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The last 24 hours have highlighted the difficulties of living with Rupert. Swings and roundabouts, snakes and ladders, one step forward and two steps backwards, etc. I had a CAT Scan and a PET Bone Scan on Thursday and received the CAT Scan report the same day and the PET Scan Report this morning. I went to bed last night and had a reasonable sleep after receiving the CAT Scan Report thinking things might have stabilized a bit but this morning’s PET Scan Report ensured that I won’t sleep as well tonight. The lyrics penned by that great wordsmith and legendary Grand Final performer, Meatloaf, sum things up pretty well:

Last night, I thought I was gonna make it (“it” being getting through to Christmas 🎄) – today not so much. Looks now like I might be tagged out before I get to Home plate.⚾️

I’m pretty sure “uptake in the L5 vertebra” isn’t a good thing. I see the Oncologist next Thursday – so many Specialists, so little time – and then I will know a bit more for next week’s post. The CAT Scan result suggested that the Testosterone busting Hormone Therapy might be doing its job and that Radiotherapy might be a live option in a few months. The fatigue and the fucking hot flushes might be worthwhile after all but the PET Scan report brought me back to earth. The confirmation that Rupert had escaped into my spine shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Radiology Specialist had cautioned me in January that the spread from the Lymph Nodes to the bones may have already occurred and I guess she actually knew what she was talking about. The Results hit me like a 90mph Fast Ball to the belly, proving conclusively that no matter how prepared you are for bad news it can still knock you down.

Anyway, enough of that. Today I thought I would concentrate on my life with Robyn, and what a life it’s been. When we married in 1976, I’m pretty sure she thought she was getting a Chartered Accountant as a life partner. I hope she never minded me tricking her 47 years ago!😄 The one thing we have always agreed upon, is that were we to be hit by a bus tomorrow, we would have no regrets about things left undone. We’ve had a full life together.

I went to an “all boys” Technical School in Bendigo and Robyn attended an “all girls” High School. In 1969, the powers that be, decided it would be a fine idea to have a dance combining the senior years of both schools. I have no idea why, but for some reason Robyn asked me to dance. If she hadn’t taken the lead, I would probably still be standing in the corner, to shy to approach anyone of the fairer sex. I’m lucky she wasn’t as sheepish as I was.

A couple of months later, my Bendigo Baseball Club – the mighty Falcons – were having their annual Presentation Day at Axedale near Bendigo and I summoned the courage to invite Robyn as my plus one. I guess she didn’t hate my company and 7 years later we were married. The wedding was a couple of months after we won the A Grade Cricket Premiership in Bendigo and, as you do, I invited the entire Team to celebrate the day with us. Robyn didn’t complain. It was a great day and the following afternoon we attended an Essendon Baseball Club game as our “honeymoon” before returning to our jobs the next day. Once again, Robyn didn’t complain. We’ve had our ups and downs over the ensuing 47 years but through them all, Robyn has stuck by me. The last 10 years with me suffering from debilitating depression, Trigeminal Neuralgia and now with Rupert having moved in, have been far from easy for her, but she’s still here. She’s probably had to be more of a Carer than a wife during those times but still she never complained. I didn’t deserve her.

When John and Megan were growing up Robyn assumed the role of almost a single parent in caring for them. In those days most the Trots meetings were at night and I spent a lot of time on the road. Robyn chauffeured the kids to Tennis lessons, Baseball training and games, Parties, etc. She walked the kids to school when they were little and picked them up when the school day was done. I’m not sure I was much of a Dad but Robyn made a great Mum. She had the patience of Job and I honestly can’t remember her ever blowing up at Megan or John. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about myself. Most of my “blow ups” probably coincided with me having a losing run on the punt more so than anything the kids did.🤔

After doing a wonderful job, almost single handedly raising our two kids, she had a few years of being able to concentrate on herself before fate delivered her another kid just over 10 years ago. Our Grandson, Mitchell, decided he didn’t want to live with his mum anymore and was moving in with John. At that time, John was working long hours doing his best to establish a Baseball Practice Centre so once again Robyn had the role of bringing up a headstrong teenager, delivering him to Baseball Training every Tuesday and Thursday, preparing his meals, checking his homework, making sure he attended school and trying to mould him into a decent young man. How successful she was, is demonstrated by where Mitch finds himself today. I’m absolutely positive that without his Grandmother’s efforts, his life would be much different.

We moved to Canberra when our Grandson Robert was born and have been here now for nearly 9 years. The move has kept me sane with Robert and then Ainsley both being a delight to be around. It was important for my mental health that I got out of Melbourne but the relocation meant that Robyn had to leave behind her very good friends. Once again she didn’t complain. Not long after settling here, Mitchell decided he would like to live with us and that’s where he was for the next seven years until he moved in with his Girlfriend twelve months ago. The move proved great for Mitch signing a Professional Baseball Contract with the Philadelphia Phillies, being selected to represent Australia in Junior World Baseball Championships in Mexico, Columbia, Canada and Taiwan, graduating from High School with a decent Academic Record and now being in the second year of a double degree at Canberra University. He owes Robyn so, so much and I’m not sure he understands the multitude of sacrifices she made for him.

We’ve had a few moves in our 47 years. When we were first married we lived in a two bedroom flat in Darling Street, South Yarra. We could walk to our jobs in the City during the week and I could walk to the MCG at the weekend so the location was perfect (for me😄). Most Saturday nights I’d head off to Moonee Valley to do battle with the Bookies at the Red Hots or as Journalist Adrian Dunn used to call them “Thieves On Wheels” – cheeky bastard! I was basically a Mug Punter, a perfect caricature of the type of bettor that I made a living off for over 30 years. Anyone who tries to tell you that they could win on the punt in those days working a full time job during the week and going to the track on Saturday is being disingenuous. There was no SkyChannel showing the races during the week so you basically did your Form listening to Country races on the radio during the week and studying the Racing Pages of the Sun on Saturday morning. Breaking even on the punt was something of an achievement. Anyway, one Saturday night in 1979, I won approximately $4,000 at the Valley coupling up four winners with the on course Doubles Bookmaker Jim Hynes Senior. My win probably meant that old Jim only won a couple of thousand himself that night and might have meant his Son Jimmy had to limit himself to just a dozen Dim Sims on the way home instead of his customary three dozen🤣. Jimmy is one of my dearest friends and there just might be a bit of journalistic licence used in the Dim Sim tale but the big night on the punt ended with Robyn laying in bed throwing $50 bills in the air like Scrooge McDuck in his vault. If I am looking for something to cheer me up in the months that lie ahead that memory of Robyn lying in a bed of pineapples will do the job. We used that windfall as a deposit on our first home in Market Street, North Essendon. The house cost $32,500 and would be worth in excess of $1.5mill in todays outlandish Real Estate market.

Later that year I was offered a job managing a small Accounting Firm in Bendigo and we sold the North Essendon property to move back to our birthplace. It’s true what they say about, not being able to go home, and within 2 weeks I knew I’d made a terrible mistake in relocating. After a wasted couple of years in Bendigo we moved to Melton and remained there for about 20 years. The kids completed their Secondary School Education in Melton and Megan went on to University in Melbourne and John accepted a Scholarship to a College in Chicago primarily to play Baseball. Once again, all their achievements in life stem from the love and care Robyn showered upon them growing up. Their successes have been Robyn’s successes.

