A Feast of Consequences

Weren't the old adds for cigarettes brilliantly incorrect, read on............. 

It’s been a fairly quiet time since the last real update, I’m not including the interlopers Neville and Penny, who by the way seem to think they should have a regular guest spot, or indeed their own blogs. Hmmm……. We’ll see.

I’ve been ably cared for by the lymphoedema team at the Duchess of Kent Hospice. I’m getting regular work outs with the physio on my shoulder, she’s really happy with the progress I’m making and was very complimentary of the work that Vicky had done on it back in August of last year. Slowly but surely the movement is getting better in the shoulder, but I’ve been advised it’ll be a long journey. Luckily most of the exercises I’ve been given I can do happily at my desk whilst working. The second specialist I’m seeing is for MLD Massage (Manual lymphatic drainage). I get to spend an hour lying down on a couch whilst the lumpy bits in my neck are expertly massaged to attempt to move the build-up of fluid so it can drain properly. Following the removal of around 35 lymph nodes under the knife last year I’ve had solid lumps below my chin, which aren’t painful, but over time they could cause problems. The scars are also being massaged as they are fairly sensitive. I’ve got to say that out of all the treatments I’ve had over the last couple of years, the MLD Massage is one of the best at producing immediate results. Over a fairly short period of time the difference has been amazing, the lumps are shifting, the scars are feeling better and I get to have an hour’s kip whilst it’s being done. The only procedure that I’ve dropped is reflexology. I was recommended to try it as my sleep pattern is still so poor. After three sessions I’d noticed no improvement, in fact I had once of the worst nights sleep in living memory immediately after one of the sessions. Whilst it was quite pleasant having my feet massaged for an hour I can’t really afford the time out for work along with the other treatments where I am seeing a benefit. I had a meeting this week with the person who’s been coordinating my treatments at the hospice, she’s happy that I’m responding positively and the treatments will continue when Carol and I get back from holiday in mid May. All of this is above and beyond the normal NHS treatment and is partly funded by the Sue Ryder charity.

I first came across the Sue Ryder charity when I was working for Lloyds Bank in Bracknell, many, many years ago. They are linked via marriage to the Leonard Cheshire homes. Now to digress for a few lines. Leonard Cheshire VC was a hero of mine. I’ve had a fascination with 617 Squadron since I was about 10 and first read the Paul Brickhill book “The Dambusters” which told the story of the RAF raid on the great Rhur damns during the World War II. That raid was led by Guy Gibson VC and it’s debatable as to the actual success of the raid when you also balance out the aircrew who were lost completing their mission. Gibson didn’t fly with 617 squadron again. Cheshire was instrumental in pioneering the “Master Bomber” role for the squadron when he flew a Mosquito at stupidly low heights to “Mark” the target, relying on the speed of the plane to out run the gunners. He was very much a thinking man and soon after the end of the war he set up the first of his hospices. He had no money, but he had a very strong faith. There’s a story that one day he had a deadline to pay a bill, with no funds in the bank, that morning a cheque arrived from an anonymous donor with enough money to cover the bill and a little bit to tide them over for a few more days. He and his second wife, Sue Ryder, went on to dedicate their lives to charitable work in the care of the terminally ill. He was a man who had his critics and wasn’t what you’d call conservative in his beliefs, but he worked for the betterment of others.

I briefly mentioned that Carol and I are off on holiday again soon. It’s been a whole 5 months since our last sunshine break so we’ve booked a 7 night stay at the Barcelo Hotel in Corralejo. We’ve stayed there a couple of times before and loved it. Our plan is to cycle out to the dunes in the morning, back for a late lunch then Carol can spend time in the hotel spa whilst I do a bit more cycling. As I’m now up to 87kg I reckon I’ll need to do some exercise to counter the meals and drinking my own body weight in gin on a daily basis.

And now for another step back in time……

Let’s look back at 30^th December 1978, I was 16. Some of the readers of this blog probably weren’t born, or even thought about. That night I was with my best mate, Rob Day, at a party in Wokingham. Dressed in my best Levi’s, cowboy boots and UFO T-Shirt, I was ready to party like it was 1999, albeit 21 years early. The party was held by Claire Porter who’d persuaded her parents that having a bunch of mates round between Christmas and New Year could only be a good idea. The evening was memorable for three reasons.

1/. As per usual I didn’t pull.

2/. Rob managed to back his mums Austin 1100 into a stationary gate post, giving it a large dent. (the car, not the gate post!).

3/. I smoked my first ever cigarette.

At this point in my life I was a bit of a “Jock”, not the Scottish type, more the sporty type (those at the back who are giggling please stop it, and that means you Parsons!) I played for all the teams at school, was still playing for Berkshire at badminton and considered myself to be a pretty fit young man.  (Parsons, this is your final warning!). Both of my parents had smoked for as long as I could remember, but I’d always said I’d never do it as I knew the nasty consequences of being a long term smoker. I vividly remember the disappointment on the face of the Head of PE at Forest School when he saw me smoking a fag at one of the school discos in the 6^th Form. He was a massive anti-smoking person who lectured us on a daily basis as to the long term effects of smoking the evil weed, but we knew better, we were invincible, we’d live forever.

Over the next 35 years I’d have numerous attempts at quitting. When Carol agreed to become the current Mrs C. I said I’d give up, I failed. When the current Mrs C. fell pregnant with Anna and then Max I said I’ve quit, I failed. God knows how much money went up in smoke over those years. I did eventually go to a “Quit Smoking” clinic which seemed to work for around 8 months until a fairly major event caused me to revert back to the drug. The next five years or so were spent saying “Next week I’ll quit”, but “Next week” never seemed to arrive, until that fateful day in December 2015 when the doctor gave me the news that I’d probably be expecting for a number of years.

