And never brought to mind.

As a person who's generally happiest when life is unexcitedly plodding along, I've always wondered how people cope with huge matters of fate-dealt chance that completely alter the course of their lives. Particularly famous people. Not your Katonas or Goodys or Houghtons; more the Presleys, Monroes and McCartneys of the world. Surely it's impossible to go from being ordinary theatre-worker Elvis

And never brought to mind.

By: Unknown on: 07:37

Radio Ga Ga.

I'm starting to wonder whether The Bullshit is just one big stunt designed to embarrass the arse off me. I'm half expecting a film crew to walk into my living room with a very shouty Ashton Kutcher who'll announce that it's all been an elaborate, made-for-TV hoax and that I have, indeed, been Punk'd. It is all quite ridiculous though, don't you think? The missing nipple, the baldness, the

Radio Ga Ga.

By: Unknown on: 09:40

And in the end...

I thought therapy was going to be a giggle. A good excuse to talk about myself for an hour without having to worry about the effect on whoever's listening. An opportunity to go to a hospital appointment where I don't get stripped, prodded, drawn on and examined. And, if I'm totally honest, I thought it'd end up being a bit of a pantomime, in which I'd play the part of screw-up cancer patient, be

And in the end...

By: Unknown on: 08:24

Wig out.

I kinda like radiotherapy so far; it's been pretty cool. (Actually it's been pretty scorching, but up to now the sunburn it's given me is no worse than I managed on honeymoon, when I singed the right side of my face – with perfect precision, I might add – while my iPod distracted me from the factor 30.) And yeah, the side effects are going to build to the point where I'll probably come to regret

Wig out.

By: Unknown on: 05:02

The Incredibles.

So then, sex. (Thought that'd get your attention.) And, more specifically, the wig on/wig off question. Oh come on, don't be coy. Of course you've thought about it. I did nothing but think about it, once the wig-wearing reality had set in. Don't be fooled, here. It's not like P and I are having loads of sex at the moment. Cancer doesn't really allow much room/energy/desire for sex, and even

The Incredibles.

By: Unknown on: 05:34

You won't like me when I'm angry.

A couple of nights ago, P and I were on the way home from our friends' wedding, feeling suitably heartwarmed yet pretty knackered (ie, a definite wig-off moment) and P needed to nip out of the car for something or other (okay, a KFC). So we pulled up on a double yellow line, blocking a driveway (get us; proper badass criminals) and P jumped out for some late-night chicken. While he was in there,

You won't like me when I'm angry.

By: Unknown on: 14:32

To boldly go.

Something weird happened yesterday. Either I had my radiotherapy planning appointment or I was abducted by aliens. And no, for once I'm not talking about one of my trippy dreams. (Although, while we're onto trippy dreams, I had a corker the other night. All the cats in the neighbourhood were having a mini civil-war-style dispute and Sgt Pepper – being the highest-ranked in the local cat army –

To boldly go.

By: Unknown on: 14:19

I got my head checked.

Well, I've done it. I've crossed the line. Turned to the dark side. I am now a woman in therapy. Actually, they don't call it 'therapy' at my hospital. It's 'counselling'. But since I'm not fond of either of those words, I'm going to call it Brain Training instead. A bit like on the Nintendo DS, but they don't make you do maths, count syllables or draw kangaroos.

And what are you supposed to

I got my head checked.

By: Unknown on: 04:36

Fade out.

I've been thinking more about when it is that I'll finally have my Nicole Kidman moment. You know, the punching-the-air-in-relieved-celebration thing. Not that I'm comparing having breast cancer to being married to Tom Cruise, of course. The Bullshit must be a cake-walk compared to that. But at least she had the chance to celebrate a divorce.Whether or not it's really the conclusion, the goal I'm

Fade out.

By: Unknown on: 07:12

One step beyond.

I do like an excuse for a celebration, and here's a corker for you: CHEMO IS OVER. Feel free to break into applause. Actually, the celebrations only lasted as long as Friday evening, when P and I counted down the last milliletres of drugs running through my drip, said our emotional goodbyes to the nurses (after plying them with fairy cakes) and bid a final, fond fuck-off to the chemo room. When

One step beyond.

By: Unknown on: 09:19

Hero worship.

