Today's good news-Its Tuesday

Yes, today is indeed Tuesday so I've got two rounds of visits to the western.

I started with a shower and the daily turning of the feeding tube and the cleaning around the hole. It pierces through your skin and into the stomach so there's always a wee bit of snotters to clean away.

Prior to this at 6am, my dental delight with the flourine mouth guards, known as the happy hour by me. I'm still not meeting quota here but with the Western visit must come the "Yes, I did this morning for an hour but, I've been bad", aka the naughty step confession. 

After the shower came my double Weetabix and then off to the western via the pitch n putt. 

The seasons have come and gone on the Camino Can'cerre and it's one of the longest I've been on. It's certainly the most sober Camino ever. I've also got it down as the slowest I've ever walked too.

I'm feeling good today as I've loads of questions that I've saved up during the process. Many would ask as they went along but I felt most would get answered as we ventured along the path and the rest would probably be irrelevant. That's largely been the case so now I've only got a few to ask and none particularly urgent. They range from COVID and flu jags to products to stop the mouth ulcers singing so loudly. On the plus side when I do a cavernous yawn it doesn't hurt. I used to find that big yawn eye watering which was really handy if I got some grit iny eyes. It doesn't hurt now so eyes are as dry as my mouth, another reason to celebrate Tuesday.

So it's 9:15 for speech therapy, nutrition, bursingt and dental. Then it's 4pm for the consultant. During the rest of the day I can take in the bookies, badgers on the water of Leith or possibly my bed.

I decided to celebrate with a trip to Cafe Gallo where I had a coffee and a scrambled egg roll. I got such good feedback I'm off the shakes for the time being and happy to have my snacks and strolls. Stroll to a cafe and have a snack.

Stroll home and have some more. In this case, yes, it's now 12 so time for poor man's quiche, aka, the eggy bread rolls. Oscar put a bit of pepper in the scrambled egg roll so that was a good challenge that I met, so I tried to crisp up the second side of my french toasty roll. 

It's ridiculous how close it is to the texture of quiche, just lacking a firm base. The moisture level is off the clock so I don't need to worry about having a drink as I eat and it cools quick enough that I don't burn myself either.

It an absolute winner and another reason why I have learnt loads on the Camino Can'cerre as I told all the professionals at the Maggie centre today.

They were great and I can't thank them enough, so that's all I did. They told me I was doing amazing and I said I'm just a reflection of you amazing people. You told me to do this exercise and that. You told me about this and how to overcome that. If I had trouble eating use the shakes down the tube. The mouth guards and the teeth, well, I said, I've a confession here, I managed it this morning but I have been intermittent.

All in my weight was 99 kg which is below the 114kg I started at when I first started reducing my alcohol and then when I stopped altogether it was probably already down to 110kg. I got a chance to thank them again for encouraging me to present myself in the best way possible for treatment and my pre season training was merely a reflection of their advice.

To lose 15kgs is absolutely superb but I appreciate I'm only to put weight on until January, like that's ever been a stretch for me. I just need three nights out on the bounce and I'll be 104kgs. 

From my birthday weight of 16/10 I've seen me rise to 17/10 by the new year. The very first time I ever tipped the scales at 17 stone I said to Caitlin, unbelievable, I'm so over weight, and before the week was out I said, I don't need to worry about being 17 stone anymore, I'll be 18 stone tomorrow as I was 17/12 this morning. This is how sedentary I can be. It's also how greedy I can be if fully rocking and rolling with my favourite cheeses getting washed down with gorgeous Christmas wines. 

So after lunch and surviving the onslaught of school kids boarding the bus in Stockbridge I got on the scales at the western and was 100.55kgs. this indeed pleased the Doctor. All the examination also pleased and hearing me slaver a load of nonsense also left him smiling. My usual gratitude for the fantastic professional teams which I never tire of saying as I genuinely appreciated all the help they and others, not least fellow accomplices in the treatment cycle of throat cancer, like Stu or Alex have given me on the journey.

The next phase won't be in 3 weeks, rather it'll be in January with the scan. The doctor duly noted I was at week 12/13 in my recovery not week 10 so another check up would not be required.

We discussed the scan and what they'll look for and then end of January I'll get to discuss the outcome of the scan. Like a good fairytale I'll be willing my Camino Can'cerre to have a happy ending.

Happy Tuesday everyone and I think it's time for a pint.

Week 10 starts, did I say it's getting tedious

I'm sure I've mentioned how boring it can be. There is no doubt it's as tedious as listening to some of my songs from the 1980s and you don't get much more painful than that. 

You always know when a song is bad when even you can't play it again. 

When you change the lyrics every time you sing it because you're so embarrassed about the last a lot that you sang. 

I think I felt that way with "mountainous task". There is no doubting the herculean job required to turn that into a song, it was just much easier to give up music. There was one line in it which I absolutely loved singing yet the annoying part was it took a minute and a half to get to the good line by which time we'd emptied the stage never mind the auditorium.

Some bands know when times up long before their audience. We were definitely one of them. We'd been in audiences and left gigs, now it was our turn to leave the stage.

Our drummers were always giving up on us, but then they did have the worst of views.

I feel that way with the Camino Can'cerre treatment timeline. As I start week 10 I'm left listening to my tinnitus, something I get loads of time to do as I'm too tired to leave the house and get some exercise. I'm lying on my bed, listening to my tinnitus, it's like being in that audience or standing on that stage wondering why I was still singing "out of sight, out of mind". To be fair, by then I was singing Out of time, out of tune" which made me smile. I eventually started writing it on the set list, it was a lovely way to eject songs without being too confrontational.

If there's one thing I've enjoyed this week it's french toast. In trying to increase my calories I'd resorted to the 5 feeds a day, so when I discovered by accident that french toast worked for me that was that. I'd made some for Jackie thinking I could try a piece and it was fine. She likes it quite dry while I'm more a fan of a tortilla/souffle type. 

After discovering she liked the brown bread cardboard and I liked the sliced stale rolls we had a solution. After a week of it she'd had enough so this morning I used all the mix on just four thick slices of a roll. The results were astonishing.

The roll is more like a mould to hold the omelette in a shape. The absolute joy is in the eating. As you'd imagine chewing through lamb and chicken tikka kebabs last night was not my idea of fun. I slide it into small bits and no matter how much bread and yoghurt sauce I put on, it nips the roof of my mouth as the spices find the blisters like they know their way to the pain. I did this with the knowledge it would be over in 90 minutes. A meal like that is like watching Hibs being dismantled by St Mirren, uncomfortable at best and annoying...etc etc....at worst.

The french toast on the other hand is an absolute joy. I'm getting two eggs, butter, milk, a roll and one of my high calorie drinks to wash it down along with water. It's snack size, minimal chewing and delicious. It's day 9 of french toast and to be fair it's not as tedious as the tinnitus, and nowhere near as monotonous as "mountainous task". Yes "Monotonous Task" got written on the set list a few times before it was retired. 

