The Sorrows of my Heart

I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart for the joys of the multitude. And I would not have the tears that sadness make to flow from my every part turn into laughter. I would that my life remain a tear and a smile..... A tear to unite me with those of broken heart: a smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.

- Kahlil Gibran, Tear and a Smile

I'm nearing the end of my treatment!! (Fingers crossed) I have two more Herceptin appointments over the next month and then I am done.

This week I had a final, very thorough Heart investigation to make sure that the heart muscle has not been damaged by the treatment I have been having.

Mary sat with me at the Marsden whilst I was examined by Consultant Cardiologist George Amin from Queen's Hospital, Romford. George made us laugh because he said he was an "Essex Boy"!!!! I mean, Amin?!!!!! Actually I drove him mad with my chatter and jokes and he had to keep telling me to be still so he could get a complicated reading from his machine. I was able to watch the whole process. Fascinating to see my heart pumping away and the little valves going to and fro. Every so often he would click on a dark area and take a photo of it which made me slightly nervous and I would say silly things like "Is that a lump you see on my heart?" But he patiently explained that he was not looking for lumps but merely there to measure the function of the left ventricle to make sure all was well as Herceptin could cause problems.

I did feel a bit nervous because the ultrasound room was the very one I had lain in in all innocence, 18 months ago now, when the nice nurse took my hand and gave me "that look", and the rather fiece femail Cardiologist told me that my mammogram and ultrasound scans were "abnormal" and the first icy fingers of fear gripped that same heart, now pumping away so merrily on the screen, as I said "It's not cancer though is it?" and an hour later was advised that it indeed was cancer and that I would be having a masectomy in the next two weeks.

This time, thankfully, all was well. My poor old heart which doesn't look at all battered by the slings and arrows of life, on the sceen and shows none of it's scars, has been pronounced "normal" and functioning as it should.

Mary (who took these rather glam photos) and I celebrated with a Decaf Cappuccino at the Crown Pub opposite afterwards.

The banning of Robert's book The Battle for Bond which is about my late father's involvement in the film version of Ian Fleming's books has caused a few skipped beats this month. Bruce Sachs of Tommahawk, the publisher has opted to hand back the remaining 300 books that were in the warehouse rather than oppose the Ian Fleming Will Trust lawyers in a battle as to whether or not we had the right to publish a couple of letters from Fleming to my father that had been part of the 1963 law case and therefore in the public domain as far as we were concerned. It has caused no problems in USA where the books are now selling out fast.

This has resulted in some very welcome publicity and the rush to bring out the new edition of the book which will not include the letters as illustrations (though we are allowed to reveal the content) which were not necessary to the plot anyway - merely of interest, we thought, for the reader to see. the new edition which is now eagerly awaited by thousands of Bond fans will be a sligthly smaller and less expensive version of the original lovingly put together book which was a little expensive but will be treasured by the collectors.

Sean Stowell of BBC Yorkshire interviewed Robert, Bruce and myself for the clip below. It would have been an even longer clip if Barnsley had not just beaten Chelsea a couple of hours before the broadcast so that the rest of the news was filled with Barnsley football fans celebrating in various pubs and states of sobriety.





Highlights of a rather musical month have been Christopher's birthday celebrated as usual at the Blue Elephant Tai Restaurant, Fulham Broadway with a cake supplied by Aimi that original said 'Party' on it - redesigned by Mia and me!!



Maureen's Songs from the Shows concert at the Chelsea Arts Club














Dunya Lavrova represented the Royal College of Music where she is now studying for a PHD having gained honours in her final exams last year , and played some amazingly complicated pieces brilliantly and with charisma at the Wigmore Hall on Monday 24th March. She has grown both as an artist and in composure since I last saw her over a year ago.
















And last but not least Mia's Schools choirs Proms Praise for Schools" Concert at the Albert Hall, which I dutifully went along with the family to see - not expecting a wild evening.
See "Mia at Albert Hall" on You Tube.


However a grand surprise awaited us as we took our seats in the ground floor box which due to the generosity of the evenings sponsors cost a meagre £5 per head, having collected drinks for the interval .

The production was spectacular with the orchestra and 12 school choirs on stage lit beautifully with multi-coloured lights. A huge ball was suspended from the domed ceiling on which was projected scenes such as eagles in flight to accompany "Up Where We Belong" and film footage depicting Fire and Flood to highlight the Elements - which was the theme for the night. Sprays of fireworks dashed round the Grand Circle and the evening ended with a gigantic glitter ball which obliterated everything from view in a shower of golden tinsel.



As I said to Russell later on, it warmed the cockles of my heart no end!!!!

