Happy new year.

One year ago today, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Even 12 months down the line – after the heartbreak and the surgery and the all-too-real treatment – I remain every bit as freaked out by that fact as I was upon hearing it. What, me? Breast cancer? Are you sure? It still feels as though I’m talking about someone else – some poor sod I’ve read about in a first-person magazine feature, or

Happy new year.

By: Unknown on: 08:43

Relax? Don't do it.

In the midst of teenage, pre-results exam anxiety, I used to have a recurring dream about going to collect my grades. I’d get up at quarter to sparrow-fart on results day, pass up on breakfast thanks to being too nervous, fail to wait for the mate who was calling for me on the way to school and instead hurriedly head there myself, early and apprehensive

Relax? Don't do it.

By: Unknown on: 11:08

The long and short of it.

Okay, so the last Barnet Bulletin was supposed to be the final one. But this, I’m afraid to say, ain’t over. (Well, it kind of is – this is less an update than an essay-long moan.) I wish it was over – frankly I’m sick of talking about my hair, just as I’m sick of cursing at it, crying about it, buying useless products for it, trying every chuffing morning and night to just.

The long and short of it.

By: Unknown on: 12:34

It wasn't me.

In her forties and before she met P’s eldest brother, my Spanish sister-in-law discovered she had breast cancer. That diagnosis was more than eight years ago and today she’s doing great. Better than great. She’s a breezy, happy, no-messing, fun-seeking, beer-drinking, chain-smoking, newly retired heroine, and she was on brilliant form when we went to visit her and my

It wasn't me.

By: Unknown on: 16:12

Where everybody knows your name.

I've always wished I had the kind of local that you could walk into, know everyone at the bar and order 'the usual'. I fear the closest I've ever come is sharing a bag of crisps and the latest on my love life with my favourite old fellas at the golf-club bar I once served behind, having gained a handful of wonderful octogenarian friends by always making sure their bitter was served in a pint jug.

Where everybody knows your name.

By: Unknown on: 02:00

It's different for girls.

At the risk of moaning about my hair when I promised you'd heard the last of it, I'm now onto my fourth colour in three weeks. Just as I once declared myself a wig-slag, it now looks as though I'm heading into tint-slag territory, too. I'd love to tell you I'm enjoying such promiscuity, but in fact it's simply a means to an end. A way of filling the tedious weeks until such a time comes as I'm

It's different for girls.

By: Unknown on: 14:01

May Barnet Bulletin.

It's funny what people say compared to what they mean. Whether it's 'we must catch up soon' or 'no, darling, your bum looks positively tiny', common courtesy dictates that it's better to avoid offending someone than it is to tell the truth. And it's a bloody good job. Because there's one question I'm just not interested in the truthful answer to at the moment, and it's this: 'how's my hair?'. 

May Barnet Bulletin.

By: Unknown on: 04:02

Quitting image.

A few years back, I got pretty fat. Not quite to Beth Ditto levels; more on a Kirstie Alley scale. Either way, I'd chalked up a few extra pounds and it wasn't pretty. But, as far as I was concerned, it wasn't a big deal, either – I was also happy and in love and had just bought a flat with a man who was a demon in the kitchen. It wasn't until seeing a photograph of myself, however, that I

Quitting image.

By: Unknown on: 03:58

Fitting image.

The last time I used my hair straighteners, I sat on them. Not with a quick glance of a jeans pocket, but flat onto bare skin; arse cheeks expertly manoeuvring themselves over the 100-degree aluminium, then lowering down carefully like a fairground grab-a-prize game. I dare say it was nature's way of calling my hair-straightening proceedings to a halt. Because, in my quest to make good the hair

Fitting image.

By: Unknown on: 04:21

Trouble in the message centre.

I've always kept a tidy inbox. Just as I've always been one-in-one-out with the items in my wardrobe, I've applied the same mantra to my email account. Get one, respond to one. Tidy inbox = tidy mind. I hate it when my messages don't fit onto one page. Scrolling down is simply not an option where my digital contact is concerned. Or at least it used to be that way. These days, I'm too afraid to

Trouble in the message centre.

