Spiky, Shape-changing Pinecones of Death

Tomorrow, Saturday the 18^th of February, is the third Saturday in February - and we all know what that means.

It means that it’s Enzo Ferrari’s birthday… And Yoko Ono’s… And John Travolta’s…  It’s also the feast-day of St. Colmán of Lindisfarne who probably invented mustard or something (I didn’t really look into it that closely if I’m being completely honest – I’m trying to do like 300 things at once today) amongst other things.

But the real reason that we’re interested here at The Chimping Dandy – and therefore, the reason that you’re interested is that it’s World Pangolin Day. Pangolins – They’re literally the greatest thing ever. They have all the intrinsic parts required to be the best, cutest, most heart-warmingly twee bundles of keratin scaled, acid-pooping ant-eating machinery that has ever walked this, or any other, Earth.

But, you don’t need me to tell you that, right? We’ve covered pangolins in the past to the point where they’re not a complete mystery… We have, we did that here… Didn’t we? I thought we had. Remember, I told you that Neil-Patrick Harris had read the blog? Look, just read that post – You’ll be glad you did. I’ll wait here.

OK? Are we all up to speed now? Scaled anteaters, of the order Pholidota, no teeth, long tongue, and four legged but walks on two… Generally considered to be one of the most internationally trafficked animals that currently still exists (but only just) because, you know, They’re pretty tasty and some people, in some parts of the world think tearing them to pieces, grinding up their scales and swallowing them will sure cancer, or magically make your milk ‘come in’ if you’ve just had a baby.

(For the record, it won’t. And you’re a backwards imbecile if you think it will. In fact, just go the whole hog and shoot yourself repeatedly in the face if you believe that it will – All you’re doing is making this amazing animal even more endangered)

As of today, six of the eight species of Pangolin are classed as ‘Threatened to extinction’ whilst the other two are ‘Critically endangered’

So, what should you do on World Pangolin day? How should you celebrate it? Well, a good start would be not eating a pangolin – But I’m guessing that’s going to be pretty easy for most of us (And yes, I understand that they’re a valid staple of people who share a biome with them – But I’m not sure that those people read the blog as such) Then you could ‘Like’ the World Pangolin Day page on Facebook. Maybe draw some pictures of Pangolins? Bake biscuits and/or cookies? (In the shape of Pangolins, but not using pangolin as an active ingredient) Write a poem? Express the very idea of pangolinicity though the medium of interpretive dance? You could look at videos of them doing cute stuff of YouTube (other video sharing sites are probably available) and try not to 'Squeeee' too much.

You could go to your local museum if they have a pangolin on display and have an impromptu party, or you could take an outline of a pangolin with you and have a tasteful and well behaved vigil around it if they don’t have one of their own. Remember – Be courteous to your local museum, they’re generally great people – I know the people who work in the Nature Gallery in my local Museum (In Derby, in the UK) certainly are. Maybe your local Zoo has an animal adoption scheme and you could put some money towards a pangolin’s upkeep? Although, now that I come to think about it – They don’t do very well in captivity – Maybe you could adopt an Aardvark or something and just tell people it’s a pangolin – I don’t know, I’m not an expert. Just an excitable amateur.

But the main thing, the best thing you can do is think. Realise that there’s yet another animal out there that’s losing its grip on life because of our stupidity. And it’s a cute animal, so you’ve got no excuse not to help it – I could understand if it was some flesh eating worm or something, who gives a crap about them, right?

But it’s not… look…

Bloody brilliant aren't they?

Steve walks warily down the street With the brim pulled way down low...

How was your weekend?

Mine was alright, I’ve had worse… Kept myself busy, you know, the usual, did a bit of shopping, took the dog for a walk, that kind of thing…

Nothing special… Pretty standard kind of weekend that you have when you’re halfway between paydays.

There was only one minor difference… at 9:30, on Friday 4th September 2015, My friend Rick ‘Odie’ Hoad lost his incredibly short (as far as I knew) battle with lung cancer.