Mothering Sunday and All that Jazz

Firstly I would like to reassure anyone who has been kind enough to worry about me, that being "back at the Marsden" means only for the preventative treatment with the wonder drug Herceptin that I have been so fortunate to be given at great expense from the National Health. Having had the all clear, months ago, with an 80% chance of non return of breast cancer in the next 10 years, my chances are improved by another 50% (taking it to 90%) by a one year treatment of Herceptin which I have been taking as a drip at 3 weekly intervals at the Day Patient Unit at the Marsden. I finish this treatment in about a month.

After that, I have the same chances as anyone else as to whether I get struck down again. I am fortunate in that I shall be watched like a hawk now, just in case.

It's almost as if it never happened.
How quickly one returns to normal life. Apart from being much more tired than I used to be and not able to push myself, everything is returning to as it was before diagnosis, except that I am mentally stronger, and have a different outlook on life and love and stuff, and an awareness of the preciousness of time and the present moment.

Mothering Sunday was one of these precious days. Having only just become a mother by the seat of my pants, as it were, I am always delighted when Aimi wants to mark it as a special occasion. She is very good about this. This year I joined the family at the service at St John's Hyde park. Aimi and Mia were both reading. It was a beautiful morning. The choir there is heavenly and they sung heartily in harmony with pianist and flute.

Before my love affair with the church waned I was a regular at St John's. This Sunday, as little children ran about with posies of daffodils for all the Mums and any other ladies too, I sat whilst so many memories came to mind from over the years. My tears falling in steady stream into the red carpet under the altar rail, when I was going through a particularly harsh time in 1984 and learning to live my life without alcohol. The joy of holding baby Mia in my arms and soothing her under my big black hat with shocking pink roses at her Christening in 2000. The still vibrant and wonderful memories of Aimi's wedding a year and a half ago when the church was filled with dearest friends & family, exquisite flowers and utter happiness as I stood reading the first reading on the same patch of carpet that once held my tears.

In the evening I went to the Ram Jam Jazz club in Kingston to celebrate dear friend, Alan Franks' presence on this planet for 60 years! Alan is a multi-talented writer, musician, poet and playwright and treated us to a fun evening of music and party pieces performed by himself and other talented friends including his two grown ups sons Simon and Jimmy, or the 'Audio Bullys' as they have become, and who are currently touring the country with their new album. I enclose a few photos. Alan also paid tribute to his father in law, Ruth's father Rev Peter Gledhill who sadly died last year. Peter was an intellectual and highly educated man and Alan sent us into hysterics with this quote from the Reverend who had once delivered this worldly wisdom to him in his wonderful slow, deep and brooding Welsh voice.

"You see Alan, the thing is,.......... as one progresses through life,........... one comes to realise that a thorough grounding in the classics; ..........a familiarity with the way in which the greatest observers of human nature set down their wisdom;............. an informed appreciation of their thought processes and linguistic expertise does, in point of fact, equip you for...........absolutely................ ......................................................nothing!"

Here is one of my favourite photographs of him holding grandson Arthur on his knee.

It was also a joy for me to hear Emily Maguire for the first time. She sings and plays with a pure quivering voice not dissimilar to the late and great Eva Cassidy. Unsurprisingly, she has just been picked to support Don McLean on his new tour. Watch this space!



It's a great day for the Whittingham's.
Some footballer called Whittingham
seems to have done a great job today. He scored in an important match and helped someone else to - can you tell? I'm not a football fan? It was on in the background and I just kept hearing the word Whittingham yelled out in that unmistakle 'man excited about sport strangulated voice' . Whittingham is my maiden name and also that of my father Jack, and we were delighted to find a large article about him and his contribution to the 007 genre in the Sunday Times today on page 10. I enclose a link in case anyone is interested and I haven't emailed you already!!

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article3512072.ece

There was also a news item on BBC Yorkshire TV last night Monday 10th, at 6.30 Sky channel 976 in which Robert Sellers, Bruce Sachs and myself were interviewed on the banning of The Battle for Bond book which is all very good publicity for the next edition which we intend to publish in May! As the programe came from Yorkshire they featured my father Jack heavily and showed some wonderful old photographs of him as a young man and later on with Charles Crichton (A Fish Called Wanda) at Ealing studios. I felt proud as I watched with Aimi and Mia as Dad got some of the recognition he has always so richly deserved for producing the screenplay that helped to transform the sadistic, violent and alcoholic Bond into the suave romantic hero that he is today so that the audiences of 1960 and the likes of Messrs Saltzman and Brocolli lapped him up.

For those who have copies of The Battle for Bond, you may be interested to know that it has become a rare collectors item overnight and there are two used copies selling on Amazon.co.uk for £125 and £168 each!. If you still want a copy you can order it from Amazon.com for a lot less but hurry as it is selling out fast!


BOND WILL BE BACK SOON
Watch this space too!!!

