The Demise of Roland Ratso: Chapter thirty seven

It’s Tuesday 24th March and not much to report. I had to go to an allotment meeting last night – there are three distinct species of human being that are not akin to any other members of the human race. The first is the colliery winding engine man, Destined to spend long hours on their own listening to the ringing of signal bells makes most of them turn inwards. The pit winding engine house used to be a hallowed place with immaculate floors and polished brass. Many of them were quite holy in their countenance and God help anyone who entered their hallowed portals without seeking permission from the engine man. The second species is the groundsman. Every groundsman is the best and every groundsman has to spend hours telling everyone why they are the best. Able to strip a mowing machine (mustn’t call them lawn mowers but mower is JUST ABOUT acceptable) in seconds and put it back together just as quickly they are nevertheless unable to become socially interactive unless you can adeptly converse on grass, weeds, weed killer and fertiliser. The final species is an allotment holder or allotmenteer. Now don’t get me wrong. I am not criticising anyone here – merely making observations. The allotmenteer can grow stuff and will invariably go out of their way to help their brothers and sisters but woe betide anyone who gets in the way of the brotherhood. In the seventies the allotment holders tried a variety of alternative crops including tobacco! Wine was brewed in the allotment shed and a lot of the allotment holders managed to return home with shome carrotshsh and potatoeshshsh after a long hard days digging. Hic! Our new breed of allotmenteers are totally different and have made a spectacular difference to our allotments. So where am I with treatment? The chemo has kicked in with a vengeance. I go into deep sleep at the drop of a hat and find it very difficult to wake up but my bladder must have shrunk to the size of a golf ball because I have to get up nearly every hour for a pee. Not sure if the radio has done something or if Roland is flexing his muscles. Sigh! If it’s not one orifice then it’s another. The bowel situation is much improved but I still assume the position often only to offer a couple of rabbit droppings or a loud evacuation of wind. It is difficult to translate the chemo induced euphoria into words but my chemo brain is definitely back on line. I think Irene does find it difficult at times to keep up. Not much else to report – still functioning and now I’m off to defile our long suffering porcelain once more. Do what you do best!