Since that Thursday afternoon in the ENT Dept. at the Royal Berkshire Hospital I’ve seen consultants, surgeons, CNS specialists, SALT team, radiographers, chemotherapist nurses, anaesthetists, head and neck specialists, nurses who earn sod all but give everything, specialist treatment nurses, GP’s, practise nurses. Not one of them have said, and they could have done, “Mr Clark, you’ve brought this on yourself by being a smoker”, they’ve treated me with the upmost respect and dignity, they haven’t judged me, they haven’t lectured me, they’ve kept me alive.

When I took that first puff of a Silk Cut I wasn’t thinking that 40 years down the line I’d have my voice box cut out because I was being a prat, I knew it wasn’t going to do me any good, but I still had a suck. There is no one else to blame for me getting cancer, I’m the first in my family to be hit be the bastard, so it isn’t hereditary, it isn’t in my genes. I got cancer because I was a smoker, I’m facing the consequences of my actions without blaming others. I’m thankful that the people keeping me alive aren’t judging me, they’re treating me. I’m thankful that we’ve got a “Free at the point of treatment NHS” regardless of its short falls.

In other news, the rugby season is coming to a close in the next few weeks. Rams will finish either 3^rd or 4^th in their league, their highest ever position. The Mighty Cents, the team that Max is playing for, will also probably finish in 4^th place to match this league position of last season. One of the highlights of the season took place last weekend with the Rams Mini Festival. Last year it was played in temperatures in the high 20’s, this year it was a mud bath, but as always there were happy and smiling faces at the end.

Neville is still being a puppy, even though he’s now a couple of nuts short of a Waldorf. He’s signed up for another set of lessons with Tails of Tilehurst to improve on his recall. He’s pretty good now at loose lead walking and is learning to sit and wait pretty well at the curb, but he can be a real pain when it comes to being recalled in the park. He never strays far away, but likes to come back in his own good time when he’s finished sniffing whatever it is that he likes to sniff. I’ve heard it said by various people that “Dogs know things.” Neville seems to sense if I’m not feeling great and will often come and sit next to me quietly for a while, it’s his therapy dog trick. Ok, 20 minutes later he’ll be barking at the cat flap for no apparent reason, but he’s still a puppy and that’s what I need to remember. 

 

Max is going to look after Neville whilst we’re away, what could possibly go wrong? J

That’s about it for this post, I’m not sure when the next blog will be, probably just before I take the #Stalker away to the sunshine.

As always, thanks for reading.

To be continued………………

#Shoulder2Shoulder

The Right To Reply

The Cats Eye View

#doingitforDani

After passing over my blog to Neville the dog last week I was told in no uncertain terms by a couple of people that Nev had made a scurrilous slur on the Senior Pet in the house, Penny the cat. So it only seemed fair to allow Penny to give her side of the story.

I read Nevilles blog update last week with a combination of anger and disgust, so I’m grateful to my Servants for allowing me the right to reply to the mutt. Let me take you back a while, it was roughly four years ago that the Servants decided to wait on my every whim and to save me from going through life called Tallulah. My new name came after the Servants decided to name me after the first try scorer in a rugby match, it was a Penalty Try, hence the name Penny. It could have be a lot worse Joe Duffellen could have scored, who’d want to go through life being called Duffers?

The first four years or so were pretty good. The Servants didn’t take long to become accustomed to my needs. They learnt that I like my food by 8am in the morning, and 4pm in the afternoon. I also need my “hit” of Cat Treats by 1pm at the latest, otherwise I’ll bring a mouse in and drop it down the male Servants throat hole 😊

The most exciting thing to happen to me was when the sodding Badger attacked me and bit my leg so badly I had to go to the vets, I don’t really like the vets as the tables there are steel and cold on my bottom. As a cat I like to be warm, all the time. Then our next door neighbours took on a Bengal cat called Benji, why anyone would want to take on a mini tiger is beyond me, he’s a vicious sod, we’re not friends.

My life revolved around sleeping, eating, going outside and choosing which Servant I’d sit on in the evening. Then, without warning, or without consulting me, my house began to change. First, the room the Servant 1 used to work in changed, with the introduction of a large torture chamber, and he moved his seating area around, much closer to my door. Then, one Sunday afternoon, just before they were due to put my indoor toilet up for the year (That’s not an indoor toilet, it’s a Christmas tree you chump – Servant 1) they arrived home with a bundle of fur carried in by Servant 2. Ah, I thought, they’ve brought me a present. The “Present” took one look in my direction, barked loudly and made a B Line in my direction, teeth bared. I did think about whacking him around the head with my claws out to show him who’s the boss of the house, but decided I’d let him settle in a bit first, then smack him when he least expected it. I now wish I’d taught him the lesson the first chance I’d got.

I decided that I’d retreat to the warmth of the Servants boudoir for a couple of days and only venture downstairs when I knew the mutt was either in his chamber or being dragged out of the house tied to a rope (Stupid thing probably didn’t know how to get back home by himself, unlike us clever cats).