Well I didn't get a kitten, but I did get a bigger boob. The RSPCA Cat Woman (thankfully no PVC) came round to check out the flat and gave me the go-ahead to pick up Sgt Pepper (I didn't tell her about Miss Ellie), but the little tyke's gone and got a cold so the vet's got to hang onto her for a couple of days while she has medical treatment. (And yes, I do see the irony in me choosing a sick cat

Hero worship.

By: Unknown on: 06:45

Lonely hearts club.

As I've told you before, and as more than one person has said to me this past week, I don't do things by halves. Since I began my baking mission just over a week ago, I've averaged 1.25 cakes a day. And since making the previously mentioned completely-out-of-character decision at around the same time, I've gone online-shopping-crazy and bought everything possible (and then some) to prepare myself

Lonely hearts club.

By: Unknown on: 13:49

Something changed.

Right now I should be sitting in the stalls of the Savoy Theatre with my mate Leaks, overhead-clapping along to the Take That musical. Instead, I'm flat out on my sofa in my pyjamas, feeling like I've been hit by a truck and having spent a decent portion of the day with my head down the toilet.It's entirely my own fault, of course (and not just for buying tickets to see the World's Cheesiest

Something changed.

By: Unknown on: 13:02

Saturday night's alright (for staying in).

I'm starting to realise that a lot of the people I know remain pretty ignorant about what having breast cancer means for me. I've had inklings before, after receiving a handful of puzzling, fancy-coming-out-this-weekend texts, but a few things Lil told me on the phone last night finally confirmed it. I'm not having a go, here. Sheesh, after Thursday's post I fear I'm already on shaky ground. Of

Saturday night's alright (for staying in).

By: Unknown on: 07:19

How should I put this?

A whole week and no blogging. Well, I think that speaks volumes about how this last chemo cycle has been treating me. Except that it doesn't, really. Not even the most eloquent writer could explain what it's been like, so instead I'll tell you in a far less eloquent way: it's been fucking horrendous.I've heard new mothers say that childbirth was so awful that they can't completely remember the

How should I put this?

By: Unknown on: 14:38

Bad lashes.

Now I'm not normally one to boast but, looking around, I've definitely got the best wig in chemo. One of the regulars (I do enjoy equating chemo patients with pub-goers) even told me as much today. Actually, I suppose it doesn't really count as boasting when you're bragging about a wig you're being forced to wear against your own will. I've got the best eye make-up in chemo too, but more of that

Bad lashes.

By: Unknown on: 10:10

Four eyelashes and a wedding.

Ooh heck, I think I've broken myself. Which part of my brain thought it would be a good idea to completely exhaust myself with endless off-balanced Amy Winehouse/Kanye West/Dirty Dancing routines at J's wedding? The bloody brilliant part, that's what. But blimey, am I in trouble now. I'm waddling rather than walking, my creaking bones could provide the sound effects to a horror film, and I'm

Four eyelashes and a wedding.

By: Unknown on: 07:29

Pull out the stopper.

Ooh it's all go in here. Morning suits hanging from every curtain rail, hat boxes out in the spare room, marks on the carpet from new shoes being worn in, and me and Mum look like we've been dipped in gravy after getting a spray tan. Oh, and a certain kid brother of mine is sitting beside me with a grin the size of a banana (let's see if he's still smiling at me tomorrow when he realises who fed

Pull out the stopper.

By: Unknown on: 08:49

My lovely lady lumps.

I've just frightened the bejeezers out of a guy on my street by nonchalantly whipping off the wig in my front room, forgetting I was in full view of the world outside. The poor sod went white, standing there perplexed with his car keys falling out of his hand. Even as he drove off, he was still staring through my bay window, trying to figure out what the hell he'd just seen. What fun. I have got

My lovely lady lumps.

By: Unknown on: 11:09

It's serious.

There's a bit of a vibe of The Smiths about my posts this week, but then I'm in a very Smiths place. Introspective, deep, alienated and gloomy, but with a chirpy, jangly Johnny Marr melody over the top, at odds with the rest.Last night, I dreamt that somebody loved me. (I promise to pack it in quoting these lyrics next week, non-Smiths fans.) But I did, as it goes. It was Dave Grohl (obv) and he

It's serious.

