Seeing the World

Today is my last day as an employee.  Thirty years, eight months and three days come to an end.  Halifax Building Society.  Halifax Plc.  HBOS.  Lloyds Banking Group.

Many who read this blog worked with me along the way.  Some I managed.  Some managed me.  Sorry if I ever pissed you off!  It’s a two way street I suppose!  I’ve been called maverick, cynical, enthusiastic and many other things.  But I pretty much always did what I thought was right.  Thanks to those who’ve been part of it.

Some assisted in making my choice to exit from the company easy.  Allowing garden leave gave me an extra few months to appreciate life without having to worry about work or feel guilt about travelling on a sick note.  You can’t begin to understand how grateful I am for that.

I occasionally wonder about endowments and PPI and if flogging financial services ever had a real purpose.  But then I look at my recent claims experience of similar policies and how important they’ve been to ensuring my financial wellbeing at a stressful time.  A new generation doesn’t even get such products put in front of them these days.

I look at the times when I was appreciated and how good that felt.  And the times I wasn’t appreciated despite making every reasonable effort.  And realise how damaging it is to the soul.  And, of course, the middle ground when you’re allowed to just get on with it.  Scoring annual performance where there’s a game of “who do we put in the shit box?” doesn’t motivate the lowly employee.

I handed my ID card in yesterday.  I can no longer enter the buildings.  But I won’t miss the buildings, the work or the company.  I won’t miss the latest business buzz phrase designed to make an executive sound trendy and with it.  I won’t miss the never ending restructures which I hated with a passion but, ultimately, gave me the most timely pay off I could have asked for having somehow previously survived the halving of staff numbers over a decade.

I already miss the people though.  And my kids will miss the £330,000 of life cover if I survive past midnight tonight!

When You Have Everything and More Comes Along

I’ve enjoyed the last six months.  Not so much the knowing death is around the corner.  But realising I can be a little wilder than the more conservative Dave of the past was.  Knowing I can go where I want, when I want without the shackles of work, kids and even conscience.

The last ten days have been different.  I woke up a couple of Saturdays back with a pain at the top of my pelvis, on the jutty out bit around the back.  The pain mirrored part of my previous cancer experience.  It’s back.  And it hurts.  And for the first time in this process I was depressed.

I rang my hospial’s 24/7 cancer patient helpline.  Take painkillers, they suggested.  Radical.  I waited until the Monday to contact my MacMillan nurse.  I suggested a scan.  She said come in a week on Tuesday as scheduled and we’ll take it from there.

I should probably have been outraged.  Somehow the very British non-excitable approach of the hospital staff calmed me.  The panic went.  The depression lifted as quickly as it had arrived.  Two days later the pain went too.

Was it an impact injury?  Or a “you’re getting on a bit these days” standard ache and pain?  Or had a tumour grown and then been zapped by the afatinib?  I’ll never know for sure.

Friday I gave a lung X-ray and blood sample.  Today the oncologist gave me another “clear for now” message.  The bloods were good.  The X-ray continues to show small evil on the lungs, nothing growing.  And my pelvic problem had lifted.

Clearly I don’t know my own body as well as I thought.  Mr Paranoid got over excited before he needed to.  But it’s a reminder that afatinib is just a stay of execution.  That my mind will automatically think the worst.  That my positive approach to this illness is worth nothing if I let depression grab me.

Dengue Fever Hits Easter Island

The end of July sees what is, perhaps, the most exciting part of my travels.  Unless Jimmy Anderson takes a hat trick at the Adelaide Oval.

Easter Island.  It will be the most remote place I’ve ever been.  Probably the most remote place I ever go.

Chris sent me a WhatsApp message yesterday telling me the news that there’s been an outbreak of Dengue Fever on the island.

Immediate panic in my head.  That kills people.  Those flights from Santiago were bloody expensive.  I’ll lose out on the air miles and airline status if they cancel.

Not surprisingly I headed to google to find out more.  The Chilean government are playing things down.  Flights won’t be cancelled.  Only four people affected.  Not expected to spread.  Nobody dead.  Relief sets in with caution.

More information checked out.  Blame the mosquitos.  Cover up – this is no loner a shorts and tee shirt segment.  Use a deet repellant to keep them at bay.   There is no vaccine.  It can be unpleasant but is highly unlikely to kill you.

I head to Amazon, research the necessary spray and spend £8 for a delivery next week.  I’ve got a long armed tee shirt style top somewhere.  Well I’m ok.  Hopefully Chris has something similar?  Or just a light long armed button up shirt will do.  I’ll chuck a now never worn work one in the case.

One to watch.  There might yet be some rescheduling needed.

Knowing My Cancer Doesn’t Get It’s Fair Share of Research Funds

My headline is a little mischievous.  But the death toll from lung cancer makes it the biggest cancer killer worldwide.  If you strip out my non-smoker lung cancer and make that a cancer of its own that’s seventh on the list of killers.

I feel a little bit peeved that the biggest killer doesn’t get the biggest research grants.  And while there are probably good reasons which I’ll speculate on below my little selfish streak isn’t happy.

