In Wine, In Play, In Anger, and In Indifference

Wisdom From the Mother Tongue

Yoruba provides a rich seam of wisdom that, even as a second language, I have mined to find gems that sparkle and light my path. “Ibi eré ni à ńmọ òótọ́ ọ̀rọ̀” is a saying that has meant so much to me; it has made friends and broken relationships. “It is at play that the truth spills out.” That would be a liberal translation, and I'll stick with it.

The Romans arrived at much the same conclusion by a different route. “In vino veritas,” they said, “in wine, there is truth.” Where the Yoruba sage observed the loosened tongue at play, the Latin observer found it at the bottom of a cup. Two cultures, two settings, one shared recognition: the heart, given any opening, will speak its mind.

What reinforces that viewpoint comes from the words of Jesus Christ in the Bible: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45)

A Watch Over the Lips

The unguarded expression, spoken without thought or consideration, regardless of disposition, is one reason why we need a watch on our lips. So says the Psalmist, in a prayer asking for divine assistance in controlling one's speech, preventing hasty, sinful, or hurtful words, and acting as a guard over what is spoken. (Psalms 141:3)

It takes only a moment of lacking restraint, and everything comes crumbling down: the dismissing of issues consequential to others, simply because there is no background to their stories beyond what surfaces at the point of interaction.

Yet everyone has both the prerogative and the right to be unburdened and unbothered by external issues. In some cases, silence trumps expression, but that requires a modicum of discipline.

The Many Faces of Unguarded Speech

Wine and play are only two of the settings where the heart slips its leash. Anger is another: the row that begins over a small grievance and ends with a cruelty no apology can quite retrieve. Tiredness is a quieter cousin, where exhaustion strips away the patience that ordinarily holds the tongue in check. Grief, too, can sharpen words into instruments that wound bystanders who happened only to be nearby.

There is also the casual cruelty of group settings, where a joke at someone's expense earns laughter, and the laughter encourages the next, sharper jibe. Social media has industrialised this dynamic; the keyboard is a kind of wine in itself, lowering inhibitions whilst removing the face that might otherwise have stayed our hand.

Then there are moments of fear, jealousy, or wounded pride, when the words we reach for are not the ones we believe but the ones that will hurt fastest. And let us not forget the seemingly innocent slip during gossip, where a confidence shared in trust becomes currency in another conversation entirely.

Seven Words, One Covenant

"I don't have the energy for this." Those are seven words that broke a covenant, though one can be certain they would be used to castigate me as truculent, impossible, and recalcitrant. My relevance is transactional rather than in recognition of my own journey or story. I have my own issues, but everyone needs to see themselves in the mirror, too.

Going back to the verse I quoted earlier, an interpretation would suggest that a person's words reflect their inner character, thoughts, motivations, beliefs, and emotions. The "heart" represents the core of one's being, and what is stored inside inevitably spills out through speech.

The Fool in the Play

As a student of myself, and sometimes of others, I have learnt a lesson about the heart once again. It does not take drink alone to loosen the tongue; play, anger, fatigue, grief, indifference, or just plain spite are enough.

You had better be attentive to what is being said before you become the fool in the play where you are also the lead.

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Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

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The Laws Being Flat: Hereditary Peers and the Monarchy's Exposed Flank

The Last of Their Kind

The news that the last 92 hereditary peers in the House of Lords were sitting for the very last time, following the implementation of reforms by the Labour government, left me quite saddened. [BBC News: Hereditary peers' last hurrah as 700-year-old system abolished]

The peerage system, which has effectively functioned as a kind of patronage, has existed for centuries, perhaps approaching a millennium. The very last hereditary peerage conferred on a non-royal was awarded in 1984 to Harold Macmillan as Earl of Stockton.

Born to Greatness

William Shakespeare, in 'Twelfth Night', Act 2, Scene 5, writes, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” That, to me, has always been the story of mankind; the way greatness or privilege arrives in a person's life is sometimes an indeterminable process, yet worthy of note.

For instance, the longest extant hereditary peerage in England is the Earldom of Arundel, created in 1138, which is currently held by the Duke of Norfolk. He also bears the ceremonial hereditary position of Earl Marshal, with the duty of organising state occasions such as the coronation of the monarch and the state opening of Parliament.