By: Unknown on: 09:02

April Barnet Bulletin.

I recently watched Sgt Pepper go out into the garden for the first time. Off she skipped, all independent and fearless with her look-at-me-I'm-invincible teenage attichood (I give her three weeks until she's speaking like the local Wandsworf kids, innit dhough) and, I'll admit, I was jealous. Little over a week of her being outside, and she's already got a mate who calls for her at the back door.

April Barnet Bulletin.

By: Unknown on: 04:34

Alright tits.

Before my reconstruction, I took a photo of my Old Tit. And, just now, despite it being covered in dressings, I took one of my New Tit, too. (If anyone steals my iPhone this week they're in for a surprise. I'm also being extra careful when uploading pics to Twitter, in case my thumb slips and the digital world suddenly gets an eyeful of my definitely NSFW bust.) Perhaps unusually, I want to keep

Alright tits.

By: Unknown on: 06:03

Dotting the i.

Is there a Guinness World Record entry for the world's biggest nipple? Because I think I've got it. For verification purposes, I suppose it's strictly a nupple. And since there aren't even half as many nupples in the world as there are nipples, I'm skipping the adjudication and taking the crown. Well done me.

I've only caught a very quick glimpse of it, mid morphine-trip from my hospital bed

Dotting the i.

By: Unknown on: 10:43

Cut some rug.

I've heard of short-man syndrome, but never realised there was such a thing as short-hair syndrome. It's been almost a week since I decided to out myself as a very-short-haired person (so much for my headscarves-until-May plan) and I can't say I very much like the tetchy girl who's revealed herself since the wigs and scarves were relegated to a bottom drawer. The overwhelming consensus, by the

Cut some rug.

By: Unknown on: 11:33

Superstition ain't the way.

I recently walked under a ladder. That's a sentence with the potential to finish off my Mum. I suspect she secretly believes that I got breast cancer because I once put new shoes on a table or broke a mirror or forgot to say 'white rabbits' on the first of the month. Because, of course, these are the kind of things that cause cancer – at least according to the likes of the Daily Mail. Even just

Superstition ain't the way.

By: Unknown on: 07:49

What's my age again?

My Mum's favourite poem is called Warning, by Jenny Joseph. I'm sure you know the one. It begins like this:




When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in

What's my age again?

By: Unknown on: 07:17

March Barnet Bulletin.

My kid brother J has muscled in on the Barnet Bulletin by challenging me to a hair race. He's had his shaved to as close to my length as he could get, and we're now racing each other to see who can grow it the quickest. On your marks, get set, go...




Is it weird that I'm a bit jealous of J's sideburns?
Anyway, if, when you look at that photograph, your reaction is to leave a comment saying

March Barnet Bulletin.

By: Unknown on: 07:03

Reality bites.

I've just been to the shop to buy OK! Magazine. I tap-danced around getting it for a while, but conceded when I nipped out for some Flash and had enough change left in my pocket to buy the last copy on my newsagent's shelf. Sod the tap dancing. Of course I was going to buy it. The Jade Goody topic is one I've done my darndest to avoid confronting until now, like a new album I stubbornly insist on

Reality bites.

By: Unknown on: 02:07

Lessons learned.

I had lunch with my boss recently. 'So, having cancer,' she said over a bowl of miso soup. 'Do you think it's changed you?' Without really thinking, I immediately answered 'yes', cannon-launching myself into a monologue about my newly lowered tolerance for tears, particularly on reality TV shows. Whingeing on Masterchef because you ballsed up your halibut and all you've ever wanted from life is

Lessons learned.

By: Unknown on: 09:56

Restoration.

The last time we saw Smiley Surgeon it was snowing, and central London looked as beautiful as I'd ever seen it. The usually busy waiting room at the hospital was deserted thanks to cancelled appointments, and the reception staff were giddy with the work-light excitement of two kids who'd been snowed out of school. P and I arrived early (only the second time in my life I've managed this; the first

Restoration.

