|This is me last year writing obscenities on a Scottish beach. Note the posture, I now seem to be stuck in this position, read on for more exciting details.|
Firstly, Allotment Wars update (as I know people will have been having sleepless nights worrying about the situation). We seem to have reached an uneasy truce with the stinkers (otherwise known as the Allotment Management Committee). I sent them an email saying ‘back off chum, I’ve got cancer’ (only nicely) and I got an email back from them saying ‘oh alright then, but do better next year’ (only nicely). They then blew it a bit, as one committee member sent an email to another committee member with all the previous emails attached and a note saying simply ‘nice one’. I’m pretty sure the dimbo copied me into this by mistake. I’ve resisted the temptation to write back demanding to know exactly what they mean by ‘nice one’ but instead am keeping the offending email for ammo should the Great Allotment Battle recommence. In the meantime thanks for the suggestions re weed killer and seed bombs. Nothing is being ruled out.
Other than that it’s all ow, ow, ow here at Discombobulated Towers. I’ve got backache and am hobbling around pathetically. The cause of the backache could be chemo (aches and pains being one of the possible side effects), or it could just be backache or, and this is what’s playing on my mind, it could be a Sign of Something More Sinister. Having cancer, if you’re a wuss like me, means that every little ache or pain becomes a cause for worry. Oh well, I’ve got another scan in the middle of August so my insides will be inspected then. Actually, if I’m honest, I’ve always been a cowardy custard when it comes to aches, cancer or no cancer. Over the years I’ve been convinced I had rabies, ebola and a slight case of leprosy. No, not all at once, what do you think I am, some kind of mad hypochondriac?