Post 245: Sandwich spread and disappointment.
Before you start thinking that the wonderfully bad jar of loveliness was the disappointment — it wasn’t.
That honour went to the BBC iPlayer rewatch of Cancer, Courage and Me.
Sir Chris Hoy (SCH) has a celebrity platform and a huge audience from his Olympic cycling success, and more recently from the prostate cancer community. So this programme was, in my view, something important and worthy. I was onboard.
Aside from the impact of his wonderful wife — who is fighting her own health battle — SCH is a normal dad and husband, even if he’s a celebrity in his own right. It felt like a great opportunity to fill in some gaps about what this cancer is like, through his eyes.
But the hour-long programme was used primarily as a pre-posthumous This Is Your Life. His cycling pals, the medal haul, the glittering success — and the message that positivity is the only way, whether on the track or in the cancer fight.
The heavy grey word terminal should have been edited out. Incurable is the time-honoured word nowadays. There was sadly no mention of horrible days during treatment, or the endless clinic visits. Cancer was the first word in the title — but largely missing from the programme itself.
I could go on, but it’s all in the forum. I don’t think I’m the only one who felt this was a massive missed opportunity to help the country understand what stage-four prostate cancer really looks like.
Instead of showing us every Olympic medal, it could have shown what it’s like to live with an incurable disease. We are not all athletic, youngish ex-superstars with a long time before treatment eats away 75% of your muscles. We’re mere mortals with poor energy, limited abilities, and bodies that don’t bounce back no matter how much positivity we muster.
To me, the programme should have been called Success, Courage and Me.
I admire his determination — truly — but his lifestyle is a million miles away from the NHS pathway I know and love, and from my own experience of prostate cancer.
⸻
My Darling left in her party dress for a Christmas lunch with pals at SW, heading off with a spring in her step.
I also had the option of meeting my work pals and management at the pub for food, beer, and a Christmas quiz. Tempting — but with my back playing up, I hesitated.
There was a small job I’d been putting off that needed doing at home or Christmas just won’t be Christmas.
When Byron and his owners came over, there should have been time for me to show my son how to marzipan the Christmas cakes. He wanted to do his own this year, and I was all for it. But it slipped through the net as we were distracted by Byron’s cheeky, long-nosed antics.
The marzipan packs had been warming on the oil-filled heater for two days — pliable and ready. Bases unwrapped, cake holes filled, apricot jam spread, marzipan rolled, and the battle to wrap the sides began.
Practice makes perfect — and these little 7.5” cakes get trickier every year. I once dressed my brother’s wedding cake, and marzipan was my friend then. Not anymore.
After finishing the first cake, I sat down to ease my aching back and weighed my options: pub or second cake. I chose the latter. The second cake was done, kitchen cleaned, face and teeth washed, and I realised I could still make the factory gathering — minus the quiz.
Getting dressed was painful. The sleeveless coat was the worst bit, but there was no one to help, so I was a brave boy. The seatbelt, though — ouch. That was worse.
Driving through town was madness: last Friday before Christmas, lunchtime chaos. But when I reached the factory, the gates were locked and no one was around. I parked nearby and weighed my options — wait in the car, or walk to the pub. About half a mile. Untested territory lately.
I chose the walk. I’ll give it a go, what could go wrong?
I arrived just as the quiz ended — perfect timing. I grabbed a drink, poked my head into the packed room, and was beckoned in. I kept my coat on — no way was I wrestling it off — and endured the heat of Christmassy bodies, dreadful jumpers, and smiling faces.
I actually had a great time. People asked, “When are you coming back?”
“Soon, I hope,” became my stock reply.
I walked all the way back to the factory where I collected a frozen turkey and sweets as my management gifts, said my goodbyes, and walked back to the car feeling part of the team — and needed.
At home, I needed pain relief for my back, but otherwise I was incredibly happy. I’d walked further than I had in ages, and done it easily.
I’m on the mend.
Christmas is coming.
I’m going to be on top form.
All is well with the world.
I wish you a good night.
PS: I had lunch for dinner — a sandwich spread sandwich.
I really am a lazy whatzit, but, Oh, the childhood memories that came flooding back with each bite.
GN
