Dear Reader, wherever you may be. Welcome to my unwholesome and malodorous blog.

The most stunning Tallulah Pixie

It is friday evening November 19 2010. And that, dear reader, means that I have only 5 more sessions of the radiotherapy and the vile chemo pills to go. A bonus is that Dr Proton has allowed me to forego my weekend chemo because of the dastardly effect it has upon me. You have probably got enough for an elephant or two washing around in there, he says. Just one more week and I am free of both these horrors. What happens next, we shall see when it comes, but just to have got through this stage will be marvellous. I like Dr Proton very much, he is a man of humour. He wants to see me again in four weeks. To see if I am still alive? If you fail to turn up we may have to draw some regretable conclusions, he says with a smile. He seems quite pleased with things, but I would say that anyway, wouldn't he. Where have you been I hear you cry out as one man. Probably because you are actually just one man (or woman). This last week or so I have been suffering from the most dreadful Dire Straights. So thin it makes water look like glue. Only it stings like sulphuric acid as it passes the still smouldering tumour and over the effects of the Beam. Dr Proton has pills which nust be used with care. Take one and see what happens. It should coagulate things nicely, else take another after two hours and so on. We are not in a beutiful turd competition he says. Just get a bit of solidity and that will relieve the pain. I took one pill and am totally constipated. Er, Doctor......

While under The Machine I try to read the maker's plate to pass the time while being zapped. Unfortunately, it is all umlaut, so I try to think up my own. How about The Bainbridge Better Bottom Burner. Bi-directional Beams Burn Both Buttocks into a Black, Bitumenous, Blubbery, Blistered Batter.  I pointed out my fear to the Machine Priestess that I had accute dire straits and could not be held responsible for this million euro beamer. She said all risks were covered as they always put a sheet of shiny paper under me, A3 I believe. I said that a kiddies paddling pool or a rubber life-raft might afford better insurance. I could then be carried away by four strong nurses to the showers. Or the car-wash.

Better MCA Changing room mirrors - design submission

Because I have been relatively static, I have few experiences to share that do not involve the MCA or my toilet. But some highlights, mainly so that I can read this all back when this bad dream is over. Tuesday was the start of a series of Bad Bowel Days.We had Boerenkool, a dutch delight made from mashed potato and kale with a chopped smoked sausage thrown in. The price was more than I could bear, and I have resolved to live only on astronauts Poo and bananas.  Not much happened on Thursday. Oh yes, The Blood Donor. Thanks to Stef's Emma I have zillions of episodes of Hancock's Half Hour, and my favorite is The Blood Donor. I had to give blood and sat next to a very nervous old man. (I still don't think of myself as old!). He sat on the edge of his seat and sagged back with relief when his name wasn't called. He shuddered when people came out with patches of gauze with a little drop of blood on their arms. We were called in together. He began to shake and had to be helped in by the nurse. Why they always say 'here it comes' I'll never know. It doesn't hurt at all. But for this poor chap it was all to much. At the third flinch he whirled his arm around and swept test-tubes, plasters, gauzes, pencils, thermometers and all kinds of medical parafinelia onto the floor. I scrunched my way out to the taxi.

Last friday was a great day, I managed to get to the Crejat Acedemie, and with Merel we did some heroic work. Merel is super enthusiastic and shows a lot of talent. And we make a great team. I almost fell off my stool with laughter when the friendly Chinese girl spoke to me. We make jokes about the way they speak and transpose the 'L' and the 'R' (or at least, Sara does- why you no rissen to me. I want flied lice). But I never heard it in life and never in Dutch. She put her hands on my shoulders and said over and over again that I needed lots of lust. I was quite astonished - she is about 25 and very beautiful, and I am an ageing git. What she meant of course was 'rust', the dutch word for rest. 

The weekend was uneventful, apart from the final Formula 1 race of the year. My man Mark Webber did not do well and brat Vettel became World Champion. I am going to follow Curling next year. I did miss out on Irene's Teardrop Cafe, an event where anyone can bring an instrumenet and perform in her house. Many musicians turned up and by all accounts it is all a great success. I have been feeling so queezy of late that I feared I might grab a saxophone to vent my nausea into. Hopefully when the player was blowing and not....When I am better I shall certainly attend.

Jon Strong phoned on wednesday and that cheered me up enormously. There is a good chance that he can arrange a gig in Mulligans or somewhere around the new year. 

