8.40 a.m. It’s Good Friday. Well, what is good about it? I guess it will come down to me as to whether today is a Good Friday or not. If I look at it from my position 6 weeks ago, when I could hardly breathe and was heading fast down the pan and compare that to today’s situation where I am 5 weeks into chemotherapy and everything looks much brighter, then today is not just Good Friday but a wonderful fabulous Friday.

So, let me now share a few of my Good Fridays of the past with you.

I recall one Easter when I was about 10. My Irish uncles from London came to stay with us. Back in 1963, Good Friday on the Isle of Man was anything but good. Well, not if you liked a drink it wasn’t. All the pubs were closed. Never-the-less my Irish Uncles managed to blag their way into getting the landlord, Herbie Nelson, of the Whitestone to open up. I recall it being a hot sunny day and I remember a car belonging to one of my local uncles, arriving at our house on Janet’s Corner around 3pm with my two Irish uncles as drunk as skunks. Uncle Louis skedaddled into the house and collapsed in a heap, on or near his bed. Uncle Sean simply lay stretched out on the back seat of the car. Not having enough room to fully extend himself, he opened both rear doors, with his legs sticking out of the road side and his head sticking out of the near side, he slept peacefully for the rest of that Sunday afternoon. Because my mother (who had wasted all morning cooking lunch) made several visits to the car and commented that Uncle Sean was going to have his head chopped off by a passing car, I had deemed this to be a big enough attraction to warrant me sitting in the front seat and wait for the action to unfold. Mother called me in to the house several times. But blimey! If there was going to be an execution on the Janet’s Corner housing estate, there was no way I was going to miss out on it. I sat there in the front seat; listening in anticipation every time I heard a car approach. Uncle Sean snored peacefully and every car glided past, carefully navigating their way round uncle’s sprawling unsteady legs.

I suppose you would have to say that as far as Uncle was concerned, that was indeed a Good Friday. He had ended up lucky as he still had a pair of legs to carry him to the pub that night.

I recall another Good Friday in the late 70‘s, or was it? At that time I worked at Davis Charlton in Hills Meadow, Douglas. A work colleague of mine, Willie Callow of Willaston, decided to come through to Castletown to fill in time. The pubs of course were not open with it being Good Friday. The only place open as I recall was the Chinese takeaway on Arbory Street, Castletown. I don’t know if we were hungry or just visited the place out of sheer boredom. Anyway having collected our meal we both set off again in Willie’s mini to God knows where and I don’t know why Willie placed the portion of curried prawns between his legs. I also don’t know the reason for his emergency stop just outside the Witches Mill, but I do know that Willie’s screams and yelps could be heard by the lighthouse keeper on the Chickens rock. His wailing cries still haunt me to this day. It maybe that Willie is following this blog or, perhaps one of his children. If you are one of Willie’s children, you are indeed a most fortunate individual.

It’s now 9.30am and, shortly I will head up the Silverburn with Barbara and Skipper. We have a gale from the northwest. I am fit and healthy and, life does look so much rosier than it did a little while ago. Yes today is a very Good Friday.

Tom Glassey. News at 9.32. Counting my blessing and opening my Easter eggs on the banks of the Silverburn River.