Well, it’s not everyday you get entered into a dictionary! Thanks to Leadership coach Chris Wilson for submitting this.
I just hope I can live up to expectations!!
My Cancer Diaries: ‘nadio’ makes it into the dictionary!
My Cancer Diaries: The First 100 Days
I am often asked, “What’s it been like, being diagnosed with cancer?”
Well, here’s my answer. Pour yourself a strong one and strap yourself down, this will be a long read!
I have already written about the diagnosis phase and then heading into treatment. Thirty sessions of radiotherapy and two sessions of chemo.
The ‘highlights’, if that’s the right word, include the extraction of a wisdom tooth; making and fitting the mask and the insertion of the feeding peg in my stomach.
Then there is the tiredness, sickness, burning of the neck and the seeping, blistered wound plus the loss of voice, hair and taste. 31 symptoms in all, fortunately not all at the same time.
So, 100 days since diagnosis in April, I am reflecting on the impact it has had on my life.
Am I being a drama Queen? Does it matter? Will it make any difference?
It’s a big deal, getting cancer. It hurts. It threatens your ambitions and removes you from the rest of society. It takes up lots of your time, your attention and your money. It makes you query your mortality, your friendships, your values and your very purpose.
It makes you feel vulnerable. Lonely and alone. A nuisance. Dirty. Broken. A human reject. A leper existing on the outside of society’s metaphoric walls. A waste.
But …. it also makes you feel alive. You smell the roses, the damp pavements and the dew on the morning lawn. You hear the birdsong louder, clearer than ever before. The songs you’d forgotten about and the photos you’d hidden from view. The sun, when it hits your face, is dangerous and the strangers in the street are all risk hazards in these crazy, covid times … risks to you and your very existence because to get covid would almost certainly kill you when you are at your weakest.
And so you dig deep. You find your inner resolve and you baton down the hatches. You remove yourself from all negativity, anything that might harm your chances of survival, mentally as well as physically. You only deal with what ‘matters’.
In my case, I found walking to and/or from appointments gave me a routine. A purpose. Self-medicating required time, effort and knowledge. Getting it right, well, it’s hard to know what is ‘right’. Getting it wrong, on the other hand, risks leaving you with an even bigger mountain as you combat mouth ulcers; sickness; constipation; infection; extreme weight loss; claustrophobia; depression and possibly starvation.
But … you somehow feel in control. You take back your body from this bastard disease and you show it who is in charge. You prioritise EVERYTHING. When you can only speak one hundred words a day, you do not waste them. When even those words no longer can be spoken, well, that’s a memory I’d really rather not revisit.
When the morphine kicks in and you cannot stay awake for more than an hour at a time, you make that time matter.
And when you come through to ‘the other side’, you reboot your life. You take stock of what you value, who you value and why. You count the days until you can eat, drink and sleep normally again. No more sleeping whilst sitting up. No more forcing that sickly sweet supplement into your stomach and no more morphine making you drowsy, slurring your words and making you short tempered.
Being diagnosed with cancer does not have to be a death sentence. I have yet to find out what my chances of survival are. That will be revealed by the MRI scan 16 weeks after treatment finished, sometime around Bonfire Night.
Good news or bad, my first 100 days of living with cancer have been the most fulfilling of my entire life. The luckiest days of my life. The most beautiful. Long may that luck continue. Thanks for listening.
Please support the NHS and MacMillan nurses.
Nadio Granata
Chiswick Quay Marina
Sunday 22nd August 2021
When I saw my friend Hope
I saw my friend Hope today.
She was stood in the shadows, far, far away.
Her hair was blowing in the gentle breeze, as she stayed under the shade, amongst the trees.
I saw her glance my way, her lips were calling, calling out my name.
Her eyes were kind and warm and saying things I’d never heard before
Her manicured hands were reaching out to me, willing me to come closer, to step carefully.
My heart was beating hard and my breath rasping with each and every step. The sweet smell of her perfume permeated the breeze … then she was gone, leaving me to question, what or who had I really seen.
I miss my friend Hope every day in every way. She brought love, laughter and prospect of a life ever after.
Tuesday 15th June
On the chemotherapy ward
My Cancer Diaries: Living with Sherpas
“But it’s not ALL about you!”
How many times have we thought this whilst listening to someone rattling on about themselves? And the greatest apology to my dear friends who have had to put up with my monologues over the years. Note to self: two ears, one mouth!