By: Unknown on: 06:57

Heaven knows...

Well I've been a right miserable git this week. Frustrated, angry, feeling sorry for myself, moaning at every opportunity. I've become the Morrissey of breast cancer. (I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour... but then The Bullshit came along and fucked it all up. Or so the lyric goes.) EVERYTHING is pissing me off at the moment: my tongue (green and furry), the squirrels in our garden (sneaky

Heaven knows...

By: Unknown on: 12:13

Pills 'n' thrills and bellyaches.

Okay okay, I spoke too soon. I've hit the 'buggery bit' that my favourite nurse warned me about. What I'm not experiencing in puking, I'm making up for in pain – this type of chemo ain't half rough on your bones. But, useless as I am here on the sofa, the not-spewing stuff has made me about as happy as you can be when you're flat on your back (well, not quite that happy, but you get my point).

Pills 'n' thrills and bellyaches.

By: Unknown on: 10:19

I shall be released.

Well this is weird. My legs don't work too well, the signals from my brain are much slower in getting to my body parts, my heart is thumping, my bones are painful, I've got a dodgy tummy, I've been put on more than double my usual amount of bloat-inducing steroids (told you I'd reach George Dawes stakes by my brother's wedding) and I've got a weird taste in my mouth that's like sucking on coins.

I shall be released.

By: Unknown on: 08:17

Keeping up appearances.

I've mentioned before that my bedroom behaviour has always been a bit on the weird side. Not necessarily the stuff in bed (although I'm probably not the best judge of that), more the stuff leading up to bedtime. What with the nightmares and P's snoring habits I find it difficult to relax, so we've devised a system where P tells me a little story to get me off to sleep – sometimes the 'story of

Keeping up appearances.

By: Unknown on: 10:15

I'll be there for you.

There's every chance you'll disagree with me, but I find the concept of 'best friends' a dangerous one. For kids it's perfectly acceptable (I'd never have made it through school without my 'terrible twin', as we were known), but when you grow up I reckon it's far healthier to have a group of mates at which no person in particular is at the pinnacle. So why, then, have I suddenly started playing

I'll be there for you.

By: Unknown on: 14:05

Misery loves company.

I miss pubs. And restaurants and cafes and bars (my clubbing days were over long before the arrival of The Bullshit). And that's fine; that's the way it's got to be for now (I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for it – a damn good master plan, if you ask me). The thing is, with the lack of socialising of late, I'm becoming increasingly doubtful about how to behave in company. Not

Misery loves company.

By: Unknown on: 14:32

A new perspective.

Always-Right Cancer Nurse warned me very early on in The Bullshit to keep off the internet as much as possible (I've not told her about the blog) to save confusing myself with pages and pages of information that might not be relevant to me. All that mattered, she said, was dealing with my own experience, and that she or anyone else at the hospital would be able to answer any questions I had. And,

A new perspective.

By: Unknown on: 06:43

A matter of taste: an update.

Don't worry, this isn't an update on my turd-status (although I'm back on track, thanks very much – probably thanks to Mum who, when some family friends came over last night, put out a big bowl of crisps for her guests and, beside it, a small bowl of prunes for me). Nor is it an update on my tastebuds (also getting there, cheers – P’s spicy soup was delicious, and probably more fiery than I could

A matter of taste: an update.

By: Unknown on: 09:30

Let's hear it for the boys.

Last night I dreamt that my hair had grown back long enough for me to be able to go out without a wig. I was meeting up with some friends (as is always the case in dreams, it was a really disparate bunch that no real-life circumstance would ever put together) and we were due to be having some kind of water-fight-themed summer party in Tills' back garden. Thinking that I could get away with

Let's hear it for the boys.

By: Unknown on: 10:04

A matter of taste.

One of my favourite questions to ask people – along with their top five songs, football team and favourite Beatle – is what their death-row, last-ever meal would be (you can tell I'm a sucker for those inane, reply-to-all email questionnaire things). My answer's been the same for years: a cheese and crisps sandwich (white bread, plenty of butter, Cheddar cheese, salt and vinegar crisps) and a mug

A matter of taste.

By: Unknown on: 07:24

Old red eyes is back.

