Somewhere in the large amount I have read over the last half century I recall that someone (and it may well have been George Eliot in Middlemarch; her writings are essentially distilled wisdom) wrote that if you correspond every day then there is always plenty to say but if you leave your writing for a couple of months then there is too little to say.
Well I have left this for a little over 3 weeks so lets hope my muse hasn't buggered off to the pub without me.
You will be as relieved as I am to hear that my afatinib has been restored to me. After the dramatic effect it had in its first 2 months of service i would hate to contemplate life without it. Although I should warn you that this is no recreational drug. Well at least not unless anyone particularly enjoys the feeling of arse on porcelain and the sensation of the world falling out of your bottom, fast.
I watched a documentary on Brewdog last night. Part of their mission statement is 'we blow stuff up'. That is the essence of my visits to the smallest room at present. Not entirely fun, but a long long way from miserable.
My other symptom (apart from shrinking tumours, as I keep reminding myself) is dry and intermittently itchy skin. This has its compensations. Each evening as we retire Clare rubs cream into the itchiest parts of my anatomy. Back, chest and head; before any smutty thoughts take root.
Quite a large proportion of my thought are in Chamberlain St, St Andrews tonight.
Ben has decided to stand for the sabbatical post of Athletic Union President. For the past week he has been campaigning hard and as I type the on-line voting process is under way. Unfortunately for Ben what should have been one of the greatest weeks of his life has been spoilt by a persistent earache. By this time tomorrow he will know how many have voted for him. Hopefully the earache will subside in time for him to really make his mark as he spends his first year in elected office.
I should mention that he is the only candidate. But a large vote will give his presidency added legitimacy.
I am rather in awe of his self assuredness and focus. Pride doesn't really do justice to my feelings, although he didn't have to get elected to make me feel that way, and neither do Nikki and James. My pride is in their essence not in their achievements.
As you may notice it has been a few days since I have visited my blog. In the few days since I wrote the beginning of this Ben has been so ill with tonsilitis that he came home and slept in his old bed for a couple of nights. And Scotland won a resounding victory over France at Murrayfield.
That put me to thinking about the future.
Pleasant though it is to contemplate past campaigns (and if you are reading this on 17th March which, from where am sitting, is tomorrow; it will be 26 years precisely since Scotland last won a 5 nations Grand Slam) it is next Saturday's match against Ireland where all the interest lies.
This short contemplation of the past and future in rugby allows me to slip in a sweeping generalisation (sorry).
The past is essentially just stories. Some of them make us wince, others give a warm glow. We can choose to learn from them, or not.
The future is life. All our plans and expectations are there. Enjoy. I intend to. (I confess that as I type this I am watching last Sundays rugby against France. Consistency never my strong point)