You might have heard me talk about him once before, but not by name  – The incident with ‘Buskilla’ and her detachable wheels? - But he wasn’t the sort of person that you had madcap adventures with… He wasn’t a SMick, or a Jock (RIP), or a Gullible Steve (RIP); That’s not to say he wasn’t funny – He’s had me laughing to the point of tears on many occasions – In fact he told some very inventive, if ultimately crap ‘Christmas Cracker’ type jokes which invariably contained one solitary, often accidental, swear-word… Which would evoke an instant apology to the parents of any youngsters in the room – Then a wink to the kids themselves… And the laughter resumed louder than before.

He was an old-school biker, well, more of a triker really as he seemed to spend more time on three wheels than he did on two – But he was never that slightly ‘up-themselves’ biker that you see in films and TV programs, he was the biker that other bikers usually describe themselves to be… He was there for the sense of brotherhood, for the joy of riding motorcycles – for having a good time. Always in his leather jeans and wrap-around shades

He had his demons, like we all do. He’d suffer crippling bouts of depression, he’d be cantankerous, offensive, forthright… blunt didn’t quite cover it on most occasions – But you knew where you stood with him, and it was usually just at the end of the phone, or a Facebook update, where he was waiting for an opportunity to help you, or to be given an invitation to a rally or a party.  He’d be there like a shot – In any weather, under any circumstances…

He really was one of life’s good guys – And he was also a dyed in the wool, 100% full on, accept no alternatives, knob of the highest calibre.

He really was, pretty much all of the time – One of the people who have paid their respects over the weekend described him as human Marmite, I think that’s a brilliant description.

He invented his own trike riding style… And demonstrated it to me (once… Just the once) – He’d lean out, rather than in on bends, claiming that it put more weight on the outside rear wheel and therefore increased the ‘sticktion’ enabling you to corner faster… To test his theory, we went round and round the traffic island outside my local B&Q on one of his trikes faster and faster, leaning out as far as we both could (it not helping that neither of us were particularly small) up until the inside wheel lifted off the ground, the front wheel all went a bit ‘tankslappery’ and the bollards got real-close, real-fast… He also had this habit of flicking his ignition off and then back on again to cause a backfire as we passed crowds of schoolchildren/football fans/old people/police/pregnant women and nuns.

He also once drove the entire Dandy family to the wonderful seaside town of Redcar (Near the oil refinery) to pick up a puppy that Mrs Dandy had bought under false pretences... All he demanded in payment, despite being given the option of a slap-up meal at a hostelry of his choosing, was a Pick 'n' mix (and his petrol, I'm not a slave driver)

I found also over the weekend that I didn’t have a single, solitary picture of Rick to share with you all.  Which is a pity – The man was an animal… So I’ve borrowed some from the many people who’ve shared their memories over the weekend. See if you can guess which one he is in the photos.

(If anyone minds that I’ve stolen their photos, I will gladly remove them – Just drop me a mail or leave a comment – No offence taken or intended.)

No helmet, just a leather top hat?

Tigga & Rick

Being composed at a wedding...

Stolen the kids' bubble mixture

But he felt the cold, the poor lamb

My condolences go out to his wife, Tigga, His Ex-wife Fiona, and his kids, whom I never had the pleasure to meat. And to his cat, Nermal T Groovekitten (The Ginger Terrorist) who bit my thmb once.

Ride free Brother, Don’t eat all the bacon nor drink all the Jack – I’ll see you down there, but I’m afraid it won’t be for a good long while yet - if we're both lucky.

And for the record, I quite like Marmite.

Oh yeah... Whilst I remember - FUCK CANCER! - FUCK IT RIGHT IN IT'S STUPID ASS!

Carry me back, baby, where I come from.

Well yes, as Messers Page & Plant might say, 'It's been a long time' (See what I did there?)

But what's been a long time?

It's been a long time (been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time) since we've had a 'State of the Dandy Nation' speech.

So, what's happened in the last... Erm... four months maybe?

I'll start with the top ten posts ever. There are a few changes, certainly, but the most noticable thing is that there's a joint number one - Two posts have had exactly the same number of views as each other - Which is so unlikely that it's prompted me to have a go on the lottery this weekend.  (I'm not going to be giving it the whole Smashie & Nicey 'And straight in at number 10' business because I haven't been keeping track of the movement - Yes, this is bad, and I feel bad.)

