Everton might have lost, but the sun is shining bright.

I was chuffed to get my piece published in The Guardian yesterday. It was great to receive so many positive comments and shares of the article. What’s better I seem to have picked up loads of followers, so its even better having a solid team who want to listen and show support, thanks so much if you are in that group. Anyway now I’ve got you all sitting round the campfire I thought It might be time to tell you what’s been occurring.

Well it couldn’t have started much worse last night with Everton getting dumped out of the League cup – football is a cruel mistress, but you get used to the roller coaster ride. What wound me up more though was a row I’d with a family member, which has festered on and recently intensified – there is no quarter given or expected in my kin.

Arguments and the subsequent stress never mix well with MS and I spent most of the night thinking about singed and broken bridges in between spouts of spasms and cramps with the occasional thought of when the hell will Everton ever get back to Wembley.

By the time Julie got up, no doubt battered and bruised from some telling knees – I do pity her, I was exhausted. Hauling my ass out of bed is becoming harder and is not helped when I have had no sleep. Julie’s brilliant though if I’m weary, or sitting their shaking like a leaf, helping pull me into my chair. I’m still ok to shower and dress myself, although it can be a workout like today.

I feel for people in similar conditions who don’t have that support, reliant on carers and missing the interaction we all need to live an independent and fulfilling existence.

Subsequently I’m quite philosophical about life. To me, shit happens to us all, disabled or not, and we’ve all got our own way of dealing with it. If the world is 4.5 billion years old, our time on it, barely registers a nanno second meaning Tim Robbins line in the Shawshank Redemption, ‘you either get busy living or get busy dying’ was never truer. Fatigue or rows, I’ve got no time to waste.

A couple of years back we inherited a West Highland Terrier, called Lo-lo. I had met her previous owner Val, when I worked at a local charity. She was a proper salt of the earth person, whose door was never closed. We’d do these crazy collections together at a local supermarket, with the dog dressed up and in a pushchair, coining a fortune for the charity. Sadly she became ill, later passing, but not before asking me and Julie to take on the dog. We didn’t hesitate, she’s changed our lives.

Every morning, she gets me out. Julie works up in town so dog walking duties in the day are my responsibility. I use a manual chair but have this brilliant bike attachment which I got for a charity event back in 2007, from Edinburgh to London raising money for MS.

I called it Mike after a guy from the walk, who never stopped going on about the sword of Damocles above his head – its served me grand, keeping me fit and well. All the kids call it sick and we have these great walks, chasing squirrels and chatting to whoever is about in our local park.

Today it was Mary’s turn who always sits there on her own, with her Alsatian Zara. She’s an old school lass with many stories, reminding me of Val, always having the time of day for everyone. Later in the week I might see the Romanian guy, he’s lost his passport and sleeps rough but he’s a lovely fellow. Whoever it is, it’s good to talk, it help puts your own life in perspective and to understand, how tough it can be for others.

I would of stayed out longer in the brilliant sunshine and chatted more but with a chicken casserole to cook and the inquest on Everton’s defeat to read, it was time to go. Lo-lo wasn’t too happy to leave her furry friends, but I think she knows she’ll be back chasing them tomorrow with me hacking behind on Mike, stopping to talk to whoever fancies a chat. It’s not a bad life.