I am beginning to get just a little bit of direction going with this blog thing, something it’s so far lacked. I realised I should, OBVIOUSLY should have run through my last post with Rachel, before putting it online… pretty seriously dumb not to have done so. Well it put the whole blog in perspective a bit. The number one thing about it coming into existence was that it’s a “user’s guide” and it’s more important that it’s such for the passive users, my friends and family and others who are in their situation, rather than anyone like me who’s actually got an alien, or whatever else is up with them… if there’s any point in writing it, whatsoever, it’s to make life easier and smilier and generally betterer for the people on the other end of these communications, not for myself. SO, I reckon I run it all by Rachel and it takes on a bit more of an “open letter” dynamic, and less of a “rant” format.

I absolutely HAVE to take it on my shoulders to make everyone who I come across comfortable and easy and cool with what’s going on, it is NOBODY in the world’s responsibility to be nice to me, or even to speak to me, just because I’m ill, and that’s possibly the main point of the blog.

Dropped by the Raven and had lots of fun with sick jokes with Ed, Nick, Sid Wilder et al… felt good!

Wonder what Charles and Rachel would be like as a couple? It’s seriously fucking weird what happens in your head at three a.m. when you’re sharing it with an alien… VERY odd thoughts. He’s such a lovely bloke, when he isn’t being an incredibly grumpy cunt. I’d absolutely LOVE to see him settled in life, in fact there are SO MANY people I’d absolutely LOVE to try and cajole into being a bit more set up and on their way… I suppose I just gotta get used to that thing of change the things you can, accept those you can’t and drink some damn whisky. And stop navel gazing.

I’m about to wade into the frenzied mess that is alternative health. It’s as obvious as the plaster on my head that it’s a good idea to figure out everything I can about how to get better, I’ve just heard about the Raw Food Diet (from my guru) with reference to aliens, and must do some research… then there’s Dom’s offer (incredibly generous and thoughtful) of Reiki, which I’m very interested in… But initial googlings of other things make me think I’m entering a weird, weird and sometimes ugly world. Anyone wants to come it with me, selling snake oil remedies, they’re gonna get some seriously short shrift… and no, I haven’t the faintest idea what shrift is, I just know that anyone who tries to part me from my money with a “get well with a procedure or pill” formulation that doesn’t bare scrutiny, is going to be extracting the thing from somewhere in their anatomy a lot less comfortable than a frontal lobe!

I’m thinking that thus far I’ve been pretty cosseted, if that’s the right word, which it probably ain’t, in who I’ve seen. For the most part, since I had my seizure a month ago, I’ve really only seen friends, family, other people who know and care for me (neighbours etc) and medical professionals. I haven’t had to deal with bank managers, parking wardens or such, aside from some pretty obvious (and so far pretty cool) conversations with Tesco employees, tramps etc…

SO, how’s it going to pan out? What I’m really thinking about is Alexander Technique… in two years, if I’m still around, I’ll be qualified and will be taking on pupils… do I tell them? I don’t think I can not, I mean I think I’d want to know? Perhaps? Or maybe it isn’t relevant? It’s odd… and of course with my common sense cap on, it’s a no brainer, why would I possibly scare off custom? Except that for one thing honesty really does seem to be the best policy, and for another, it does seem to me that being under the shadow of a monster can really cut the bullshit out of things, if you’re dealing with someone who’s ill, you can dispense with the niceties and get down to what they need… and I think it might work both ways, that as an A.T. teacher, if it’s known I’m fuckin’ ill, I might be able to reach people that little bit quicker. F.M. himself came through horrific ill health to invent the technique, and it’s a sort of custom amongst most shamanic ish tribal types, not that that’s where I’m going, that it’s the ones who’s lives have been framed by death, who are the ones who take the shamanic role… sort of primitive therapists, they’ve usually had near death illnesses when young, which is what puts them in the role. Death is an old friend who they can see and nod to and turn away from, and as such, life is something which is much more under their control. Kinda. Hmm… not quite got this bit, needs more think.

