It's a sleepy "notso fatso" that woke this morning. Sunday saw lots of storms so I was unlikely at 2am to wander down to the car for Weetabix. I went back to sleep, I woke at 7 and after an hour of gargling and rinsing I finally finished clearing the throat. Most people chuckle that it's worse than when I smoked. Those who witnessed me on the smoking balcony of 10 George Street remember it took an hour and five roll ups before I was finally ready to stop spitting. Quite disgusting with hindsight but at 40 I didn't have many years left in me to be fair.
When Paul Simon and I, oops, I missed a comma and it looks like I'm name dropping. Paul P, Simon and I gave up smoking in 2005. I could hardly breathe anyway so I figured I didn't really have many months left as a smoker so I might as well try smoker in remission.
Back to this morning and 8am saw me finally do my teeth again. I've had so much gagging that every time I thought I could get the mouth guards in I was stopped in my tracks. I know how important it is as the radiation destroys the bone so I was delighted to get a good hour with them in. By 9, I thought it safe to go to the car for the Weetabix and by 9.30 I could take them out and go back to sleep. The Weetabix would wait until 12.30. I finally got myself out of bed and fed two lots of shakes down the tube and a Weetabix down the throat. My head was hurting now and I guess it was hunger as I went to bed at 8pm last night, so two paracetamol sorted it. The throat pain has continued to suprise me. Part of me wants to intervene once it's unbearable, but not before it is. Today's issue, if there was one, is the level of pain is well below what I had with constipation, so I figure I'll just let it go. When you yawn or do the mouth Olympics it's excruciating but literally only for that moment. It settles almost immediately unlike the mental turmoil a shank at golf might create. As a result we've been saving the painkillers for through the night.
After putting 2 shakes through I settled into watching the football and eating some Mr Kipling cakes. They're quite benign so not too much singing from the palate. I'll have another 2 shakes for dinner along with some chicken, beetroot and tatties. I've been eating a small piece of the chicken for an hour now, so it's a pointless exercise thinking I could eat a proper plate.
I've had 3 very short walks today and during one of them I was delighted I had my nappy on. The truth is I felt I needed the toilet so I went back to the house and sat down. What I didn't appreciate was my limited control from the interventions was still non existent. Phew, I laughed as I got myself a new pair. They advised I keep taking the Laxido but I'm thinking I can maybe scale it back a wee bit. Most blog watchers will probably back that but it was Jackie who confirmed it. Well her nose did, but that's another story.
So now it 9pm and I'm finally putting my chicken dinner in the pending tray. I think one more tiny carrot will see my solids for the day done. It does kick the throat off so probably best I had Weetabix now and start the shakes.
Bed by 10 after two shakes is probably stupid. You gave made the feeding mechanical, by using the tube, but indigestion or should I say digestive support is still required. You don't just lie down like you've had a Christmas meal. I walked up and down the hall being too lazy to just go outside and do once around the building. I've got physio exercises that I do walking on tip toes and also on heels. Funny how being 15kg lighter can make those exercises seem redundant. I'm due to try a run soon and this should be very funny. The last time I was doing my couch to 5k I got to 80m-100m running in under 30 seconds. I know this because I can walk it in 30 seconds and I'm sure it was a PB. I enjoy walking past joggers but I could never run past any, I'm so much slower running. Carrying 14 stone 12 and not 17 stone plus will however change the gig. When I walk the Camino my bag normally takes me over 18 stone, the thought that it takes me to over 15 stone is mesmirising. That's me back to jogging again. It's all very well to say I've arrived at my Latin weight of notso fatso, but I literally have. Fat Al is on all my golf balls, how will I identify now. This abstinence from drink during the preparation phase and then the treatment stages has undoubtedly been a success from the weight perspective. I've no inclination to try wine although I'm sure curiosity will capture me in the next few weeks.
