those soviet neuclear boobies...  Oh yes... Roger Moore's raising an eyebrow right now; "fascinating!" he might claim. 

(Incidentally the baddies lair location, for me, would be an island somewhere sunny and nice.  Obviously it would have to be too ridiculous and far too grand to be built unnoticed in the middle of the Caribbean or alike.  You'd need at least 2 tower cranes and a lot of plant hire!  It'd be like building the shard in London on the Falkland Islands and hoping no one takes any notice!)

But I digress, dear reader...

Chalk and cheese then...  Chess wise... Certainly!  Most definitely musically...  And very much nocturnally! 

Come the evening:-

She... Head + pillow + 123 = ZZZ ZZZ!   

Me... Head + pillow + 123 + 456 + er,78, adjust pillow + 9 10 11 + roll over a bit + itchy bum + dead leg + oh stuff it, grab "iTrumpet", google the latest Footie/motorsport results/news on it = this new blog, tonight, actually!

Morning time:-

She; alarm + up + shower + breakfast = ready.    (with washed hair too!)

Me;  Alarm (just set about 2.5 hours ago!) + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + snooze + pass the original time I said I'd be ready + snooze + snooze + snooze + oh I really shouldn't snooze THAT + snooze = holy moly... It's 11:36 and I should have been at hospital at 9:45!  Nah not really!  But other things... Maybe!

It's not on!  I WANT to sleep at 11:00 or whenever we hit the hay!  I doooo!  I really do!  I enjoy my sleep.  I have slept well throughout all my illness.    Better than before in fact.  My sleepwalking has actually stopped.  I'm not scared of the dark... My catchphrase to my dad as a small boy, in my cot was "do the dark, daddy, do the dark!"  Ahhh, how cute!!! (leave it out, I was only 15 years old!) 

I lie down, relaxed and groovy then my mind just gears up... "Zzzzzzzzzzhhhh!"  With all the urgency of a line being pulled violently through a spigot and away it goes.    I just lie there and let my mind spool away.    I come up with anything, lying there.  I've created Blogs.  Come up for great ideas for new books.  I've written songs.  Invented dozens of labor saving devices. (I specialise in kitchen ones, mostly!)  Dreamt up ways to roll in the cash.  Scams.  Deals.  Cured all kinds of diseases... Including my own!  Bugger.    I really should write some of this stuff down!  It might be a good idea!

Well sometimes I do.  But as soon as my eyes are hit with the icy glow from my "iThingy" device and my hands start to cramp around the screen, that's it... Committed until dawn.  Or at least the best part of the darkest bit of night.  My mother tells me "an hours sleep before midnight is worth double after!"  Well I get tired at 7 sometimes and have been known to nap either in bed or on the sofa for some or most of the evening.  But hunger will eventually win and the fact it's an evening nap just doesn't escape my subconscious mind and at 10:24... 'ding' the lights come on and burn ever so brightly!

Eg... It's now 04:45 and I’m still going strong. 

So... Now the bird song has started, which my dad tells me spreads across the country from east to west, preceding the dawn at the speed of sound!  Which must mean at a certain time Mr & Mrs birdy are up, showered and had breakfast at a pre agreed time, with all the other birds, which at an exact moment of the day that ebbs and flows with the year, they're ready and waiting, tapping his/her wrist watch, listening out for the birdies from their left (if they're looking south!) to chirp up and then all join in! 

A unison effort of territorial bird speak!  "piss off, out of my tree!"  "This is MY branch, I was here first!"  "Ohi, you young sparrows... Get your hair cut!"  (the last one's Eddie Izzard!)

Eh?    Nah mate, you're having a laugh!  I'm off to bed!!!

Man finds partial cure for the Daiy Mail.

For those of you that read my blogs and live abroad and there are a few of you i know, a big special 'hi there' to you.

You deserve a special mention more so due to the fact that I've realised that a lot of the drivel I talk is very specific to the uk and so are most of the colloquialisms that I bather on about the pages contained within. 

So well done to you if you haven't given up with trying to understand what the hell I'm going on about and how I'm getting on.  Even some people in the uk tell me they struggle with what I'm writing about, sometimes, especially when I'm affected by steroids or when I think I'm being funny or clever with my prose.

The case in point today, to everybody of a foreign nature is this... The British media.  Specifically one newspaper; the daily mail. 

Now unless there's been a miracle where an aero plane has crashed on the Hudson river and everyone's survived or there's been the biggest earthquake in recent times in Japan, or an Italian man decides its better to jump off his boat so he can see it better in the dark (not because it's on it's side which is quite dangerous!)    The British papers generally run with their own little crusades on a quiet news day.

For example, I hear you cry... Well I'll enlighten those who can't already figure out what they might be...

The sun... Paedo allowed for a school maintenance staff job.

