This morning I've been down to the Royal Marsden Hospital for my regular post-cancer blood test.
Walking out of the car park towards the hospital I was passed by a silver Mercedes sports car driven by a 60-something, silver-haired, fake-tanned man. That in itself is worthy of a chuckle, but even more chuckle-inducing was the number plate. I haven't quite worked out what the letters actually were but they were manipulated so the number plate read "ANIMAL". How sad, I thought, laughing to myself, that this man still thinks he has something to prove at his age.
Then he followed me into the waiting room, clutching his blood test forms. I have no idea if he has cancer, has had cancer or is going through the ordeal of waiting to find out if he does have cancer. Whichever, I suddenly realised that, you know, what the hell? If he does have this illness looming over him, why the hell shouldn't he go out in a blaze of sports cars and naff number plates? Who am I to judge anyone dealing with cancer in whatever way works for them?
Books and covers spring to mind.
There’s a special day just for celebrating Independent Bookstores and the
people who love them? Yes, Virginia, there is. And it’s this Saturday. Wow,
this is a long title. I should stop now.
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Y’ALL. This Saturday is INDEPENDENT BOOKSTORE DAY and Nowhere Bookshop is
cordially inviting you to come and visit and celebrate with us. (There’s
extra pa...
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