The family is Roman Catholic, with the pre-eminent non-royal function of serving a Protestant monarchy.

Peers and the Magna Carta

The Magna Carta, upon which many principles of our modern-day democracies and human rights are based, came about when the peers, hereditary barons, rebelled to limit the power of the king. A charter of rights was signed in 1215. The ordinary folk would never have had the clout and facility to rise against a king who, in those times, literally held the power of life and death untrammelled and was considered sanctioned by God.

That said, I recognise that the significance of hereditary peers had been waning for well over a century before their removal. In Victorian times, some peers served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, on more than one occasion.

Reform and Patronage

In the early twentieth century, the constitutional balance between the two chambers was formally and irrevocably redrawn. The Parliament Act 1911 stripped the Lords of the power to block money bills entirely and reduced their ability to delay other legislation to two years; the Parliament Act 1949 cut that delay to just one year.

The elected House of Commons, as the chamber that forms the government, had been established as the primary legislative authority, and the Lords' independent power had been reduced, step by step, to little more than a holding position.

The Salisbury-Addison Convention of 1945 settled what remained. Under that arrangement, the Lords agreed not to oppose legislation at second reading, nor to substantially obstruct any bill that the government had put to the electorate and won a mandate to implement. What had once been a chamber of real and rival legislative power had become, by stages, a revising chamber, its role defined more by restraint than authority.

Life peers were introduced in the United Kingdom through the Life Peerages Act 1958; this removed the hereditary component; a case of greatness being thrust upon one as part of political or influential patronage. The conferment stays with the person, and each individual earns that elevation for themselves alone.

The Winds of Change

My concern with the loss of hereditary peers, though some of that cohort have been given life peerages to sit in the House of Lords, is that the only hereditary component of the political system is now the monarchy. They stand alone, without the buffer of any other hereditary roles in our political system to shield them from the billowing winds of change. [The Guardian: Starmer restores powers to ousted hereditary peers in Lords shake-up]

The hereditary peers were, in a meaningful sense, the monarchy's constitutional companions. Both derived their place in public life from the same foundational principle: that certain roles could be inherited, carrying with them centuries of obligation, service, and a legitimacy built not on a single vote but on long continuity.

The presence of peers embedded in the political landscape normalised that principle within the constitutional system itself, making the monarchy less anomalous and less conspicuously alone.

With them gone, the Crown stands as the only institution in British public life whose authority rests on birthright rather than democratic mandate or appointment. It has not merely lost allies; it has lost the broader constitutional culture that once made the hereditary principle comprehensible and defensible.

It brings to mind a conversation in the play 'A Man for All Seasons', where Sir Thomas More was implored by his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law to arrest someone.

Alice More (Wife): Arrest him!
Sir Thomas More (England's Lord High Chancellor): For what?
Alice More: He's dangerous!
William Roper (Son-in-law): For all we know he's a spy!
Margaret More (Daughter): Father, that man's bad!
Sir Thomas: There's no law against that!
William Roper: There is God's law!
Sir Thomas: Then let God arrest him!
Alice More: While you talk he's gone!
Sir Thomas: And go he should, if he were the Devil himself, until he broke the law.
William Roper: So, now you give the Devil the benefit of law!
Sir Thomas: Yes!
Sir Thomas: What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil?
William Roper: Yes, I'd cut down every law in England to do that!
Sir Thomas: Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned 'round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat?
Sir Thomas: This country is planted thick with laws, from coast to coast, Man's laws, not God's! And if you cut them down (and you're just the man to do it!), do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then?
Sir Thomas: Yes, I'd give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety's sake!

Sketch from A Man For All Seasons about Sir Thomas More from What Delicate Balance? by John Loeffler.

A sketch from A Man For All Seasons.

When Laws Fall Flat

Taking the hereditary peers as the laws in More's analogy, the Labour Party have done precisely what William Roper threatened; they have cut them all down, leaving only the monarchy standing. When the devil of republicanism rears its head in a swell of revolutionary fervour, I do wonder how the Crown can be defended against the onslaught.

We have seen this before in England, where political conflict between the Royalists and the Parliamentarians led to the conviction of Charles I for high treason and his execution in 1649, ushering in the Commonwealth of England and the Protectorate, but the monarchy was restored in 1660.