The song was written about the time of band aid and Live aid. I was trying to get a concert together in Hunters Bog, a natural amphitheatre that I thought would be a superb venue. I clearly put the cart before the horse. I'd got some headlining bands who said yes without checking any of the logistics. During my many walks I've revisited the site and that moment in 1985 when I first thought it was a great idea to put a big stage up in a swamp. I hadn't given too much thought to people scaling the crags or Karen Peat our neighbour who fell and broke her leg when we were all kids. I just pictured this huge arena being a superb place, just not how they would go to the toilet when it was busy. In my defence there is a drainage ditch although with 150,000 there wanting to use the facilities even my skills in irrigation would be found wanting.

What I find amazing is I was 22 and honestly thought I could pull this all off. Deadbeat would suffer as these mad dreams and schemes would develop. This whole thing imploded in due course when I got a job. I never appreciated how much time writing songs, going to watch bands or do interviews occupied. I never appreciated how printing and distribution took me so much time as I worked around it all without thinking, drinking, not thinking. I'd often come back from a gig and start up the machine and print 2000 sheets which would be pages 4/17 on one side and they'd be able to dry waiting for pages 3/18 which might be a week later. The cover and back page was always last to get printed. The advert on the back page we tried to make as real time as possible. When I started working it wasnt as easy to get through to Glasgow, Perth or Dundee and it was an era where fax machines were still in their infancy. Mobiles were things you put above cots in a bairns room. E mail was a job you did at Christmas for a bit of exercise and cash for drugs.

Yes, logistics would change so quickly for so many things in the world of the fanzine and yet "plus ca change, c'est la memechose" springs to mind for me on this cancer Camino. It really is like living all your yesterdays. In my case getting the diagnosis back in May/June feels as recently as Imagination released, "just an illusion". When I relive "monotonous task", I just think of July, getting the tonsils and teeth out and then going walking every day to make sure I didn't lie down too much. When I think of September I think of the Camino Norte interspersed with visits to the western and in my head Paris during the 80"s and 90's.

When I think of November I think, yes, we're still doing this and if anyone tells me I'm so strong one more time I'm going to punch them and ask how strong I am. If you want to feel my pain, join in, I'm happy to share.

Did I tell you about my new song. It can be a bit of a rant at times, but it's all done with a beautiful smile.

"So happy to share"

What do I care , watdoicare...boom boom

So happy to share

Flashbacks on the Camino Can'cerre

Just like Leee's Imagination song of the 1980's I get flashbacks all the time on Camino, where 'happiness is just a state of mind'. The song has a little more resonance today. I also like the idea of "if you know your history", I grew up singing it on the terraces and living in past glories. As a Hibs supporter that included waiting since 1902 to win the cup again. No wonder we knew our history, Hearts supporters reminded us regularly about Buffalo Bill and the many characters from that era. On Camino I get loaded with music and images from the past. They just seem to randomly come to mind.

I started week 8 knowing this was probably the end of the climbing a hill and as I start week 9 I think we probably would be better calling it, descending into the bottomless pit. It's pretty grim down here and I don't recommend it. The throat is clearly going to take time and I'm coughing too much from my chest but nothing is moving. Difficult to say if it's a cough the chemo brought and it's never gone or if it's something to get used to. I'll mention it again but I did have an X-ray the other week when they were helping my bowel. There's a flashback we don't need, time I went back to writing nonsense.

My latest flashback on this Camino was resurrected more recently, as it related to my collapse in front of Jackie last Monday evening. I first collapsed in front of her in the Oxford Bar some 35 years ago after tripping over a bar stool. It was normal behaviour in the 80's albeit I'd had an afternoon in the pub and it was about 8pm. Somehow the busy bar cleared a path as I went down so I could hit the floor unencumbered. From my less than lofty position I tried to woo Jackie, a manoeuvre that didn't quite come off, but I'd persevere on a more sober day while my balance was still intact. It was a life changing moment as was the passing out and collapse on Monday.

We will see how life changing it is because I learn things and forget them in equal measure, but this journey will see me change for sure. I will reread this blog and see how many of the life lessons I've chosen to ignore a few weeks and years later.

I'll probably forget the blog and just sleep. The overpowering emotion is joy at nearly completing the journey. It's just like when you get to Sarria and you see all the people arriving to do the last 100k. You've just done 700k over 3-4 weeks and they come and serenade you for the last 4 or 5 days. The pace of the Camino slows down from Sarria onwards as you find the paths get really busy. It's when you realise one of your basic freedoms has just been messed with. One of those societal rules that you adopted years ago and shed on the Camino thus far has just been reintroduced. You've been walking to the sound of your own drum and that means nobody has made you walk faster or slower,  only  you. Suddenly you're faced with a traffic jam where you can elbow these people out of the way, be accepted in their community or accept them into your community. It's a real sense of ouch. I've had a lovely stroll for over 3 weeks and now I feel like I need a strategy. So often has the teachings of the Camino been wiped clear so quickly. You've all chilled after having the full walk, eat, drink, sleep repeat weathered into your liver and limbs. Your he'd is clear of the mosaic moths of monotonous city living. You feel you're ready to change your life forever then someone turns a coach in front of you and drops 50 people.

Over the years I've adopted different strategies to avoid the congestion, the best of which is stopping over in Ereixe, 8km before Sarria. It's my favourite last stop on the Camino. You have lunch and serenade the pilgrims you've walked with over the last 3-4 weeks. They walk by you as you quaff away offering a share of your food and drink in the Caminoside garden of the magnificent Cafe Ligonde. I sometimes make it my last stop on the Camino and start making my way home as Josef is such a great host. His picture is on the fatal-bananas blog most years since 2011.

The pilgrims all stop for a chat and a chip or some cheese then sally forth and on to their Sarria accomodation. The next day, if I continue, you walk on to Sarria and arrive about 11.30 so happily walk through and stay between 6-12k further down the road. This means in the morning you'll have a quieter trail before the 101 Dalmatians and their tour operator appear. 

Like the CAMINO Can'cerre if you're prepared for it you just roll along with it. It doesn't bother you and whilst answering the same question about "how was doing the whole thing" sounds like it might irritate, it often amuses. 'Tiring' can be the one word answer, or elaborate with 'thirsty work, nothing a good bottle of red couldn't cure', or you just relive some magical moments as you launch into a comedic storytelling of one of the many misadventures that ended hysterically. 

The trick when people ask you is not to work out what they want you to say. The trick is not to answer what you interpret their question to pose but to answer the story you want to tell. That's the beauty of this Camino too. Early on I got hung up on trying to work out how to answer instead of just talking my usual nonsense. I think it's probably the art of conversation and I've just never learnt it.

