I've gone off the Arctic Monkeys

Apparently after a couple of glasses of wine I wouldn't stop going on about the Arctic Monkeys to our lovely friends on Friday night, who took it all in their stride, but packed us off back home earlier than usual.

Rather than take the adult stand, and possibly apologise, yet again, for having too much to drink and too big a gob, I took the opposing stance and proceeded to read their biography [I'll do a review of it later - it's crap - and I want to get to be one of the top 1000 reviewers for Amazon]. Then I thought, to prove what a big fan of theirs I am I'll log onto their website, and go into a 'chat-room'. I did this and was thoroughly annoyed within about two nano seconds. I want to get a signed photo of them, or better still, a visit from one of them when I'm having chemo. So I asked this question and then a dyslexic, autistic, child prostitute proceeded to inform me that they 'chuck all those requests in the bin coz you don't now whooz a fraud'. This was backed up by a more official spokesperson who said that management had not decided what the procedure was for such requests.

Even the Director of the company doing all their stuff looked about 14. After I asked my question 'How do you get a signed photo of the arctic monkeys?' there were questions like 'What was the last thing you said out loud?' 'How did you do in your SATS?'. Since then I've been listening to Classic FM. David Mellor or Simon Bates might send me a signed photo.

I'm going to join the Green Party

My visit to my home town has inspired me to join the Green Party. I've got friends there whose political views are wildly different to mine, yet I went up and could see, with a bit of perspective, time and distance what an amazing positive contribution (some) of their political work has done. For example - better town planning, better streets, promotion of 'Stafforshire Moorlands', positive role models for women, good information. But one of my friends, as all this has taken 15 years or so, just can't see all the positives right now. I think in politics you feel most of the time that it's 2 steps forward 10 steps back, and without a bit of distance it's difficult to see all the smaller, yet very significant changes that one has influenced or even caused.

And I just thought - if they can do it - so can I! I'm the most political person I know, yet I'm not particularly putting that passion to positive use.

I've got to wait until Phil gets back as I can't print anything. I've looked on their website and I agree with most of it.

Is Leek, Staffs [Stafforshire Moorlands] the Centre of the Universe?

When I was about 15 my Dad used to take the Mickey out of me and say 'There's more to Life than Leek you know'. Smiling, in a sort of Dad-ish way. And I used to think, oh how patronising. But secretly I knew that Leek was the centre of the Universe. And it's easy to think that. It's got everything you could possibly want; Staffordshire Oatcakes, people, animals, beautiful countryside.

This week, after Monday when I seemed to have the energy of Russell Crowe on speed (actually rang in work saying I wanted to go back) on Tuesday I was more like Medussa on crack. Probably worse. Terrible abdominal pain combined with a foul mood. I rang the doctors in the Fertility Clnic who said it was perfectly normal, and if I felt really awful I could go in and see them. I should feel better in a few days. I felt marginally better on Tuesday and decided that as Phil was doing his 24 hour shift I would rather spend the night in company. So I went back home to lovely Leek. And it was lovely. I looked at wedding dresses, tried on wedding dresses and saw friends, properly, who I hadn't seen for a while. The distraction was what I needed. Now when I go back to Leek I'm always amazed by how country-ish it is, because of course compared to Hollinsclough where you know everyone who drives past, it's got a certain amount of anonymity (you don't know every single person you walk past).

One of the wedding dress shops was shut so my friend and I casually walked around the shops. Then we bumped into Johnny Waterhouse, from Johnny Waterhouse Blues Band, who I used to absolutely love in the eighties, when we used to go to their gigs, in illicit buildings, underage etc etc. We chatted to him on the street for a good half hour. It was like Eastenders. You always think when you watch Eastenders - people never chat like that on the street, they don't have time. But they do up North. There's no particular deadline, and if there is it can wait a bit. Apparently the Leek Post and Times is giving too much PR to rubbish musicians who've never done any gigs.

Came back refreshed, and there was what I think was a Banksy work of art! On the streets of Leek!

Seven Tatmorgs Conceived!

Yes, it's brilliant news! We've managed to conceive (with a bit of help from Homerton Hospital) seven embryos! It's lovely news, everyone is chuffed. Cookie and Gramps are already calling themselves that plus Granny, Grampa and Nanrick are also pleased. Uncles Jimbo, Wilfred, Tattonmeister & Hong-Kong Phuey are more subdued (probably thinking of all that baby-sitting they'll be doing). The beauty of having the lovely things frozen is that I can now aim to be the oldest mother in the world. But I won't. We've already started the negotiating process. Phil's saying 2014, I'm pushing for 2008.

This great news even makes me feel like I can go back to my true destiny - my other role of Supertatton - saving the NHS. I've already rang in saying that I'm perfectly alright and would like to return to work please.

Ovary freezing back on

We've been v impressed with all the (female) consultants; surgeon, oncologist and gynacologist. But last week Miss M the gynacologist said that 'because government regulations have changed we can't freeze your ovary'. Naturally we were a bit disappointed, but Phil did his 'I know everyone' trick and today it looks like it might be back on; somewhere in Manchester will do it apparently. However, it's not a walk in the park and may not be necessary so Phil is going to talk to Dr S, the oncologist to get her view.

Tomorrow is my next thing - egg removal. Phil has to do his business too so hopefully next week we'll have a few embryos! The dishwasher seems to have started working aswell and I've taken some photos of human excrement: People [and I'm really referring to men here] use our parking space as a toilet. I'm going to write a letter to the Council about that and other rubbish in the vicinity.

Me, Mum and Phil went to see Volver as part of his birthday celebrations. I liked it but they didn't.

We suspect Trottems is being fed somewhere else as she weighs about five stone.

I did half an hour of Alexander Technique and meditation (meditation sitting in the Alexander Technique something suppine position)to help me get calm for tomorrow. I've also got some books on 'self-hypnosis' from the library. Quite frankly I can't tell the difference between it all; relaxation, meditation and self-hypnosis.

Dishwasher has broken

Yes, the dishwasher has broken. The flap where you put the tablet is not operating. I'm sorry to admit this but I'm more upset about it than if a close relative had died. Death is, after all, part of life, but if a dishwasher has been rated as a "Best Buy" by Which, of which I am a member, which costs about ten squillion pounds a month, then you don't expect it to break down ever. So why has it? Perhaps someone should do that; on the back of the success of 'Which?' start an organisation called 'Why?' and charge everyone two million squillion quid a month to be a member of that. And come up with the wrong answer. But it has broken, on this day, of all days - a few days after the 9th anniversary of Princess Diana's death and 5 years after what we Brits call 'September the Eleventh'.

On a more happy note we've been celebrating Phil's Birthday. First of all I bought him exactly what he wanted - some very expensive speakers from a shop which brought the meaning of the word "geek" to a whole new dimension: "Human being unrecognisable to those of the feminine gender". Anyway it worked a lot better than last year when I got him a mish-mash of surprises, a lot of which were things that I wanted. Then we had a stroke of inadvertent luck on Thursday. I had a temper tantrum precipitated by my bike chain coming off and allegededly calming yet painful acupuncture. The only solution to cure me of this which presented itself was an alcoholic beverage at the 'Cat and Mutton' which I was right outside quite conveniently. Phil joined me and it was a great success as they were having an 'Oyster Night' to celebrate the start of the oyster season. So we had a dozen each, with different accompaniments and yum yum yum. We had what could possibly be the last Rose of the season, although judging by the ridiculous heat of today, it will probably be November.

