The Buckingham Arms

Today, I have managed to dig deep, dig real deep, and I have found something called energy. Eleven hours of energy to be precise. Champion. If I have said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times, I bloody love my week off treatment. Sure, I anticipate being a little sleepier tomorrow, but at this current moment, as I lie in my bed, I think it was worth it.

At approximately 10:20hrs, I climbed into a taxi (literally climbed) destined for my office for one and a half meetings. At 10:50hrs I arrived and there I stayed until 17:00hrs. I did promise to leave at 15:00hrs, but it turns out that I cannot keep promises. Sorry.

I could give you a blow by blow account of my day, but it is restricted. Needless to say that I did some work, spoke to some colleagues and I felt almost normal. Cancer was discussed, it always is, but if we take that out of the equation, I felt almost normal.

At 17:00hrs, almost out of habit, I ventured downstairs, left the building and wandered down to the Buckingham Arms. I am not going to lie to you, I am no stranger to this pub. I dread to think how many hours I have spent inside it or how many more I have spent standing outside it with a Kronenberg looking down the one way section of Petty France. As is my current norm, today I did not order a Kronenberg, but a Bittburger Drive. Like my pre-Myeloma life, I went in for one and I stayed for four. Middlesborough kindly put me in a taxi and I finally arrived home shortly before 21:00hrs.


It was a good day.

Like all good days, I have to force the anger that days like this are an exception and not the rule out of my mind. It creeps in. It’s creeping in now, but if I dwell on the fact that I have had a good and long day, it’ll make me feel sad. I don’t want to feel sad, so I will end this blog now.

Night night.


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