Back in early June, right at the start of my treatment plan, I blogged about how I was resigned to the fact that I had cancer and how I was going to treat it as ‘My mountain to climb’.
And it was/still is.
There’s some comfort in knowing that each metaphoric foothold or rope that used to haul yourself up, can just fall away after you have used it. There’s no one following in your footsteps, no need to worry about anyone else. It’s not necessary to leave the rope as you found it. Just get the fuck up there one way or another.
Even though you are on your own climbing this mountain, you are NOT ALONE and that’s what this blog is all about.
People make a massive difference to how you make the climb. And I’m going to borrow my friend and cancer patient Mandy Taylor’s analogy of ‘Sherpas’ to explain further.
I’m guessing my particular journey from early symptoms to diagnosis to treatment (and ultimately ‘all clear’ in 3 months, I hope!) … will be similar to most other’s.
It starts with a symptom (PLEASE CHECK YOURSELF), a visit to the GP and then, if you are lucky, an immediate referral to be tested for cancer. It’s an absolute whirlwind and all the time you are mentally preparing for the worse.
Here’s where I must plug the NHS and MacMillan for their immediate response. They are brilliant!!
So what is a ‘Sherpa’ and how do they help?
The purpose of this blog is twofold. Firstly and extremely selfishly, it’s my way of releasing some of my own angst. I find it cathartic to write and important to offload in this way.
Secondly, and more importantly, it’s hopefully helping to dispel any myths and fears about the whole cancer treatment experience. Brochures only go so far. My story is real, it’s now and, I think, it’s typical. And it is a good news story, so far anyway!!
And so, to that point, here’s my rather awkward attempt at describing Sherpas and trying to highlight how best they can support you, the mountaineer.
Warning: not all qualities are positive, though they are most certainly well intended. *other qualities exist.
⁃ The PA
I don’t think it is fair to say that any one Sherpa is more important than another. It’s a little like judging your children or perhaps a football team and saying the centre forward is more important than the goalkeeper.
However, in my particular case, a person who can manage a diary and sort out travel plans is worth their weight in gold!
Let me explain… the diagnostic period is a whirlwind of blood tests, biopsies, scans, dental checks and a whole host of appointments as well as the personal stuff. Meeting with loved ones to put their minds at rest face-to-face before they hear it on the grapevine as the treatment kicks off and Covid restrictions add to the already growing feelings of isolation.
A PA who can keep track of everything whilst your head is spinning needs to be not just pragmatic but efficient, authoritative and reliable.
⁃ The Diverter
Being diagnosed with cancer is most certainly a life changing moment. Your world comes to an abrupt halt whilst you suddenly realise that everything (and everyone) you took for granted … or, took YOU for granted … is about to change. Clearly this depends on the type of cancer you have been diagnosed, the stage it is at and where you are on your personal and career paths.
The Diverter is someone who is not all consumed with your cancer. Of course they care, but they maintain a more holistic view on life and give you something else to think about… especially when under that mask!!
In my case, I spent many a time thinking about a certain person who’s support was never witnessed or understood by others, but me. For that, I will be forever grateful.
⁃ The Emergency Responder
There are three distinct stages to cancer treatment, in my experience.
1. The preliminary stuff. Biopsies, blood tests, covid tests, getting the peg fitted etc etc
2. The treatment itself
3. The recovery
Stage 2 is very routine. It requires you to be in clinic at a set time (daily, in my case) and is therefore relatively easy to manage. It’s the stage that most people relate with the most and is obviously the most demanding. But it’s not necessarily the worse stage.
The Recovery, on the other hand, is entirely down to the individual. All 31 symptoms or more can render you utterly useless. More often than not, this is in the morning as you shake off the effects of the night’s build up of toxins in the body.
The Emergency Responder is someone who you can rely on to fix your immediate problems. These could be as simple as a quick trip to the shop to, in my case, pumping out the boat!! It even included a friend gifting me his belt as my trousers fell down in front of us as we walked out of the hospital!!
⁃ The Carer
We all need to feel loved, right? There’s probably no more intensely emotional time in your life other than giving birth. According to national statistics, more people are divorced than are married and that figure gets higher as you get older.
The love of a carer is, arguably, not essential, but it helps! My youngest son, Nick, and I have been somewhat distant since I split from his mum. Cancer brought us together. It’s healed so much.
⁃ The Fusser
People are well meaning. Hardly a person in the world (odd exceptions) would not wish you well when they are aware of your cancer. It elicits an immediate and heartfelt response. However, The Fusser is someone who makes it their business to fuss about your business. They are desperate to get involved. But they are not listening. They will ask if you need anything, in the meantime, they just need to back off. Send flowers, treats, a special card … but allow the mountaineer the space they need.
