Summer wine

Summer has finally arrived here in New Zealand - as usual, just in time for the return to classes. Hands up all those who would support a four-week school holiday in February? I'd be a starter.

Our deck is a great place to spend these balmy evenings. We have a 180-degree view over the city, from the Manukau Heads across to Mount Wellington, and taking in most of the major landmarks: the Waitakeres, Mt Eden, One Tree Hill; even Rangitoto lifts his dark brooding head over the horizon to us. Linda and I sit out there enjoying the cool breeze and the late sun; we barbecue meat and chicken and onions and mushrooms, add in salad with sweet baby tomatoes and capsicum, and raise a glass of sauvignon blanc or rosé to each other. These are poignant memories, living in the moment, which is all we can do at present - and which is perhaps the best thing anyone can do, at any time.

We celebrate 37 years of marriage on Thursday. I married the most caring nurse in the world; little did I know how much I would end up needing - and treasuring - her unmatchable skills as a caregiver, and her unfailing love and forgiveness. As my strength fades I am relying on her more and more, and that dependence is only going to increase. She gives unstintingly, uncomplainingly, offering unconditional support. I count myself blessed.

I meet with my specialist on Friday to decide whether a) to submit to a "de-bulking" operation on my sarcoma, or b) to turn this down, and allow the tumour to keep growing, until it inevitably brings about my death. The surgeon has advised me to take a "conservative" approach, i.e. to avoid dramatic and debilitating surgery which would probably leave me worse off, rather than producing the desired result (a few more months of better health before the growth again brings me to the brink). That quote from "Dirty Harry" comes to mind: "You've gotta ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?" To tell the truth, my first reaction was one of bravado - "This punk will take the surgical option, and get lucky!" But on reflection, there might be just a few too many bullets left in the chambers of that .44 Magnum, and I would be pushing my luck to turn down the specialist's advice. The decision is not yet fully made, but you can see the way I'm heading.

Let's keep enjoying the last of the summer wine...