Right, kinda late, E key on my kyboard isn’t working properly, it’s 26th April, still, I think… Oops, no it’s now the morning of the 28th. Actually, come to think of it, that means one month on… Cool, I’v made it a month!

Just hit and handled a big milestone. I figured out last night, on Nick, Ed and Laura’s sofa, that I’ve pretty much only seen friends, family and others who know about what’s up, and already know me, and medical professionals. So tonight, in the pub, someone says what I’ve been waiting for someone to say: “What have you done to your head?” It’s a good question. It’s gelled back (over the bits they shaved to stick the Stealth MRI barnacles on), and it’s got a whopping great plaster over the top of it. Looks like I’ve done something properly dumb, which is usually a great topic of conversation when you meet someone. I do it. Someone’s got a plaster on their head, no way am I not going to ask them if they’ve been being a tit.

So I gotta give a different kind of answer. Three times. Three times that I was in the pub, that I got asked that, and three times it was cool. I’ve already known and thought through the fact that I’m responsible for people being Ok with me being aliened up, and I think that preparation’s been good. It’s hard not to be quite cool when you’re a random punter in the Raven, but nonetheless, I reckon that went well. It’s been a bit of a concern, if only for the last day (good timing?) and it was a perfect way into it… One guy got a sort of panic, headlamps look in his eyes, but that just meant I felt like I wanted to pick him up and carry him along with it for a bit, till he was ok, and that’s pretty much exactly how it went. I just needed to look after him a bit and he ended up seeming really quite moved and good on the conversation. In fact I won’t repeat what he said he thought of me, because although he was probably 99% trying to big me up and make me feel good, it still left my ears burning! I’m not someone you’d ever think of as the heroic type… poor misguided fool!

And that got me thinking.

I’ve been spotting opportunities for myself in this, easy. I’m well into the present, I’m looking into Buddhism more seriously, I’m closer to humanity than ever because I’ve got the most amazing orchestra of people tuning up to look after me. But there’s as much in it for me to help other people with too. Perhaps more. I can see this being an opportunity to help other people, and not just those in hospices or with aliens in their heads.

I like fiction. I like fiction, because, I think, I in part don’t like fiction. I can’t think of anything that’s ever been written, which actually grabbed me, which didn’t have a baddy. In children’s books, the baddy is there as a plot device, something to keep the action going… but as fiction gets a bit older, a bit more subtle, the role changes. You start getting baddies with whom you can empathise. You start getting not baddies and goodies, but simply characters. In good fiction writing. Well. Why do writers write about people you don’t start of liking, but whose point of perspective, they bring you to understand? Cliché coming up, can’t think of anything more elegant than a cliché, so here you go: to broaden your horizons. And yep, pretty obvious. Going into somewhere unfamiliar is good for you, and someone who’s going through something that has a plot… well I’m not so sure it’s all that different whether it’s a character in a novel, or a bloke in a pub. If that gets you into somewhere you wouldn’t otherwise get, I reckon that’s a good thing, and as such, I reckon I’m in a position to be helpful to random people’s sense of wellbeing. Me, me, me. Still all about me, but since I’m thinking along lines which are also about other people, and since I’ve got an alien on the go, I don’t care. It’s gonna be good for everyone, not just me. I’ve figured that much out. Could be good for Alexander even… I think that as an Alexander pupil, you probably see your teacher with some degree of reverence, it’s certainly how I see all my AT teachers, and I suppose teachers of all types. I don’t think that knowing they were with alien, would diminish their role to me, so I don’t think it will for my future pupils, if I’m lucky enough to get such. But, I do think that it might make the relationship between us a little more electric. A little bit more live… and if I can exploit that to get my pupils to progress faster, then that’d be the most incredible hidden blessing I can imagine. It’s a far off thought, two years training, even if I’m around for that… but it’s good to think of such things.