In chemo on Friday, one of the nurses commented that I looked 'very glam'. If only she could see me now: I look like a smackhead. Dark circles, red eyes, sunken features, greying skin... And, not that I know what being a smackhead feels like, but I imagine it's better than this (you don't tend to get many highs with these kind of drugs). The first couple of days post-chemo went pretty much as I'd

Old red eyes is back.

By: Unknown on: 12:31

The magic number.

Well here we are again: Chemo Friday (volume three). And what a pisser. I'm starting to think that the being-at-hospital stuff is worse than the shit that comes after chemo (remind me of that in a few hours and I WILL KILL YOU – first rule of cancer: never mess with a woman who's got it). I really fucking hate being at that fucking hospital (second rule of cancer: it may induce Tourettes). Every

The magic number.

By: Unknown on: 09:17

Memory almost full.

I'm known among my family and friends for two things: I'm always late and my memory is terrible. I forget names and dates (an affliction I keep on top of with a ridiculously organised diary and a propensity to write lists), important tasks, whole conversations, nights out (though I fear a lot of that is self-inflicted), childhood memories... you name it, I've forgotten it. I revealed to Tills

Memory almost full.

By: Unknown on: 09:12

It's a wonderful life.

There's something wrong with my tear ducts. I've been back through all my chemo leaflets and lists of side-effects, but it looks like this is one thing I can't blame on the drugs. The problem is me – I'm turning into a cry baby. Over the past week, I've felt happier than I have at any point throughout The Bullshit, and probably even happier than I've felt for a while before it. That's a seemingly

It's a wonderful life.

By: Unknown on: 12:56

My Super Sweet 30th.

Only when you've got cancer and it's your birthday is it acceptable for your friend's husband to buy you knickers. It's a little-known present-giving loophole that Tills' husband Si took advantage of the other night when they gave me my birthday presents. And they're not just any old knickers, oh no. They're the Best Knickers In The World: a white thong with 'Mrs Dave Grohl' on the front. And,

My Super Sweet 30th.

By: Unknown on: 01:53

Papa's got a brand new brag.

Apparently it's worth putting on a bit of slap and a nice top to visit your local mini-mart. Last night, on my way round to the corner shop, I got checked out. And I didn't imagine it either. A bloke I was walking past glanced over at me (less glanced, more looked me up and down) and gave me a smile. (And no, cynics, he wasn't smirking at my wig. I know this because the shopkeeper commented on

Papa's got a brand new brag.

By: Unknown on: 06:01

Much hairdo about nothing.

I've spent years faffing with my hair. I've demanded impossibly high standards from it. (I'd better clarify that I'm talking post-school, by the way – 1990-1995 was a half-decade hair-mare. With that and the braces, it's amazing I ever got snogged.) I've blow-dried, straightened, sprayed, lacquered, highlighted, lowlighted... all in a quest for the perfect 'do. Newsreader hair, if you will. You

Much hairdo about nothing.

By: Unknown on: 08:00

Hi, my name is...

When I first met P, I hated him. I took his initial shyness as arrogance (I told a colleague he was 'practising to be a git') and did all I could to avoid him around the office. But that changed over the course of two nights. The first was a very VERY debauched house party at which I was introduced to absinthe and woke up the following morning draped over a boy on the kitchen floor (thankfully

Hi, my name is...

By: Unknown on: 15:02

Putting it about.

I've still not made my peace with the wig. I've moved it to the bathroom windowsill, given it a headband for company and stood my new wig brush beside it, but me and it are still a long way off being friends. We're sizing each other up. It's a Mexican stand-off every time I walk past the bathroom door.But I'm not wearing it. I've not even put it on once today, instead opting to leave the flat to

Putting it about.

By: Unknown on: 13:22

Does my bum look big in this?

As I type, I'm looking down from my bed at a foreign, furry, blonde rodent. Otherwise known as my new wig. It's balanced carefully on a stand on the floor and, despite the low light in here, it still looks glossy and healthy and wholesome. It's everything I'm not.

I've never felt further from healthy than I did last night. The nausea may have subsided, but the aches haven't. I was – and still am

Does my bum look big in this?

By: Unknown on: 14:24

This is a low (but it won't hurt you).