-oOo-

10 - Our least best post, if that makes sense, is: And then I killed Bobby Davro - The story of a trip I took to one of our great country's theme parks.  Where there was screaming, rending, and the enforced fighting (probably to the death) between two innocent wild animals.

9 - A NSFW Tweet about a time in my life when I used to see live bands on a regular basis, this particular live band were pretty much all naked, and performed repeated coitus with a member of the crowd - \m/ Rockbitch are so NSFW that it's not even funny \m/

8 - Now, this one's deeply personal to me, which I why I shared it with a thousand people who I don't know on The Internet.  It's the story of my Father's death from Cancer.  It doesn't contain many belly laughs, but I've received a few messages to say it's helped people in similar situations, which is nice - Today, my Dad died

7 - You leave me bent and broken by the roadside - The story of the final days of the MK I Dandymobile. And it's repeated, abortive, trips to the car spares shop.

6 - This post is my finest moment, it is because of this that I realised that I'd become one of the true Twitterati, a God amongst men, a harvestman scything my way through a field, reeling in the sheaves of my devoted followers (Oh, and it also got re-tweeted by Rufus Hound and favourited by Al Murray, so I win the Internet, Ner!) - Pogonophilia is for everyone, even the young

5 - Oh blimey, more Death... I guess I'm just of that age where people I know are shuffling off this mortal coil with increasing regularity. - Sabian, the Token Yank - Describes my relationship with one of the nicest colonials anyone could ever possibly hope to meet, except you can't... Because, you know, he's no longer with us.  Holds the record for the most comments from people I don't strictly know, including his family.

4 - Learn to govern yourself, be gentle and patient - Is a 'Steampunked' description, of the workings of the very real Brookwood Cemetery, and British Funerary custom in the 19th Century (The title is a lyric from the glorious The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing's song 'Etiquette' - Which you should all rush off and listen to immediately.)

3 - I still don't get this one, - No, it is not a 'Slow News Day' - This particular post is very similar to this particular post... No, hang on, I mean that it's just the same as the post you're reading now.  It's a 'State of the Dandy Nation post' from September 2013.  You guys are seriously weird.

=1- The first of out two top posts, with more than a hundred more views than any other (Except the one below, obvs) is - You get me closer to God - Which is a no-holds-barred, blow-by-blow account of the events leading up to, and including, then entry of my Son, The MicroDandy, into the Kingdom of God via the medium of Baptism - If you're hugely fundamentalist, you might not want to read this, it does poke a little bit of fun at Mother Church, and the people who only go there once a year.

=1- The second of our first place entries is about Facebook, especially the people who blindly share sob-stories without checking their facts.  You know, those people who send you things with pictures of fly-covered children who will get a life-saving operation if the post gets 100,000 likes - There's one born every minute - Got a comment on this one from an irate, but anonymous American, which is worth a read on its own - He was very angry, I think he needs to eat less protein.

So, if you want a quick introduction to the sort of piffle I write, you could do worse than taking a look at those (Bear in mind that those are the best as voted for by you, the public, and you're notoriously fickle.)

-oOo-

We now come to the ever-popular 'What have people Googled to find the blog?' section... Depressingly, not as much as usual - I'm putting this down to more of my adoring fans bookmarking me, but popular search terms in the last quarter have included:

Dzit Dit Gaii - Which managed to find my post about Denver International Airport

Tiswas David McKellar - This pointed the seacher towards my review of the 40th anniversary party for TISWAS in Birmingham which I was honoured enough to attend.

-oOo-

As far as hits on the blog goes, in the previous quarter, we had 6,066, bringing our total up to 40,331 at the last count.

Which, as I'm not pretty, don't get my boobs out, don't advertise, don't provide a cogent service of any kind and am just really a fat, bald, bloke who's only just on the right side of 50, isn't that bad.

Nope, not bad at all.

Today, My Dad died.

If you were with us in August, you'll know that my Father suffered from inoperable and aggressive bowel cancer, which, after stealing a look at his notes this morning, had metastasised, or spread, to other parts of his body.  He was given between three and twelve months to live, and he lasted for five.

He'd had a couple of falls recently that had taken it out of him a bit, one particularly nasty one earlier this week that had grazed his arms quite badly.  But as was his style, and the style of many ex-servicemen, he refused to go to the Doctor and get them checked out - on the basis that he "had had worse".  My wife and I took it in turns to go and see him, her one day and I the next, after I finished work.