Things haven’t really settled down that well, however I think I’ve got the best of the deal in that I get to spend all day upstairs on the Seniors Servants bed, then my food is served to me in the Absent Servants room. If I want to go outside I just give a quick knock at the lounge door and a Servant comes to open the front door for me. Once the mutt has been put into his cage for the night I’ve got the run of the house as usual. In fact one of my favourite games to play is to run my paws along the bars of his cage whilst he’s asleep and I’m off out for my nightly patrols. It really winds the mutt up, I can still hear him barking when I’m three gardens away, such fun J

It would seem that the Servants are quite keen on the mutt, they’ve taken it for special lessons on how to behave, which he appears to be ignoring from what I can see, he’s even got his own coats to wear when he’s taken out on his rope, what a WUSS! I’d just tell it to “Man the F**k Up” if I could get close enough. I did wonder if I’d done something to upset the Servants, so being the good cat that I am I’ve decided to start bringing presents in for them the past few nights, they don’t seem too keen on the mice, so perhaps I’ll change to birds once it gets a bit warmer, I’ve seen Snr Servants cooking birds so perhaps they’ll appreciate them more.

I’ve heard that the mutt is off to the “Doggy Dentist” in a couple of weeks for a scrape and polish to his manly bits, and that after this has been done he should perhaps become a bit calmer and not try to shag everything that moves, maybe that’s why he’s chasing me? Anyway, once he’s back and the Cone of Shame is removed we’ll settle down and have a chat one evening whilst he’s in his cage and I’m safely on the other side of the bars. I’ll persuade him that by working together on the Servants / Assistants we can both benefit. I mean what would be more fun than one of us sitting on each of them and refusing to move? I can use my claws as crampons, the mutt can use his bulk J

Until that day arrives, in words from my favourite film ……. “There can be only one” and it won’t be you mutt!!

PS – Thanks to Mike B. for suggesting to the Servants that I should have the right to reply.

Penny – 

Regular readers will be pleased to know that we have no more pets in Clark Acres to hand the blog over to. So normal services should resume in the next few weeks.

It’s been quite a busy week in relation to ongoing treatments. On Monday I spent the morning at Royal Berkshire Hospital being fed barium laced produce whilst standing on an x-ray machine. The purpose of this was to see how my throat reacts when I swallow and to see if there is any reason I’ve been going through valves so quickly. The long and the short is that there’s no real reason that was evident from all the x-rays other than there is a pronounced “Dip” in the area where the valve sits which could be collecting food and drink debris and thus effecting the way the valves operates, other than that everything seemed hunky dory. It was quite fascinating to watch the x-ray film afterwards and to see the way my new throat reacts to the swallow process. Wednesday was my first appointment with the Reflexologist, I’d actually forgotten what I was seeing her for, luckily she reminded me that it was to assist with sleeping, before I had a chance to put my foot in it. I’m quite sceptical about any sort of complimentary medicine but thought I’ve nothing to lose. She explained that after the first session I should sleep well for one night, two nights after the second session etc. It was a very relaxing experience after I’d got over the initial “It tickles” stage and I think I drifted off to sleep at one point. Going to bed that night I was really looking forward to my first full night’s sleep for some considerable time…………..

…………… I woke up at 1am in a considerable amount of discomfort, coughing and struggling to breath. The rest of the night was spent either propped up on pillows or coughing into tissues. It would seem that yet another chest infection has decided to come and visit me. The valve has been leaking slightly over the past week, but not enough to justify having it changed. The onset of the chest infection means I’ll have to have it changed as soon as the SALT Team can see me. The plans for the weekend are now on hold as the forecast is for the Artic blast to come back and visit us. I’m due to take photos of the Reading Half Marathon on Sunday, as a number of the Redingensians Sirens are running on behalf of the RFU Injured Players Foundation, if you’ve the odd £ you’d like to donate then here’s the link - https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/sirensdoingitfordani If the weather is as cold as forecast then I don’t think I’ll be out, minus degrees + a chest infection = a good chance of a night in the RBH.

Next week it's back for another session of reflexology, my first visit to the physio and the follow up appointment with the Lymphoedema clinic, as well, hopefully, the replacement of Leaky McLeakface. Looks like I'll be getting my moneys worth from the NHS. 

That’s it for this week, the blog may take a couple of weeks off unless anything exciting happens.

As always, thanks for reading.

To be continued………..

#Shoulder2Shoulder

What I did on my holiday – by Neville, aged 5 ¾ month.

Fish, Fur and Feather.

After posting the very sad update regarding Nino earlier in the week I thought I’d pass over the blogging duties to Neville for a change to update you on what he learnt as a puppy during his four days away in Cornwall. So, over to you Nev……

Sunday morning started off as it normally does for me. One of the Assistants gets up after I’ve barked, woofed and generally made noise for 20 minutes or so and lets me out of my bijou sleeping accommodation, also known as my crate. Breakfast followed as normal and then I noticed large bags in the lounge and the cage that is normally in the boot of Octi the Octavia was in the conservatory. Hmmm….. something was afoot, or should that be apaw? Snr Assistant P. was busy loading up Octi’s boot with enough supplies to sink the Bismark (I watch lots of daytime TV) and my nice sheepskin basket was placed on the back seats of Octi, looks like I’m being upgraded from the boot, about bleedy time too! Normally when I’m stuck into the car It’ll be for a short journey to Sulham Woods for a muddy run around, so when I was still in the back of the car after 20 minutes, with no sign of a muddy walk I decided to go to sleep for a while. 90 minutes later the Octi was still powering down a wide road and my puppy bladder was beginning to sing. So I sang too and Snr Assistant P. pulled into some sort of doggy toilet so I could relieve my stretched bladder (Snr Assistant P. would like to point out that he pulled into the Motorway services as he also needed to relieve his bladder and needed to top up his caffeine levels).

Back to the car for me and another 90 minutes or so before the bladder communicated to my throat and Asst. P pulled into another doggy toilet. This one was a step up from the previous place, this time I got to walk around on some grass before being taken into a rather pleasant café type place where the Assistants had yet more caffeine (how do their bladders cope?) and cake, which they refused to share with me. I sniffed the floor and laughed like a drain when a frankly inferior dog tried to bark at me…… I laughed in his face, and then farted in his general direction. I was put back in the car for being a tad rude to my fellow canine and promptly fell asleep again.