Monday I was delivered to the radiation centre by taxi. The driver complained the whole time about what an awful hospital the MCA is. He signed himself out and went to Leiden to get proper treatment. Oh no, those butchers don't get slices of me etc etc. I was already feeling sick, but all the details about his skin cancer ('came off in handfuls like wet, red sponges it did') were really making it worse. I had my hand on the glove compartment handle. Well I had to protect my trousers in the event of.... We pulled up outside the door to Radio Therapy and I fell out of the taxi and heaved up into a pot of geraniums. The driver looked at me crossly as I groaned on all fours because he had to reach over to close my door. He said 'Have a nice day' and zoomed away. 

The rest of Monday and Tuesday I stayed in bed. Apart from the trips to the MCA. Where I got some funny looks from the other people in the waiting room. I am reading a P.D. James Dalgliesh story. A Taste for Death. On Wednesday Stef was due to arrive. I told her to phone me from the station and I would take the risk of driving the short trip. I locked up. The car wouldn't start because the interior light was still on. Never mind, I have a spare battery in the shed. Which is locked. And the key is in the house. Which is locked. I shuffled to the station and Stef and Jasmine assisted me in shuffling back again. We got in by osmosis, or rather by tapping on Opa's window. When the taxi arrived, we all went outside and closed the front door. I asked the driver if it was ok if Stef and Jas came along. It wasn't, so Stef and Jas went back to the house. Which was locked. And Opa had gone out. Stef said never mind, there are lots of shop windows on the other side of the road that we missed on the way upand they could look into them. The keys were, of course, still in the unstartable car. Sorry Stef. I wish that we could have done more if I had not been so unwell. You can't imagine how much strength you give me just by being here.

Today (Friday Nov 19) I couldn't make the Crejat, but Merel went for me and took notes. Now we are on to painting proper. Our homework is a 'landscape' which we shall both attempt. The Urology department says that my kidney removal operation has been pencilled in for Dec 21. Merry Christmas!

Breakfast at Stiffany's

Late news! I have received a personal and intimate letter from TV star Linda de Mol. At the top it says 'Dear Friend, wherever you may be ... and at the bottom there is drawing of a pair of scissors with the words 'Please cut along dotted line'. It seems that I have been selected by the fair Linda as a possible candidate for 'Hunt the Millions' in which, by great skill in opening brief cases held by 25 girls with a combined IQ of 25, one may walk home with 5 million euros. It's just a question of  deciding when to stop. Most candidates walk away with 1 or two hundred thousand. Whatever you get, the confetti and balloons descend and Linda says 'What will you do with all this money? A boat, a house, a world trip?' 'No Linda, I've got my eye on a set of Titanium Entrails'.

Not much else to say, but I have been shuffling around the garden with my tiny camera, so leave you with some pics.

Love from Dad
and the four-headed fly

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Half Way

Dear Diary, or whatever this silly blog is supposed to be....

Lovely to hear you Sara and to know that you are ok. Only I still don't know what the problem was. Do you? I could have asked Joe when I called him. I said that I was your dad. He seemed confused. You know, Sara's dad? He said  - Who? Eventually he sorted out which Sara we both had in common. He assured me that you must be ok because you had just delivered his lunch. That is really romantic! Do you put it in one of those tin containers that look like a little pirate's treasure chest? I can imagine all those other tough firemen gathering round to see if tiny notes tied in ribbons have been inserted. Come on Joe, open up that sandwich! Bet the cheese is trimmed into a heart-shape! Great to know you are well, er, well. Adam, I shall write back as soon as possible, but I need to get my head a bit straight, during that window between one fistful of chemo-pills and the next. Drivel come easy when you are on all this stuff like being chemo-stoned, but I need to think clearly about what you have said.

The taxi service is still not functioning smoothly. Thursday they picked me up two hours late. They had gone to the wrong entrance, whispered my name 3 times, said fuck it and gone home. It was apparently all my fault for not realising that I was supposed to shuffle my way through miles of corridor to the main entrance, instead of waiting by the 'Radiology Taxi Pick-up Point' sign.

