Latest posts by Martin Moodie (see all)
- From Dubai to Switzerland and Saudi Arabia with a fond farewell to Julián Díaz along the way - May 18, 2022
- Around the world in 80 (or so) days - May 15, 2022
- Cannes on steroids and gobsmacked in an airport wonderland - May 11, 2022
“And I’ll drink and dance with one hand free
Let the world back into me
And oh I’ll be a sight to see
Back in the high life again”
– Warren Zevon, Back in the High Life Again
In what seems the blink of an eye, the Royal Marsden Hospital in London has replaced Heathrow Airport as my second home. Oh what I would give to swap those venues and rewind time. Suddenly all those Heathrow security queues carry a curiously nostalgic attraction.
Instead, my new, temporary, world is one of hospital wards, blood tests and seemingly endless medical procedures. On Tuesday I will begin a near seven-month treatment and surgery programme to rid myself of this disease that has gatecrashed my body.
But all things in life have their reasons and their positives. At Heathrow I would have hardly struck up a conversation with a 59 year-old breast cancer patient called Madeleine, whose prognosis was far darker than mine but who, instead of dwelling on negative thoughts, beguiled me with the merits of listening to American jazz singer Madeleine Peyroux, of enjoying each and every day to its fullest, and who concluded our chat with a question that was more of an observation – “Isn’t life beautiful?”
Indeed it is. As I sat on a bench opposite the Royal Marsden last Thursday between blood tests reading the great American author Richard Ford, I looked up as a bus passed me. For no reason at all it seemed, a delicately pretty young woman looked out at me and smiled the most radiant of smiles. I’ll never know why but it was a lovely, spontaneous moment. Life is so implicitly simple yet we spend most of our time complicating it.
Now that my tests are over, and the treatment about to begin, it’s time to get back down to a few hours work a day. I’m currently strong in the mornings while delighting in the joys of a siesta every afternoon. It was a long-time mentor, Brian Collie, Chairman of McArthurGlen Luxury Retail (and former BAA Group Retail Director), who kicked my butt (not for the first time in life it must be said) into getting my writing back into gear.
“You love it, you’re great at it and we all want to read what you think,” wrote Brian, and knowing his Scottish candour he wasn’t just saying it to cheer me up. Anyway, he’s right, I do love it and it is my own personal therapy. Writing was always my great love, and it’s not time to stop just yet, though the subject matter may occasionally take my readers down some unexpected paths, an indulgence I hope you’ll forgive in coming months.
Since I confirmed my illness via this Blog, the response from our industry has made me smile, cry and, above all, become stronger. All of the messages that I have received have offered great comfort, a word and a concept that is so fundamentally important, as it is in childhood, to anyone battling serious sickness.
In the past few days I have had people from the Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, Jewish (I feel as though Lois Pasternak, who so recently lost her husband Paul to this disease, is my sister) and Christian faiths all offering me their prayers. With powerful friends like that ‘upstairs’ how can I not beat this foe?
As I set off on the next stage of this unwelcome yet strangely life-enhancing journey, it’s time to sit back occasionally and enjoy the softer pleasures of life – family, garden, walking, reading and listening to everything from Warren Zevon and Mark Knopfler to Mozart. So much slips by so quickly in life. Sometimes, however unexpected the motivation, you have to reclaim it.
Another pleasure, a glass or two of good Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, is relaxing me in the evening. I am dreading the chemotherapy will affect my taste buds and put me off wine – if it does I plan to switch bags and take Cloudy Bay intravenously, which may not cure me but sure as hell will cheer me up.
Thank you for all the correspondence, prayers and… comfort, much of it from people who I thought barely knew me. I have often witnessed this industry’s humanity when I have been involved in rallying people around causes. To be the recipient of it is indescribably enriching.