 I've watched many people not answer the question over the course of my life, I've listened as people regale us with their life as if I cared about the whimsical nature of a work colleague interrupting their PowerPoint meeting to go to the toilet. Those conversations which are just self justifying speeches about self importance, we've all heard them. So I've never really wanted to be that person but let's face it, we all have our moments, especially if you 'bite' easily.

I paid a bit more attention today when I got to see the doctor at the western again along with all the other support staff like speech, nutrition etc. We briefly discussed my weight being the same, more of that later, my struggle over the weekend as I focused on the burning neck and forgot to go out and exercise. I then got confused telling the story of the weekend and realised I'd not asked what I was supposed to, while the doc gave up and just got me to open my mouth and let her look at my throat. My brain seems to freeze with that conversation thing.

So it's not really the art of conversation where you listen to the other people and respond appropriately and invite them to discuss, like call and response in my songs. Maybe I should write lyrics for my next visit to the doctor. Much more chance of remembering my lines. A bit more call and response would work a treat for my memory.

I love the second verse of "Fall from Grace" for that reason. I sang both call and response but when I listen to it now it would be easy to imagine it was another member of the band singing it as it's quite a different voice singing the response. I tended to bark out the first line and had a choir of angels in my head while singing the response.

"Abraham Lincoln"

Such a fine old man

"Got some people thinking"

Heads out of the sand 

"Started a Rebellion"

In a troubled land

"All the rebels yelling"

That he didn't understand 

I loved the simplicity of summing up my 9-11 year old understanding of the whole civil war which still rages today on, in the USA.

Quite simply a whole lot of people realising slavery was wrong, while others believing slavery was right. You could hear the playground noises of fight fight fight.

The fact that it's so recent as being 100 years before the civil rights marches in the 60's tells you all you need to know about white male supremacy and how endemic it was in European culture and how it left our shores for the opportunity to carry it on as the European enlightenment curtailed some of our civilisation's worst traits.

I liked the idea of singing it with my childlike understanding of what I'd read when I was at school in Maryland. I think the words are distilled by my 9 -11 year old brain long before I'd heard about neuro diversity. I experienced people in my class of colour and the racism that took place in front of me. It always confused me telling my pal James Harris I couldn't have a sleep over or even play at his house and he couldn't come to mine either, but we could be friends at school and continue to be the best in the team at football. We were great pals but only at school. I just never understood why. I also never understood why so many people flew confederate flags and had them in their bedrooms. It was 1972-74, the Watergate years, I was very young and exceptionally confused. I liked to believe everyone told the truth and nobody told lies. I'm not sure how far down the good and evil route I went, I think I just had good and not so good in my head. If bad things happened there would usually be an excuse. Like when someone shot at my dad's car and a bullet lodge in the boot lining of the petrol tank. My head kept suggesting they were probably shooting at a rabbit when the car turned the corner and got in the way. I refused to believe it could be intentional. I've since come to learn that bad people can exist, not just because I may disagree with their cause, they just can. From silly little things like cheating at football through to the paedophilic PE teacher we had at school whose victims included whole year groups of young girls. I might not agree with his behaviour, he may have thought it was his right but I think there's a huge body of evidence that suggests diving for a penalty is somewhat different from sexual assault and rape. He eventually got a year for some of his crimes 25 years after. His victims had suffered at the time and for the rest of their lives. I remember crying in disbelief that having waited 25 years, these victims saw him sent down for only a year. Like Jimmy Saville, Cyril Smith, all the merry band of clergy, charity workers, teachers and other predators in positions of power over the vulnerable this is a crime we do our best not to lead to prosecution. We do our best to say it's hard to prove. Well here's a thing, how about, J'ACCUSE, how about publicly declaring someone is accused. Don't let them hide behind defamation where bankruptcy ensures it's a financial decision to accuse never mind get a prosecution. How about admitting our justice system has never been fit for purpose on these crimes.

It seems documentaries seem more persuasive and in "Until I kill you" there's no doubt Delia's book transfering to the screen will be very effective. It's a chilling way to get the point over and you hope people will understand this is what's happening throughout our world. The victims are not protected by the law, they're abused and tormented. I hope it succeeds like the post office scandal but I doubt there'll be the same sway. I think the more serious the crime on women the more they seems to be victimised and abused by the justice system. The irony of the guilty party being given Christmas Bail while the victim can't even leave the country to visit her family. My worry would be that people will see this as an extreme example and not a natural extension of all levels of abuse.

It's at the end of the road of what's normalised behaviour and it starts when somebody has wandering hands. These crimes might not fit the justice system as they seem to fall under the auspices of etiquette. They seem, like abuse of power merely deserve a reprimand in employment law.

I think the Salmond case was the perfect opportunity for the justice system to say to itself, yes it was right to prosecute and yes you've been found not guilty. There was a reason for prosecution and you've duly answered. I know there's loads of innuendo about how or why the prosecution took place but it's good that it did. What's really bad is the unique nature of the case. Another example I can think of is John Leslie's case or the current situation with the actor whose name escapes me but did house of cards in the USA version, Kevin the Spaceman, I think, but as I say they're pretty rare. These events appear blown up by the media because they don't happen regularly but we know sexual assault does happen regularly. These cases probably relate to 1 in 1m of the number of cases that should be prosecuted too. The justice system will say it's creaking so they just don't prosecute, while the police also hide behind resources and focus on easier gifts to tick their stats off, or as some argue, reinforce their prejudice.

Most of my male pals think it ridiculous that I can even make that argument on the basis that there might be innocent men put through an ordeal by being wrongly accused. I think there are probably a million victims every year who don't see any justice and are presumed to be guilty by the police or the CPS when they're told there's no case to answer. When they're told how the predator has apologiswd for any misunderstanding or just because you were tricked you did go to a hotel room voluntarily. When they're told that's not really a safe place to walk and there are no witnesses. When they say are you sure it wasn't just an over friendly greeting by your friends pal. It's just your word against them. There's the full list from diving for a penalty through to the sadistic percerted PE teacher. 

Some of it could be explained by generational forces but I can't help thinking this generation that I grew up with had a lot of strange ideas in childhood. Extrapolation from a child's experience to a population of 400m is fraught so thats why I like the simplicity of the words of the song so much. I'm not able to commentate on something I know nothing about but by using that wee childhood experience and my nursery rhyme, I liked the song.

Whether you thought abolition or not in 1860, those who thought it not, saw it as necessary and that view is endemic in some of their culture. A war never wins hearts and minds it rarely even tries. It seeks to impose as the people imposing usually believe they're right and this is the only way. History judges these leaders differently, Lincoln got shot and so never got a chance to win the peace. I doubt the long term security of the state of Israel for example is being well served at the moment and Ukraine will doubtless have a long life of civil unrest under Russian rule.

I've written endlessly about the 1920'a Russian economist who viewed the economic cycle on 40-60 years and how our current technology era is coming to an end. If you trace it back to the space race and computers, through to the VHS v Betamax video wars of the 80's to the Nokia, Blackberry phone wars of the 90's and the big tech of today, it's coming to an end as our behaviour has been massively changed.