In the 80’s and 90’s we made numerous trips to the United States and for the 5 years ending in 2000, we travelled there each year to spend an extended period watching John play Minor League baseball. In 2001 we decided to holiday in Far North Queensland instead of in North America and flew in to Cairns on September 11th. That’s right, our first night in what became my favourite place on earth, was the night of the attack on the World Towers. We stayed in Palm Cove and at the end of our holiday, we bought a penthouse on the Golf Course there and spent 6 months each year in firstly Palm Cove and then in Port Douglas for the next ten years. Robyn flew up to inspect the Apartment and did all the negotiations for the purchase. Those ten years were the happiest times of my life. Things were pretty much perfect spending six months in Melbourne and six months in FNQ. We didn’t have a winter for ten years! One of my fondest memories of our time up North was Megan’s Wedding with the Wedding Service in the little church at Port Douglas and the reception across the road at our favourite Restaurant, Salsa. The mother of the bride was best on the ground that day.

In 2005 we decided a move to the City would be a good lifestyle choice and we found a 5 bedroom renovated warehouse in North Fitzroy. I was in the USA when the auction took place and once again Robyn inspected our potential new home and decided it was ideal. Again she completed the purchase without me setting eyes on the place. Maybe she missed her calling as a Real Estate speculator as she did a great job with those two buys.

The one constant throughout the time I’ve known Robyn has been her love of sewing. I had baseball to take me away from the pressure of gambling for a living and Robyn had her sewing and quilting to give her space away from the stress and tension of looking after me, two kids and then a grandkid. Her sewing skills are outstanding and she has wonderful friends that share her passion. After I’m gone, I can imagine her taking over my last little corner of our home to complete her sewing kingdom and more power to her. God knows she has earned the right to do just whatever she wants. She’s paid her dues. And she never complained.

When I decided to name my cancer Rupert I thought I was a groundbreaker with such a clever name. This week some nark sent me a photo of a dude in England who labelled his cancer Rupert in 1994! Had I known that this bloke had usurped me, I would have called my invader Murdoch. At least then, if I manage to outlive the old prick that is Rupert, I could have kept that name when his heir apparent Lachlan assumes the throne. He appears to be a real “chip off the old block”.

The next week will establish where we are headed with Rupert. I have another Bone Scan on Thursday which will be compared with the one one I had in November to see if the spread has continued unabated or slowed down a bit. The following Thursday I have my first appointment with the Oncologist and whether I start Chemotherapy will be dependent on what this weeks Bone Scan shows🤞🤞

I’ve taken a liberty with this week’s Blog and it is a bit self-indulgent. Earlier this week I was posed the question “what was your first big trip?” and it got me thinking. Hope you aren’t too bored.

My First Big Trip? I guess that depends on your definition of “big”. For me, three trips stand out as milestones and are what I consider to be “big trips”.

1969 Brisbane: Interstate travel was never a consideration for me growing up and in 1969 I had my first opportunity to head over the boarder. Not by plane mind you, but by train. Mum was really protective of me as a kid. Perhaps that explains why I’ve been a bit overprotective as a dad and a granddad in later life. I wasn’t allowed to play Football of a Saturday until I was in the Under 18’s and she wouldn’t let me play for Bendigo in the Victorian Provincial Baseball Championships conducted annually on the Queens Birthday long weekend in June, until I was 15. As a 14 year old I was invited to try out for the Victorian Under 16 side but Mum refused to let me go. The next year my brother Johnny convinced her to cut the apron strings and let me have a crack at getting in the team. He drove me to Melbourne every Sunday morning in June and July of 1969 to attend selection trials and then training at Debney’s Park just off Mount Alexander road in Flemington.
The Australian Championships were held at Newmarket in Brisbane, home of the ABL’s Brisbane Bandits in the September School Holidays of 1969 and I had my 16th Birthday on the Trip. We travelled by overnight train from Melbourne to Sydney, spent all day wandering the streets of the City then caught the overnight train to Brisbane. Traveling Second Class meant we slept on seats, on the floor and in luggage racks. No hotel accommodation for us in those days – all players stayed with host families – and by what turned out to be terrific stroke of luck – I was billeted with Bruce Nunn, a guy from Essendon Baseball Club. A friendship developed that led to me spending a life time with Essendon and subsequently six Edwards men representing the Club and Victoria. I went to the Championships as the Clean Up Hitter for Victoria and came home with my tail between my legs after hitting about a buck twenty five.⚾️ As was the norm back in the 60’s 70’s and 80’s Victoria won the Championships and despite traveling by train, getting billeted out and having a shocking time with the bat, I loved it and wouldn’t have had it any other way.

A proud Victorian wearing number 5, a number subsequently adopted throughout their careers by son John and Grandson Mitchell.

1976 Noosa Heads: In the 1975/76 Cricket Season I won the Bendigo Advertiser Cricketer of the Year Award and received a Holiday at Noosa Heads courtesy of Barry McNaught’s Travel Centre. No train trip this time however – to get to Noosa we had to travel by bus! I had married Robyn in May of that year and used the trip as our honeymoon. Noosa was virtually undeveloped in those days and we loved the place – the bus trip not so much. Too this day I have never been back to the Sunshine Coast but I would guess it might have changed a little bit! With the benefit of hindsight, maybe we should have bought some land there on that trip😄. I loved cricket in those days but when Melbourne Baseball switched to summer as the main season in 1976 I had to choose between Baseball and Cricket as my sport of choice. Baseball won out and I’ve never regretted my decision.
I only recently discovered that in the 50 years of Bendigo Cricket from 1940 to 1990, only two bowlers captured 7 wickets or more in an innings on three occasions in any one season. One was the Hall Of Famer, Hank Watts for Sandhurst and the other was an opening bowler for Bendigo. Our Premierships there in 1976 and 1977 remain two of the highlights of my life.

1978 Hobart: The significance of this Trip was that it was the first time Robyn and Myself had been on a plane. That’s right, 24 years old and never been on a plane – my six year old Granddaughter and eight year old Grandson just returned from their third overseas trip having gone to Japan for a skiing holiday. I guess times have changed a little🤔 My nephew Brendan had been selected in the Under 13 Victorian Team for the National Baseball Championships to be played during January of 1978 in Hobart. The games were played at the North Hobart Oval and as you would expect, Victoria were crowned Champions. Robyn was pregnant with John that trip and my everlasting memory of the trip is just how bloody cold it was. Snow fell on Mount Wellington during our stay and to paraphrase Mark Twain, “the coldest winter of my life was that summer week spent in Hobart.” History will record that Brendan’s team, coached by the legendary Dick Mason and managed by Keith Sheldon Collins, contained some of the greatest players to ever wear the Victorian Cap.

Nephew Brendan sucking up to the Coach sitting on his right hand side (not that there’s anything wrong with that😄).

An honourable mention for “Big Trips” belongs to a 1974 Christmas – New Year holiday spent camping with my Brother Johnny, Sister-in-law Dot and their kids in Nelson on the South Australian border. The plan was to spend the week fishing and lying on the beach but the best laid plans…… I played cricket on Boxing Day for the Bendigo Rep Team in Maryborough in the annual Kenmak Shield match and at the conclusion of the day’s play set off on the 310 kilometre drive to Nelson. About 10 k’s out of Maryborough a stone went through the windscreen of Dad’s pride and joy, his pale blue Hillman Hunter. Now Hobart in January can be freezing but I swear it doesn’t have a patch on sitting in the front seat of a pale blue Hillman Hunter for 300 kilometres with no front windscreen. After about 50 k’s Robyn wanted to hop in the boot for the rest of the trip figuring a death by suffocation preferable to a death from Hyperthermia. With hindsight, we probably should have turned around and headed back the 100 odd kilometres to Bendigo, had the windscreen fixed the next day, and then continued on to Nelson but I’m a pig headed bugger so we soldiered on. It rained in Nelson for the next 7 days! We made a couple of day trips to Mount Gambier when the rain eased up a little and whilst there was no beach cricket played because of the wet track we did get to watch a bit of the Boxing Day test on the 12 inch black and white tv we had in the tent. I can attest that “rabbit ears” weren’t conducive to getting an adequate television reception in Nelson in 1974.

