People & Bridges.

It's the people you meet who make up a big part of this motorhoming life. For me there is genuine value in meeting a diverse range of fellow travellers, sharing stories and then moving on. Sometimes a contact is kept but for most a cheery wave with "I'll see you sometime then", suffices.

This evening it was 'Scotty' a keen cyclist & Kite surfer and former mechanic who has kept his well used/loved 25yr old modified Swift Kontiki moho ticking along nicely.

Earlier I bumped into Polish born UK citizen plus wife in their superbly converted 7.5ton Daf truck complete with hydraulic fold down tailgate/veranda, accessed no less, by double glazed sliding door. Very swish. He had done all the work himself and was now heading back to the UK to earn some more money as an HGV driver. They are parked just across from me, hidden as I am among bamboo groves on a rare bit of un-developed beach just west of 'Almerimar'.

This, apart from the tourist developed coastal strip, is plastic land; where a large proportion of your fresh veggies come from. Mile upon square mile of plastic greenhouses/growing sheds full of every green, red, orange & purple vegetable you can think of. It is plastic plastic everywhere. And this is what it is all grown in. The plastic wrapping you buy it in is just the tail end of your veggies birth to death relationship with plastic. As I top a rise and see the extent of the glistening plastic ocean in every direction my mind boggles and has difficulty processing the image. The sensation is I'm driving my moho in the middle of a vast undulating ocean but here I actually am, on a narrow gorge like road flanked either side by tall colourlessly beige plastic growing sheds which incidentally, are full of workers, mostly African, who also haphazardly walk or cycle along the road in and out of the various smaller narrower roads equally straight, equally long and equally flanked by huge plastic growing sheds. Then you meet a large lorry! I draw so close in to the side my wing mirror is pushed hard up against the flexible plastic side of a growing shed. Lorry thunders by, hardly slowing, with only millimetres clearance. Phew!

I've travelled through these 'plastic plains' twice now purely for the gobsmackingly other world experience. Suffice to say I encountered no other moho'er until I emerged onto the manicured touristy coastal strip. The sad bit is, well; lets just say that as well as the usual plastic litter detritus surrounding my little spot here among the bamboo groves there is also a large fly tip load of old/used growing shed plastic netting and sheeting. Dumped, illegally and 25metres from waves breaking upon the beach. If you go inland a bit its even worse, its unavoidable and everywhere. Steve has a sad face.

Recently I was at 'Colladus beach'. A favourite place of mine right at the tip of the narrow, 19k 'La Manga' strip. This year a difference though. I was there with company. My good friends Win & Lenny in their Rapido Moho. The weather was superb, so was Wins cooking, such a treat. I think 'Colladus beach' is now firmly on their favourite list too. A really relaxing few days. While there I also caught up with my Irish friends Mark & Naomi who were telling me of their relief at, fingers crossed & touch wood, finally being able within the next couple of weeks to move into their swanky new (and very very big) house/Riverside villa, c/w boat.

Earlier, and while travelling with Win & Lenny we met Manny, a determined 29yr old female German student who was travelling solo in her hastily converted X theatre production make up van. I think there was a mixture of relationship end and recent loss of well loved grandmother behind her brave adventure. As she proudly showed us her self modified van she poignantly explained how she had adapted and incorporated various pieces of her grandmothers furniture. We concluded she was also a little low on funds and food as our invite for her to join us for a meal was very quickly and eagerly accepted. She ate an awful lot that evening did Manny.

For Tanya it is the same, meeting other dogs I mean, which we are always doing. It was quite special while travelling with Win & Lenny and their Shitzu, Buster, to see the pair of them following each other in and out of our two vans with, I have to add, Tanya at times doing her usual and taking over Busters travelling bed.

Well. Congratulations Steve: you got that curried chicken and veg Paella spot on. And what about that big square of Mercradona's (Spanish s/mkt) special choc chip cake with cream on top.

"Am I eating OK?" Richard asked when I phoned him earlier.

Let's put it this way. I've got a job to move just now what with the Paella and cake but I'm going to have to shortly as there is a pile of washing up to do. Incidentally; I hav'nt weighed myself since I left Salisbury but I think not much has changed as the new trousers and new belt holes are still quite happily accommodating my new post cancer body shape.

Two retired brothers (Twins I think) plus their Jaguar and caravan parked up behind me tonight. Nice guys who've been travelling all over Europe for many years both in Moho's and now caravans. Unusual though to get a caravan wild camping. Tuggers, as they are called, normally inhabit campsites only. It's nice though to have their company, even though we all very much keep ourselves to ourselves, here at this lovely spot just off the fantastic N340 coastal road to Malaga.

Where we are parked is one of the loops of old N340 that have been left when they re-did the road. There are lots of them, many giving lovely scenic wild camping spots. Especially now the A7 'Route Mediterranian' takes most of the traffic. On this mornings doggy walk we stood on one of the the original narrow bridges across a deep gorge. As I looked up there was the next generation of road and bridge, slightly wider but more modern in that it could accommodate two narrow lanes of traffic. Then to my right and a little further down the gorge was steeply curving bridge number 3 on its concrete stilts and consisting of two wide traffic lanes. That's todays N340.

But towering above all and rumbling away as traffic rolls across it is Bridge number 4. The concrete stilts are enormous and take traffic straight from one mountainside tunnel to another. No following the contours for the ultra modern dual carriageway A7 'Route Mediterranian' it is just tunnel, viaduct, tunnel, viaduct all the way.  I prefer the slower, stunningly scenic cliff hugging, N340 but having also travelled on the A7 I give it five stars too as an engineering wonder with also, when not in a tunnel, fantastic views. Four generations of road three of which are still in regular use. That's the EU.

Dali emotion & Piggies.