Or girl with massive boobs kisses married Footie star in the penalty box!

Or minister for Health decides one hospital in London is enough for everyone.

Or even better, still... "Pedophile Footie star, love rat in sexual romp with closed hospital maintenance staff member... who just happens to have a massive set of knockers!!!"

The Independent would simply bleat on about all the vast number of cows now needed for producing big macs and whoppers, farting this planet into a premature and similar environment to Venus, day in, day out.

The times would most probably go with... Er... I'm not sure, really... Its a bit posh for me!    But I can say there would be a picture of a moist, suited, chubby chairman or director, on the front page pointing and talking at a massive company AGM conference.  Of course there'd also be a small picture of a bloke called Jeremy Clarkson, shrugging his shoulders, in the top corner and a sub heading saying, jezzer shoots a tiger in the face, with his own shot gun and wonders where it's tusks are.  Also quoted in his special pullout section as saying there's a car review in here somewhere but you'll be damn lucky to find it!

The financial times is pink!!! Yup...  Its bloody pink!!! Its and full of tiny rows of names and numbers!  It's like an odd couloured phone book!  It's just a posh man's 'loot' to be honest!  (don't ask!)

The metro would go with the headline... "British telecom... Our Internet is expensive, drops out all the time and is particularly shit at peak times!!!"  (because that's true, it's what internet service we have at our house.)  By the way for you 'overseaers' the metro is a free paper that you pick up at the train station so it can afford to put a full page ad on the front and, "Oh yeah, we'll worry about the news and all that stuff, later on a bit!"

The star is (like the sun) is obsessed with girls boobs, football, football scandal and celebrity fame hungry dicks!  not their actual dicks... It's just they are wannabe C list dicks!  Throw in the odd 'elvis spotted shopping for a new washing basket on Eltham high street!'  And you've got quite a rag there!

 The Daily Mirror... Pretty boring if you ask me.  About and inch elevated above the sun in tabloid gutter press standards so they think they're almost breathing decent air... But that's like saying herpes is my favorite sexual disease!

The daily Planet, even though I think it shut down after superman IV... Seemed to just be OBSESSED with general Zod, miss Tessmarker and the whereabouts of Lex Luthor.  (that's easy, we all know where he is... "north, miss Tessmarker, North!")   It may be an American publication too!

My mum has switched from the daily express to the daily telegraph.  The daily 'Tory graph' as a lot of my lefty chums have called it.  (The Tories is a nickname for the political conservative party here in the uk, FYI.)  They belt out a load of stuff about Tory's on a slow day in the office.

The Guardian... Probably closest to what i'd pick up, if I did.  Apparently, it's known as a bit of a liberal wishy, washy number, wringing its hands and not generally having an opinion.  Just like me, politically, I suppose! As by now, most regular uk paper readers would probably agree... You can tell I never read one paper regularly so most of this guff is highly inaccurate but do read on because what's coming up is bang on, let me tell you.

So... The afore mentioned Daily express...  Very similar to the daily mail and goes along with the big one... The newspaper rightfully known for the "its all wrong, attitude"...  The champion of negativity... The master of disaster... The wolf in wolfs clothing, with big massive teeth... The iron fist, in an iron glove with spikes on the knuckles... Ladies and gentlemen... I give you...

THE DAILY MAIL... Now I said I don't read papers regularly enough to get an accurate opinion formed but I have seen enough mail headlines and jokes on TV panel shows that they always run with things like,:-

Princess Diana: she would still be here if Paris was a British city!

Immigrants... They are taking all the old immigrants corner shops over... AND MAKING THEM EVEN MORE SQUALID!

House prices set to rise to record high next year after the next 12 month slump we predicted last week!

Immigration officer gets beaten in the street by immigrant who pushed in the queue for nhs health benefits!

But the big seller... Their one true love is, of course... Cancer.  What gives it to you, where it comes from, (abroad, obviously) who gives it to you, (foreigners obviously) what kills it or 'wonder drug' as its known and so on and so fourth! 

Brilliant!  Fantastic when You're back in hospital AGAIN the very next morning, following up the bad cancer day that you've just blogged about when you have a 'heart attack' and pee yer pants only to wake up the following morning with chest pains and thinking you'd be very foolish just to ignore it, neck a brace of pain killers and get on with mowing the lawn!

So sat in a hospital bed for another day of ECG tests, a hat trick of blood bags and faced with someone nose deep into a daily mail with the black, inky, inscription... "aspirin; the wonder cancer cure!"  The very ink of the words smearing off the page into the readers fingers, can cause certain types of cancer!  (according to them anyway!)  Honestly... You can't have anything as far as they are concerned.    Bread, cars, alcohol, exercise, no exercise, too much tv, having kids, mars bars, shampoo, polyester underpants, cheap holidays, immigrants, (they make really loads of cancer, they do!) radiators, wheelbarrows and er, chutney!