“The hardest thing of all is to find a black cat in a dark room,especially if there is no cat.” Confucius.

I am giving serious thought towards submitting a request to have a new step introduced into the Medical lexicon of the evolution of accepting an Oncologist’s prognosis. It would be called “The Drinking Decaf Coffee” stage. That is, the “why bother” times.

Do some exercise – why bother? Eat healthy foods – why bother? Buy new clothes – why bother? Replace a faulty TV – why bother. Accept treatments that will prolong life but can’t deliver a cure – just drink a cup of decaf coffee instead! I am firmly stuck in the “why bother” phase at the moment and I need to find a way to put it behind me.

You can find support for absolutely any theory on the Internet. During one of my particularly flat times this week I Googled “societies dealing with the aged and the terminally ill” and I found this gem “Killing the elderly is called senicide, and Japan was not the only culture once familiar with the practice. In India, the Padaeans put to death old people and ate them while in North Africa, Troglodyte elders no longer able to tend their flocks asphyxiated themselves by fastening the tail of an ox around their necks. The Bactrians, who inhabited present-day northern Afghanistan, threw the old and sick out into the streets, where they were eaten by dogs. The Derbiccae, who lived east of the Caspian Sea, murdered males at age 70 and ate them; women were merely strangled and buried. The Heruli of Germany stabbed elders and burnt them on a pyre. In southern France, the Ligurians threw their parents, when they were no longer useful because of old age, off a cliff.”

Now I’m not suggesting we should eat the elderly but maybe a 70th Birthday Party culminating with throwing us off a cliff might be a good way of “dying with dignity”.😄

Some of my saddest recollections from years past concern my efforts to try and convince my dear Brother Johnny to accept life extending treatment for the Melanoma that tragically took his life way too early. I now realize pressuring him to undertake more therapies and extending his suffering was simply me being selfish and was something I had absolutely to right to do. Under no circumstances am I conflating Johnny’s agony with what I am dealing with – his physical pain was extreme and my suffering is mainly psychological – but dealing with Cancer has to remain the providence of the patient and not well meaning family and friends.

I already feel better now that I’ve aired my feelings of hopelessness with you and this week I will be back to doing everything possible to keep Rupert quiet for as long as I can.

Now back to the horses: As I mentioned in my last Post, we were absolutely blessed in having 3 Australian Horses of the Year and each one has a story attached to them. I had a few simple Rules that I employed in the “horse racing”years. 1/. When buying going horses shop locally and avoid Kiwis. 2/. When breeding, concentrate on putting reasonably bred mares to good stallions. 3/. Have the resultant foals reared by the best Farms in the business (it was no coincidence that our fortunes improved dramatically when we had Rob Van Dyke at Peppertree Farm rearing our youngsters and advising us on which ones he had the best opinions of). 4/. Give those resultant foals to the best Trainer you can find and for us Peter Manning was absolutely the best. 5/. Let the trainer do the training (a smart trainer will charge say $500 per week to train one increasing to $1000 per week if you want to tell him how to do it).

KATHRYN DANCER. He was a foal of 2000 and he won 42 races and $634,036 here and in the USA. Rob Van Dyke labeled him the pick of our foals that year so we decided to race him ourselves. Ron Lake is one of my very closest friends and his beautiful daughter Kathryn had lost her life to a car accident in 1999 and he took a 25% interest in this yearling on the proviso that he could name it Kathryn Dancer. As you will now undoubtedly be aware, I am far from being a believer, but I still think to this day, that maybe Kerryn Manning had an angel riding with her in the sulky as Kathryn Dancer dominated his age group as a two year old. He won 13 of his 15 starts that season winning Classics in Melbourne, Brisbane, Sydney, Bathurst and Adelaide. His biggest 2 year old win was in the $288,000 Australian Pacing Gold in Brisbane and the winning margin that night was officially a “bee’s dick” and just maybe Kathryn provided the little push he needed on the line to get the photo decision. I like to think she did and I like to think the equine Kathryn might just have provided Ron, his wife Rosalie and his son Julian with a bit of joy as he competed with and defeated Australia’s best.

PELICANRAMA. We have our Daughter Megan to thank for this Champion Filly and for her unusual name. Before she started taking an interest in partying and boys, Megan would regularly accompany me to the Track and became well known to all the regulars at the Trots even spending part of her school holidays with Barb, Peter and Kerryn Manning at their Great Western property. In 1994 when Megan was 13 we headed off to a Broodmare Sale at Oaklands Junction with the wise and threatening words of my wife and Megan’s Mum ringing in our ears – “if you two buy another bloody horse don’t bother coming home!” As was the way, we completely ignored Robyn’s entreaty and purchased a barren mare for the princely sum of $500. Beauteous was her name and she was actually knocked down to another buyer for $300 and we gave him a $200 profit on his purchase to secure her after getting assurances from one of the very good guys in Harness Racing in John Coffey that her breeding failures were due to bad luck rather than any physical issues she had. Beauteous was from a great family but hadn’t had much luck getting in foal the previous few years. The aforementioned Rob Van Dyke worked his magic however and got her in foal to the Farm’s great stallion Panorama and Pelicanrama was the result of that breeding. I’m not sure how many months later it was when we let it slip to Robyn that we had ignored her “no more horses” directive but it was quite a while. Pelicanrama went on to win a total of 55 races and $730,271 competing both here and in the USA. When her USA racing career was over she was returned to Australia becoming a successful broodmare with one of her Granddaughters winning this Season’s Queensland Oaks. Pelicanrama won 18 of 24 starts as a two year old against a banner crop of fillies and was one of the greatest youngsters I’ve had the pleasure to see race. Most her defeats as a two year old were directly attributable to bad racing luck and she competed in virtually every Classic on the calendar traveling along the Eastern Seaboard winning nearly all of them. Perhaps Pelicanrama’s greatest achievement though was turning Megan into a “Page 3 Girl” in the Herald Sun back in the days when it was a genuine newspaper. Her ownership of the filly was a featured article along with this gorgeous photo of A Girl With Her Horse❤️.

KNIGHT PISTOL. I saved the best and most unbelievable horse tale till last, for the unusually named Knight Pistol or Trigger as was his Stable Name or as our mate Glenn Tippet dubbed him The Terminator. Firstly the origins of his moniker. He was first Registered as Pistol Knight in recognition of a particularly heavy night on the drink but Victoria’s Bastard Registrar who has the initials of Richard King, determined that the name Pistol Knight might offend the sensibilities of some old lady if the horse ever made it to the races and made us reverse the order of the two words. I still believe that the Race Caller in Norway proclaiming “and here comes Pistol Knight flashing down the outside and I expect the owners will be pissed all night tonight celebrating this unbelievable victory” would have had a great ring to it, but because of the Bastard Registrar, history was denied a great race call.😂