Friday.
Merel went with me to the Crejat in case anything nasty should happen to me. My homework earned praise and not one teensy might-have-been-better-if comment. I think the Master has taken a shine to Merel. He said that I had a very special daughter, which I assured him was not news. I asked if it was alright that two of us were in the class for the price of one. He said that Merel was his guest, and her being in the class was nothing to do with me. He then took her away to the wet-room to teach her how to use spray-cans for graffiti. She will be off this weekend with a gang of teenies to help Toni and Elli decorate the school-room. The lesson went well and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, which came as a great surprise to me because I have always spelt it immensly, but F7 never lies.
Afterwards to the hospital for the last burn of the week. 13 down and 15 to go. Almost halfway. All downhill now, or maybe uphill. Anyway, nothing to do about it, just get it over with. Or as they say in the radiology room where there is a special chair to put your underpants, known as the underpants chair - 'Grin and bare it'.  Off to the chemo man for a progress report. He seemed surprised and quite pleased when I sat down. Often they can´t sit down at this stage he told me. That radio treatment combined with the chemo does things to your buttocks that render sitting down an option not for the faint hearted. And sometimes your feet and hands start to go red and you can´t touch anything because it hurts. Not always. But often. Quite often. Mostly though, but not 100%. Possibly.  Thanks Doc. So let me get this straight. You maybe can´t stand and you maybe can´t sit. And maybe you need soft padded gloves in case you touch things. If these things come to pass I shall encase myslf up to the neck in a huge plastic balloon filled with helium. They can take me to the hospital every day floating on the end of a string. Heart shaped would be nice. Did we have any questions? I said that when I lie under the machine, I hear all kinds of zapping noises, like Luke Skywalker shooting down Tie Fighters with laser cannons. Is it making photo scans, and how is everything looking on the inside? No, the Machine does not scan or make photos, it only sends a stream of particles at a quarter light speed. How was my blood, Doc? Down a bit on the krumfkopf scale, but these things can go either way, so it's probably about what we would expect, and if not, we always expect the unexpected, so no surprises there. All in all, he seemed quite happy that I can still sit down and have refused the anti-vomit pills. Without scans and photos, we'll only know at the end of the treatment. Well, none of this is happening yet, and maybe won´t happen at all. I do notice that I can´t play the guitar very well, but some would say that I never could. Not to be able to paint would be a bummer.

Saturday.
Merel, Thijs, Shelley and Marco are off to Tony and Elli to do a bit of graffiti. Feeling hungry, I go to the fridge to select one of the two flavours of astronauts poo. There is a large plastic bag full of little writhing wormlike things. Good heavens, that chemo has other side-effects not warned about. It turns out not to be hallucinations but mosquito larvae, food for Merel's angel fishes. Later I am informed by Merel that there is no way that these things will turn into mosquitos. The fish will hunt them down. To the recycle shop and found great books for just a couple of euros. Dylan Thomas, complete poems. And Leonardo da Vinci's note books on painting. There are six chapters in here just about light and shade, and many on painting the pupil of the eye to get  a proper expression. Good heavens! And Velasquez and Degas to add to my collection. Went shopping with Bernadet, and treated myself to a new watch for my birthday. The last one cost 19.75 from the Hema and disintegrated after only 2 years. Deciding to go up-market, we went to a real watch shop and paid no less than 39.95, but I thought quality is worth paying for, and this one also has 'water resistant' on the face and can tell you which day of the month it is.

Sunday.
Watched the rather exciting F1 race in Brazil. I mean, the race was in Brazil, I just saw it on the telly. Unfortunately my man Mark Webber only came second, the brat Vettel winning it. 'Ah it voz vair nice to has vun dis race. Ah hem vair prode'. However, by winning and not letting his team-mate Webber through, he has almost certainly ensured that neither of them will be world champion in the last race of 2010 next week. That will now go to Alonso of Ferrari, who now only has to come second in the last race. Curses.
Stayed up late to watch the football on BBC2. Got bitten by a mosquito. And then my left foot started to tingle and a burning sensation spread over my sole (but not my soul). Fortunately, my other foot remained quite unaffected and I could hop around the room quite happily. Like the curate's egg, parts of me are excellent. This sensation later went away, but I get the occasional twinge in my hands. Decided to sleep downstairs on the couch as Bernadet needs her sleep and I am restless. She has been working very hard to give a presentation and course that will be attended by Important People. But every time I closed my eyes, a zooming and whining of little wings and a pin-prick on my face or neck. Either the angel fish are not hungry or these bastards managed to hide somewhere and complete their life-cycles.