I keep looking at all these unexpected dividends from weight loss to eczema with all the others in between. When you hear of others cancers you really do feel a fraud alongside them but there is a mindset that changes you with a diagnosis. I think if I had one tip for everyone it would be to try and introduce a cancer check into your Christmas present list. Prevention ain't easy so early diagnosis is your best friend. So many people naturally want to assume the worst but not find out. You are doing your Doc a favour, and all the professionals if you could just get checked out once a year.
I'm certainly no expert but whether it be blood tests or checking for lumps, being a bit more aware of unusual fatigue, just a bit more self aware as opposed to self obsessed. I'm expert on one thing, myself, and my frailties were clearly capable of being an obstacle to treatment. I think without the cacophony in the car on the way to Crail that sunny day in May, I may well have waited another few days. Even if I only waited another two weeks, it would've been so unfair on those trying to treat me.
Like with smoking, post cancer treatment will be an interesting evolution of Fat Al. I was reminded when I was reading issue #18 of Deadbeat, that 41 years ago on Friday I woke up. I was 20 and I wasn't at uni anymore. Everyone else was but I'd finished, a bit empty handed as it would turn out, but I was finished. No more grant, no more flatmates no more course work just some resits to do in 4th year, everyone else's 4th year as I'd done an ordinary. I didn't handle this reinventing well at all. In my 3td year I'd taken a handful of subjects described as easy to get me over the line but even an easy subject requires you to go to a class or read a book. I did neither as we had put out 15 issues of deadbeat during that academic year. Normally WoodMac would fill my hopper but they had nothing for me. Mum's picnic basket would appear and fill the void but that October, I was 20 and back drinking on my own in the Avon. I raised a pint to myself as part of my new calorie rich diet.
I'd evolved before without knowing it. I arrived in the USA age 9 and really smart. I beat the teacher at chess, poked fun at how stupid my classmates were, how they knew nothing about their country and just kept reciting that disgusting morning mantra. My Mum had to explain I was Scottish which is why I wouldn't pledge allegiance to their flag, despite knowing why there were stars and stripes. Even as I write it obvious if a shooter came into Darnestown elementary school I'd be the #1 smug target for their pleasure. I could feel the class and the teach singing "start over there". Guns, were big back then and the hunting shooting fishing fraternity was quite an ugly bunch, it was 1972 and I only had my own self obsession to worry about and the inadequacy of the education being promulgated. One of my class would eventually work in the white house. His name was chuck, and I'm sure he was good at his job, but just saying, he wasn't as a 9 year old. The best of the rest, nah, not even that. I can't remember which administration he worked for but Chuck did make me chuckle. He had a lovely smile and that's always gone a long way. Scots just don't have the same teeth.
My dentist in Quince Orchard could confirm that. As a diplomatic kid, my dental bills were free, or as Dr Yamaichi used to tell me, he was free to fill all my baby teeth and be suitably reimbursed. Lucky him. Smart place to have a practice, it's the USA, wooh, wooh!! Who knew there was gold in that gob of mine🤣. After two years I'd had 97 fillings, route canals and the rest. I was 11 and I had a mouthful of stuff, and it wasn't gold. That had long since left the building. It perhaps explains why my teeth are fairly low on my list of priorities at the moment.
Even with the that prompt, I've still sat down and concentrated on feeding not teeth cleaning. Tube is happy and another bottle has been fed. I then put a pastry in the oven and before I knew it, was back asleep. I was dreaming about all those life changing moments, especially those where I made choices I never knew I was making. We call it sleepwalking and there is no doubt, I'm a champion of sleepwalking both in my youth and adult life. When we were doing issue #18, I think I thought I could still pull off the whole Deadbeat label, venue and fanzine. I saw a pathway which I was sleepwalking towards but it required capital. Where I had no clue, was I was rigid about keeping 10p as the price when early 80's hyper inflation suggested it should increase every year. If you're main cost is paper and you have to start sourcing it with a van at the back door of a warehouse, it's probably not a reliable business model.