Phil cooked a gorgeous Chicken and Leek Pie on Friday and we entertained his best man, Joel, who didn't come to the car boot sale (none of us did) in the end. Instead we all had quite a lot to drink; 'Delirium Tremons' was the order of the day - the strongest beer in the world apparently. I trapped my finger in the front door, and this pain, combined with what is about ten injections a day at the moment is reducing me to tears, in spite of the acupuncture 'seeds' supposedly preventing this in my ears.

Trottems and Marmasuprial

As the kittens have matured, into attractive cats, so have we and decided that their kitten names are no longer appropriate for cat-hood. We don't really call them Trotsky and Marmite much any more. Trotsky isn't much of a revolutionary socialist. She's very friendly, with a good sense of humour but she does like trotting around which is why Trottems suits her more. Marmasuprial isn't keen on advertising and she is definitely black not brown. She likes to appear intelligent even though she probably isn't which is why a longer name suits her more. They both seem to spend 80% of the time sleeping and the rest of the time chasing flies. Marmite still wakes us up every morning by walloping us in the face or attacking our feet and the 'Catlocator' is still a discussion point for any visitors to the house, but we haven't had any new ones recently!

In addition to stroking the cats, and Primarkation treatment we've also tried the Ikea diet. Traditionally not very therapeutic, especially at the weekend, but if done on a weekday then it's not too bad, although the side effects on your bank balance can be quite disturbing. Phil's preference is electroretail therapy - although if I come too it has to be my preferred practitioner Mr John Lewis, as opposed to Dr Ebay, a bit of a con merchant with a lot of DNAing in my view. Phil is over the moon as we have now got a TV that didn't come out of a skip - it's a SONY 40 inch LCD, positioned above the computer with a central speaker so the whole set up on that wall looks like a big space android-robot. Fortunately Phil's Captain Kirk. TRotsky is Spock, Marmite is Uhura and I'm a sexy alien from the Earth's past who likes gardening and other twentieth century activities.

I'm also having acupuncture, which seemed to work brilliantly the first time - it totally got rid of the PMT side effects I was getting from some drug or other. Yesterday it was quite painful. I'm also attempting to review all the books I'm reading on Amazon, but they keep on not publishing my reviews which is a bit annoying. I need to find a place where people write 'Time-out' style reviews on day-time TV as I'm becoming such an expert on it. I find now I'm switching from Jeremy Kyle to 'To buy or not to Buy' with a couple of comedy presenters, 'Dom and Nelly'. Quincy seems to not be on anymore which is a bit of a tradgedy so now I'm watching 'Working Lunch'. I'm looking forward to the FTSE going up to 6k. And I'm not joking. Is there going to be a party? The thing that annoys me about these programmes like Classic FM and Channel Four News is that they always say what the FTSE amount is - every day - but never whether this is an increase or decrease from the previous day and how this contributes to the rate of change. Why not show a graph or say the rate of rise over the past six months? Or the financial year?

Tomorrow's Phil's 30th Birthday and he has assured me that as part of his celebrations that he wants to hold a car boot sale (yep) as I enjoyed the one I did so much. He's confident of getting a hundred quid for more rubbish we've tracked down in the house. As it's his rubbish I'm quietly more optimistic than him. His categorisation of rubbish is a lot more slack than mine. I think this is my main problem with Green economists. They (and here I'm thinking of Zac Goldsmith) essentially promote Carbon Tax - essentially an indirect tax which is much worse on the poor - those on fixed incomes. What this does, and what we're seeing is massive rises in energy costs. Unless this goes hand in hand with rises in things like the pension then people are just going to be thrust into poverty. The government could stimulate demand for recycling at the other end of the market, by improved regulation, more funds on recylcing, green transport etc by raising income tax. With the carbon tax method that Zac and the Tories seem to the think is the be all and end all, what effecxtively happens is that the rich people carry on regardless as they always have done like they always do. The rest of us, and especially the poor start eating grass as that's the only thing we can afford, and never throwing away anything. Then they start rummaging around in other people's rubbish to see what they can sell. That's what the old ladies in Hong Kong do according to Phil. The fact is capitalism just doesn't agree with being green as the two are incompatible as when we're well off we waste more.

The other news is that I'm reading 'Diary of a Nobody'. It's essential reading for bloggers. Also Phil and I didn't realise (pure ignorance) that George Grossmith (the author, with his brother Weedon) knew Gilbert and Sullivan so well, starring in their productions like The Mikado! Topsy Turvy is one of Phil's favourite films and he just got it the other day on DVD!

We haven't seen Paolo for a few days as he's got shingles. I wasn't very welcoming when Phil gave the diagnosis on Sunday. Paolo's the equivalent of Cummings and Gowings in Mr Pooter's house (Nobody).

Primark

Today relatively uneventful. I had another appointment at hsopital - this time to see what benefits I might be entitled to. I didn't have high hopes for this. Luckily. I was put off by the smell to be quite honest in the room where I was with this gentleman, who judging by the smell, needed more help than I did. I just had to get out of there.

I made my excuses, grabbed a few leaflets and despite feeling poor, still had a credit card in my pocket and felt an urgent need for some retail therapy. I haven't bought any new clothes for 3 months - since my operation. I deserve it. Anyway Primark beckoned. At half past ten Primark's quite bearable. Or so I thought. I browsed with a basket, tossing whatever seemed remotely fashionable into it. After about half an hour and trying 50% of it on I totted up and it only came to twenty five quid. At this point, a bit like a gambler or an alcoholic I should have thought - fine, i'll leave it at that. But I thought... that's not much, what else can I get? A fatal mistake. I then put stuff back in that when trying on, hadn't fitted me. Then I spotted some comfy, cheap bras - something I really need for obvious reasons. Then I saw a load of bright red accessories, which of course I don't need, but I thought 'they go with my red hairclip, so I'll get the lot'. My excuse for this rather irrational behaviour (basing your wardrobe on a hairclip) is:
1) I wear the hairclip a lot now I've had my hair cut
2) Bright red is fashionable. Posh Spice wore a bright red dress recently
3) Err.. that's it

Then after I'd bought virtually the whole shop, we queued up. At Primark they cunningly don't have a subtotal-adding up thing on their tills so you can't check how much you're spending. I had to resort to asking the girl to check it for me every now and then. At what I thought was half way through it came to twenty five quid. Then I asked her to add up again - seventy quid. By now I felt under pressure to buy the whole lot. It came to £104 after I ditched a few things.

I'm the Queen of taking things back, I've already put stuff in piles of Yes... Could take back...Doesn't fit....

Freewriting - A history of Love

Next year I plan to do an MA, hopefully followed by a PhD at the Institute of Contemporary History in London. I'm going to try and prepare for it whilst I'm going through my fertility and cancer treatment.

To help both of us, Phil has got a brilliant book from the library - 'How to write a thesis' by Jenny Murray. To be a good writer you're supposed to write, whatever you want - 'freewriting' every day. The blog is excellent practice for this. I've had lots of ideas over the years, not all of which I want people to nick from this blog. But one, which I'm the only person who seems to be enthusiastic about, which is why I don't ming putting it up here, is 'A History of Love'. Here's Murray's 8 point step to start writing up your thesis:
A History of Love
1) Who are the intended readers?
Feminists, Young men, Historians, Philosophers
2) What did you do?
Read a lot of books and thought that Love hadn't been analysed from a social science or positive feminist perspective. When Greer wrote about Love she was dismissive. Marx and Engels didn't really mention it. The greeks broke it down into different types.
3) Why did you do it?
Because Love had had such a positive impact on my own life so I thought it was strange that social scientists had not analysed this before. I had a theory that Love is a form of secular idealism, which in philosophical terms, as it is mainly women who are the main players, has not been studied. 'Care' has been studied more, as one could argue that provision of health and social care services is the study of 'Care.' I asked people what the difference is between Care and Love.
4) What happened?
I got a diverse range of answers when I asked people what the difference between Care and Love is - Greed, money, quantification, passion, energy. Nobody seemed to understand what I was on about, which I'm still trying to come to terms with and get my ideas understandable.
5) What do the results mean in theory?
That Love is secular idealism, with little recorded to support this until my research, because it is a female domain.
6) What do the results mean in practice?
I hope that the results enable Love to be seen as a philosophy in itself, something that can be made and in its creation, change the world for the better.
7) What is the key benefit for the reader?
Understanding more about positive influences of Love, feminity and feminism on philosophy
8) What remains unresolved?
Everything

Boils or Breast Cancer?

