This is somewhat contrived and rather cruelly inspired.

You see, I’m reeling from the shock of a telephone conversation with my Daddy.

I’d been listlessly looking for an idea for a pic – not that I’d not got time or that I was too busy for once, simply uninspired. That’s a bit unusual for me to say the least – most of the time when I’ve got time to think about a shot, I can come up with an idea that’s at least reasonable if not better.

The phone rang. It was my Dad. His opening statement was “I don’t want you to say anything until I’ve finished what I’ve got to say.” I kind of sort of knew that meant it was serious. I got the phone with the loudest speaker – my hearing, always poor, is dreadful at the moment – I can hear virtually nothing unless it’s bellowed at me.

He told me he’d been to see a Dermatology consultant today about a scab on his nose that won’t heal up properly. He’d bashed himself in the face a few months ago and the cut has never healed properly so he went to the Doc, who told him it looked like some sort of ulcer and sent him to see the Dermatologist. The Dermatologist took one look at him and said “I can’t do anything about that, you’ve got Cancer, go and book yourself an appointment for a biopsy.” Dad was a bit shell-shocked but did as he was told and came away with an appointment on 28th January.

He went home and discussed it with my Mum, who recommended he went to see their own Doc again straight away, which he did.

His lovely GP (PCP) told him that it was nothing to worry about and that if she’d been diagnosed with Cancer, it’s what she’d want to have. Apparently it’s incredibly rare for it to spread, it’s very treatable and overall he was not to worry.

She said “I see this mostly in men who’ve served in the Forces overseas” – to which my Dad replied “three years in Cyprus and another three in Bahrain”. Got fair skin? Got ginger hair? Got freckles? Been in a hot climate for any length of time? Yes to all of these.

So, coming back to the cruelly inspired……I think hearing you’ve got cancer, however much the next bit is “it’s OK – it’s the best one to have”, is cruel – especially dispensed in such a cavalier manner – it’s fairly “up there” when it’s your wonderful Daddy who you adore with every fibre of your being telling you he’s got it too….

The bag of goodness is just a symbolic gesture over the airwaves to tell him he’s getting bags of goodness in thought terms from me and that he’s one of my best “bags of goodness” in my world. It’s contrived because the “bag of goodness” photographed is not something I think he’d ever eat – it’s cooked pinto beans, bagged up and ready to be frozen for future use. I’m still trying to make sure that we don’t lose any more food to the nasty creepy-crawlies in the cupboard. I was just ladling them into bags and I thought “little bags of goodness” and there it was – a photo was born.

He says he’s not scared or worried. He’s had a little longer to get used to this than me but if he’s not scared or worried then I think I have to be not scared or worried on his behalf.

I love you Daddy.

Last year, i was digging up ugly food!