The next thing I knew I was being tossed from left to right and to left again as Asst P. seemed to be on some sort of Rally Cross course, little did I know that this was just the average North Cornwall road. We parked up at another doggy toilet, so kind of the Assistants, but instead of going into a nice warm café, they dragged me over a road, onto some soft stuff which they eventually explained was sand, over a hill and I saw for the very first time a beach………………. I’ve decided, at a very early age, that a beach is the BEST THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!!!!! I was allowed to run up and down the beach, chase a ball, ignore a ball, dig holes, drink from salty puddles (Not to be recommended) and run to the watery stuff at the bottom of the beach. What nobody told me was that the watery stuff at the bottom of the beach didn’t stand still and ran back at me, it was cold. The Assistants told me that we were at a place called Porthcothan Bay and that they knew it really well. Snr Asst. P had been visiting the place since he was a ten year old, that’s MANY, MANY, MANY years in doggy years. He brought Jnr Asst. C to the place for Jiggy Jiggy fun before some bloke with a Doggy Collar (?) said they should really do Jiggy Jiggy stuff, and have been coming back with the Very Jnr Asst. M and Absent Jnr Asst. A for lots of years.

Once the Assistants had finally persuaded me to put my lead back on (it’s a great game to run close to them and then dodge away at the last minute) they took me to another “First”. They took me to a “pub” which apparently is quite an important place for the Assistants. I’ve decided that Pubs aren’t as much fun as the beach, NOTHING is as much fun as the beach, but it’s quite a nice place to be. It’s warm it’s dry, it’s full of people who like dogs, and it’s full of people who drink beer, too much beer and then drop food on the floor, which I can then eat. I’d rather they dropped bits of their fillet steak rather than their chilli though, just saying.

It seemed that the Assistants were waiting for someone as they kept looking up when the door to the pub opened. After about 10 minutes the door moved and a dog which looked very similar to me walked in, looking proud and noble. I barked. It turns out that my Assistants had arranged with the other mutts Assistants to meet up over a cooling beverage and that the other mutt was in fact my big half brother, Sidney! We had a rather pleasant ½ hour or so getting to know each other before the Assistants decided it was time to go and explore our home for the holiday. By now I was getting quite used to jumping in and out of the car, but this trip only lasted about 2 minutes before we drew up outside The Linney, home until Wednesday. I was very excited to explore the house, especially when I discovered that there was no door on the stairs, so nothing to stop me haring up and banging my nose against any of the doors that the Assistants were stupid enough to try any hide behind. I especially enjoyed joining Assistant C. when she was trying to have a wee in peace (No idea why she doesn’t just go outside like I do!), the other really good game was to hide underneath the bed, exactly in the middle so that neither Assistant could actually reach me, oh what fun they seemed to have, although some of the language used wasn’t suitable for puppies ears. It really was a nice cottage and I got to sleep in the lounge whilst the Assistants watched the TV instead of being stuck in the office like I am at home.

As it was a strange house I thought it was only fair that I explored the grounds at night, so at 2am I decided it was time the Assistants were up and walking me in the cold rather than wrapped up warm in bed. The sky was full of stars and a very bright moon, but it was flipping cold on the paws, so after a quick wee it was back to my nice warm bed for the rest of the night.

Monday brought yet another new experience for me. Along with the pitter patter of rain against the window I could hear a strange clucking noise……….. Yay!!!! There were chickens running around the garden, I like chickens, especially after they’ve been cooked to perfection my Snr. Assistant P. I was told in no uncertain terms that these chickens wouldn’t enjoy being played with and I was to leave them alone or they wouldn’t produce the lovely eggs the Assistants had enjoyed for breakfast. To compensate for the lack of chicken fun I decided I’d eat sheep poo instead, very tasty and it produces a rather pleasant green poo for my Assistants to pick up! In fact Snr. Assistant P. was heard to comment that he’d have been proud of one of the deposits I produced! The Assistants decided as it was a bit rainy that we’d go into a place called Padstow, that they’d loved for years, for a walk. Another first for me as I’ve never been into a town before. It wasn’t that busy, but there were lots of other dogs around. I’ve decided that I’m not really scared of other dogs now, so long as they’re friendly to me. It seemed that Assistant C. hadn’t really packed her case for wet weather (It’s March, it’s Cornwall, it’s going to rain, even a 5 ¾ month old pup knows that!) So we spent 20 minutes in a shop so she could buy some trousers, socks, thermal top and me a nice new doggy towel! The lady in the shop thought I was lovely, so I gave her an extra special and extra wet lick on her ear so she would remember me. The Assistants needed more coffee and cake, it was a rather wet and probably smelly me who sat at their feet looking adoringly into their eyes whilst they drank. (That last bit is entirely made up, I spent the time sniffing the floor and picking at crumbs).

Luckily the rain stopped in the afternoon so the Assistants agreed to take me back to the beach. It was empty, just me, the two Assistants and loads of sheep trying to throw themselves off the cliffs! We had a wonderful time with the chuckit ball, I even brought it back to Snr. Assistant P. a couple of times, well he is getting on a bit these days. All too soon it was time to go back to the house for my afternoon nap as I had an appointment in the evening that I’d been looking forward to for ages, well for two days, but that is ages in doggy times. After dinner it was back into the car for the 20 minutes or so it took to get to Sidney HQ to finally meet Ed and Vicky properly, and of course to learn the tricks of the trade from my big brother. It was an exciting evening full of chasing, barking, play fighting (well I think Sidney was playing) and a couple of accidents! My excuse is that it was a new house to me, I didn’t know where the back door was and I was very excited! By 9.30 I was dog tired so it was au revoir to Ed, Vicky and Sidney, but we’ll be back. As soon as my paws got into the car I was fast asleep, dreaming of chickens and sheep poo. Snr. Asst P. wasn’t overly impressed when I needed a wee at 2am again, don’t know why, he got to see another wonderful sky.

