It's Father's Day! As if you could miss the reminders to buy a present, send a card, take him out ... For those kept safely indoors, anyone in possession of a radio is going to have heard the dedications to dads on their special day.

Except the Cherub doesn't have a dad.

Actually he did have a dad - a pretty good one.  One who played X Box for hours, always went in goal,and  taught him to swim. He had a laid back dad who was good for camping trips, and crazy golf tournaments and days at the beach.
So it's wrong to say he doesn't have a dad.

He doesn't have a living dad.

But it's a Big Difference - and the card companies and supermarkets are missing a trick here.  There is a surprising lack of Dead Dad cards. This might possibly be because you cant send dead people presents.
Or cards....

But we still need to commemorate his dad somehow.
Tonight, therefore, we will be continuing our recent tradition of Making Something Up as We Go Along.  In this year's ad hoc ceremony, we will be be lighting a Chinese lantern and hoping the rain stays off long enough that it rises over Cheesetown.
Wish us luck.

Listen up now, I've been called "strong" and "outspoken" in my time. Not,I'll admit, as often as I've been called "late", "weird" or just plain "wrong", but there are people who believe that I am quite capable of speaking my mind.

These people are, in fact, sadly mistaken. Let it be known that they are wrong.
Let it be known that I am a wimp; I am wet, I am in fact a veritable mollusk on the seabed of life.
As evidence of this startling fact, I give you the following:

The scene - an investment manager's office. Kayleigh, our young fresh faced Client Liaison Officer, is taking some details - including my date of birth.

Macy - 1961. Yes.
Macy - No. That means I am fifty. It's June already.

Deep breath

Reader, did I answer "Look, dollface the attitude's unprofessional, and you can quit with the personal remarks right now"?

Pfft. I wish.

Did I adopt my look of Serious Bemusement before firing back "Well what the merry blintering hell do you think fifty looks like? Raddled and bed ridden? Toothless?? FFS DO NOT DARE TO PATRONISE ME.










Nope.
I did not.
You know what the wimp said don't you....

"Oh...gosh.. thanks... ha ha.. must be good genes..."
Thanks?  FFS...

It's been a whole month now.. count them.  THIRTY ONE DAYS. Thirty one days and twenty three hours if you want to be really pathetic.
Since my last cigarette.
What's even sadder, is I never even  knew it was my last cigarette. Nope, no last lingering goodbye, no long consideration of how it felt, no specific memories.  Just a quick stub out before I headed off to the doctors... to be unceremoniously bounced through A&E, into a medical assessment unit.

The Cherub thoughtfully disposed of my remaining fags whilst I was incarcerated.  That boy knows more than he lets on...

I thought it would be easier.  It should be easier.  Before my wee sojourn in A&E  I was down to five a day.
Sigh.... not that five a day













This five a day...











Five a day is nothing. I shouldn't be missing it.  What's to miss? After a month I should be full of the joys of having more money, enjoying the return of taste and smell and not smelling like an ashtray and yadda yadda yadda.

After a month I should be complaining about the smokers huddled outside doorways, instead of inhaling deeply as I walk past them....

Here's the news. I miss it.  I miss smoking from the bottom of my stinky wee nictoine stained heart. I miss the things we used to do together, I miss the breakfasts, and the evenings, and the drinks we had together. A lot of my better memories involve firing up.

No I'm not going to give in.  I can't do this to Dr Jacobs, and The Cherub, and all the others I promised.

I'm not a complete mug.

But bear  with me whiles I miss my old pal won't you?

For day to day heart attacks, there is initial admission to the local hospital, St James.  For more exciting stuff, like major operations and assessments, the neurosurgeries, the cardiothoracics, the transplants and traumas, and er, the angiograms, for the whole ER / Casualty / House stuff, we go to the Royal.
This a big and expensive new centre of excellence, built as part of a private finance initiative in the middle of nowhere.
Being in the sticks, this is the first time I've been near the place since the Cherub and I trailed out to visit Wayne before his first operation. The was just over two years ago.

Here's a picture of the place that brought back a lot of memories.
This hospital gave me a massive lump in my throat.
Which, is probably not a good idea if you're headed in for a spot of light surgery yourself.