RIGHT, do I put this in? Don’t know. I seem to have acquired a guru. Odd. Someone who I go and see, and talk to and who doesn’t advise me. Someone who just keeps asking gently probing, very insightful questions. Not a psychotherapist, but I doubt far off that game, not though I’ve tried it. Weird thing is, that despite talking for over an hour, I have no idea what I’ve figured out or figured out that I need to figure out, because there’s stuff I don’t know. I just know I don’t know plenty.

SO good to have someone who I can just let my mouth open and make noise at, without feeling like I’ve got to take any responsibility for what comes out. I mean I love and adore all of my friends, and wonderful Rachel, and my family, but I think that you’ve always in life, under normal rules, to be doing that thing I mentioned about being a bit different with everyone. Well if you can find yourself a guru, you can dispense with that and just “blahhhhhhhh”. Or at least that’s the idea. Slipping into it’s weird, and I’m still quite self conscious in there… I first went because I thought it might be fun. I also thought that living at my parents’ at the age of 31 and not having an income stream, it might be a good idea to get some coaching. I also thought it would be a good part of my “being a good boyfriend” programme, which has been ongoing for some time. End of the first session and it’s all changed. I’m knowing I’m going again, but it ain’t for making the weekend come quicker, it’s because it’s somewhere I want to be. Guru’s smart, guru know’s what they’re doing, and I really feel like it’s a serious tool in my armoury. Apart from anything else, it’s a HUGE Alexander Tech bonus. Better understanding of myself, that can’t help but make me relate better to people under my hands. Then there’s the fact that there’s a life outside school, and there doesn’t seem to be any particular remit with this guru, there’s no “let’s do your C.V.” stuff which I’d been vaguely dreading but assuming might be part of it… it’s all on the table, like it is when you’re talking to a mate… but with no need to try and resolve things a particular way, just to root about and explore them. It’s fantastically liberating. It’s also damn odd. It really is a weird thing to be telling all your stuff to someone about whom you know the square root of F.A… I suppose that’s kind of the fun bit, which I was right about incidentally, it is fun… and I think that’s just putting yourself in someone else’s hand, like you’ve volunteered at the circus and have someone throwing knives at you while you spin on a giant board in front of the crowd… you know you’re safe, but having put yourself there you’ve got a ludicrous grin on your face. Wonder if the guru will read any of this?

Anyhoo… it’s getting late and I think I might go and snore and dream about eating things. I had a kebab on my way home. Dexamethasone, you are one greedy little bastard!

28th Proper, ie about 10 am. Just got back from yoga. Bliss. I’m beginning to conflate yoga with broad beans. I like them both and they’re very much the process based, rather than the outcome based type of operations I’m feeling most at the moment. Taking joy in the doing of things, not in having done them.

Now I’m sorry to keep harping on, but I really do need a Ferrari 599 GTO. It’s essential to my recovery and someone’s going to have to sort it our quite soon if I’m to stand a chance, so come on people, get your blimmin’ act together!

Transference. With reference to the guru. The guru got to asking me about my relationship with Rachel. How I am with her. This evolved on from my having been talking about how I am with my mum, and generally how my mum is as a person… namely very lovely, very wonderful, mad as a mad thing that’s off its meds.

My first properish girlfriend, ie of more than a week, was a girl called Cat, who I went out with for 18 months of hell when I was a teenager. Needy does not begin to cover it, she moved into my parents house whilst I was still travelling in Italy… without my approval… alarm bells should have started ringing. They didn’t. I spent the next year and a half, largely miserable, trying to look after her, trying to be a good bloke, a good boyfriend, a supportive rock. What a shit sandwich that was! Cow lied to me, cheated on me, took the piss every which way she could, what a f****** c***. Never in my life had anyone tread on me like that, and I kept going back for more… I suspect thinking that it was my fault for not looking after her well enough and that if I was doing so, she’d be nice, kind, fair. Bollocks. I don’t say this entirely against her, as she’d had the sort of ride in life that would I think make many people really quite spiteful.

