Having contracted lung cancer in my seventy-first year I can promise you it engenders all kinds of strange responses. Enough people, probably far too many, have inflicted their demise or salvation from cancer in diaries and blogs and all manner of other ways. I shall try and promise not to increase the world’s store; either of knowledge or of cant about my experiences.
I call myself a writer only in the sense that I write. The only thing I’ve ever had published apart from technical articles is a small textbook (of which I am inordinately proud). A couple of my short stories have made competition shortlists and I’ve had articles published in both the Housing and Boating press but that’s it. Sometimes the stories here have a little introduction explaining their derivation as a topic.
This then is a compendium of things I am thinking and things I have written. Sickness confers neither wisdom nor sagacity so the contents of these pages must stand as no more than the ramblings and rants of a man of my age, class and status. There is no conscious order to the contents.
It is intended that this will end when my current treatment is finished and I may have some indication about my future prospects. Whether there will be a part two is a question that I cannot answer.