I’m probably getting ahead of myself referring to The Terminator’s win in Norway so let’s go back to his beginnings. He was broken in for us by Kevin McFarlane just outside of Benalla and his was the typical good news/bad news story. The good news was that he broke in nicely but the bad news was, all he wanted to do was trot (he was bred to be a pacer). We had no use for a Trotter so Kevin organised for us to lease him to a group of owners headed up by Football Legend, Ted Whitten. After a couple of years, Ted’s trainer returned him to us with the advice that “he is a nice horse that should win a couple in the bush but we want a Metropolitan horse so he’s on his way back to you”. Living in the suburbs, returning him to our backyard wasn’t an option and eventually he was leased for life to my Brother In Law, Geoff Sanderson and his late wife Wendy to be trained in Stawell. They had far more success with Trigger than Teddy Whitten ever envisaged becoming a Moonee Valley winner and competing in two Trotters Interdominions. Knight Pistol had over 100 starts for Geoff and Wendy winning 17 before they surrendered the Lease in September of 1996. They returned the horse to the Manning’s property and I asked Peter could he drop the horse off to Glenn Tippet on his way to Moonee Valley on Saturday night with a view to him giving The Terminator a try. Peter said he’d never trained a trotter and wouldn’t mind having a crack at getting him going again and the rest is, as they say in the Classics, history. Three years and 39 wins later Peter had transformed Knight Pistol into one of the greatest Trotters ever seen in this part of the World. To this day, 25 years later, he is still the only Australian horse to ever win on the European Grand Circuit. Thankfully Geoff and Wendy stayed in the Lease of the horse and could enjoy his successes with us. The win on the European Grand Circuit remains the highlight of our Horse owning years. Getting Trigger an invitation to race in Scandinavia was like a well executed Military Exercise involving firstly introducing this old gelding to the Swedish Trotting Association and then convincing them that he was good enough to justify them spending US$56,000 in flying him there to compete in their Feature Races but somehow we did it. It was a 54 hour trip from the Farm in Great Western to the Stables in Sweden involving a roadtrip to Tullamarine and a flight to Copenhagen with stopovers in Perth, Singapore, Dubai and Dublin then a 13 hour truck trip to Stockholm. It was the adventure of a lifetime and introduced a young Kerryn Manning to the International World of Harness Racing. She became a superstar of the Sport.

 

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My appointment with the Oncology Department is scheduled for February 23rd and all being well I will commence nine weeks of Chemotherapy shortly thereafter. The side effects this time will likely include nausea, hair loss and of course, fatigue! My hair falling out and the nausea I can live with but if the Chemo causes me to be even more exhausted than I am now, I’ll be totally pissed off.

The uncertainty of just how quickly Rupert is spreading through my body has led to behavioural changes. Any plans for trips and holidays later in the year are on hold and there doesn’t seem much point in doing any online shopping so my well used Amazon account is in hibernation. I’ve even given up buying green bananas at the supermarket in case I fall off the perch before they ripen🙂.

Anyway, enough about Rupert The Uninvited and time for a bit more of my life with Horses.

I commenced work at Peat Marwick Mitchell in the Graduate intake of 1976. It was a bit of a culture shock for someone accustomed to living in shorts or jeans and tee shirts to having to wear a suit and tie every day. Peat’s strict dress code required that whenever you left the Office you wore your suit coat. It’s hardly surprising that the day I completed my three years indenture period and qualified as a Chartered Accountant most my ties were consigned to the rubbish bin never to be worn again. I did keep a couple for weddings and funerals but that’s about it.

When most graduates had accumulated a little bank from working they’d often “waste” their money on a car or clothes or maybe even holidays. Not this little black duck though! My first major purchase was an infoal broodmare. The mare’s name was Nesa Way and I bought her in partnership with my punting partner in crime from Bendigo, Mick Barrett. Peter Gleeson from Maryborough sourced the mare for us and became a good friend and advisor in the Horse Racing days. Peter and a NZ Bloodstock Agent called Bob McArdle shared one of the best nick names in the Trots – “The Moth”. If they saw a light on in your home they’d be in for a bed. In all the years I knew them both I don’t think either of them ever paid for a Hotel Room😀. Mick and myself both loved the trots and buying a mare in foal was the cheapest way for us to become owners. We had horses together for the next thirty years and never once did we have a blue. He was and remains a great friend.

We named Nesa Way’s foal Ridgefield Park and as luck would have it, he went okay. He won a few races in Victoria including one at Moonee Valley but he was a hopeless beginner from Standing Starts so the decision was made to send him to Brian Hancock in Sydney where nearly all races were run from the Mobile Barrier. The start that convinced us to relocate him was at Maryborough and the little bugger reared up and straddled the track’s outside fence and took no part in the race. I must have forgotten to tell Brian that he should restrict Ridgefield Park to Mobile Races and you wouldn’t want to know, he entered him first up in a Standing Start at Harold Park. All’s well that ends well and we got the chocolates that night and approximately 20 more Harold Park wins followed. What did I say in my first Blog Post about being kissed on the dick by a Fairy? Nesa Way cost us $2000 if i remember correctly and her first foal ran in an Interdominion for us. Pure luck! We punted him in almost all of his wins and he hardly ever let us down. He was a ripper.

Brian went on to train a myriad of winners for us over the years and we had a great lurk that allowed us to get to Sydney to watch them whenever we had one racing, courtesy of two Melbourne acquaintances. One was a Manager with Qantas (remember, this was when Qantas was a great Airline and not the shit show it is now) and he would get us tickets for 25% of their face value as “preferred flyers”. When we’d arrive at the Airport we knew one of the Supervisors in the Baggage Collection area and he would upgrade us to first class in return for us giving him the mail on what horse we’d be backing. It was sweet. We would fly up the afternoon of the race, most times have a winning night, head out for dinner at one of our favourite Restaurants and fly home the next day. We’d often have to make a detour to our Hotel before going out to eat to put the night’s winnings in a Safety Deposit Box. A couple of times we had to request a “large” box because we had too much cash for a regular one. They were the days😄.

They weren’t all winning nights though. One infamous evening we had a horse making its debut at Bankstown on Carousel Night, their biggest night’s racing for the year. His name was Sirtelzah and we bought him on the back of a good trial for $16,000. He’d been training great and at his last workout before the Bankstown Race he beat one of Brian’s best horses comfortably. There was no way he could lose in a Maiden Three Year Old race so we decided to unload on him. The owners commission was in the order of $15,000 and Sirtelzah was backed from 8/1 to 6/4 in one of Australia’s strongest Bookmaker Rings. After the field had gone 600 metres the plunge was looking good with Sirtelzah going like last week’s pay and leading by about 30 metres. Unfortunately he’d bolted on Brian and I think they had to delay the start of the next race waiting for him to finish a distant last. One of the Part Owners was a great mate in Jimmy Hynes and he was in Hospital at the time for back surgery so couldn’t be on course but his money was there. To this day, he insists that the Hospital ran out of Pethidine that night as he kept calling for more jabs to ease the pain – not the pain in his back but the pain in his pocket. There were no victory celebrations that night!😢

I consider myself a fair judge of horses and an excellent judge of people. In all the years that we raced horses we really didn’t use many Trainers. Brian Hancock trained all our Sydney horses and in the early 90’s I made the best phone call of my life to Peter Manning in Great Western to see if he would train one for us. In those days we’d travel throughout Victoria to Trots Meetings, usually doing about 50,000 kilometres each year getting to the Tracks and I recognised that Peter had outstanding success in the juvenile races with average bred youngsters. Peter explained that he only worked a small Team with the help of his wife Barb and that he might be able to take one. When he told me how little he charged I asked him could he train 2 for me. He eventually said yes and a wonderful partnership was born. Ironically the two yearling I gave him were both duds and we found good homes for them both when it was clear they wouldn’t make the grade. One of them went on to be Victoria’s 50 kilometre Edurance Champion Under Saddle so I had bred my first Blue Ribbon winner😄.