Magic moments in the Melting Pot

I'm back in the Day Patients Ward at the Royal Marsden for my 17th Herceptin drip. I sit comfortably with my left arm in a long yellow bucket of hot water to bring out the vein into which they will administer this extremely expensive chemical. I am being prepared by a charming nurse from the Philippines and to my right in matching armchair, sits a young Italian woman accompanied by a friend. They are speaking Italian.

To my left is a couple from Cyprus who are resident here. The attractive 50 year old lady has had a return of her cancer after a mastectomy and full lymph node removal 7 years ago and is undergoing massive chemo treatment plus Herceptin and looks amazingly well on it! She has a devoted husband sitting opposite her. They have been happily married for 32 years and it shows in the way they sit together. Just like a pair of comfortable shoes. They are speaking gently in Greek.

After a while we discuss how lucky they are to have this blissful union and I say I have been lucky in other ways.

I was driven here by a swarthy gentleman with a wispy full beard and a back skull cap. I didn't ask where he was from, but his telephone list contained several people called 'Mohammed'. He was extremely punctual, polite and efficient and had a very clean car. The receptionist who greeted me in the Day Unit is from India, and I realise that I have not interacted with a Caucasian soul since I left home this morning!

Last week I stood in line at the huge new Oxford Street Primark pay desk with a pile of new, and very inexpensive, clothes for Mia, and observed a range of nationalities taking the money. India, Arabia, Asia, Africa stood side by side at the cash tills. All our builders seem to be from Poland nowadays . My cleaning lady is from Morocco (doing a law degree!), and my Ironing lady from Bulgaria, who can't get work there as an architect, is putting her children through University on the £8 per hour she gets from ironing sheets. This is life in London in 2008. Most popular capital city in the world! I have absolutely no problem with this cacophony of different peoples and find it easy to get on with them all. Most are better behaved than a lot of my indigenous friends. As long as people respect our customs, appreciate our ways and contribute to our coffers I, personally, can't see a problem.

However, whoever it is who has decided to tamper with Christmas has really upset me - the "Winter Holidays" like a humanist funeral - even with a jazz band, lacks, for me, the richness; strength of the ages and spiritual magic that has been handed down through 2000 years of generations in this country and what on earth is wrong with a Ba Ba Black Sheep for heaven's sake?

Talking of magic, pure magic was awaiting me at the Queensway Icebowl at 10am this Tuesday. I took Mia for her first lesson with Bo (Russian!) and she did really well. She has been catapulted into grade 2 with a certificate and badge to boot having learned the fundamentals of skating backwards (tremulously) and propelling herself for 18" on one leg. Chris had come with us and took off at once showing off like mad - mind you I caught him taking 3 tumbles on camera later! I put my skates on and stood on the ice for 3 secs before taking them straight off again. The combination of the uncut new ice first thing in the morning; not very sharp skates; lost confidence and wobbly legs put me off, and I decided it was not worth risking a broken leg and returned to watch from the comfortable cafe alongside the rink with a hot chocolate.

My heart filled with joy to watch Mia's pink excited face attempting to copy the older, more experienced 12 year old skaters' twists, turns and spins after her lesson. Every so often some romantic music would come on, coloured lights and lasers flashed and washed the scene with pink, blue, golden, green colours, and the skaters took their partners and danced together gliding and swirling round the rink, apparently effortlessly, in perfect rythym and balance. I watched, with lover's eyes, something that I would almost give my right arm to be able to do. To use my body in a swirl of coloured lights and music like that would be utter bliss, and my idea of heaven would be to spend the space between this lifetime and the next, dancing on skates and singing harmonies in union in a haze of colour in the arms of a soul mate like Russell! What am I like?!!!! No I'm not on drugs!

More magic spring moments appeared on the walk right across Hyde Park from Queensway to Piccadilly, as with frozen ears, I decided I shall happily ferry Mia to her classes and watch her do it all for me by proxy!

































I am now very friendly with my neighbours in the green chairs and Peter, the man from Cyprus, is now pointing out a picture in the Daily Express of a hearse that has been clamped and wears a blue Denver Boot! Marvellous - NOT! and I discuss the nightmare scenario that exists in daily life for the motorist in London with him and Flora. I look around the room. No one looks very ill.

An English couple have sat down in the next chair, but don't look as interesting as the Italians they replaced. It is obviously the lady's first chemo session as I have just heard the nurse explaining about the tingly feeling you get in your bottom from the Epirubicon red cocktail, and she is showing her how to put on the cold cap on her still full head of blonde hair. I feel suddenly like an old pro!