So there we are then.  Don’t even breathe... Or fart... Or even breathe in a fart!  Don't do that.

They seem to be desperate to cure this ill and in the meantime protect all their readers from potential causes or hazards they may be near or practicing.  The other day, a couple of weeks ago, I think I worked it out. 

I arrived at st Barts one morning in desperate need of a lot if somebody else's kindly donated A+ blood.  When your hemoglobin is low, anything around 8 or lower (most people are around 12) the oxygen is not as readily available to your body from your lungs as it should be.  Breathlessness is common.  It's easy to forget lying or sitting about watching the telly, but stand up, even slowly and you get the head rushes.  Bending over to mop the floor for example or tidy the house a bit, to help my little Russian as much as I can is like climbing a mountain with thin air effects.  It was so bad once I was out of breath sat on my lewisham borough shower stool having walked all of the 600 yards from my bedroom to the bathroom!  600 yards? 6 foot more like!

So.  Not feeling strong when I arrived at the doors of the hospital.  Weak enough to require a porter and a wheel chair to get to the 7th floor via the lift. 

It was one of those extraordinarily warm sunny days we had recently and Joseph was sitting outside soaking up the rays, eyes closed and head back.  He was sat on the low wall, where all the smokers normally chug away, holding a fag in one had and they are normally clinging onto a stand of mysterious, odd coloured fluid in a bag.  He wasn't, the space just free and he was taking it easy at the time.

He heard the engine of my dads car and turned to see me clambering out of the front seat reaching, desperately out for my mum.  I noted him sat there, and he just happens to be one of those people you always see coming in and out of that place.  I also noted he abruptly stood up and left with no hint of a 'alright' or 'how you doin' 

Ah well, on with the struggle to walk into reception, mum.  We were just about to turn left into the seating area when here comes Joseph pushing a seat with a smile, 'hi ya... You'll be wanting one of these.'    After having asked if we'd like him to take me up top we politely declined and I hoped that he'd go back to his break, enjoying the sun.  In the end, he did drive me up to ward 7.  Met the really nice guys at the front desk, Chris and Shama, was parking me by a bed to recover in no time, bid us his farewells and was gone.  In the mean time, Chris was offering us all a cup of tea which was very welcome.  5 minutes and 3 mugs of hot brown stuff later, be was off back to his desk to continue his day. 

Car, chair, lift, ward, bed, cuppa tea... Kerpow!  At the speed of light it seemed!    Then for a while all the nurse's; Ferdie, Jo, Raquel, Dickie, Abbu, Marion, Karrina and Evelyn were all darting past, sticking their heads in, saying hi and all at some stage or another, fixing me up and sending me on my way.  Eventually!

So far everyone I've mentioned is not of the middle England 'daily mail' persuasion!  I know there's a lot to be argued about when it comes to anything political, especially immigration.  It's not a subject I'd like to get drawn on because its a touchy one and close to my heart.  I really don't know all the facts and whether they are truly correct.  You could say I’m being a wishy washy liberal... What paper am I supposed to read again?  Plus I'm engaged to the 'Russian' and she's an immigrant... I think!  It's so hard to tell because she's white, like me, and her English is REALLY GOOD!

Bad cancer days

James Cameron.  He's got a lot to answer for!   3 years.   Lots of MASSIVE blue people who go "ummm!" a lot when they're in a group.  Someone who looks a bit like Philip Schofield, with a 3 way parting in his head.   A forest that lights up at night.   (actually, that was pretty cool and i thought, very useful for reading in your tent!)   The tough nut 'ray ban aviator' sporting pilot gal - with a heart.   The gigantic suits of robot powered man amour that anyone can mooch about the Forrest in.   The guy from 'my name is earl' which, incidently, i think is one of america's finest TV shows, telling larry, "love this putter larry... i love this putter."   The seemingly non plussed earth people who i noted all seemed to be from one certain dominant area of the globe, (?) tearing up someone else's planet er, just like it was somebody else's country.   'Oooh, get down off that political fence, Christopher!'  The classic misfit hero in all sorts of misfit situations. The lab guys hate him. The big blue ones hate him. The big boss who loves his new putter hates him too! What a tosser!  Mind you, he likes golf and that's for tossers!   Even philip schofield hates him at the end!   Sigourny Weaver REALLY hates him... A lot!   But then she likes him... Yeah!

