Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

The call of a blackbird’s full-throated song

How I have longed for a green field, for England, for home

[Photo: Sander Meertins] 
issue 26 March 2022

Speaking pretty good English, Dr Tayeb came straight to the point. Was I eligible for the ground breaking new cancer treatment? He was afraid not. The radioactive test scan had illuminated the bone tumours very nicely, but the more dangerous one in the liver had remained occluded. So in my case the new treatment – a series of targeted infusions – could have only a ‘suboptimal outcome’. He was therefore not recommending that we go ahead.

This was at 8.30 in the morning. I’d been in a taxi since 6.30. I’d hardly slept the night before, due partly to anxiety about what Dr Tayeb might or might not say, and partly to euphoria after Andriy Yarmolenko had secured the Happy Hammers a place in the draw for the Europa League quarter-finals on a historic evening at the London stadium. The normally woeful Ukrainian striker has returned to deadly form since his country was invaded.

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