Tick Tock Time

Papa Ding is coming over tonight, having recently fallen to a new low by forgetting Ma Ding's birthday and then, apparently, accusing her of being overweight. Think he might get away with it, due to his illness, but still ... what an idiot, and poor Ma Ding.

Also suddenly feel very strange about seeing him for the first time since I learnt he's having the TX. It's a subject that I've thought about logically in my head but which I have avoided emotionally. It seems an inevitable cruelty that when time is precious, it is also pre-occupied with anxiety about it running out. These are times to enjoy not endure, and yet they are almost unbearable.

Papa Ding

It is finally happening. Papa Ding is booked in for his Bone Marrow Transplant, and the next few months are going to be a big ol' fight to conquer the dreaded lurgy. I know too much about the toll of this process to be filled with joy about it, but I also know that this is a potential life-saver, and could well give poor Papa Ding a few more years on this earth, which he surely deserves. And how amazing that a complete stranger should give him this chance. I don't know who they are, what they do, or even what part of the world they live in, but they (probably some ordinary Joe working 9 to 5) could well be saving a life, by donating a few days of their life, and a few stem cells that they don't need in any case. I just wish more people overcame their scaredyness, ignorance (or in some cases pure bad attitude), to sign up for the same thing. How many times in your own lifetime are you handed the opportunity to potentially, and directly, save a person's life? I think (and I thought this before Papa Ding was diagnosed) that I would feel immensely priviledged to be given that opportunity.... I can't do anything directly for Papa Ding, except be around, support, and keep all my fingers and toes crossed. This is going to be a tough time, but a necessary one.

Folk You One and All

There's been a bit of a gap in the old blogging, mainly for the yearly event that is the Cambridge Folk Festival. Twas a bit rainy but excellent, as always. Luckily we were saved by Mac and Willy bringing a "sitooterie" (Scots for gazebo, apparently, or so a fellow drunken camper informed us). This year's highlights, for me, were:

Chris Woods - http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/release/v4mq/
Back to basics Kent singer-songwriter, bit political, and very profound. Sung a song about pushy parents and teenage suicide that had me and Choc Chip feeling a bit "emotional".

The Imagined Village - http://imaginedvillage.com/
Pretentious sounding collective re-examining "Englishness" through traditional music, that turned out to be crazy genius, and brought the house down on Saturday.

Laura Marling - http://www.lauramarling.com/
Apparently from Reading (originally) which made me feel some big old Berkshire solidarity, but also oh-so-sickeningly-talented-and-only-18. Her styling suggests she might be one of those annoying teenagers that is too cool for school, but her songs are really rather intelligent and beautiful. Also had a band member whose beautiful blue eyes had nearly all of us (boys included) feeling a bit swoony. Yum.

The Cherryholmes - http://cherryholmes.musiccitynetworks.com/
A proper rhinestone-bedecked redneck family band from Nashville... bearded papa, strangely moustachioed sons, unfeasibly glamourous mama and daughters, and some very impressive clog-dancing in unison. What is there not to love!?

And honourable mention to Seth Lakemen, who need only turn up and wave his fiddle about a bit, to make me smile, these days. Top folk totty for the nth year in a row....

Got back home and promptly set off for hospital, where MG was still recuperating having had a "funny turn" following his operation. He is a terrible patient, and seems to have passed out at the mere thought of what they'd done to his broken ankle. When they finally let him out, he vowed never to return, before having a panic attack about a rash he'd developed (not meningitis or septecaemia, me and his female housemate firmly assured him) and then wigged out that he'd got his cast wet and it had "warped" (a couple of drops of water that had clearly had no effect whatsoever) before finally panicking that his foot was swelling up and sticking to his plastercast (also happily untrue). But however bad a patient he is, it does make me rather happy (and immensely more patient than I would normally be) that he was so grateful to see me, and was instantly brightened by a simple thing like a hug. A silly, but rather lovely, man, methinks. He also had me smiling like a Cheshire cat this morning when he said that me being clever was one of the many things he loved about me. For a girl that takes great pride in not being a dumb barbie, he couldn't have hit the spot more sweetly!