There are a lot of visitors accompanying the patients today. I can see a son with a mother; husbands or partners with wives. A few of us are on our own. There is a strong looking woman with a completely bald head and huge silver hooped earings looking round the room and holding a plastic cup of liquid against her cheek. We exchange resigned smiles. Others are sleeping or reading. There is a cheerful buzz of conversation in the yellow walled room. We are bonded by our condition, and tied together with understanding, sympathy and cups of tea as the smiling nurses flit about amongst us.

My Philippino nurse has just been to make me a pot of tea on a tray and brought it with a cheese and pickle sandwich because she couldn't find the tea lady for me. As Peter on my left said earlier, "it feels like home here"!

I have made acquaintance with the new couple on my right. They are not English (of course!) but American and, in fact, very nice. I have introduced them to Peter and Flora on the left and we have given the newcomer some positive encouragement. I was given three chocolates (Belgian) when they left which was a delicious treat. The bald headed lady has just put on a medium length light brown wig with a fringe and has waved goodbye to us all. The chairs on either side of me are empty now but it's time to go home.

The bus driver on the 211 en route to Fulham was Jamaican!

I got back from Mallorca on Tuesday after a peaceful week's stay with Chris and Lisa at the villa. We went for the Sant Antoni and San Sebastia's Firework Fiestas which are amazing and leave our own 'Guy Fawkes Night' standing in the cold. Apparently the arrival by boat of Sant Sebastia's earthly remains banished a deadly plague from the Island for good and so each year they celebrate by burning effigy's of the demons that once beset them on a huge bonfire on every street corner, and setting off fireworks in the local squares where barbeques blaze in every other doorway. The atmosphere was primitively dramatic with showers of sparks from the windswept bonfires; kettle drums; heavenly music and devils dancing in and out of streaming curtains of golden rain. Whirling dervishes on bicycles waved giant Catherine wheels into the crowd. It is fairly easy to get set on fire at this event as Chris's jacket did last year, so we watched the climax of the evening from the balcony of a friend's restaurant till nearly 2am.




The following day just a pile of dusty embers marked the place where the main fire had been. I'm ashamed to say we were all to tired to get up and see the blessing of the animals ceremony which I now regret. We also missed the rather phallic greasy pole contest in which the young boys of the village vie to be the one who gets to the top first!

Once up I went for a walk in the peaceful and deserted Cala streets and found a nearby field full of very friendly animals - goats sheep and pigs all getting on together and who seemed to have been missed by San Antoni (patron Saint - particularly of pigs!) in the casting out devils department and seemed to be doing a bit of blessing themselves!!!


A week without the telly or internet access was a blissful change. Fresh air, good food, walks, 10 hour sleeps and a good book were the order of the day and did me a power of good.

The Marsden is up and running as per usual thank goodness. On Friday I had my fourteenth Herceptin treatment there - three weeks to the day since the fire. It was practically deserted because a lot of people postponed their treatments to a few days later. I got a shot of the damaged roof from the stairs of the main building which is mercifully unscathed.


The week's holiday was preceded by two memorable events. Firstly, a trip to see the Spice Girls - a gift from Father Christmas for Mia organised by my daughter Aimi, whom, I suspect, is a secret fan herself from the look of excitement on her face as we plunged through London on the Jubilee line to the vast 02 (ex Dome) auditorium where we had a meal, and then took our places for the show. After an hour and a half of 25-30 year old girls and a few gay men screaming, flashing lights and spectacular stage effects, we staggered out to get the Jubilee line home again - my hearing, which is not that good nowadays, completely gone - not to return for about 24 hours.

Secondly, a trip to one of this country's finest restaurants - The Fat Duck at Maidenhead
This outing was a treat given by one of my oldest friends Kerry or 'kind uncle' as he is affectionately nicknamed. He took five of us. Another oldest friend, Annie, and her husband Paul de la Grange, me and Bernice - Kerry's second ex wife. We drove through the most appalling stormy weather conditions to the small and unassuming restaurant. Having needed to reserve the table at Bray five months earlier and payment in full in advance, postponing the event was not an option.

The Fat Duck holds the coverted 3 Star Michelin rating - one of only three held in the entire country, the others being Gordon Ramsay's in Royal Hospital Road, London and The Waterside Inn also in Bray.

The menu was extraordinary. Snail porridge and scallops with white chocolate with caviar were on offer as were snails in chocolate, black pudding with spiced pigeon juices and scrambled egg and bacon ice cream . I played it safe and ordered a lamb cutlet, but the others were more adventurous.



This is my starter, main course and pudding (l to r above).We had about 3 very attentive waiters per table and intercourse tasters such as soup, venison juice and a miniature ice cream cone arrived from time to time.

Kerry paid the bill cheerfully in spite of this face and I drove us home .

(I'm very useful for that Russell!)
















At £200 per head, the more I look at Mia's efforts in the kitchen, the more I am definitely determined to encourage her!