pals are thining out

A friend of mine, I, from school and cadets has come home for a while, hardly earth shattering news I will admit, well lets see shall we.
He's married to a wonderful, funny and yummy Italian girl called F, they have two cute little girls (I know I got to see some phots on friends reunited). But the girls have been sent home with their mum for a break back with their only Gran, in Italy, for A WHILE.
My friend I is a detective constable with the MET, that's the London Metropolitan Police not the opera, I think the detective part is the giveaway, well he could have been the Constable of France in some operatic remake of Henry V (V=the 5th) I suppose?
However. The other day I got a text from a number not on my mobile, curious? This is how the conversation went

Hey, r u back home this weekend?

Who R U

I%$£(*&^% (name withheld by me)

What u been up 2 these last years?

Got married, 2 children, detective constable in london. Got a malignant brain tumour, had surgery, radiotherapy, trying to sort chemotherapy out. Life begins at 40 my ass! And you?

{i don't remember my reply}

Life eh?! Think its going great then SLAP! across the chops. You start having seizures, get diagnosed with epilepsy, have an MRI. Then discover a 7cm tumour, which turns out to be very angry. Then in the meantime your mother dies. Life begins at 40 they say. I say to 'they' FUCK OFF!

At this point I phoned him and we talked, firstly, this was too big for mere texts and secondly I hate texting for no good reason.


The upshot of this call was, he came to mine! that evening. I was doing a pre pack list in my head while texting {after the bomb had been dropped} thinking I was on the next train to London! It wasn't till we talked that I found he was within taxi distance. Anyhoo, I said yes come to mine (his aunt would give him a lift), {we both established that he was fit enough for the 2 mile journey by car, hells bells, he made it from London on his own}. 40 mins later there was a knock at the door.

There stood a gaunt figure in army fatigues, but the smile was still the same. I also remember thinking that, "how can someone who has just been thru all that, have a little double chin?". What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't thinking at all. I welcomed this familiar stranger into my home and found myself asking him if he needed help to step upto my house {the step is quite big even my parents struggle with it, it's on my list, now}, yes a little help would be good.

A vital if thin person, robust in every respect had turned into a shuffling ghost, a ghost that is compared to what he used to be like. But that is only the outward view. You get the feeling that this is just a minor inconvenience, and that given time and enough help from the doctors he'll soon be kicking in doors and catching bad guys and saving us all from smegheads intent on doing us all no good.

That may not happen, thanks to the postcode lottery that exists in this country. Remember that I talk to you all from the UK and that we (are supposed to) have a national health service, health care free to all regardless if you work or not and / or can afford to pay national insurance contributions. A system that should have been the envy of the world has now been turned into the laughing stock of Europe {and it's new eastern members}. Therefore my friend I has had to come back home to a lighter population density in the hope that there is a budget to save a WORTHWHILE MEMBER OF SOCIETY. And my friend.