'Cuz I've got a brand new combined chemo-cycle ..........

.........and I'll give it you for free!

Why another variation on the lyrics of that well known Wurzels' song should be the title of today's missive I've no idea, but I have a feeling in the murky waters of my past that Mr Crouch used to do an exceedingly fine impersonation of the lead singer; using distinctly unsavoury wordings. "Ernie (The fastest milkman in the west)" was another of his favourite renditions, and when he crooned to Frank Sinatra ballads the whole world stopped (to listen?) Yes you've guessed it by now folks that, despite my second round in the ring against Goliath on Wednesday, my old pal Ian...... "Crouch"........"Cruncher" or any other 'familar' expletive with which has been used when referring to him, was the focus of my attention this week. (And by the way the only way my chemo-cycle could be described as being new would be the contrast both in it's application and the effects it had on me, but more of that later).

Since last I posted to this blog a lot of water has passed under that bridge which Ian and I rebuilt on Tuesday. Apart from the completion of that notable combined major civil engineering and anthropological project, no I haven't tidied up a single aspect of my life as promised (but I will eventually because there's hardly any room left on this table for my laptop and I'm in great danger of incurring RSI). As planned on that fate filled day I contacted Netty, Ian's lovely wife, and finalized the visit. In consideration was not only our mutual well being, but also the negotiation of trips to our respective cancer centers in Guildford and Bath; mine for blood tests and a debrief and check up by the research team prior to Cycle Two of treatment the following day, and Ian for the paraphernalia of his check ups at the 'consent' clinic meeting with his oncology team prior to starting his radio- and chemo- treatment the following day also.

After I whistled through my appointmentsat St Luke's; joking with the phlebotomists (I thought they all had lovely bottoms!) and reassuringly with Dr Moosar and Sarah Oakes, I double checked with ground control at Sherston that it was all systems go for re-entry and we set off  to the Cotwolds at about 11.15, via a quick home stop in order to collect Chaka,  A good run down the M4 was fated by a favourable omission on my part: Having sailed past my intended exit from the motorway at junction 17 to take the back roads I realised I was approaching 18 and a suitable alternative route. Suitable in more ways than one it turned out because, in consideration of the time of day, if on schedule Ian and Annette would be soon heading home this way too so it seemed, as lunch was beckoning, it was appropriate to stop off, a stones throw from the motorway junction (that's if your using the sling shot I use against Goliath), at The Compass Inn at Tormarton, an amazing Best Western hostelry owned and managed by another mutual friend in the guise of Paul Monyard. Known to us all for many a long year since the Crouches moved to that neck of the woods on leaving the Royal Air Force to study and eventually practice dentistry in Bristol, and when in those days it was simply the best country pub in the area owned by Paul's father, Peter, it was the ideal pit stop. Fortunately mine host was all present and correctly positioned at the bar with his customary personal pewter tankard which provided me the second hereto unthought of objective; that of the opportunity to allay my trepidation about Ian's outlook on his own dreadful circumstances by quizzing Paul. I was delighted to listen to Paul's unhesitating recollection of Ian's confronting of yet another mutual friend and fellow barfly, John Edwards, and accusing him of being in some way responsible for his present condition. Somewhat taken aback, John immediately heard Ian qualify this by saying that "If you hadn't scrounged all those countless fags off me over the years you bastard........... then I would have been dead 6 months ago!" Instantly relieved by this anecdote I somehow knew my old mucker was on form.

Although the the two of them didn't make it to the pub to join us, Geraldine, Chaka and I enjoyed a very pleasant lunch, bade our farewells to Paul, by now seated on his mower attending to the many acres of lawns, and headed down the last few miles to Sherston.

(My apologies that until we receive email attachments from the Crouches, this, due to some incredibly bad management, which I'm puting down to over excitement, that resulted in me leaving home with a nearly full load of unsaved photos on my memory card and, making you believe that lightning does strike twice, Geraldine's camera sporting a flat battery,is the only shot of the day I have. Typically lack of standardisation amongst all the cameras, cards, batteries and chargers available in the Crouch household failed to save the day, but I fret not as every second of that day is etched in my mind)

On arriving we were greeted by nearly the whole family because as well as resident son Francis, staying back home for a few days were daughters Mary and Claire with each of their daughters, Charlotte, 8 months and Molly a year old the next day, both the cutest poppets you could ever imagine. (elder son John put in a welcome appearance later).

Non stop banter and joking, copious refreshment, tours of Ian's fabulous garden, photo shoots and an evening meal and gifts of fresh grown veggies (I thoughtlessly arrived with a bag of wine and beer naively not realising that Ian was already on morphine, but which did prompt a story about their visit to a recently discovered family owned brewery in Belgium, that, I believe, Netty may just conveniently have subconsciously eradicated from her memory banks for all these years) completed a truly memorable day for all involved. I would not have missed one second of it, even including, towards the end of the visit, witnessing Ian take himself off  to a private corner of his rambling old Cotswold mansion house where in great distress he was coughing up blood over his arms and the floor: This was painfully but poignantly relevant to sharing all our memories, our hopes, our dreams and now our fears for what the immediate future holds in store for both ourselves and our families.

So you see, despite that Edington (would you believe even the spellchecker even wants to put two Ds in my name) inflicted glitch in our friendship mentioned in an earlier posting, nothing has changed over the 40 years we've known each other and now we face our final journeys, like so many others we have shared, together side by side. (You were so very right Crystal so it's worth repeating that quote you sent me to remind others that it's never to late to put wrongs to right: "Friends are always friends no matter how far you have to travel back in time. If you have memories together, there is always a piece of your friendship inside your heart." --- Kellie O'Connor) . So it was that in the midst of a fond welcoming embrace and with smiles on our faces we both agree that neither of us remember the clause, in that pact we signed to ruck together and muck together, that stated we had to die of cancer together. 

There are is so much more to tell, and maybe some of it will eventually reach the anecdote's page of my blog but until then I am closing this brief but paradoxically happy chapter safe in the knowledge that it has taught me more lessons in one day than I'll ever learn in the rest of whatever life I have left.

My flood of tears was dammed back until waking the following morning; maybe we should have shared those too, but guys like Ian and me from the BBC (bad buggers corner) don't do tears do we? Well I sure do now and not always in privacy of my own pillow.

Back later to let you know how the chemo and the rest of my week went for the two good reasons: One is  that this episode needs to be exclusive and two, my eyelids are drooping and I'm liable to inadvertently delete the whole ******* lot in a sate of emotional exhaustion and that would slay me long before I got another salvo in against Goliath.

Good night, bless you all and most especially Ian Anette and family.

Signing of with all the fondset love, the biggest hugs and most positive vibes I can muster

David

XXX

P.S. The postman is hurrying to deliver a belated 1st birthday card to Molly.