We don't run home for top of the pops or out favourite show. We don't need to spend half an hour finding out what happened in the latest episode because repeats never happened. We might meet our friends at the cinema but even there, our film is probably on 5 screens.

Fewer things in life now involve being on time and that's one learned outcome from the technology age. Another would probably be that nobody has a phone in the hall anymore or in the case of my pals across the road locked on a room that only the parents had a key for. If you missed a call it meant you were out, no question of a dinner out with friends being destroyed by a what's app exchange interrupting the conversation.

How our attention span has moved with the technology age. Our sense of direction is no longer important it's whether the phone has enough battery to open maps.

I could go on for days on the cultural differences that each micro generation has experienced or not. Those in the sporting world chase marginal gains while my dad played with golf clubs from the 1950's. The 'Mobile phone tax' has been hiked out of all proportion to the television which technology improvements during the last century saw them get cheaper. 15 years ago I saw the price creep and marvelled at the economic nonsense that saw us pay an increasing 'tax' to stay in touch. During the building of the information superhighway in the last century it was going to be like the infrastructure that we'd be so proud of. We didn't realise we'd be taxed by mobile phone companies for tapping into it. In many places on the Camino in Spain there is free WiFi. Little towns or cities have decided it should be this way. Marketing however in all these companies know the power to sell for more and for us to pay, still very strong. Coupling deals with phone upgrades, with marketing hype, makes each micro generation sleepwalk into the newest gear. Legitimate business expense makes for less price sensitivity and so a phone can readily be sold for over £1000 as there is a queue of buyers leaping aboard to hold them at a gig instead of partying at it

. 

What a masterstroke, a business model masterclass even, but for how long. This now becomes part of the new poverty trap and how goes "food v phone" fight in the kitchen table debate. Do you spend £40 a month on your food or phone. What gives you more immediate and lasting pleasure. Surely good food, but maybe not as screen time rises in the necessity stakes.

So as I embark on another Camino I ask is my journey really necessary. What will be the next economic epoch. Obviously AI will if it's not already, standardised our existence and thinking. Our power to think for ourselves has been diminished as we've all been targeted into rabbit holes of habit. We don't go to a library and scan the shelves, we are handed our reading by the engines. We don't surf the racks of the Record Shak, we get handed our playlists, distracted by our sleep analysis. Our attempts to disconnect so we can discover more are thwarted to such an extent even our spelling is obligingly changed for us.

This is no more the Sci-Fi nonsense of Logan's Run or any of these films or books from our youth, it's not a fiction what is happening is now fact. 

Our TV in the west is dominated by sports and our culture has gone with it, particularly in the UK where Olympic endeavours are rewarded with lottery funding but artistic or educational rewards grow more difficult to find. They rely on the philanthropy of past beneficiaries leaving a legacy bursary, to fund places to learn or perform.

Our new amphitheatres are solely interested in selling sporting greatness, even when it's abundantly clear it's not great. Whether you watch a football player fail to clear the first player at a corner or you watch the tearful documentary of a hamstring tear in the run up to an Olympics, you can't help thinking we might have our priorities a wee bit askew. 

NHS and Housing, the alleged priorities for this government and what about poverty. What about the people working in the NHS. What's in it for them. Is that tax allowance moving to £20000 from the disgusting freeze put on it by Rishi Sunak? No, it's not and what's more is it continues until 2028 when they will do the big hand out ahead of the next election. That just feels fraudulent and not even old John Major Tory. It's certainly not Labour and when you know that the NHS is going to have to find all the money for the hike is NI, how can they afford to recruit? Well the good news there is there's nobody to recruit from the UK. Like the building industry there is nobody sitting around looking for work in the building industry. We're already at maximum employment there so unless you want untrained people building houses the plan can only come to fruition if we open the borders to people who have long since found work at home in Europe more rewarding.

There's a reason why bullies do a bit better than we were told they would at school. News just in, bullies don't always win but there's this thing called muscle which often does. Whether it financial, physical or just mental the things our phones keep saying to us, they become normalised and sometimes that is confused with true. 

Dizzy spells ah week 8 swells

With Gordon over looking after his Dad, they've ventured north towards Dunblane and pitlochry although whether either happens once Gordon gets behind the wheel, crazy things do develope. I remember a trip up from Galashiels once that involved some crazy manoeuvre and memory doesn't serve me well. I'll maybe ask what happened next. Either way Rosie will potentially get a visit as well as Tom and Sandra and the occupants will return safely to Edinburgh for bedtime.

I on the other hand am trying to work out why I've got these massive dizzy spells. It's 3:30pm and while I've had a Weetabix it's only the one. I was unable at 3am, 7am and 1pm and had to retreat to the bed. I think it was a lack of shakes yesterday as I foolishly thought my poached egg and roll counted as a meal along with the Weetabix and only had 3. I've had two so far and will make sure I have 5 today as my weight dropped to 14/12 again having been at 15/3 for a few days now. It's a full 2 and half stone off where I was so that alone makes me feel giddy but with Jackie recovering from her own dizzy spells it's just mad to follow on.

The other reason is one of those great knock on effects you get on the Camino Can'cerre. You solve one problem by creating another, quite simply because you get too focused on the issue of the moment. That narrow vision fixes the issue but compounds the condition. In my car the scarring on my neck was so bad by Saturday that sitting watching the football all day and not going out meant I neednt wear a shirt. Two days shirtless over the weekend meant no exercise or fresh air. That for me is a total write off. My body just shut down while my neck repaired. My balance got worse obviously as my BP slid when standing. 

I blamed the lack of food and all seemed better after a couple of shakes, or at least improving before I then went for overkill with mince and tatties followed by ice cream and another shake. Then I had a moment when I blacked out collapsed and came to almost in the same move. That was at 9pm and so I check the usual stuff, BP was fine, oxygen levels a bit low at 90 and temperature fine at 36.5. (I hadn't learned about checking the BP standing at this stage....ed)

It's a mystery but I don't feel as dizzy as I was and the head genuinely feels a bit clearer. I'll check in with the doctor tomorrow and stupid of me not to do so today.even though it did feel like it had massively improved from 9am when I had a massive dizzy turn. I think my legs gave way this evening but not quite sure why. I certainly had a lot of noise on my head but that's normal.

There's been a lot of great firsts on the Camino Can'cerre but I'm not sure that was one of them. I phoned helpline and after a few more tests at home I find myself back in my bay again on the first floor. 

On arrival I'd managed to be upright a bit longer than I'd managed at home, not least as it's the first floor and you need to get a lift.

When I did the house measurements my BP was 116/80 lying down and 88/81 standing up. I was also seeing stars during the standing phase, not comfortable at all. On admission it was 1116/70 sitting and 101/71, no seeing stars, standing so being mobile had clearly helped. That or the three pints of water or both. The nurse took the bloods while the trainee tried to find a finger that was warm enough for the oxygen meter. Eventually I learned another trick which was taken a rubber glove, fill with hot water and get the patient to hold it. The trainer nurse was delighted to get a reading and my fingers felt better for the heat. 

