In front of me, my repaired Mac at vast cost. In the garden, working from isolation, in front of his, is my son. I’m not sure which sight gives me the most pleasure.

The Mac doesn’t go alpha male on me, convinced of its knowledge in all matters and of my stupidity – well, unless I spill wine near it. Then it does fight back but in deadly silence.

Pierce and I fight in nearly every conversation – it’s our default position honed from first eye contact after birth and refined yearly.

This, on re-seeing each other, goes on relentlessly for three or four days, then we collapse, spent and exhausted and settle into a companionable arrangement. Wine and esoteric discussions in the early hours helped and no holds barred summing up of each other’s deficiencies….as we saw them. Nothing has ever gone unsaid as we are equally matched in candour and clarity.

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He gives me no quarter in my illness now. I think he feels he can vanquish it by his and my willpower combined and if I keep struggling by on my Zimmer and get out to the sun, all will be well. Well, I believe in guardian angels and miracles, so marry the two and who knows?

I think it’s a mother/son thing. I always wanted a boy but sometimes, just occasionally, I wonder what it would be like to have a daughter. They’re meant to be kinder, aren’t they? I’m sure many can tell different tales so I’ll be grateful for what I have – a feisty, intelligent protagonist who ultimately can always make me weep with laughter.

I hope he feels the same even though I drive him to despair with my stubborn independence and set jaw of defiance. We deserve each other in truth and hopefully couldn’t love each other more...though one us may be maimed by the end of his 12 days here.

Anyway, the sun is shining, I am no longer alone for a time at least and roaring, tumultuous life is in the building.

Next week, I get my first scan since all treatment stopped. I’m dreading it, for if it shrunk the tumours, what has its absence caused? But that’s for next week and all I can do is my usual...pray.

We’ve had lunch – an omelette that wasn’t a brown brick and tasted of all I used to know. Even the bread was better and I caught sight of myself and the eyes were sparkling again, not the dead globes I’ve become used to.

We were inside and not at the table that has hosted so many, many happy occasions. I refused all Pierce’s entreaties to lift and push me out. Why? Scared of falling. Scared of living.

Why, why did I not leave last summer? Over and over P berates me for my failure. Groundhog Day.

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Merde. I didn’t know I was going to feel worse. I thought I’d get stronger and cope with it all better. Perhaps they should have told me then but perhaps my intelligence worked against me and they assumed I knew.

No, nobody really faces such truths about their own conditions. So, remember that when words like in denial are blithely uttered. Deep down we know the truth but to speak the words would give them power and that mustn’t happen while holding all at bay. Bad thoughts have to be expunged at all costs if we’re to have a fighting chance. Well, that’s my reasoning and I’m sure I’m not alone.

At the moment I have a strange tristesse. Of moments lost; of opportunities not grasped as they drifted by like dandelion clocks. Of all I’ll leave behind that I thought I valued but really didn’t. But tristesse is different to regret – a far harsher emotion; usually wasted. No, tristesse is a wistful, ephemeral yearning of what might have been but wasn’t recognised at the time. Sometimes the French really do have the right words.

Anyway, for now the sun continues to blast us. I may not have been outside today but Delphine, my physio, managed it last week. Looking back at my house for the first time in more than 12 months, my eyes filled with its beauty and the scent of its roses, honeysuckle, wisteria and emerging night jasmine. And, yes, tears were shed. All that was missing was an Afghan Hound….Portia or César for total bliss.

I fall in love again with LM at this time of the year. Seeing her clothed in her summer colours know that, despite it all, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Maybe. See? Always hedging my bets – no commitment to anything.

But let’s enjoy now and suck in this life we still have; the loves we have and the joy we can still summon up. And be grateful….truly grateful for the now and face what is to come when it comes. Onwards and upwards.