My ode this week is partly in respect for the book, The C Word, which I have been reading in anticipation of Sheridan Smith’s drama adaptation of the part. I feel very close, like this was my story too, yet I feel a little guilty that I survived it. But aside from the use of humour as a coping mechanism (and now that I am officially an old bag!), it is the refusal to believe in the fatal possibilities that I recognise best…
Let's just whack the key words in Google,
And change how the outcome might look,
Ignore the fate call of the bugle,
We will bend in the wind when we're shook...
We are steadfast and strong and survivors,
How bad can it possibly get?
Professional duckers and divers,
We'll dry out again if we get wet...
Though butchery, poison and shortwave,
We are told is our fate (with a shush)
We won't be the ones it could enslave,
"Mind the gap" as we stand in the crush...
You will sit by my bed as I crumble,
And tell me how grand I am still,
And we'll never discuss the meaning for us,
For reality's too big a pill...
