It is 7.30am. I woke this morning at 4.30. I feel much better today. As I write is pouring with rain but who cares. I have woken up feeling more like my old self once again. Yesterday was my worst day so far since I began the chemotherapy treatment. Throughout the course of the treatment I have tried to reflect the effects of chemo. On the down days, the object has been to reflect what it does, and how I have felt rather than attract sympathy. During my treatment I have been incredibly lucky, I only really copped for a few of the side effects on my last lap. Yesterday I was desperately tired all day. The chemo gas welled up inside me and filled my lungs with a gassy choking smell. It was like having to wear a sweaty sock over your nose and mouth all day. Barbara took me out in the camper to the beach for an hour during the afternoon. However, I was simply too tired to sit upright on a seat. I returned home and settled down to listen to Man United play Barcelona, a match I had been looking forward to. I fell fast asleep during the match though, and even at the end of the match when I was trying to listen to the radio for a report on the game, I couldn’t even manage that. The next thing I knew was its 4.30. It’s another day and I am feeling much better than I did yesterday. Here is hoping that I don’t manage to fall asleep during Liverpool’s match tonight.

Yesterday is now behind me, it will never return again, and stretching out before me is a brand new day full of promise and unfulfilled dreams.

In years gone by we used to go on day trips during the summer months from the Island. Most of them were exciting days out and happy experiences. The odd one went wrong, because of bad weather or delays. However, it didn’t matter. If the day trip had gone well, you returned home refreshed and uplifted. If not, well you returned home to your safe and warm little nest once again. As a youngster, these day trips were the closest we ever came to holidays.

When I was a kid, the only holidays I knew were school holidays. I didn’t know anyone else that went on holidays either. We just didn’t. Apart from not being able to afford holidays, I don’t think any of us would have wanted to. In my case time spent at home from school was priceless and I would not have wanted to waste one second of it somewhere else. Only rich people visited foreign countries and there was no rich folk living on the Janet’s Corner housing estate where I grew up. The nearest we came to a holiday, would be a day out in Peel or Ramsey. The absolute bee’s knees would be a day trip.

In the 1960’s, the day trip was in its height of popularity. Thousands of folk sailed over for the day on the Steam Packet from Liverpool, Fleetwood, Belfast, Dublin, Ardrossen, and other places. Like wise we Islanders would frequently take day trips to Liverpool, Llandudno and Dublin. I recall on one occasion heading off on a day trip to Dublin with my younger brother Kevin and mother. We would have been about 10 years old. As mother slept in one of the passenger lounges, myself and Kevin being hungry took ourselves off to have lunch. In those days the cheap and cheerful cafeteria style of catering had not been adopted by the Packet. The silver service dining saloon with its lush carpet and the heavy table cloth draped across the solid timber table together with the waiter hovering at our side to take our order, did not prepare a couple of 10 year olds for the huge financial shock that was about to come our way. Regular readers of this blog will be well aware of my love of fish and chips. However, digging deep in to my pocket and forking out 13 shillings put a real dampener on our day. We both returned to my mother one pound and six shillings lighter. We cobbled together from pockets, purses and what have you, another 7 shillings, just enough to buy a football in one of the large Dublin stores. I don’t remember our meal on the return trip, but then a bag of crisps and a bottle of pop would hardly have left an imprint on my mind.

I do recall one of my neighbours once taking a day trip to Dublin. His name was Jack. In all the time I knew Jack, I don’t think apart from this day trip that he had ever left the Island. Well, Jack and the boys decided they would take a day trip to Dublin. They all boarded the boat around 8 a.m. Jack was fond of a beer or two and no doubt had had his fill the night before. So he headed down below and got his head down in one of the lounges. After about 20 minutes one of the boys woke Jack and informed him that they were now back in Douglas again, and that they had sailed over to Dublin and back and Jack had slept right through the whole trip. Jack bounded up the stairs and back down the gangway again. Whether Jack actually ever did make it to Dublin on that day, I am afraid I can’t remember.

I well remember Ned Quayle though. Ned lived just down the road from me. He was a lovely typical Manxman. He would call round to our house every Wednesday and we would do the football pools together. We always shared our winnings, even though Ned did all the paying. Ned supported Everton and as far as I know, had never been off the Island. One day Ned decided it was time to go and see his beloved Everton play for real at their home ground in Liverpool, Goodison Park. Ned apparently arrived at the ground, and was absolutely gobsmacked by the size of the place and the amount of folk queuing to get in. Of course Ned would have been aware of the fact that 50,000 fans would be attending these matches. However, actually experiencing this phenomenon for real was something totally different. After several minutes of standing on the terraces and being hustled and jostled, Ned decided enough was enough, and decided real live football matches were not for him. Ned indeed was a lucky man to make it back to the Isle of Man more or less intact, having completed the almost impossible task of trying to leave a football match whilst 50,000 other fans were still trying to get in.

Well that just about concludes today’s blog. The rain is still falling, but none-the-less, it is now time for me and Skipper to make our way along the Silverburn once again.

Until tomorrow then folks this is Tom Glassey with News at 8.15. On the soggy banks of the Silverburn river.