Patronage and Its Limits

Hereditary peers were born to their positions of greatness and should not, in general, be beholden to political influences that do not serve their interests or the purposes of a life of public service, if they choose that path.

Life peers are appointed through patronage that may carry elements of nepotism, cronyism, and corruption; they are a means by which a Prime Minister could tilt the balance of the House of Lords by stacking the chamber with loyalists and sycophants. The core revising function of the chamber can easily be lost, reducing it to a rubber stamp for poor government policy.

In all, having an appointed or elected House of Lords without the hereditary element does not augur well. Even as we aim for a more egalitarian society, the source of greatness will always come by birth, by achievement, or by conferment. Hierarchies will always exist, no matter how we try to abolish them.

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The many tests of a patient waiting in patience

A Week to Fathom

What a weekend that was, or rather, let us consider the full week, because the thought of all that transpired is hard enough to fathom.

Fresh from the good news of my PSA having fallen to its lowest level, buoying my confidence in the radiotherapy for prostate cancer, I was having chest pains that led to my attending A&E first thing on Monday.

That was one unplanned visit to the hospital. The result was reassuring; it was nothing serious, just musculoskeletal pain that some bed rest could help.

Good News, Then Distress

Friday was the main day scheduled for my biannual monitoring at the Christie Hospital. Going there never ceases to be as impactful as it is critical to saving lives. It is a visit to a renowned cancer hospital to review my PSA result and discuss the attendant issues from radiotherapy.

That went well, so I stopped by Nando's for a meal and used the opportunity to call Brian. Halfway through my meal, after our call had ended, I had a choking episode. I won’t suggest this is a longer-term side effect of radiotherapy, as dysphagia, and I have not considered if it could have exacerbated it; I’ve had choking episodes going back decades.

Thankfully, I had enough napkins to contain the relief in bringing it all back up. Not a beautiful sight, and no one noticed I was in distress either. I cleaned up in the conveniences and returned home to lie down.

Saturday Takes a Turn

Whilst that should have resolved things, as I do usually have episodes of choking on food, this one was different. Some cereal before midnight did not go down, likely due to food impaction, an obstruction, or inflammation in my throat. I threw up in the toilet and decided to postpone my pills for a few hours.

The pills did eventually go down, and I had a lie-in for most of Saturday into the afternoon.

Getting up, I made a cup of tea. I thought I had drunk the full mug, but there was pressure in my throat and quite a bit of discomfort. I had to throw up again.

The tea came up with some mucous-like substance that fell to the bottom of the toilet bowl. That was concerning. I was about to return to A&E for another ailment.

A Night in A&E

Calling an Uber, I made it to the hospital soon enough, though as I alighted, I was sick in the bushes before being triaged. From then on, I was vomiting a thickened, mucous-like substance every thirty minutes or so into a sick bowl.

Just about two hours after arrival, I saw a doctor. She gave me a drink of water, which seemed to stay down. I have not vomited after that. I was then referred for a possible endoscopy and left in the Emergency Room for two hours.

Then another doctor called me in for review. We agreed on an experiment: I would have a sandwich and a drink, and if that stayed down, I was to be discharged for further outpatient review. If I could not keep the food down, it would mean hospital admission, nil by mouth, and a possible endoscopy on Monday to identify the obstruction.

The food stayed down, but it was left waiting for a few hours before I received an email notification; an after-visit message; it was sent 30 minutes earlier. Apparently, I had been discharged, and no one had bothered to inform me. I left the hospital over eight hours after arriving. It was almost 2:00 AM.

The Weight of Being Alone

I appreciate that these matters take time. Anyone attending A&E is busy juggling the precarity of their situation that brought them to the hospital with the need to keep others informed, especially if they are alone in that predicament, and that is just the way it is.

I have every reason to want a better situation, to be in a hospital with someone. Everyone else seemed to have someone with them, but as one person, you are a container of the reflexes of concern, anxiety, or even panic of others about you. You must wonder whether it is necessary to inform anyone during the crisis or only after it has passed.

There is an emotional toll involved in the desire for information and details. I have had calls whilst a doctor's stethoscope was feeling around my body, calls I have had to ignore.

My going to the hospital should be part of accepting that the right decision has been made and that I am in good hands. Not much can be helped beyond everyone holding their nerve, thinking good thoughts, and praying for the best outcomes.