Then there's the crap, prdictable lines like, "hey take it easy, hot rod!" to the misfit in the wheel chair!   Whilst he's ordering troops to shoot up a rather large tree where blue people live, 'pip' Scohfield says, "thats one big tree... ok bring it down" patting his faithful pilot on the shoulder.   Later on he's whizzing round his flight deck, nonchalantly pressing the odd button, waggling a knob hither and thither and giving the most random but blatantly obvious orders like; "blow up all the stuff we talked about before".   "Look, there's tons of blue people over there, shoot them, that's an order!"   There was, "Keep flying"   We had, "let's kick some blue butt" the classic american 'go go go go go' and then the less military standard ones like,   "Excuse me but could you stay seated?"   "Button your flies!"   "ohi, no kissing in the pool!"   "You boy, where are your plimsoles?"   "stop running in that corridor!"    "Corporal, 100 lines... 'I must always be a chauvinist solider who says corny phrases that hick townies will just lap up!'   Or the classic..."Excuse me sir... Chicken or fish?"

All this, whilst wielding an olive green mug of coffee in his left hand!   Worst of all, he then blows up the goodies base and comes out with the line... "great job today... Let's boogie!"   Uuugh!   Saving the best till last... At the pep talk just before the final 'highland fling' (I've been to bonny scotland y'know! Oh yes!) in the big finale battle between the greens; sporting their futuristic weaponry and the blues; on their... Er... Flying 'godzuki birds' and armed with school sports day javelins... Schofield announces to his whole amassed hoard, "ok everyone... Listen... Liiiiiiiiisten to me, children.   Stop talking at the back! Right... Blow everything up, good luck... (wait for it...) he actually says... "Oh, and I would like to be at home in time for dinner!"   Holy smoke! What? Yer mum wants you in before it gets dark?!? You're not allowed out after the "(s)tree(t)" lights come on!?! Ha! (see what I did there?)

One film, full to the brim with corny, very 2 dimensional, half witted, oh so obvious, cheap one liners and cliched catchphrases.

Uuugh... 3 hours... I hated it!

Still... It could've been worse.   It could've been littered with adverts... Oh yeah.   It was shown on Channel 4, weren't it?... It was!   In excess of 3 hours 30 minutes then.   

Still could've been worse... Could've been squabbling with the mrs all morning and not have the energy to shower untill waaay into the afternoon... Oh yeah... I was... 

Still, could you imagine if i were to completiy chuck my toys out of the pram and then be too ill to scream and storm out of the house... Oh yeah... I was!

It could've got even worse.   Could you imagine if the russian had got so fed up with me (and rightly so) that she'd rather not talk to me and decide that better than sitting in silence, put on the hard disc recorder and play back a nigh on four hour epic with big blue people in it... Oh yeah... She did!   

As soon as she highlighted Avatar on our Playlist and hit 'Ok,' my heart sank to unrecoverable depths!   (did you like my film review by the way? Safe to say I won't  be watching that film a second time... EVER.co.uk)

It's not all beer an skittles, this 'being off work for way over a year' thing.   What I've got at the mo does have its drags, let me tell you. There are some very low days indeed.   The russian and i call them bad cancer days.   Watching the most over hyped, predictable, flat film that I've seen for many a moon, sat for the best part of 4 hours next to someone you love dearly but right now just want to hurt a little bit, on a very grey Easter Saturday with slightly salty pits and knowing you're too Ill to storm out of the room let alone the house was one of them!

Baaaahh!!! 

Still... Could be worse...............? 

Hello friends, family, dearly loved ones... (that's all of you!) and distant associates... (just incase there's a knob head or two reading!)

How are we all?

Well well well... Here we are then.   Back from "shotlandia" a long time ago. (well remembered from the last blog, if you did!)

The last installment was very exciting for me and I really relished writing the opening passage about being on the train.   We really got a holiday feeling and both really enjoyed being up there in one of the most beautiful, idyllic, varied, engaging and spectacular areas of our country... Aberdeenshire. 

The mistletoe treatment I recived actually combined with the closest thing the Russian and I have had to a holiday for a very, very long time and was all together enthralling, relaxing and most of all recharging.

The treatment went realy well and was so, so much easier on me than the conventional methods and chemicals.   Rest easy friends, I'm not now a carrot crunching, pork fighting, oil tanker invading, spiritualist, doctor despising, self help idealist.   Oh no.   Well, sort of...   A little bit.   There's great bits to be drawn from both conventional and the alternative camps and we learnt that on our trip.

I'm so sorry that it's been such along time in updating everyone.    It's been a bit of a crazy situation here.   Good days. bad days, miserable days and strangely the odd almost great day here and there, more recently, believe it or not. 

It all started the weekend we got back from 'Шотландия'  Or as we all know it... Come on everybody, all together now... "SHOTLANDIA"

Towards the end of my stay I was getting funny visual sensations in my peripherals.   As time went on I decided that it was best to consult with my, er, consultant.   Sadly the day we were going to see him the vision distortions were getting worse and I fell quite heavily reaching for the bed post knob whilst trying to steady myself.   Because of the effect in my head the bed knob was some way to the right of where it appeared to me and my hand completely missed it and I went down in instalments, crashing to the bedroom floor.

