A really nice thing happened to me yesterday. I went in to our local kosher butcher to buy a pound of mincemeat to enable my wife to create! Meatballs. But whilst in there, they gave me, free of charge and at no cost, a tub of potato salad. So even though the meat cost the average monthly wage of a Tibetan potato farmer (though they’re probably vegetarians anyway, and if they weren’t they certainly wouldn’t pay the king’s ransom demanded for any kosher meat) it was a great gesture. As I thought: how lovely, how wonderful, how delightful… must I be to receive such a gift? No, I mean really, I must truly be a special person of incredible wonderfulness to have people lavish gifts upon me!! Even if those gifts may have been so perilously close to their sell-by date as to create the options of ‘give it to Andy or bin it’.

Then the football started and my conceit began to waver. By 3 nil down at half time even I had to realise that my delusions of messiah-hood may need to be moderated a touch. When the forth goal went in I reverted to my usual “WHERE’S GOD WHEN YOU NEED HIM/HER/THEY?????!!!!” mindset and gave up. Fourth straight loss. Nothing to play for, other than the total destruction of Aston Villa Football Club. The only remaining goal (not that we can score them when we need to) we have is for Arsenal NOT to win the league. How is that a worthy aspiration? I’d be ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing if I wasn’t such a totally wonderful person (see ‘potato salad’, above).

But I managed to… delay?, postpone?, hide from the inevitable disaster at Anfield by timing a hospital visit to see the brother at kick-off time. Yes, I am a coward. And how is the brother?, I hear you ponder.

Well, he’s doing… ok. Still in the ICU (4 months FFS!!!), still on low-level life support, but chatting, fairly ‘normal’ (you have to re-define ‘normal’ when someone is permanently prone with 57 tubes and pipes coming out of various body parts and hooked up to ‘just’ half a dozen hi-tech ‘things’. Still not eating. And if I’m honest, although it’s always lovely to see him (alive), I’m kind’a thinking we need a little proper progress. Eating (the ‘swallow reflex’ stops with long term inactivity, bit like Spurs strikers), movement, as he’s still incredibly weak and wasted away, they’d be good. Really good. Because otherwise he’ll get depressed. Which he kind’a is now anyway, as you would be if someone pulled the ‘rug of life’ from under your feet. And although the care he’s getting is unbelievably brilliant and faultless, I think we need to ‘accelerate the plan’ a bit. For his sake. Being in the ICU is a wonderful thing (saves your life, kind’a wonderful) and yet is the worst place in the world to stay, because everything gradually packs up and your energy levels are like the Duracell bunny which stops. I need to speak to someone. Tell them what needs to happen. They’ll like that.

Happy Bank Holiday Monday

A xxxx