More bad news.

We wake around seven to a cold, grey, drizzly day, Normy scuttles into the garden and then runs back to his warm spot by the hall radiator and watches me while I make breakfast. He is out of luck this morning, as I am having smoked salmon on rye toast with cream cheese again, and he is having Baker's. I shower and dress after reading the paper over a second cup of coffee and then make a batch of oaties, I have forgotten to buy sultana's, so use dried mixed fruit, with a little cinnamon instead. Outside the drizzle has turned to rain, so I switch on the iron, intending to finish off the pile of shirts that are hanging on coat hangers in the wardrobe, but the iron has died, the light is on, but the element must have gone. A new iron is another task for the day. While the oaties are cooking, I make some taco shells by brushing olive oil and chile onto both sides of some tortillas and then sprinkle them with salt and pepper, before folding down the middle and placing them on a baking tray. The biscuits are taken out of the oven to cool and my taco shells put in and ten minutes later they emerge, crisp and brown. I made three and I intend to load them with cold Parmagianna , salad and trimmings for lunch. By half past ten the rain has almost stopped, so I load Norman into the car, drive to Cherry and collect the terriers for our walk on the Westwood. The weather has been cold and dry for two weeks, so a little rain this morning hasn't made the paths in the woods too muddy yet. I let Dolly off first again and s when we emerge onto the common she comes back at first bidding and Teddy then gets to stretch his legs, old Norman just trots along happily behind us. After returning the terriers to Two Riggs, Norman and I drive to Morrisons again, but purely to top up the tyres with air, as the Chrysler is due in to the garage for its annual MOT this afternoon at four thirty. Nevertheless, I spot some hydrangea in a pot for seven pounds and buy them, as I have a white porcelain guzunder, that I have repurposed as a plant pot, and they will fit nicely inside. We arrive home for half past twelve, Norman has some more Bakers and I make a tossed salad and then load up my tacos, with a layer of Parmagianna, salsa, guacamole, salad, then Mozarella and finally sour cream. Not Tex Mex, more Parma Mex! It tastes pretty damned good, although it is messy eating, as the taco shells crack and stuff spills out. After lunch, I vacuum the car and put the dog blankets in the boot and then return indoors to collect my swimming kit, intending to get to the pool for the quiet period after the school swimming lessons end and the children's private lessons begin. This golden hour runs from half past two to half past three and means I still have time for a cup of tea before driving to the garage. As I enter the house my mobile phone rings and when I answer, it is Graham Cooksey, my consultant urologist, returning my call from Monday me. As I suspected, he was completely unaware of the runaround I had been getting, and is concerned to rectify this as soon as possible. After I had told him how I was and about my readings, he says that he will order an MRI and bone scan immediately and see me as soon as he has received the results. We leave the existing appointment, which is scheduled for the 30th of April, still standing, in case it takes that long to get the test results back. During our discussion, he tells me that he will probably be recommending either radiotherapy or ultrasound treatment, once the tumour has been located. This cheers me up a lot, as at least the treatment is now underway. I still manage to drive to the leisure centre and be in the water by twenty to three and where I secure a free lane, and then repeat Monday's program of 1600 m of easy, swimming. I shall do this once more on Friday and then if I feel OK afterwards, recommence the 500m Individual Medley sets next week, in preparation for the swimathon at the end of April. To celebrate a good swim, I order a drinking chocolate and after drinking it, drive to Right Car, on the Swinemoor industrial estate for the MOT, arriving at four twenty. The service guys promise to have it ready for me by a quarter to six, so this gives me enough time to walk into Beverley and buy a new iron. Right car is only a short distance from Beverley Beck, which is actually a short canal that links the town to the river Hull, so I walk that way into town, which is about a mile away. Although the rain has cleared, it is still cold, winter weather still firmly in charge, but a brisk stroll soon warms me up. The drinking chocolate and a half litre of water, that I drank in the pool between repetitions combine with the cold weather and necessitate an urgent trip to the gents toilets by Wednesday Market. With the help of a friendly shop assistant, I manage to find a suitable iron in Boyes department store and some new bedroom curtains, in the cancer research charity shop. These are longer and heavier than the one's I inherited when I moved into the bungalow and are fully lined, they may hopefully black out the light sufficiently to fool Norman, who is waking up earlier and earlier every morning. The curtains are too heavy to carry, so I leave them to collect tomorrow, and make my way back to the garage. Despite checking everything I could, my car has still failed it's MOT, because of a leaky shock absorber, the garage will order a replacement and then ring me to arrange for it to be fitted and the car re-tested. I am back here tomorrow anyway, with Pip's Micra, which needs a service and MOT as well. When I return to the warmth of my house, Norman is waiting for me, in anticipation of his dinner, but he is made to earn it by taking a toilet walk first. It has been a busy day and coming out of the cold night air into the warm kitchen, soon makes me feel tired, and I make a welcome pot of tea and some buttered toast, with apricot jam, for tea. Later In the evening I email Jeremy Fletcher, the vicar at Beverley Minster, to advise him about Leslie's death and to ask him to notify Leslie's friends there. As soon as I hang up, Sarah phones to ask if I will collect Louis tomorrow from his after school club, as she has a private patient after work, of course I agree. Later she texts me to say my mother in law is dying and when I phone her back, she is in tears. She had just spoken to her uncle Charlie and he told her that the doctors at the hospital had said that his mother has multiple organ failure and has not got long to live. All the plans have now changed, Clement is coming back from London by train and Sarah is taking Alice and collecting him from Brough at 9:45 in the morning, before driving to the hospital in York. I am still looking after Louis. I would have liked to say goodbye to Huby Nana, as she is known in the family, but after my separation from Pip, this hasn't been possible. At least I can pray for her. It seems that March is becoming a month for dying. To bed for eleven.