Cakes and Ale for my 60th Birthday while a terrible revolution rumbles near everyone's door.

I am 60 today, and my birthday is a celebration for one. The plague, dodgy health and the Cost of living crisis all share equally for this myself and I party, today. I am not saddened by this because there will be cake. Even alone, I am decent company and tell a good anecdote. I am also joyful because I still breath and can walk 10 km every day. That is a great victory considering the times we live in.

Besides having encountered death in the past; I know the alternative to being alive is far worse. It's impossible to make plans let alone optimistic for the future, once you are ash in a box or mouldering in the ground.

I've outwitted death already twice in six decades of living. Hopefully, I still have a few more tricks left in me to cheat him at his crooked game of cards over the next few years.

I was 42 the first time death had a go at me when a heart attack literally broke my heart. I was lucky because I scraped out of it. Almost dying taught me that if you blink, you can miss your whole brief dance to the music of time. Four years after my brush up with the Grim Reaper, it took my brother Peter. His death left me responsible for guiding my 86-year-old dad through the rough waters of grief.

I didn't know how to do it except by becoming my father's partner in a political and literary journey dubbed Harry's Last Stand. After five books, tens of thousands of kilometres logged for speaking tours, hundreds of essays written, a podcast produced, and a remarkable social media campaign, Harry's Last Stand ended five years ago when my father died.

As no good deed goes unpunished, Death came for me a second time, a year after my father died- when I fell gravely ill from rectal cancer.

Death wasn’t fucking around with me that time. It wanted me dead and as quickly as possible. My cancer was discovered just as the world went dark from the COVID-19 plague. It was a terrible time to undergo cancer treatment and recovery. Anyone doing it pretty well recovered alone and in fear of getting Covid as their Coup de grâce.

Up until a few months ago, I thought death was going to leave me alone for a bit. He’s a stubborn bugger though because now he is coming for me a third time and he got a “bigger boat,” for the job. Last winter a CT scan of my lungs found I have pulmonary fibrosis, the disease which killed my brother.

So far, my symptoms are mild. But as the disease is incurable and progressive, it will change eventually. My hope is the end of my story comes later rather than sooner. I still have much to do. I finished the sixth book which is part of the Harry's Last Stand cycle, a year ago. But that doesn't finish the story. I am working on a seventh book that will be completed in 8 months. Hopefully, the editing of my dad's unpublished Green and Pleasant Land will soon be completed. Even after that there is more I must create along with finding a means to preserve all of my brother’s art works that I don’t want to vanish because those canvasses and sculptures are his story and journey across existence.

Ultimately, the worth of the work my father and I did was to give voice to the dead from our working-class ancestors. Whether that matters now, I don't know. Revolution and totalitarianism are rushing against this neoliberal world with the intensity of a hurricane. It is going to be a different 1789 or 1918 we experience. It is going to be a shit show of hate.

But before the Marseilles or the Horst Wessel is sung outside my doors by revolutionaries, there will be cake today because tomorrow darkness may fall at noon.

I will take this day and enjoy it as much as I can. I will remember my dead and talk to those still alive who know and love me. I will remember. I will reflect and rejoice that my life, these past six decades, was not measured out in coffee spoons. I admit I had more failures than successes in relationships, business deals and artistic endeavours.

But the moments of my existence so far add up to an odyssey where I was more compassionate than cruel to others. I learned much and was of good cheer when others needed it most.

The songs playing in the jukebox for my existence will probably run out soon. But until then, I dance to these tunes with love, laughter and also with defiance against a status quo that denies dignity, purpose and prosperity to the many.

Take care all. Cheers, now I am going to indulge in cakes and ale.

It's a big ask, I know, but I need your help. I got sick with a mild infection last month. Even being slightly ill put me financially behind. I know how bad it was recovering from cancer during covid but then I had some savings. If I get another major illness, I will sink like a stone.

So, if you can subscribe to a paid membership, thank you. I appreciate the loyalty of each subscriber. You have allowed me to build a community.

Next month, my early pension begins. It is not much,. I couldn't live off it but it adds to the base that keeps me housed.

Right now, at around 1100 subscribers, with 10% as paid, I need to increase my subscription base to 3k or double my paid subscriber base for an income of $14k (Canadian).

So, if you can please subscribe. It is appreciated by me and it ensures the work of Harry's Last Stand has a working beachhead.