I don't do much emotion these days. Especially after my cancer op and subsequent loss of my Vagas nerve. I cannot find, and have not thoroughly or extensively searched for, any evidence or research into 'Vegas nerve/emotional affect' but I do know it has affected in some way the delicate balance of head plus gut emotions that made up the totality of what I previously experienced as a full 'emotional response'.
So what happened tonight as Tanya and I took our evening stroll surprised me somewhat.
I'm in 'Port Lligat' just above 'Cadaques'. The moon was high and bright and bestowing one of its magical vistas over the bay which happens to be the same bay as depicted by Salvador Dali in his famous tantalisingly seductive painting of his wife looking out of the keyhole shaped window of his house. I was on the quiet lane directly above that house and its famous window, now a Salvador Dali museum and popular tourist attraction. Yes the vista was stunning but the tears welling up were directly connected to Kate, my deceased wife, and the very special time we spent here many years ago when love was on fire and neuronal pathways were created and laid down in their thousands.
The area and town of 'Cadaques' is sensuously and stunningly beautiful which is why I regularly make the trip here. The place seduces me everytime. Tonight though was different, powerful, and emotionally intoxicating. I was caught unaware but pleasurably affected with accompanying tinge of sadness giving bite to the overall emotional mix. Meditatively I was motivated to then walk for another hour as slowly, the fact I had received a treasured gift, sank in and connected. Tanya seemed to sense the moment too as she energetically accompanied me bathed as we were in the powerful moonlight.
In fact I was surprised at her 15 year old doggy energy as over the last two days, of gorgeous weather we have partaken of two long E bike on and off road expoditions around the area and out to 'Cap d Creus' and the lighthouse. These 'expoditions' by their very nature, also involve a lot of doggy walking.
We found a beautiful and totally wild cove out of the cool breeze but in full sun. Off came the clothes for first sunbathe of the year. I will add here that such an occurrence will this year be limited to such isolated spots. My rake thin 70 yrs old new body shape adorned still with prominent operation scars is not a site for public display. But the sunshine and crystal clear blue Med water is once again pressing my snorkeling buttons. I think a visit to Decathlon is a good plan with  wet suit purchase possibly being the way to 'fatten me up' plus hide my all too obvious NHS signature scars.
Tanya, while at our secluded cove, disgraced herself. I was quietly meditating & just enjoying the warm sun & occasional cool breezes touching my body when it went quiet. Very 'Tanya's not around quiet' . Called her. Nothing. Clothes on and retraced our steps back to track and E bike. Nothing. Walked back down and listened. Nothing. Climbed out on a rocky promontory from where I had a good view of the cove area.
"Aha, I see you."
Clamber back down, scramble round the tide line, getting wet feet in the process, and dragged her off the carcass of a well rotted, with accompanying aroma, seal. She got her mouth and beard well washed out with salt water for that little escapade.
However; I don't think the abrupt ending of her 'rotten seal' bliss was quite as traumatic as the run in she had with the three resident wild piggys back where we were wild camped in a large flat public area at the top of 'Port Lligatt' village. She was quietly pootling around outside when she came face to face with 'the piggy gang'. Piggies United Ltd quickly determined Tanya was not one of them and gave chase. But Tanya was also quick off the mark, did a screeching turn around and while still accelerating entered Rap3 through her open door with one mighty leap coming to a crumpled and crashing halt against the bottom of the fridge. No matter. A quick shake and flap of her ears and from her new and safe haven position she glared at piggy threesome who, undaunted, hung around just outside until boredom set in and off they wandered in search of more fun. Tanya was a tad more wary after that incident. She still wandered freely in and out of Rap3 but quickly retreated to her safe haven at any sighting or smelling of 'the piggy gang'.
Tanya and I plus new friend Lou from Hebden Bridge sadly said bye bye to the piggies this morning as we moved off on our separate journeys. Thank you once again 'Cadaques'. To me you are a very special place. I will be back.

Emergency Evacuation

"Uho!" thinks me. This is a very pleasant stroll with my nephews wife and toddler Maeve, and it was also a very pleasant meal we had all shared with her husband during his French two hour lunch break.

"But: right now, like instant, I am going to have to head back to the restaurant, kinda super sharpish, and use their facilities".

This, thankfully was accomplished without an embarrassing incident, but unfortunately heralded the onset of a full ten days of intermittent serious emergency Evacuations before eventually normality returned. I say it was the crab soup 'wot done for me' , but who knows. No one else was affected so I suspect, especially as it took so long to correct itself, it was a combination of the said 'crab soup' plus my 'different' post Oesophagael cancer innards. These 'different innards' are proving to be somewhat erratic and not as robust as my previous set up; a perfectly standard 1948  Lichfield maternity hospital model. They just don't make things like they used to any more!
..........
The 10 days of 'jippy tum' were not all doom and gloom as I did manage three days away near 'Giens' on the 'Hyeres' peninsula where warm sunshine made for a very pleasant stay. I'd originally gone to 'St-Mandrier-sur-mer' where there was a small Moho Aire. Parking/camping overnight around this 'Cote-de-Azur' area is very difficult & nigh on impossible during the holiday season. At 'St-Mandrier' I squeezed into the last remaining space & settled in for the night only to be disturbed by a knock on the door from fellow Moho'er Chris & his two gentle and well mannered lady Lurchers Bella & Bethan. A lovely evening was had swopping different tales of each of our experiences both of us being that rare combination of retired single male travelling mainly fultime with canine companionship.
Chris was also more familiar with the area and well versed in the dark art of finding wild or free spots to park up in this Moho unfriendly area. Turns out he runs the database of wild/free moho parking spots for the well known, and well used, www.wildcamping.co.uk of which I have been a fully paid up member for several years.
Hence our decision to move round to 'Giens' the next day & a perfectly acceptable layby next to the 'Salins' complete with their resident pink Flamingos. I, and Tanya, thoroughly enjoyed our three days of sharing time and doggy walks with Chris and his gorgeous canine ladies.
My 'intimacy' with the little white room in the back corner of Rap3 was by this time becoming manageable although I was starting to register an unease at continually having to tighten my belt on my recently purchased smaller waistline trousers. I didn't dare weigh myself and stayed firmly in a kind of denial trust that when ready, my body would re-appetise and regain the lost weight.
I headed back, after our time together, to 'Puyricard' and my tight spot next to my Nephew & family's house. There I stayed and enjoyed even more family as my younger sister and hubby joined us for a few days of 'Grandchild Maeve' time.
I'm also happy to report the 're-appetising and regaining of weight' is now underway but the depletion of wallet is now of concern as I just cannot keep out of the local Boulangerie/Patisserie. Those 'Tartes-de-Pomme' are going to do a crab soup on me in a minute if I do not re-establish some semblance of willpower over my unruly gluttonous pastry greed.
Plus, I've also fallen in love with over fired Baguettes.
Woe is me.... there is only one way out.... Get over that border and into Spain. Well I'm on my way. SW of 'Montpellier' tonight & possibly Spain tomorrow. No, I'll have one more day in France because if I remember correctly there is that Artisan Boulangerie in 'Port Vendres' and they do the most delic...........!

2019. Here we go again.

Ugh! I thought as I dragged Tanya from her warm bed & headed out to 'Saltdean' playing field for a very early morning dark cold and wet walk. The early rise and doggy toilet walk was a necessity as the Newhaven to Dieppe ferry would see Tanya back in her warm bed for a few more hours.

"Aww. Your Tanya is a really old doggy isn't she". Said the ferry check in lady as she scanned both our passports.

Bump, bump, bump as we entered the large yellow DFDS ferry up the severely corrugated metal ramps. At least there was no cramming us in like sardines on this trip. The car / motorhome deck was not even a quarter full. I'm sat in the restaurant at present and although it isn't quite the 'Marie Celeste' it is certainly the emptiest ferry I've been on.
About an hour to go till we fetch Dieppe and the sky is brightening with no rain. Looks like we may have a pleasant drive ahead to start off our slow meander South.

'Routot' a small Normandie village, of no special significance, is where I've settled for the night. On a level car park outside what, at one time, was the Mairi and opposite the large Norman Church with its hourly bells. You get used to 'the bells' here in France. I escape them more on my return trip when country/wood areas are drier and more suitable for true 'wild' camping. For now though, I'll forgo the cold wet & muddy fields and tracks for some level tarmac albeit it comes with bells. At least I know the correct time.
.........
'Chateuroux' tonight after a pleasant days driving across  expansive agricultural plains. I am always awed by the sheer size of France and its vast interior criss crossed as it is with silky smooth and Roman straight roads. There is a nerd in me who loves nothing more than cruising sedately along these gorgeous roads while surveying the terrain from a comfy, warm and 'high up' seat.
This year there is an added bonus in the form of the 80k speed limit on all 'non dual carriageway' roads recently introduced by the Macron government. 80k (50mph)is a very pleasant speed to wander the 'D' roads of rural France. This year everyone else is doing the same speed and apart from the odd 'sod this new Macron law' renegade it seems most drivers are towing the line and sticking to the speed limit. All in all it gives a very pleasant relaxed driving experience.
The only Downside is that many villages & hamlets have also reduced their speed limits from 50k (30mph) to 30k (20mph) which, in many cases, is emphasised by hefty speed humps. If the 'Gillet Jaune' protestors do not get government to change the speed limits back to what they were it will be interesting to watch the statistics on RTA deaths to see if indeed it reduces them. Personally I would like to see the same limits introduced in the UK. Not only in respect of reducing accidents but also as an environmental enhancer. Simply put, less speed means less fuel used.

