7 April 2024

When you have cancer it is so important to do as many normal and nice things as possible, to keep spirits up and remind yourself that you still have a life that is more than worth living. However, cancer is a wily and jealous beast, making its presence constantly known and taking great pleasure in thwarting plans…This was how Steve and I found ourselves on a train from Charing Cross to Tonbridge in Kent early in the morning of our second day away in London instead of relaxing in the hotel spa…

The evening before, we were sat in the Fortune Theatre excited to be watching Operation Mincement, a new musical that is making big waves in London and was supposed to be hilarious- that will be just the thing, I had thought when booking it. Well the show had barely started when I began to get messages from Isaac away on his choir course… each one ripped my heart into increasingly smaller pieces as he conveyed how he wasn’t coping with being away from home because of our situation, and just wanted to be with family. Cancer was doing this to my little boy, who had been so happy and excited to go away. As everyone else in the theatre guffawed with laughter, I had tears streaming down my face. Steve gripped my hand hard as we endured the wait of what seemed like an eternity to reach the interval, when I could call the emergency contact for Isaac’s course. Not that it helped much when I did; the guy I spoke to was lovely and said that he would chat with Isaac in the morning but I already knew what the outcome would be. Isaac needed to be home. Of course there could easily have been other factors involved- it can’t have helped that Isaac’s roommate was terribly homesick too- but this was no time for us to be tough.

We made it through the rest of the show, appreciating how clever and well-executed it was but not of course managing to immerse ourselves in either the story or the comedy. The journey back to the hotel in a taxi was spent thrashing through the options to get Isaac back… the girls had so sweetly offered to drive and collect him so we could stay in London but we weren’t comfortable with them leaving their own responsibilities and negotiating the awkward drive on the M25 over the Dartford crossing to Kent. Plus, we are Isaac’s parents; we felt we should be the ones to get him and make it right. Should we go back to Knebworth in the morning, jump in the car to get Isaac and then head back into London for the evening opera I had booked? Or was there another way? We slept on it, fitfully.

The hotel was near Tower Bridge, carefully selected by me for its spa facilities and promised floor-to-ceiling views of the London skyline. I opted for for an upgraded room, enticed by the photos of spectacular views on the website. When we walked into the room, we were indeed greeted by spectacular views… of some very non-descript concrete buildings about 10 metres away, blocking anything more interesting that might be behind them. In advance of arrival I had messaged the hotel to say that it was my 50th birthday trip and that clearly hadn’t had any effect whatsoever on the room allocation, so it was time to play the terminal cancer card. Voila. Five minutes after phoning reception we found ourselves in a plush room on the 12th floor overlooking the Tower of London, Tower Bridge and the Shard. That was more like it.

We went to sleep with the blinds fully open and the whole of London lit up before us: the idea being that when we inevitably woke up in the night feeling worried or sad we would have something lovely to look at. It worked a treat; all was calm and magical and I will treasure that picture in my heart.

Things are always clearer in the morning. We hatched a crazy but workable plan to collect Isaac by train and bring him back into London, where if the timing was right we could still maybe make our very special lunch reservation, albeit with 10-year-old in tow. It was quite an undertaking, the school Isaac was at being about a mile’s walk from the station and the Uber we tried to get failing to materialise, but I persuaded my legs to carry me there somehow. We were soon all reunited and on our way back to London. A hasty McDonalds for Isaac was eaten on the kerb outside swanky Slaone Square restaurant Kahani, where the three of us then entered, huge suitcase and all.

Isaac was perfectly content sitting with headphones on while Steve and I enjoyed what was without hesitation the best meal we have ever had. If you like fine dining and Indian flavours then you could do no better than try the 6-course tasting menu at Kahani. We had an excellent pre-theatre meal there many years ago and I had been wanting to go back for the full experience ever since. Now was the perfect time, it couldn’t have been more special. I knew that my digestive system wouldn’t quite echo these thoughts but a post-trip return to the green diet was planned…

After the meal we pulled off a carefully-choreographed handover of Isaac and luggage to Lydia at King’s Cross. He would be happy and secure-and not to mention pampered- in the safe hands of his sisters for the rest of the day.

By this time I was completely and utterly exhausted from the myriad of trains, tubes, bus and walking that the rescue mission had involved. Further travel of any kind was not an option, and we quicky sought the nearest bar with a sofa, which happened to be the very lovely Booking Office at St Pancras. I collapsed on said sofa with utter relief. I had some abdominal pain coupled with a weird tingling sensation in my left side (the latest addition to the symptom crew), plus the headache which had been plaguing me on and off for the last few days had returned with a vengeance. I craved my bed rather than going to see Carmen at the Royal Opera House, which was this evening’s plan, the intended pinnacle of our time away. Was it pure madness to still go? It felt like it, especially when Steve took us on the wrong tube line to Covent Garden (we are both making silly mistakes at the moment that we never would have made before) and we had to backtrack via a very long walk to change lines. I could barely put one foot in front of the other and shuffled zombie-like on to the train. ‘Come on!’ urged Steve, ‘Someone will pull the communication cord with you looking like this!’ Thankfully they didn’t though- I clearly blended in perfectly with the other London weirdos- and we made it to Covent Garden.

As we entered the opera house, something changed. This was a magical world, full of beauty and promise. I had been to operas before but not here and not with Steve.

Mad Joan had tipped us to go to the rooftop terace for a drink beforehand so we headed up there- to find it utterly rammed, not a seat in sight. But there was a little restaurant section, quiet and calm- could we secure a table there by ordering starters with our drinks? We could, and were offered the table back in the interval, where further drinks would await. Perfect. Sitting overlooking Covent Garden and beyond, sipping a virgin mojito, my headache lifted and I relaxed entirely. This was going to be a wonderful night.

And it was. It was an amazing production and we were captivated from start to finish. The orchestra and singing were sublime, the story of course completely bonkers but that’s opera for you.

So we end on a high, and with a couple of pics of fabulous Day One, which despite me still fighting with chemo crash we managed a trip on the Bustronome (awesome fine dining bus tour of London), a relax in the hotel spa and a lovely little French champagne bar pre-theatre (yes I had a glass of their finest: if you can only have one you need to make it count). Cheers!

‘Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.’ 1 Corinthians 1:3-4