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Saturday 3rd April 2021

6699/19619

Worst post-chemo day yet. Despite a pretty good night's sleep I was listless and lethargic all day. I had to miss out on the afternoon Easter trail that the rest of the family went on. I was constantly tired, but couldn't get back to sleep. It was annoying, rather than aggravating or painful.  As much as I enjoyed a brief holiday from parental responsibilities, it now feels like I am missing out.
I did put my daughter back to bed after she’d got up in the night. She was sleeping under just her duvet cover and I told her I was worried she’d get cold. She thought I meant she’d get a cold, and was then interested in why the one word meant two different things. I postulated that maybe it’s called a cold because you get it if you get too cold. “But when you have a cold you get really hot. It should be called a hot,” she countered. And she has a point. This is a fun age: this young brain processing stuff, but able to question it and occasionally managing to make a confounding and excellent point.
I would be more impressed, but she is 28 years old.

There was some fun TV watching to make up for me feeling lousy. I hugely enjoyed the BBC documentary on Jack Charlton. He was a fascinating man, force for good (though not without the negatives like us all) and plus you get to see his cock. That should be in all documentaries (not necessarily Charlton’s cock, but maybe). Another director might have edited out the cock, or blurred it, but it’s an impressive cock and deserved to be highlighted. I think it deserves a documentary of its own. If anyone does a documentary about me then I hope my own cock will get a look in. I’ll shoot a few videos just in case.
The Paul McGrath stuff in that doc is amazing too as is the sea change that happened in Ireland over those years. Importance of second chances, how heroes can be flawed, tragedy of Alzheimer’s, the joy of dancing nude across a changing room. It’s all in there. It’s heartbreaking in loads of ways, but it’s beautiful. Watch it here.
And tonight I managed to stay awake once the kids were in bed, though it was a struggle and we watched Bad Trip on Netflix. I hadn’t been sure about it. My wife is a big Tiffany Haddish fan (and so am I) but I was confused because from the trailer I thought this was some kind of hidden camera show, not a film. But it turned out to be both. I don’t usually enjoy hidden camera stuff very much as it’s usually too cruel and trying to make people look stupid. But this film is daft and occasionally gross, but the bits that are shot and involve real people getting caught up in the action are so brilliant and seemingly designed to show how wonderful people can be, There is gross out humour involving gorilla jizz and wang stretching and falling into portaloos, but the comedy comes from the reactions of the regular people who don’t know that it’s not real. Whether they try to help or try to avoid helping, it’s somehow just the funniest thing to see. It’s generous and warm and much cleverer than it appears.  I laughed so much, certainly more than I’ve laughed at anything in the last month and it did me the world of good. Laughter is the best medicine. If only I’d known that before I had the chemo. Or the ball removal surgery.


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