After the flood was a popular expression my dad used. I reckon that's what this is, another flood. My hearing and eating will be impacted but I'll have a pulse. Those floods in the past summed up my sporting success. Going to school in Maryland in 1972 saw me one of the best footballers so when I arrived back in Edinburgh I got picked for Edinburgh schools, at basketball. Absolutely gutted I was, to find I was not a footballer anymore. Teachers really enjoy boxing you into a corner and by first year at Holyrood where basketball was a thing there was no turning back. The closest I'd get to a football field would be Easter Road until Borehamwood came knock 15 years later.
While in Maryland my favourite Auntie Mamie died. I used to cycle over for my tea once or twice a week to see Mamie and Helen. I'd play cards with them. They were 60 I was 8. I'd meander through the Grange using different streets to see which let me get fastest going downhill bearing gift of plaster of Paris ashtrays. I was inconsolable when Mamie died and when I came back I went to visit Helen who shared the house in Blackford Avenue with her but it wasn't the same. I was now 11 and Helen was always a bit more severe than Mamie who indulged me all day long with sweets and my absolute favourite mince. She always joked she'd take the recipe to the grave and it was a family joke as neither of them could boil an egg. It was tinned mince but it had been heated with love. I would send them letters, as Roddy Frame famously sung, while we were in the USA but sadly they never visited.
I pass their house almost every day and wonder how two primary teachers could ever hope to afford the £400k required nowadays. They belonged to an era when there was this thing called the professional classes. Those with degrees got to be teachers or doctors and but a house. Those who served apprenticeships got to rent them. Obviously they could buy them but it wasn't obligatory.
Just like issue #19 after the various floods of my youth I find the way time distorts both the length of time and the links great fodder for fun. I retired at 46 because I knew I couldn't work once I gave up smoking. I tried for 3 years but I wasn't interested. I declined a seat on the board because as Iggy sang I was chairman of the bored. My distain for taking free money encouraged me to leave a wee bit too quickly. I could do with £10k a month for one month at 2009 prices, just for a wee poke at myself. How would I spend it now? Certainly not £1000 on staff in my city centre hideaways.
At the time of issue #19 I still had to get a pass in 2nd year economics. My tutor was brilliant but he kept saying please don't tell us what you should have done in honours just give us these answers. Finally I conceded ground and just answered what they wanted, but I'm glad I'm free now to comment.
I wrote a while back about QE, the banks bail out and the catastrophic effects of leaving people in charge of the banks with the aim of making profit while suggesting they support businesses. If you're a modern banking your job is to destabilise your victim and move them to a higher rate as soon as possible. Start with a debt then leverage it. I know that sounds cynical but it's the easiest way to meet targets. Sell the highest margin product first, isn't that on the cover of the sales manual?
Sod businesses that we have loans with, let's sell these loans to sharks who will close the business and use the QE cash to generate profit.
Without hesitation they supported every buy to let mortgage. What's not to like. A higher premium with an asset secured. Within 5 years the property market would be distorted and within 20 years (16 and counting) we'd have a property boom which ensures few can join the ladder.
When Labour were mocked for their renationalise agenda a few elections ago I noticed nothing was said about renationalising council houses. They were worth 15 times as much. Not really a vote winner either when that horse had long bolted.
What did seem strange at the time of QE was that council house building wasn't to the fore. Again if governments wanted to bail banks out with caveats they should've been able to work out what they should be. They were either stupid, negligent or complicit. I suspect if you put 3 cabinet members in a room I could name their strength.
The time to have invested was at the moment of every shape. If not then as soon after the fall of the government who encouraged it. I bang on about the NHS and how every hospital should come with housing. It seems a glaringly obvious proposition to encourage people to join an industry and get on the property ladder.
