The cancer/ Heart Attack diaries – 31.10.15

168Jesus Chris, what a week that was- I think I’ll need a darkened room or another heart attack to get away from everyone. I canny remember now if it was Monday or Tuesday I got out of Hospital – I’ve never had a minute to myself since. Don’t get me wrong- The support from everyone has been wonderful and fantastic [ like a Dolly Parton Bra ] but between friends and family visiting and the Hospital and officialdom phoning – it’s been non stop and I need a rest. I have the cold constantly and for a Fifteen minute spell today every time I blew my nose there was a scary amount of blood on the bog roll – it’s to do with the blood thinning tablets I’ve to take – but it can be a tad disconcerting, nevertheless to see blood and snotters. This spell check thing I’ve got doesn’t recognise ‘ snotters’ – and there’s a wee squiggly line under it – f–k it, though, it’s a guid Scot’s word. The chemo hair is here big time – it’s awfy thin – Boo Radley hair as I call it- and the combination of cancer and the Heart attack has played havoc with my appearance – not that it was anything special before all this shite kicked off – but, now I just look ill.  Hopefully, through time things will improve. I will obviously have good and bad days and I think this day was a bad day.

The cancer Diaries- pt 2- 29.10.15

135I had to give blood again up at the Hospital today, Paty drove me up and he struggled to get a parking place. He dropped me off before getting parked. Anyway, Dr Storrer had a wee word and told me that I had done ‘remarkably well’ over the last week, considering I was close to death last Tuesday morning. I’ve still not had a fag since the heart attack – that’s Nine days, now, and I’ve not used the patches or any other Nicotine shite. I miss rolling and smoking the Rastafarian roll ups, though, but I certainly don’t miss feeling the way I did during the heart attack – and that will always be a driving force behind staying off the fags. I did say to the Dr that I’ve been making tea instead of smoking the stuff but also said that if he advised me not to take it in any form I would take his advice. He reckons that I should lay off it until the chemo is over with. He also said that the Chemo is giving the Tumour a fair old fight but it is still quite early days yet. I remember when Tommy Hearns fought Marvelous Marvin Hagler years ago,  and for the first Two minutes the ‘Hit man’ looked as though he could give the marvellous one a run for his money, but Six minutes later he was down and out. My only consolation from that is that I’m only fighting cancer and not the Awesome Mr Hagler. My cancer/chemo hair is getting thinner by the hour, it seems, but overall, when I consider everything –  cancer, chemo, heart attacks, strokes,baldy heid and rabid itchiness at times –  I’m dodging away,  and  I know there are people who are in relatively the same situation as me but who are having a harder time than me. Oh, and I’ve managed to do a Jobby Charlton. I was given a ‘make ye shite’ medicine at the hospital today but I didn’t need it.

