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