The post-operative musings of a man who loves his family. And for the bleakest days of his life, thought he was gone from them.

What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours in which a life that might soon have ended becomes a life with an infinite horizon. And people ask me: Have you changed?

Oh, I have. Perspectives shift. You stop and think more before blurting something you might regret having said. You look and listen more. Not that I was short on those things - they perpetuate a writer's days. And nights. A sweet bonus: you're not as scared of the things you were scared of.

But, for a while back there, everything was bleak. Everything was sorrow. There was no tomorrow. It was done, done, done.

Wednesday, 29 April 2026

I fell in love with the old Dinah Washington song What a Diff'rence a Day Makes when we lived in the UK two decades ago. It was revived there by cocky little jazz dynamo Jamie Cullum, what a crooner he is. His version changed the lyrics slightly, to What a Difference a Day Made. Past tense. Dinah celebrated the difference a day CAN make, Jamie celebrated the day that HAS BEEN made. (It was an English translation of a Spanish song, by the way: Cuando vuelva a tu lado, which...