He didn’t look like this any more; this is a picture from a very long time ago, when we were all a lot younger, thinner, hairier and nicer to each other. He was told at the beginning of this year that the stomach pains he’d been having, that he was being tested for gallstones for, were not in fact gallstones, but were in fact big tumours of cancer, in lots of places, all around his body. And they weren't some hither-to unknown cancer that made your skin shiny and healthy, made you more attractive to the opposite sex, lucky on the lottery or anything like that; oh no, this was the cancer we all know and loathe, the life ending, trauma-causing, shitty-wank-bastard kind of cancer. I saw him at Christmas, when our dwindling circle of old school friends met up for a seasonal drink and meal, which he attended, but didn’t eat or drink anything, due to the pain he was in, caused, he was being told, by gallstones. He was having a scan in late January to determine the scale of the prob...
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