⁃ The Mañana
The Mañana is very much like The Fusser but actually much worse. They do all the fussing but none of the delivery. They offer the support but fail to deliver it. They can be exhausting. And exhausting the mountaineer is a very dangerous mistake.
⁃ The Virtual Sherpa
There is no doubt that your cancer journey requires you to have someone or more, with you, to physically help when needed.
However, in my case, I had an army of Virtual Sherpas. These range from my amazing daughter who, though she lives 200 miles away, she was absolutely by my side EVERY STEP OF THE WAY. From googling the symptoms and filtering only what I needed to know to sending beautiful baby videos of my newborn granddaughter as I waited to go under the mask.
Zoom is the best ever invention when needing to bring people together without the strain of the journey. It’s not as good as the real thing, but you know what … it can actually be better because you are so drained that to turn off zoom and rest is so easy and inoffensive.
Virtual Sherpas are there for you 24/7. They live online and shower you with loving care.
You are my Virtual Sherpas and I owe you a huge THANK YOU. This journey has been so much easier with you there to catch me when I fall.
Nadio Granata
Manchester
27th July 2021
Note:
It’s been really tough to write this blog because I feel it is important to try to help people to understand better what a cancer patient needs, but I do not want to be too critical and ungrateful.
My Sherpas have been immense. To KNOW you are there, if needed, makes even the darkest days easier to deal with. And who knows, maybe there’s more to come.
Thanks for listening. Nadio
My Cancer Diaries: The Road to Recovery
The bell has been rung. Six long, painful and frightening weeks of daily radiotherapy sessions with two doses of chemotherapy are all behind me now … and words alone cannot express how damn good that feels!
So what was it actually like? And what next? Where do I go from here?
I have blogged in the past about my attitude towards the diagnosis and how I saw it as “A mountain to climb. It’s my mountain. My mountain alone”.
I strongly believe that conceptualisation gave me some additional resolve and focus that enabled me to deal with life in a positive, pragmatic and even joyful way. And the reason I say this here is because I know many readers of this blog are also facing their own challenges so I say to them, find YOUR focus, be that ‘a mountain’ or ‘race’ or personification or whatever, before you set off as it helps enormously. You’ll smash it too.
My mountain started, like any other, with foothills. These are beautiful, sloping meadows like those in Heidi. As I climbed further up the mountain, the terrain became steeper, the air thinner, the challenge incrementally more difficult. More real.
I wrote previously about my preparation being woefully inadequate as I approached Base Camp and I quickly had to metaphorically reorganise certain things and swap out my inferior ‘rucksack’ for something stronger, more capable of dealing with the rigours ahead. Thank God I did. Closing my mind to a complicated and ultimately failing relationship (note the hint of hope), narrowing my business interests to just the essentials and limiting my exposure to people who only bring positivity and joy to my life was fundamental to survival in the darkest of days. Am I being over-dramatic? No. Those days needed every ounce of resolve and not just a drop of painkiller too!
But what now?
My cancer journey included 31 symptoms. That’s 31 distinct injuries that I would not have experienced had I not being under treatment. I actually wrote them all down in a spreadsheet whilst in the waiting room on my last day. I then added some scores for the pain level, frequency and ‘impact’ and then a formula to rank these in order of worse to least impact. It kept me entertained for an hour or so! You can see it here.
It is now two weeks from ringing the bell. All my medical advisers were correct, the symptoms got worse before they got better. Much worse.
Energy levels plummeted, if that’s possible, from about 50% to 10% meaning it was difficult at times to stand up, let alone go for a walk.
Occasional coughing and spluttering turned to puking up to 20 or 30 times a day. At one point I went through a box of tissues a day, just dealing with the constant flow of excess mucus being coughed up. The daily bombardment of my neck eventually produced the inevitable. One little blister turned to two… three, four and then the whole neck from ear to ear became one big green, gooey mess. It took hours to pluck up the strength to unstick my chin from my chest in a morning as the weeping scab had glued them together. Long, warm showers with gritted teeth and a lot of expletives (sorry neighbours!) with additional swigs of morphine helped me to get through.