What is not quite so pleasant is the bitter cold. Our early morning walk around 'Bonneval' this morning noted that several parts of the historic moat surrounding the town had a thin crust of ice on. Brrrr! Good job my van is warm & cosy.
Ken and Joyce enjoyed some of that cosyness last night. The leisure battery in their Moho was flat so I invited them round to watch 'Les Miserable' on my TV. Yes. My TV. I actually got it working as we were still just within range for my satellite dish to pick up UK TV. We all had a very pleasant and very late evening. I'm going to miss the last episode though as I will definitely be too far South by next Sunday.
Right I'm off for a shower. A nice hot campsite shower in a heated shower block. I'm in a campsite as I missed the free Aire and couldn't be bothered to go back to find it. So I parted with €16.00 in exchange for electric hook up (saves gas) & of course the previously mentioned hot shower. Plus Chatearoux seems a very nice place & Tanya thoroughly approved of the lakeside walk with all its accompanying doggy sniffs. She may be getting old, and going blind, and just now got a bit of a limp, but she still loves her sniffy walks.

Brrrr.... it's still damm cold out there!

Nb. No piccy's as am having probs publishing/uploading.

Pages of the sea + chips.

Beverly,, Yorkshire and here it was happening to me again.

"Tanya: what on earth have I done this time eh?" I said while Flashing blue lights and screaming sirens followed us as we wended our way to a quiet little parking spot where the 'River Hull' meets the 'Beverly Beck' canal. In total five large shiny red fire engines squeezed into the same small space as ourselves. Brown hi viz clad firemen assured me I was not in the way as they ran past and out toward the river meadows to investigate reports of 'a horse in the canal'. Reportedly nothing was found and, as one young fireman put it:

"probably swam further down, found a sand bank and is now back wi is mates munchin grass."

Peace resumed and a quiet night was had before an exploratory trip into town the next day to view the famous 13th century Minster. 'No dogs allowed'. Well that cut that adventure down to size. The town centre proved friendly though and lightened my wallet some as we headed back to Rap3 carrying new jacket, trews and top.

I was slowly working my way south from Scotland and finally, after several failed attempts in previous years, tackling the English East Coast. Redcar, Staithes, Whitby, Fylingdale and Scarborough. All delightful and 'must visit again' destinations. I had to rest up in Redcar's large seafront car park for a few nights as I coped with a cold/flu type virus which this time specialised in efficient mass production of nasal effluent! Never mind, the excellent award winning chippy over the road gave me the comfort food blanket I needed for ultimate survival. I was also able to attend the 100year 1st World war anniversary 'Pages of the sea' event on Redcar's beautiful beach.
Walking among the hundreds of sand silhouette 'unknown' soldiers was particularly poignant plus, when I raised my eyes there in the distance was the stark and sharp outline of the huge, now dead, still & deathly, former British Steel Works.

"We all used to work there, my whole family and me." said the lady next to me as we both carefully agitated the smooth tidal sand to create our own personal 'unknown soldier'. The tide returned and restored smooth order to the memory honoured beach later in the day.

In contrast the stark darkening silhouetted steel works stayed. Such memories as it evoked still fresh, painful and not yet ready to be poppy'd over or 'tidal smoothed'.

A moving day articulated with accurate, precise and moving poetic excellence by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy with her 'Pages of the sea'.

If you've not read it, please do.

Golf ball & Durham

"Ouch! What the hell was that" I said to Tanya as I gingerly rubbed the back of my leg. Something had dealt it a bruising blow and stopped me in my tracks. Tanya and I were enjoying a pre-lunch stroll along the bank of the river Tyne in a pleasant country park on the edge of Hexham. I looked around me and quickly figured out that for the first time in my seventy years of stumbling around this planet I had been struck by a meteorite. Well; as good as. I mean there can't be all that much difference between a golf ball travelling at high velocity and my, so say, fast travelling celestial object. The golf ball, now without its velocity, guiltily rested among the autumn leaves at my feet. The owner was spotted heading my way from the adjacent golf course which was alongside the, 'not effective this time' protective line of trees.
I was not badly hurt, just surprised. A pleasant conversation ensued with a very apologetic golfer who admitted it was also a first for him too, hitting somebody with his golf ball.
Tanya and I walked on and back to Rap3 for some lunch before moving onto Durham and, hopefully, weather permitting, a day or two of exploring and viewing Cathederal etc.

We had left East Kilbride behind a couple of days ago after a great visit & time spent with family and Grandchildren Mia, Aidan, Jenna and Rebecca. My; don't They grow. Always the decision to move on is a difficult one. Restlessness, itchy feet, the urge to move. At 70yrs of age I crazily still get all of those feelings and so it was  'Hawick' (pron - Hoick) in the Scottish Borders that became our first stop. Mainly because it is a motorhome friendly town with some lovely walks in the adjacent parkland and woods. The night was a very wet and windy one and despite being warm and cosy in Rap3 I was unexpectedly and suddenly brought down mentally. The trigger was simply that for some reason my brand new all singing, all dancing smart phone had lost all my personalisations of faithful Mrs Sat Nav. Not so smart after all! You would think I should be used to such things by now and mostly I am. However: I have started to notice 'differences' in my 'ability to cope' with bouts of mental lowness post my Oesophagael surgery earlier this year. So far they do not qualify as severe or serious but they are definitely 'different' . Not helping either was the onset of a sore throat which, if previous experience is anything to go by, will develop into a week of runny nose cold/flu.

So: the remedy please Oh master?

Slow down, take extra care of myself and observe/catch those mischievous, devious and numerous gremlins of the mind early on before they command any semblance of serious symbiotic power.

We did precisely that yesterday by using healthy action at 'Keilder Water'. Out of its comfy hidey-hole within Rap3 came bike plus green Tanya carrying bucket and off we went on the 26mile circumnavigation of the huge man made Northumbrian reservoir cum tourist attraction. OK; so we did not start till half past two in the afternoon which meant there was no way of completing the circuit before darkness. No matter; a respectable 11 miles of 'Tanya E-bike walk expodition' lifted mind, spirit and body gaining also a respectable 'gremlin neutrality'. Another thumbs up too to my Freego folding E Bike. It really has put the pleasure back into our cycling 'expoditions'.
........
Durham was OK. I found good wild camping in a quiet local country park. Quiet that is except it was Bonfire night and the local youngsters turned up with their fireworks, risk taking and showing off in front of the girls. I had to ask them to move their antics a little further away from Rap3 and Tanya at one point but they were a good lot and all wanted a cuddle with Tanya, who, these days, through I presume deafness, is pretty unfazed by fireworks. The black plastic bag came out next morning as I cleaned up after them. A small price to pay for a good evenings entertainment.

The Cathederal was a bit of a let down though. No dispute over it being magnificent and oozing history etc etc. But, unlike Salisbury, Wells and Lincoln. Durham does not allow dogs in. Not even if they are small and cuddly and being carried. Disappointing but hey ho the city centre was nice and the Riverside walks were much more to Tanya's liking anyway.
I enjoyed them too adorned as they were with autumnal russet and gold over still water on a cloudy but lightish day. As I walked with Tanya, pushing our bike, I reflected on our recent visit to Cashel forest on the East Bank of Loch Lomond where Kate's ashes lie. I remembered being up there a year ago and reflecting on the fact it could potentially be my last 'living' visit. My cancer journey was all in front of me back then. The Rowan tree we had planted among the mossy grasses and bilberry bushes seemed to be saying the same thing. It looked decidedly unhealthy and I feared it would not survive the winter. I was right too. My visit this year found a forlorn looking broken stalk poking out above the thick Reed like grass. I peered closer and then gasped. There, buried deep within the protective shelter of those grasses was a very healthy and vigorous leaf adorned new shoot.