Last night I let myself into his house to find that he had fallen after answering the door to someone and had lain in an unheated room, with his front door ajar for a number of hours.  The paramedic, who arrived within minutes of me calling 999 declared him Hypothermic, with a temperature so low that it didn't even show as a number on his electronic thermometer.

You know what I did between calling the emergency services and their arrival? Remembering all the time that I'm a qualified first aider?

I did nothing, I froze, I could not think what I should be doing... Luckily the guy on the end of the phone kept reminding me to breathe, otherwise I would have probably forgotten to do even that simple task.

The ambulance crew asked me all sorts of questions as we drove to the hospital, and every one of my answers were suffixed with 'I think' or 'But I'm not sure'

I sat in the waiting room for about three hours whilst they tried to bring his body temperature up to something approaching normal, going no faster than one degree per hour, so that they didn't introduce any extra strain onto his heart.  When they finally let me in to see him, we didn't recognise each other, there was just a frail old man swaddled in blankets, staring into the distance.  I sat with him for a while longer, watching tears forming in the corners of his unblinking, unmoving eyes.

When the nurses came, they asked me if I could leave the cubicle so that they could put him on a 'comfier bed' ready to take him up to the ward later, when his tests had come back.

I left the Cubicle,
then I left Resus,
then I left Accident & Emergency
then I left the Hospital and got a taxi home.

I felt so completely useless, almost in the way.

When the phone rang this morning at 05:30, I already knew why, the Ward Sister said that his status had declined, or some-such bland phrase and that I should probably come in as soon as I could.

He was in a side-room when I got there, which dissolved any last real threads of hope I had.  The Sister led me in and explained that all they were doing was making sure that he was comfortable, she asked how I took my coffee and left us alone.  I looked down at the shell of the man who had single-handedly raised me since I was eleven years old.  I asked him if he could hear me, I asked him if he knew how much I loved him.

Then I got angry and asked him if he knew what he was doing to everyone that he was leaving behind.

Then I watched as the shallow up and down movement of his chest slowed and stopped.

I thanked the Doctor, who explained that he hadn't suffered - That's the done thing I guess.

I thanked the Sister, who had given me the coffee and the 'Dealing with bereavement' booklet.

I walked the length of the ward, towards the exit with what I imagined to be the stoic, dignified stride of a gunslinger walking away from his last fight, determined to make it outside before I broke into a million pieces, I almost made it too.

'Do what thou wilt' shall be the whole of the law.

I'm feeling good this morning, despite getting up before 06:00 and driving through freezing fog to work with one working headlight,  despite still having to get at least another five chapters of the new (serious) book finished in thirty-three days so that it can go to the publisher by the deadline (That's about 738 words per day fact-fans.)

Why am I so happy?  I'll show you:

What that says (although it's a bit tiddly in fairness, but if I made it any bigger it wouldn't fit, as the actress said to the bishop) is that in the last week, nine people have taken the plunge and bought real, paperback editions of the book.  Two from America, Five from the UK and two from Europe (Other) which means that currently, Mumblings of an Irate Pangolin is the 120,198th most popular book on Amazon - Now you may think that's not very impressive, but when you realise that there are about 11,000,000 real, hold it in your hands and whack a fly with it, books available on Amazon (or so I've been informed by my, admittedly slapdash and lackluster, investigation) - I'm in the top 1% of currently popular authors, along with the likes of J.K. Rowling, E.L. James and that bloke what wrote that book about that thing that everybody really liked.  So, it seems that at least nine people are going to have a wonderful Christmas.

Now, the more eagle-eyed of you will be saying 'Ah Dandy, but you said on Twitter yesterday that you'd bought a copy yourself, so that only makes it eight devilishly wonderful people who've bought a copy!' And you'd be completely right but for two, very important reasons:

1. I bought it as a present, so it still counts.
2. It's my Blog, I can say whatever I want and you have to believe me, especially the bits about halibut.

Along with the eighty-six forward thinking early adopters who have so far downloaded the Kindle version, that makes a grand-total of NINETY-FIVE people who are sharing the good word.

Not bad for saying that it's only been out for six weeks, and I am a complete nobody as far as the publishing world is concerned.