Needless to say, the cancer in my head was growing again and was putting pressure on me brain.   Thus proving the existence of one (HA! mr swan in geography!   Why a PE teacher who could tear a rugby ball in 2 was allowed to teach us anything else that didn't involve organised fighting/bumming/egg chasing is beyond me!)

So new chemo and steroids required then... (read the old blog about steroids, last year if you haven't already! Woohwiee here we go again!)

It's very upsetting to be back on chemo after such a long time of recovery.   I know I was told things were bad again back in feb, hence the trip up north.   It's very sad to know that I'm back to not understanding my body and being very unpredictable about plans and seeing any of you guys.

The worst was to come.   After being released from hospital there were times I couldn't even muster the coordination to walk or climb stairs.   Help was required on a permanent basis either from the russian or my mum and dad.  There was one Sunday in particular when I was on a visit that had to be cut short due to a sudden outbreak of nausea.   I was taken home in the the car but when getting from the motor to the house I needed to be literally carried in by my super mum!   Both my legs just gave out and I lost the power and coordination to walk at all and with both arms around her shoulders i very nearly dragged my poor mother her over in the drive.   

Every week I got a bit better but to be that reliant really took some getting used to.   Eating, drinking, fetching the smallest things.   Impossible.  I really had to be waited on hand and foot.   Sounds great?   No way!   Having to wait in your bed in hospital at  3 am for a nurse to take you to the loo.   Having the sides clicked up on your bed so you wouldn't fall out of it.   Worst of all, taking 16 minutes to write "I love you twi, no, tow, no twe, ah! twk. Twl. Aww come on "l luv u 2" to the Russian in a simple text of an evening.   I h8 txt speak! Lol!  Aaah! 

It's hard.   You make a plan and then boof... It's out the window!   I know any of you lot understand but it's still upsetting for me.   Especially now I've lost my independence.   Completely!   That's why we're having more bad cancer days that usual.   I can never be on my own, even when you want to be and sometimes feel crap.   The worst part is never knowing where and when you'll be bad.   Puking on someone's carpet... Sorry sam and maz... Throwing up over the washing up in the sink... Again... Sam... Maz... I'm sorry about that... Or peeing in the garden over the lavender and tomatoes... 

Well that episode had nothing to do with chemo, that was because we were stargazing through a telescope and I didn't want to go in, pee and have to wait 20 mins for my eyes to readjust to the outside again.   With the garden's owner telling me, "yeah sure, go for it anywhere... NOT THERE THAT'S THE LAVENDER... NOT THERE EITHER THAT'S THE TOMATOES!!!"   Uh,! Next time, sam... Just say no... And maz... IM SORRY AGAIN!  

So unpredictability is back in my life...

Since then, I've been admitted to hospital twice.  Once for the giddiness and vision and once for a virus that both the Russian and I picked up.   High temp, aching joints and nausea.    Pleasant.    She was so bad she didn't have the energy to drive to hospital and see me!   Poor krorova!   (Russian for cow... Honest!)

So.   Ups and downs... What are you gonna do, eh?   

Roll with the punches I say.   So we have.   I'm now taking twice weekly mistletoe injections and Dr Geider in Scotland... or as we know it in Moscow... 'Шотландия'... He has managed to get me up to twice weekly 20ml size injections.   What do you reckon, Pamela?  Eh?   That's after having 160ml infusions as well!   Woo hoo!   

Sorry everyone, just some mistletoe chat between us mistletoe guys!   Oh you know what we're like... We're crazy, we are!!!   Ha ha!   Right Pam?   Can I call you Pam?   No?   Ok.

So... Er,

Things have been tough, unpredictable and at times... If Easter Saturday was anything to go by, massively infuriating!   Its tough for me and my unit.  Ma... Pa... The ruski!

Today for example.   I was flying high, feeling good.   Really good.   When you know you are up you have to be ready for a crashing blow from the hospital.   It can happen anytime and it's very easy to let your confidence build at home.   Its also nigh on impossible to detect where the next curve ball is coming from.   Now I know that the hospital is there to fix me, not to crush me.   The people in it are amazing.   Some really are beyond amazing and the level of care is fantastic.   Knowing the old Kent road as well as we now do is a giant bore.   The smell of floor detergent pisses me off and seeing people passed out or head in hands or simply struggling to get out of the lift can be quite upsetting.    