Then we get to now …
Record breaking temperatures and lockdown confusion to add to the journey. The mountain, for me, has been conquered. The tumour has visibly decreased in size and in 12 more weeks I will have another MRI scan to see if all the cancer has been irradiated. I was told in the beginning that success rates are relatively high for throat cancer and though I was stage 3, to be optimistic of a complete recovery with little or no side effects. Gulp! I try not to scrutinise those words too closely. As far as I am concerned, I’m done, it’s worked and I’m cracking on until told otherwise!
But what lies ahead? 3 stone lighter, a face with even more ‘lived-in wrinkles’ and a steely determination to make up for lost time, is not a strategy. When all the doctors have gone home and the words to the blog no longer flow so freely, there’s still bills to be paid, the bins to be emptied and a life to rebuild.
I will write maybe one more blog to thank all those who have been there for me, my ‘Sherpas’ and I’ll detail some coping mechanisms I discovered for anyone who may find them useful.
Next for me is a few days up north to see my family and friends, pingdemic permitting!
Though I still cannot taste much, I am gagging for some fish and chips from Reed Street chippy at Marsh, a Merry England beef and onion sandwich, a pint at The Croppers and a bloody good kebab on the way home.
A walk over the Holmfirth hills and some live gigs, starting with watching Monotones support McFly at York Races this Saturday. I’m apparently very high risk for Covid, so still wearing masks and doing daily flow tests and all that malarkey. I know, I know, I’m taking risks but I’ll argue they are worth taking. After all, isn’t life for living?
Nadio Granata
Thursday 22nd July 2021
My Cancer Diaries: Poem: One more week to go
As I lie here and wonder of the challenges still to come, I think of how far I’ve climbed this mountain, of the battles I’ve won.
I remember the time when I looked up to Base Camp and saw how steep was my climb, it made me realise this challenge was mine, and only mine.
And with each and every step, my throat grew more painful, damaged by my own living breath.
The sleepless nights that were chalked off the score, each and every one brought another struggle, more pain with the dawn of the next day. But that’s all ok, one more step closer to the prize is all I can do, to me, there’s nothing more certain that’s my destiny regardless if I’m feeling happy or blue.
But today seems different somehow, it’s as though I have reached a plateau new, this mountain is no longer as steep as the one I once knew.
My journey ahead seems less daunting, the mist has now risen and I see more clearly the steps I must tread. And there lies the danger, for this battle is far from over, no sir, do not let that get into your head.
One more week to go and then the descent begins ….
Ends
Note to self: I hope I don’t slide down the other side on my metaphorical arse!!
Nadio Granata
29th June 2021
Poem
My Cancer Diaries: A Day in my life
The purpose of this blog is twofold. One, is entirely selfish. I make no apology for not wanting to ‘suffer in silence’ and therefore chose to write a blog to capture and save those ‘as-they-happen’ feelings and instances that I hope will punctuate my journey back to full health. Regardless of whether they are positive landmarks of success or perhaps less positive but nonetheless meaningful and relevant to my reader.
And secondly, I wanted to provide a running commentary from the ‘patient’s’ perspective as opposed to those leaflets or YouTube videos you can download about how to cope with cancer treatment. I am sure they are highly interesting but they’re just not my bag.
And so, to this blog.
Here’s a ‘typical’ day from my 4 weeks of treatment, with 2 more weeks to come.
Friday 18th June, 2020
My day always starts with a glance at my Google calendar before going to bed the night before.
Working from home, during the pandemic, has become the norm for many of us and I have been doing this for over two years now.
My career as a Marketing Director with my own company and co-founder of a Think Tank, enables me to work from practically anywhere at anytime. Whilst this has huge advantages when dealing with cancer treatments, it does require even some basic time management skills such as making sure I know what’s in the diary before I go to bed!
My sleeping patterns have significantly improved over the course of the treatment. Those early nights of coughing and spluttering the whole night, have been swapped to a good, heavy, morphine-induced sleep with zero toilet breaks or other interruptions other than the occasional bout of very painful hiccups. (This has changed again since drafting this).
My last radiotherapy session of the week was booked in for 8:24am so I actually had to schedule my alarm
clock for 7am to allow time to shower and do my morning meds before grabbing an Uber electric bike and cycling the 3 miles to Charing Cross hospital.
Friday’s radiotherapy session is always the best. Straight in to the waiting room, confirm my name and address and then through to the treatment area.
Stripping off to the waist, whilst my mask is unpacked, the bed settings are adjusted and my Beatles playlist is uploaded.
Deep breath.
I am guided into place by the nursing staff, paying particular attention to the narrow green laser which indicates the central point.