What does this all mean?  Well, the first thing that it means is that at least ninety-five people really shouldn't have access to the Internet, because they make bad literature choices.

But more than that, it means that if you put your mind to it, you can do pretty much anything.  Two years ago, there wasn't a person in the world who had heard of the Chimping Dandy, now I am the first hit when you Google something random like, oh, I don't know 'Loren Eiseley's time travelling Exxon Valdez potatoes' and that makes me more proud of myself than it has any right to.

For the year or so before starting the Blog, I'd thought to myself  'People say that I write funny stuff, and draw pretty pictures.' (actually they don't, no-one's ever looked at my pictures and said that they're pretty, They've said things like "I like that", "I'm not sure what that is, but it's good" and "No, seriously Dude, take that sh*t away from me, it's freaking me out") - But it wasn't until someone asked if they could buy something that I'd done, well, in fact four somethings, all at the same time, that I came over all 'Banksy' (Now, read that again carefully to make sure you read the words 'over' and 'all' in the right order) and I started calling myself an illustrator - I still don't like using the word artist, because that's reserved for people significantly more talented than me - Which led to me getting commissioned to do a book cover for an anthology of short stories.  Which you can, and should, buy from Amazon right now - It's like 77p on Kindle and frankly it's brilliant.

What I'm trying to say is you should just 'go for it' - If you want to do something and it doesn't hurt anyone historically important, then do it.  Want to play the guitar? Learn to play the guitar.  Want to look like Gary Oldman? Save up for the plastic surgery.  Want to teach a new facial expression to Kristen Stewart? Ah... Well... there are some things that mortal man should never attempt... Think of something else.

Ooh-Ooh... Still on the 'If you're good at something, you should just do it.' thing, I think I've found someone who might be designing the cover of the next book.  They're called Drawings By Hersanmine They're local (to me at least) and I think their stuff is great, very fresh and stylish, just like all of us here.  You should definitely get them to draw your house or your pets or your vehicles (And then you can let me know how much it cost, because I haven't plucked up the courage to ask them yet)  So, yeah, look them up, engage their services and so-forth before they realise how good they are and put up their prices.

P.S. I'm thinking 'The Pangolin Yodels' for the title of the next volume... What do you think?

-oOo-

As it's the end of November (And I'm off tomorrow, so you're gonna get nada from me until next week unless I get really drunk.)

Time for 'The State of the Dandy Nation'

Things that people have found the Blog by Googling this month include:

Dit Dit Gaii translation - (It means 'White Mountain' in Navajo BTW)
Martin Shaw naked - (And who can blame them?)
Alien Lederhosen - (My personal favourite)
cardamon club deerby - (Spelling searcher's own)
Disconnected Goatee - (Which, if it isn't an Indie band, certainly should be)
Jeremy Clarkson book signing - (Nope, no idea)
the Jetsons watch on ebay - (Again, not a clue... I am completely clueless)

Along with the various combinations of 'The', Chimping' and 'Dandy' of course.

We've had a lot of hits from Russia and Poland this month, and more than a smattering from France, China and the Ukraine, along with the standard number from the US, UK, Germany and Cyprus. And we're running at about 25,600 page views.

-oOo-

Now it's time for the latest Top Ten Posts.

10: It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen - The story of my childhood torture at the hands of my Supervillain, hollow volcano dwelling, Brother.

9: Thermodynamics, it's the Law! - Slipping down another place it's one of my personal favourites about the time my Father 'sowed the seeds of madness' in a young secretary.

8. If you don't like, what you're seeing, get the funk out - This is a fairly recent tale, with pictures, about a visit to a local Custom Motorcycle show.

7. Priorities - The first of the two serious posts in the Top Ten, the story of how I dealt with my Father announcing that he has terminal Cancer.

6. You get me closer to God - A new entry this one, straight in at number 6 pretty much. About a visit to Church, that turned into a Mighty Boosh sketch.

5. You like it when I do what? - Now I don't get this, at all.  This post is just last month's 'top ten' post with a bit of a pre-amble about the book.  I mean, I don't want to sound judgemental, but you guys are weird.