The hospital can throw you a curved ball from time to time.   I arrived home today, for example, sporting a natty pair of green hospital troos, my jeans full of piss, after having to poo in front of my friend and nurse, Ferdie, who is as camp as a row of pink tents... More energetic than the Duracell bunny... Funnier than Eddie izzard on helium...and when it comes to anaphylacdic reactions to treatments is as on it as a fighter pilot and sharp as a tak when your skin starts to itch all over, your tongue and airways are starting to swell and suddenly realising that i was sat only 2 foot away from a heart attack adrenaline stab injection!   Quite a day.  Hmmm... Quite a curve on THAT ball!

The story goes thus.   In for regular blood test.   Go home.   Told to come back for platelets.   Fair enough.   Get back.   Get a pool of platelets on the go really quickly, great.   Plus they only take half an hour to be administered.   Dad turns up with a sandwich and after first half a tuna mayo sandie my tongue starts growing, my whole body from head to groin starts itching like red ants are everywhere and my throat is going weird.  

Funny story this... 

So I call a nurse back and she realises I'm having an anaphylacdic shock to the platelets, something I've had given many times before.   Holy moly.   Things are kicking off so the nurse injects an antihistamine called piriton and some more, wait for it, steroids!   I know, having had piriton IV before, that it makes you drowsy and stoned like.   Don't ask me how I know... Er, I have friends in the music biz, your honor!

So now I'm in pain cos I've scoffed a tuna sandwich too fast, my tongue feels like I've been eating stinging nettles, my wholes body feels like I've got crabs and ferdie is sticking oxygen pipes up my bugle to help me breathe.   Then I get an instant hit from the piriton and wooo, whoa... The we go... Zzz uh? What? "ow, Ferdie, my chest hurts, I think I've got indigestion from my sandwich.   Can I have some pink stuff, gaviscon or whatever it is?"

He just looks at me... "ok maybe"

"it really hurts.   Can I have it now?"

"yeah in a minute.   I have to wait here with you now."

"uuuh? Ok."

So its the old wait here line, eh?  Not adding just incase I have to stab you in the heart with adrenaline then!   Well... Whether it was indigestion or my pipes tightening up or indeed a heart attack, my cause wasn't helped by the fact i was sweating like Rooney in a maths test and saying just how much my chest was hurting!   

So the wee and jeans bit.   Well more comic farce than medical drama.   Read on at your peril or simply skip to the line of + signs.   Now.   One thing about being in hospital I've learnt is that once the curtain is drawn around them, a private chat with a doctor, or a personal procedure with a nurse is just that... Private.   No no and thrice no!   It is simply shared around the ward.

It's so easy to determine whats wrong with your fellow bay bedders.   All you have to do is wait for their doctor to come round, draw the curtain and talk about poo, bums, 'how's your lump behaving?' and the best one... 'I just need to stick a finger in your bum... Oh no reason!' all at doctor volume.

So imagine sweating perfusley, holding your chest and spinning out on the good stuff trying to tell the now chatting nurse and doctor you need to poo.   All of a sudden.   Right now.   Er.  

"Guys.    (whisper)   "I need to, er, poo?   Now."

"ah, can you wait  (loud doctor voice, 6 other people in the ward) Your blood pressure drops after you poo so we would ask you to wait."

"ok" I whisper.

So they bring a commode, just in case and tell me to hold on if poss....   No.... Not poss.   Not poss at all.

So, waiving my towel and signalling at my four wheeled friend I make a move and drop the jeans!   Young pretty doctor legs it, dad and nurse help me up and guide me to mobile throne to make a call.

Don't worry I won't go into detail but mid way through I could hear the drrr drrr drrr of pee hitting bowl.   Fine.   Boy I was relaxing now.   I was still a bit stoned from the piratin but calming down and coming round.   Only to look down and see the commode bowl not fitted properly and the drrr drrr drrr of pee filling up the back left pocket of my jeans!!!! Socks and shoes took a hit too!   In not such a behind the curtain whisper, infact in more of a completely forgetting where you are, boom, I noted to my father...

"dad, DAD... I'm pi??ing into my bloody jeans!!!   Look at it, all over the back of my shoes!!!    Aww no!"

Not that you really needed to guess what was going on back there after the doctors told me to stave off a poo at 120 decibels and then later on your treated to that unmistakeable sound drrr drrr drrr of urine hitting surfaces that it shouldn't be.   It makes you lean your head back, close your eyes and your shoulders drop as you realise that's gonna take some clearing up!    Drunkards, parents and parents of drunkards know the feeling!   If it's happening to you, you sometimes just stop and enjoy the moment.  All that's happening now is that the puddle's getting bigger and you are SO far past the point of no return!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Like I say guys, roll with the punches...   Just rolling with the punches.

It's easy to say now, lying on my sofa.   Fed, watered, recouped and showered.   I've even got my dressing gown on.   As cosy as can be.   I can laugh about these things and I think you have to.   It'll be about 50 years time when I'll be doing it for real.   Relying on son or daughter to get me to bed or take my pants off.   Maybe my beautiful russian wife too.   Certainly not my beautiful, young Russian fiancée and nor should it be my parents for the second time around!   Not fair in the slightest!   

