nunoncastors

It’s been a strange few weeks where everything’s felt as though it happened all at once; my dad’s cancer, the trip to Valencia, the arrival of sun and greenery; it’s as though I’ve been urging toward the surface of a great deep lake and am finally reaching getting there.

Still, here we are on the other side of excitement and trepidation unscathed and content, it’s a cliché but it really is a funny old world.

My father, as you have no doubt already gathered, is doing surprisingly well considering he’s undergone major surgery. At present he’s down one kidney and a tumor the size of a rugby ball – that’s right, a fucking rugby ball – but is back home and pottering about, which is acceptable. Convalescence is going to take a fair few months but the general consensus is that it’s preferable to suddenly dropping dead.

It’s strange really; you never expect to take anything away from situations such as my recent familial crisis except, perhaps, for a sense of relief and gratitude, a more developed sense of empathy maybe. While that may well be the case, I think what I’ve come to understand most is that life, all life, is nothing more than random chance, fortune and the whim of The Lady.

For example, had my father not opted to load the dishwasher three months ago, he may never have suffered the hernia that would eventually lead to the discovery of his tumor; he could have gone on blissfully unaware and ended up significantly less alive. It’s quite scary when you think about it.

Still, all is well, or as well as it can be given the circumstances.

On a brighter note – well, an equally bright note really – Spain was amazing, laid back, sunny and full of fun. There was a slight incident on the first evening with a certain person puking up everything they’ve ever eaten (not me amazingly), but otherwise our group was a paragon of cultured virtue and suave insouciance.

Honestly.

Some might raise an eyebrow at my decision to go on a jaunt to Valencia while my father underwent major surgery but, as he pointed out; I’d have been sod all use if I’d stayed.

He makes a good point, my father, and his forbearance enabled me to have a truly wonderful time in a city possessed of what I tend to think of as ‘decadent neglect.’ That is to say, it’s full of lovely old buildings that, despite crumbling plaster, cracks and a sneaking sense of abandonment, feel right and remain delightful. I have photos.

In brief.

Paella = Win.
Tapas = Flawless victory.
Spain = <3
Touristy bit by the beach =
Overall = Yay!