4. Pogonophilia is for everyone, even the young - The first of the 400 view plus Megaposts this month is this widely read (By some quite famous people, I'll have you know) description of men with beards.  As a man, with a beard, I wholeheartedly endorse this message.

3. Learn to govern yourself, be gentle and patient - A melange of subjects in this post.  Steampunk band The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, rotting dead bodies, mausoleums and the London Necropolis Railway.  Oh, and Radio 4.

2. Sabian, the Token Yank - A truly sad, but strangely beautiful post, even if I say so myself.  It's the story of a old friend of mine, who was suddenly taken ill, and tragically died a few days later.

1. No, it is not a slow news day - And here's September's Top Ten posts... Two of the top ten posts that I've ever shared are nothing more than posts detailing what the top ten posts have been in previous months... I will write a film-script and call it Top-ten-erception.


Right guys, talk to you on Monday, Peace!

Guys, I need a favour and it won't cost you a penny.

So, if you've looked at the Blog, or liked The Chimping Dandy on Facebook, or followed the Twitter feed recently or know me personally, you'll know that I've released a book for the Kindle.  Here it is look, in this picture:

You can press here to go to Amazon

Now, take a look at the bottom of the screen... Just above that five star rating *cough*, you'll see the price.  It's in red, you can't miss it.

That's right, it's £0.00 pounds, that's quite literally free. (Well, for a limited time at least)

How many things can you get for free nowadays? Not a lot, well, not unless you're one of those people who help yourself to a handful of pick'n'mix whilst you're walking around ASDA, or tests the car doors in public car-parks to see if you can get yourself a new car stereo or a glove-box worth of loose change (But we all know that you're not that kind of person don't we?).

So, from today until Sunday 3rd November, you can download all 407 pages, all 75 chapters of the book, if you have a Kindle, or the Kindle app for your Smartphone, Tablet or PC. with absolutely no cost to yourself.

I can see a few of you looking a bit quizzical, as if to say, 'It was only about £2 when he was charging for it, why has he suddenly made it free?  And more to the point, if I'd known that he was going to offer it for free, I wouldn't have bought it with cold, hard, cash in the first place.'

To the people who've already bought it, and want your money back, I completely understand, if you drop me an email at thechimpingdandy@hotmail.co.uk with your address, I'll stick you a couple of quid in the post with a signed picture of me naked for you to put up on your wall.  (In fact, if you just want a signed picture of me naked to put up on your wall, feel free to get in touch - Although it won't be a very big picture, it's quite cold in the UK at the moment.)

Why am I offering this, the first collection of my meandering musings for free? (Well, for a limited time at least).

It's all my Brother's fault you see, the one who lives in the hollowed out volcano in the Mediterranean.  He has bought our dear, pigeon shattering Father (TM) a new Kindle and, I'd quite like to be able to download my book to this new device for him without him saying 'Why have I got to pay to download your book?  It's not like you're a real author or anything, you're not exactly John Grisham are you?'

What I'd like you to do, is just take five minutes to download the book, or if you don't have the Kindle reader app, take five minutes to download that, then take five minutes to download the book, and then...

I'll start that again, it was getting away from me a bit.  I need between 10 and 15 minutes of your precious time.

1. Download the Kindle reader for your device (if you haven't already and it's not a Kindle)
2. Get a FREE COPY of the book From here
3. Write a quick review (This is the most important bit for me if you've got the time)
4. Pimp it to anyone that you think needs cheering up, you're doing a public service here people - Laughter is the best medicine, as they say in The Reader's Digest.

Thanks for listening guys, I'd really appreciate it if you could find the time to do this, I want my Dad to be proud of me, like most of us do - You can think of it as your kind act for today, you have my permission to be as grumpy as you like for the rest of the day, after you've followed the above four steps that is.

You do try to do one kind thing for someone every day right?

You should, we should all aspire to be more like this chap, The Free Help Guy, people love him, he's great.

P.S. Hopefully, sometime next month the real paper version of the book should be released, I think it's going to be about £8 and I will happily sign copies and write funny stuff in it for you for free if you send it to me with some form of return postage.

-oOo-

OK, I'm the first person to admit that everything above reads like I'm a needy A-hole who just wants to pimp his crappy book and he's trying to use you wonderful Internet people to do it for him because he's broke.