Not that there’s much I can do about it.  And the idea of “hey, that cancer that your Mum survived should get less cash because I’ve got something even worse” isn’t really sporting.

So why doesn’t lung cancer get more cash hurled at it by the charities that raise so much?

1.  A lack of celebrity survivors.  You get lung cancer and you’re pretty much done for.  You don’t survive to  adorn the cover of a magazine looking gorgeous and suggesting people donate to the cause.
2. People don’t donate because they see lung cancer as a self-inflicted smokers’ disease.  That was certainly my presumption a year ago.  How I’ll-informed I was.
3. Because with lung cancer you’re done for, the research money follows the successes of previous research into the cancers where survival is becoming more and more common.

I find it frustrating.  Partly because I know the pathway to a lung cancer “cure” seems mighty close.  Partly because it’s highly likely that I will just run out of time before the longer lasting treatments get to me.  That’s not negative thinking, it’s a realistic assessment based on statistics.

Above all I feel a little contempt at myself for thinking “it’s unfair” the way they dish the money out and my disease should get more.  I can rationally stand back and appreciate why it doesn’t and how it might be fair after all.  But still be annoyed all the same.

The Emergency Overseas Plan

New England, Chile and Australia are my big trips.  All to destinations where I can’t just wave my EHIC card to get free medical treatment.

A few months ago I tried a rather large number of specialist insurers.  Many who’d got their names inserted to MacMillan and Cancer Research UK web sites.  None of them will provide cover for any illness related to my cancer.  They know what a horrendous risk I am to insure.

In other words, any serious deterioration in my condition that leads to a stay in hospital overseas could very quickly decimate my redundancy money.

My instruction to Chris as he travels with me on those first two trips is to be prepared to leave me overseas if my condition deteriorates.  Get home.  Make any arrangements necessary from afar.  He’s got my sister’s phone number.  He’s got my oncologist’s number.  He’s a second cardholder on two of my credit cards and he’s got a decent number of airmiles in his own name too.

Yesterday morning I started to go through the cheerful routine of how to get home at short notice.  Alas, option one of rescheduling existing Avios paid for flights failed because the BA web site was down – in normal circumstances this can be done by phone for a small fee.  Option two of buy a new Avios flight failed for the same reason.  But it’s definitely the cheapest way to get home.  Alas, the vagueries of availability of reward seats on flights might make finding a suitable flight a challenge.  Aim A is get to Manchester.  But he might find Heathrow has reward seat availability whereas Manchester doesn’t.

Buy a fare for cash.  Or rather on my credit card if I’m still living.  But a single is usually more expensive than a return in the unintelligible world of transatlantic airline pricing.  Consider flying Norweigan or Icelandic as these guys do one way fares for half the price of a return.  But the poor lad might not have his price sensitive head on in such circumstances, let alone the knowledge of utilising skyscanner to identify cheapest fares.

There is a risk that my health will fail me and I’ll drop my boy in it big time.  I’ve provided him a long list of options for him to follow.  That clear instruction to get home without me if necessary stands.  And yes, I feel a little guilty for the possibility of putting him in that position.

But I’m going to travel for as long as I can.

BA IT Meltdown – Will I Miss the Flower in the Loo?

My next flight is British Airways.  So I’m not laughing at their IT disaster today.

They’ve got less than ten days to fix the problem, clear the backlog and welcome me and Chris on board as we head to Boston.

This one is a bucket list job.  It’s a first class flight and I’ll be most displeased if it doesn’t happen and doesn’t live up to expectations.  While the likes of Wizz, Ryanair and Easyjet have been pretty kind to me, I’m a little worried.   Probably not as worried as shareholders of IAG (owners of BA) should be as an extended inability to fly could destroy the whole business.  But my status is “miffed and concerned” as the 6th June departure date closes in.  I assume today’s passengers are in the “totally pissed off” category.

BA has been cutting costs wherever they can over the last few years, despite being very profitable.  Who knows if their IT restructure last year is to blame for today’s problems.  First Class passengers on the Flyertalk internet forum have vented their displeasure at other cutbacks.  The loss of the flower in the bathroom allocated to the poshest seats caused such consternation that management were forced into a u-turn and reinstated the fauna on all first class flights at the beginning of May.

So fingers crossed they fix things and fix them fast.  I suspect when I visit the facilities on board I won’t even notice the flower!

Racking Up the Loyalty Points

Regular travel breeds regular loyalty points.  I’ve always been a collector of points on the basis that something is better than nothing.  As an occasional traveller though something is sometimes worth nothing.  It expires.  It can’t be revened in the way you’d expect or you simply can’t use a small number of points to get anything.

This year has seen me earning rewards and spending rewards in a spectacular fashion.  My old friend TopCashback has generated well over £500 in cold hard cash for me.  Predominantly from travel purchases.  I’ve also utilised some of that cash by converting it to Avios with a 25% bonus.  More on Avios further down.

