Seeing the World

Sunday morning sees my first ever trip to Montenegro.  A nation that’s only existed for a decade.

Cheap flights out of Manchester, discounted further with my Nectar points, and a ridiculous bargain apartment on the beach.  I do have a plan to visit Dubrovnik over the border in Croatia but that’s on a tbc basis.  I might make a separate visit at a later date.

So for now it’s a check the weather thing.  It looks like two nice days and one rubbish day.  But fairly warm.  I might even go in the sea!

Oddities are a need to report to local police within 24 hours of arrival, not being in the EU but have the Euro and taking on some of the most insane drivers in the world.

I wonder what the night life is like in Port Montenegro?

32,000 Membership Reward Points

Well I went and did it.  I paid £450 for an American Express Platinum Chargecard.  Annual travel insurance (with obvious exclusions).  Car hire excess waiver insurance.  Free airport lounge access around the globe (except Reykjavik).  Premium hotel loyalty membership at Hilton, Radisson, Hyatt, Marriott and others that will secured half a dozen cooked breakfasts in Massachusetts.  Duplicate benefits for Chris.  £38 from TopCashback.  A few other frilly services which may also help me get out of a hole if I’m stuck overseas.

It’s not something I’d have gone for in normal circumstances, but I reckon the lounge access itself will provide £750 of benefit to me this year alone.

I’ve also managed to spend £2,000 to trigger 32,000 “Membership Reward Points”.  These can be used to top up multiple airline and hotel loyalty schemes.  I might “round off” my Hilton points to qualify for a free night.  Avios will get the main boost though.

Redeemed badly via Avios (hotels and car hire) and the value is around £170.  Redeemed well (business class flights) and the value is around £800.  There’s also the potential to significantly increase the value.

It’s time to switch my spending to my British Airways AMEX card.  Get to £10k spent by December (I’m up to £4K on it already) and I’ll trigger a BOGOF redemption voucher.  If I pool my existing Avios with the 32,000, and add on the 60,000 I’ll earn from the Chile and Australia trips and add on the 50,000 or so that Chris has that’ll create around 160,000 points.  That’s usually enough for a business class return flight to west coast USA or South Africa for one.  Utilising the BOGOF redemption and suddenly two of us could be going on safari in the posh seats.  And effectively get £6,000 of value from my normal spending.

This one’s not in the bag yet, but it’s very possible.  Health permitting.

Yellow Hands and the Oncologist

I’ve said before that I don’t fear death.  It’s an inevitability of living and a rather unpleasant cancer diagnosis simply brings forward that inevitability.  I’m not looking forward to what may feel a rapid decline and a return of pain though.  It’s fair to say I’ve no desire to progress to that stage just yet.

And with that backdrop I headed to my oncologist appointment yesterday a little concerned on a few counts.

The biggest worry being yellow hands.  My sister spotted it Friday morning.  I went into denial.  Chris confirmed it.  My landlord thought one hand had caught the sun and another hadn’t.  Lying in bed I stared at my hands unable to see anything.  But then I walked into my step-daughter’s house yesterday and accepted a cup of tea and a seat without spotting the wedding photos all over the place.  We don’t always see the obvious.  Yellow could mean liver cancer.  Or a reaction to the drug.  Or unconnected jaundice.  Or I’m turning into Homer Simpson.

My other concern is around my side effects.  My porcelain dashes are rarer.  The spots less severe.  While this should be good news there’s a niggling feeling that it could mean the positive impacts on the tumours is coming to an end.  The oncologist was non-commital.  I’ll try not to read anything into that beyond her “nobody really knows” comment.  Paranoia is real too!

I’d also felt a pain on my left side, presumably lung area, that had niggled for a couple of days.  Big worry.  Pre-appointment I’d been told to report for blood tests and X-Ray.  I handed over my bloods paperwork, joined a group of thirty people holding deli style tickets and was called immediately.  The pleasures of lung cancer prioritisation.  It’s almost like travelling business class!

On previous visits the x-Ray has been similar.  Walk up to reception, give them your name and date of birth and within a few minutes they’ve got your top off and throw a few more cancer causing beams your way.  This time was a little different.  “Who sent you?” “There’s no appointment” “tut” “I’m going to have to find someone from emergency X-Ray” “this really isn’t good”.

Sweet god I only want my photo taking woman!  I’m stood here slowly dying in front of you and you’re making me feel like a right awkward inconvenience to your day!

I took a seat and ten minutes later was processed in the usual way by the nice X-Ray people.

I then wandered up to the oncology ward and made two major breakthroughs.  The first was mastering the coffee machine.  On previous visits to the waiting area I’ve struggled to work out the sachet insertion prior to dispense thing.  This has meant a dispense delay meaning I’ve ended up wandering around corridors with healthcare professionals clinging onto a steaming hot coffee.  Today I was able to dispense and consume the coffee prior to collection.  I wandered over to the world map on the wall and admired Montenegro and Easter Island.