By: Unknown on: 10:43

School of rock.

We had a bit of an open-house day at our flat last Saturday. An opportunity to catch up with all the people who've been wanting to visit over the past few months, but who we haven't been able to see because The Bullshit got in the way. It was what my Mum would call a 'gathering'. But then she'll do anything to avoid the word 'party'. Gathering implies Monopoly and Twiglets and last tube home.

School of rock.

By: Unknown on: 04:28

25 things.

I know, I know, this is a poor excuse for a post, but in my defence: (a) I've had an unusually busy few days (more of this later in the week), (b) I've been emailed this '25 Things You Might Not Know About Me' exercise so many times that finally giving in will put an end to it and (c) since I've previously owned up to (i) filling in The Guardian Weekend's Q&A with my own answers and (ii) being a

25 things.

By: Unknown on: 13:15

Never say never again.

I'm starting to think I should be more careful about sentences that begin with 'I will never'. I've spoken before about my aversion to pets and Ugg boots and daytime TV, and look where that's got me. I've spent much of today watching my kitten scale the TV unit to place a paw on Phillip Schofield's forehead while listening out for a knock at the door with a certain footwear delivery.The furry/

Never say never again.

By: Unknown on: 10:40

February Barnet Bulletin.

What a difference a month makes, eh? If you look closely, you might even see a few eyebrows and lashes pushing through. Man, compared to a couple of months ago I'm practically Jessica Rabbit.

February Barnet Bulletin.

By: Unknown on: 10:25

The past tense.

This week I did an interview for der Westen. Not only was it hugely flattering to answer their brilliantly canny questions about my blog, but it gave me the chance to (almost) live out a fantasy by pretending it was the Guardian Weekend's Q&A, only without having to cross out the real interviewee's answers and scribble my own beside them. Which I definitely don't do. No, definitely not. One of

The past tense.

By: Unknown on: 14:40

Ladette to lady.

For much of my life, my Dad has made it his mission to get me to be 'more ladylike'. (Buy a girl a Derby County season ticket at nine, and what do you expect?) First it was my accent. (Ditto.) Then my insistence on wearing trousers to school instead of a skirt. (That all changed during assembly one day when some little tosser enquired at considerable volume, 'Oi, are you a transvestite?') Next it

Ladette to lady.

By: Unknown on: 09:01

From despair to where?

On millennium night, I had a party in my folks' house. I invited a bunch of mates, bought in enough booze to render a small country unconscious until the next millennium, made a playlist (man, I make a mean playlist), pulled on a posh frock and backed up my computer files before the bug had a chance to swallow them. We had a stonking night – whiskey-drinking contests, people snogging in cupboards

From despair to where?

By: Unknown on: 13:28

The final countdown.

Well crikey, that was a brilliantly busy couple of blog days. And not just on a followers/hits/Stephen Fry (Stephen Fry!!) front, either. It's been an education. Without all of that excitement, I wouldn't have known about the Straight Pube Phenomenon.In all truth, it's a while since I paid any attention to my bikini line. Largely because I haven't had to (Lessons In Cancer #1: at least some of

The final countdown.

By: Unknown on: 06:26

When the chips are down.

I think my headscarf just got me off a parking ticket. Today's radiotherapy overran by about, ooh, three weeks, and by the time I got back to the car, there was a traffic warden tapping away on his ticket machine, licking his lips and circling my Astra like a hungry bird of prey. You know how parking attendants always tell you they've already started making out your ticket and can't possibly stop

When the chips are down.

By: Unknown on: 10:36

Rehab.

Well I don't know about you, Winehouse, but I say yes, yes, yes. Step aside, Lohan. Out of the way, Moss. Your time is up, Williams. Search my bag and save me a room in The Priory; I'm on a one-way ticket to self-improvement.

Like I said last year, 2009 is the year of Sorting Shit Out. Seriously, check the Chinese zodiac. (Do you like how I said 'last year' back then? See, it's all just a bad

Rehab.

By: Unknown on: 11:42