As another year clicks by for Little Bro, the family are holding together tightly and lovingly.
Big Sis on Friday and Little Bro today — I’m lucky to have the family I have.
But first I had to drive Big Bro to town for the three-monthly blood test for the oncologist to paw over in three weeks’ time.
We were late setting off, which meant only one thing — when I parked up I’d need to get a wriggle on.
In the end I didn’t even know if I made it on time, because all I could think about was my back, which I’d just twanged.
Although I’d woken up well and recovered from the past few days’ aches, all the pain came back in spades as I tried to push the car door open against the wind.
The car was parked nose-uphill in the tiny surgery car park, and getting out would have been a struggle ten years ago — let alone now.
That started the day badly and showed just how fragile my right side is.
I’ll have to be even more careful, especially getting in and out of the car.
The blood test was over quickly, which meant I could limp home — if I could find my Darling, who was shopping nearby for bits and pieces for today’s guests.
I’d only gone about fifty yards into the car park opposite the surgery when she appeared with a goodie bag, jumped in, and announced we needed to go to another supermarket.
All I wanted was to go home and rest my bloomin’ back.
But I did as I was told.
I found a big blue-badge space to park in and braced myself.
My Darling was off and back quite quickly, but that was probably the most stressful parking experience ever.
Because the car is new — only 150 miles on it — parking anywhere feels like a test of nerves.
Every car that came close, every trolley squeezed between spaces, felt like a potential scratch or dent waiting to happen.
I couldn’t sit still — constantly twisting, watching, listening for that dreaded metallic sound.
I was using the time to plan the perfect escape route out of the car park home.
I was doubly stressed.
We got home safely, and all I wanted was a couple of pills I’d missed (while out and about) and a seat in front of the huge TV.
My Darling whizzed around the house getting ready for our first guests, while I sat and grumbled quietly about my back.
Our first guests were old friends who have been wonderfully supportive during my fight with cancer.
When they arrived, the room filled instantly with conversation.
It only paused briefly for a heated-up pizza.
They have a place in Murcia, Spain, and talk soon turned to the possibility of us joining them for a holiday.
No firm plans yet, but the logistics were explored — we’d just need to sort a profiling bed.
Fabulous.
Before we knew it, a couple of hours had flown by.
We were sad to see them go, but there was more guests to come.
My Darling took the chance for a quick snooze before Little Bro arrived with his wife and two girls for his birthday takeaway.
Meanwhile I swigged some morphine for the back pain and watched more TV.
My brother’s tribe are always great fun.
He is the butt of most jokes, laughing along even when it must hurt. He just keeps smiling and setting himself up for more.
But he’s a great dad.
The girls — now 18 and 16 — are quickly becoming young women, sharp-witted and more than capable of taking him, Dad or anyone else on to be honest.
It’s lovely to see them.
They don’t have to come anymore — they’ve got their own lives — but they still do.
And that means a lot.
Soon enough we were ordering from Just Eat — burgers, kebabs — and I went for a jacket potato with beans, cheese, and chilli sauce.
With a 40-minute wait, things stayed calm for a while.
The table was stretched out to seat six, and another bottle of Prosecco was popped open and flutes filled.
Then the food arrived.
And with it, the usual mayhem.
Bags everywhere, laughter, sorting orders, more laughter, more food.
Then came the cake and candles.
Not quite 57 candles — thankfully — but enough for a proper rendition of Happy Birthday.
Alexa helped with the rhythm.
We supplied the terrible singing.
Candles were blown out — twice.
Before long, the table was cleared and we gathered by the big red front door for hugs and goodbyes.
It was the perfect end to a lovely day.
And somehow, my back held out.
A bit more morphine, then off to bed — satisfied.
Guests are good.
Family are good.
Friends are good.
Good night.
