I've just pulled my very own defibrillator from the shelf, a large tin of BUSHELLS Instant Coffee, to make myself a heart-starting cup of coffee while the porridge is still slowly bubbling away on the stove.
It's Thursday today which means garbage collection tomorrow morning, so as soon as I've finished my coffee, eaten my porridge, and fed the ducks and the possum, I shall wheel the bin outside the gate which just about sums up the total of all my physical activities for this week.
Then it's back to the jetty with a good book (or two) and a glass of wine (or two) until the sun goes down. As one of our illustrious leader said some fifty years ago before he returned to his well-deserved obscurity, "Life wasn't meant to be easy" - but take courage, Malcolm: it can be delightful! [he had also invented a new word: plagiarism - click here]
This time three years ago I was lying in a bed in the Chris O'Brien Lifehouse, all trussed up and being fed through a tube, after having undergone a "transoral robotic resection of left tongue base and selective neck dissection for left tongue base p16+ SCC T2 N1".
I was deemed safe for discharge on the 12th of July 2018 and I'm here to tell the tale. I'll drink to that, so make that a glass of wine or THREE.
À la tienne!
