More heartache

Regular readers may recall that 5 years ago we had a harrowing week away in Italy as we learned of the sudden death of my youngest brother M from cancer. He had been ravaged by the disease in a very short period. And I missed seeing him before we managed to get back. Now here’s a sad tale; my young sister H, the baby of the family 12 years my junior, had been dealing with a spinal cancer situation for the last few years. She’d been elected for an experimental drug programme after years of surgery and therapy but a sudden change in her condition necessitated a mastectomy a couple of weeks ago. Long story short it didn’t go well and her condition deteriorated. On Saturday night we learned she had little time left, days possibly, and headed up early Sunday morning to Blackpool Victoria Hospital. Half an hour away from Blackpool we learned my lovely sister H had passed away.

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Oh f*cking no

Well I’ve been doing a lot of writing for other people recently which is very rewarding but it leaves me with so little time to do my blogging. And to be honest after crashing away at a hot desktop all day, you kind of lose the creative impetus. But sometimes things happen that make you want to get some words down and express just how you’re feeling. And right now I’m feeling saddened.

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After the last posting I was feeling rather pleased with myself. A little too pleased as it turned out. First off, after two months of dicking around, we got a notice from the letting agency who manage our apartment informing us that it seemed the owners of the property wanted to sell up. We could sign a temporary extension or find somewhere else in the remaining few weeks of our contract. We love this place which must have the best views in London, and to leave it would be a real wrench. But what do you do? Register with a load of local estate agents and start the dispiriting process of finding somewhere new to live. Continue reading


I mentioned in the last posting that I’d lost my uncle, Terry, just over a week ago. He was christened Frank Neville but he never fancied the name until perhaps his deep love of Frank Sinatra made him reappraise its virtues. Uncle makes him sound pretty old; he was actually only 62 when he died, just 7 years older than me. When I was young he was a big influence on me, the nearest I had to a big brother. He’d been suffering some heart heart problems like my mum for a few years and like her he had contracted cancer, which had only recently been diagnosed. He was undergoing a series of tests to assess how badly affected his lungs were. It must have been bad because this vile bloody disease had felled him as quickly as an axe might. Before two weeks were out he’d been taken.

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