I once got food poisoning on holiday in South Africa after eating monkfish with olives. After an evening watching my meal reappear down the loo (or 'singing into the big white telephone' as my Dad would put it), I knew I'd never eat olives again. We've all got ruined favourites – foods that you've previously liked but, having had to taste them again in a not-so-favourable pukey fashion, you're

This is a low (but it won't hurt you).

By: Unknown on: 13:22

Back in 'therapy.

By 'eck, this cancer lark's expensive. While waiting for my chemo drugs to be made up earlier today, P & I walked round the corner to Accessorize and begrudgingly exchanged over £100 for a selection of headscarves and headbands that I wouldn't ordinarily look twice at. It was emergency headwear shopping – this morning, another chunk of my barnet ended up down the loo, resulting in a nice, obvious

Back in 'therapy.

By: Unknown on: 10:59

To see you, nice.

I keep forgetting how dangerous this disease is. It's something I've been doing all along, even straight after hearing the words 'I'm afraid it's breast cancer'. My immediate reaction wasn't 'shit, that's life threatening,' but 'oh heck, my hair.' Even in chemo last week, when a number of doctors warned me to keep my arm still for fear of the drugs seeping into my skin and causing massive

To see you, nice.

By: Unknown on: 09:42

Alright Tit: The Movie

Despite yesterday's comment about any poor sod living with cancer being 'bloody unlucky' (and I stand by it – in fact, consider it another mahoosive understatement), I still think of myself as an inherently lucky person. I can remember the first time I considered the fact that I might have been born with the lucky gene. It was back in infant school, when I won a 'name the teddy' competition and

Alright Tit: The Movie

By: Unknown on: 09:52

Sob story.

It's funny what makes you cry. I was inconsolable when Vera died on Coronation Street, but more interested in spilling popcorn than tears while watching Titanic, Braveheart and Watership Down. (But sit me in front of Billy Elliot and you'd better be wearing waterproofs.) When Michael Vaughan retired as England cricket captain, I got as choked as he did while watching his press conference, but no

Sob story.

By: Unknown on: 11:49

A warning.

I've just received a text message from a mate: 'You do realise that, after reading your last post, everyone's now going to buy you Sudocrem for your birthday.'Don't even think about it.

A warning.

By: Unknown on: 03:26

And it burns, burns, burns.

Just when I thought cancer couldn't get any more glamorous, now I've got piles. Look, you've been warned before about this being a warts-and-all account of my experience. Just offering up the fluffy bits would be an unfair representation of The Bullshit, not to mention completely made up (there are, of course, no fluffy bits). And so, if you want the complete picture of what all of this is like

And it burns, burns, burns.

By: Unknown on: 05:02

Careful what you wish for.

Another one of the annoying things about cancer (expect to read that sentence a lot) is how utterly boring it can get. At least my tumour had the good sense to show up in time for Wimbledon, a summer of cricket, the Olympics and the start of football season (come on you Rams!), so I'd have a load of sport to keep me entertained. Yesterday, though, was a typically dull day – so dull, in fact, that

Careful what you wish for.

By: Unknown on: 04:57

Getting wiggy with it.

How did I get through a whole post yesterday without telling you about my wig fitting? That was the one thing I'd specifically planned to write about, but I guess I must've got waylaid by the pubes stuff. Sheesh, they're not wrong about the brain fog, are they? 'You'll probably find that it becomes difficult to concentrate,' warned the Curly Professor's Glamorous Assistant. No shit! Yesterday it

Getting wiggy with it.

By: Unknown on: 06:11

Stories from the bush.

There's something really emancipatory about feeling even slightly better after you've been ill. The day before yesterday, something felt different when I woke up – maybe it was the decent night's sleep, the lack of that usual sickly taste, or the fact that the Amplified Aussie upstairs had kept the volume down for once – either way, for the first time in a wee while, I felt good. (Just to clarify

Stories from the bush.

By: Unknown on: 04:53

Dream a little dream.

Thanks to my constant, energy-drained need for a nap, I've been getting increasingly narked by the potential sleep-preventing sounds around me. The fan in the bedroom that blows the TV wire against the wall every seven seconds. The volume-challenged Aussie upstairs and his continual playing of Hot Fuss (decent album and all, but twice a day?). The thieving pigeons who flap about while nabbing the

Dream a little dream.

