My right nipple is swollen and sore.

I had the same happen to my left one 3 years ago. It was like that for ages, and that muscle has never been the same since – it’s as though part of the pectoral muscle stopped existing, never to return. Now it’s happening to my right side.

One of these days, I’m sure something good will happen to me….

The terrorist attack on Saturday happened just yards away from where I stayed for months in the autumn, and for 10 days only last month. I’d go to the front courtyard of Southwark cathedral, where there was a cafe. Pia was the last person to meet me there, and we had a cup of coffee. Had the attack happened then, and someone like Pia had been indiscriminately stabbed, then to me it have highlighted (even more than it does already) the sheer evil and wrongness of what the terrorists are doing.

I’m very proud of those that fought back, fought the Good Fight, the young guy that waded in, using his skateboard as a weapon, the martial arts guy that got as many blows in as possible, before being stabbed. I find the scenario running through my head. What chance would I have had? I’m sure that I’d have been a target, as much as anyone else, the wheelchair making no difference, it not inducing any sense of guilt.  I’d have weighed up the situation quite unemotionally, I think. My motorised chair at high speed would do a lot of damage to a man, and a knife wouldn’t have saved him. I’m sure that I’d have died for my actions, but I think I’d have died if I’d done nothing too, so I’d have made the right call.

As it is, I’m very relieved that no one I know and love was killed as a direct consequence of being there because I was there.

I hate these people with a passion, as I’m sure everyone reading this does.

Good luck to my brilliant friend, Rob Colliver, who is 724 miles into his 5100 mile race across America, by bicycle. 

Rob and I did the 1000 mile canoe race together. Back then he had me for his only company. This time he is very much by himself.

Blimey, that’s a toss up as to which you’d prefer 🙂

As is somehow always inevitable when you’re bloody tired, lots seemed to go wrong with the start of the trip abroad.

No sleep at all in the Travelodge before the flight ( 4am check in – my fault for booking that early ), not being able to get on the shuttle bus ( inconsiderate driver ), a wait for another,  getting off at the wrong terminal ( I just did as I was told ), having quite a lot of medical supplies ( which made the bags cumbersome too ), seeming to travel on the busiest day of the year, and only hours after a MASSIVE terrorist incident in London ( which had everyone on high alert ), not being assisted at all by the airport Assistance staff ( as they were supposed absolutely to have done ), as a consequence getting to the gate last rather than first ( resulting in there being a huge panic by the boarding staff that were there to be in control, rather than lose control ) being transferred in a very amateur way by the Assistance staff ( so that I felt very vulnerable to falling out of the narrow ‘ aisle chair ‘ that they perch me on and strap me to, to get me to my seat on the plane – tbh I feel like a right tw** being dragged along backwards and then lifted into my seat ).  I spasmed all the way to Faro airport…

Having arrived in Portugal, it got briefly better for a bit, though there was much confusion as to how to get my chair from the hold to the luggage hall, as with thé Triride attachment, it was too long for me to use in the airport lifts. They stuck me in a different wheelchair for half an hour or so, before repatriation with my own, making me very uncomfortable in the process. Having got a taxi to the apartment, things seemed to be ok at last…. until we realised that the key code that we had been given was wrong, and we were locked out of  the accommodation ( on a Sunday, when office staff that run this stuff aren’t at work, or answering their phones ). At that point, I felt that I was again cursed by misfortune.

An hour later we were, however, in, but had no food or drinks, having not had time for breakfast. Compared to the other stuff, that was nothing though, and within a couple of hours we had a coffee in a cafe 2 miles’ wheelchair away, and had bought some food  too.

Pre injury, everything was so easy. Now everything is so much more challenging, and harder to resolve.

It’s 4 years to the day, in about 10 days. At this time last year, I was counting down to a suicide attempt ( that didn’t work out ) but this year it isn’t quite so depressing.  Days like today make those thoughts feel easy to have. My very existence seems to hinge so often on things that do or don’t happen to me, either way without my ability to influence them.

So…. a trip abroad, ‘ on holiday ‘ without my family, coming up, starting Sunday. It does feel a little strange, but I guess that it’ll be ok. I hope that the friend coming with me can cope with me ( seriously ). If she can’t, then I’m a bit stuck, let’s face it. I’ll let her win at all the games, and stay sober ( ish ) so that I don’t annoy her.

There’s nothing like testing a friendship than going on holiday together, apparently ? She has the additional pleasure of looking out for me all the time. Fingers crossed then…

On Saturday night, it’s Depeche Mode, in the London Stadium…. a blast from my distance past, but they’re still going strong. The keyboardist, Pete ( or Depeche Mode Pete, as we call ‘im ) lives practically next door, so has offered us backstage passes… which sounds good..

Angela, I loved seeing you last night, and Mike, you too. And thanks to Cherie for joining me down at the river and watching the strangely fascinating man who seemed to have an unnatural way with the local pigeons. I think he’d taken pigeon fancying to a whole new level, but each to his own, I say.