There is no will for this as we've long since moved to the L'aissez faire approach. For those in their 30's who bought and are now sitting with a stable mortgage as opposed to soaring rents, I take my hat off to you. For those who couldn't because parents couldn't or wouldn't help, I feel your pain. Some parents naturally think they've done well but they'll need it for later and everyone has to find their own path. Others realise, without worrying, they won a watch and are now sitting on an asset they could never have dreamt would be worth more than their pension. Sadly, your home, your house, the property, is now a pension and that's most of the UK. Those who don't have one will not be encouraged to stay in this country for very obvious reasons.
Unlike Mr Kipling, the landscape over the next 15-20 years is exceedingly tough not tasty as taxation will hit hard against home disposal and the inevitable slide towards care. Government would tax the deck chairs on the Titanic so don't think that your ISA or home is any less likely.
If they move against 2nd homes I can see that fine. If they choose to have a one off moratorium to free up some of those homes, I could see that too, but MPs and second homes is probably too close to the bone. It's their extra pension too you know, one which nobody really cares too much about.
My Mum and Dad bought a house in 1988 in France with the proceeds from a flat in Gala that had been bought for my brother going to college there. I think it cost £12k and was sold for £18k. The main trick my Dad played on himself was taking it over 5 years so it was like a savings plan. He probably wishes he did it in St Andrews when Tom was there and I followed. Certainly my golfing pals would've wished it. It's a well trodden path and the only change to the story I bang on about is the population who go to University. Even if only 10% of parents buy property for their kids, assuming you have 10,000 students that's 1000 properties. A real market distortion. In 1979 you have 2000 students and 200 properties it's an issue but managed.
I've talked in the past about the Armageddon housing crash that I thought was coming in 2026 but I'm reconsidering that thought. I think the worst of the high interest rates has passed us now and the demand for property has not been satiated in the slightest.
I did a similar u- turn when I called the stock market Armageddon crash in August 2006. The 0% low start loans were now moving to full fare and at that stage there were 200,000 defaults. The timing of the loans being written and moving to full interest meant they would rise exponentially for a year. By Christmas it would be millions and soon tens of millions. Houses built on sand, it was all transparent. I stopped putting money in the pension and told Jackie there'd be a crash so just spend and buy all the bargains. 2007 ended and no crash, so I gave up my stance and put my money back in the market. These banks were taking £50bn bad debt hits as if it was small beer. Lying, cheating, defrauding dancing bastards.
How much gold left the building during 2007 when everyone knew. If I knew then surely people in the organisation with qualified assessors could work it out. How many gold plated pensions were written during 2007. Check the list of share options exercised and cashed. Shares transferred to family members and quietly disposed of. By the time of the banking crisis April 2008, the treasure had already left the building and all that was left were a few wretched slimy individuals still trying to find the key for the wine cellar. Had they been taught better, they would've checked the delivery details on the docket, direct to the chairman's house and his private entertainment collection. Part of his 2007 retirement celebrations. Let me guess, how many cabinet politicians attended that one.
I digress, it's wednesday morning and Jackie's labyrinthitis is still scary but a bit better. Like me, week 7 and week 8 are her last two weeks hopefully of this vertigo inducing condition. At least we have one who can cook and one who can eat.
I managed a Weetabix again and will have another 4 shakes today. Everything I try to eat I just power down after one mouthful. I'll be on the naughty step when I see the doc as my 15/3 is here to stay and that means I'm 99kg
I've gone down to the garage to dig out my clothes from when I was 20, that'll be issue #18. I think that's the last time my waist was so small. I don't have belts that go that tight which means I have belts with 8 inches of holes in them and I need 10 inches. By virtue of the maths in me it means my normal post Christmas weight is the last notch in my belt and I'm several inches less now. That's got to be a win, not least for my lungs when I start doing my couch to 5k next month.
When I was out walking yesterday I was struck by how many fellow strugglers sitting on walls for a rest there are. You don't see them when you stride by but like the 1980's drunks in the grass market I'm now in that community so I say hello to the frail fraternity who knows I'm only chatting as I need a rest from walking.
Time is money, and well spent, enriching.
Enjoy your day, I know I will.