The cancer Diaries 28.10.15

945742_151118885059789_504811801_n (2)I got a phone call earlier today from the ‘Stop smoking class’ guy at Craigshill Health Centre – and I proudly told him that I’d now gone over a week without a roll up – no patches, no chewing gum- just the determination never to go through what I’d experienced the week before, ever again. What I also don’t need, though, is being told by people that they’ll kick ma erse or batter me if I have another fag – I’m Fifty Two years old and if I want a fag, I’ll have a fag – in fact the next person who threatens me with violence if I have a fag will be in big trouble. I’ll run to the nearest shop, buy Ten full strength Capstain, light them up and blow all the smoke in their face and call them a C–t. What I could do with, though, is a phone call from the ‘Start Jobbying’ class – I’ve no’ done one since getting out of hospital. The only stool that’s moved in the flat is the one I sit on at the wee breakfast table. I’ve been fartin’ for Scotland, mind you- maybe the combination of the seemingly Dozens of tablets that I have to take now converts Jobby into wind- if so my wind power alone could light up the Central belt for a week if it was converted into Electricity. If not, I could end up like my ancestor, Boabby Thomson, who didny do a jobby for Fifty seven years and became known as Joabby Thomson, after he finally passed a huge Jobby in 1887 which was painted red and orange, had some plants put on it and became known as the ‘roly poly’ – a popular playing area for subsequent generations of Pumphy children for the next Eighty odd years.  Time for my grated Carrot, then more Diary stuff later. Well, that’s me had my two grated carrots, my two Kiwi fruits and my wee omelette. I put some chopped onion, crushed Garlic, and some chopped tomatoes in the omelette – no bacon and Cheese this time – big Billy D visited me today and he put me right on my diet and lifestyle. I’m a year and a half older than Billy and he doesn’t look much older than he did in the photo that I’d taken of him, Blaikie, and John Frampton when we all worked at the Brassneck Theatre over Thirty years ago. I tried to find the photo for him today so he could copy it but I couldn’t find it – I will, though, as I’m sure Blaikie would like to see the photo, too. Billy was one of the two punks [ my old next door being the other] who came back to my old house in Harrysmuir in the early 1980’s to share almost 300 mind altering mushrooms. We’d been in the Tower in Crazyhill or the Torphichen in Mid Calder till closing time and thought ‘F–k it the night is young, Maggie Thatcher’s the prime minister, let’s get stoned and take a Hundred magic mushrooms each. As plans go, that was a good one so far- it was only when we got to my house and I looked under the wardrobe in my bedroom and discovered that instead of almost Three Hundred magic mushrooms, dried out and ready to eat, there were only about a Hundred. Now, even if I hadn’t  attended Pumphy Primary, I could’ve worked out that there were over Twenty Six missing – 200 to be exact and thought – ‘F–k sake – it’s Saturday night , Bunty’s eaten Two hundred magic mushrooms, ‘The Bald man’ will be in shortly from the Bowling Club, My Two ‘Livi Punk’ pals are getting Thirty mushrooms each instead of a Hundred – this can only end in tears’. What ensued was one of the funniest, most memorable Saturday nights I can remember spending in no.6. The combination of Bunty on Carlsburg or Tennents super lager, and the Bald man on whisky and no.6 Harrysmuir North on a Saturday night could be an explosive mix and the thought of her under the influence of Two Hundred mind altering mushrooms was quite scary. The way in which the Carlsburg or super lager – or Elderberry wine, even,[that’s another story for another day] could alter her mind was mind boggling and scary enough,  so the thought of what havoc magic mushrooms could wreak was really, really scary. The two Livi punks and I shared what was left of the mushrooms and went through to the living room. Bunty was sitting in a chair next to the window- awfy quiet. Straight away, I was thinking ‘this is strange- she’s had a couple of cans and – nothing.  Normally, after Two cans, she turned into Mr Hyde’s even more crabbit, unreasonable and scarier sister, but there she was, quiet as a mouse looking at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, trying to make sense of what was going on around her. I remember asking her if she was ok, knowing that a woman in her mid Fifties who’d had a couple of cans of ‘What the f–k are you lookin’ at’, followed by Two hundred magic mushrooms, probably and understandably wasn’t going to be ok. ‘Oh, Colin, what were those horrible wee things under your wardrobe that I’ve eaten’ ? – at which point I welcomed her into the world of Psychedelia and told her that’s what ye get for being pissed, greedy and curious – and eating ma mushrooms. Anyway, to her great credit, she decided to go with the flow and didn’t freak out – which was amazing considering she was a first time trier and was totally new to the market. By this time big Bill was convinced he was in Glebe street amongst the fictional family from that f–kin’ Sunday post. He’s saying to me ‘Look, there’s Brass Dugs on the mantle piece, Paw Broon in one corner, Maw Broon in another – ah’m in f–kin’ Glebe street’ and I’m saying naw, Bill, yer in Pumphy – yer ok. When I convinced him that Horace wasny going to turn up and ask for help with his home work we put some music on at auld Scuds request. He’d said to me ‘Here, Colin, pit that Santana song on that I like – the one wi ‘Brazil’ and the Beatles on it. Which, for those curious enough to want to know, is ‘Incident at Neshabur’ from the Lotus album, wherein old Carlos does a wonderful rendition of ‘Fool on the hill’ by the Beatles and plays a wee bit of ‘Brazil’ by Sergio Mendes. I played the whole Fifteen minutes and there was auld Scud, eyes shut, snapping his fingers in time to the music, saying ‘What a smashin  arrangement’ and there was Bunty- greetin’ her eyes oot when Auld Carlos started playing the opening lines from ‘Fool on the hill’ and to this day I always think about Bunty and the Bald man in an affectionate way when I hear the song.