Rachel is as different a creature as I think you could realistically assemble, given that being of the same species, they must logically share some DNA. Diametrically opposite. Kind. Nice. Good. I do NOT find myself having to mope around looking after her, telling her she’s fantastic and the best and the other bullshit, all the other time. She’s a wonderful person in my eyes, and she knows it, so it doesn’t need infinite restating. That said, I definitely have a tendency to head for the same trap, if I’m not careful. She’s being pretty incredible with the whole alien situation, and I’m not having to look after her much, as she’s being super strong and also (thank god) has the brains and imagination to realise that her (and my) friends not only can look after her a bit, but WANT to, so I don’t really have to look after her there much. Yet. A bit, but I’m fine with that, it’s just the way it goes. But… do I transfer stuff anyway? Do I try and be a good boyfriend, and adapt my lifestyle to hers (which especially in the first and second years of us going out, happened SO much more than the other way round, and largely still does), because I’m copying the pattern of the generation above. And how do I feel about this? I’d rather know what behaviours I’m in and feel a little bit nauseous about, than simply not know. I think there probably is something there, trying to be a provider male, but providing the sort of ease in life and drinks party hand holding which has replaced the hunter gatherer skills which seem to have gone out of fashion in the last few millennia.

I think I like seeing the guru because it’s the ultimate in process based, rather than outcome based stuff… like yoga and broad bean cultivation… God I want to get down and check on the veg patch, it’s like having children abducted, not being able to check on them and weed the beds…

Am I experiencing a different type of transference with the guru? Probably, they are after all, all serenity and calm and clarity and everything else which was in, um, short supply during some of my formative years… it would probably be quite odd if I wasn’t to find myself transferring something around there. Hugh showed me a book on psychodynamic therapy which he rates highly, when he visited me in King’s, I may have to read it… if I’m going to do the palliative care thing, it’d be pretty damn essential, and I think that’ll be true for Alexander as well. If it helps me understand and get more from time spent ranting at the guru, that’d be a plus too.

Just had a thought (half midnight, Thurs 29th am) should I put this stuff on twitter? I think that makes a lot of sense as a format for putting out little updates, which is essentially what I’m in the business of doing, and the fact that it’s limited to 140 words or whatever it is, might be good, might make me focus something (anything) on writing something half way meaningful… rather than the hopelessly non structured and interminable words I dump down here… I’m on page 49 of this shit for god’s sake!

Problem, is who reads twitter?

Dunno. Not got a lot of followers, not sure how and whether I’d get any… would have to be clear with myself about what I’d be trying to do… I think. Maybe I’ll just start tweeting random bits of bollocks and see if anyone notices. It’s benhbw on twitter if you’re interested…

Later 29th April. I find out tomorrow. That’s the big day. I thought it was going to be last time, but it wasn’t, it’ll be tomorrow that I get my life expectancy reading, I assume. I don’t even know what I want to hear at the moment. Obviously I want words like “benign”, “treatable” and “old”, but I’m not sure that they’re the entirety of what I want… because it won’t be a whole story. It won’t be a complete picture, and if that’s what I want (which as a majority impulse, I definitely DON’T), there’s only one way that could go… ie death. That’s the only CLEAN news I could get. Anything else has to file under the heading of MESSY. Emotionally messy, planning my remaining time messy, dealing with other people messy. Dealing with my own physical state messy. So there’s a minority impulse in there which is saying “come on, let’s get this thing over and done with little alien, meet you behind the bike sheds at break time and we’ll sort it out once and for all, we’ll establish who wins and that’ll be that”… except that since I am 99.9% sure it’s not one I can win, ie ever get an all clear from, that means I die. So, albeit a small, SMALL part of my thinking, I do have a death wish on the go. Just something to be aware of, it’s so far from dominant, I essentially want to play the game out and do as much with it as I can… there’s just a tiny element in there too, which doesn’t want to.

