Of all things the bed is the best/ If you can't sleep you still can rest - Italian Proverb

As usual, once I start writing updates for my dormant blog, it occurs to me I haven't written anything for months.

No matter what is happening in our lives, time marches swiftly on.

Nine years after starting my post-graduate course at the London School of Journalism, I finally wrote all of my exams and submitted my work and somehow graduated with a decent mark. I wasn't merited for my speed.

When I started at LSJ so long ago, I actually fancied myself being a bit of a John Pilger, exposing heartless corporations and ruthless governments, and making a nuisance of myself.

A few years of hospital soon put paid to that. You can still write from home or find stories if the locations you visit have wheelchair access, but it does limit your scope a little.

Obviously getting sick on top of that really doesn't help your journalistic career. Spending over a year in bed was pretty unhelpful as well.

However, whatever I am lacking in the necessary skills to be a decent journalist, I am lucky enough to make up for with a surplus of stubborness running through my veins which allowed me to finally finished the course. So the epic battle of trying to imagine articles to write without leaving my flat is finally over thank goodness. I have managed to get a few jobs as a copy editor. Not very exciting but money is money.

In October last year my condition deteriorated and scans showed the little b*****d had been growing considerably so it was back on the chemo again.

Since then I have had seven courses of Temozolomide chemotherapy and the latest scans this year have shown no real change since the tumour got worse in October.

Of course part of the treatment plan involves taking industrial doses of steroids again which means all the nasty side effects are coming back to haunt me.

I spent years reducing steroids only to be put back on them again. Unfortunately, I have returned to being like an inflatable beach toy with a giant head, but apparently I really need steroids.

To prove the doctors wrong and to limit the side effects, I stupidly tried to reduce my dose a bit and all it has done has put me in more pain.

Generally speaking, the plan from my oncolgists is to continue monthly chemotherapy, monitor my bloods, have scans, take steroids and hurry up and wait as they say.

I am in pain most days now and have recently started taking morphine as well as the usual painkillers to deal with it. I find being a Springbok and Liverpool fan hasn't helped my pain or stress levels.

For some reason morphine just makes me a bit goofy and itchy but doesn't provide much relief. The best thing to do in these situations seems to be to just go to sleep and hope the next day is better.

These days, by six in the evening, I am pretty much done and have to get into bed to give my back and mystery pain in my side a rest.

So I am not much fun at parties anymore, but I'm sure my previous one-man crusade to rid the world of Sambuca and lonely pints at closing time isn't missed by many, especially my wife. I suppose we all have to grow up eventually, whether we like or not.

Speaking of my lovely wife, we recently celebrated our 5th wedding anniverary (16 years in total) and we are going to treat ourselves to a meal at a decent restaurant.

Jay is still teaching in the afternoons and has designed loads of grammar booklets and activities to help the poor little nippers through their exams. I really feel sorry for kids these days. Not only are they continually assessed and analysed, they always seem to be under pressure to meet unrealistic expectations.

Of course, that means teachers have to work doubly hard to manage everything.  I get to listen to loads of teacher talk when we have teacher friends over...

At the same age, all I did was pick my nose, daydream, draw cars and talk a lot.

Nowadays kids are expected to explain the ins and outs of the Large Hardron Collider in their Standard Assessment Tests (SATs) or explain why English has loads of silly grammar rules. I tried to answer a maths question aimed at an eleven-year old and nearly had a nervous breakdown.

Gone are the days of rocking up at school dressed as a swordfish or telling your teacher you have a pet dragon. In the old days in Zimbabwe, if you could spell your name correctly on your exercise book, count to ten and use a toilet dilligently, that usually ensured a safe passage to high school.

We went up to Scotland for our first mini holiday in four years. We visited some good friends and did a bit of sightseeing, including a trip to a tiny village in the Highlands where my great-grandfather and his three brothers hailed from. Their deaths in the Great Wars (yes all four brothers died) are commemorated on a mini-cenotaph.  It was quite an emotive experience seeing their names and visiting their village. I'll put their story on my blog at some stage.

All things considered, we are both okay and looking forward to some sunshine and summer socialisng. Given that I am supposed to have expired some time ago, things could be worse. I appear to have taken on the fatalist attitude of a Russian novelist who has just been told by the doctor to give up vodka and is trudging home with a stone in each of his shoes. This morbid outlook seems to work for me.

Most of all, I am looking forward to going to sleep nice and early. Not exactly exciting but essential.

So take care, see some of you soon and to everyone else have a great summer.