The cancer Diaries 27.10.15

Well,  what a week that was – enough to keep the script writers on EastEnders busy for at least Five minutes. Last Monday, just before midnight I had a feeling of indigestion and I thought nothing of it – just after midnight I was sick and got the most frightening breathlessness I have ever experienced – didn’t know what the F–k was going on. Earlier on that morning before I had my chemo therapy the Doctor had told me that they had discovered, thanks to a head scan, that a part of my brain was dead thanks to a stroke that I’d had some time in the past. Chris joked that the part of my brain that had died was the part which remembers where the hoover and washing up liquid are kept. Jim W joked that it explained why I like Hibs. Anyway, I thought it might be another stroke but it became quite obvious that it was something different. Luckily, for me, Julie was in the flat and I knocked her bedroom door and told her I couldn’t breathe. I was in an awfy state by then and Julie phoned for an Ambulance and the rest is quite hard to remember. I was in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours and was close to death a couple of times, then stabilised enough to be transferred to the Infirmary. Luckily, for me, I cant remember the catheter being put in but I had the fucker in for Two days – the first day and night it felt quite uncomfortable, and if I didn’t know better I would’ve thought that they’d put a six cup cafetierre up there instead of a catheter. Anyway, when the time came for the catheter to be removed by the lovely nurse, Leslie, she thought that it was quite wide. All the time I was thinking to myself ‘F–k sake, the first time in years I have a good looking woman anywhere near ma willy and it’s a nurse taking a catheter oot’. After two nights in the Royal infirmary, where I got two stents put in a couple of main arteries I was driven back to St Jocks, not before having to stop at the by pass to monitor my heart after I got a twinge in my heart. That proved to be a false alarm and it was four nights of being wired up to a heart monitor, people farting and talking in their sleep and four days of getting jags on my arms and stomach that made me look as if I’d been battered by Rocky Marciano – whatever they were giving me medicine wise made my piss smell awfy. Honestly, I was starting to dread going to the toilet because peein’ was giving me the dry boke. Dr Jacobs, the heart specialist at St Jocks, told me that his colleague at the royal had never seen as severe a case of arterial/vascular disease as mine and that my arteries are particularly sensitive to smoking. He also said that I am very lucky to be alive and that I was basically walking toward the cliff edge and the heart attack is what stopped me from walking over the edge. Just as well I’m a Pumphy boy, otherwise I’d have been f–ked. So, that’s me survived a massive heart attack , a stroke that I never knew I’d had sometime in the past and now in the middle of my fight against cancer. I’m on quite a few tablets now – morning and night and will be till I die [ of cancer or another heart attack ].

Tales of Boabby Thomson

223PumpherstonImage4 (2)The Pumphy husband and wife Porno stars, Monty Fuck and Fanny Sayer have announced that their new film will be a collaboration with Dawn French. ‘The Knickers of Dibley’ will open at the Pumphy Cinema a week before Christmas. It is Monty and Fanny’s first film in almost a week – since making ‘Monty’s milkman adventures’ where Monty plays a milkman who shags a housewife, played by Fanny. This was part of the epic trilogy that had taken over a month to make- the other Two films being ‘Monty’s Gas man adventures’, where Monty plays a Gas man who shags a housewife, played by Fanny and ‘Monty’s Ice cream man adventures’ where he plays an Ice cream man who shags a housewife, played by Fanny. These films should not be confused with ‘Fanny’s housewife trilogy’, where Fanny plays a housewife who shags the milkman, the Gas man and the Ice cream man, played by Monty. Although there are similarities between the Two trilogies, Fanny’s housewife trilogy was filmed in she and Monty’s kitchen and Monty’s trilogy was filmed in their bedroom.  ——- The continuing hostilities between Pumpherston popular front [PPF] leader, Boabby Thomson,  and the commander in chief  [CIC] of the peoples front of Pumpherston, [PFP] , Boabby Thomson, [no relation] have taken a turn for the worse after after PFP leader, Boabby Thomson got pissed last night and shagged ‘Tysonette’, the prize winning Greyhound belonging to PPF leader, Boabby Thomson. He tried denying it but the bottle of Buckfast with his fingerprints on it and the ‘Boabby Thomson-here and Lovin’ it’, and  ‘PFP ya bass’ graffiti in his handwriting, inside the dog kennel buggered that. He said that it was revenge for PPF leader, Boabby Thomson[still no relation] calling his Granny ‘A wee midget C–t’ at last weeks Proddy supremacy cheese and wine party.