Tuesday morning was a really beautiful day, so once the Assistants had eaten the chicken eggs again it was back into the car and the short hop back into Padstow where I had yet another first for me, a trip on a boat! I liked the wind in my ears, but I didn’t like the noise the ramp made when it opened and closed. The landing craft dropped us off at Rock, which the Assistants told me is very posh, but to me it just looked like any other beach! I had a great time digging holes, filling them in again, and then digging them again. I really enjoyed it when Snr. Asst. P. was behind me when I started digging, he didn’t seem to mind too much that his shoes and jeans were covered in sand! Another visit to a coffee shop where this time I did actually sit quietly as the Assistants topped up their caffeine levels. It was then back over the river and a final stroll around Padstow. The town was now quite busy as it was a lovely day, and it seemed to me that every Assistant in view had a dog with them, I think there must be a man at the car park who hands out dogs to people who arrive without them, a splendid idea.

I thought we’d be going straight back to the house for a nap, but the Assistants has other ideas. Their stomachs were rumbling (I could hear them from the back seats) so they stopped at yet another pub for lunch. This was a rather posh place, called The Cornish Arms, but I was happy to sit close to the fire by Snr. Asst. P’s feet whilst he fed me disappointingly small pieces of his fried kidneys. Mind you Asst. C. didn’t even give me a crumb from her plate of curried crab L The afternoon was spent dozing on the sofa (for the Assistants) and me dozing in my basket. The Assistants took some time getting changed that evening, so I was really looking forward to a visit to another posh pub, but………………………..

………………….. they locked me in my crate and went out without me………………………. They will pay!

When they got back (much, much, much later!) they explained that some bloke called Rick didn’t want dogs in his restaurant, despite being more famous as Snr. Asst. to the late Chalkie the Jack Russel than as a Chef. So I had to stay at home whilst they enjoyed John Dory (Not sure who he is) and Turbot, apparently I wouldn’t have liked it. I believe I should have been given the chance to make up my own mind. The list of misdemeanours by the Assistants is becoming quite long and will be paid back with interest, dogs have great memories. Now, where was I?

The next morning I was looking forward to more fun and games on the beach, a nice leisurely lunch, followed by a snooze in the basket. Instead my crate was packed up, suitcases appeared and Octi the Octavia was again packed up. We did stop for one final run on the beach and a couple of more stops on the way home so I could use the doggy toilets.

The bloody cat is still living in MY house, thought they’d have got rid of her by now.

So, what have I learnt from my holiday?

Beaches are brilliant!

If I’m good in pubs I may get fed.

Chickens gang up on me.

Sheep poo is probably more tasty than that John Dory chap.

Car trips can be fun.

Boat trips are great.

If Snr. Asst. P. leaves his big camera at home then the photo’s he takes on his phone will be rubbish.

Sidney is the best big brother EVER…………..

Lots of love, Nev. 

 

Thanks to Neville for writing this week’s update, probably fewer spelling mistakes than normal. It was a cracking few days down in Cornwall to recharge the batteries and to really appreciate the fun and love that owning a dog can bring (Eh, you don’t own me, you’re my Assistants – Nev)  Cornwall, or at least the Padstow / Porthcothan area have got it right as far as dog welcomes goes. We were a bit worried that we’d end up eating fish and chips on the quay, but 90% of the places we went to encouraged dogs, you could always tell where they were welcome, a bowl of water would be outside. You wouldn’t expect high end art galleries of top of the range restaurants to allow dogs in, and indeed I wouldn’t want to risk Nev having a teenage tantrum (I’m not a teenager yet, you wait if you think my current tantrums are bad – Nev) and having to leave an expensive meal uneaten. We needn’t have worried as he was really well behaved everywhere we went (We’ll gloss over the pee and poo incident at Sid’s gaff!). The meal we had at Rick Steins was the second best we’d ever eaten. Carol started with mussels in a black bean sauce and followed up with a wonderful John Dory dish. I has sashimi of fish with the hottest wasabi I’ve ever eaten, followed by turbot, which was sublime. It’s not cheap, but you know that when you book. It was a cold night in March, the place was probably 90% full. (If you’d taken me with you it would have been 92% full, just saying…………….. Nev) Our waiter knew his stuff, when I asked specifically for an Italian Red to go with our dishes and to drink a toast to Nino,  he came up with a blinding choice that didn’t break the bank.

It wouldn’t be a #S2S update unless I briefly mentioned the Big C. On Thursday I had my monthly check up at the hospital. I got to see Susan the SALT first as the valve had leaked a bit whilst we were away in Cornwall. She and I both agreed that as it now seemed to be behaving itself we’d let sleeping dogs lie (Oi, when I’m asleep I still have one eye open in case you open the cheese box! – Nev). We ended up just having a bit of a chat about how I was coping and what I’d been up to. I mentioned we’d been down to Padstow and it transpired that Susan spent her honeymoon there and ate at Rick’s too. She now takes her two Weimaraner’s down to Cornwall whenever she can. Surprisingly enough she’d never heard of a Kromi but once she was shown a photo of Nev being a poser the obligatory “Oh he’s sooooo cute” comment followed. (Will you please tell people that I’m not cute, I’m handsome, there’s a big difference – Nev)  I’ll be seeing Susan again on Monday as I’m having a swallow test done to see if there’s any reason why the valves don’t last as long as they should.