The nurse and trainee came back in to do the heart tracer and that's always fun. It was the trainee's first time doing it so the full training was a joy to listen to and I got to tell them how in awe I am of their profession and all the care. I just never tire of saying thank you to all these amazing professionals. I also got to learn about how to put the 12 leads on the body. Fascinating stuff and then I had to sit quiet, which again was easy as I powered down 

Then after the tracer for the heart and lying on the bed that was me. Ready to sleep and so as the one o'clock gun goes off, I'm having a snooze. I power down really easily and these days of 14 hours sleep are so refreshing to the soul.

The doc woke me at 2.30pm and said it's time to go home. The bloods showed my white cells hadn't recovered as well as expected after chemo 3 weeks ago. They'll check again on Thursday. The tracer must've been acceptable and the main issue is doing the basics, which involves getting back up to 8000 steps not 2000 or in the case of the weekend under 1000.

I've been bad after the chemo both times and while some statisticians might point to the obvious the other issue was my exercise levels fall through the floor along with my eating when I'm in hospital. I didn't mean to starve myself, but I do allow myself to be starved or dehydrated. I reckon I'll get fed soon enough so one bite of a hospital sandwich is plenty. It's those false promises I fall foul of all the time. I then leave hospital and just head to my bed. No food again and the cycle begins again.

Happily though, the cause of all this was my neck which was a real mess by Saturday and is now in fantastic condition.

I can't believe how well the Flaminal Hydro ointment has worked in under a week. The cracking that seemed to get worse all last week is now completely clear. I'd argue my necks never had it so good and soon I'll get to shave the top half of my face too.

It's Wednesday and keeping that football theme or laughing at some madness or other, I wanted to talk about new managers and another broom sweeping away the debris in the first team squad but the manager of the BBC website won the ridiculous moment of the day when they described 1p off a pint of draft beer. Those pedants will appreciate I hate bad spelling, especially when auto correct changes my type from in to on, but whoever thought Draft Beer could fly on a government backed website on budget day. Or maybe that's the fun, it's a budget BBC and who cares about spelling anyway, we've other narratives to sell. There are so many jokes to be had. When I go to Swanys tonight I'm going to ask if you get a penny off the pint if you sit by the drafty door or stand outside. I love the idea of someone opening both doors and then saying, it's a penny off a pint for everyone. I could see Chelsea getting someone minding the door just to stop the draft.

Burnt to a crisp and still peeling

No suprises here, as the week 7/8 deteriorating was well sign posted. My insides feel like the outsides look so a bit raw and sore if I eat.

All through this process I've described how lucky I've been from the early diagnosis, teeth and tonsils out and now we're nearly at Caitlin's birthday and I'm moving towards the recovery phase. 

Everything has been so well signposted that my relative level of pain has mostly just reached uncomfortable. Yes my energy is low, yes I can't eat much, yes it can sting like crazy but no it's perfectly permissible and par for the course. Early on I decided to largely swallow not cough up and so I'm only at the sink one hour a day max and often only for 5 minutes. All the professionals in the NHS and pals currently or previously provided the pain pathway and I'm so grateful I listened. This extends hugely to my diet now.

I've moved to more shakes and only my sponsor's product, Weetabix, is getting quaffed. It's also sore when I swallow but I feel it's only 3 times a day and best I have a mixed diet.

I tried avocado again and it wasn't as nippy but even heavier, slow going. Took me an hour to eat half of one. The last time I put the other half in the fridge before it made it's way to the bin. I share the same confidence this evening. I'll let the boiling water cool then get on with having an evening shake to get me through the night. I've been diluting them with over a litre of water so it's making sure I stay hydrated despite what my neck would suggest.

I do have a feeling that like Del boy, I've fallen asleep on the sun bed. The neck tan, really is a braw farmers tan. I've stopped the pain medication as I'm only suffering when I eat or yawn. If I use the tube then it's not a lot of pain and it passes when you stop doing the thing that hurts.

It reminds me of a trip to the doctor's when I explained my knee hurt when I did this. The Doc laughing inside, looked at me and suggested I stop doing "that". Excellent advice and I've applied it most of my life thereafter. It's why I walk and rarely run. I'll take a lift downstairs but rarely up them. I don't do house or office moves anymore despite my love of moving cabinets around stairwells. I've long admired the geriatric generation of my auntie Mamie and Helen, hit 60 then slow down. This idea of working and keep moving before you get hit are long gone. Retiring at 46 made so much sense even if I missed out on a bit of cash. Those days are behind me and with all the weight I've lost this summer, I feel like I could start running again, but I won't. 

As a kid I was always running, I was in a hurry to either get away or arrive. Over time I've worked out it was mostly to get away. I think when you're a loner you enjoy time on your own. Not all of us need to be psychopaths, although it probably helps. It somehow makes the time spent with others more enjoyable but also you've still got loads of time for introspection. The funny stuff is well worth navel gazing over and I've got quite a back catalogue of behaviour to keep me going long past the end of my days.

I was out for a half with George and Jimmy last night. Swanys was unusually busy for a Wednesday and it was good to get some craic and hear some stories. I really feel for George who at 75 knows his knees are unlikely to be replaced before he's 78 and at that age and operation will be a lot tougher than now. Both have got issues which like most people just get slipped into your baggage if life and so the chat is more about the journeys of the past or even just the past week. They were both in great form and unlike my Dad, there's a new, to me, story to tell. They're both a bit further on the geriatric journey than myself and so it's excellent to get another perspective. The funniest one was losing the last 3-6 months while I stood frozen still in the Camino Can'cerre headlights. I think I've not lost 6 months, rather I've ringfenced this year as my first introduction to the real world of cancer. Every person I've known whose surviving or died had their own experience and I get that now. 

I couldn't hope to understand why normality is what many people with cancer crave and once you've answered the question once about it being a tough journey, there's nothing else to add. Yes, it's as tough as described now let me tell you how good the staff are and why we need to sort their career path. 

Yes, scratchy throat, feels like you've volunteered to gargle glass without considering the consequences. These people do phenomenal work and deserve all our support on providing housing for them at a time when their only way to work for near minimum wage is to live in the hinterland and commute. 

Yes, it's sore, but no more than I expected and was told about. It's certainly not as sore as joining up with two pals to rent a flat where you bed share across your shifts as it's the only way to balance the books and keep working in the NHS.

After a while you realise half the audience paid attention at the beginning and half didn't. You learn that people have strange ways of caring or showing interest. What you learn most is that wonderful expression I read in Dee's website about who can go on the Camino Can'cerre with you and who you lose along the way. It's a great metaphor for life. Don't carry those burdens all your day, you can just put those people down, cut them lose and get on.