Monday.
14 out of 28. The halway point and then the operations can begin. I have lost a bit of weight but I was getting a bit podgy of late. I have been running out of trousers that I could safely wear without a popping of buttons and that awful sensation when a zip jumps the rails and you can't get both halves to mesh properly again. I kept all the 34's, then the 36's and when the 38's got a bit tight I was faced with an oncoming 40 waist and no trousers to clothe it with. Thank heavens I didn't dump them. Now I have have a trouser mine in my wardrobe!
Emma is in exam week and doing really well. She has acquired a taste for sociology and is highly inquisitive of all things political and there are lively debates at the dining table. Almost forgot, I must be mad. I went to seek out Merel for our Walk with the Horse, and found her riding in the sand arena behind the stables. Whatever posessed me in my state of health, but I just had to ride. Bit of a struggle getting on, but such a joy to feel this lovely animal under me. We didn't canter or gallop of course, that would really shake things up! I had the feeling that she stepped much more carefully than usual. She really is very sweet. The only problem was that I had a hard job getting her to go the way I wanted her to go, she kept turning her head to see where Merel was and trying to get back to her. Those two are really very close.

Tuesday.
Not much to report, except that for the first time, the Machine is operated not by two girls, but by one girl and a MAN. Or rather a youth. He looked, in his white coat, like a butcher's apprentice. Best end of neck and two lamb chops. Anything else Madam? I found this very intimidating. Especially the painting bit. He was obviously a trainee because the girl kept saying 'No, no not like that, the gizmoid goes down until the sproggle goes left and pushes the pokkeldoggle to green'. I thought 'This oaf is going to fry me by accident'. And I remember once, when I was a little more spry than of late that I had vaulted onto the table of the Machine in only my T-shirt and lain down with my head on the pad, lifted up my T-shirt and crossed my arms over my chest as required (this must distress some people, having to lay on this slab as if you were already in your coffin) when it came to pass that my willy was not pointing south in a horizontal way, but was laying, willy-nilly on my belly like a basking seal, and covering one of the fading lines that needed to be touched up with a silver acetate paint job for the Machine to focus on. A dilemma for all of us. The girls simply combined their brushes like chop-sticks and I was delicately lifted and set down again like a king prawn in a sweet-and-sour stir-fry. How would this lad handle such a delicate situation? A back-hander? Or beat it into place with a knotted towel? The lady of the two said that it would take longer today because the Machine needs to take some scans and photos. But the Doctor said the Machine doesn't do photos or scans, just party things at the speed of light..... Well there's doctors for you, old chap. They don't know it all, do they? See you later. And they run for cover as the warning buzzer sounds that it is not safe to be near me and the bunker door slams. The three-headed fly is just too late again.
Back home and a relaxing bath. But Merel has really loud music on and I can't get into my P.D.James book. Every time I raise my head to remonstrate with her, the music level dies down, and returns as I lie down. I work out that because all the outside walls are at 45 degrees upstairs, the sound is bounced down off the tiles and into the bath where it goes round and round. It's like trying to read a book in a church bell on Sunday morning. I wonder what the time is and look at my new watch on the toilet seat but it's all steamed up under the glass. Even the words 'Water-Resistant' are invisible. Bollocks.

Enough of this nonsense. Blame it on the pills. One very late entry in the worst stoma joke section. From ex-colleague Kathy. Don't worry, she says keep positive and 'Thumbs Up'. And adds 'Up What'.

Bye and Love to you all.

Stef, I am counting the days. Let me know a day or two before so that we can spray some Dettol into a spare room. The holiday house is now closed for the winter.

Dear all,

I had not intended to post again until after the meeting on friday with the chemo man, but the news of Sara really shook me up. As I write she is back home and I have just spoken to her. Couldn't get through for ages until a moment of clarity pierced my fast aproaching senility and I remembered that she lives in Canada rather than London. Was a bit out of touch for half a day as my virus scanner keeps trying to protect me from potentially dangerous software, like Windows, Outlook Express, Bookface, Google, Internet explorer etc. We all take for granted that we are reasonably healthy and that nothing much will change, that we'll just get older (hopefully). Then some heart-rending news about one's child. I was fortunate in that I only came to learn of it when I read the 'Don't panic, I'm out of hospital and feeling a bit better' message. All the same, a dark shadow crossed my soul. Good job I'm on the beta-blockers! On friday we have a meeting with the chemo man. I'm not sure what he will be able to tell us. I can tell him that his medicine is making me feel like throwing up quite often, but that's nothing compared with the treatment meted out by Dr Proton. His Particle Accelerator must attack the tumour at a specific angles, avoiding all kinds of glands, ducts, sacs, bladders, squishy little organs and bits that go yoinngg when you stretch them. There are few perfect paths, and it feels like someone is using my bum to stub out cigars. Anyway, I hope his info will be a little more informative and more positive. But, like Marvin (we all watched Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy last night) I expect more of the same. Can go either way, you lose some and you lose some. For every door that closes to you, somewhere else another door is also closing etc etc. Seriously, I am in good heart, else I wouldn't be wasting my time on this crap. But I was shit scared about you, Sara. I am sure Joe will keep us all up to date. He sounds like a good man to have around, especially now. I also got a bit emotional in the week when I thought, happily wrongly, that another friend and ex-colleague was in trouble. There have been to so many going down from the old firm.