The cancer Diaries -13.10.15

401 (2)I’m sitting here waiting for the ‘Cancer money’ people to assess my health but I think I’ve missed them. I’ve been awake since 8.45 am – and there’s no ‘sorry we missed you’ card at the door -I’ll have to sit in until after Five now to see if they turn up. The upside of that is that I’m able to listen to ‘ Both Sides’ by ‘Horse’. It’s a great live CD and Horse McDonald has a fantastic voice. I remember years ago hearing a song called ‘Careful’ but I never caught who sang it. Then, one day, talking to Davy about music it cropped up that he’d liked ‘Horse’ for ages – I think he had a CD of her when she was called Foal and he had the CD that had ‘Careful’ on it. The live CD is awfy good – she has a beautiful, haunting singing voice, at times, and why she isn’t one of Scotlands most famous singers is beyond me. You get bombarded by Telly and Newspapers telling you about who’s in Opportunity Knocks, or whatever the F–k they call these shows. ‘C–t’s on the Telly that’s what I call them, but they don’t seem to want to talk about real talent. I would recommend the CD to anyone. I’ve certainly enjoyed listening to my music these past few days. I never really watch the Telly much- ‘Family Guy’ and Question Time- that’s about it.——– Good news- the cancer money people are coming on Thursday between 9am and 11am. I’ve also to phone up work for some daft form regarding the change from sick pay to sick pay with a mask on. Anyway it’s been a nice wee day, listening to music. I managed to get all my favourites, or most of them, onto my computer and I either put on something I fancy or a compilation of my favourites – which could include The Grateful Dead, Santana, Barbra Streisand, Debussy, Led Zeppelin, Blue Oyster Cult, Artie Shaw, Veronique Gens singing songs from the Auvergne or Bob Dylan and Stevie Wonder. I’ve not got Peter Sarstedt singing ‘Where do you go to my lovely’,or Bob Lind singing ‘Elusive Butterfly’ or the soundtrack for steel Magnolias-but, I’ll get there. I am a bit scunnered about not being able to go a nice walk and enjoy the sights and sounds of Autumn. The last few weeks have been glorious – in fact, when I think about it, September was glorious as well- and it has been, overall, a wonderful late summer and early Autumn. FORTH BRIDGE

Lake District 1972

Baby faced Davy and wee fat Bastard

490 (2)

The cancer Diaries – 13.10.15

What a week – Last Monday started badly with me missing an appointment with my work- Chris came out to visit and she got me some Cod Liver oil and an interesting book about Bill Shankly from a charity shop, I forget which One – Cancer probably. If she had come out today she’d have noticed a big difference with my hair. It hasny half gone mad in the last week- I’ve been worried about going bald since I was about Five and to see it fall out and get whiter and drier every day is F-ckin’ shite, to be honest. I look like a cross between Boo Radley and Tin Tin – all I need is a wee white Dug and I’ll have my own cartoon series. Last week was my ‘middle week’ – the week after the Chemo therapy when I’m more liable to infections and I have felt a bit buggered. I had the Tom Hanks thing again – when he was in ‘The Green Mile’ and was in agony when he pee’d – and One or Two aches and pains but it wasn’t too bad a week. I miss walking, though, and this time of year is a great time of the year for walking – when the leaves look as if they are on fire. I was looking last night at some old family photos of my Grandfathers, Brown and Jenkinson and ‘Bunty and the bald man’. Photos are great things – a direct link to the past and I love looking through old family photos and old photos of Pumphy. I always look at photos of my Grand dads, Jinky and Scud with a certain amount of pride. James Hutton Brown and William Jenkinson who, like everyone else of their generation and class, were born into late 19th Century poverty and asked, as young men, to fight in an unnecessary, unimaginable and unforgivable war. They were both lucky – they came back with their limbs and their senses and their sanity. Jimmy ‘Scud’ Broon married Jean Thomson, from Tarbrax and Bill Jenkinson, officer in the British Navy, married Janet Ritchie from Tranent. Jimmy and Jean had Three bairns – my dad was the oldest and he married Jessie who was the only child of Bill and Janet and the rest is History – Broon memory lane. Jimmy Broon, who worked down a mine, fought at Galipoli and was in Damascus at the same time as Peter o’ Toole- or Lawrence of Arabia- One or the other. Bill Jenkinson, who grew up in unimaginable poverty in Leith, along with his brother, and who, as an officer in the British Navy, rubbed shoulders with Royalty, in the form of the future Edward the 8th, or ‘That abdicating C–t’ as Bunty, my mother, called him. My Grandad Broon and my Grandad Jinky, who lived through the ‘Great war’ over a Hundred years ago. We also had another Scottish Fitba’ disappointment last week. Our failure to beat Poland and Irelands shock win against world champions, Germany, meant that for the Ninth time in a row we missed out on qualifying for a major tournament – every Two years since the World cup in France, in 1998, we’ve missed out on being on the same stage as the best teams in Europe and the World – and it’s shite. Next June sees the start of Euro 16, which will be the Ninth Euro – What started off as the European cup of nations and became the European Championship has, since 1984, been known as the Euro’s. Davy Broon and I were at the opening ceremony and match of Euro 84 in France and we both hoped that Thirty Two years later we would be there again with our kilts on supporting Scotland. England will be there, Northern Ireland will be there, Wales will be there, the Republic of Ireland could be there, Albania could be there, Iceland will be there – Countries which, Forty years ago were shite, or didny even exist are now better than Scotland. What are Iceland, with a population of about the same as Edinburgh and Slovakia- and Albania, for F–k sake, doing right that we are quite obviously making an awfy C–t of. Iceland qualifying is a great story and the powers that be in Scottish Fitba’ should be ashamed of themselves that we had a Hundred years start on Iceland in the International Fitba’ arena and now we’re lagging behind them.013 (3)339 (3)