"Well what do you know eh Kate. I've returned this year with surprisingly good health after being helped by the deep, protective and curative grasses of family and medical professionals and here I am being welcomed by your tree, also spouting new life from deep within protective grasses".

Nature's own Spiritual synchronisation at its best is what I reckon.

Friends from Spain & Lincoln

Picture it in your mind. Saturday afternoon with a mega sale going on at Ikea Nottingham on virtually all flat packed furniture. I have also been reliably informed Nottingham Ikea parking is seriously limited now the rest of the surrounding large retail shopping complex is fully up and running.

Enter two large Rapido motorhomes. They turn off the access roundabout into this Ikea retail madhouse to find themselves trapped with no way out. All they can do is struggle along with the rest of the very slow stop start flow and try not to get caught up in the increasing irritation as dozens of cars and families trying to park up to access Ikea. I was driver of number one Rapido Motorhome and my heart sank as I swung off that roundabout, hit the solid jam of traffic, and realised there was no escape.

Lenny and Win, my good friends from Spain were in the 'just purchased' second Rapido. A lovely motorhome by the way of which they were delighted but already stressed out by a long day of purchase which had involved a lengthy phone grilling from fraud prevention as Win attempted to transfer the agreed purchase price over. All that was now behind us. Ahead lay this Ikea nightmare which was meant to be a quick visit for them to pick up bedding for their motorhome as it was impractical for them to have brought it with them on their flight from Spain.

We were never going to be able to park two seven metre motorhomes in the tight car spaces. Especially as cars were littered everywhere where someone thought a car was vacating a space. Win climbed out and headed into the equal chaos inside Ikea to grab some bedding. Meanwhile Lenny and I gingerly edged our way endlessly around the car park moving on another few feet every time we blocked someone in. We were not too popular but we had no choice. Finally Win plus bedding were re installed in Rapido number two. We slowly and carefully eased our way out and away. A huge sigh of relief, a congratulation on having survived the day with two undamaged motorhomes, and a lovely meal cooked by Win in the new 'pre-loved' Motorhome eased all our woes. Our eventful day finally ended as we snuggled down for the night safe and sound at the CCClub 'Teversall' camp site just North of Nottingham. Tanya, bless her was just so pleased when we first arrived and she finally got her walk, a good doggy sniff walk too, at the 'Silverhill'. Country Park just across the road from the campsite.

After the 'Ikea' trauma we treated ourselves to a couple of nights at the campsite before parting company as L & W set off back to Spain & their new 'Motorhoming' life. I meanwhile have resumed my Northward journey with a slight detour Eastwards to Lincoln to visit the Cathedral.

Now is it me or are these 'happenings' travelling the same journey as yours truly? I arrive in Lincoln and duly park in a quiet leafy backroad. I lunch, then in the warm autumn sunshine assemble folding E-bike, pop Tanya into her green 'taxi bucket' and off we set for the town centre. My attention is immediately grabbed by solid car jams, screaming police sirens and multiple blue flashing lights everywhere. As I get closer to the centre the area becomes increasingly deserted and I am finally shouted at and flagged down by the boys/girls in blue.

"Y'cant go that way.... Ooh... lovely dog y'gotta there. It's an incident mate, a suspicious package in the bus station!"

I did, via a circuitous route, eventually find my way to the Cathedral atop its steep hill (Thank you E-bike) to find it only half open as a University Matriculation service was in full swing. Nevertheless it was an enjoyable visit & the city's role in the Cromwellian civil war made for fascinating reading.

A bit more history for you here. The word 'Magna' was added to the famous Carter (charter) after bad boy King John had died. Magna, which means 'great' differentiated it from the later 'Forest Charter' which, in similar vein to the Magna Carter came about to address the greed of the King and his Barons who were forever, and at will, expanding the 'Kings Forest' and in the process making life hell for any citizen within the boundaries. I don't know my history all that well and I've never done any real research but I'll bet the name 'Woodward' (Wood or Forest warden) has strong association with this period in history and in particular these 'boundaries' be they pre or post 'Forest Charter'

And the Cancer? Well all I can say is that I am so lucky/fortunate to be out here once again on the road in my Motorhome. My last Oncology appointment did throw up a minor problem however; and I had to once again endure a few weeks of anxiety and worry before ultrasound scans confirmed, as my Oncologist put it;

'Good, a most satisfactory scan result. Go and get on with your life".

It was just unfortunate how it  coincided with our lovely family holiday in Devon. The anxiety and worry surprised me in the way it affected me. It caught me off my guard and in turn I'm sure it affected those around me too. The family week was good though & I can thoroughly recommend 'River Cottage' Homity pies.... Yummy.

Coming home + other

Coming home, or, at peace with myself, was how I felt this morning as I walked with Tanya among the green and lush fields on the banks of the River Barrow, New Ross just west of Wexford, Ireland. Last night Mrs Sat Nav, guided Rapido3 plus incumbents to a remembered and 'stored as favorites' wild camping spot here on this tiny road next to an old and abandoned farmhouse. The loudest sound heard is gentle munching of cows chewing the cud plus chirping of swallows in delighted insect catching erratic flight.

This was a feeling of wellbeing not experienced for some time as this last year of my life has had its share of what Pema Khandro Rinpoche calls 'dukkha' , or pervasive unsatisfactoriness. As I slowly and leisurely walked with Tanya such feelings evaporated as the green ferns along the bottom of the hedgerow waved gently in the morning breeze and wafted all 'dukkha' aside.

 'Chang chub sem', in Tibet is translated as; "mind of enlightenment held by an awakened mind warrior.”  This morning felt as though my “awakened mind warrior.” had returned after a long absence of holding tightly onto the 'at peace' or, 'at home' part of my mind while other active, cancer fighting mind and body tasks demanded priority. 

Such mind and body priorities are still required as I am not completely there yet. How beautiful though, to have such a friend / warrior return to assist and support me on my ongoing recovery journey. Maybe I'm now 'ready enough'. To explain that I'll take licence and quote again from 'Pema Khandro Rinpoche' (Dec 2017)

'The message of Yeshe Tsogya's extreme circumstances is this: when enlightened intent is relentless and unwavering, then, the profound basis of mind reveals itself to us in all its radiant glory; even though we are sometimes good self, sometimes bad self, and at still other times confused and suffering with our own problems".

You’re Ready Enough.
Believe it.
....................
A couple of days on now and such a pleasant experience / contemplation has reinforced my onward, more normal journey.

Wales & a visit to my Stepdaughter & family in their beautiful family home which is slowly and surely emerging from the dark, damp, and neglected old pub they bravely purchased and are now restoring. My visit was enhanced as my step son and his daughter also visited but also by this year's warm dry weather, not something Tally, Carmarthenshire, is renowned for.

