Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Furballs, Ginsters and third testicles

What are friends for? Mark was in France on holiday so it was a phone call to him. I wanted to talk to him face to face like I had when the lump was first found. Over a cup of tea in the same room, both of us able to read the body language of the other. Not to be, doing a small tour of the d-day landing beaches Mark was audibly shocked at the news. His dad passed way from cancer so it's a weird conversation to have, me wanting to be sensitive to his feelings but also wanting to off load the daddy of all bad news. He took it on the chin and we talked, best we could at that distance about a life changing situation, before his battery went flat. Modern technology!

Later that evening I skyped Charlie in New Zealand. He had been in touch over email and the odd text but it turned out he'd been talking about it with Mark. "Bugger so it's not a furball then?" (Option number two was a Ginsters pasty or a third testicle, probably best not to ask!) having spat my tea out over the laptop and laughed harder than I had for a couple of weeks I recovered and went through the day's events. The thing about my friends is they are who they are and they don't have any facade about them. Ronseal friends I guess, you get what it says on the tin. "We've been talking about your bike, we think we've sorted out who's having which bits from it when you're gone!" "Don't forget there'll be a death tax for the widow" shouts Wend. "Oi, I'm still here and I plan to be around for a good while longer ta very much." 

Perhaps this'll offend some but for me it keeps me sane, it's my humour and my coping strategy and so far it's stood me in good stead........

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