Cancer 99

Well, here we are. As far as I know, this is officially my last day at work, though given the standard of communication between myself, my workplace and the USS (my work pension people) I am still unsure. I said before that I only got confirmation by sending an email myself to both places with less than two weeks to go.

Fortunately, today, my last day at work, is going to be a little different to the last 350 days or so, or at least those where we have not been away. I am currently sitting in the living room with a cup of tea having had a very poor night’s sleep (thanks for asking). I have my chemo bag attached, hopefully dripping fluorouracil at a steady rate into my feeble body, or at least I hope so, the last one didn’t work, and after being attached only since yesterday afternoon it is difficult to tell with this primitive balloon pressure technology. It is meant to empty over 46 hours, ie from Tuesday afternoon to Thursday afternoon. It is difficult to tell whether it is working until late Wednesday/early Thursday.

What are my plans for today, my last day of full-time work assuming the money arrives tomorrow? Sit around in the morning. Go out for a midday meal to the Devonshire Arms at Pilsley to celebrate, sit around in the afternoon, and perhaps watch Sopranos in the evening before retiring to bed at an ungodly hour (but as there is no god every god is ungodly so that does not offer a clue as to bedtime).

I know, when you saw Devonshire Arms, you thought ‘Why is he giving money to that thieving old Duke of Devonshire? Two answers, hypocrisy and good food. It is too late in life to focus too much on the dire aristocracy of the country, though I hope you all celebrated the anniversary of the beheading of Charles I yesterday. It is a shame that whenever I point out this highlight of British history few people are already aware of the act and how it led to a few years of the republic before the reversion to the primitive monarchy.

The Sopranos. This is a re-watching, not just a watching. It is excellent television and I dare any male to deny that there is a little bit of him that wants to have elements of Tony Soprano. It might be the underworld glamour and lifestyle, the women (and the differentiation between the roles of men and women), the violence, the executions, or even just the house (but then you would be lying to yourself wouldn’t you?). Perhaps we just need treatment from the psychiatrist.

For those of you who said ‘no way do I want to be Tony Soprano’. I didn’t say Tony Soprano, I said elements of him. Dig deep, those who have a particularly thick veneer of civilisation. Unlock the depths of the unconscious if you have to. Men are built for violence and control – not that I have had any success at either. My veneer must be too thick.

Perhaps I have found a retirement vocation. Now, all of you send me 10% of your earnings each month and we will say no more.