1 down
Disordered file's easy,
Begs us around about
Those little things that make us happy
(4'1, 6, 9)

Plain and quick
Or painful and cryptic
Make my mind tick
Flicking pen, click

1 down
Fifty-one iron's
Limp as super eels
Troubled by those small sources of cheer
(4'1, 6, 9)

Brain ache
Coffee break
Come back later

Joke of the Day

My breast tumour has been sent to the USA, where tests revealed that it is an aggressive, slimy piece of tissue that attacks women. Donald Trump is considering appointing it to a senior post.

A Communication Cock-up and a Transatlantic Trip

Readers may recall that at my last appointment with the breast surgeon (2 December), I was told that I was being referred to the oncologist to determine what treatment I need to have next. I'd hear from them within two weeks, and I should feel free to chase this up. So, naturally I did - repeatedly - and was told - repeatedly - that said appointment would be today or tomorrow.

Winter of Love

Rather to my surprise, this little poem of mine won a place as a 'featured entry' on Hour of Writes for the theme Winter of Love, and will be published in its magazine, Ephemera:

'Tis the season for reckless folly
To deck Mr Hall from Accounts
For showing you how his sausage rolls

'Tis the season for making out
You've a large and loving family
With perhaps the odd eccentric

Infection Dejection

I guess when you have a 15-inch surgical wound, there is a fair chance that an inch or two of it may become infected. But when it does, it is horrid, painful, smelly, leaves a worse scar and - more worryingly - may delay the treatment needed to keep the cancer from coming back.


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