Kate and Leon's (farm)house is on the edge of Bringsty Common near Bromyard in Herefordshire. Each morning, I'm the first out of bed to feed the dog, the chickens and to release the geese from their shed. Not that the geese are appreciative. They always impatiently and raucously insist that I attend to them first and then when I do, they arrow their extended necks first upright, then head down and issue menacing hisses and squawks at me. I retreat to deal with the less aggressive bantams.
Then, because I'm here with Di and Joe who, vampire-like, loathe the rays of the rising sun, I decide to take the dog for a walk. This golden labrador, who answers to the name of Woody, when he can be bothered, is both very placid and lugubrious. As I head down the lane that leads to the common he lopes along behind me, never complaining and never much inclined to take an interest in our route. I head for the summit; a Watership Down sort-of-hill topped by a small copse of wind-sculpted trees. Hazel and Fiver have yet to arrive as I climb the steep approach, my thighs on fire from the exertion. When I pause, Woody pauses; he sees no need to overtake me. For his benefit, I pretend to look at the view, take deep breaths and move on.
At the top, I slump onto a seat thankfully gifted by the family of the former blacksmith and postmistress and admire the landscape with its undulating quilt of field and woodland. In the distance the outline of the Malvern Hills and its associated treelined ridges rise and fall as though pegged like dark sheets to an invisible clothesline in the sky.
Last night we had watched the BBC Horizon programme about modern methods of cancer treatment and the hope they offer particularly for people of my generation. If you saw it, my circumstances were similar to the woman who had advanced melanoma. Her condition was inoperable; only the new types of targeted drug therapy could offer more time.
Who, on this hill, would be indifferent to the want of time?
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