The dog days can’t last forever – but there’s still plenty to celebrate
1.
The dog now sounds like she smokes 20 a day. Perhaps she does. Maybe she has a secret stash of Lucky Strike under the blanket in her bed. Or is she secreting the odd cheroot in her toy basket when I am not looking? Who knows. But the cancer that we have kept at bay for well over a year has found its way back and this time, well, it’s going to be just that – a matter of time. Still some months we think but that clock is ticking a little louder.
It means that when I pretend that Macy is speaking – a common occurrence in our house, especially when I need the other half to pay attention or just generally agree with my plan of action – I am going to have to start sounding a little less Kylie and a bit more gravelly, like Morgan Freeman. I’m up for that.
Anyway, she’s going to get very little sympathy from my family as it turns out my brother-in-law not only has cancer but is on a similar flight plan for departure. Bloody cheek of it. We had lunch with him the other day and he placed a bet with Macy that he would outlive her. I watched as she cocked her head with a look that said, “We’ll see about that.” She then got out her purse and threw down a £10 note. So now it seems that she’s gambling too. Where will her vices lead her next?
2.
There’s been a lot of medical chat this week. Brian Sommerlad, my neighbour, is one of the world’s leading cleft lip and palate surgeons. On Tuesday, he invited me and the other half to a sort of retirement party that he was having at The Art Workers’ Guild in Bloomsbury. Not only would there be wine and mince pies but he was also going to give a talk titled, “Hanging up the Scalpel: A Lifetime in Surgery”.
Brian is now in his eighties, was operating a week ago and defies any categorisation by age. Just that morning I had seen him at the gym pounding away at speed on the running machine. And it feels like most weeks I bump into him returning from a surgical trip to Iraq or Italy. He’s at the top of his game but that’s a long career and, as he clicked through a presentation covering his life’s trajectory, it was amazing to see him in Vietnam during the war, working in Syria. I have spoken to Brian a hundred times but there’s something wonderful about hearing someone just tell their story, trace their path through life.
The event was packed and after his talk people started asking questions. It was moving when they would begin by saying, “Brian, thank you, you operated on me when I was a child,” or, “I came to see you when I discovered my child was going to be born with a cleft palate”. I would have shed a tear if I wasn’t still trying to recover from all the pictures of operations (put me right off my mince pie).
Whatever happens next – few in the room seemed to believe that this was really the end of him being a surgeon – Brian will continue delivering care to people in low-income countries through the charity that he helped found, Cleft. There, I have done my bit.
3.
And to wrap up charity corner this week, how about you come along to The Monocle Christmas Market next weekend at Midori House in London. We’ll be collecting money on the door for Reporters Without Borders but, once you’ve snuck past the tin rattlers, I can promise you a world of reindeer, mulled wine, stalls packed with desirable gifts and even a portly Santa. I might even drag the dog along but just don’t let her persuade you into having a ciggie behind Santa Claus’s hut. Or to go down the bookies. That girl is losing her way.
To read more columns by Andrew Tuck, click here.