Onward via Ferry to Ireland and yesterday's camping stop at 'Crosshaven Fort' overlooking Cork's magnificent natural deep water harbour. Yesterday was also my first E bike expodition with Tanya to explore Cork City. I have to say it all worked well. We used railway /cycle paths almost to Cork City centre and back again. Along the way I spotted last nights very pleasant camping spot by the river, the new sports stadium, and a lovely park where on our walk this morning we were entertained by a lively Otter.
.............
"Can't camp here tonight" intoned the Killearney Country Park ranger as he informed me I was now banished from one of my favorite overnight spots. He said there was a new sign saying 'no overnight camping' and; "look there's the post hole where it should be".
I never question such actions, especially when I realise said Ranger suspects me of nicking his new sign. I just agree and move on. I do not want to be anywhere where I'm seen as a problem.
As very often is the case come such rare moving on incidents, an alternative spot had been noted earlier in the day. I call it providence; a problem solved before a problem exists. Twenty minutes later we were snug in our little forest meadow out of sight from everyone.
..........
CRUNCH .... BANG!! Right outside 'Beach Box' the holiday shop and launderette my son and wife run in Castlegregory, County Kerry. I'd only arrived five minutes earlier to meet n greet them but then found myself directing /controlling the traffic as the Italian tourists hire car was extricated from its embedded position in the side of my sons car. Half an hour of mayhem ensued on the narrow but busy road before some normality resumed plus two very disgruntled people glued to mobile phones connected firmly to hire car and insurance companies. My sons car suffered surprisingly little damage whereas poor Italian tourist plus wife/partner had to bus it back to their lodgings in Tralee. I don't think they were too happy with their car hire company.

After all the excitement I am now settled in at my sons home and looking forward to helping out  where I can over the next few weeks of busy holiday trade. I have a suspicion my role could well involve spending lots of time looking after one lively five year old grandson Kaden. A real test for my post surgery recovery and recuperation eh!

Wish me luck....

The Recovery journey

Twelve weeks on from major cancer surgery and I seem to be doing OK. Fingers crossed eh. I am of course talking of the physical. The body. My body. A system now compromised, a lot lighter and lacking in the stamina I enjoyed before my affray with Oesophagael cancer. The system, albeit compromised, is working though and still supporting an awakening mind. I mean, what use is a body if it is not to support a forever developing and awakening mind. Which conveniantly brings me to the questionable psychological nature of my recovery.

"I would not recommend making any major decisions until you are six months post surgery".

This was the good advice I received from my surgeon at our last meeting where he also informed me the Biopsy results on all bits removed from me were good enough for him to announce me as surgically 'cancer free'.

Receiving this news is huge. It is empowering, overwhelming and totally, from my psychological point of view, unexpected and uncontrollable.
I am impulsive by nature and being given another chance at life my impulsive nature soon, with purpose and determination, overruled any good advice from skilled surgeons. I rapidly emptied out my bank balance and welcomed motorhome 'Rapido3' into my life. She is a beauty, a 2015 model with all the bells and whistles I require and she is in pristine condition.

Once again I question my actions in regards to sanity but the decision making was based on good research and good understanding  of my impulsive questionable mental ability. What was going on in my mind was every time I thought seriously about changing my lifestyle and staying in one place my heart sank into a sort of grayish blackness.

"I really would like another few years of my travelling lifestyle so sod it, I've been given another chance at life and I aint about to go and waste it. Let's just go for it"

And I have!
..........

This is my 2nd night out and 'Rapido3', although slightly smaller is coping well. During this 'shakedown' stage I have chosen storage locations for all my stuff on a bit of a; 'well it fits there so that'll have to do' basis. Slowly stuff gets moved around and eventually some sort of order emerges from the muddle. Comfy bed though.

I'm at one of my favorite places tonight. A peaceful and quiet old orchard at the back of one of my previous customers farm. This time my visit has been rocked as my good farmer friends wife has been diagnosed with terminal leukemia.
This on top of another good friend in Scotland who is as we speak in the final grip of a relentless and all consuming cancer.
As an 'at present cancer survivor' this double whammy does not so much bowl me over as make me sad, reflective and spiritually puzzled as to why. Not only why is cancer so prevalent but also why am I a survivor? The thoughts go deep and are existentially challenging. At the end of the day though all I can do is be there with empathic listening.
The 'Tibetan book of living and dying' states it clearly.
"Never underestimate the benefit to others of concentrated listening even if only for a few minutes".

Time to take Tanya for her evening walk and then to clamber into that comfy bed. Life goes on.

Post Oesophagetonomy

Guess I knew it had to happen and sure enough here comes the pain.
Last Friday was when I had my Oesophagetonomy operation. Since then I have enjoyed the all encompassing luxury of an Epidural managing my pain.

"On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain possible what is your pain level sir?"

'Zero' I would blithely reply.

I did not get away with it Scot free though. One ingredient of the Epidural medication mix supported an Allergy I have, of which I was not previously aware, to many of the wound dressings used. This, plus fact my epidural delivery tube loved 'beeping' no matter how I tried to lie down gave rise to some sleepless nights as my skin went on red chilli flavoured allergic fire.

So this mornings removal of Epidural pain relief support was something special. The large dressing sticking all the paraphernalia in place in the middle of my itching back was first removed. Bliss number one. Then lovely nurse massaged a soothing balm into my back. Bliss number two. Finally, due to Epidural being partly a needle in the spine, I was told to lie still, on my back for one hour, within the comforting coolness of the healing balm. Bliss, big bliss number three. In fact big heavenly bliss.

So you see I was having a really good day up to this point. The good time continued too as my sister and hubby called in to see me and I accompanied them on a walk down the hospital corridor dressed in my latest hospital gown fashionably dress accessorised with accompanying five wheel rolling stainless steel drip supporting dangling tubes which protruded from underneath my gown and they were connected to.... mmm! .... another days story maybe?

Oh! I forgot; special for this season too, my nose drain elegantly supported by good old fashioned white surgical gaffer tape. Those coloured nose support tapes are just soooo last year! As I, and my trusty Physio helper returned to the ward I felt the first twinge of real pain in the muscles around my middle which, my trusty surgeon informs me, have taken a real bashing.

Good old NHS though. The new, Morphine pain relief regime was promptly explained to me. You don't even have to go out on the street to buy it down here in Bournemouth. So here's me at seven thirty at night enjoying my fourth 'cup o tea' of the day and reasonably comfortable but now acutely aware of the extent and number of 'surgical slicings' I, or rather, my body have been exposed to.  Coughing, after, I am informed, having my right lung totally collapsed is a new and, let's just say 'different' experience.

Ho Hum and on we go.

A wondering dilemma

My Oncologist spelt it out clearly. He was professional, understanding and, I felt, compassionate toward my dilemma. His phone call to me was in response to my requesting a self funded further CT scan before my major Oesophagael surgery in a few weeks time.

Without medical knowledge I figured it as the only way I was going to know if my cancer tumours had reduced enough for me to make the decision surgery or no surgery. My Oncologist pointed out the danger, of another dose of ingested radiation so soon after my last scan, plus, he stated quite clearly a scan so soon would show little difference thereby leaving me with the same quandary as before alongside the addition of a sizeable credit card bill to boot.  Persuasive evidence.

He was skillfully accurate as he firmly said; 'I have to make my mind up now on the evidence and facts already available' . Hmmmm!

Now; I have never doubted the skill and professionalism of the NHS during my Oesophagal cancer journey. The fact they are offering me a 'curative' option is, in this day and age of cancer complexity and commonality, nothing short of a miracle. My 'curative' NHS surgical option also has a weight of solid evidence available via Internets multiple sources and through personal attendance of survivor groups. A clear, straight forward and powerful lobby.

The downside of this major surgery is merely a compromised body and lifestyle should I be fortunate enough to become a survivor.

So the dilemma, I face is, and I freely admit to it, of my own making. But never the less it is a dilemma that has caused me (and those close to me... Nuff said!) mental lowness, anxiety but most of all frustration.

Being on the edge of huge medical breakthroughs while having on offer 'Clinical Excellence' based on historical evidence is a place cleverly designed to foster such Frustration. You, ie the medical profession, cannot move fast. The mobile phone market, on the other hand, can move fast. Their research is ongoing and live and, as we all know, causes app failure and continuing updating. But it doesn't kill people. That's why the medical world  moves slower and with caution. Clinical Excellence based on historical evidence is there as an NHS discipline because it kills as few of us as possible.