I am wearing my Icebreaker Bodyfit, a fantastic clinging T-shirt thing made of Merino wool. From Carolien for my birthday. It has a 'Baa-code' which you can enter on the internet and see which New Zealand sheep produced the wool. I tried it, but you can only get down to which ranch. One of about 2000000 sheep. A super prezzie though. Another very impressive present came from the very talented Michelle. This is a fish made of clay. It is very light, being a thin layer of clay over a polystyrene ball, hardened and painted. Gorgeous. I shall remember to include a photo. More of Michelle's art at http://www.madebymi.nl. I also show this lovely fish next to a vase of flowers left for us by Irene. I do so love creative people.

Not a bad week. I am now at 11 out of 28, more than a third of the way, although the chem goes on 10 days longer. I got a call from the hospital Urology department. Was I the guy that needed a fifty percent reduction in the kidney department? When was I thinking of having it? Like a month ago perhaps, but now I'm having something else, like chemo and radiation. Oh, really? I'll just make a note of that then. Would you feel up to it, lets say, um, middle of December. It was all like being measured for a new suit. Er, the blue chalk-stripe I think. And an extra pair of trousers. I might throw up on the first pair, or even worse. Good Lord, I don't know what I'll feel up to a month from now.  Bernadet arranged a taxi for me today, paid for by the health insurance. I could drive but the car insurance company would wriggle out if anything happened. Even if I got hit by a drunk. The taxi came an hour early, but fortunately I had a book. This turned out to be a great disappointment. I enjoyed Lord of the Flies, but Golding´s The Spire was most irritating. A Cathedral Dean has a vision around 1150 a.d. of a new spire, 400 feet high. The builder tells him it can´t be done because the foundations are not strong enough. Max 150 feet he says. The Dean says trust in God and The Vision. Up and up goes the spire, each page consisting of the builder warning of disaster and the Dean urging him on. Almost on the last page, the spire reaches 400 feet. And starts to collapse. Does it collapse? What happens next? We'll never know. The End. Well, bollocks I cry, but nobody in the waiting room has heard the word before. And then I am called. Two really pretty ladies today, and, owing to my abandoning of all the rules and having multiple baths since yesterday, my lines must be completely restored in iridium ink. as lovingly as a Rembrandt. Even the embaraasing ones down in the bushy area. I can only see the backs of the blonde heads and feel the brushstrokes. What was it Cris said? Think straight. No, no, think limp. Ah yes cabbages. Think of cabbages. But on a deserted island a lonely man could be attracted to a cabbage. Good Lord, what if you erected into the path of the Particle Beam? A scream and a sizzle. Instead I watch two flies crawling up the wall. Only it isn't two flies but one fly with two heads. Been trapped in here too long. Only 17 more doses! I say goodbye to the ladies and back to the changing room. I always look in the mirror and notice that I look quite well. After that I go to the bogs for a pee, because I have to drink gallons of water to ensure that my bladder is firm and round and not like a flat ballon getting in the way of the beam. In that mirror I look like shit. The one in the changing room is bronzed and the light is golden. I shall suggest that they change it for a grey mirror and a green lamp. That way we will be cheered up and not horrified when we next see ourselves. Tried to call the taxi to get me home, but so was everyone else and the lines were blocked. Called Emma and I rode back behind her on the scooter, leaving millions of people in the waiting room cursing the taxi service.

Another high spot of the day, a walk in the lanes with Merel and Katinka. There is something reassuring about holding her close, even though she farts, smells quite strongly and often shits on the street. Katinka, on the other hand, is always well-behaved.

I sometimes wonder why I do this blog. Once I start it all come flowing out like verbal diarrh.. er.. but its just the effect of the sodding pills.
Stef, I'm overjoyed that you and Jazz are coming.
Sara, get well and stay well. I'll call you on thursday.

Love you all
Dad