BUT, today’s the 29th of April 2010 and it’s going to be the best god damn 29th of April 2010 EVER, at least for another 10,000 years! So I’m thinking about getting up and having breakfast. Fried food again? Hmm, why not… I’ve seriously got to start building a programme of eating the right things, this raw food thing of my guru’s if it’s going to help, plus apricot kernals according to Rachel, etc… but I also think it’s important to take some enjoyment in eating, for the sake of doing so. And right now, that means fry up!

Now watching the quite brilliant

www.ted.com/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html


Not for the first time, I might add… Aram sent it to me on FB and it’s well worth reviewing! Right brain “here and now, perfectly connecting all humanity” oops, think I’d like to be keeping that bit. Ah well… take what you can get… Left brain does the “I am, I am separate from everything and everyone else around me”… That’s what I’m going to be left to work with, perhaps. The bit that can decide to make plans and make diary appointments. Magical mystery tour alright! I could well be setting up for the opposite side of the equation from Jill, she got “la la land”, with no worries and a pure and blissful connection with the energy in everything, I may get “blah blah land”, ie the diametric opposite, with no connection to anything but with all the analytical concern still in place, still with 31 years of emotional baggage… bleugh!

www.newscientist.com/article/mg20627576.400-anil-seth-how-well-find-out-what-consciousness-is.html

Wow, I could have just found something important! They’re looking for people with particular post traumatic conditions which will allow them to explore the architecture of the relationship between neurology and conscious experience! That’s me in a bottle, my ABSOLUTE NUMBER ONE area of musing meaninglessly, and I’ve got to be a prime contender for study… Oh I’m emailing these guys right now and volunteering myself! I’ve read Searle and Dennet and co. and generally think they spout a lot of bollocks, the Chinese Room analogy for example, has been going backwards and forwards for so long, so unchanged, it is clearly irresolvable… Anil Seth seems to have a much more intelligent approach however. More up my street. I’d like to be part of that. Apart from anything else, putting myself up for analysis would be to find a positive in negative news…



Just been chatting with Rachel about getting the news tomorrow.

Certainty means death, uncertainty means life. They’re sat on opposite sides of a seesaw and that seesaw DOES NOT BEND, it is an inflexible entity. So I don’t know what good news is and bad news is, because whichever end of the seesaw I’m on, it ain’t got nothing to balance it on the other side, so I’m going down! Then again, whichever side I’m on, I have at least gained something, either resolution or hope…

And now for something completely different:

DO I HAVE A GIRLY BRAIN? It’s a question I’ve wondered before. There are certain tasks which male and female brains perform differently at… females are typically better at linguistic juggling (I suppose the reason they bleat so much, no offence ladies)… whilst male brains are better at proper stuff.

www.bbc.co.uk/science/humanbody/sex/add_user.shtml

Is well worth taking. I’m glad to report that alien or no alien, I’m still just about capable of outperforming the average male AND the average female on all the different parts of the test, excluding systematising… and I prefer female faces to male ones, in case you were wondering!

My results however, suggest that my brain is about 25 points towards the female, where 0 points is neutrality and 50 on either side is normal. So there you have it, I’ve got a girly brain… I am more prone to verbal expression, relative to my ability for spatial awareness for example. Which brings me on to this:

www.physorg.com/news191223014.html


I could be considered to be having a stressful time at the moment. I could be dead quite soon and this would bother a lot of people… but weirdly, for me it’s been an opportunity for going into the “tend and befriend” elements of my mind, not the “fight and flight” ones… I’ve got some extremely cool scans of the contents of my head and I WISH I were in a position to do some analysis on the relative size of my amygdale, hippocampus etc… I suspect that having a girly brain may be a factor in using this as an opportunity, not a calamity. Perhaps. Oh who knows…

Right, time for drink and drugs. (Innocent smoothie, Keppra and Dexamethasone)… rock and roll can wait.