While we had no luck with the first two horse Peter trained for us, we had plenty of luck from then on owning an Australian Two Year Filly of The Year, an Australian Two Year Old Colt/Gelding of The Year and a two time Australian Aged Trotter of The Year and countless other Stakes Winners. Peter, Barb and their daughter Kerryn won Classic races for us in Victoria, NSW, Queensland, South Australia, New Zealand and Norway and lost in a photo in WA’s biggest 4yo Race. A win there would have given us Stakes Wins in all of the Mainland States, a feat I’d imagine has very rarely been achieved. Peter, Barb and Kerryn provided all of our Family with wonderful memories that keep me smiling even today when I think about our wins. Next week I will Post about some of our best wins with the Manning’s. See you then.⭕️❌

I suspect when the writers penned these lines for Bullet Tooth Tony (one of the all time great characters of British Cinema by the way) they were using it as a metaphor for the trials and tribulations of Prostate Cancer Treatments. I really am beginning to wonder whether the constant fatigue, frequent hot flushes, anatomical changes and other side effects from the treatments I’m having, and are about to have, are worthwhile, given the hoped for low bar outcomes. At the end of the day, the Specialists are looking only to extend my life, and I truly am grateful for their efforts, but with no cure available, I often find myself wondering whether my life would be more productive had I never taken that first blood test back in May. Shrinking away from Life wasn’t in my playbook before that PSA Result.

William Osler, a founding Professor of John Hopkins Hospital, is credited with making the first reference to “the cure being worse than the disease” approximately 120 years ago. Prior to the presence of Rupert being exposed, my life was going along okay. I was on Medications for elevated Cholesterol and Blood Pressure along with assistance for Depression but life was generally good. I was able to exercise regularly, lift reasonably heavy weights for an old bloke, enjoy my Grandchildren and throw pretty decent baseball batting practice whenever I was called upon. Like most men my age, my sleep would be disrupted by occasionally having to get up to take a leak but that was about the extent of issues in my life. Ignorance of Rupert was bliss. Dealing with him now that I know he’s there, really is a pain in the arse.

The time line of my visits to Specialists makes for interesting reading (or at least I think it does) and may be instructive for anyone else facing a Prostate Cancer diagnosis.

November 4th was when the Urologist confirmed after a Biopsy, a Cat Scan, an Ultrasound, an MRI and a Tc-PMCA Scan that Rupert was Stage 4, Grade Group 5 Prostate Cancer and was inoperable. The Urology Department of The Canberra Hospital were to review all the collected information at their weekly meeting and develop a Treatment Plan. I would then meet again with the Urologist to go over the Department’s recommended strategy.

December 5th was when I met again with the Urologist. The intention was that I would commence Combination therapy utilizing Hormone Therapy in conjunction with Radiation Therapy. The Hormone Therapy was to begin immediately with a 3 month implant of Zoladex and the Radiotherapy was to begin as quickly as possible. An internal request for an appointment ASAP with the Radiologist Specialist was initiated that day with a view to beginning Radiotherapy. I had my first Hormone Implant the next day.

December 8th I received a phone call from the Radiology department informing me that Radiation treatment could not commence until I’d had 6 months of the Hormone Therapy and they scheduled an information meeting with the Radiology Specialist for January.

January 18 (two days ago) I met with the Canberra Hospital Radiology Specialist. After reviewing all my available information, plans were once again amended. After reviewing the scans an intense spot of cancer was located close to the rectum wall and it was determined that targeted Radiation aimed in that area ran a substantial risk of burning through the rectum wall which isn’t a particularly desirable outcome😄. I am now waiting an appointment with the Oncology Department to commence 9 weeks of Chemotherapy which hopefully will shrink the cancer in the proximity of the rectum so that I can then begin Radiotherapy. Hopefully the Radiotherapy will be able to commence around June and will be delivered 5 days per week for 7 weeks. The Radiation will be targeted at the areas of the Prostate and Lymph nodes where Rupert is hanging out and apparently they will tattoo crosses on the areas they will focusing on. I intend using the Tattooist who did my son’s extensive artwork to place images of small baseballs and little horses for the Radiologist to aim at instead of having boring crosses all over my body. It will be a Father – Son bonding experience😄. One additional bit of information I received at this meeting was that the Lymph Nodes in my chest have been infected and that there is a genuine chance Rupert has already metastasised into my bones even though it isn’t yet apparent on the scans. My radiation treatment when it eventually begins in around 6 months was described as “palliative intent radiotherapy”. Any time the term “palliative” enters discussions, it is a bit of a gut punch.

I did ask the Radiology Specialist on Wednesday what the chances were of me still being around in 12 months. Her reply was “Why? What have you got on in 12 months?” Her reply actually made me laugh out loud that I would need a reason for wanting to live another 12 months. She then said that she was pretty confident she’d be able to give me at least another year. “Pretty confident”of getting 12 months is a lot better than the “28% chance of lasting a year” I was initially given when Rupert’s presence was fist confirmed. I’m a lot happier with those odds than the original ones.

I will continue my “Horse Tales” in next week’s Blog but I thought recording the above developments was important. My illness is my journey and no matter how much you care about my travails, it is up to me alone to cope as best as I can. There is no doubt however, that knowing a number of people think enough of me to spend a few minutes each week reading my Blog does give me strength. Thank you❤️❤️

I’d love to be able to tell you that I’m travelling okay but I’ve never been comfortable with duplicity – either my own or someone else’s. The truth is, the last few days have been unnerving. Not that I’ve been in any great discomfort as I am pain free, but because Rupert’s impact on people I care about is becoming an issue for me.

The immediate family came together for a Birthday dinner for Robyn last night and all I could think about was how these gatherings will be impacted as Rupert inevitably infiltrates the rest of my body. There’s a lot to be said for not knowing if you have an incurable illness. Intellectually, I fully understand that I mustn’t let tomorrow’s problems impact on today’s happiness but knowing something and embracing it in life are two different things. Accidental death may well be easier on loved ones than terminal illnesses.

Anyway, enough of that. Apart from Family and Friends, the great passions in my life have been Horses and Baseball. The latter has cost me plenty and the former gave me a wonderful life for 40 years. I remember a quote from a prominent owner about his life with horses: “I’m one of the lucky ones who made a million dollars out of the horses. Unfortunately it cost me two million dollars to do it”. Owning horses and gambling on them has ruined the lives of many, many families. Thankfully for us, my early introduction to the horse was fortuitous happenstance.

My Father was one of eleven children and as fate would have it, three of his brothers were involved in the Trotting Industry. The wage for working as a Fitter’s Assistant on the Railways was never going to allow Dad to own a horse but it didn’t stop him having a TAB Double on the gallops of a Saturday and it didn’t prevent him attending Bendigo Trots meetings. My first new baseball glove was a gift from Dad after his numbers saluted in the Daily Double and my affection for the horse came from Dad taking me to the Track. Childhood happenstance genuinely shaped the next 50 years of my life. If Dad hadn’t collected that Double, I may never have had Baseball in my life. Similarly, if he hadn’t taken me to the Trots, I can’t imagine a livelihood derived from the punt would have eventuated. Prior to his death from lung cancer caused by working with asbestos in the Locomotive Sheds, Dad delighted in going to the Track with me to see our horses run. The only Race Winning photo I’ve retained is one with Dad in the Winners Circle after a Moonee Valley win and I’m just sorry he wasn’t still alive when Peter, Barb and Kerryn Manning provided us with so much success throughout Australia. He would have loved to have enjoyed those times with us and I can picture him puffing his big chest out and strutting out on to the Track with me to collect one of our Winner’s Trophies.

