Today I was supposed to be speaking at a cancer seminar at Nobles Hospital. However, for reasons unknown to me at present, it has been cancelled until after Christmas. I had never heard of the word oncology until I began my chemotherapy at the oncology unit at Nobles. I have still never come across a hospital with a cancer department. The word oncology reminds me of the civic amenity centre. We use to call that, the tip!

I used to be a blind child, then I was a blind man. Now, I am visually impaired, even though as far as I know, there is nothing the matter with my face. In some places they have educational transport modules. Blimey, it seems even the days of the school bus are now numbered.

When my taxi pulled up at Clatterbridge at the oncology department, I felt a little bit like the condemned man arriving at the condemned cell. You are in a strange land, in a strange hospital and amongst strangers. You have very little idea of what is going to happen to you. Of course those strangers soon become friends and the staff at Clatterbridge are about the best in the world. However, in my case I was lucky. For most of my 4 weeks there, I had either my wife or friends from home. Imagine what it must be like though, for someone to arrive alone in such a place. You are probably at the lowest ebb of your life having being diagnosed with cancer and you find yourself in a strange town, in a strange hospital, and just to cap it all, you will be sleeping probably in a B&B somewhere nearby. 4 weeks must seem like a very long time under those circumstances. For someone with children and pets it won’t be easy to just up sticks and go along. Kids and pets need looking after. Surely it would make good sense for the department of health to buy or rent a place in or near Clatterbridge, somewhere with a kitchen, a sitting room and 3 or 4 bedrooms. At least cancer suffers would not be suffering alone. Well have I reached the beginning of another campaign? I shall campaign away although in the present climate it is very unlikely that treasury will be able to free any more money up. Let’s hope that if such a place does come to light, they don’t call it Oncology Hall.

Now then, yesterday I was talking about neighbours, I didn’t get around to all of my former neighbours yesterday so here is part 2.

When we lived in St Johns one of my neighbours was a retired barrister called Earnest. I used to pop over to him every morning for a glass of malt before I headed off to Peel to do both his, and our shopping. His wife Martha would frequently phone Barbara in the middle of the night believing she was about to die. It wasn’t that unusual either for the doctor’s car to be in our lane in the early hours of the morning. On the other side of us lived a couple who had been building their house for a number of years with slow progress. Anyway one day Earnest said to me over our glass of malt, “Tom, I am sick of that bloody building site across the way, and we are going to do something about it.” “We” I said. “Yes we,” answered Earnest. “We are going to set fire to it!” “Earnest,” I said, “As much as I like you, I don’t really want to spend the rest of my life in prison with you.” “But that won’t happen,” replied Earnest. “Just think about it, what jury would ever convict an 80 year old ex barrister, and a blind man of arson.”

Tom Glassey, on the banks of the Silverburn River.