After a brief wait I was called in to see, the one, the only, the original, the brilliant SCARY. I hadn’t seen Scary since being diagnosed again with cancer, she was so apologetic that the RT and Chemo hadn’t worked as she’d originally hoped it would, as it was her fault. It was really good to see her again, as I felt happy to discuss my fears for the future with her in an open manner, much more so that with the other Oncologists I’ve seen of late. She was really pleased with my progress, my weight is continuing to go up and apparently I’m looking really healthy J She was happy to put me onto two monthly referrals from now on, another step on the 5 Year Pathway. We discussed the various treatments I’m having or will be having in the next couple of weeks. Next week I’ve got my first appointment with the physio to try and sort my shoulder out, she felt that was a really positive move. The week after I’m seeing the Reflexologist, and I can’t actually remember why. Scary said to treat it as a nice foot massage, nothing more, nothing less. I’m guessing that a highly qualified Oncologist hasn’t much time for what used to be call Alternative Medicine. I’ll go in with an open mind and clean feet.

I left feeling as positive as I have for some time.

As always, thanks for reading.

To be continued…………….

#Shoulder2Shoulder

Nino

Back in 1986 I was working as a Commercial Mortgage consultant for Security Pacific Trust in their Reading branch having transferred from the Collections Team as I wanted a “Jam Jar” (Company car!). The branch consisted of the Manager, Big Mike Taylor, three sales guys, Julian Cook, Little Mike Taylor, and myself. There were two office admin clerks, Louise and Caroline, or as I called them Lettuce and Cabbage. Big Mike was a larger than life character who originated from Birmingham, but loved to speak in Cockney rhyming slang whenever possible, and interesting concept when twinned with his strong Brummie accent. In truth, I was the world’s worst Commercial Mortgage salesman, but I had one heck of a year working with Big Mike before I transferred back to my real home as a debt collector. Mike knew probably every scam going to make life easier for ourselves, he was also a cracking salesman who would usually have his annual target in the bag by September, meaning Christmas started at the beginning of October. I first came across Mike when we played the annual Branches vs Head Office cricket match. It was played at Old Bath Road, in the days when Redingensians RFC still had a cricket square. Mike had played for Warwickshire CC in his youth, and was still a fairly handy cricketer in the local leagues. I still fancied myself as a pace bowler, but Mike took great delight in smacking me all over the ground, including one 6 that cleared the old club house and landed on the A4 Dual Carriageway, to the sound of screaming brakes!

Back at the old branch office on the Kings Road in Reading I shared an office with Julian Cook who was the Consumer Finance manager. We both smoked and in those days you could still smoke in the office. It wasn’t strange for me to come back into our small office to not be able to see if Julian was there or not through the smog of fag smoke hanging around. We must have stank.

One of the traditions in the office was the monthly sales meeting, always held in either a local pub or local restaurant. Why we didn’t hold it in the office I’ve no idea, other than we couldn’t really indulge in our speciality of getting outrageously drunk if we were stuck with Cabbage and Lettuce.

It was on one of these “Sales Meetings” that I first went to a restaurant that would become a favourite of Carol, Anna, Max and I for the next 30+ years. Mike dragged us into the old Market Place area of Reading with the promise of going to the best Italian restaurant this side of Milan and duly opened the door for my first ever visit to Nino’s.

I remember little of that first visit, probably due to the copious bottles of Peroni and Vino Rosso which were no doubt necked. However the place must have made some sort of subliminal impact on my brain as Carol and I were soon visiting three or four times a month (this was pre Anna and Max days!). It got to the stage when we arrived that Nino would remove the normal wine glassed from our table and replace them with the large bowl like glasses that he serves Amarone in, we didn’t even get to look at the wine list. Once the kids were born our visits became less regular, until Anna was about seven and Max four when we decided to risk a lunchtime visit. The kids thought they’d arrived in heaven, especially Max who was made such a fuss of by the waitress who used to work in the restaurant. The kids have always been pretty good at trying new types of food, especially seafood and I can vividly remember the look of surprise on Nino’s face when they both ordered seafood pancakes, “You do realise they contain mussels, squid and prawns don’t you?” he asked. Two perfectly clean plates later and he didn’t bother asking again. Every birthday, anniversary, other excuse for going out, was then spent in Nino’s, until it closed down due to the massive increase in business rates in the centre of Reading. We were devastated.

I guess it was a couple of years later that we heard of a new restaurant opening up in Pangbourne, about 4 miles from where we live, Nino’s had phoenixed and the Clark family visited on mass. Old Man Nino had been joined by his Young Nino in a far more compact location. The new restaurant has only around 25 covers maximum, but the ambience, menu and wine list was just the same as the old place. We probably visit only 6 or 7 times a year but we’re always greeted as old friends, which I hope to a degree we have become.

In September 2016 just before Anna returned to University we had a Father and Daughter lunch one Friday at Nino’s. It was a warm late summer and we sat outside enjoying a lite bite and a couple of glasses of wine. As was his want, Old Man Nino came out to chat with us after we’d finished. I noticed then that his voice was pretty weak and he was struggling to speak. He sounded and looked just like I did back in late 2015 when my family and friends were trying to persuade me to go and see the doctor. We chatted for a while, Nino knew I’d been ill, but wasn’t aware that it was throat cancer. I took the bull by the horns and quite bluntly suggested he get himself checked out. I think between Anna and I we shocked him and before we left for the afternoon he came out with the bill and confirmed he’d booked an appointment the next day to see his doctor. 

