There's a hole in my pelvis, dear Liza, dear Liza...

A very good evening from the movie-icon bereft island that is Sheppey. Okay, so Michael Crawford, he of Frank Spencer fame was created here but we don't like to talk about that. Instead let me tell of the fun day I had in London yesterday...One bone-marrow biopsy completed with minimum fuss. So painless was it that I barely felt the anaesthetic needle go in, although I was aware that it went in a bloody long way and the old botty is a little sore today. A few bits of blood and bone-marrow juice made a feeble attempt to dribble onto the operating couch but as I was bum first towards the man fortunate to stare at my rear end for 20 minutes I missed it all. Bum-cracks lead me, of course, to the man in the pictures below...

We met him in Adrian, Texas, during our Route 66 expedition in the Midpoint Cafe. Adrian is exactly 1139 miles from Chicago and 1139 miles from Los Angeles. As we sat in a diner slurping a coffee (cawfee!) I noticed this man had a hole in the back of his shirt between the shoulder blades showing off a tattoo. He caught me looking and proceeded to show us that he had all of the Route and landmarks tattooed over his bod. I know, you are asking, why the link between the bum-crack line at the end of the last paragraph and this chap. Weeeeelll, we did wonder, but did not ask, where he had the Grand Canyon on his map...Think about it!

There was a bit of good news from the hospital visit insofar as the armful of blood drawn in a rather vampire-ish manner in April was tested by a method known as F.I.S.H. (Fluoresence In-Situ Hybridisation (You will all know leukamia terminology by the time I have finished with you!) This takes 20 cells and tests for the translocated chromosomes (9 and 22 if you are interested) that cause all the problems. Well, all 20 came back leukie free and are hopefully a good indication for the big results due in 2 weeks time following yesterday's extraction.

To continue the 'Only in America' theme herewith are some pictures of the Cadillac Ranch in Texas. It became obvious to us as we rode across America trashing the ozone layer on our big Harley that 'Only in America' wasn't a joke and that Americans appear to have no concept of taking their old cars to a scrapyard. The pop-art financier that owns this lot decided to make space by burying them nose first into the ground. People then came from far and wide and left their mark by spraying or signing them, as we did.

Over the next couple of weeks we shall be putting a few pictures onto previous postings so as some may actually make sense.

Now, as some once said (Samuel Pepys, methinks) "And so to bed."