For me, there is no doubt the rise of Genetics, Epigenetics and Gut Biometric science is going to revolutionise medical science and practise over the next decade or so. At present though, and in reference to cancer, such choices come under the heading of 'Alternative'. Exploring and searching for a 'Curative' option down such 'Alternative' pathways has taken me to a place familiar and recognised from my life history. A place where I am pretty good and do on the whole 'try my very best' with usually some success. I do not however; go to a place where total obsession, dedication and precise planning are prerequisite requirements. It just aint me.

What this 'Alternative' research and ongoing practice has given me is greatly increased knowledge and, I believe, a physical body in a much improved cancer fighting/surviving state. What it has not given me is enough solid evidence to enable me to be courageous enough, or to make clear enough judgement, enabling me to say no to the offered curative option of major surgery.

I am sad but not dismayed or particularly surprised by this conclusion. What I am faced with, as always, is the difficulty in now moving forward with this 'Curative' surgical option while at the same time carrying with me the frustration of never quite knowing whether my 'Alternative' had done enough in conjunction with my chemotherapy, and strict continuation of 'Alternative', to enable my rejuvenated physical systems to deal effectively with the cancer residue.

I will always be left wondering.

El Chorro

This post dated 26/01/2015 is one of my favourites & I mistakenly deleted it. This is it now reinstated from back up. Unfortunately 'Blogger' does not allow me to replace in sequence.
....................

Quote from the 'Rough Guide' for Spain;

'Fifty kilometres NW of Malaga Garganta del Chorro (gorge of ... ) is an amazing place. An immense five-kilometre long cleft in a vast limestone massif, which has become Andalucia's major centre for rock climbers.'

Well here I am. Perched in a prime spot right above 'El Chorro' the village, complete with train station, and looking straight down the first part of the gorge. I tell you it is worth having to park next to the local bin compound for such a view while tucking into a, made it all myself n it's one of my better ones, chicken curry.

The place, as stated, is a rock climbers, mountain bikers and walkers heaven. Not a hundred metres down the narrow track are two vans full of young Brits here for the climbing. The place is not what you would call Mediterranian warm but then it is January and there is snow on the higher peaks. All OK by me. I'm snug as a bug in Sadie.

Last night I stayed near the Buddhist Stupa at 'Benalmadena Pueblo'. A favourite place of mine where I have a quiet and safe wildcamp spot overlooking the coastline all the way up to Malaga. There is a 'teaching' at the Stupa this coming Sunday which I will attend. So; three days to explore the area before I need to return for the 'teaching'. Healthwise I am not feeling too bad either. Its the Onions, Garlic and Avocado I reckon. (they were all in the curry!) Weather forcast is looking good and 'on the improve' for the next few days therefore a good chance to explore the high hilly Andalucian hinterland.

I set off not bothering with Mrs Sat nav as I was only going to nip back down the N340 coastal road to Fuengirola to a Carrfour supermarket.

Mistake Steve. Big mistake.

Took the wrong turn off did'nt I.

"S'funny Tanya; how come we've ended up down Fuengirola's main, and bloody busy, drag. Ho Hum; concentrate now, Aha! thought so, she's now going to try n reverse into that spot which she aint gonna do cos a large swanky Jag like that aint gonna fit where a battered Ford Fiesta has just pulled out. No good you'se lot behind beepin yer horn at me. We all gotta wait till she of smart Jag importance cottons on. Ahhh; There she goes. She figured it out at last and here we go, all moving again. Hey! Will you look at that Tanya a big parking lot with loadsa motorhomes. Winker on, hang a right and we're in".

We were too. A handy spot to remember. Water available, two minute walk to the beach plus a supermarket just across the road. I thought I would stay the night but after doing my shopping and taking on water I just left. No messin. Turned the key, swung her round and just left.
I wanted the hills not a busy Costa del Sol holiday resort motorhome park.

This time Mrs Sat nav was given full employment in a managerial role. She beautifully guided via smaller roads (read narrow bendy and bumpy) to this lovely spot overlooking 'El Chorro'.
- - - -
This area is stunning but decidely Brit land. On my sightseeing trip around the area today I have met: Glasgow couple gathering up all their gear for a days climbing in the sunshine: X pat Dad on a trip with his children to where his wife's, their Mum's, ashes are scattered: Older English lady now living in France but staying locally to paint: "The light here is so stunning my dear": Retired Irish couple from Dublin up from their apartment in Estepona to view the ruins of 'Bombasta'.

These ruins were further down the hill and were the eigth/ninth century stronghold of a local rebel Muslim turned Christian Bully boy if you like. Todays world is unfortunately still very much affected by similar unsavoury characters. Don't agree with the rules so lets do some killing, raping, plundering, land grabbing and enslaving to scare the shite out of everyone so as we can have it all.

Irish lady was upset as she could not find these ruins. I've found even earlier ruins though. By accident. I happened to be parked for the night right by them. They are a series of sheltered Southerly facing wind and rain carved shallow caves occupied from prehistoric time. I noticed the worn steps carved into the rock leading to some of them.

I enjoyed a wonderful meditation in one of these deep overhangs on a precipitously steep slope. Slipping and falling would have been curtains for sure, but you could see for miles. They were indeed sheltered from the cold wind but caught the considerable warmth of a January afternoon sun. I could see and strongly feel why our earliest ancestors would choose such an attractive spot to settle in.

The ruins still attract too. The local herd of bell ringing sheep seen far below on the opposite side of the valley have left clearly visible hoof marks and wooly body imprints evidencing their regular and recent visits.

I've ended up staying two days/nights in this quiet and peaceful spot. Saturday, that's today, has been busier but most of the sightseeing traffic gaze curiously at Sadie as they pass us by on their way to the Mirador (viewpoint) half a kilometre further on.

Earlier today I grabbed binoculars and we took a short walk to the other side of this mountain top resevoir to watch the Griffin Vultures soaring in the updfafts of the huge gorge. Mesmerising and spectacular. Tanya was fine as these birds are on the lookout for dead carrion.

One of their own was unfortunately and decidedly dead just under a tall aerial tower adorning the peak. So sad to see this recently beautiful and giant master of the air deceased. I chanted a wee mantra and restored soaring wings to his/her spirit. I swear the others knew as eight to ten of them stacked and soared in circles above my head. I could hear them chattering away as I quietly stood there. I moved on and so did they. Unexplainable and enriching.

OPA plus a Wiltshire Pasty.

"Two months ago" I exclaimed.

"yes" he replied. "Two months and four days". 

Sat to my left, a gentleman the same age as myself who, two months before had undergone a major surgical procedure called an 'osophagetonomy'. To my right a fifty four year old guy who had gone thru the same op seven months previous.

This was my first 'Oesophagal (cancer) Patients Association' meeting with about seventy others who had either gone thru the same major surgery or who were spouses/family.

I could not believe these two guys were here, stood up on their own hind legs, supping tea and eating cake so soon after such major surgery . My anxieties, fears and worries about this major surgery, of which I was about to commit, were being laid to rest. Not only by the warmth and openness of these survivors but also by the welcome I received from the Portsmouth Queen Alexandria hospitals Oncology team.

My operation will be at a different Hospital but I was encouraged and warmed (almost to tears I may add) by the skill, openness and acceptance from the QA Consultant surgeon who answered my questions honestly, warmly and with not a shred of any 'us and them' mentality.