Quite simply it's not really my responsibility to understand every needy person, so when people lean back on their chair, feel that smug glare of care,  and think about the poor unfortunates they know, it comes over loud and clear. I used to obsess over not being ignorant then I realised it doesn't bother others and I probably was a lot more ignorant than I knew.

I realise now, so  I listen and concentrate on the many that have joined me on the journey. It's so strange but it's probably a life lesson that my Auntie Mamie and Helen were trying to explain to the 9 year old me. They told me I wouldn't look back after I left Holy cross for Darnestown in Maryland and to be fair it was true. Like when I left Holyrood I have no classmates I know. Once a door closed, that was pretty much it. I moved on to the next party. In the case of Holyrood I'd failed to get a move to Bouroughmuir which resulted in me never wanting to be at holyrood never mind spell it. I was too clever for them and too stupid in my religious self flaggellation, turn the other cheek approach. I got even more stupid when I decided to make amends for all the bullying in fourth and fifth year, then I went to uni and in a final irony, ditched religion. At school, I seemed to have built a list which explains why I laughed so much at game of thrones and the Arya Stark character and her list. 

So much wasted time I laugh, I was too stupid to learn how to play football. It would be another 10 years before someone would explain I was a two footed water carrier. Growing up we just saw the goals and glory, we never saw the structure of how the glory was gained. I never understood why the limelight shone on players who read the game and picked a pass, I saw George Best dribbling.  The subtle and not so subtle ways that people found themselves in a 2 on 1 situation. It was obviously a trick you performed on the field of play, football, basketball whatever the sport, you want an easy opportunity to convert. One where the percentages rise. You give yourself a 12' putt uphill not a 6' putt downhill. Some old heads on young shoulders work this out early, some, even now, still think closer is better. You could put all the percentages in front of some people and like me at 15 they'd still argue blue in the face that closer is better. Running up the wing into a cul de sac a la a Christian Daily, ah, those were the days.

You can't help some people, they know their own minds, and as I said early on in this blog, those people who know their own minds are usually the most vocal as well as being unerringly wrong more often than most. You should never listen to them. They have an illness that forces themselves to believe they are right.

That's ok, unlike my cancer, it's not treatable. They will always be right, especially when they're wrong.

For me as I was navigating from 15 to 25 I think I had to learn that lesson, often in the hardest of ways. The learning never stopped at 25 as it's been lifelong trying my best to use the ears and mouth in proportion. My first experience in the boardroom was a real eye opener where I listened 98% of the time. The Camino Can'cerre really helps this and it's another reason why I'm so grateful for the journey. My throat certainly encourages me to listen more and let more things slide when my impulse is to be a pedant and point out some nonsense nuance or another as if anyone cares. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story and we all like a good story, my mum would say in France.

My two brekkie shakes and my 4am and 9am Weetabix saw my weight at 100kg when I arrived for my Doctor's appointment. The consultation is to check how I'm doing and I need some tape, green juice, paracetamol and a check of my mouth for thrush. I also need to know how to change my tube. If there's a technique to replacing the pouring in section. I still can't explain how I can lift a cake to my mouth and then stop after one bite and 15 minutes of chewing.

I really do power down on the energy front.

It's like the way Europe bailed out the USA with the financial crisis. I remember laughing at how even in 2008 we still hadn't worked out what globalisation meant. Quite simply our love of rules and how easy it was for our rules to be circumvented. We think we can't be conned because there are rules, but we're fools.

We didn't just bail out all of those funds in the USA, we did it joyfully. Then we said our banking industry was about to collapse and could the government step in please. We'd not long finished paying the WWII debt back and here we'd picked up a new debt from wall street, washed it through our banks and handed it via the tax system to every worked who pays PAYE, oh yes, every public sector worker, including our NHS.

I wrote about it 10 years back so won't go over the ground again but like me randomly powering down with the cancer treatment, idiots like my near neighbour who brought down the RBS, wanting to play poker with the NYC gangsters really didn't understand his capability. Worse than that, was we prided ourselves on our rules and he broke every one.

Quite simply we sent a wee boy to do a woman's job. My mum and Audrey Russell who were both in the institute of banker's until they were emptied by the banks in the 1950's for getting married and denied a pension, would've spotted it. If my auntie Maisie was about she would've seen straight through the bluff and the game would've been over. ABM amro was the great Trojan horse and deserves it place in history accordingly. They played a masterstroke as I've documented many times before. I've told the story so many times I feel I was in that room in the Netherlands when puir wee gullible Fred saw the deal being struck with Barclays on Bloomberg. 

Big deal bluffing is an art form and when you have a variety of part time con artists, magicians and gangsters wanting to party together, the best place to be is outside the ropes and a safe distance away from your cheque book. Sadly for the UK we'd become the centre just as we had been months earlier when northern rock admitted what the steal had been.

This is where everyone is culpable. We knew when the bubble blew in October 2007, I knew in August 2006 and yet it still took the UK industry another period of time to finally admit the game was up. What were the regulators, bank of England, non executive board directors, government doing, waiting on their Nannies, oh of course they were. This was a bad poo on the steps leading to the bathroom. It had come out before I was ready. I know the feeling and as a 12 year old that's fair. As a 61 year old, I had to deal with it last week. I had to say don't come in here, I've an issue and it needs more than one tissue. What ages were these bankers, the auditors who signed off, "nothing here Guv," as they traipsed by a box under an arrow signed "toxic debt" aka pretend debt, not really debt, dinnae fret debt, just money we haven't written off yet, debt. Was it UBS who quietly declared £5bn or was it £50bn bad debt provision. I can't remember but they did declare it like it was a manageable amount.

I had a great song I sang through most of 2008/9 using the word debt, and

Dinnae fret, it's just debt or 

dinnae fret Fred, with debt and dead making an appearance.

I'd never met 

A man with Mair debt

His eyes barely wet

We're checking his pockets yet

His boss' absconded I'll bet

Or hiding in retirement 

Puir wee Fred 

It's messing wi his head

He got his way

Almost every day

Until the RBS Wiz dead.

I can't remember them all, they were terrible, the rhythm of the rhyme was higgledy-piggledy and while the sentiment was fair I'd never get close to the sex pistols "Bodies" or "God save the queen", but I did chuckle and cackle as I sang my way along the road.

I remember the Ryder cup at Valhalla in 2008 and we had Nick Faldo captain of Europe. It was as if the banking crisis had invaded golf. It was all about Nick and we took a pasting from the USA. The European team asked if the French had words for deja vu.

Exporting losses onto some "sucker" is the first rule of business for some people. If they in good faith bought something that proved bad, they should sell it to someone who looks sad and tell them it's a bargain. Buyer beware, first rule of the market. You can't blame the snake oil salespeople from NYC for re-packaging it all up into (don't check page 237) bundles of joy. What's that joke about one bad apple, oh unlucky pal, everyone else got a bargain. 