By: Unknown on: 10:22

Ugly Betty.

Listen up, medical community. We need to have words. When I signed up for Fun With Chemo, nobody said anything about the acne. Call me obsessive, but I've just reached 19 (that's 19 – count 'em) spots. And that's just on my face and neck. God knows what my arse looks like. They're not your normal spots either. They're the pulsing, painful, Belisha-beacon kind. There are satellites in space

Ugly Betty.

By: Unknown on: 05:09

What are you doing right now?

Advice, please. How should you update your Facebook status at times like this? It's been bothering me for a while now, and I'm still not certain which way to go. As uncool as it is to admit this, I actually like Facebook. I'm good at it, too (and not in a way that bombards you with Super Wall posts or high-fives). I reply to messages, I make all the right comments about people's holiday photos, I

What are you doing right now?

By: Unknown on: 07:55

Back from black.

Well it's all go around these parts. Yesterday I walked to the nearest corner, had a bit of chicken with mash and green beans and made a joke (albeit a dreadful Mr T one but hey, cancer was never known for its humorous side effects). Then today I made it to the end of the street, washed my hair (in the chemo-standard Johnsons Baby shampoo, AKA honey), sang a bit of Let's Get Ready To Rhumble with

Back from black.

By: Unknown on: 11:01

The shape I'm in.

So what does chemo feel like? To be honest, it's completely different for everybody: like childbirth, no two experiences are the same. Want to know what chemo feels like for me? Because, no matter how hard I try, there is no possible way of telling you so that you'll understand. I'll give it a try, mind, but I bet I just can't even get close. And, just like chemo itself, I suspect that reading

The shape I'm in.

By: Unknown on: 10:46

From the Ritz to the rubble.

Glossy photoshoot to chemotherapy in less than 24 hours.  My life is as mad as a box of frogs.But get a load of this blogging-from-chemo lark – talk about dedication to the cause. Yup, here I am in my surprisingly comfy chair, enjoying the 'therapy' on offer. I decided to ditch the jeans today, and instead glammed up a bit for my chemo debut. There's a lot of hanging about in here though, so

From the Ritz to the rubble.

By: Unknown on: 08:45

Boobs and beer.

Man, cancer keeps you busy; I've barely had time to fart this week (apologies, I fear my Dad's jokes are rubbing off). The hospital visits, the haircut, the pub debut of the haircut, the getting-ready-for-chemo business, and all those daytime property shows I'm supposed to be watching. (I'm pleased to report, however, that I haven't seen a second of The Jeremy Kyle Show since I've been off work.

Boobs and beer.

By: Unknown on: 03:52

Hair today.

Today, for the first time since my diagnosis, I didn't get any mail. I almost accosted the postie on her way past the flat and demanded to double-check her bag, so convinced was I that she'd grown sick of stuffing parcels through my letterbox and instead decided to pocket today's delivery of get-well cards and exciting pressies. Spoiled brat or what? Just call me Veruca Salt. Apparently I've been

Hair today.

By: Unknown on: 15:56

The body beautiful.

I'm obviously feeling more comfortable with my body than I thought I was. P & I took our chance to escape to a very lovely country hotel this weekend, and I found myself perfectly happy to wander around our huge room naked – something I'm not used to doing (particularly in full view of a herd of deer). Dare I say I'm edging towards being proud of my body? Again, territory I am definitely not used

The body beautiful.

By: Unknown on: 14:03

The science bit.

Let the games commence! I've been at the hospital all afternoon and have come out with so much new info that I feel like I've had a crash course in another language. (Parlez vous chemo?) The next time you get a difficult cancer question at the pub quiz, consider me your phone-a-friend.Aware that today marked the entry point to phase two of The Bullshit, I made the emancipatory move of ditching my

The science bit.

By: Unknown on: 14:22

Lessons in online shopping.

My NHS-badgering has paid off: I finally have confirmation of my CT scan for tomorrow afternoon. And, as much as I resisted at first, I'm actually pretty good at being an annoying, give-me-an-appointment-now-or-I'll-call-you-every-20-minutes nuisance. I didn't take it to extreme lengths, mind – when one nurse said 'you need to appreciate how busy we are right now', I resisted replying with 'and

Lessons in online shopping.