I was next in the restaurant about three weeks later when they held their annual coffee morning in aid on MacMillan Cancer Research. Whilst choosing my cakes and drinking my coffee Young Nino mentioned that his dad had followed through on his promise, seen his doctor and was waiting to be treated for throat cancer. I felt so sorry for the family, but in a way I was glad I’d been firm with him earlier in the month. We chatted about the likely effects that Nino would face and the challenges for the family. I spoke openly about how hard I’d found things and that writing a blog and the book had helped. Nino kindly downloaded the book and published the links on the restaurant webpage. Whilst I was at the Royal Berks one afternoon waiting for an appointment with Scary I bumped into once of the Radiographers who’d looked after me when I was being zapped. She mentioned that she’d recently read my book on the recommendation of a certain Old Nino who she was looking after, and without breaking any patients confidences she said he was doing really well. Later that same afternoon as I was leaving the clinic I bumped into the man himself as he was coming in for his Consultants meeting. He still insisted on calling me Mr Clark, as does Young Nino, despite the many requests to call me Paul 😊

We’ve eaten at the restaurant a number of times since Nino finished his treatment, and whilst you can tell he’s tired, he was still on duty most nights making sure everything was running smoothly. We visited them the Friday before I went under the knife in June but didn’t mention anything about the Big C coming back for another play, it didn’t seem appropriate. Carol and Max popped in for a meal one evening on the way back from visiting me in Oxford and let slip I was ill again. That evening I received a message on FB from the Nino’s wishing me the best for my recovery and advising they’d sent Carol and Max home with a decent bottle of red for me to quaff once I was well enough.

We were next at Nino’s at the beginning of October, the first time since I’d had my operation, and for the first time neither of them were working on a Friday night. The service was great, but it was obvious that something wasn’t quite right. As usual I left a Trip Advisor report, and as usual it was in a tongue in cheek manner. 9 times out of 10 Nino would reply to my reviews and any others with his own quippy comments, but this review went unanswered as did all the others.

Fast forward to February of this year and we were back at the restaurant again. We’d heard that Nino Snr had had a spell at the Sue Ryder Hospice, more for respite than anything else. Young Nino confirmed that his dad was now in a nursing home, but still going into the restaurant when he could to help out. As always it was a special meal, made more so, perhaps as it was the first time Carol and I had been out to Nino’s without one of the pesky kids for quite some time.  

On Tuesday of this week I was walking Neville on the beach at Rock in Cornwall when I saw a Facebook post on Nino’s Restaurant Page that Nino Snr had sadly passed away. It was windy on that beach and sand blew up into my eyes. That evening Carol and I had a table booked at Rick Stein’s, we deliberately ordered a bottle of Italian Red and drank a toast to a man we had both been proud to call a friend.

We’ll be back at the restaurant as soon as possible and by drinking a bottle of Amarone in his honour, I suspect it’ll be blowing a bit of sand in the eyes that night too.

Ciao Nino, you’ll not be forgotten.

To be continued...............  

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

The “Beast from the East” has finally arrived in Berkshire. We woke up on Thursday morning to around two inches of snow, a wind chill of somewhere close to minus 10 and frozen pipes to the washing machine. Earlier this week I had to travel up to London for a monthly management meeting, the first I’d attended for over two years following the initial cancer fun ‘n games. (Incidentally, its two years this week that I finished my first course of Chemo and Radiotherapy).

 

The meeting was to be held in the central London offices of one of the suppliers we deal with as a company, there were people travelling from as far a field as Manchester, Weston-Super-Mare and Birmingham, and of course Tilehurst. When I drove down to Tilehurst station the car temperature gauge was showing a balmy minus seven degrees. Oh well, I’d checked the trains before leaving the house and there were no delays to the 7.38 to Paddington…………… the 7.38 to Paddington was cancelled, as was the 7.55 and 8.04. The 8.12 arrived though, at 8.23! 40+ minutes standing on a frozen platform wrecked my throat. I was making horrible noises and was getting funny looks from my fellow frozen travellers. I was lucky enough to get a seat on the train and spent the journey coughing and spluttering into tissues via my stoma, not a pretty sight.

I’d arranged to meet a colleague who was travelling up from the West Country at Paddington, he was due in just after 9am. You can probably guess the next bit…………….. His train eventually pulled in at 9.30 by which time I was frozen to the bone, struggling to speak and rapidly running low on tissues. The tube journey over to the Barbican on the Circle line was fun and games, we got as far as Baker St when the baseplate I was wearing just gave way under the pressure of my coughing and completely fell off, this was the first time that had ever happened to me. It was a case of quickly jump off the tube, clean the stoma, dry the skin, replace the baseplate and wait another 15 minutes for the next train to arrive. My colleague, who’s known me for about 10 years now, was very understanding and even held the mirror for me whilst I was putting on the new baseplate. We eventually made it to the offices of our supplier just before 10.30, after a quick stop to stock up on coffee and bacon rolls.

The office we were visiting was smack in the middle of the City of London and based on the 15^th Floor of a tower block, with wonderful views stretching for miles on a clear day.

The day was anything but clear however. After about 10 minutes it started to snow a bit, then a bit more and then an awful lot more, until by about 11.30 it was a total “White Out” with all the surrounding buildings shrouded by the blizzard. I was beginning to get a bit concerned about travelling back home if the snow continued as it was. I was also not feeling great. I had to excuse myself from the meeting about five times to go and clear the stoma out and struggled to speak clearly when needed. Typically, at one point in the meeting a discussion was taking place on a subject that was not really of any importance, I managed to utter “Bollox” at what I thought was a whisper, but it came out pretty loudly and perfectly clearly!