Everything takes time, and the patient patiently waiting for answers and assurances, first for themselves before finding the form of words for dissemination to others who duly need to be informed, is probably the most impacted by it all.

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Thoroughness Is Not Stalling

Caution Gets the Cold Shoulder

I sometimes find myself receiving the cold shoulder because something I have been asked to do requires a bit more investigation and understanding before considering implementation.

One such situation came up towards the end of last week. A deployment from a utility set was being knocked out by a security policy. We did not realise this was an issue until an urgent investigation for actionable data could not be completed, as the tracker had already been removed by that same policy.

In layman's terms, take, for instance, a sophisticated radio jamming implementation that stops all mobile phones from communicating, except for selected phones with particular identities.

One essential phone is then brought into the environment, but not exempt from the jamming signal; it might appear to operate, but it goes blank when a call is about to be made. This is not entirely accurate in technical terms, but it paints the picture of what the situation was.

A Policy in the Way

We had blocked everything except for select elements, and another system was sending out an element that was not on that list. The element was installed, but within a set timeframe, it was removed because it was not on the list.

Obviously, this put my colleague in a quandary. They had to explain why information they assumed would always be retrievable was suddenly unavailable, and this stymied the investigation another team was trying to commence.

In the broader scheme of things, there was always a security policy, but for investigatory purposes, the tool needed an exemption to allow it to install and remain installed. The end-to-end facilitation chain had not been engaged, and hence, the failure of intent at that stage.

Rushing Ahead Without the Facts

The obvious next step was to remediate the issue by allowing the tool to install, but neither of us had full knowledge of the facts of what other parameters it needed to perform as required.

While my colleague wanted to rush out a fix, I was not convinced we had the right one. We had some knowledge of what should be done, but no guarantee it would work. In cases such as this, I would find a subset of users and/or devices to test the premise on, ascertain that everything works as intended, and then implement it under change management processes.

However, to my colleague, I was impeding the process and stalling rather than being proactive, despite my concerns and feeling that we did not have sufficient information to proceed.

Their next act was to extricate themselves from the communication chain, leaving me to face the pressure of urgent implementation without the full set of data required to have the confidence that we were doing the right thing.

Right the First Time

Earlier today, I gained some clarity on the fundamentals of the implementation, including what the sources were and where the conflicts occurred. With this, I was sufficiently informed to test the premise of my findings and, beyond that, gain the full information needed to fix the problem once and for all.

I recognise that I could be pedantic, and at times, some have suggested I am a perfectionist, which I would immediately deny. I am thorough, sometimes quite particular and meticulous; it is simply the nature of the responsibility this job carries.

An accidental deployment can so easily close down a business, and whilst this particular activity does not carry such a critical risk, there is one thought to always keep in mind.

I'd rather do it right the first time, even if it takes longer, than rush it now and have to fix the issues that arise because I did not devote the necessary time to understanding what was involved. For that reason, I make no apology. The world is not ending; it is impatience clouding better judgement.

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When You Are Not Sure if It Is Serious

A Night of Unease

My sleep was a bit disturbed, as I had a dull ache in my chest on the left side throughout the night. At one point, the pain spread into my arm, giving the impression I had lain on it, but every adjustment I made brought no relief.

By 5:00 AM, I was in two minds: get up and go for a walk to wear away the discomfort, or acknowledge that this might be something serious and seek medical attention.

AI to the Rescue

The more I thought about it and keyed the symptoms into my AI app, the more I was persuaded to plump for the latter.

I opened my door, set the secure door on the latch, and called 999 for an ambulance, but I was exhausted by the questions and almost felt I'd be gone before we were done.

In the meantime, I had packed a bag with the essentials: a mobile phone charger adapter, a power bank, a notepad, and a pen. Critically, you need to be able to communicate with loved ones and next of kin; Brian and Kola first, then my manager at work.

On the emergency call, I was told an ambulance might take 45 minutes or thereabouts, to which I suggested I'd rather get an Uber to A&E and be seen promptly, and that is what I did.

Into A&E

I checked in, had my blood pressure taken, and was then called back for bloods and an ECG. The waiting began in the Emergency Room, and when the results were sent to me by email, neither the website nor the app was working, so I could not check what I was about to be told.