And whilst I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want people to read my books, because I think some of the stories are genuinely funny, I didn't decide to publish the collections to make a fortune and quit my day-job  (about a hundred people have to buy a book at full price before I see any money at all) this particular appeal is all about my relationship with my Dad.

And this is why.

Help me out guys?

Priorities

OK, so I'm guessing that most of you know of my Dad, be it through his shenanigans where sub-zero avian vermin are concerned, or his stories of life as a Sergeant in the RAF.

He's incredibly self-sufficient, not just for an 84 year old, but in general.  He does all of his own shopping and cleaning, goes everywhere on the bus and seldom asks anyone (especially his family) for help.  In fact, he even 'does' for an old friend of his, a bit of light housework, sorting out paperwork, making sure that his kids don't steal all of his money, that sort of thing

Anyway, he checked himself into hospital last week with stomach pains, all sorts of unpleasant things going on with his digestive system and so forth, but his GP had told him that he just had an infection that was being a bit resistant to anti-biotics or something, probably.

He spent a week in there, being poked and prodded, pumped full of hardcore antibiotics, shoved into giant magnetic doughnuts and having cameras put in places where you normally wouldn't want a camera.

when we went to pick him up, he told us that his consultant had said that was an issue with one of his 'tubes' and they'd be having him back in when everything had calmed down a bit to do something about it.

It wasn't until the next day when he pulled an 'Agent Tee' (Go and watch Men in Black 2) on us, and waited until we were in a busy shopping centre before he told us the rest of the diagnosis... He was in the late, inoperable, stages of Cancer and his Consultant had given him 3-12 months to live.

Then he just carried on walking to the Post Office as if he hadn't just dropped the 'C-Bomb'.

Anyone who knows me in real life will attest to the fact that it's not very often that I'm rendered speechless, but on this occasion, I did not know what to say... So I told him that I didn't know what to say.  He replied that there wasn't really anything that I could say that would make any difference, so why bother?  Mrs Dandy took this opportunity to disappear off to the Vets, initially to pick some stuff up for the dog, but mainly so my Dad didn't see her burst into tears - He's a man of that generation where overt displays of emotion embarrass him greatly.

We walked for a while, in silence, until I broke the tension by asking if there was anything they could do, he shook his head.  I asked about Chemo, he reminded that Chemo was still technically 'something' and he'd already told me that there was 'nothing' that could be done.

After we'd driven him back home, we sat with him for a couple of hours, whilst he stared at the TV.   I can honestly say that this was the first time I'd ever noticed how fragile he was.  He'd never been a big guy, never topped 5'9" or been particularly muscular - But he's my Dad, so by that virtue a dyed in the wool Superhero, his power was never to leap buildings in a single bound, he was always clever enough to find a way round.  He couldn't fly, but he did tell some stories about when he used to.  His one superpower was to be unerringly right about almost everything.

He would say things that started with 'If I were you...' and 'You know, if you do that...' and invariably ended with me ignoring him, making a hash of everything and asking to borrow more money.  He warned me about women who were destined to tear my heart out, credit cards that would put me into debt and houses that would drain my very soul - I ignored them all. I'll bet you can count how many World's Greatest Son mugs I have in the cupboard on the fingers of one foot.

(Although, I don't think my Brother has any of those either, and he's taken early retirement and is living in his hollow volcano lair in the middle of the Mediterranean - He gets up every morning and can see the sea, and an honest to goodness shipwreck out of his lounge window - I think my Dad might have impossibly high standards for what classes as a good, successful, Son.)

I told him that I'd come and visit him every other day or so, to make sure he was OK and check if he needed anything.  I mean, we only live around the corner when all's said and done, so it's not much of a stretch... And Mrs Dandy's going to do his housework and shopping.   and that makes me feel... Well, guilty if I'm honest.  He's 84, shouldn't I have been doing these things for him for a long time?

I mean, I've been thinking that he's not been long for this world for years, his memory's not what it was, his trips to the Doctor are getting more frequent and more serious, and every time I go to his house when he's not answered his phone a couple of times in a row during the day, I expect to find him cold and stiff in a heap at the bottom of his stairs, or dead in his bed.  But he never has been.

Not so far at least.

