Animal!?

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.