Slowly the mask is placed over the face. One last gulp. Lick the lips. Breath out.
Let’s do it.
Some 20 minutes later I am back on the road, hunting for another Uber battery powered bike to get me home.
11:00 -13:00 is spent tidying up the boat, responding to my business emails and general chores whilst I have the energy.
13:00 – 14:00 is spent taking my meds and my main feed for the day. I lay out all the different potions along with various glasses and syringes which I then fill with this sticky, sugary cocktail. Starting with a fresh water flush, I insert about 50mls into the syringe which I then attach to the valve on the end of the flexi pipe sticking out of my stomach.
A few seconds later and it is already making its refreshing way through the stomach and into my digestive system.
I then follow this with 2 x bottles of Endure. It’s sticky, sweet and smelly but essential in the battle to stop the weight loss and keep my energy levels up.
14:00 14:45 Business call with India. My role as a Marketing Consultant to tech companies is extremely varied. Most recently, due to the limitations brought about by my treatment, I tend to focus on writing White Papers and consulting on strategic partnerships where I can bring gamechangers together. Fortunately, much of this can be facilitated remotely and with the wonderful support of my client and associates, and my use of post it notes, we are still getting great results.
15:00 -16:00 Business call with Age of Human Think Tank. Putting humanity back at the centre of business is a personal passion of mine and together with some extremely clever people, we have kicked off a global movement to achieve this aim.
This call was limited to myself and cofounder Steve Cook who provided a whirlwind update on some of the initiatives we are actively working with and specifically our roles as I recover and take up more of the reigns.
16:00 -17:00 Exercise. Two hours of intense meetings, even with limited contributions from me, can be exhausting. I use the next hour to slip on my flip flops and grab some sunshine whilst walking a couple of loops of the Marina.
17:00 18:00 Emails and social media catch up. I use this time to wrap up any loose ends, quick follow ups from previous calls and prepare an empty desk (head) for the weekend. The chemo after effects have already kicked in and I have guests staying over the weekend so it’s important to be prepared as much as possible to ensure they too get value from their visit.
18:00 -22:00
England v Czech Republic
Come on England!!
I’ve made it. A personal milestone way back when I was diagnosed, was to be fit enough to watch the match with the lads.
I’d originally booked a table at a great boozer, but given the stage I was at with my treatment and the ongoing concerns about Covid-19, I made the sensible decision to divert the lads to the boat instead.
And what a night!
Ok, the footy was poor but the lads were on top form. Conversations flying all over the place between a wonderful mix of old friends and new, creatives and thinkers, writers and marketers … a typical snapshot of the life and times of this particular cancer patient.
It’s tough. It’s painful. It’s emotional. But it’s beatable and all the more so when it’s tackled face on. And I can see the end in sight!
Thanks for reading. Nadio
Sunday 20th June 2021
Video diary
My Cancer Diaries. Day 12: Have I NOT got news for you!
Keeping an active body and mind whilst going through daily radiotherapy, can be something of a challenge. My attention span has never been good (ask any of my school teachers) and I watch TV so seldom that getting a good run at a series is just not happening. The last series I watched from start to gripping finish was probably Roots!!
Match of the Day remains my #1 must see. All my life I have either watched it, or been out in some boozer or a party somewhere, secretly thinking about it. It’s madness! I hate the disparity between the Prima Donna’s of the professional leagues and the amateur divisions. It is utterly scandalous in today’s society that the working classes are gambled to starvation whilst their club is manipulated by those evil betting shop sponsors.
Now look what I’ve done to myself. This was supposed to be a lighthearted break from some of the miserable treatments I have described, but I’ve managed to get myself wound up.
Anyway, what I meant to say, was, despite my love for MOTD the signature tune has recently turned into a lullaby for me!
I can battle through the rigours of the day, force myself to do the 60 minute bedtime routine of applying all the meds whilst gargling like someone deranged (sorry if that’s now an official pronoun!) then plonk myself back down on my sofa, ready for the climax of the week (cough, cough).
“Dut, dut, dut, der, der, der,der,der, do, do, do, do, do do … “(you try writing down that tune!) … and before it’s reached it’s last ‘dut, dut, DUM’ … I’m gone! Fast asleep. Every bloody time. And the only thing in the world that wakens me up again?
When the tune comes back on at the end! This is so bloody annoying.
Anyway, on to the real reason for this particular blog…
I subscribe to various newspaper and magazine apps and yesterday I was skipping through The Guardian content section, looking forward a few items to which I would return whilst perhaps in another waiting room or on the bus etc.
