Fifty shades of rhubarb

Where's he gone?

Yesterday was the other-half’s birthday.  I failed to get a present.  I didn’t get organised in time, forgetting that my post-chemo slump would mean I wouldn’t be leaving the house for the week before the big day.  The poor bloke even had to make to with a hand-made card from me.  I know a hand-made card sounds thoughtful and creative but my artistic abilities are less than zero.  If I tell you it involved the dreaded clipart you’ll have an idea of the sort of standard I’m talking about.  It’s a good thing that simple things please simple minds (see picture above) and I don’t think he minded too much.  He was also cheered by my graciously allowing him to watch two back to back episodes of ‘Nothing to Declare’ (or as I prefer to call it ‘Shouting in Airports’) without complaint, a visit to our sophisticated chum in Bridgnorth, and having bangers and mash for tea.  So the day wasn’t without its compensations I hope.

Its scaniexty time here again.  I had a CT scan last week and get the results in a couple of days time when I see the oncologist.  This is to see if the new type of chemo is doing anything and what further treatment I should have.  Of course I have run through every scenario from being told that it’s all been a terrible mistake and there’s nothing wrong me whatsoever to hearing that I have a matter of minutes left to live.  If my finger nails didn’t hurt (yet another chemo side-effect) I’d be biting them.  And also there’s the vexed question of which oncologist I get to see.  Will it be the anti-Dougie, his less-communicative boss Daddy Doogie or A.N.Other.  If any of you have telepathic powers please send thought-rays ensuring I get the anti-Dougie – he’s a bit scary but the one I’ve liked most so far.

During the post-chemo yuck phase I tend to stay in bed with a books, ipad and a pain-in-the neck cat (more on the cat later).  The trouble is I can’t find anything I really want to read.  I’ve tried ‘good’ books, gardening books, chick-lit, hen-lit, children’s books and more magazines than you could shake a free eye-brow pencil at … but nothing really grabs me.  I’m moderately partial to ‘Country Living’ magazine at the moment, but then there’s only so much gazing at pictures of idyllic English country gardens and adverts for bunting that I can take.  Any suggestions?  A warning though – should anyone so much as even hint at ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ I will not be responsible for my actions.  Things are not that dire yet!

The cat.  Oh where do I start?  As you may already know, if you’ve been paying attention, I have a three-legged monster cat called Cyril.  I got a three-legged cat thinking he wouldn’t jump over the very high garden fence on to the busy road.  I was wrong.  This means that Cyril is only allowed in the back garden under supervision.  When I’m confined to bed Cyril usually joins me.  However last week he had a bee in his bonnet about wanting to be outside.  It was quite warm so the bedroom window was open.  Cyril tried to escape out of the window by squeezing through the slats of the closed venetian blind.  Luckily, as he’s an increasingly rotund cat these days, he got wedged in the blind and I managed to drag him back before he’d leaped to his doom.  He’s thick in the belly and head that one.