Just had another little NHS adventure. 2.15pm I call up and explain that I have some metal clips in my head from the biopsy, which need removing. Can it be done? Yes. I get an appointment for 3.15 and feel impressed and pleased that they can do it so soon. I go round. By 3.15 I’m sat in the waiting room, having registered my arrival with reception. By 4.15 I’m doing the same thing. Someone who’s arrived a LOT after me starts getting uppity, and I find myself thinking “don’t you dare give him my appointment because he’s more belligerent than me”… not a chance, not when I’ve got a brain tumour on the go… today, me, now, NO, I am usually pretty patient, but not now. So I get up to the desk to make sure he’s not going to get slipped past me, and explain that while I understand how busy they are and generally don’t want to take the piss, I’d quite like an estimate of when I might see the nurse, seeing as I’ve been there for OVER AN HOUR. Bitch of a receptionist says she’ll check. She then comes back and informs me, WITHOUT APPOLOGY, that the nurse isn’t in today, it’s the nurse’s day off, I’ll have to rebook. How a tiny surgery with one fucking nurse can manage to A: book appointments for her when she’s not there, B: tell her patients to take a seat as she’ll see them in a minute and C: not notice that they’ve got people sitting idly in front of them for an hour, is completely beyond my comprehension. I went home, got a tool out and took eight metal clips out of my own head. It took five minutes and didn’t even hurt much. What a bloody organisation… they couldn’t even be bothered to apologise…

The medical treatment on the NHS is amazing. The administration of that treatment is amazingly bad. We’re always hearing that there are more managers than beds in the NHS and that the centralising computer system has cost X trillions… why? What has any of this achieved? This is all Gordon Brown’s fault, and I hope the alien goes and lives with him. And Ant. And Dec. And Simon fucking Cowell.


11.15 pm

It’s a tough life when your biggest problem is trying to persuade your beautiful girlfriend that she doesn’t need to worry about what she’ll wear if you both jet down to Nice, to be helicoptered to the super yacht in San Trope, in time for it to set sail for Monaco, to watch cars go past its trackside mooring, really, really fast.

Oh well.

I WANT TO GO TO MONACO, I WANT TO GO TO MONACO, I REALLY WANT TO GO TO MONACO… I WANT TO!!!

Problem is, it’s complicated. I’ve had an unbelievable invite to stay on a thirty meter yacht in Monaco for a weekend of seriously silly party. Tomorrow. I will also find out tomorrow how long I am likely to live. I couldn’t give a toss, I want to go to the party… what the results of my meeting at two pm tomorrow are, couldn’t effect that less… I’m ill, I want to take as much out of whatever time I’ve got as I can. I’m gonna be ok for a while? Fine, that’s good, that’s VERY good, I want to celebrate, and I want to do it on a massive fucking yacht!

BUT.

I have a girlfriend who I love. She’s been invited too. We could have our own cabin on a yacht in Monaco this time tomorrow. She could have just been told that her boyfriend of three and a half years, is, er, a bit poorly. She’s in a mess because of a lot of things. To be fair, I have absolutely NO idea how she’s doing what she’s doing anyway, without super yachts and helicopters… she’s a remarkably strong girl at times. Well, it ain’t going to be great news. That don’t happen. So the best, in a way, that she’s got to look forward to this weekend, is not having been dropped the big ‘un. Whereas the worst, is the idea of being stuck on a boat, somewhere completely ridiculous, trying not to cry and having to make conversation, whilst feeling miserable. Fuck. How could I possibly, POSSIBLY consider doing that to someone I love.