"Who's gonna give me a £1 for what's in this box?"

I've been to ingliston Sunday market and bought a moulinex cheese grater for £1 at the age of 12. I have however as an adult walked away from a £2m deal, a £140m deal and other such deals when I've smelt the air. When I've poked the surface and found this water doesn't make ripples. When I've spotted the con. Just because you always want to act in good faith doesn't mean others should. Yes they could and you'd hope laws would oblige them, but they don't. Financial crime rarely carries a sentence because nobody pursues it, unless it's a charity and if the public find out.

What surprised me most about fearless Fred was that such a charlatan should think he was the only dodgy geezer in town. Apart from the legacy, and the fact our jails are too full, it is one of the funniest corporate jokes that bounces around even now in how not to do business. The difference between theory and practice.

Lost even further back in that history and evidenced by the great film the big short, is those realtors in Florida (and across the USA) all got paid with money ultimately paid by the European taxpayer.

All the NYC houses that packaged the debt so beautifully, those who designed the bows, the brochures, organising lunches that our idiots filled their boots with under Tony Blair's watchful eye, yes it was all going so well too. His pact with baby Bush ensuring we take our share of the USA pain. Capital can flow freely until it's all swallowed up by the baby.

As it hit 5:33 it's time to go back to bed and sing that lullaby dinnae fret, aboot ra debt, no yet, no no, no yet.

I've been very sleepy for a few days now and so enjoying little exercise and mostly sleep. 

The football has been a welcome distraction and so Sunday afternoon sees the game poised at 2-2.

Time to publish 

Treatment over and so Week 7 begins

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.

Living with cures while Cancer parties in the fast lane

Camino Can'cerre takes me to so many places, it's fast and loose way of developing is my latest curio. 

Cancers Like to party in the body and it's not really an organised party. The wee bastards just party at any open doors. They slide through all the spaces they can. The unwanted guest at new year as much as the welcome addition. 

i feel my mask needs to go on Camino now. Maybe get autographs like I did with my ball and collect all the different cancers people have endured. I'm not sure how to celebrate but I think a Guinness is overdue. 

My head is still full of the many cancers, dancing the dangerously toxic dandy does around our bodies. I feel I have so much learning and not enough time.

Simon's dad had oesophageal cancer and the late diagnosis was probably the worst aspect. A recent test I was hearing about related to a wee sponge you swallow which is like a sweetie on a string. 

In your stomach the outer edges dissolve and you just drag the sponge back out of your stomach up the throat and it collects all the cells it needs along the way.

A simple and ingenious way to collect data in a fairly easy way. Early diagnosis is so important and this could be a bridge to the future 

More and more of the tricks in the oncologists armoury relate to getting an early diagnosis to deal with and I applaud them all 

I do wonder however who will go into medicine soon. We have bought all the properties like it was monopoly board and now nobody coming through can buy unless they are on over £50k, possibly even £100k joint. Children won't be thinking that way when they decide they want to be an oncologist but careers advice may change.

Careers advice, there's a subject, does it even exist. In my day nobody knew at my school what it was and you were either going to uni, going abroad or getting a job.

Not everyone had the luxury of a schoolboy job at WoodMac. Without doubt this was the best advice I ever got. You had a guaranteed fallback at WoodMac.

Many people nowadays trying to traipse through these post school movements will doubtless see travel as more valuable. We love in a global world where taxation has lost its battle with wealth. I don't see 20 year olds wanting to campaign to restore a failing system. I see them getting on and living.

I think our generation pursued their halcyon days until they were in their 50's and 60's, I think today's lot are different. Distracted for sure by the overpowering social menace of media but also the new normal is created hourly.and is frequently unique to each. Try getting those cats along to a rally.

I'm a wee bit suffering now as the various scars go to work. The throat is really too scratchy for words and I'm sad to say my creams haven't prevented completely the skin cracking on the outside too. I'll keep my fingers crossed but yes it's going to be a long two weeks as the body continues deteriorating to kill off the wee party goers.

I had a boiled egg today. Funny how much pride I still take in that skill my mum taught me 40 years ago. Back then when Deadbeat was in it's prime my mum randomly opened a sandwich shop called the Picnic Basket opposite the pear tree pub. It's still open today so it's well worth a visit if you need some food and you don't fancy the mosque curry. I'm not sure if they still do date and apple or chicken/avocado but in the 80's these were quite revolutionary for the sandwich bars of south Edinburgh. Avocado was more often associated with bathroom suites, dates were old fashioned and Apple was a seed in someone's eye. 

My egg opening technique still makes me chuckle. It looks like I've not broken the shell, but it's all in tap, then the rolling. The spoon slides the egg out and there's no shell to worry about as it's all intact. We used to do about 30 a day so we naturally got reasonable at it. A skill someone reading this will doubles think, useless, but I like it and every time it's done in one move I smile and nod to my mum. Good tip, I think as I chuckle mindlessly. 

My energy levels are largely because although I can eat, I find it tough. We had a curry last night and after one forkful I lay down and was sleeping for 6 hours. I thought I'd be back up in 15 mins but I was just bushed. The Guinness doubtless helped no end too. One pint was enough and should counter any incoming constipation. I'm going to need a solution for the pain as the interior has blistered and cracked all the way down the throat. It's only going to get worse and talking now really is sore. Luckily I can just post the blog and anyone who wants to know how it's going can check it out and equally those who'd rather not know too much can happily skip the worst. I like that, as a concept it works for me. Ultimately it's just about getting through the next two weeks and hour at a time.

I went outside today and walked around the block. I'm trying to max out at 2000 steps so I don't need much in the way of calories.

I used the tube to put a couple of bottles in and also drank 1-2. It's such a shame when you try and eat a meal. It's such a small child's portion I have it seems pointless even to start, never mind fail to finish. It is, as they say, what it is so whatever gets you through the day is good.

I've been touched by a number of people during this journey and I can't thank them enough, although I have tried. They're the quiet ones who have kept me going, oh and some of the loud ones with marvellous distractions have been superb too. From those just making wry comments regarding the blog to the huge enrichment all people I've met. It's also the support that Jackie's receiving too. It's not easy with her being so ill too but her network has been great.

To be fair with the tinnitus now at ridiculous levels I can't hear, I'm toiling to eat, my skin perishes at will, and I figure it's a good time for a pity party. I'm thinking one pint put me to sleep for a few hours so 2 could give me a 14 hour respite. Yep, Guinness Sunday lunch sounds on the cards.

A week of balanced days and survival nights - week 6 - Saturday to Thursday

I feel normality returning. My throat doesn't, my body doesn't, but spirits are rising again. This week I have my commute to the western for my daily consultation for radiotherapy. It's a four hour day, I'm 61, that's a pretty good work pattern.

I leave the house at 1 returning at 5 after an ice cream at cafe Gallo. It seems so long ago since I bought that record player at the charity shop next door.