My earliest recollections of going to the track date to my Primary School days. It is difficult for people today to understand just how big Racing was in the 60’s. The lineup of cars attending the Night Trots at Lords Raceway in Bendigo would invariably stretch for kilometres as patrons lined up to get in. And this was for every meeting, not just for Bendigo Cup Night. Almost everyone would join the queue at their local TAB to take a Daily Double on the Gallops of a Saturday afternoon, often just taking the same favourite numbers each week, and then listening to the races on the radio. There were no Pokies, no Casinos, no night time shopping and Pubs closed at 6pm until extended hours were introduced in 1966, the same year that we switched to Decimal Currency. Racing was a big deal.

The only Soft Drinks available at Lords Raceway were locally made by BCX (Bendigo Cordial Extract) and they were sold from a stall underneath the grandstand next to the room where all the Drivers names were stored ready for arrangement on the upcoming Race Display Board. The stall gave a one penny refund on the empty bottles and buyers were immediately surrounded by kids asking for the empties. My sales pitch was “Can I have your bottle when you’re finished please Sir (or Mam)” accompanied by a broad smile. Us bottle collectors ran a closed shop and newcomers were not welcomed. I was one of Bendigo’s first Greenies adopting bottle recycling when early Greens Party Leader, Bob Brown was still in short pants. What became clear to me very early on was that Business was screwing us Workers by only giving us a one penny return on the empties. The BCX Factory in Golden Square would pay sixpence per bottle if the bottles were repatriated to their Factory so a cunning plan was developed. I would take a hessian sugar bag with me to the Track and place it in the aforementioned room next to the Drinks Stall and proceed to fill it with empties. The bag would hold just over 200 small bottles and with 8 races per night I only had to collect 50 bottles per hour to fill up – a piece of cake for this little kid with the irresistible smile.😊 At the end of the night Dad would help me carry my precious bag full of bottles to the car and put them in the boot for delivery to Golden Square later in the week. 200 bottles at a penny a pop on track would return me just over sixteen shillings but 200 bottles returned to BCX would give me exactly one hundred shillings or Five Pounds in paper money! Using the sugar bag was a no brainer really.

When a race was on I’d take up my regular position at the top of the Grandstand just before the winning post and cheer on my favourite horses. I’m sure it was here that my love for the horse developed: not a love for gambling or a love for the race itself but a genuine love for those beautiful animals. It is a love affair that continues to this day. The outside of a horse really is good for the inside of a man.

As I entered my teens, my ability to fill the sugar bags was usurped by younger kids invading my territory. For some reason patrons preferred to hand their empties to innocent nine year olds rather than veteran thirteen year olds so my “can I have your bottle please” days were done. I hadn’t saved enough to retire to the Gold Coast but I’d done okay.

The next few years I would still attend every Trots Meeting but my attention now switched to doing form and having a bet. Obviously my form study was pretty rudimentary and usually involved following the money in the packed Bookmaker’s Ring and my bets were tiny but I was taking my first baby steps along a road that would see me spend nearly 40 years living off the punt. They were a good 40 years.

After completing Secondary School at White Hills Tech I attended what was then The Bendigo College Of Advanced Education (now La Trobe University’s Bendigo Campus) and obtained my Accounting Diploma. Going to University was free at that time courtesy of Gough Whitlam abolishing Tertiary Fees in 1974 and had it not been for Gough, I doubt I would have been able to afford a Tertiary Education. I owe Gough plenty! I did pretty well at College, especially considering I would skip every afternoon when there was a Trots meeting being held within a 60 mile radius of Bendigo! Luckily I knew plenty of diligent students who didn’t like the trots and they would allow me to photocopy their Lecture Notes from classes missed. In those days, Accountants were in high demand from the Big 8 International Accounting Firms (Arthur Andersen, Coopers and Lybrand, Deloitte Haskins and Sells, Price Waterhouse, Peat Marwick Mitchell, Ernst and Whinney, Touche Ross and Arthur Young) and each of them would send Recruiting Teams to College Campuses to interview Graduating Students. The questions would include what does your Father do, did you go to Private School, where do your parents live, etc and I’m not sure my honest answers would have impressed many of the Firms but one Recruiter was different. Peter Neville was his name and he represented Peat Marwick Mitchell. His first question was “Do you play Football?” At that time I was traveling each weekend to play for Yarrawalla in the Loddon Valley Football League for the princely sum of $20 per game. I’m not sure they got very good value for money out of their Bendigo recruit but I did manage to kick a few goals in the 1975 Premiership winning game including one monster torpedo that was memorialized as “The Concord” during the after match celebrations in recognition of the distance the ball flew.🤣 I probably should own up that the only reason I received match payments was because the Coach, John Plim, was a friend of one of my good mates in Ron Lake, so I was part of a package deal to get Ron to play. But I digress: when I told this to the Peat Marwick recruiter he informed me that I had a job. I eventually found out that the Big Eight firms played a Football Lightning Premiership each year and “bragging rights” were much sought after so the ability to kick a football allowed me to become a Chartered Accountant. I hated every minute of the three years I had to work to obtain my Chartered Certificate but I’m glad I did it. I kept paying my Chartered Accountant Annual Registration Fees until I was well into my 50’s just in case I hit the wall on the punt but thankfully I never needed to call on that qualification after 1979.

Google is an amazing tool for gathering information some of which can be life affirming and plenty that isn’t. Growing up there were people making good livings travelling through Australia selling sets of Encyclopedia Britannica at the local Agricultural Show. My Mum and Dad were never close to being able to afford those beautiful leather bound Volumes but thankfully the School Library always had a complete Set available for us to research any topic imaginable. Today you just need to “let Google be your friend”. This week I consulted Google and it seems I’ve been going through a period of “Fear Of Cancer Progression”.

Have a bad headache – the disease has metastasised to my brain. Can’t stand up because of back pain – Rupert has taken up residence in my spine. My pee, when it eventually dribbles into the bowl, is foamy – now “it’s” in my kidneys! Thankfully the “brain cancer” was fixed with a couple of Advil, the “spinal cancer” disappeared after a few Voltaren 25 tablets and a urine test showed my “Kidney Cancer” was nonexistent. In other words, I’m doing fine but I really I need to concentrate on not letting tomorrow’s problems rob me of today’s happiness.

As I look back on my life I find myself reflecting on the good times and the not so good. In the early 80’s we took Holidays in Bali for three successive years staying at Pertamina Cottages which was then, the only Five Star Hotel on the Island. The first two years our kids stayed with my Mum and Dad and the third trip they were big enough to come with us. I can’t be sure but I suspect there’s every chance John and Megan actually preferred being spoiled at Nan and Pop’s to travelling with Mum and Dad. The “kids” trip included a 3am visit to the Hotel Restaurant for John and myself when we snuck out of the room for ice cream while the girls slept. In those days very few Australians vacationed in Bali and the fair haired John and Megan were something of an oddity, especially for the many South East Asian tourists flocking there. John was particularly annoyed by the constant requests for photos on our very occasional excursions out of the walled Hotel and simply refused to cooperate with a smile for the Paparazzi. Both those trips were impacted by horse stories.

The first holiday we were flying out of Tullamarine on Saturday morning and the night before was not a good one. I have some interesting memories of a life on the Punt, plenty of them good ones, but that Friday night wasn’t one of them.

Earlier that year I had purchased a horse called Noble Man off the late Danny Frawley’s Family in Ballarat for $20,000. For context, $20,000 in 1980 has the equivalent purchasing power of $103,000 in today’s money. My cunning plan was to fly the horse to Perth to be prepared by Trevor Warwick, one of Australia’s leading trainers, for a first up plunge, win a few races there then fly the horse to New York to capitalise on the better prizemoney on offer in The States, before selling him on for a substantial profit. The only part of the plan that came to fruition was the flying of the horse to Perth! It was Robbie Burns who wrote “the best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew” and the Noble Man scheme certainly did that!