Hours later, a doctor called me into a consultation cordon and assured me there was nothing serious to worry about from the ECG and the test for Troponin T, which indicates damage to the heart muscle, but she needed to rule out the presence of blood clots.

Blood and Bedside Manner

Her attempt to draw blood was unsuccessful, and she quickly realised it might be fatigue from five twelve-hour shifts in a row. You can imagine junior and emergency room doctors are seriously overworked; the NHS is somewhat strained, and let's not visit the quality and standard of service from people doing their very best under duress, pressure, and the circumstances.

She immediately invited a nurse to draw blood; that also failed on the arm, so a further attempt was made from the back of the hand, bringing the total to four puncture wounds, whilst my left arm was already sore from the earlier abuse.

The Vampire Association

The D-dimer test result was normal. Another doctor then invited me to relate the symptoms again before ordering a second troponin test, which he said should be at least three hours from the first.

I had been in hospital for four hours by this point, so I was ready for another vampire feast. I probably should cut down on my sugar intake; three blood draws in one morning is one draw short of a venesection.

Another nurse arrived with a phlebotomy trolley, and I asked if she was from the Vampire Association. She smiled and drew blood from the already sore left arm without much fuss.

Waiting for the All-Clear

One new development that has arrived at our NHS, already standard practice in the Netherlands health service, is the use of a tube between the needle and syringe. This puts less pressure on the entry point, and I am glad for it.

Once the second Troponin T test result arrives as normal, I should be on my way home. Meanwhile, the wait continues, and the concerns are being allayed.

The doctor came to speak to me in the waiting room to confirm that the second Troponin T was fine. I already knew, as the website was working in the Ambulatory Care Unit by then; the result had fallen one unit within the middle of the normal range.

I was sent on my way, called an Uber, and settled back into bed.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Men's things XXXII: For the Boys in the Room: Why Your PSA Matters

Life After Radiotherapy

Much as I have not been giving frequent updates about life after prostate cancer radiotherapy treatment, I can say that life continues with gratitude.

The usual side effects persist; the urinary symptoms are not as concerning and remain quite manageable, there is no discernible bowel issue, and weekday nocturnal insomnia gets some respite with weekend lie-ins.

My voice still vacillates between a weak, hoarse whisper and the normal timbre I am known to have. It does need checking out. When my mother first heard the weaker end of my vocal spectrum, she started casting and binding in the name of Jesus on the phone, with no exchange of pleasantries; it literally freaked me out.

Monitoring My Progress

I have a biannual consultation at the Christie Hospital with an Oncology and Urology nurse, as part of the aftercare monitoring, which may continue for another couple of years. This means that within two weeks of that appointment, I must obtain a Prostate-Specific Antigen (PSA) test, usually from my GP.

My most recent PSA level has now fallen to the lowest reading recorded since that first test in February 2024, which began the journey to an aggressive prostate cancer diagnosis.

I have written quite a bit about what this has involved, but may I suggest that you also listen to the AI Podcast for November 2025, where each of the terms related to a prostate cancer diagnosis is explained in detail.

An AI discussion podcast
on blogs published in November 2025
Reflections on Health, Heritage, and Humanity

Sharing the Good News

Meanwhile, I am doing fine, happy with the progress and thankful for the support and encouragement I get from my partner, Brian, my friends, and my colleagues. Upon receiving the result, I posted a comment in a wider Microsoft Teams chat, where I addressed them thus, with a link for them to assess their prostate cancer risk:

For the boys in the room.

I got some good news earlier today. Having undergone prostate cancer radiotherapy treatment about 18 months ago, my PSA is now the lowest it has ever been. Obviously, there is a hospital visit to review the situation.

Please, take some time to check your risk.

Thanks

Check your risk in 30 seconds | Prostate Cancer UK

Take That First Test

I take every opportunity to advocate for checking your prostate cancer health and going for at least that very first PSA test.

Beyond that, I try to address the concerns and fears that attend having your delicate bits inspected by medical personnel, as I have been through the whole gamut of touches and feel-ups. My verdict: nothing to fear and everything to gain, catching issues early and dealing with them promptly.

I hope you all find this helpful. Until the next update on men's things.

Blog - Men's things XXXI: Can Intimacy Be Reclaimed After Prostate Cancer?

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - Three Things I Wish I'd Known

Blog – Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Blog - A prostate cancer diagnosis, one year on

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

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