The meeting eventually broke up and I made my weary way back to Paddington and the train back home. Luckily the trains were running pretty much to schedule which was amazing and I was home just before 6pm. It was a hugely challenging and at times emotional day, but I survived it. I was also on my last HME having used six through the day, by far the largest number in a day for a fair few weeks. It was Neville’s last Puppy Training session that evening, but I was too jiggered to go, so Carol had the pleasure of seeing him pass out with flying colours. Neville celebrated his release from Borstal by having his first “Snow Day”, Neville likes “Snow Days”…………… 

I was due to have my second meeting with the Lymphoedema nurse Jan on Thursday, but unsurprisingly due to the weather it was cancelled. However Jan mailed me to say she’d be sending me some pre-cut K Tape in the post so I could apply it myself until my next appointment. I’ve been doing my exercises this week along with the massaging of the scars as shown, its early days so no real results yet. But I’m feeling “loved” by the NHS as always, that’s half the battle.

Now for the main topic of this brief update, I want to talk about poo!

I’ve known that dogs poo for a fair few years now and since becoming Senior Assistant to Neville I’ve realised that on average he likes to poo between two and three times a day. He’s also pretty good at letting us know when he needs to go by either circling manically or head butting the door from the lounge into the conservatory. It isn’t the most pleasant task in the world to pick up after your dog, but its part and parcel of being an Assistant. If there’s one advantage to the procedure I had done last summer it’s that I have no sense of smell at all, so picking up dog poo isn’t really an issue to me. If I’ve got Neville with me I now don’t leave the house without a supply of poo bags, in fact even when he isn’t with me I’ve probably still got the bags with me. I’ve yet to reach into my coat pocket and find a nicely wrapped parcel still there three days after the act, but it’s bound to happen at some point. In all the walks I’ve done with him I can honestly say that only once have I not picked up his poo. That was when he managed to perform in a verge after crawling under a barbed wire fence at the local woods. His deposit was nowhere near where any one would ever have been able to actually walk themselves. So I didn’t feel too guilty. Generally, when walking around the paths close to home or in the local park dog poo hasn’t been a problem. That all changes when we get up to our favoured walk, Sulham Woods, the place is just covered in poo all over the paths. It’s not just a case of being on the verges or the edges of the path, it’s often smack in the middle of the path. I really can’t understand the mentality of someone who’s prepared to own a dog and all that entails, but not be prepared to pick up its mess. Before Neville bounded his way into our life (He’s the most uncoordinated animal I’ve ever seen, often tripping over his own paws.) I was known as someone who wasn’t overly keen on dogs on public areas. At the rugby club when I was Mini and then Junior Manager I’d often walk the pitches before matches clearing poo off the playing surfaces. Dog mess and small children really don’t mix. If I’d had my way I’d have deployed snipers on the club house roof to pick of the guilty owners, not the dogs, it’s not their fault, it’s the owners!

So, if you’re the assistant to a dog and it has a poo, pick the offending item up, place it in a bin and be a responsible adult! If you can’t do that then don’t own a dog.

This coming weekend is going to be interesting. Max is due to be playing for the Mighty Cents (Rams 3^rd XV) away to Maidenhead on their 3G All Weather Pitch. Rams 1^st XV are due to play Wimbledon at Old Bath Road, but as the weather is so crap that’s been changed and they’ll also play at Maidenhead RFC, as will the 2^nd XV, so it looks like Rams will take over Maids on Saturday. Suspect the Maids bar takings will be increased from their usual take. A great chance to take shots of three Rams teams in action on the same day. I must make sure I pack my spare memory cards.

On Sunday Carol, Neville and I are travelling down to our beloved Porthcothan Bay for 4 days, so long as the snow and ice sods off, doesn’t it know it’s officially Spring now? This will be Nev’s first long trip in the car since we brought him home from deepest, darkest Dorset, and I’m slightly concerned as to how he’ll take it. Stops at the services may well be more frequent than our usual “One Stop Splash ‘Dash”. We’ve hired a cottage at Carnevas Caravan Park, the same place where we spent our honeymoon, the same place we’ve stayed at almost every year since. We’re hoping there isn’t a repeat of the disgraceful scenes we suffered last year - The Great Cornish Doughnut Debacle  

We’re very much going to play things by ear whilst we’re in Cornwall. It’ll be “Weather Dependent”. We will get Neville onto the beach, throwing his new Chuckit Ball about.

We will get to the Tredrea Inn for lunch and a couple of pints.

We will walk along the cliffs.

We will be taking loads of photos. We will be having dinner at Rick Steins Sea Food Restaurant on Tuesday evening. We will be meeting Sidney, Ed and Vicky Thompson on Monday evening. New readers won’t know that Sidney is Neville’s big brother. It also transpires that the annual Sidney Awards (Far bigger than the Oscar’s) are taking place on Monday evening, so Neville may well get a walk on part in the ceremony. Other than that, we’ve nothing planned J

So, I’m ending the week looking forward to next week. It’s been a real struggle at times over the last few weeks. Reality of what the future holds is beginning to hit home quite hard. It’s very easy to get quite “Down” when you’re struggling with the stoma due to the shoite weather. But Spring is just around the corner, Summer will arrive, a sun holiday will happen in April or May, the corner will be turned. I’m less than 12 months into life changing and lifesaving surgery, I’m entitled to get a bit pissed off with things if I want to.  

Cornwall beckons, life isn’t all bad.

As always, thanks for reading.

To be continued…………………..

#Shoulder2Shoulder