No one knows what causes cancer, but there are a few 'risk' factors. And herein lies the difficulty. All these 'risk factors' essentially are about having quite a pleasant life. Take one 'risk factor'. Normal deodorant. I was using some rather innocuous 'Vaseline Intensive Care' roll on before the diagnosis. Then someone tells me, or I read on the internet or the Fulham Breast Cancer Cult tells me that that's a no-no. So I get some what is essentially crystallised salt from Fresh and Wild for ten quid. Not only do I smell, but I start to get boils on my underarm. Like Karl Marx used to on his bottom 150 years ago. Needless to say Ive reverted straight back to some strong men's stuff which Phil uses, and now back to nice and friendly Vaseline and no problems at all with the boils.

Then there's shampoo. I use shampoo that gets rid of dandruff. Now I'm on some seaweed stuff which brings on the dandruff. Dandruff is slightly better than boils and a lot better than breast cancer, but not as good as none of the above, so as a compromise with myself I'm using Head and Shoulders intercepted with seaweed.

Then there's tap water. I love tap water, it's virtually free and unless you get well-meaning people talking about possibly causes of breast cancer, 99% of everyone else says you can't go wrong with it. But then someone tells me, when I didn't ask for their opinion, that tap water has a lot of oestrogen which allegedly could cause breast cancer. So now what am I supposed to do? Shower in bottled Evian? Get a tank of Volvic installed in the backgarden attached to the plumbing system? It's all very well saying this and that causes xyz but it's a bit late now anyway. And even if I do start drinking bottled water with their ten zillion percent profit margins, how do these well-meaning cancer-free people suggest I deal with the side-effects of drinking £5 of bottled water a day - prostitution?

Happy Birthday Tattontastic!

Tattontastic is one year old today. As a celebration I'm having my favourite tipple - dry martini and lemonade. Tattontastic is feeling the effects. I've applied for several jobs in the restructuring which I felt very pleased about too.

And what has Tattontastic achieved in its (her) life? Not as much as me that's for sure, but of course we are intricately connected. It means the kittens are also just over one year old and they are (like the rest of the family) starting to podge out a bit.

Of course Tattontastic would be dead without me, but I wouldn't be dead without it (her?). But a bit like 'Sophie's World' one starts to think about existence, spirituality, realism and idealism. Can things exist without being physically present? Probably. Perhaps Tattontastic will revolutionise the world, but without me. Marx purportedly said he wasn't a Marxist, but presumably he was joking.

In the infamous words of Liam Gallagher 'Life is a game you play'.

Hello. Hello. Hello.

Jeremy Kyle, Quincy, car booting and broadband

The wonders of broadband and Mum's lap top which she's lent me is that I can simultaneously do my blog whilst there's a break on the Jeremy Kyle show. Like now. While they're advertising rubbish I can talk about all the rubbish we managed to sell at the car boot sale a couple of weeks ago. My Yorkshire genes mean that my hoarding capacity could be listed in the Guinness Book of Records, and Phil's highly morganised approach is starting to have an impact. Anyway to cut a long story short, I really think it (car booting) should be the new National Service. It was amazing selling all these long loved objects that are worthless to us that people snap up. All the toys from crackers I've saved over the past ten years which people were cooing over. And of course you're at your own discretion as to when and to what extent you want to have a sale; I had three - a 50p sale with about three hours to go, a 20p sale with two hours to go and then a 5p sale with an hour to go. Remarkably a full length pink leather coat failed to sell for five pence. But some people did get bargains like the tall gentleman who took a new, still wrapped mobile phone ear piece for 5p. The reason it should be compulsory - I would suggest for twenty one year olds, is that, at least at Holloway Road you are selling to a true cross section of the community who are probably better at grasping the true market value of goods than the London Stock Exchange. And the diverse range of people buying all these items. The African woman who bought my rusty bread bin tut-tutting. It doesn't take much to clean it you know. Sold - 50p. The sprightly old man who bought 3 old magazines for 30p, Hello, Grazia - to give to a friend in hospital. The well spoken lady with a lot of make up who bought my old sunglasses and I threw in Phil's bum bag which was a free gift from the traffic police on Tower Bridge. I really enjoyed it and we might do another one, but Phil is addicted to chucking things in the bin. He's said he was going to sedate me and then chuck out everything in the flat. I said he could wait until a week on Friday when I have my eggs are collected.

Anyway on to more major issues - Jeremy Kyle . I still prefer Trisha. I find Jeremy too aggressive. He spends a lot of time laying into aggressive people then speaks over them and he says 'this is right, that is wrong'. I don't think life is as simple as that. Last week they did have a touching episode where a couple had had a baby, then split up because the guy's parents were racist, he never knew she had a baby. The baby is now a 21 year old young person. I say young person because he was born a girl and has had a sex change. Anyway the father was thrilled and said he was so happy, he wouldn't mind if his child was an alien.

Quincy - also addictive but for different reasons. I think I watch Quincy for its underlying subconscious subliminal messages - celebrating the work ethic, men are better than women, shout a lot and you might get your own way, people of different ehtnic backgrounds can help but don't put them in charge, never give up on an irrational hunch. Thank God real life isn't much like that. We hope. There was a spectacularly irritating episode last week when Quincy deliberately didn't tell one of his pregnant patients that one of her twin babies had died inside her. Rather than being prosecuted for gross negligence, the woman just accepted his excuse that she would be 'too upset' even though he also withheld information that this had potentially threatened her life too.

Got a lot of lovely things happening this week - more daytime TV (looking forward to more subliminal messages coming my way), which I'm offsetting with Proudhon, Marx and Friedan, acupuncture on Thursday, gardening.

Wedding Planning

We've been engaged for 3 months, Tattontastic is nearly one year old and I've held my first car boot sale so it's about time I get the ideas for the wedding published so I can get all my "fans"' ideas.

Green
Not just the colour but the ideology. The wedding will aim to be carbon neutral. We're planning to hire a bio-diesel generator to power the music equipment and lighting for the entertainment and meal. We're going to give tree seedlings as favours, which our guests can plant on wasteland or wherever they like. We hope to get photos and coordinates of these little trees so we can put where they are on our website. We will try not to fly for the honeymoon, instead going to Scotland, France or Ireland a more carbon-friendly route. People will have the option of giving us charitable gifts. Phil's Mum is making the wedding dress, Jennifer is making the cake, we're getting Hollinsclough Parish Action Group involved with the environmental issues (native planting on the verges) and seasonal, local flowers.
The invite will be a DVD/postcard/website with lots of family and friends photos from the four sides, possibly projected when we're having coffee at the reception.

Entertainment
This is a big deal for us - music on both sides - an area of great passion and compatibility for us both. So we're having a barn dance to start with (aiming at the over 50s), a band (aiming at the over 25s) and a disco (aiming at trying to make us feel like we're under 25).