Before I leave and after I return I have all the chores like eating, exercises and meditation, oh and medication too.

It's probably mediation I need at this point.

It's 2am and it's Weetabix time. Even this is proving exhausting. I've not read the label again and am today a tablet or two short of a picnic this week. Yesterday my two at morning and lunch was supposed to be just morning, like today, then taper off with one each morning. 

Too tired to care, never mind read or eat a tablet. Constipation can get in the way as you increase the shakes and suddenly you're in a new meltdown. This is why I've written about how brutal the end processes are. You are mentally and physically broken now.

Notwithstanding all that I managed to get the mouth guards in with the toothpaste and by 4.20am they'd had a couple of halves of football and another tick in a box for 90 minutes.

With 6am approaching it's another opportunity to visit the loo, put some more burn cream on and get another 2 hours sleep before getting up for breakfast and the golf.

It's funny how it can shift from being behind schedule to a couple of positives putting us on front of the curve. Usually nothing more complex than a carbohydrate or two hundred. Like the hiccups timing is everything. They can have a surge while my prostate is active or they can surge while I'm trying to sleep. Anyway whoever studied waves and wave theory knows the nonsense Im currently Havering about.

When I holed the putt for a par at the first I realised why I was here. I missed the birdie at the 2nd but the ball had landed a yard from the hole so any disappointment was tinged with joy.

I'll ignore the next two as I should but hit a driver to 15' at the next par 3 and got a birdie. 

Who cares about the rest he laughed as he got back in the buggy. It's a tough old slog but a four at 11 is always a treasure and a par @18 is one to savour. Happy days and I'll sleep for real tonight.

I keep wondering why people expect Caitlins generation to pay for our mess. They're in their 30's and why should they stay to pick up the tab that we clearly chose to run up through our lives. I'm delighted with my cancer care but what have I left them in terms of investment and infrastructure in the care industry. Not enough, I would hazard a guess. We've sold everything that wasn't bolted down and put on hawk with long term investors our hospitals.

Nothing like a round of golf to gain some perspective. Well that and the demise of Alex Salmond who died yesterday and was of his generation. Only a few years before me at St Andrews and yet such a different time. The end of noble entitled politics and the rise of the new type.ive always had a fond image of him as he took the baton on for the commonwealth games in a merry old way. Was it Kuala Lumpur, not sure but he looked jolly. He's been long regarded as a master of Westminster but the irony will always leave us wondering how much he enjoyed playing the game and how much he wanted it to come to an end. When his time had been and gone as an actual leader of a country, some saw his immediate folly was to want to get back into the Westminster comedy show with other luminaries like Boris and the racist. Somehow he couldn't see Brexit coming or willed this beast upon us as a useful device to call for another indy ref. Some people may know, some will say that is politics, I think it's like closing the library in the evening all week so there's more of a backlash. I don't know but he's got a place for putting the independence case and that was good. He had a place for saying we would join the euro at the first step create a republic and ditch the monarchy, he didn't. If politics meant that we split the room so easily then we shouldn't be independent. If we had a cause of getting behind our entrepreneurial skill and our abject rejection of poverty then I'd vote for it. We can, should and one day will do better but for the time being we are just moving the deci chairs as usual.

It's easy to look wistfully across the Irish sea. However, the question I always ask myself is how much has your country been drained by the charlatans as they exist before during and after any power struggle. Gorbachev was one minute being praised and the next responsible for the disasters that befell the collapse of the Soviet Union, when two tribes went to war. The ologarks have a way of sneaking by and not every paedophilic prince is ever caught, tried and condemned.

My recovery was going well but ran into  the post chemo crisis again. This time bowel tightness, food frailty and flat on the back. From golf optimism to 24 hours later.

I'm in the Western and trying to get it sorted.  In just 3 days I've lost a stone and it was all going so well. Golfing on Sunday was great but alas I forgot to have a morsel after and that meant tea was too late and bowels never broke more than wind.

Suddenly you're two days later, the mask doesn't fit and your radiotherapy is interrupted for padding.

It's mental, it's easy to do and yes I'm on my second insert. Hopefully by 3pm I'll have an open bowel again but I need fuel fast. It's just been flat lining since Sunday.

It's those micro moments that are so hard to explain. Binary choices you get wrong.

Giving yourself over to survival is perhaps the hardest thing. You have only one job and that is let the treatment do its work.

That means your bowels are no longer your own and smells are someone else's problem  

Exhaustion is part of the deal and don't pretend you can even leave the front door. 10 steps could cover your days now.  

The treatment is paramount and allowing it to do what it needs to while you pick up the pieces is an essential learning 

Certain trauma grinds me down like the sore throat and ulcers. It prevents eating is sore but not disastrous. I can go without painkillers if need be as I have for 5 days now. Closing my bowel off is another story. That shuts me down like a culled bison. I can't function knowing if I put more food in it's only going to get to the blockage faster. I can't eat, no energy and I cant do the pain of trying and failing. So when the heavens opened on Tuesday at 8.07am I couldn't describe the relief. When a second pack of 12 golf balls came flying out at 10.22 there was a palpable sense of Christmas. All my Christmases and more had just arrived. Others who have endured constipation with ease will wonder what my problem was, I think like the Can'cerre Camino every problem is unique. You find out more about your little psyches than you could ever imagine. Blockages are clearly one of my kryptonite cases.

As I tip toe around the house with my nappy on I'm reminded at any moment I now have no control. This is the current predicament but it's certainly more joyous and as I say no painkillers are going near me. Codeine paracetamol is probably what shifted the balance or the tiny bit of morphine. Neither will pass my lips again and the throat can scream at the Weetabix instead.

Today is Thursday and it's #29. Tomorrow is my last so I better get myself settled and ready to depart.

With all the interventions I'm clearly not to be coughing for a while or far from a toilet. Luckily there are dad nappies available now, and I'll be buying a pack of pampers for myself. This is no time to get precious about style.

They advise you double up on the Laxido to ensure you don't get caught again but at the moment it seems a bit overplayed. I've had suppositories aenama and Ghostbusters up there so I'm not exactly getting bunged up, but I won't risk it either. I told them codeine paracetamol is no longer, like morphine going to find it's way into my pain management. Pain can be pain for the time being. It's wearisome but it's something that sits more comfortably.

I've got to move to a low energy hi carb so will be gradually increasing to 5 bottles of feed. My Weetabix is about the only solid I'm having along with Jackie's soup, so from now on I'm going virtual carbs. It's been pretty ghastly and I don't enjoy it. I completely powered down overnight in the albergue western. I had no idea if I was getting out and cared even less. Every fart meant a trip to the toilet and after many trips through the night, another sleepless one. When you lose sleep at 61 there's a lot more disorientation takes place and weird things happen in the head. I'm grateful to be home now with a fully caught up sleep regime.

The two weeks after treatment will be fun, indeed.