It's an unnatural cycle to see the young one in the treatment chair on the day ward.   You see a few.   It's never right.   They are the ones my heart breaks over the most.   Also the people around the chair.   The fiancé and the parents.   Sisters and brothers.   Friends and family.

Still, I find that the classic joke about the philipino for thank you has 'em rolling in the aisles, ill tell thee!   The real word is salamat but I say... I say... Get this... I always say... Salami...?    Instead...  Eh eh?   Come on.   What d'you reckon... It's a classic.   Used it today, went down a treat!   Even the cake was in tiers... Eh?   Eh?   Salami...   They did laugh, some of the other patients. It could've been the salami gag or the fact that the "DAD DAD IM PISSING INTO MY JEANS!" bloke was walking out of the ward in green Barts hospital trousers and slightly moist trainers!   

"love this putter, Larry... I love this putter!"

X

Clikerty clak... clikerty clak...

My environment is gently bumping and rocking.   The brown/grey ballast is just a dusty streak.   Overhead power cables skip from pylon to pylon.    The shiny topped rails remain constantly fixed in their parallel grip.   Trees flicker past and the flat countryside seems to twist about my window as we speed across it.    Sidings gently swing towards us and then their rails cut under the carriage as they meet the main line.   Occasionally we jump over level crossings and float across rivers.   Platforms pop out of the ground, wobble alongside for a brief moment and pop away again.   The last one was Peterborough I think.   Way off in the distance I can see a gaggle of power station cooling towers having their steam slowly ripped from their tops by the passing breeze and then suddenly… WOOMP WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR  WHRRR... WOOMP! Makes me flex back a little in my seat.

Can you guess where I am then…?  (apart from just north of Peterborough!!!)   yes that’s right.   I’m on a fast train piling north up the country.   For the train spotters amongst you, it’s a twin loco 125 class HST (high speed train) numbers 43097 and 43134 with 13 car’s comprising of 3, first class and one buffet car.   I actually have 2 such sets with my model railway.   Of course having purchased my HST models way back in the late 80’s they carry the British Rail ‘Intercity’ swallow logo and colours.    Now a days I’m surprised these trains don’t bloody scrape by as they pass!   These comfortable, smooth yet elderly coaches must be at least an inch wider each side with the amount of paint that has been daubed on them over the years!   Since the privatisation of our old government funded national rail service these trains have changed hands like a set of old Ford Mondeo’s between camel hair clad dodgy car dealers.   Private companies keen to get their gaudy colours down the side and charge you a fiver an hour for wi-fi access (!) come, make a hash of it and then get bankrupt and eventually flog the lot on.    Then another chancer spins the roulette wheel whilst dreaming up another colour clash (“err… guys, how about pink windows, yellow wheels and green doors!?!) and reaches for the brushes and tins!  

One thing I didn’t mention in my wistful opening was the twit with the booming voice who is sat right behind us having conversations with anyone who will listen to such exciting anecdotes like; giving his mum a spa voucher, the architect who had is e mail as .com instead of .co.uk, the garage door that needs to open ‘into’ the garage on the plans, the best way to claim money back as over time rather than bonus and a mate who hasn’t sold his boat yet!!!   And of course we know thanks to his extensive conversations that he’s getting off at Newcastle…!  AAAHHH!!!!

But… hang about… what’s this..?   as I peer back between the seats..  I can see the pages of the ‘specialist’ magazine he’s reading!   Yes, yes I can see it’s a publication of the more ‘cultured’ variety for the more er, shall we say ‘lonely’ man.   Its littered with pictures, giving no doubt as to the nature of his ‘hobby’ mag!   I can’t believe he’s got the audacity to read it in a public place.   I promise you that this is absolutely genuine, as I report on what I see.   The guy behind us, ‘mr chatter box’ is calmly, as if it were a normal thing to do… thumb through the pages of a model railway magazine!!!   He’s just like me… a model rail enthusiast… only unlike me doesn’t mind people, especially attractive girls, knowing about his passion.   Obviously it seems that I’m bearing all on this page about my own model rail facination but I’m amongst friends, here, right?!?  Unbelievable!   I can’t resist another peek back…  “cor look at the livery on that!!!   She’s got a crackin’ set of bogeys on her!!!   Phwoor, look at the rail’s on it!”   Ha!

Oooh, here we are at our first stop, York… an hour and fifty minutes up the road, sorry rails!   But hang on a minute…   where are all the people on the platform trying to sell you carpet, or lease an elephant, stirring a dubious looking concoction in a dustbin on wheels, or wanting you to take an interest in the snake in a basket!   Oh yeah, now I realise…  we’re not in India.    Hold up… the station’s moving backwards… nope.   It’s us, setting off and heading for the Scottish border, once more.

