it was all going so well too

The feeding tube operation was fantastic.

I watched the videos and was quite excited to get to watch it in real life. As I said to the nurse in pre op this wasn't the kind of thing that worried me.

I'd had an intrusive camera in most entrances/exits of the body and from the video it seemed a small one.

I talked through the procedure with the nurse and I got a gold star for paying attention. I then got corrected by the surgeon for being too smug as he explained in much more technical terms. I said, wow, that's even more fascinating. I had to keep reminding myself not to enjoy it so much as I got wheeled through.

It's a big team and a big room. I asked for the stone roses or the banana album, but I'd settle for Berlin or the third Deadbeat compilation tape. Sadly we got a WiFi signal malfunction and had a mundane musical mixture.

First up was a quick look to see where my liver stopped and a gap to my stomach began. Good luck with that I thought but with less than 100 units in 2 months it was surprisingly easier for a target site to be found. Next up the spray and wire.

The most painful, and that is moot, as it was more of a surprise, was the clear nostril that took the banana spray.

The surgeon was so accurate and the nostril so clear of mucus that it went right down my throat. Like a shot I had in Newcastle once upon a time. That was a tear maker shaker.

I assumed the position, on my side with my shoulders forward and square but my arm trailing to let the X-ray machine do it's stuff. 

Swallow swallow swallow, yep, that's it in and hooray, let's tape and prepare.

Next up the ballooning of the belly and then the two incisions to staple the stomach to the skin wall. Wheech out the wire. Then drill a hole for the tube, blow up the tube's balloon with water. Tidy site up and cover.

I still had 5 minutes left to survey all the pictures of the job and to thank the team for such an inside track. Superb work and done so quickly. I was back up in the ward, about 200m away via long halls and lifts in no time. I'm glad I wasn't trying to catch a plane at Stansted as it's the only comparison I could make with the porters. Imagine pushing me uphill on a non motorised trolley, or prevent me rolling away from you going downhill. I'm reliably informed Gordon lost the pram when I was only a 3 stone baby on tempeland road so the larger 61 year old me was a big ask. 3pm I'm texting and sleeping, oblivious to how easy a successful procedure could hit a landmine.

By 6pm a bit of pain relief and then off to the ward. Ouch. That's when it happened. I still don't know if it was me stretching to pull my bag in, a speed bump in the corridor or moving a boot but somehow the wound took a direct hit and I was swearing like a loud sweaty sweary thing. I was close to passing out and I thought, stay awake, while the rest of me was, why to feel this pain, let it go, you stupid smug git, no laughing now pal eh. The porters stopped shouted up to the nursing staff, moved me back and I had 5 more hours for it to settle down. It didn't. Oh, and now I couldn't laugh anyway as it was agony laughing.

I eventually moved but it was terrible. I lay all night drinking the morphine but the relief lasted less than 30 mins. 

By the morning the docs had a look and said yeah, another night and see how you are. A wee tad tender, thought I.

That's where I'm at now. A wee tad tender but I've got my pals codeine and paracetamol. I've also got a bottle of morphine but it didn't seem too long lasting so I'll save it for the weekend, when I hope to get back out walking.

Yesterday I had all the nutritional stuff and speech therapy which was great. I flushed my tube all by myself and learned the on off switches.

I also got some wind put yesterday which was a huge bonus. Tube wearers of the world are united on this but laughing is a big no no.

Me and my new pal, tube who is the perfect cousin have been chatting away and once the stitches come out I think it will ease off significantly.

In the meantime I'll walk the streets of Oswald and south Oswald road waving my stick at all these young folk who come too close.

Mind you the farts I'm letting out at the moment are so loud you'd need your Sony Walkman on at full volume not to hear me coming.

And then came Saturday morning. Yes the weekend. I slept like a baby until 2:40am. It was a deep dihydrocodeine coma kind of sleep.