By chance, Noble Man’s Perth debut was scheduled for the night before we flew out to Bali so with a pocket full of “Pineapples” I headed off to Gloucester Park to execute part 2 of my cunning plan – land a first up plonk. I employed Russell Betts, a mate from over there, to act as bowler and had $8000 on him in the strong local Bookmaker Ring. Noble Man led and gave up like a pricked balloon and I headed back to Melbourne on the Red Eye with my tail between my legs, landing just in time for a quick breakfast before taking off for Bali. Needless to say, it wasn’t the ideal start to the holiday and it took quite a few Bintangs to get into the holiday mood.

That was Noble Man’s only start in Perth and after a Veterinary Examination revealed a heart problem, I gave the horse back to Anne Frawley (Danny’s sister) and he lived out his years on their Bungaree Property. All up, the cunning plan cost me about $35,000 and while I finished up with nothing, the Frawley’s finished up with $20,000 and their horse back proving Robbie Burns knew more about life than I did.

Our second holiday in Bali provided a genuine “good news, bad news” story. Earlier that year I had purchased a horse called Rapid Chimes from a young bloke near Bendigo for $16,000 and gave it to a good mate in Glen Tippet to train. The young bloke who sold me the horse contacted me a few years ago to let me know that he used the $16,000 as a deposit on a house in Thornbury that is now worth well over a million dollars so he we both won out of that deal. Glen did great with the horse and it was decided to send it to one of Australia’s legendary Harness Trainers in Brian Hancock to run in Sydney targeting the Juvenile Classics there. As an aside, Brian probably trained over 100 winners for us and remains a dear friend to this day. He trained on a tiny track at his property just out of Wollongong and was the best judge of when a horse could win that I’ve come across. I would guess our success rate on horses he tipped would have been close to 90%. When I approached him for the first time to train one for me he said “I only have 2 Rules: you pay your bills on time and you never ask me to get one beat. If you do ask me to pull one up, you’ll find your horse chained to the front gate for you to pick up”. That suited me just fine and I lived by those rules for the next 30 years.

Rapid Chimes did well for Brian and was entered for a race (maybe The Sapling Stakes??) that was going to be ran at Harold Park while we were away. Brian thought it had a good chance so I left $2000 with my lifelong friend Mick Barrett to back the horse. Mick was to fly to Sydney on the Friday and providing Brian was happy going into the race, he would get a couple of Sydney mates we used as Bowlers at Harold Park to back it. The good news is Rapid Chimes, courtesy of a wonderful drive from Brian, crapped in at 16/1 – the bad news is Brian wasn’t confident of the horse’s chances so Mick didn’t bet! At that time, there were maybe 3 people in the World who I would have believed if they told me we weren’t on at the sixteens but Mick was one of them. I would have trusted him with my life back then and I’d trust him with my life now. He’s been a wonderful mate. Needless to say the second Bali holiday was a little less stressful than the first but with a bit of luck it could have been $32,000 better.

That’s enough reminiscing for this week. Ainsley and Robert returned from their beach holiday (no they didn’t holiday in Bali) yesterday so they will give me something other than Rupert to focus on until School goes back in February. No one prepared me for just how much I would love my Grandchildren and the 3 of them are a good reason to keep on keeping on. Except for the Cancer, I’m a lucky man🙂

*Someone with a better memory than me or perhaps just someone not experiencing “brain fog”, informed me that we actually went to Bali three years in a row and my recollections have been corrected accordingly.

To be honest, prior to July, I thought the last few years had been pretty shitty with Trigeminal Neuralgia putting me in almost a perpetual state of self imposed lockdown and then Covid periodically doing the same for everyone else. Pretty shitty that is, until along came Rupert! Now I understand what a “pretty shitty” year is really like.

This week I made the mistake of watching an excellent BBC TV Series called Mayflies. It was outstanding Television and the sort of show only European Countries seem capable of producing. Mayflies depicts how a guy with inoperable cancer faces up to his mortality and the impact his choices have on his loved ones. He decides to travel to Switzerland to avail himself of that Country’s Assisted Dying laws and wants his lifelong best mate to accompany him. It was riveting stuff and had me questioning who I would want with me in the same circumstances. I’m not sure it’s an obligation I could ask anyone I care about to take up. A feeling of melancholy ensued for a couple of days until I arrived at the conclusion that some things are best undertaken alone so all of you can sleep easy knowing I won’t be calling on any of you to hold my hand if/when that time arrives.

Tonight we will all make New Year’s Eve resolutions knowing full well that we will have broken most of them by the end of New Year’s Day. In my case, that applies in Spades to my “get fit” and “diet” declarations over the years so I thought I would suggest just a few Resolutions that you might be able to live with through 2023 that will make life a bit more enjoyable for old blokes like me.

Number 1: Be patient with your elders. Just because I regularly lose my train of thought or forget what I was going to say, don’t assume I’m going senile (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it🙂). Thankfully I have taught my gorgeous Granddaughter Ainsley how to play Sudoku so now when I get stuck, she can help me complete the puzzles but unfortunately she isn’t always by my side. Brain fog is an identified side effect of both Long Covid and Hormone Therapy so the next time you start to reach for the horn in the KFC Drive Through because the guy in front is taking too long to Order, think again. It just may well be me, without the support of Ainsley, having little joy in trying to purchase a Big Mac and a McFlurry. Remember, patience is a virtue.

Number 2: Don’t shove anyone at the Urinal. The Guinness Book Of Records doesn’t have a Category for “Time Taken To Complete A Leak” but if they did I’d be a moral to feature in their next edition. I made a living for 40 plus years using a Stop Watch and I think it might be time to pull my old Seiko out of storage to check just how many minutes it takes me to complete my “Tinkle Trickles”. Breaking the “Two Minute Mile” was something to aim for in the early days of Trotting but now my ambition is just to break the “Two Minute Pee Time”! It’s been bad enough having to get up 3 or 4 times per night to take a leak but with each journey to the toilet taking longer and longer to conclude, the frustration is building. So next time you’re getting annoyed because the old bloke in front of you at the Urinal seems to be taking forever to zip up, don’t push him forward. It’s probably just another person peeing with Rupert.

3. Don’t laugh when you see an old bloke stripping off in the middle of Winter. The Specialist warned me that a likely side effect of the Hormone Therapy would be Hot Flushes and it’s almost like he knew what he was talking about! Now would probably be a good time to apologise on behalf of every male in the World who failed to show empathy for the women in their life going through menopause. Hot Flushes are a thing and they are a bastard. They come out of nowhere and leave you reaching for the Air Conditioner controls and a towel to dry off the sweat and then just a few minutes later you are left shivering as the Hot Flush lets up. They are worse at night when they interrupt a sleep already disrupted by the frequent need to pee. So if you see an old fella taking off his shirt on a cold July day, don’t call the Police. It’s probably just someone coping with Rupert and a Hormone Therapy induced Hot Flush.

Anyway, that’s enough for 2022. Life is short so dream big and make 2023 an absolute cracker. ⭕️❌

Dear Santa, I only have one thing on my List for this Christmas. One thing, that is, apart from my usual requests for World Peace, an end to poverty, no more famine, etc etc, and that’s for an end to this debilitating fucking tiredness. Fly safely. Russ

The constant exhaustion is getting me down unfortunately but it may well be something I have to just get accustomed to. I’m sure if I could get through the night without having to get up 3 or 4 times to take a leak I’d have a lot more energy during the day but for the time being multiple night time pees are my life.

