Snakes and Ladders...

...was in deep convo the other day with dear Doc P. - regional champion cancer-spotter you may recall - about how this latest wrestling-bout with the dragon of malignancy is affecting the man qua whole man. That it was indeed I, not he, who introduced the topic as a subject for debate and reflection may give some clue as to the overall drift of the thing. Downward, somewhat in the manner of Our Hero sliding ever faster towards the edge of the abyss with nowt but some pretty ravaged fingernails between himself and oblivion. That sort of thing.

Anyway, so having established that patches were, on the whole, more sticky than not, we were chewing the clinical cud for options. "Large single malt, taken regularly day and night." Sadly, no, that was not his prescription, but rather my intimation of current self-selected remedial activity.

Heads being duly shaken at this, we further considered our choices. Being one of these robust evidence-based coves, Doc P's next question was indeed a belter. "You've had a rocky time or two in the past. Anything then of help?" Why yes, surely, the nation's favourite had proved its worth in times gone by, so let's give it another go.

"But you haven't had the nation's favourite before." That from a swift yet eager scanning of the medical notes as given. How very strange, these notes are normally spot on. But indeed one has had this very pick-me-up before to good effect, and no computer screen was to tell me otherwise.

All points above being put to the fellow, we seemed at first to have hit an impasse. "Oh no you haven't." "Oh yes I have." (Well it is pantomime season after all.) Then came the realisation and the required resolution. "Must have been with your previous GP, not this surgery." Quite.

True enough absolutely indeed. Some ten years back one had been pretty down and was being held up, to a not inconsiderable extent, by this very favourite of the nation. When, out of the blue, cancer of a singularly nasty aspect hoving into view, more or less at a stroke, other blues simply vanished as so much sea mist before a piercing tropical sun. Peculiar or what?

Not really so surprising. Nothing indeed like the prospect of being hanged for concentrating the mind on how jolly after all can be this vale of tears. Life? Pretty grim at times, but certainly beats the alternative. Cancer in, depression out. That about nutshells it for the general viewing public.

But aren't we such fickle creatures? This time around, there one was on the whole sailing along tolerably well - if somewhat tacking hard against a sharpish head-wind - when whamo one is hit amidships by another monster of the deep and of a sudden is plunged right back into the glums.

So perhaps it is a contrarian case - wheresoever you happen to be at the time on the snake or the ladder of human contentment, this fell thing scoops you up and dumps you at its nearest opposite. It's a theory in need of some testing. A sample size of two may be insufficient data on which to yea or to nay the hypothesis entirely, but buggered if I'm offering myself for best of three.