From my Substack diary for Wednesday, 1st. July 2026

A pleasant enough start to July in terms of the weather. July is my birthday month and throughout my life I looked forward to it. At school I would look forward to the long summer holiday. At university I would look forward to being at home in Devon and earning money to keep me going back in London. But nowadays birthday celebrations – such as they are – tend to be tinged with sadness.

I have always thought of myself as having two birthdays: the day I was supposed to be born and the day I was actually born. The day I was supposed to be born was momentous for my father who, thanks to ratings in the US Navy, had never had so many friends or consumed so many beers in his life. He was due to have his first son on 4th. July and was on exercises in the South China Seas with the Royal Navy and US Navy at the time. He would not see me until his return from Far East Station when I was just over 1 year old. I had a teddy bear that was bigger than me and that was ‘born’ on 4th. July in Hong Kong. Unlike my teddy bear I arrived a few days late, at about half-six on a Saturday evening – ideal for a night out on the town.

Rena and I had never intended to get married – we never saw the point – but for some reason we did and, by some strange cosmic alignment, we both thought it to be a good idea at the same time. Rena had consulted a pandit who, for reasons I shall never know, advised a date as close as possible to my birthday. It was very short notice but we were married on 10th. July at the Devon registry office, which happens to be in a large Elizabethan house in Newton Abbot, built in 1545 when John Gaverock purchased the Manor of Wolborough from Henry VIII.

However, within two years Rena was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas that had spread to the liver. I knew this was a death sentence and that her life expectancy was up to about 6 months, and I desperately wanted to make the most of the little time we had left. She was in denial, managing to convince herself that she would pull through and we would enjoy many more years together. She passed away 6 months after diagnosis. She had a room in the Marie Curie hospice in Hampstead and I had been camped out on a mattress on the floor for almost two weeks, during which time she went through various stages of coma. At the second of her passing – at about ten minutes past midnight on 13th. July – I froze. I remained numb for weeks and months.

So, these days the month of July – and in particular the 4th, 7th, 10th and 13th – have special meaning for me that embody extremes of emotion. Birth, marriage and death in just a few days. I shall do my best to remain cheerful, but I may not always succeed.