So, on reflection, I'm a terrible son, a financial and emotional burden, thoughtless, non-empathic and generally a bad sort.  Except, I'm kind of not... I have offered to help innumerable times in the past, he just looks at me askance and says 'Why? I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself.' - So many times that I stopped asking in fact. I let him ask me if he needs anything - It's usually something like 'I need a big bag of compost' or 'I want to go to PC World, but there isn't a bus that goes that way.' - Nothing too taxing, it's usually the donkey-work that he trusts me with, things that I would have to try really hard to mess up.

But he's my Dad, and doing stuff for my Dad makes me feel good - Feels like I'm paying him back for me being a bit of a disappointment.

I regularly fix his computer, buy him tinned peaches (he loves tinned peaches, they remind him of when rationing first finished I think) and provide him with Grandchildren.  But I still feel guilty, not about not doing more, but for waiting until it was confirmed that he had a terminal condition before thinking about doing it.

I've told some people (I suppose technically, I've now told quite a lot of people, what with Blogging it) and most of their reactions have been similar, you get the 'Oh, I'm really sorry!' and the 'Is there anything I can do?' - And these people are great friends and good people and they mean well and there's nothing else you can really say... But it still take all my strength not to sound all glib and answer 'Why? it wasn't your fault.' and 'Yeah, just nip back in time about a year and give me a poke so I can tell him to go to an Oncologist so he doesn't die.' - I'm practicing my 'Thank you, but no.' - But it's going to take a while I'm afraid.

(If I do see you in real life and I do say any of these things, feel free to just shake your head and walk off, whilst muttering 'Wank*r' under your breath.)

Whilst we're on the subject of reactions, my Brother initially felt guilt too, must be a family thing - He was guilty about not immediately spending however many hundreds of pounds jumping on a plane and turfing up at our Father's house only to be told by a little frail old man what a bloody idiotic waste of money it's all been, he should have waited until there was a machine that went 'Beep' involved. (He is, nonetheless, paying hundreds of pounds on a plane ticket and coming over anyway - He's just sensibly waiting until the prices go down next month... Dad will actually appreciate that, he'll be proud - We're an odd family when you get down to it.)

Mrs Dandy was pretty devastated, but has now clicked into super-efficient carer mode, doing everything possible to make life easy for him.  Especially if that means shouting at him for his own good when he fails to take sufficient care of himself in the few times a day that she's not there. Technically known as 'trying to keep busy so she doesn't think about it.' I think.

The Mini-Dandy cried, a lot - but now she does a fine job of masking her emotions so that she doesn't make anyone else feel sad... Which reminds me, I must have the 'Bottling up your emotions can make your mind snap.' Conversation with her this weekend - I guess that she's learned it from me, I'm not an obviously emotional person ('cos I'm dead hard Me...) and things usually don't hit me until everything's all over, you know, when I consider that I've got time to grieve without effecting anyone else - Yeah, because that situation happens all the time.  I guess that being your Father's Daughter isn't just trifle and pony-rides all the time.

The Micro-Dandy... I didn't get to see his reaction, because the wife told him whilst I was at work, because I didn't seem to be able to bring myself to do it.  The words that he said that were the important thing though I suppose.

'Oh... Is Dad alright, because Granddad is Dad's Dad isn't he?'

Stunned me a bit when I found out about that one, with him only being eight years old and everything.

My Dad himself... Well, I think he's doing the whole 'Stiff upper lip' thing, trying to convince us that he's jumped to the 'Acceptance' phase of the Kubler-Ross model (Yeah, you're right, there should be an umlaut over the 'u' there, but I really can't be bothered) Though I don't believe it for a second.

Every time I leave him I imagine that he goes and sits back down in his armchair and bursts into tears - I know that I probably would, but I'm not my Dad... He probably just wanders into the bathroom and shaves himself with a Bowie knife which he licks the foam off and then spits it at the dog, because that's the sort of thing that Dads do.  That's the sort of thing that my Dad does at least.

At least, he does in my head, because he's a Superhero.

My Superhero

So,  that's why I said that the Blog might get a bit sporadic from now on... Not because I can't think of anything funny, although I'll admit that it is a bit more difficult at the moment.  But because I really need to finish the book and get it published before...

Well, you know what I want to do it before...

I want him to be proud of me one last time.