I don't know what to say about today. This morning, I stopped at eleven o'clock for two minutes to remember those who died for the nation, lest we forget.

Then I went to church where the vicar completely deviated from his plans to tell us the story of his child, Peter.

We got a pictorial story of his poor child who was found to have a tumour at 7 years old and had to have an emergency operation. He told us of his recovery and how life has changed since, but what was most striking were the pictures that he showed us. Throughout the whole tragedy, the news of the tumour being benign and his subsequent recovery, he put up these pictures of them; pictures filled with an emotion like you've never seen them before.

Everyone in the room was either crying or really holding back the tears; especially when he told us of the girl in the same ward as Peter, whose tumour was malignant. You could honestly see the eternal struggle in his eyes, asking himself why one had to go over another; it was a question no one could answer, and it really made you think.

Seeing someone having this kind of experience first hand really puts things into perspective; much of my family have died, but I simply couldn't imagine coming that close to losing a son, and watching another family in the same situation, literally alongside you, lose a child.

It's a sad story I know, but life isn't all about studying and pissing about.