BUT.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d pick up on what I’ve been up on, which is simply not worrying about what’s to come, and deciding, FORCING if necessary, the here and now to take over, to stamp out the long term. For two days. Two days, if we could put that together, somehow string together a few hours of being blissfully out of the loop, maybe it’d be a good thing. Maybe we’d soar, before we have to land again and start making decisions.

It’s going to be EVERYBODY. In the pub, when I got through talking to some people who didn’t know what was up with me, and making the decision to explain and try and talk and carry them through it, even make them laugh a bit, that seemed like a bit of a milestone… but I hadn’t realised how much. When my hair grows back, they’ll be no way to guess that there’s something up… unless I get chemo’d bald or an ear falls off or something… so I’ll have to make judgement calls about how and when to tell people. Immediately would be weird and invasive, too much information when you just met someone… like the way you feel when someone you’ve just met volunteers information that you just don’t need about their relationships and paranoid tendencies. Then again, if you leave it too long, it could end up being a sort of thing, hanging over your relationship with them… not cool. So it’ll be a bit of a game, figuring out how to let people know. I think that’s going to be the opening move in the Chess equivalent of Ben and the Alien, namely how to use it to make people feel better.

When that guy’s eyes went wide when I told him in the pub, that wasn’t just freaked out, that was something else too, it was wide open. That was vulnerable. And it worked, I used it, he ended the encounter with a massively open, blissy look on his face. I really enjoyed that… I want to do it again, and the opening move is going to be knowing when to spring it. If I ever fuck it up, it’s going to be an absolute shit sandwich for whoever I’ve just met, so I can’t afford to. GOT. TO. GET. IT. RIGHT. EVERY. TIME. So better start practicing.

It’s pissing down outside and I’m loving it. I love a bit of weather. When I got back from the first hospital, three weeks ago, I ate raw birds’ eye chillies.

Just discovered I’ve got 37 tabs open. Oops, I find it difficult to let go of tangents. So I decide I’ll go back to that thing I thought might be interesting later. A lot.

I’m thinking for some reason, a lot about the Ferrari 599 GTO. Only the third Ferrari to carry the GTO letters. Looks quick as a quick thing going quickly. I like that it’s red. I like that it’s bouncy, that it’s made of carbon fibre, and incredibly expensive metals, and that it was designed by computers performing dizzyingly complicated algorithms, to make it as mad as possible. I like the fact that nobody, in the entire journey of conception, design and manufacture, at any point, succeeded in saying “Ok, that’s enough now” loud enough for anyone with a shred of common sense to listen to them. I think that Ferrari must be a good company. “Let’s make something really silly and see if people will pay a fortune for it.” I love it. Because they are, of course, completely right. Just because people are successful, it doesn’t mean they cease to be silly, quite the reverse…

Another idea for a good thing: could I sell this? Could I sell this blog to a magazine or newspaper to serialise? I like money, I like writing, I like doing something positive. Would it be anything other than those three? Who’d buy it? I’d have to make it so much, SO MUCH better… structured, witty, meaningful… honest ain’t enough, it’s gotta have grace if it’s going anywhere.

Well it’s D. day. Or L. day. Who knows. My neurosurgeon Mr. Bahngoo knows, that’s who. By three o’clock this afternoon, so will I. So will Rachel. So, if you Face Book, and happen to be looking for updates from me, will you.

I feel good about this, I am in a no loose situation… I get a short outcome, fine, put my affairs in order, massive party time, seeya round… I get a long prognosis, cool, time to reflect. And party, BIG TIME. Either way, my dad’s got the correct course of treatment lined up, and it’s the same no matter what the ETA at the pearlies is… Champagne. As Madame (Lily) Bollinger once said,

“I drink it when I'm happy and when I'm sad.
Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone.
When I have company I consider it obligatory.
I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and I drink it when I am.
Otherwise I never touch it, unless I'm thirsty."

Damn Straight!

Right, I’ll post results on Facebook and Twitter after I see the man at two. LOVE YOU ALL!