My Father taught me a few things, without of course, knowing that he was teaching me in the process thereof. One of them involved my first post university job. I had slaved over my application, with what was, in a rather ironic juxtaposition of what would pass for one now, a rather lengthy written job application.
There is a place I go, a not necessarily pleasant place but it is, all the same, necessary that I go there. It’s also, ironically enough, a place of solace. It’s not a beach, a forest, a mountain, or a lake, even though they are places I love.
When we are young our spirit is to make our own way, to turn our backs on whatever it is that society entreats of us, to collectively thumb our nose and to carry rebellion as a badge of honour, or at least is was back in the day. As a child of the 70’s, I wonder if it’s still that way…
It commanded my attention searing its way through my chest, its steady rhythm building to an ominous crescendo, the reverberation ricocheting between my ears as it clutched my throat in a vice like grip.
A short video montage, mainly walking, of progress since my surgery.
Kia Ora. Sorry for the interruption but if you type your name and email address in the fields provided you'll receive my latest brain tumour scribblings as soon as they roll off the press. What could be better, other than good coffee in the morning, comfortable non-slip gumboots, peace in the Middle East, politicians who don't govern out of self-interest and a cure for all types of diseases, including, but by no means limited to, brain cancer.
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Kia Ora. Sorry for the interruption but if you type your name and email address in the fields provided you'll receive my latest brain tumour scribblings as soon as they roll off the press, so to speak. What could be better, other than good coffee in the morning, comfortable non-slip gumboots, peace in the Middle East, having politicians who don't govern out of self-interest and a cure for all types of diseases, including, but by no means limited to, brain cancer.