Ceremony
I know a lot of people spend a lot of time on this, but for me anyway this isn't the bit I've ever remembered from any weddings I've been to. It seems to be much of a muchness and is always pleasant as long as we get the obvious bits in and it doesn't go on too long.

Food and drink
This is a big deal for us, but not being multi-milllionaires can't really promise the world. So we're plumping for bangers and mash. We really want a very decent vegetarian sausage which we need help sourcing. Drink we're going to get some champers bottled and go and get it ourselves. Ditto wine. A bar will be available on the night for those who like their spirits. The evening buffet will have the local delicacy of oatcake and cheese!

Reception
I want as many people as possible to come to the wedding, which isn't possible due to the size of the chapel and cost of a sit down meal. But for not much extra we're having about 200 to the evening so they can enjoy a barn dance, disco, nice hot buffet and excellent band.

Photography
A big deal for me as I love photography and am a bit picky about it, especially portrait photography. I spend hours and hours just looking at my photographer's website. I absolutely love his photos and can't wait for the years to come where it will my own wedding which I spend hours looking at! People think it's vanity, which it isn't. It's wanting to have a lovely record and see the wedding day as a story which unfolds. I want to be able to treasure every second and spending a lot on a photographer will enable us to do this! I think it's partly this passion for history I've got. Photography captures the moment. In an ideal world I'd spend a lot on videography but we haven't got the money and instead we're getting friends to do it which we can edit together.

Transport
Bit of an issue as Hollinsclough is in the middle of nowhere. So we're going to hire a couple of minibuses and drivers. Phil's little wedding project is to buy a cheap vintage merc or something which he can drive us around in for the wedding itself and the honeymoon.

Happy Birthday Cath - 21 again [Resorting Next to Carrier Pigeon]

Yes, the computers are playing up in the library, not to mention the postal service. Can't seem to operate emails either. The phone, yes is an option but no one is in at this time.

Happy Birthday Cath!

And what wonderful memories of other birthdays we've got. Can you remember, was it your eleventh? When we were dancing to 'Don't Leave me this way' by the Commodores in the Village Hall... I was sick, purely from too much dancing and chilli con carne(those were the days). Your seventeenth - were we camping in France then? I remember getting our AS results anyway (two Bs between us, which we managed to just about maintain for our As). Then there was my eighteenth, which we postponed from my real eighteenth to the 4th July (which happened to be Angie's exes 21st birthday which I hijacked ha ha ha). Then there was your eighteenth - didn't you meet your beloved there? Camping on the Manifold. And the infamous black-tassled-leather-jacket story - I'm sure that was round about your fourteenth birthday when we got on that escapade hitchhiking to God-knows-where after we'd scraped together some cash to get the sorely wanted afore-mentioned item. Luckily you'd already tried it on I think and had decided it suited you. I had the pleasure of being given several leather jackets from people who'd disabled themselves falling off motorbikes, (including a Red one) so I didn't need to get one.

So congrats and many happy returns! Also thanks for the lovely card and photos which have gone into the ever-expanding 'Rainy Day Box'.

Love to all xxx

Everyone email Nicola Baker, Head of Libraries Services at Hackney Council

I wanted to spend a long time writing today, having abstained for too long (nearly two weeks). However the ludicrous rules on the computers at the library mean that you only get an hour, which is more like 57 minutes when you've walked over from the stupid computer where you book yourself in (why you can't sit down at the thing and start God knows). THEY DO NOT ALLOW YOU TO BOOK MORE THAN AN HOUR IN ONE DAY.

Then I decided to complain about the stupid system to the staff which took up another five minutes, apparently they don't get many complaints. I asked for the email address of the person but they just gave me her name. Idiot. There's about twenty million paying computers just round the corner 'learn direct' ( I thought they'd gone bankrupt anyway?) where you can have unlimited time (£1 an hour). Then there's about five million unused 'children's computers' around another corner. But you obviously have to be a child. Why do children have enhanced rights compared to us other humans? Children don't have to apply for jobs or pay bills or write complaining emails to MPs about the cost of prescriptions for cancer patients and the selling off of the NHS so I really don't see why they should have free unlimited computer use when we're fighting like cat and dog for fifty free minutes on about three totally overused computers in the hottest part of the library. Rant over.

According to my fans (Mum, Dad and Phil) my best blogging is when I'm not complaining so I'll summarise in number form the other nice things which are happening and when Phil fixes the computer (it's Bill Gate's fault as usual but Phil's his number one fan so we'll probably have to wait another couple of weeks before he actually decides to complain):

1) Still off work - Hurrah! It's such a joy having all this time to do lovely things like
2) Holding Car Boot sale - this is worth an entry in itself it was so amazing
3) Been on holiday to Whitby with the in-laws - my new family I've marrying into, which was also wonderful and is going to be repeated on an annual basis
4) Saw all my Yorkshire friends, which made me think about Nostalgia, probably more material there
5) Got books out of the library - Hezbollah, Dave Gorman's Adventure, 365 ways to change the world, An intimate history of the orgasm, a Freelancing book and Tony Benn's condensed diaries
6) Started reading Stepford Wives
7) Rearranged house with Phil
8) Remortgaged house with Phil's name on it!
9) Refiled
10) Refreshed car at MOT

Dishwasher and Filing

This will be a very quick entry for various reasons:

1) I'm in the Library
2) There is a 'Scheduled Outage at 400PMPDT' whatever that means
3) It's too hot (Even though it's a hell of a lot cooler than last week for any international fans of mine out there who haven't got a clue what London weather's up to)

Anyway, To cut a long story short, I've given up (possibly temporarily) on the idea of publishing my short story which I wrote in my youth. I'm carrying on instead with documenting the minutae of my life at the moment which is apparently more therapeutic, and according to my Dad and Phil, better.

The highlight of the week is the arrival of the DISHWASHER which is absolutely amazing and my God, I'm amazed I've got to this age without having one. It's already changed my life and I've only had it 12 hours.

I've virtually completed the FILING of every document in the house. This has thrown up some interesting questions. I asked Blaglady for her views on filing. She says she puts everything in a drawer. This is my method as well, but due to my hoarding genes, this means as each cupboard fills up, I fill up another. Currently the volume of paperwork stands at a large wardrobe capacity. The reason it raises interesting questions is the categories I've given myself:

The 'Sentimental' Category takes up about 40%
Politics - 15%
Career - 20%
Work - 2%
Writing - 2%
Union - 2%

Anyway haven't got time to check if that adds up. My point is that my 'Sentimental' Category contains bits of all the other things anyway so why I'm bothering to separate it all God knows. What is sentiment anyway?

I might go for the Tate Britain method of chronological rather than the Tate Modern method of category. I know the TB way is more boring but I am a historian (or trying to be one) after all.

Introduction to my first on-line publication

Getting ready for chemo has meant chucking out 90% of the contents of the flat, as if any family were ever known for hoarding, mine is the one. I am marrying into another, much more morganised family and am doing the decent thing. I have found every piece of paper I have ever lost (apart from the really important ones like the Deeds to the House and my PhD proposal.) A few pieces of paper I am pleased about finding is a short story I wrote in 1988. When I split up from my ex-boyfriend, and was being bullied at work, and had an arson attack from an idiot, I understandably got a bit depressed and anxious (about three years ago). Mum, did the decent thing as Mothers do, and got out some things to cheer me up. In my case, being the genius I was and am, it was my old school work. Being the proud, sentimental type, she had kept my pre-GCSE English language work. It did the trick and I was quite surprised as to how entertaining some of these short stories and what-not were.