Once I woke I got up had some Weetabix and jogged around the flat like I was in Andy type auditions for little Britain.

At 4am I went back to sleep and designed something to replace the nylon string vest thingy. By 8am I was admiring myself.

No doubt the moobs are shrinking but the old Camino shreddies have been converted into a skin soft Bamboo tube  hold all.

I made the coffee, had more Weetabix wondered about the general madness I see everywhere and then remembered it's all material, or even immaterial. Thanks again for the many what's app messages. My energy seems to rise and collapse randomly so if you get a thumbs up or no response I've probably just taken something for the pain again.

So back in bed, tube flushed with sterile water, rotated 360° and now I'm in bed.

Stitches out on Monday. I'll hopefully get a stroll in the afternoon. I really enjoyed walking out yesterday even for just a few steps, but I'm also partial to a long lie so that's pretty cheering too.

What was so funny last night was Jackie had a bottle of at Nicolas de Bourgeuil. It was one of her favourite reds, her only one until I introduced.her to the light Mencia in Bierzo and Leon.

I could smell it in the bathroom. I know you're all laughing that I could sniff out a bottle of red in a nuclear holocaust but I kid you not it was like it was under my nose. I'm potentially due to lose these taste sensations which is why I mention it. It's a diary note for me, remember when. It was hysterical though whenever I shouted, "is that you having another glass?" Pot, kettle..... Please complete the sentence.

Today brought other great news. The beetroot worked it's magic. I have spare sachets if anyone is a bit bunged up. My tubes from top to toe are as clear as the queues to get back into Summerhall. 

Summerhall is a venue used during the festival. I enjoy a pint of Barney's there but it can get very busy at festival time. When I head along on Tuesday for a pint I'm sure I'll be one of about 3 not 333.

Enjoy your weekend wherever you are.

Stu's birthday, I'm getting a mask

Yes, it's fancy dress for me today as I head down to get my mask fitted.

A few residual chores sorted as I passed my GP and handed on the request for a blood test 72 hours before the chemo starts. Down through the west end and Young St.

This week is a quiet one relatively speaking. I've got the mask, CT scan and consent today.

Tomorrow is the inserting of the feeding tube RIG and an overnight stay at the albergue western. I've never stayed in a hospital albergue but I've visited a few people who have. They remind me of a few I've stayed at in the past. For fellow pellegrinos, I'm thinking Hornillos del Camino near Burgos. The albergue next to the church. There were people in the church praying for it to smell better but alas, that's pilgrims for you.

So fingers crossed I get a lower bunk near the toilet. News just in, it's all single deck at the western so lower bunk assured.  Fantastic news in an era of media misrepresentation. A single bed is an absolute godsend.

I remember when I was a student returning to WoodMac I'd done a job of work during Easter in the Young St basement. It was my first true understanding of myself. I had to arrange all the filing which had just been launched, into a damp basement, from the stairwell above. I sat smoking a roll up having created a bit of space by refilling and stacking some boxes on the empty cabinet shelves. I went away to the pub and thought about it. I'll finish the story later as I need to get to the Western.

I'm here for my mask fitting, CT scan and consent to treatment. Who should I bump into, fellow TSB sweep member Alex. A full four weeks further down the trail and like me feeling lucky as that lucky things as the professionals here are so phenomenal. 

The mask was tough but it's done, I said. Great treatment from the team framing the mask. They knew from my trembling I was big on my twin pals claustrophobia and vertigo. Before we could finish chuntering away I was called for the scan.

The scan that followed likewise caused issues but again the radiographic team were superb with me. My veins must be getting tired of all this panic by me as they all had a shot at it until 6th time lucky. I think I get myself so wound up that the veins just tighten and shrivel up meaning canualas need to go around corners. Please don't send Uri Geller I mumbled.

It's been either straight in or I've done a double shift of the staff. Bloods are usually fine but I can't help thinking I usually go once a year, not daily.