I felt a sense of relief and a surge of confidence as I talked it over with my son during the drive back. Even later the Buddhist principle of 'Four abundant abodes' came to mind. Love, compassion, joy and to level it all up, equanimity. Our equanimity at the mornings meeting had been a reminder. A reminder that those attending, all survivors of the surgery and immediate recovery period, were the one third, the fortunate one third. The one third who had made it through.

It was a timely reminder that survival and recovery is not a given or a foregone conclusion. I have to put effort in too. I have to reduce risk by keeping fit, eating well & re-building both my gut biome and my immune system back to 'Fit for purpose' after the devastation caused to both by the deadly cruise missiles of chemotherapy.

So, no nipping into Reeves the baker for one of their delicious Wiltshire pasties or sweet Cinnamon whirls. Oh no no no....! I'm sorry Steveboy, it's continue on with the healthy Mediterranean diet & Probiotic pills.

Shhhh, n don't tell anyone but I did celebrate my relief and joy at having made a solid, surgery decision with the guilt ridden purchase of one small Wiltshire Pasty. I'm sure having just the one won't harm will it ..? Gosh it was good though ....

D'you think one more would be ok?

Beast from the East & Caribbean

Well now. That's cheered me up. A blog from M. A lovely solo lady Motorhomer at present in Southern Portugal. As I sit in the warmth of a Wiltshire, UK, centrally heated house viewing the snowy deposits of a meeting between 'Beast from the East' and storm 'Emma' it is comforting to note storm Emma has also affected Portugal with high wind and torrential rain.

I can attest with certainty that a motorhome is not ideal accommodation when faced with more than a couple of days of severe weather. My two remaining brain cells can recall several early morning awakenings to the deafening sound of torrential rain on Sadies/Foxy10's roof as we rocked wildly at the mercy of fierce gusty winds. Most times it was a no brainer. Up sticks and move East or West to better weather, which, of course is the beauty and the whole point of living fultime in a motorhome.

Ironically, and directly related to this March 1st 2018 bitterly cold 'Beast from the East' snow storm, is the very start of my Motorhoming life. On todays UK news they are using words such as 'unprecedented', 'most unusual' and 'once in a decade'. The latter is true albeit it was slightly less than a decade when, in 2010 Scotlands central belt, was affected by similar conditions which lingered, with temperatures touching -15°c, for three weeks.

I was in that central belt, in East Kilbride, during that time. I was not in the best of places having recently lost my dear wife Kate and in general unsure as to where life was going to take me. I remember it was so cold I had to carry Tanya across the treated roads as the frozen salt stuck to her feet and damaged her pads. She loved the open snow though and bounded away into and among it.

One particularly cold and gloomy day, both mentally and weather wise, I distinctly remember, as I despondently stared out of the window, saying to myself;

"Steveboy. We ain't going thru another winter like this."

This 2018 winter with it's coincidentaly similar 'unprecedented' wintery conditions is the first full winter I have spent in the UK since uttering those words. My many Blog entries tell of my intervening fultime Motorhoming 'Continental winters'

Not that it is all doom and gloom mind you. Far from it. I am now on my 3rd and final round of Chemotherapy and here I am feeling Ok and with zest for life still coursing through my veins. Foxy10 is with a local motorhome dealer on a sale or return basis and, as far as I'm aware, not yet sold.

Steveboy has a plan!!...... I know... I don't do plans do I. OK; so let's call it an idea. You see I have a few weeks of recovery before my surgery is due where I may just go get Foxy10 back, load her up again, and head off into the sunset for one more adventure. Watch this space.
...........
Richard & I have just been graced by the appearance of Hana for a few days. Hana is from the Czech Republic and a former carer for Richard. She is an outward looking and adventurous girl and en route to 'Dominica', a small Caribbean island with connections and friends from her previous adventures. The island was recently and seriously devastated by Hurricane and Hana was returning to help out wherever she could.

She arrived with clothing all set for her Caribbean adventure and understandably was a little disorientated to find herself in extreme UK winter conditions more akin to the Artic.

I accompanied her to Salisbury station this morning and am pleased to say, despite all the rail and road chaos she is now on a London bound train and hopefully will make her flight from Gatwick tomorrow.

Bon Voyage H and please send back a little of that warm Caribbean sunshine.

Now on a different journey.

As I read the comments and stories on one of the Facebook Motorhome forums I subscribe to, I looked at the pictures of my fellow Motorhome travellers in familiar loved Spanish and Portuguese locations and felt undeniable envy and sadness.

Shaking my head I thrust smartphone back in pocket, raised myself from the chair and turned once again to the re-usable supermarket bag in front of me that was full of yet another jumble of life's accoutrements. These were all being slowly removed from Foxy10 to be sorted and re stored in my brothers house.

A Cancer journey is difficult for anyone who has to undertake it and I am no exception. Inevitably one life has to be halted or at best pushed aside for a while to make way for another journey to commence. Such a continual and repetitive process of losing something and starting something else is of course life itself. Attach the word 'Cancer' however; and what gets placed in the mind is a strong connection to Mortality, which, can so easily tip mind over into 'poor me', anxiety, worry, big fear, lethargy and depression.

I am still at the very beginning of my 'Oesophagul Cancer' journey with first Chemo starting in two days time. I am managing mental wellbeing OK so far although I have no illusions as to the potential affect this journey will have on me. I have not travelled this far in life without becoming very aware of my minds immense, creative, and mischievous shenanigans. Give mind the right circumstances and it can, and will, and does, strip me instantly, at any moment, of the capacity to retain any semblance of zest for life.

Which brings me neatly back to my re-usable bag full of accoutrements. You see it's about decisions. Mental/physical vulnerability loves nothing more than to render both body and mind in apopletic lethargic inaction. The very will to 'do something' can so very easily be drained away leaving an armchair full of dumbed down incapacity to while away the day, or days. That is why a decision has to be made. Making decisions is the precursor to doing something and, as we all know, doing something, anything, is better than sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.

A decision to sell my beloved Foxy10 Motorhome has been made hence the trips with re-usable supermarket bag as I slowly empty her out. She is now a Motorhome in need of further adventure and travel. A very good Motorhome too and one lady of whom I am confident will give excellent service to new owners.

So that is one decision which, at present is 'a task to DO' and pushes 'poor me' firmly aside. (except when I pause to peruse Facebook... lol! ) I hope too, that it will boost my finances some time during the next couple of months.

The second decision has been to research, and organize a 'supportive of Chemo' complimentary alternative. This sort of 'Holistic' approach to cancer treatment seems much better accepted and used in other parts of Europe and the world. Our dear NHS, bless em, present with blank face and stern disapproving look at any mention of 'Alternative'. Now they may well be right to be rigidly locked in to strictly evidence based medical system/practice and I am certainly not going to criticise. Indeed I am not. How could I when I am so very grateful for the excellent professional care and treatment I am at present receiving.

However; handing complete care and control over to others is just not me. I also need some control, some involvement, something I can DO. So off to Google I go and, as expected, I am soon overwhelmed, depressed and thoroughly confused.

"Y'know Steve, you're gonna have to take a punt and trust someone in this vast and confusing alternative maze. You're gonna have to choose and go with what is recommended".

That is why I am presently following, to the best of my ability (because as regular readers will know Steve and Plans don't usually go together.) a set of guidelines as laid out for me by Chris Woollams of the website www.canceractive.com.  Whether such action makes a difference or not is, at the end of the day, immaterial. The fact I will be able to say; "Well at least I had a go", is the important bit, the crucial bit, the bit that reduces anxiety, fear and worry.

What there is though, most definitely, is a nurturing and healing of both mind and body emanating from swilling down various supplements, vitamins and herbs or eating some Rainbow anti cancer diet that I personally have chosen to do.