Hotels.com reward nights provide value.  Buy ten get on free.  A free night at a B&B in Northampton when the chain hotels were charging a fortune locally.  A free weekend in a B&B near Whitby.  I’ve also got two free nights left to redeem – £80 and £45 in value.  The bookings for New England, Chile and Australia will also accrue nearly three free nights.

Hilton gave me The Free Hotel Suite and the Hooker courtesy of the right credit card, the right membership status (thank you Amex) and a bit of good luck.  Before Christmas I’d cashed in a handful of points for a dirt cheap night and a free breakfast at Manchester Airport.  They even paid a 2,000 point bonus for the hooker night so I’m very close to being able to trigger a new free night at a lower grade hotel in the Hilton range.

Last year I combined work travel with a special promotion from IHG (Holiday Inn owners).  This was a major breakthrough with something like seven work nights and three leisure stays being gamed to generate half a dozen free nights. A balcony overlooking the Colorado River.  A night near Belfast more recently.  Two future bookings at Santiago Airport.  The art of the game is to either get your employer to pay for the hotel room when on business, or pay low for your own rooms (such as £39) and then when redeeming get expensive cash rooms for points.  Santiago Airport prices of £160 a night made me shiver.  20,000 reward points earned at work’s expense made me smile.  Alas, I’m out of IHG points now but do have those prepaid points freebies to look forward to in South America.

Which brings me to the dark art of Avios.  I’d accrued a stash over the years and thought now was a good time to cash them in.  Running my balance down to zero I managed to snag the first class return flights to Boston for me and Chris.  It’s a treat.  It’s a bucket list thing.  It’s also obtaining a sweet 2.5p per Avios value which is a massive win and plays to my sense of value accrual in a way that excites.  Sad?  Maybe.  But it works for me and stretches my mind a little.  Most of my internal flying in Australia has been purchased with Avios.

My thinking at the time was that’s it with Avios.  I’m done.  Spent up and won’t accrue any more.

How wrong I am.  36,333 Avios now sit in my British Airways account.  That’s worth nine single flights from London to nearby Europe.  The points have come from Topcashback, Avis car hires, a couple of incentivised hotel bookings, Flybe, surveys (I’ve got hours to kill in the mornings) and Tesco, predominantly petrol.

Better still, I’ve got points to come.  The Iberia flights to Chile and the LATAM flights to Easter Island are likely to accrue 30,000 and the Qatar flights to Australia and the Finnair hop over to Helsinki will add on over 20,000 more.

Suddenly I’m over 85,000 at Christmas.  Plus 30,000 from American Express if I switch their points to Avios.  Spend another £6,000 this year on my BA Amex card and I trigger a BOGOF Avios redemption voucher.  Create a family account with Chris and suddenly 200,000 points and a BOGOF voucher exist.  That could be a near free business class return flight for two to New Zealand.  Subject to the difficulties of finding availability on those routes and still being alive of course!

The travel ambition used to be stay in a posher all inclusive hotel somewhere Spanish.  These days it’s a little bit different.  And a lot of it is around gaming the points and rewards.  It drives me a little bit.  It’ll be a shame when I can’t do it anymore!

A Race Against the Clock To Get Bank Holiday Drugs

This one is on me.  I completely forgot to remind the pharmacy to order in my drugs until Wednesday morning.  I should really have done it a week earlier.  My tardiness meant that failure to collect them today would mean going two days without afatinib as the pharmacy is closed Saturday through to Monday.  I’ve no idea how close that is to suicide and I’d rather not find out.  Certainly differen to forgetting your hayfever medication!

Waking up in Anglesey probably wasn’t a good idea.  The drive across on Wednesday had been leisurely.  I’d anticipated the same going home, completely failing to acknowledge that Friday’s before bank holiday weekends might not be plain sailing.

After a welcome lunch with a friend in Llandudno, as you do, I returned to the A55.  The sat nav said 3.15pm would be arrival in Huddersfield time, where the pharmacy is.  Then thirty miles west of Chester the sat nav went mad.  New maps were drawn.  An estimated arrival time of 4.30pm appeared on screen.  After 5pm and I dont get my drugs.

The traffic slowed, stopped and crawled.  Not good.  Apparently a caravan was on fire on the M56 and the M60 beyond was a bit rubbish too.  I diverted through Warrington.  Pondered Mr Smiths night club, Michaela Strachan and The a Hit Man and Her show from the 1980s that I never watched.

Warrington crawled.  ETA 4.40pm.  I pondered how to operate my mobile while driving.  It’s all programmed in but I’ve never used it on the move.  A phone call to somebody to ask them to get to the pharmacy for me.  But who?  A phone call to the pharmacy to establish alternative options maybe?

The M60 was slow, but the ETA improved and I finally got to Huddersfield for 4.20pm.  Time enough to collect the drugs and do my X-ray and blood tests ahead of Tuesday’s oncologist appointment.  So the phone call didn’t need to be made.  But I chided myself for failing to sort things out a week earlier.  Relief.

Everywhere I Go I Always Take the Weather