The oncologist called my name and took me to the scales.  A year ago I was weighing myself religiously as part of a health kick that saw seven stone vanish.  These weigh ins are now monthly, overseen in a cancer ward and show weight creeping back on.  Back pain and a cancer diagnosis led to comfort eating.  Every weigh in since December has shown an increase.  The hospital like this, I don’t.  This time I’m unchanged.  Good news.  I won’t get back into the 36″ jeans but there’s no threat to the 38″ ones.  And I won’t need to return to the charity shop and buy back my old 44″ leg tents.

First up was the X-ray result.  All good.  I mentioned my left side pain which had now passed.  She said there’s nothing showing.  Not surprising as the pain had felt more like a minor strain that had now gone.

Blood tests all clear.  Thank you fast track pathology.

I repeated that I’m still struggling to stand up efficiently.  “Is that new?”.  No dear I tell you this every month!  Her priority is to ensure my spine doesn’t collapse and a change in symptoms could indicate this.

Yellow hand syndrome.  My biggest worrier.  She looks at my hands and confirms the right one is coloured differently to the left one.  I move my right hand to support the right side of my lips.  The Bell’s palsy means I lisp unless I support the lip.  The oncologist notes this behaviour and we chat about my recent visit to the eye clinic.  She asserts that it’s highly unlikely their scan will reveal brain cancer.

She then confirms the blood tests are fine and would show any liver dysfunction.  Big relief.  She goes on to compare both my hands.  One yellower than the other.  The Coldplay song “Yellow” runs through my head.  “Your yellower hand is the one you hold your lip with.  That action drains the blood out of it changing the skin pigmentation.  Nothing to worry about.”

Maybe I’ll exploit my last few weeks of BUPA and try acupuncture.  Sticking needles in my face is a price worth paying to get the palsy to feck off!

You Can’t Get Quicker Than A Kwik Fit Fitter Unless it’s After 4pm on a Bank Holiday

Our fourth trip to Bristol for a football match, but the first on a Bank Holiday.  In an unfounded state of fear about the traffic on the roads I chose to ditch the BMW for a day a reinstate the yet to be returned Vauxhall Insigna company car.  Chris is insured to drive that!

And a fine job he did too.  Including picking up on a tyre warning message.  The rear offside was running a bit low.  Slow puncture.

Excitement opened up as we pulled up at a service station next to an air machine in the desserted filling station.  Problem one, it’s a £1 fee.  Change obtained from the lone cashier and away we go.

I’ve never used one of these machines before and the first problem was the timer.  My £1 only buys four minutes.  Next problem connecting the nozzle to the valve.  Chris steps in as I struggle to operate at that low level.  I also struggle with highly technical activity like this.  Is this machine inflating?  Is the noise escaping air?

Is the number on the machine a target number or current measure?  I haven’t got a clue!  We battle on.  Testing.  Pressing.  Checking the measures on the car’s trip computer.  Eventually with a lot of trial and error, frustration and childish laughter we see it all looks good and resume our journey to Bristol.

Rovers win the game.  A dull 1-0 meaning they could still get promoted and Oldham could still get relegated.  But neither are remotely likely to happen.  Back to the car and onto narrow roads enjoying 9,000 people just having left the city’s major sporting event of the day.

The roads are clogged.  Police and fire engines head one way.  Another beeping noise as the tyre pressure warning light says that gammy tyre has gone again.  Instinct is to risk a 200 miles drive on the evil rubbery future AstroTurf pitch.  My nineteen year old companion tells me not to be so stupid.  There’s a contract with Kwik fit so I google the nearest location.

Google says it’s ten minutes away and shuts at 6pm.  Currently 5.30pm.  They’re going to hate us!  Twenty minutes later we beat the traffic and roll into the forecourt.  They close at 4pm on a Bank Holiday.  Expletive deletive!

No fear.  Lex Autolease have a 24 hour helpline and access to Kwik Fit mobile!  Get in!  Press 2, press 1, press 3.  Bingo.  A person!  They explain I should go to my nearest Kwik fit.  I explain I’m there and it’s shut.  He explains Kwik fit mobile only do appointments and not emergencies.  And transfers me to the AA.  While I’m on hold I suggest to Chris that I might play the cancer card.  He counsels against it.

The AA explain that I should go to my nearest Kwik Fit.  A brief and obvious discussion follows before they dispatch a patrol saying they’ll tow us the 200 miles back to the north.  Wait for an hour.  Send Chris to Tesco to buy two meal deals.

AA van turns up without towing capability.  The nice man listens to our woes and attempts a repair on the faulty tyre, removing a shard of metal from the rubber.  Partially successful, but there’s still a tiny leakage of air.

The AA man says that he’ll follow us to Gloucester Services but to pull over if it deflates.  Then onto Strensham when he’ll hand me onto his mate who’ll do the same as we progress up the M5 at 50mph maximum speed for iffy tyre.

No further deflation.  Second stop and he says his mate will be there in an hour.  Coffee.  Wifi.  Wait.  Five hours since the final whistle blew.

The next AA man turns up with a vehicle carrier expecting to drive us north.  His opening gambit is “I’m low on driving hours and can only get you as far as Hilton Park.  Then somebody else will take over”.