By: Unknown on: 14:36

Crop idol.

It's T-minus six days until my pre-chemo haircut, and for the last week I've been wearing my hair up in protest. They say that getting a short hairdo before it all falls out is a way of taking control, so my 24-hour reliance on a hair clip must be bordering on control freakery. Anyway, fuck it. I'm not in control of much at the moment so this is about as close to a guilty pleasure as I'm

Crop idol.

By: Unknown on: 14:48

Down down, you bring me down.

My iPod isn't just your ordinary iPod. I reckon it's got some sort of situation-sensor or mood-manager. Seriously, Steve Jobs got carried away with this baby. My iPod knows me. Whenever I shuffle songs it knows exactly what to play. If I need a lift on a Monday-morning journey to work, it'll offer up Stevie Wonder, Prince and the B52s. When I'm feeling a bit introspective, it'll concede with

Down down, you bring me down.

By: Unknown on: 00:26

Analyse this.

Well at least my mini-series of date dreams ended on a high. Now it's all about the nightmares, thanks to my negative mindset of the last couple of days, and the fact that I'm currently on the Isle of Wight and thus not sleeping in my own bedroom.Am I the only person that happens to? The moment my subconscious recognises that I'm not in my own bed, it kicks into bad-dream overdrive. Our honeymoon

Analyse this.

By: Unknown on: 13:54

A gentle reminder.

Less than two weeks til chemo kick-off and still no sign of Dave Grohl.Sort it out, readers.

A gentle reminder.

By: Unknown on: 15:23

Let me get this off my chest.

'It's probably just a cyst.''I'm sure it will be completely benign.''If it turns out the cancer is invasive.'In case you require chemotherapy.''In the unlikely event that the CT scan shows cancer in other organs...'Yadda yadda yadda. Will someone give me a straight answer, for fuck's sake? At the hospital this afternoon (drainage session two) I backed Smiley Surgeon and Always-Right Cancer Nurse

Let me get this off my chest.

By: Unknown on: 14:58

Too few to mention?

I've been having a recurring dream. And, let me tell you, it's a welcome change to my usual one where I have to wait ages in the toilet queue of a busy club, only to find when I get to the front that the only available cubicle has no door, so everyone has to watch me having a wee. But I digress. In the recurring dream of the moment, each night a different boy hears from someone that I've got

Too few to mention?

By: Unknown on: 04:14

Magazine of the year, eh?

I'm really fucking pissed off with Grazia. And I'll tell you for why. (Thanks Bryn.)1. For assuming that I have £1,095 to spend on Halston boots (not to mention the necessary pencil-like calves).2. For its lazy celebrity reporting, all of which I can read on Perez Hilton (or hear from my friend Ant) before Grazia hits the newsstands. 3. For bagging brilliant TV columnist Paul Flynn and homes

Magazine of the year, eh?

By: Unknown on: 04:39

Sorry, Clinique.

Why has it taken all of this to make me realise that no make up = good skin?Dammit. That proves it, then: Mum is always right. (Well, apart from the time she tried to convince me that Gok Wan is straight.)

Sorry, Clinique.

By: Unknown on: 02:09

The no-kids clause.

Smiley Surgeon and Always-Right Cancer nurse were on good form today. They're right on my wavelength that, whatever news they have to deliver, it can't be worse than what they told me three weeks ago. Hence, they're always very chipper and matter-of-fact, and keen to talk tennis before cancer. There was a great moment today when my dressings came off for the first time, and we were all able to

The no-kids clause.

By: Unknown on: 13:50

Save Ferris.

My postie rang the doorbell again this morning, as she has done every day since people started hearing about The Bullshit. I joked with my surgeon that breast cancer has so far felt like having a Groundhog Day birthday, complete with breakfast in bed, cards, calls, letters, gifts, flowers, vouchers, cakes, visitors, chocolates, drawings from kids and a seahorse-shaped helium balloon. A mate of

Save Ferris.

By: Unknown on: 10:32

Hello boys.

