As well as the disappointment of the referendum Kate and myself have been living with the anxiety lately of me having a biopsy yesterday to check out some untowardness the consultant saw in my throat at my last check-up. Despite the consultant saying she was sure it wasn’t cancerous I’m afraid it’s hard to not contemplate a return of the crabby one. It was compounded for us as it has happened just before we’re due to go on the family holiday as it did two years ago. On the day we left for France 2 years ago we stopped at Poole Hospital for me to see the doctor who rather too excitedly for my liking showed me the image of the lesion in my throat. Put a little damper on that holiday.
So it was with some trepidation Kate dropped me off just after 7 at the day surgery unit. It was particularly busy and apparently there were a few emergencies and I drew the shortest straw as I was the last to go to theatre at just after 3, read all the paper and most of my book. Saw a number of people, as you do nowadays, all asking similar questions but did allow me to reprise my answer to the any allergies question with: only farage. Interesting the variety of responses.
With some things in life repetition makes them less daunting or scary. I’m afraid that I’ve found the opposite with my repetitive visits to hospital. With the initial visits a couple of years ago I wasn’t too fazed, now I find myself thinking dark thoughts much more. Apart from the anxiety of a crabby return yesterday I imagined that going under with the general anaesthetic would be the last experience of my life. I’ve had so many pointy things stuck in my hands and arms that my previously prominent veins aren’t now so prominent. In the past I’ve quite enjoyed ‘going under’, the drug-like losing control and talking more than the usual gibberish. This time it was far quicker and more unpleasant.
Anyway I did come round, unless I’m now existing in some other life and I’m writing this in a parallel universe, and was told by the consultant that it isn’t cancer. So Kate and I can happily go off to Rhodes next week and worry about something else.
And my lovely Welsh friend Julie sent me a poem written by a poet friend of hers about his thoughts on the brexit bollocks:
“In Time of Darkness
“If we are victorious in one more battle… we shall be utterly ruined.”
I journeyed last night through a hollow bone
Down dank, dark channels to the root of the world,
Tumbling out onto a devastated land
Where broken forests and stagnant waters,
Fouled by the filth of a million lies,
Festered under Yeats’s pitiless sun.
Great splintered trees stood shattered by the fist
Of a child-like giant who, quite unthinking,
Had smashed his toys, his high seat, and his realm.
I heard the roar of the duped, and the baffled,
Asking how it happened, and could they go back,
And elsewhere heard the whimpers of the old —
Blinded by the dazzle of life-long plenty,
Fearful of the foreign, envious of youth —
Who, waving the tattered banners of triumph,
Had quailed when struck by the light of loathing
Burning in the eyes of the young they’d betrayed.
Now it comes down… the hateful hammer falls
And now our choices limp starkly into view.
Now the mob rouses, stirred to bitter spleen,
Minded to take payment, for everything.
Now sister looks at brother, mother at son,
And friends are unable to ask the question —
For fear of learning what the answer may be,
For fear of finding the fragile cup broken.
Meanwhile the princes of entitlement,
Who partied blithely to the lip of ruin,
Languidly step away from their vomit,
As the cruel deceivers hide like wolves
In blood-spattered thickets of denial,
And the dog-whistlers, with their piercing calls,
Practice surprise as the pit-bulls arrive,
Snarling, barking their hatred of the other.
For the worst is come, is risen amongst us.
We are at the mercy of the lords of spite.
No one takes a hand. No one meets an eye.
No one owns their part in the catastrophe.
And I am now regularly wearing a safety pin, checkout #safetypin, a simple way to show a little signal to immigrants that not all of us hate and wish ill of them.
Cripes, bunter has maybe shown a little self-awareness, even though he still couches it in his pseudo-classical bollocks.
I’m thinking I’m with Jeanette Winterson and others who are minded that the formation of an alliance of so-called ‘progressives’ to counter the conservatives, the tts, the kleptos, the ucrappers, the xenophobes, the reactionaries, the little englanders, and the like is what we need. Perhaps something like Podemos in Spain and promoting the likes of Mondragon in Spain https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mondragon_Corporation
Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.