Life really isn’t fair, and believe me, I’m not referring to my life. I’ve had a charmed seven decades and no matter what the future holds, I have no complaints. We are born, we grow up and if we are lucky, we grow old then we die. I’ve been lucky and the last week has brought home to me just how lucky I’ve been.

Last Saturday I received news that the young wife of a very decent man had passed away. She was just 39 years old with 3 young children and should have had a wonderful life in front of her but instead, just 9 days after being diagnosed with Cancer, she was gone. Elizabeth is her name and she was basically the same age as my daughter Megan and her children are similar in age to the very best things in my life, my Grandchildren Robert and Ainsley. I would gladly accept the uncertainty of my future with Rupert if it could somehow mean that young families would never have to live with what Elizabeth’s family is now facing. Life really isn’t fair.

One of the things about Christmas that I really looked forward to in a previous life was the Boxing Day Test. One of my best mates growing up was my neighbour Wayne Floyd and his Dad, Peter introduced me to the Boxing Day test with a day trip from Bendigo in my early teens (Peter died from asthma complications when in the prime of his life – life really isn’t fair). From that day on I was hooked.

This was a time when you would get two hours of the Test televised live in black and white on the ABC and to follow the other sessions of the game you’d tune into ABC Radio. I can still remember laying in bed as a 13 year old secretly listening into the early hours of the morning Australia’s tour of South Africa in the 1966/67 test series. Just 4 years later the ICC (International Cricket Council) grew a spine and banned South Africa from all forms of International Cricket in support of the rapidly growing anti-apartheid movement. It took another 24 years of sanctions but eventually apartheid was consigned to the rubbish bin of history and a Democratically Elected Government was formed. The ICC did the right thing.

In my late teens and early 20’s, I’d invariably get to the MCG to watch the Tests. I’d find free accommodation somewhere nearby and head off every morning with my esky full of ice and a few beers and position myself behind the sight screen in the outer. From 11 until 6 I’d watch every ball of every eight ball over, and remember, this was a time when Test Matches went longer than two days! Now I have trouble watching two overs of Test Cricket without changing channels. The Boxing Day Test in 1974 was arguably the best drawn match in Ashes history but it lives in my memory, not for the result, but for an after game experience. When stumps were pulled a mate of mine from the Bendigo Cricket Club and myself picked up our esky and made our way from the Outer to the Members enclosure, found the back entrance to the Visitors dressing room and walked in. Dennis Lillee wearing only a white towel was sharing a beer with English opener Dennis Amiss when Security caught on that the young blokes in footy shorts nursing an esky didn’t really look much like Test Cricketers and probably shouldn’t be in the rooms. Lillee sprung to our defence saying “they’ve brought their own beer, let them stay”. I’d like to say we spent the rest of the night in Tiger Lillee’s company but unfortunately Security had their way and we were shown the street. The good news was that we didn’t go home “in the back of a Divy Van” but the bad news was it took me another 25 years to obtain my MCC Membership. I suspect there’s a good chance the MCC Office had a photo of me leaving the Visitor’s Change Rooms that day that they referred to whenever my Application for Membership crossed their desk.😄 Eventually my 25 year “suspension” was lifted and I became a Member of one of Australia’s most exclusive Clubs and I could take up my position in the Members area without having to sneak in.

That’s about enough for this Christmas Eve. Remember to hug the ones you care about and enjoy every minute of their company. Celebrate these Holidays full of love and remember that “in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make”.

It’s hard to believe, I know, but I was once a kid. A kid who grew up in a distinctly working class family where Christmas was unquestionably my favourite time of year. Dad was a returned Soldier who worked at the Railways Locomotive Shed in Bendigo for 40 odd years. Mum worked at the Kia-Ora Tomato Sauce bottling plant in Bendigo until they’d saved enough for a deposit on a house financed through a War Service Loan. They made that house their home for the rest of their life together until Dad passed away with Lung Cancer.

Every year Dad would head out into the bush in early December to find us a Christmas Tree. No such thing as plastic trees in those days. Mum would take great pride in decorating the tree and the lounge room and those decorations remained in place each year until New Year’s Day.

Mum would start shopping for Christmas presents around September and keep a list of what she’d spent on everyone to make sure that none of the kids had more spent on them than the other two. She continued this practice with her three daughter’s in law, her eight grandchildren and her many great grandchildren. I can’t imagine any parent spending more time shopping for presents than Mum did and up until her death, she’d make sure the receipt for every present purchased was retained in case the gift (usually bought on Sale) needed changing.

It’s impossible for the youth of today to understand what a treat it was in those days to have a roast chicken for Christmas Lunch. Chicken was too expensive to eat on a day to day basis and our usual protein was a fortnightly side of lamb that Dad would pick up on his bike on pay day from the family butcher. Dad rode that bike to work every day, rain hail or shine until his retirement and I’m embarrassed to say that while he would be pedalling his way to the Loco Sheds I’d have the family car to drive to College, cricket practice or whatever I had on. What an absolute gem of a Dad he was.

With a leg of lamb today costing $20/kilo and a Chook about $4/kilo, times really have changed. Dad was a big man but the war seemed to have sucked all the anger out of him and he was a truly gentle man. I’m sure he accepted the role of chook executioner at Christmas reluctantly and I can clearly recall one of his less successful beheadings resulting in a headless bird charging from the chopping block behind the garage around the house to the back lawn. Thankfully it ran out of steam before escaping over the back fence otherwise it would have been Roast Lamb for Christmas lunch that year. The roast chicken (especially if you got the wishbone) and the threepence and sixpence coins in the plum pudding were nearly as good the presents – nearly but not quite!

All the extended Edwards family would come together for Christmas Lunch and I can’t remember one crossed word ever being exchanged on Christmas Day. That might have been because Mum was a strict Methodist and lunch was always a teetotalers delight, but no matter the reason, they were invariably joyous days. Days I still cherish. The extended Family lunch eventually moved to Boxing Day to make it easier for everyone to attend and up until Mum’s death a few years ago, the tradition continued, with the only change being the lifting of the ban on alcohol many years ago – still no blues though.

One of the most traumatic episodes of my childhood involved Christmas when my Brother Barry and his terror of a mate, Phil Cartledge, decided to tell me that there was no Santa Claus. As a five year old, I obviously knew they were lying and I flew into a rage with boots, fists and teeth looking for a good landing spot on either of them. The only thing that saved them was Mum coming out to the backyard to see what the yelling was about. That plus the fact that they were about 6 years older than me and could easily outrun me any day of the week. I never forgave either of them.

I like to think we instilled our love of Christmas into our kids and the excitement and joy on the faces of their children (Mitch is a bit too cool to show excitement now unfortunately) when they see their piles of presents each year makes me think we did something right. That excitement really does invoke the best memories of growing up and I wouldn’t swap my childhood for anything.

On the health front, Living with Rupert, Long Covid and Hormone Therapy is having its challenges. You’ll see in the lists of side effects for Prostate Cancer, Long Covid and Hormone Therapy below, that fatigue features prominently in each one and fuck a duck, I really seem to be coping it from all three. I’m trying to keep up a bit of an exercise regime but a forty minute walk today will mean tomorrow spent flat on my back having to force myself to get up out of bed. It’s not ideal and I really hope it gets better in the weeks ahead but there are no guarantees it will. This just might be as good as life gets for me but at least I’ll have Christmas 2022 to keep me smiling.🎄🎄🎄🎁🎁🎁