No doubt with another delay in the middle.

I explain that we’ve been driving quite nicely on the tyre.  He trots off to ring his mate who’d left us waiting for this chap.  It seems the delay was designed to see if the tyre deflated when still.  It didn’t.  The AA man says “you don’t need me then – make your own way home and limit speed to 50mph.  If it fails give us a call”.

My turn to drive now.  Tired.  It’s 10.30pm.  My back is sore.  Chris is tired too.  We make it.  Some near sleep at the wheel stuff.  Relief I’d taken my cancer pull with me –  I don’t normally on a day trip.  I crawl into my bed at 2.30am.  The four hour drive took nearly ten.

Cars with no spare tyre can be a bit of a nuisance!

Five hours sleep and then I’m off to the hospital for an oncologist appointment.  I wonder what she’ll say about the yellow colouring on my hand ….

Rebooking my Adelaide Accommodation

The news that I’ve lost my Adelaide accommodation is more a disappointment than a disaster.  But it is clear that Adelaide hotels are horrendously overpriced and some, like the Hilton, have already sold out.

My “spare room at Josephine’s Airbnb” option was costing me £23 a night.  With the slightly bizarre “cleaning fee” my six night bill was £163.

I’m now looking at my options.  It’s not pretty reading.

A typical chain hotel with breakfast reasonably close to the cricket ground is £1,400.

Serviced apartments 35 minutes walk away £850.  An Uber coming in at around $10 twice a day for the five day test.

A caravan by the beach is $720 with cooking options.  But double that taxi fare and I don’t want to spend too long on the road every day.

Airbnb might still win this despite my only attempt to use them already being a failure.  There are two options in apparently good areas just a few minutes walk away from the Adelaide Oval.  Both less than £300.  I might book both and cancel one at the last minute.  Cruel on the owner.  But it gives me a sense of security should one property let me down.

I’ll decide on Tuesday afternoon.

What Do My Lion Dreams Mean?

I don’t usually have recall on my dreams.  But when I have googling the dream meaning has been unnervingly accurate and insightful.

The last two nights have involved a pride of lions.  Nothing aggressive or scary.  Last night I remember being concerned for Chris as he approached one, but there was no obvious aggression before the dream cut off.

So what do these lions appearing in my dreams mean?

One website states:

To see a lion in your dream symbolizes great strength, courage, aggression and power. You will overcome some of your emotional difficulties. As king of the jungle, the lion also represents dignity, royalty, leadership, pride and domination. You have much influence over others.

Others:

lions may also indicate that you might have a threatening situation that has entered your life.

Lion crosses your path to strengthen your courage so you can walk your truth without fear.

Exciting stuff!

Not Tonight, Josephine

December 2017.  The second Ashes test match in Adelaide.  The city where Bodyline occurred.

My accommodation search struggled to find a reasonably priced hotel of any quality so I took the Airbnb route for the first time.  £23 a night.  A few minutes from the famous Adelaide Oval cricket ground.  Josephine the retired nurse from Essex was letting out her spare room.  I grabbed this bargain.

Today an email.  She’s cancelled on me due to moving house.  Full refund.  A tad disappointed.  Back to hotels and a big bill now.

How on Earth Did I Used to Fit Work In?

It’s a question that I’ve heard retired people ask before.  And it’s certainly one that I’m asking myself now.

I’m looking at my list of events (maybe one day I’ll successfully maintain a personal diary) and starting to stress over the schedule.  Only in a minor way, but it’s that same emotion I used to feel at around 9.30am on a packed Monday morning at work when somebody senior suggested “let’s have a quick catch up at 10” and you politely agree while internally screaming “when the f*** does he expect me to do this lot?”.

I can rationale the differences in my head.  For starters I tend to stay in bed until well after 8am these days.  A panic in my head is “I’ve got to ring the hospital and talk to my IFA” and wondering when I’ll fit it all in.  Usually by 9.45am but don’t let that stop a low level stress!

I got home from Anglesey realising I’ve got something every day through to Wednesday.  Football, a day of attempting to walk, more football, oncologist, meeting a friend all filling up my next few days.  My landlord suggested doing something on Thursday and I’m thinking “I don’t even know what I’m doing that day but I’m sure there’s something”.

In truth, it’s all in my head.  Unless the X-Ray shows something unpleasant the oncologist appointment will be brief.  The walking won’t last all day.  The early kick off today will probably reduce time I spend with Chris, but as ever we will just wing the day.  And that friend on Wednesday will only be some pub grub time, not an all dayer.

So in truth, while I’m keeping busy I’m nowhere near as busy as I would be working. But I do feel very busy.  It’s a strange one.  And Montenegro to cone in 8 days.  I’d better put the washing machine on!

Nick Completed His Marathon

You may remember me writing about Nick That Humbling Moment When Somebody Chooses to Raise Money in Your Name.

The great news is that he smashed four hours in successfully completing his marathon and is very close to hitting his fundraising target for the Roy Castle Lung Cancer Foundation.

If you wish to contribute to a great cause and recognise Nick’s success please click here to donate.

Bristol Bank Holiday Bedlam