Ah, Scotland or “shcaatlandia” as the Russian puts it to her mum on the phone.   To give it its proper Russian spelling its Shotlandia.   Why Scotland?   Well it all boils down to my current situation.   Sadly, earlier this year, my doctors in London told me that things weren’t looking so good.   My blood results say that things are growing again…AGAIN! AAAH!   The high dose chemotherapy got me back to zero counts but since late December, early Jan my counts started to rise.   So I needed scanning to find out the location of my regenerating ill’s.   The technique used is known as a P.E.T./C.T scan.    It basically involves me being injected with radioactive glucose, leave it to spead for a while and then scan my body to see where any active areas of disease ‘light up’ with activity.

The best result we could wish for is a single location, preferably in my abdomen, to show the only sign of activity that can be specifically targeted and worked on.   Either with a blast of radio therapy or a quick swipe from the surgeons knife.   Alas the results show there are 3 active areas.   One in the abdomen, one in the lung and a new thing showing on a couple of ribs suspected to be either a new growth or a cracked rib.   No new aches and pains for me sadly gives me the worst probable outcome for that little bugger!   So as my doctor pointed out there are other drugs he can give me but there’s a good chance they would just make me ill with the same outcome as all the other drugs I’ve had:- good initial killing of cells but a re-emergence of growth after the drugs have run their course.

The one option I put to my consultant was the alternative mistletoe therapy available to me at a private clinic in Aberdeen.   Thanks to a contact given to me by our friend’s mother, Pamela and with Dr Shamash’s blessing, we have had the opportunity to jump on the train for the 7 hour schlep to the east coast of ‘Shotlandia’   I mentioned this opportunity earlier last year in one of my waffle blogs but now the time to give it a shot is suddenly upon us.   I spoke at length to my consultant on Monday afternoon and by Monday evening, after a chat with Dr Geider (Dr mistletoe) we were Aberdeen bound.  

We’re staying on site at the Camphill medical centre in one of the self contained apartments, 6 miles outside the ‘granite city.’   As far as we can work out we’ll be away for approximately 2 weeks having an intensive course of mistletoe.    According to the web site, (have a look if you fancy www.mistletoeforcancer.org.uk) there’s plenty to see and do up there and I should be well enough to enjoy it.    The theory behind this treatment is that cancer sneaks up on your immune system, which is unaware of anything the matter.   It’s a poison that can administered in a number of ways and brings on reactions that kick start’s your body into fighting back.   The way chemotherapy works is to decimate everything indiscriminately wiping out the good and the bad.   Please check out the mistletoe web site and see for yourself.   The centre is private and has a charity scheme set up, which you all will not hear the end of when im all fixed and singing its praises!

Mistletoe works with some of your bodies systems and can often make you feel much fitter and healthier.   I have been told that there is a number of days that I will be off and hopefully be well enough to get about a bit.   Great compared to the soul crushing confinement of a hospital.   There are walks on the nearby river Dee and the opportunity for some drives into Scotland’s beautiful interior plus the Russian is keen to visit Edinburgh, the capital, for the first time.    There’s even plans a foot to make it over to the famous Loch Ness to try my hand at ‘Nessie’ spotting.   We’re hiring a car for the first week and seeing what’s what.   It’s Thursday (16^th) today and we are due in to Aberdeen at 17:10.   The train left London at 10 this morning and there are no changes all the way through.    There’s plenty of time for the future ‘Mrs’ Russian and I to sit, reflect, daydream out of the window, work on the ‘puter’ (in her case) and scoff the offerings of our raid on the M&S food hall at the station…. Hmmm avocado salad, very middle class!

I’m sure they’ll be plenty of time in our little Scottish condo to report on my progress and let you know if I did manage to get a snap of the Loch Ness monster!   I may even stick up an old blog about my day at west ham vs Millwall that I was gonna report on this week until I got more crappy news from my quack!

I’ve still got my chin up and we are both looking forward to a chance to escape the London life for a while.   My ever devoted parents are following us up to join us on Monday.   I will be able to report back about how the team are getting on and what sort of time scale we are looking to spend north of the border, once I’ve consulted with my new doctor.    I also heard David Cameron was in Edinburgh today, trying to persuade the Scots to not form an independent country.   I might join him for support.   He’s claiming we’d all be worse off un-united and I agree with that opinion… we’d have to abandon one of the most beautiful flags in existence, the union flag, for starters!!!   Can you imagine…?  The UK having a different flag…?    Impossible!

And on that burst of nationalistic fever I leave you with the grammatical horror that is starting this sentence with the word ‘and’ er, and bid you all a very good day.    X