Now, this was a pure pest. Steps would have to be taken to evict them, and if no steps could be taken, I’d have to learn to live with them. Not an appealing idea.
So they sent me to a posh hospital for another scan, and this one revealed that all but one of them had simply vanished.
It is possible that they weren’t cancer at all, perhaps an inflammation, but to quote the mighty Rhett Butler, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’, because they’re gone.
Lesley and I did a bit of a victory dance. The nice lung surgeon had already said, yeah, we can deal with the one that’s left. I assume he’s sharpening his Stanley knife even as we speak.
This is excellent, since they also give you a free whisky before wheeling you in to operate, so essentially, I’m about to be invited out on a date by a young man for drinks and the theatre. Sadly, like most of my dates, I won’t remember a thing about it. Well, they were a long time ago.
Speaking of victory dances, I stayed up past my bedtime to watch Emma Raducanu and Leylah Fernandez. I find it easier to watch sporting events which don’t involve Scots.
What were you doing at 18? I was probably going on one of those first forgettable dates. I can tell you what I couldn’t have done, and that was to walk out in front of a global audience and scorch my way into history like Emma.
The sweetest thing about the incredible performance of this Canadian-born Chinese-Romanian UK-based super-talent was the distant sound of Nigel Farage’s nasty, narrow Little England worldview exploding.
Now, Scotland. Don’t be like Nigel. Let us make ourselves welcoming. What future sporting talent could there be in people who make this country their home?
Unless it's cricket. Not sure I could ever get to like that.