ANYWAY, one of the stories, which I am hoping to publish on this blog, entitled 'Zero Hour' was particularly errm, weird. A playwright friend of ours (N) who Phil has referred to a lot on his blog made fun of writing in the future in her play which we went to see a couple of months ago. There is a scene when the main character (a writer) in N's play makes fun of another character for setting his story in the future. Based on my experience, perhaps what he really needs is a strong brandy.

To make a short story quite long, what I'm trying to get at is is that this story ('Zero Hour') which I wrote in May 1988, and which I set in 2008, had quite a number of what most psycho-therapists would call 'Coincidences'. Everyone else would be reaching for their particular alcoholic tipple, or if you've ever been to the Haven Breast Cancer place, a broccoli juice.

The first major coincidence was that the main character was called 'Louise Powell'. By pure chance, the person dealing with my bullying case when I re-read the story for the first time 15 years later, in January 2004 was 'Louise Powell'. A very common name, according to my therapist who also knew someone by that name. For this reason the story stayed in my mind as you can imagine for the next few weeks.

The second, more tragic coincidence is that the one of the main plot lines also actually happened, in that one of the characters dies. I did reach for the brandy and was most upset about this. In the story, the main character Louise, tries to save a character M, and tries to contact him 'in the future' to save his life. She succeeds in the story, but in real life the person who very much coincidentally resembles this character died, I think in June 2004. It is though, just rather an unpleasant coincidence.

The third coincidence is nicer. The whole story is called as I say 'Zero Hour' counting down to a particular date. The date mentioned is '19th May 2007' which is now of course our wedding day!

There are some other little details which are quite cutish, looking back. My predictions of 'tele-tact' which is a contact lens TV, 'so popular that the tutors do spot checks at school'. Not that I know, but sounds a bit like the mobile phone phenomenon. Back to the Future was probably 90% of the inspiration for this story and there's a not so subtle reference to this in the first paragraph - our heroine watching 'Teen Wolf'. And then there's the predictions I made in developments in food retail marketing; families shopping at the older 'complex.' even though it's less efficient. Sounds a bit like me doing my bit for the British Olympic Queuing bid at Stoke Newington Farmers Market every Saturday.

Haircut Update

The Hair looks really lovely. It is 1920s/30s ish slightly curly and short. Most people can't tell the difference because I wear my hair up so much. But everyone likes it including most importantly me and Phil.

I have taken some photos of it and when I eventually get some IT skills I will put the photos up here. I feel glamourous and it's much easier to maintain so I'm pretty pleased. The people in the hairdressers all wanted to know how it was done so even they were impressed.

Feminism Today

Today's appointment went really well. Not only have all the consultants I've seen been women, which really makes me think the world has changed in the past thirty years, but the Fertility consultant seems to be quite a big wig as she was virtually namedropping Lord Winston. I'd much rather have her job than the poor oncologist's who has to say things like 'You've got a 20% chance of not being here in ten years' compared to her 'And we could try for two babies, and that's just with the frozen embryos'. You see not only are we going to freeze some embryos (hopefully) but also freeze some ovarian tissue, which they can then try and put back in which not only might help me have babies but also possibly reverse the menopause (which is likely to come on early as a result of chemo & hormonal). I thought all this was reserved for celebrities (freezing the ovaries) but apparently not... The ovaries thing is all a bit pie--in-the-sky as I don't think any babies have been conceived from frozen ovaries yet, but it's early days.

We are starting IVF (frozen embryos for now) next week which all seems very quick (GOOD), then whip out the ovary whilst I'm having radiotherapy, then have chemo after that. Followed by hormonal. That's plan B propoesd by Miss M the Fertility lady. Plan A simply is to start chemo, followed by radio. Miss S is going to chat with MIss C and Dr S to check that all this is fine with them. The problem is with the fertility treatment is that the mega doses of hormones may trigger off the cancer, but our argument is that we're blasting it with chemo after a couple of weeks, so if the cancer is triggered off again we're quickly getting rid.

Phil's in a v grumpy mood as he killed his computer on Friday (accidentally). The hard drive has gone to the big computer graveyard in the sky. I tried joking at the Clinic saying we could get his new computer cyrogenically frozen. He wasn't amused. We're both in the v nice internet cafe and must go now.

The Causes of Breast Cancer

One of the first things that crosses your mind when you're given your cancer diagnosis is, as I said to our lovely Doctor at the time 'What causes it?' and he said, 'Nobody knows'. Myself and my betrothed had a little discussion over breakfast when I said getting the butter out of the fridge 'I wonder if Anchor Spreadable has given me cancer?'. He said 'There's one thing that's given you cancer and that's the Pill.' It's still a mystery and a depressing mystery at that. The fact is in the industrialised nations there's been cancer and especially breast cancer epidemics. Phil's reasoning is that whilst the Fulham Breast Cancer Haven place harp on about dairy, alcohol and soya (because of the hormones put in) that over the past 15 years I've been putting 100 times more hormones into my body on a daily basis, to prevent pregnancy. They don't go on the pill in the Third World.

The other, more major fact, is that it's extremely depressing thinking about the causes of cancer, especially when you've had it or got it. It's always the nice things that are supposed to cause it: alcohol, fat, diary products, wisdom;age, sex; the Pill, city life. I'd rather leave investigating the causes to the professionals and get on with my brilliant new life which consists of tidying up, gardening, pottering around, meditation, yoga, The Alexander Technique, enjoying being spoilt by everyone I've ever met, reading, writing, drinking, laughing, watching TV, listening to the radio, wedding planning and talking to all my lovely friends on the phone.

Hair News Update; PR Watch 6

I was quite amazed that when I typed in Vidal Sassoon To google for a free hair cut at the afore mentioned establishment there were literally essays from women saying how a hair cut works. Fortunately, although I do love my hair and the thought of it growing back straight makes me want to stab my eyes out, I do actually prefer Life itself so it all seems a bit academic worrying about that tiny facet of the side effect of Chemo. Anyway I'm getting a bargain haircut, SHORT for the first time in my life, possibly even shvaven at some bits. Coloured even. I've booked in to Vidal Sassoon no less on 1st August for the whole morning for the princely sum of eleven british pounds. But in order to almost look forward (?) to it falling out I am thinking about getting a tattoo on my head. His Highness doesn't like tattoos - but again if the hair grows back then it doesn't matter... Perhaps a henna tattoo on my head as a compromise. But then I'd have to get it done while I'm not well which wouldn't be very good.

But looking at the effort these women go on the shopping websites to do reviews of these services, one does wonder if they are getting any money for it? Book Reviews I've written on Amazon are shorter and in my experience at least books change your life more than hair cuts. I do wonder about the women of today. On Woman's Hour (which annoys me almost as much as the Today programme) they had 3 'young' women on asking them whether Girl Power had worked yesterday. It's ten years since the Spice Girls uttered the words apparently. One of these women (who admittedly was 21 so hardly counts quite frankly: My Granny didn't get the vote until she was 31) said she didn't describe herself as a 'Feminist'. She thought these days it was more about equality. This had me in my usual shouting rant at the radio, except it wasn't 7am it was about 11am. 'Have you looked in the f***ing dictionary? You stupid f******* *****'. The Oxford Compact (Folio Society 2005) describes it as thus: 'A movement or theory supporting women's rights on the grounds of the equality of the sexes'. Even Phil and the two Richards have ascribed to it using that definition. Feminism isn't just about equal rights for women, but also for men; equality being the key word here.

We're getting Cookie's Rainy Day Box Ready too - visit on Saturday and might visit Auntie E too.
We're booked in to see the Fertility Clinic on Monday so I'll be fresh faced from the joy of that ready for my new hair do on Tuesday.

I've bought a crap book (again!). Too American (nothing new there) and about to go out of date yesterday. You can only understand 90% of it with a degree in computing. But perhaps the chapters on writing tips and increasing traffic are worth 8.99. I'm sure Alvin Hall would blame my parents.