Anything salacious is always of particular interest, followed by saving the planet, sport or economy. Sadly, in that order.
Oh, and I LOVE Mariella Frostrup’s Relationship Column. Makes me realise I’m not the only arse in the world ha!
And so, there I was, surfing through the list of headlines when I came up with the idea of listing the headline without any context.
It’s a little like watching the telly with the sound turned down. So, here goes. I’d be very interested to hear what you think. I’ve added the odd notes for guidance purposes!
Michael Parkinson: ‘I dreamed of living with Ingrid Bergman near Barnsley FC’.
Fingered for failings he’d forgotten. Matt Hancock wriggles free. [NG: how can that possibly be allowed in a civilised society]
Australian researchers discover why only two of echidna’s four penis heads become erect at one time [NG: I’m sure there’s a joke there somewhere]
High risk of autumn Covid surge in Europe despite drop in infections, says WHO
The greatest ever songs of the summer – ranked! [NG: I’ll create a playlist for these and share with you soon]
How to live life now [NG: is there any other time?]
Slice of life: 10 delicious ways to make the most of watermelon [NG: my aim is to get my mouth healthy enough to enjoy this simple pleasure].
When America’s richest men pay $0 in income tax, this is wealth supremacy [NG: Do not get me fucking started! See my website here: http://www.ageofhuman.org].
Krejcikova saves match point to set up French Open final with Pavlyuchenkova
Graduates face highest unemployment rate since austerity era – report [NG: is it any wonder? We need to stop churning out Accountants, Lawyers and other ‘Professionals’ in a world that is digitally transforming NOW. Ask me about my recent White Paper on this!]
Prince Charles urges businesses to help lead way on climate. Prince says private-sector innovation and finance is vital, otherwise ‘we just don’t stand a chance’. [NG: Bang on Charlie!! He’s dead right].
Nailed it: man, 82, builds bench for wife in 30 minutes after council plea ignored [NG: it would be easy to rip into our Councils right now, but they definitely require a rethink].
Takeaway food and drink litter dominates ocean plastic, study shows. [NG: Let’s at least sort this shit out].
Nadio Granata
Saturday 12th June 2021
My Cancer Diaries: My voice goes and I cannot get Alexa to play anymore!!
I love my Alexa. To be able to just request a song or an album or playlist and have it belting out on my boat is sheer joy.
I cook to Billy Joel or a bit of Bob Marley or Dire Straights, shower to Fleetwood Mac or even a bit of Manilow (it’s surprising what confessions one makes when facing such life changes!). It’s always on and often turned up full!
Alas. She’s not working anymore. Or, to be more correct, I’m not working anymore!
Day 10 of radiotherapy has hammered my vocal chords and I can no longer speak. Even getting close up and personal with Alexa has failed to turn her on. And all joking aside, I haven’t a clue how to resolve this.
Losing my voice was always on the cards. As was/is losing my appetite, losing weight and some sense of smell. Fortunately, I have been piling the weight on during lockdown so losing a few kilos will not be such a bad thing. I’ve actually already lost 6 kilos and that’s while I’ve been eating like a horse!
Losing my appetite is tough. My whole life has revolved around food and not just the occasional drink! Every day when I walk into Charing Cross Hospital I walk past some amazing eateries. West London appears to be the Mecca for anything avocado and if anyone has followed my Sink or Swim Blog (https://www.facebook.com/NadioGranataHouseboat/) then you’ll see I am surrounded with beautiful riverside pubs and their award-winning beer gardens.
Whether it be a crispy bacon, squashed avocado and poached egg ensemble for breakfast or a BBQ’d rump steak with a few beers and a good laugh, those days are now gone. But not forever.
But the biggest loss of all, so far, is the loss of voice. It came about so sudden that yesterday morning I joined a zoom video call with a client and could not even say hello.
Nothing came out. Zilch. Niente.
Nobody on the call was more shocked than me. In fact, I felt a bit of an arse, after all, what’s the point of being on the call if you’re not going to contribute?
I’m pleased to say that my client and our partners are extremely accommodating and we soon got going with the good old post it notes and plenty of Micky taking!
News has spread quite quickly around here too and my enforced silence seems to have triggered a lot of invitations to go walking! I think that’s because I’ll have to be the one that listens for a change, which, again, cannot be such a bad thing. Every cloud and all that …
Nadio
Thursday 10th June
12/30
Nadio Granata's Personal Blog 