May you all have a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year.

Yorkshire & Perseverance

I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult leaving Alison & Roberts lovely home in Oxenhope, Yorkshire. I had enjoyed ten days of very comfortable accommodation with wonderful company. Tanya too was settled and very 'at home' having taken over Vita's bed and got to know all the local sniffs.
In particular, after my initial diagnosis of Oesophagal Cancer and while I am still unsure of full detail of its severity, the fact I was within familiar and much loved wide family support took on extra significance. My vulnerability to the cataclysmic shifts of emotional wellbeing such delicate ground bequeaths is difficult to manage.

This morning I mused on such facts and vagarities of the human condition as I rested abed and supped my early morning tea while viewing the wide sunrise vista of 'Lower Middlemoor'. I was parked on the grassy, and famous horse racing moorland just above 'Pinkers Pond' and just a few clicks away from 'Middleham' itself with its impressive castle.

"I do just love this wandering lifestyle of mine." I mused.

Which is probably not the best thing to be reminding myself of just now being on the cusp of a Poison, Slash, Burn NHS process. (Chemo, Surgery, Radiography) This upcoming entry into the realm of Cancer treatment  undoubtedly heralds an end to my much loved independant wandering motorhome lifestyle.
What such a life shifting event also does is to focus me acutely on the joy of right now, right here in this very moment. A reminder to work and practise even harder on that quiet meditative focus over the next, and final, few weeks I have left of this lifestyle.
That is why when I left 'Oxenhope' I quickly converted my emotional vulnerability (not good when driving a 3.5ton motorhome on busy roads) into my favourite task of driving the, 'not designed for motorhomes' minor roads heading high and deep into the north Yorkshire moors. The strategy worked. Emotional equanimity and wellbeing duly returned. However; nothing in this world is permanent and I am well aware my emotional roller cancer coaster, has not even left the fairground pay booth yet.

And so we roll on deeper and higher eventually stopping for lunch at the 'Tan Hill Pub' boasting its status as highest Pub in England at 1732ft. Later I pause again, pulling in to a conveniant veiwpoint. I pulled out my comfy beach chair and drowsily continued my musings.
Earlier I had passed columns of thick smoke issuing forth from the practise of burning clearings among the heather clad high dales to encourage and maintain Grouse numbers.

"Never mind that we are at precipitously critical levels of CO2 in the atmosphere. The wealthy must have their Grouse killing fun pandered to no matter what!" I angrily exclaimed as I flung Foxy10 around the next bend.

As I rested in my beach chair the mornings smoke induced anger had dissipated but the reality of Global warming hit home. I was at an elevation of 1700ft and it was November the 2nd in the high and desolate North Yorkshire moors. To be sitting out in such a high and beautiful place in windless and gloriously warm afternoon sunshine was Lovely yes; but also surreal with accompanying feelings of planetary unease.
On the other hand maybe it is not so unusual and was just Universe granting me a few final special memory moments to sustain me on my future, as yet unknown, but definitely different journey.
Who knows.

Hospital visit.... Hmmmm!

"That's an improvement". I thought as I partially stripped and donned the two 'bum exposing' hospital gowns. The two worn together render you decently adorned. Last time I was in hospital for treatment you only got one and exposure of rearward facing body parts was unavoidable.
The waiting around is always nerve wracking and however nervous you are about a procedure facing you I always find it a relief to be called through and led once again through the tick box filling of confirming I am who I say I am.
Next moment I am lying on my left side having the Gastroscopy details explained to me. The back of my throat is spray anesthesised while teeth clamp a plastic protector. For me the discomfort of having the little finger sized camera probe thrust down my throat is easily overcome as I follow the nurses words encouraging relaxing and slow breathing. Regular meditation practice has its uses, this being one of them.
What really discounted any nervous discomfort though, was the amazing and full colour pictures that appeared on the visible screen in front of my eyes. To travel a highly visible journey down your own throat is different and to me, fascinating. To see the scope slow down and hear the highly skilled doctor pause her verbal discourse as a large pink cauliflower blockage is encountered was to me, both expected and confirming while at the same time disappointing and life changing. I could'nt speak with mouth clamped and throat full of Endescope but mind eloquently and silently summed it up with "Shit, that there cauliflower is big trouble!"
I continued to observe as wee snippers were fed down the Endescope and tissue samples taken for biopsy. All in all a fascinating and highly professional video show experience the reality of which I have never before experienced.
What followed, though still highly and compassionately professional, was more familiar in that it had unnerving similarities to a previous, long and difficult journey with my late wife.
The quiet professional voice, the outlining of the next stage, the checking in on my mental state and the gentle enquiry as to support structure etc.
To put it bluntly a 90% indicated certainty of Oesophagal cancer was, despite all the positives of the experience, not conducive to me resuming my day quite as positively as I had hoped and wished for.
The mind races, it storms, it rages and it works through every scenario of possibility or impossibility. It is exhausting. The storming journey has to be travelled though before a different normality can be resumed, which, temporarily and thankfully it has. A normality of acceptance has been reached which is to make no major decision until all information gathering is complete, and there is a few more weeks to go on that one yet.
I have decided, for now, to accept the 'don't know' of it all and to take extra good care of myself.
Which,
right now,
means clear away the breakfast and head off to Strathclyde Park for a good Tanya walk in the sunshine before the rain returns as per the forcast.

NB- Apologies if this is a bit of a shock to you dear reader. But I have made one other decision. Writing this Blog helps and supports my mental wellbeing. It allows me a different perspective and, I hope, is readable/acceptable to you. If that should be the case then I am happy. Thanks.

Arbroath

Seaton Cliffs, Arbroath. Very pleasant on a mild and dry day in September. I look NE across the wide Tay estuary to these cliffs on my morning Tanya walks from Barbara's house South of St Andrews.

Arbroath is also a part of my history as I was stationed here at HMS Condor for my basic Fleet Air Arm Air Mechanic training in 1966. Part of HM forces accepting me for service, given my miserable academic acheivements at Grammer school, not the best place in 1966 for an undiagnosed dyslexic to end up, was to attend, and wait for it, 'Backward Mathematics' classes.

In those days the system for coping with such stigmatisation, bullying and harshness (these days the latter very correctly re-labeled as 'abuse') was 'get over it and move on'. For me, at that time, despite such a military climate, those 'Backward Mathematics' classes were to have a profound affect on my future life.

Today I repeatedly hear, or read about 'those who have made it' referring to an influential teacher or mentor in their early life. Someone who gave them self confidence and belief in themselves. Well; my big burly bearded Petty Officer 'backwards mathematics' teacher was to some extent my early mentor. He was the first teacher I came across who accepted and encouraged me. He made maths simple, understandable and fun, something I had previously never experienced.

I remember him, and the few weeks of tuition well. He encouraged me to further self study via 'Maths made simple' books which I did. Now I'm not saying I became a maths wizard and it still took a further 22 years before I dared enter further formal education. That was when I commenced training as a mental wellbeing counsellor. But those few short weeks of empathetic backwards mathematics teaching gave me a confidence I did not have before and which I subsequently used during my career of wheeling and dealing with the canny skilled and mathematically adept farmer/dealer community.
.........
Right now I am even further up this beautiful East Scottish coast. St Cyrus beach, Montrose on a warm sunny blue sky no wind autumn morning. A morning to be welcomed with a long beach walk and leisurely breakfast.
Next week I move west again for my Endoscopy appointment at East Kilbride hospital. Who knows what will be the outcome of that. All the more reason to put the kettle on again and enjoy another leisurely coffee in the sunshine.