The cancer Diaries 2.10.02 – pt 2

Had a shit day today – it started off when I got up and noticed that my hair was falling out like snow and I thought ‘that’s aw ah need’. I got a phone call from officialdom making me feel guilty about having this F–kin’ cancer – honestly I could’ve shot the C–t. Everyday I’ve got a new letter from the hospital for a new scan, a new appointment, another specialist – or letters from people wanting money that I’ve not got, everyday a new worry seems to be waiting just over the hill and I’ve got some Fuckin’ Tool making me feel worse over a phone – what a C–t. The day brightened up when Stevie B came round with some cancer treats – Tunnocks Tea Cakes and Caramel logs. How Two computer dafties managed to get Bordeaux photos from my computer onto that wee stick thing and back onto Stevies computer is beyond me – but between us [ a Third of The GIRONDIN D’ECOSSE] we managed it. With all those cakes I’ll die of sugar diabetes before I die of cancer. I will no doubt have days like this when I’ll feel like shite and think ‘What’s the point’ ? . I have so many wonderful people supporting me at this time – family, friends and Doctors and nurses I feel bad about feeling down and negative about the whole thing, as I have done for the last couple of days. I just feel totally worn out by it all – hospitals, the phone ringing constantly and feeling shite. Still, I have my music to listen to and youtube for old Fitba’ clips and episodes of ‘The staggering stories of Ferdinand de Bargos’ and other great stuff. Thanks to stevie for today- it’s almost ‘Family Guy’ time and I cant think of anything else to say. 319 (3)My Marius Tresor signed photo446 (4)310 (5)282459 (3)

The cancer Diaries – 2.10.15

Today started off with the Twenty One pill salute to Chemotherapy, then a lift to the hospital from Paty to get my CT scan. Originally they were just going to scan my head but it turned out that they had to scan my chest and arms to see what the arteries looked like. I will find out soon enough what the results of the scan reveal. I have to see an eye specialist, too and after that, who knows. Paty had to leave St Jocks early – I’d been telling him on the way up how quick we’d be at the X-Ray department – my appointment was for Twelve o’ clock and I didn’t get out till half one. Luckily, Yorkshires finest, in the shape of my ex B and Q colleague and Leeds Utd fan, big Stuart was there to pick me up. He was wearing a Scotland ’74 world cup fitba’ top, which threw me a bit, then I saw the number on the back- 4 – Scotland and Leeds legend Billy Bremners number. Anyway, Stuart was treating me to my lunch today . He mentioned a place in Linlithgow and I thought he obviously hadn’t heard of ‘stoviegate’, but he decided on Tony Macaroni’s instead. The mussels in the white wine sauce were the business. I had them for a starter and if I could have had them for my main dish and my Dessert, I would’ve. I’ve had ‘Moules’ in Paris, Bordeaux, and Nice and Tony Macaroni’s were as good as any. I was running a bit late for B and Q by then but managed to catch Liz before she left. I explained that Dr Hannah would send my sick line to B and Q and Liz asked if I could attend a meeting tomorrow, which I can. By the time Stuart dropped me off I had missed Jim and Jimmy and it was time to go to matt and Hazels for more dinner – I’ll be turning into an awfy fatso. If I can keep eating like this and stop smoking, I have a good fighting chance to beat this C–t of a thing. It was great seeing the ‘big fella’ today- he’s as clever as a chap with Three heads and designs filtration systems for stuff used in the oil industry – he loves Leeds utd and if he was prime minister, I’d vote for him. Anyway no more chemo for nearly a month – thank F–k. I was getting a bit worn out with jags and injections and constant visits to the hospital – on Monday Davy B and I spent Eight hours in the hospital. He sat in with me when I had to see the heart specialist, Dr Jacobs. The Doctor asked me if I smoked and when I told him that I did he asked me to stop smoking. He also asked me if there was anything that ran in the family and I told him that Davy had done the London and Wellington marathons- Davy laughed and the Doctor showed his skill by outwardly laughing and inwardly thinking, ‘F–k off’. 044 (3)045 (3)287 (2)464 (2)