Busy Week

We had a v busy week. Friday night - drinking, Sat night - drinking etc etc. The Fulham Haven would not be v impressed (Heavy drinking is a risk factor for b c). In fact I'm not very impressed with myself. Several days wasted, when I could be watering the garden, reading some books and sorting out my literal-ton of paperwork.

Chemo will probably start in about two weeks and the pact I've made with Phil is that in return for doing this I will never voluntarily wear a flourescent tabbard. Ever again.

I am going to have a 'Kylie Kut' before it starts and get my hair all cut off.

Message for my Fiancee

Love you, can't be bothered to email any more - it takes too much time and Microsoft are making too much money out of me. Plus we got rid of sploggers but noone can get rid of spam.

Anyway the Holloway Road Rubbish Tip is just off Hornsey Street. Romance is of course, not dead. At all. The reason I'm doing it like this is because Orange are keeping me waiting while they chase up the broadband which is about a month late now. Apparently we are 'not registered' despite me ringing up at least twice.

While I've got a few minutes I may as well tell you I want to learn how to categorise my entries like Blaglady and Joella have done. Mine might be: 'dull' 'No one understands these entries' etc

Umming and Ahhing over Chemo

I seem to oscillate between the 'Yes, I'll be fine, Jules worked her way through Chemo' and 'No, not on your Nelly. Good God - the Early Menopause, no kids and feeling like death warmed up for six months. You must be joking'.

It's only ten per cent difference. If that and that's only with hormonal too which is virtually as bad on its own - early menopause.

My Mum's friend Camilla didn't have Chemo, and apart from being told she's only got six months to live she's absolutely fine.

But myself and my lovely friend Blaglady had a lovely time painting our nails yesterday. Something I was thinking to myself I should do more often, except when I started trying to do my right hand. I practised the Gail Porter 'Shroud' look with a green silky thing I usually wear as a beach wrap. Phil says he's going to get me a combat scarf for my head and a Che Guervara T shirt. He says he's also going to go with a shaved head in sympathy.

The problem with the Cancer is I keep on shrieking 'I need more information, Why havem't any clinical trials been done on vegans?' And then I get presented with the information and promptly start reaching for 'Shropshire Life'.

Mentoring your Mentors

All the rage these days is ‘Mentoring’. I’ve got about two hundred of them (mentors/tees) and the trick is you have to keep on reminding yourself of what you’re mentoring them about and what they’re mentoring you about. I think you get to a certain age and you suddenly lose the plot and think, hang on a minute ‘Who’s the Mentor?’, then you come to your senses and say ‘Oh Yes, half a sugar please’.

What you’re hoping they’ll do is encourage you to give up sugar completely and refuse to put any in, then when you’ve had a nervous breakdown about that it turns out that they actually say don’t take Milk. So you have to go out and get some Peppermint Tea, can’t be bothered and end up drinking the left over Baileys in the fridge from Christmas.

To take the ‘Mentoring the Mentors’ a bit further but without the tea analogy , I personally think the line from Aretha Franklin & Eurythmics line ‘Behind Every Great Man is a Great Woman’ - Sisters are Doing It for Themselves (1986) could be explored further. What about the Muses in Art & Literature? OK, granted they didn’t do anything apart from sit there – but purely to inspire is enough isn’t it?


Isn't it amazing that those photos are the same person? David Clutterbuck who wrote 'Everyone needs a Mentor'. I could write a book called 'Everyone needs a mentor for every single thing they do'. I could do with one for putting out the washing. And one for Cellulite. Etc. Anyway, I'm working on it. David Clutterbuck could do with one to sort out his photos on the web. Ditch the one with the blue background Dave.

The Making of Love - Part 3

This image is a lovely Hydrangea from the Hampton Court Palace Show ten days ago. I'm thinking about Hydrangeas for the wedding but in 'flower language' they mean 'Boastfulness'. Am I bovvered?

Anyway, I learnt three things when the monitor cable got detached from the computer an hour ago:

1) The addition of the 'neurochemical' sentence on Love in the Penguin Dictionary of Psychology, between 95-01 - hadn't spotted it before.
2) I don't understand Wikipedia. An hour or so ago on their page defining Love they were very negative and were quoting Nietzsche. I had prepared a whole paragraph dissing them too. Now Nietzsche's missing. Was it a matter of great minds think alike? Did my psychic dissing of them affect them? And this is the point with the internet - you can change your mind just like that. History disappears before it's been made.
3) That Love beats all other quotation references hands down in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations including God, Life, Death, Art and Dog.

Love Begets love. (C17 proverb) That's more like it.

The Making of Love - Part 2

Philosophy, the 'Love of Knowledge' - as Phil means Love as we all know - has been dominated by men all these years. Consequently the one area where women share an equal platform with men, if not dominate - the Making of *Love*, not only are women completely excluded but the concept of *Love* itself is absent.

I have four Dictionaries of Philosophy from different publishers (Blackwell, Macmillan, Penguin and Oxford). Love isn't in any of these apart from the Oxford. But a pathetically small entry, where even 'gnosticism' is longer (a second century belief which died two centuries later).

And the definition is very negative too '...love has been thought of as reducible either to the sex drive...or to a struggle for power'.

I have two dictionaries of psychology, which coincidentally are the same publisher (Penguin). The earlier one (pub 95) was left by a disturbed Richard Dawkins fan who tried to burn me alive, which thank the Lord I survived, and am here to be able to not only tell the tale but compare the two dictionaries. And again, the Editor did not agree with me in that Love is an ideal to be aspired to. In fact, Psychologists like Philosophers seem to think that this important aspect to our lives has nothing to do with them:
'Psychologists would have been wise to have abdicated responsibility for this term and left to poets.'

But most interestingly, the change in definition from 95-2001 is in the last paragraph of their definition of Love 'Is Love merely an emotive state that results from particular neurochemical actions, and by implication, crassly manipulable?'

Feeling more depressed, I turned my attention to Wikipedia and managed to get the photo above.
Make Love not War.

The Making of Love

One of my favourite books is 'The Making of the English Working Class'. For about ten years I've been thinking about 'The Making of Love' but people including most people have said to me 'But you don't know what you're on about. You know Jack-shit. You need to have studied feminism/cultural studies/music/classics/English Lit/poetry/Biology to do something like that. Anyway no-one will buy it.'


And Now. Five years Later. I don't care. I'm just going to do it. Write a post-modern social history of love. What's the difference between care and love?

It's a Long Way to the Top if you wanna Rock and Roll.

Buckets of Love

Many times have I tried to make this blog exciting/interesting but without the help of Stephen Hawkings/Bill Gates it is nigh on impossible/improbable.

I have two sound tracks which have been made possible by my betrothed; Tattontastic Uplifting and Tattontastic All time Classics. Anyway to cut a long story short, didn't Kylie look attractive tonight?

If I was IT literate I would have a thousand, nay a trillion photos of the most important things to me on here. Hampton Palace Garden Show from last weekend. Not to mention the soundtracks I am on about. And the work of art that one could refer to as my bedroom mirror.

