Round Five

With things pretty stable after round four I decided it was time for some messing about in boats, just as Ratty recommends. So when my old friend Peter came round for the weekend when Kam was away we packed a picnic basket, hired a boat and headed off downriver to explore some of the Thames between Marlow and Cliveden. Here we are on a cosy nook on the river bank having stopped off just beyond Cliveden, and are about to tuck in. The picture was taken by a friendly passer-by.

Here is Cliveden in a shot we took from the boat:

It's a long way up to the house from the river and the path is steep. I don't have nearly enough breath to make it even part of the way, so we let it drift by and followed the lazy rhythm of the Thames. Cruising along the river is generally undemanding, but negotiating the locks requires some attention or messing about in boats can end up by getting the boats into a big mess.

Your controls are a steering wheel and a throttle with forward, neutral and reverse, but, worryingly for the un-nautical like me, there is no brake. If you try to slow down or stop by putting the thing into neutral you can't steer, and the boat just drifts. So you have to put it into reverse. That makes you slow you down and then stop after a short delay. But of course instead of simply stopping you then start to go backwards. So in a lock you either hit the boat in front or the one behind. The boats all look very expensive, and although their passengers are usually quite jolly, largely, I suspect, because of the half empty wine bottles they all seem to keep clasped possessively to their breasts, there is always a ruddy-cheeked one up on the bridge who looks potentially choleric. So to avoid disaster you have to shunt the throttle rapidly between forward and reverse, which usually attracts the disdainful looks of experienced boat handlers as they perceive the inner panic you can never quite hide. But otherwise boating is so relaxing that I mean to repeat the experience by going upstream with some other friends in a week or two.

Breathlessness is the main symptom I still have. The other symptoms are diminishing, and my weight is starting to go up a bit. Most significantly, the latest CT scan has revealed that the troublesome lymph nodes are continuing to shrink in size. My team of oncologists is very pleased with the results of their efforts. The cardiologists have been at work as well. The results of the more complicated cardiology scan are now out and they decided to increase the medication I am taking to regulate my heart beat, and sent me a heart monitor to wear for 24 hours. I have now sent it back and am keeping a blood pressure diary. They also wanted - I might have guessed - an extra blood sample when I went in for round five. The phlebotomy club never stop their sharp scratching. Otherwise, round five was without incident.

The day before round five was of greater note because it was the day I embarked on my eighth decade. To celebrate we decided to dedicate the weekend before it to furthering the cause of gaining weight by having lunch at Raymond Blanc's celebrated Manoir aux Quatre Saisons, which is now only half an hour away. Here we are in the garden with the manor house behind us, photo again courtesy of a friendly third party:

Hope you like the carefully matched shoes.

On the day itself we decided to venture a little further up the road to visit the celebrated film set of Bridgerton, Blenheim Palace. We had lunch in a little back street gastro pub in Woodstock - an excellent recommendation from some friends - and then worked it off with a tour of the Palace. The place is so huge that walking round the house is enough to lose a few calories. As I am trying to put some on, I was careful not to overdo it. Just looking at the grounds made me feel tired, so we left those for another day.

There is a loose connection between Cliveden and Blenheim formed by two of their respective inhabitants. Nancy Astor moved to Cliveden when she married William Waldorf Astor (whose daddy owned the place), and Winston Churchill was born in Blenheim. The two met on several occasions and had a memorable relationship. As one story goes, when Winston dozed off during a dinner they were both at, Nancy observed to the other guests that if he were her husband she would poison his coffee. At this point the object of her remark, who was only semi-somnolent, is said to have half-opened an eye and replied: 'If I were married to you, madam, I would drink it', and then resumed his nap. Although someone may have made this up, it's a good one to have in your repertoire of put-downs.

My final round, number six, will be take place at the end of the month. It will be the final assault on the aliens that have invaded my immune system. The final chapter of 'The Wind in the Willows' is called 'The Return of Ulysses', which is the more familiar name the Romans gave to Odysseus. It, like his return to Ithaca, involves an assault on invading aliens and their eviction from a home. My aliens seem to be on the run, but there are still some lurking around. We are hoping the final round will flush them out.