I tried to think of my walk down the road today once the mask was on and the stuff going through the veins. At times as they adjusted my shoulders and arms I couldn't help laughing that Scott Clark the outstanding professional and coach at Prestonfield would encourage me to stand up and as usual one shoulder would rise or fall, or collapse in a Ramsay way. That's the funny thing about practice swings sharing no resemblance with the real one. Luckily the professionals here take the swing. Top tip for Scott, hit our shot.

Erskine house, now a hotel and then Kintore, next door, were huge entry points into the adult world. As I say, when I returned, as a student, during the holidays I was often in Young St but it all began for me as a 15 year old. It was amazing working in the post room. We got paid £4.65 a week for our 4:30-7pm shift3 days a week plus overtime delivering the research notes internally on whisky or north sea oil or going to the GPO loading bay in lower Carlton road. I even remember getting the overnight bus to London with a datapost bag and turning up at London office with them asking if my mum knew I was away. When I went off to St Andrews I was only 17 but I'd been there for nearly 3 years.

I'd be 19 when I went to the Oxford Bar that day and it was one of my crazy ways of looking at things. I thought these are filing boxes rarely looked at. They need to be catalogued but they don't need every year or every type of document to be together, I'll do that in a plan, a list of where to find things. 20 different types of document and so e were part, some were full years. I wrote up where everything was. Typed it in three different ways and then rolled another fag and went back to the pub. It was 3pm on my first day of a 3 week job. I knew I would have to stress test it. That would take the rest of the 3 weeks. I'd turn up at 10:30 smoke a few fags then go to the pub at 12. Go back via Erskine house and say it would all be completed in less than the 3 weeks then head back to Young St for 5 mins, then the pub. I was a proper wee smug git.

Unfortunately this ambition for the pub is perhaps what has got me in trouble now as I've noticed my pals vertigo and claustrophobia are clearly not as powerful as they were before I started on my modified behaviour. This is week 6 and I can't say I enjoy drinking a fifth of what I used to, but there are benefits.

Consent is done and I'm off for a walk. Down the Telford path to Roseburn. I see it's now getting redesignated as a potential team route. I can see why a few people wast to save the path. With all due respect to trams we don't have the wit of a city like Vitoria-Gasteiz and our trams or cycle policies are hugely politicised. It's a journey we refuse to travel together. Equally it's a journey that requires a knowledge of what is under the city as much as above the ground. The tram going along Princes Street, for the money shot of the castle, was being one of many ill conceived route choices. You can study other public transport systems around the world but if you're solely looking for examples to back up your case you've wasted everyone's time and money.

On the plus side, it's a joy to see the electric buses back after they were removed 20 years ago.

I'm a walking fan and in a city like Edinburgh why not. So many green places to walk through and the Telford path to Roseburn via the water of Leith was superb. 

Meeting Simon and Scott Miller on the way to Miller Row proved inspirational. We all like a row.

We walked passed a few popular sites not least woody Guthrie, I mean Willie Nelson of course.

Willie's grandfather William, famously donated the well to the people of Edinburgh. Nobody was going to row about that in the 19th century.

On we went through Stockbridge taking the st Bernards Crescent bypass to get back on the water of Leith before a stop at the Orchard.

Back onto the warriston path we head down and rejoined the water of Leith before wandering back up to the bell field brewery.

A wonderful end to the day with a 0.5% IPA, so good I had to have 2.

It was a chaotic sleep as I woke, checked the clock and went back to sleep. Knowing I was a breakfast free option in the albergue meant I could just get off. The weather wasn't quite as indusive to walking so I got the bus while it poured and then walked the latter stages.

it was squally, a day not to play golf, rather a day to have a tummy tuck or a tube slipped in. 

I arrived in good time to finish this stage of the day and then hit the waiting room.

I'm now dressed in my Goonie and canula in first time. I bagged the north facing window bed. Unbelievable here, it's a twin with an ensuite. 

Time to snooze I think.