Here's Tattontastic All time Classics to those of you not invited to the wedding:

Honey Pie 9 of 13 2 of 2 2:41 The Beatles The Beatles (White Album) [Disc 2] Rock 6 16/07/2006 23:23
I Was Made To Love Her 10 of 19 1 of 2 2:37 Stevie Wonder The Definitive Collection [Disc 1] R&B 6 16/07/2006 23:25
(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone 7 of 29 1 of 1 2:20 The Monkees The Definitive Monkees Pop 5 18/06/2006 14:06
Soul Stripper 4 of 5 1 of 1 6:25 AC/DC '74 Jailbreak Rock 7 18/06/2006 14:13
Everything's Not Lost 10 of 10 1 of 1 7:15 Coldplay Parachutes Alternative & Punk 3 18/06/2006 14:20
It's A Long Way To The Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll) 1 of 9 1 of 1 5:15 AC/DC High Voltage Rock 3 18/06/2006 14:26
Rock 'n' Roll Singer 2 of 9 1 of 1 5:03 AC/DC High Voltage Rock 5 18/06/2006 14:31


Not a woman amongst them. But were they writing about women? I dost think.

Here's Tattontastic Uplifting to those of you invited to the wedding and still in the real world:

Put Your Records On 3 of 11 1 of 1 3:35 Corinne Bailey Rae Corinne Bailey Rae R&B 60 16/07/2006 12:31
Love Me Do 8 of 14 1 of 1 2:22 The Beatles Please Please Me Rock 16 16/07/2006 12:34
Dirty Woman 8 of 8 1 of 1 7:09 Black Sabbath Technical Ecstasy Metal 14 16/07/2006 12:41
Dancing Shoes 4 of 13 1 of 1 2:21 Arctic Monkeys Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not Alternative & Punk 152 16/07/2006 12:43
I'm A Believer 5 of 29 1 of 1 2:45 The Monkees The Definitive Monkees Pop 14 16/07/2006 12:46
As 8 of 19 1 of 2 3:29 Stevie Wonder The Definitive Collection [Disc 1] R&B 12 16/07/2006 12:49
Billie Jean 6 of 21 1 of 1 4:53 Michael Jackson Thriller Pop 17 16/07/2006 12:54

Ignorance is Bliss

Unfortunately the stark figures were presented to me yesterday, which 24/7 meditation can't do nowt about. There is, as we all know, no cure for cancer. On the other hand, Breast Cancer is the best one you can get. In ten years time I have an 80% chance of still being alive. Which is quite good. In fact very good. If I got exam results like that I'd be pretty damn pleased. But this statistic increases to 90% if I take all the poisons which are currently on offer - chemo, hormonal, and radio. I'm effectively poisoning myself for 8 months to give myself a 10% increased possibility of being alive in 10 years time. My chances of dying from something else in the next ten years are not quite 1%.

The problem with not doing anything now (which bearing in mind I haven't yet been made redundant and so am currently enjoying six months paid sick leave) is that microscopic bits of the tumour could have gone to my lung, liver, blood, bones or (possibly worst) brain, which is virtually impossible to detect until that's killing you anyway.

Thinking 'Knowledge is Power' yesterday morning I 'tooled myself up' by reading what could be quite frankly out of date material. One of the stories was a woman (older than me of course) who had a very similar tale to mine - 20mm lump but aggressive grade, who had a lumpectomy like me. Anyway a few years down the line (after she had a horrendous time with chemo) she died anyway after it went to her brain.

But could the chemo have prolonged her life by a year? Who knows? Was it her silly husband's fault who went off with another man which can't have helped?

How long does it take to write a poem?

The fact is Shakespeare was a Time Lord, perhaps even Einstein, who went back in time from about 2132 to whenever he was born and wrote his poems and stuff then. There's no way round it.

All the poetry experts I know - Blaglady, Mum, Dad, E, Roy Fisher and M all say they take a lot of 'work'. You write it, then get ashamed of the content, then rewrite it.

AS you can see from the evidence below, the only way you can write a good poem is to spend a lot of time on it. Not 10 seconds. I rest my case.

Here's another one:

There was a young lady called Tatton
Who wasn't a very big fat 'un
They said stop writing poems
She said I'm flow'in
And then she went along almost totally forgotten

That took two minutes

Blagging some poetry lessons

Poirot has a very nice voice
But not really my first ever choice
When the World Cup is on
We like to have fun
And not let the Italians or Belgians win the toss

9pm - Relatively Good News

The malignant lump was 18mm with a 2mm margin and basically it hasn't spread - not spread to the lymph nodes or anywhere else from what I can gather. So to all intents and purposes we've got rid of it. However, it was more aggressive than they thought - Grade 3 rather than Grade 2 so they may try and persuade me to have Chemo and go on Tamoxifen. That will be to get rid of any microscopic bits possibly still left in my blood, bones, kidneys, lungs etc.

We don't have to make any decisions until we've seen Dr S (another female consultant - this time oncologist) which will be in a couple of weeks. Because of my youth it is likely that they'll try and persuade me to go for the whole caboodol [need help with spelling on that one]. We've tried telling them that fertility/womanhood is a big issue (not only does Chemo make you infertile and lose your hair but Tamoxifen makes you put on weight and get hair where you don't want it) but they're concerned about recurrence and other such horrible issues.

Anyway we went and had a celebratory drink of some rather fine Belgian beer at the lovely pub where my betrothed has decided he wants to hold his 30th birthday in a couple of months.

I had a nice chat with one of my GPs, Dr H, trying to get yet another sick note out of them. She said what Hewitt was doing was (her words) a 'f***ing disaster'. She gave me one for a month which is much better, than the ten days odd which I have been getting. I was going to give them a speech about suffragettes and Tolpuddle martyrs but didn't have to.

It turns out that 3 of my friends are doing the 'Race for Life' this weekend (G, P and J)- all I think with my name on their backs. Excellent - I'll try and get photos up on the blog.

11.33am: Corridor, Homerton Hospital

Sitting in Homerton Hospital, waiting for Miss C my consultant surgeon to see me again. My appointment was 40 minutes ago. But there are still 3 people in front of me.

Just seen Barbara Roche - the ex- home office Minister. What the hell is she doing here? Presumably she doesn't represent anyone in Hackney. It must be a friend or relative. She's very smartly dressed and doesn't look like she's got cancer. Anyway she's trying to push in.

Typical. For a year now I've been trying to tell the right wing of the Labour Party what a mess Blair and Hewitt are making of the NHS.

Then I get breast cancer and one of their clan tries to push in front of me in the queue.

I'm also making a list of things to complain about with regards to the Hommer (as me and Phil like to call it). It is a very good hospital, but if you spend long enough in here then you can do this.

They've got this lovely outpatients waiting area - natural light, good ventilation, spacious and Rennie-Macintosh-esque artwork all around so you don't feel like you're contracting MRSA every five seconds. You register there. But then, 2 seconds later they call you into an unventilated, artificially lit, 200 degree temperature corridor. Where the only seats are opposite the toilets. There they keep you waiting for 2 hours. There is no need because the nice bit is just round the corner.

Oppressive is an understatement.

Me and Phil had a row about it. He didn't want to move away from the toilet seats when some others, still on the corridor but further down away from the toilets came free. I moved - alone. Ha, I thought. I am independent. About a minute passed and he came to sit next to me. I gave him a rewarding kiss.

Now directly opposite me, rather than watch people grapple with the locking system of the hospital toilet door and hear various suspicious splashing sounds there are 'Poems for the Waiting Room'. BUt - on an A4 piece of paper, 3 yards away too small for me to read.

Yes, I could stand up and go and read them. In fact, I've just strained my neck. What would Madeline, our Alexander Technique tutor think of that I wonder?

Put the champagne on ice - Profile views have hit 200

But they were that yesterday so I'm getting bored with counting them. They seem to be more reliable that the number of hits to the blog, which seem to go up by 10 every day; me going back to the thing.

Richard Bacon on Capital Radio Drive Time is a comedy genius. I'm sure he must know he does it, but he is so Alan Partridge that it's utter hilarity. He just asked people to text in the swearword he was thinking of, saying it was a long one.

