Bob

Bob is stoically following his routines: coming down to meet the car as I pulled into the drive, jumping in on the passenger side, following me into the house. But although he sits in front of the fridge looking hopeful and purring, when presented with food, he's unable to eat it. He managed a tiny amount of salmon this evening. We shall take him to the vet tomorrow, and she may give him another steroid injection which will ease his abdomen and allow him to feed, but as I have said before, there is no miracle cure. He has a large abdominal mass, and there's nothing that can be done about it. So we are just gaining a little time for him and us.

Life goes on. I went to a meeting in North Wales today, the first time I have crossed the border in several years. There were people there from South Wales, and the familiar accents which I hear so rarely now, exerted that gravitational pull that I always feel in such situations. The pull of home, where I grew up, where my Mother was born, where I returned for 10 years or so after university before being exiled to England.