Nobody ever enjoyed ill health (in particular the attention it brings) quite like my Grandad. After he had a double heart bypass, he spent the subsequent few years sitting in his chair breathing loudly, hand placed purposefully over his heart, just itching for someone to acknowledge it.



After my diagnosis, I joked that perhaps I could attract the same kind of attention by sitting with my hand

Hello boys.

By: Unknown on: 15:02

I shit you not.

I'm told that when people start to show an interest in your blog, that's when you're supposed to step it up. So excuse me, then, for feeling the need to post about my bowel movements.I mean sheesh! I'd just about reasoned with the cancer, but the constipation? Those leaflets they hand over on diagnosis should read, 'Welcome to breast cancer. Leave your vanity at the door and let's crack on, shall

I shit you not.

By: Unknown on: 14:59

Love is...

...finding the following sent text on your husband's phone: 'I know this is a strange message to send to my mother-in-law, but I've just seen your daughter's left breast and it looks amazing.'And I thought the morphine was good. I might have an odd-looking, wonky mound of flesh for a left tit, a strapless-top-restricting scar on my back and a catheter full of green wee (it's the dye, not the

Love is...

By: Unknown on: 14:15

Ah, morphine.

I'm whizzed off my tits.I mean tit.

Ah, morphine.

By: Unknown on: 23:40

New balls, please.

I've spent much of today staring at Rafael Nadal's bum from the front row of number 1 court. And what a view. Round, honed, perfectly peachy. You could sink your teeth into it. If you spotted me on the telly, you'd have noticed that mine was the only transfixed head not following the ball from one side of court to the other. I became almost as obsessed with Rafa's arse as I have recently with

New balls, please.

By: Unknown on: 12:16

Reasons to be cheerful, part one.

I've got to tell you, yesterday was a good day. Even by Ice Cube's standards. (I didn't even have to use my AK!)Thanks to yesterday, I've been finding silver linings in the strangest things. (That said, I did just use the term 'silver linings' so it can't all be good. Apologies – at the end of the day, the bottom line is that it's difficult to write about cancer and not jump feet-first into

Reasons to be cheerful, part one.

By: Unknown on: 04:34

Free Brazilian.

Well I was never the sharpest, but I've only just figured out that it's not just the hair on my head that'll be doing a bunk. Ooer.I spoke to my old boss, Skips, last night and she scared the shit out of me. (I'm glad, mind - I needed that kick up the arse.) She was diagnosed with The Bullshit in 2006 and gave me a no-holds-barred account of what a bitch it's going to be for the next few months.

Free Brazilian.

By: Unknown on: 04:27

The longest day.

Summer solstice, longest day of the year. I've been up for an hour and a half and already I know that this is the bleakest, lowest, blackest, most miserable day of my life. ('Good morning, readers. Today we're coming to you from the depths of hell. Today's 'Alright Tit' is brought to you by the letters B and C and the number 2.')Last night I sent my parents home, thinking that P & I needed time

The longest day.

By: Unknown on: 01:37

Fuck.

Invasive, stage two.Bastard.How did this 'harmless cyst' become such a huge fucking deal? It wasn't supposed to work this way. Even my GP said so. 'Oh, it'll be nothing to worry about. Go and enjoy your holiday and it'll have disappeared by the time you get back.' So I did. And I forgot all about the supposedly-harmless lump, instead concerning myself with the celeb-spotting I could do in LA, and

Fuck.

By: Unknown on: 11:47

The hired help.

I'm answering so many emails and calls and texts that I'm starting to feel like I'm running a fan club. That's not a whinge; it's actually brilliant. Fan Club Manager has always (and by 'always' I mean 'since the Bros days') been pretty high on my Dream Jobs list. The only downsides in this version being that (a) I'm having to talk about cancer a lot and (b) I'm not getting close to Matt Goss/

The hired help.

By: Unknown on: 04:15

An apology.

From a lack of decent conversation and a curious tendency, my first (unsuitable) boyfriend and I fell into a routine of rarely speaking and instead using each other for experimentation. It didn't always feel good and wasn't always done right, but we were 15 and fed up and keen to impress our mates. One over-enthusiastic afternoon in an otherwise empty house, I somehow ended up with a hurt right

An apology.

By: Unknown on: 13:53