I tried to ring Capital to make a dedication to Paula at work who's doing the 'Race for Life' for Breast Cancer on Sunday and she's going to wear my name which I'm chuffed about.

Lost broadband again so may as well go back to carrier pigeon. I think I've learnt how to do photos but haven't got the computer capacity.

One thing I did manage to do earlier when I had broadband was to do a 'wish list' on Amazon. It's a bit like retail therapy, but without spending any. You can pretend you're getting the entire back catalogue of Blackadder, but instead play with the kittens when it doesn't turn up - but at least you've got quite a reliable list of what you do want. I tried looking for 'Embroidered Birds' for the wedding dress. The only thing Amazon could come up with, which I thought was a bit rubbish quite frankly was a woman's book - but she only had birds sitting in it. Sitting? I mean come on - what about birds FLYING? I've been thinking all day that perhaps that's what I should do - go and do a degree in Art.

Anyway, tomorrow is the appointment where we find out what further treatment I need to have. Fingers crossed, touch wood etc etc.

Actually managed to read most of the Observer from Sunday today which was quite good. It's not as bad as I thought it was. They had a whole pull out on Africa, which actually had some input from Africans rather than normal claptrap from Westerners.

Also made some delicious celery soup and roasted veg stock. Got more fruit than Pete Beale. All delivered from the lovley Ocado people. Yes, you may have to remortgage to get a weekly shop. But they deliver it to your kitchen. And you don't have to further inflate Dame Shirley Porter's coffers.

How to ruin your finances in one afternoon

The problem with not practising what you preach is that you end up looking like an idiot.

My first jaunt out alone, further than 200 yards, in two weeks had to have its rewards after the hell that precipitated its outcome (a bus journey of 15 minutes to Islington). So I have spent basically a week's wages in half an hour, without getting the main thing I wanted as I was so tired after getting the things I hadn't gone out for.

I have bought 6 tickets to Love Box Weekender in Victoria Park on 23rd July (cost £227)
Then I bought Groove Armada's Greatest Hits - £16
Tracey Emin's film - £25
Dancing in the Rain - £7
Sideways - £7
A present for Phil - £6
Two dresses which I can actually wear (at the moment too sore to put stuff over head) - £36
Dr Hessayon's Rose Expert - £7

I didn't get the designer swallows (for wedding shoe inspiration) from Aria, a designer shop in Islington.

What I normally do when I spend too much money is take it back. But I'm not going to do that this time. I'm going to enjoy everything.

The reason for the high expenditure on the Groove Armada stuff is that I'm thinking about what we want for our first song - for the band. I'm hoping to corrupt their (Haggis Horns) soulful minds into a bit more heavy duty infiltration.

You see Tom, the lead guy of Groove Armada won Young Musician of the Year (playing the trombone) and so did Malcolm (Trombone player in Haggis Horns) and so did Gareth (Hopefully doing flute at the wedding). So you see - gotta chill, take it easy, superstyle, keep me going strong, feel good, little by little.

See you baby

Financial Management

I know when I first starting doing this blog there were going to be tutorials about how to manage your finances

1) Join the local library
2) Borrow an Alvin Hall book and Read it. Preferably on a Friday or Saturday night.
3) Start monitoring your daily expenditure - eg get a diary and write in in exactly how much you've spent on a day.
4) Start analysing your expenditure. EG you spend 50% on books. 50% on food (this is an example from me, so books is an area you know you can cut down)
5) Stop spending so much on your 'weak areas'.
6) Increase your income; in my case become a Union steward and make sure the idiots in charge sufficiently financially renumerate you for the hell that is known as Work. In P's case do a load of locums.
7) Have financial meetings with yourself (and when you get a partner them); And this is VERY important: ON A FRIDAY NIGHT for an hour. If you do it on a Friday (the financial meeting) then this discourages you from spending any money at the weekend
8) Transfer all your debts to 0% credit cards
9) Pay off your debts with all the money you're saving from not spending on books
10) Go on a walk and meditate.

Who's independent?

It's been raining and I nearly got a photo of some lightning but, being slightly slower than the speed of light, just missed it. Instead got a photo of Marmite washing herself as she got wet in the rain. Anyway, because of my useless IT skills combined with Fabrice (our nice French neighbour who we 'borrow' broadband from) switching his broadband off or whatever he does when it switches off, the IT capacity of this computer is now equivalent to my chances of becoming the next Jordan. So yet again I cannot post the photo on the blog or put the correct damn time up.

But really enjoying watching films. I persuaded Phil to record 'The Low Down' which is my favourite film - the only film I've seen more than 3 times. It's set in Dalston, (where I used to live) and it's about a guy in his twenties who works in an Animation production company (which I used to do)generally having a good time mooching around doing not much at all (which I still do). It's set in present time (the late nineties, it's about 7 years old). I love it. It celebrates art - really enjoying every minutae of detail and it's like 'Lost in Translation', in that it's reflective but I think it's about a million times better as it's not racist. There's really poignant bits as it's before September 11th (9/11) as the guy meets a girl who says 'When I see plane go by above I always think of holidays' and he says 'I always think of it crashing'. The very last shot is of a plane going over - it probably was one of the last films I saw before September 11th. My only complaint is - why did the main character have to be a guy? Also they could have had some positive portrayals of black characters - the only black people are the druggies.

Phil got bored with it though. He prefers 'Herbie goes on Tour' etc; I'm trying to educate him when it comes to films. 'It's Art darling' is what I say.

Then watched Thelma and Louise which GG had bought me as a present. And I remembered why it's not my favourite film. One word. Violence. I had to fast forward the violent bits. Yes, Brad Pitt is fit, but let's face it who wasn't in 1992? Feminism isn't about nicking all the nasty bits from men, it's about persuading them to engage in the lovelier aspects of femininity too - love, compassion, communication and sensitivity. So, I am glad I've got the film, but it's not my favourite.

Then, because darling was working I actually watched a TV film. 'Ghosts of Mississipi' on BBC 1. And I thought it was great. I'm not normally a fan of court room dramas - America is so dependent on her lawyers, she's forgotten community and humanity. But Alex Baldwin was this nice lawyer (I know, hard to believe) fighting for a black man shot dead by a racist thug in the 60s. He wins. I would say that the 'n' word is more of a swear word here than the 'c' word, but the way they were showing it over there, it's like people are allowed to say it on TV. Also, even the 'liberal' white middle class people don't have black friends. There is no integration. It just makes me thank God I don't live over there.

Childish

This is very childish

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia_talk:NPOV_tutorial

But please. Come on. If Wayne Rooney can essentially slap someone else in the quarter final of the World Cup and get away with it, then I can tell Wikipedia to F OFF.

5 or 6 entries on one 'day'

For those of you who can actually count - it looks like being at the moment which counts as the same day as yesterday at the moment - 5 full entries on one day. That's a Guinness world record for the amount of blog entries by myself on one 'day' (if it's allowed) over a twenty four hour period. If you can work out my address (clue - I'm on the electoral roll) and send me a Get Well Soon Card, I'll send you a signed postcard of Stoke Newington cf 2005.

Norris McWhirter

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norris_McWhirter

Still don't know how to work the internet. But Norris McWhirter was a waste of space. But on a more serious note, I think I have broken my own world record for the amount ogf entries on my site on one 'day'.

Love to all

I don't care what time it is

Like another heroine of mine [Joella] suddenly it dawns on me I don't care what time it is. Phil has left his blackberry here, the only person who could possibly calculate the correct (and I MEAN correct) time is some astrophysicist/TimeLord/Goddess/parent and would it matter anyway?

And then I start thinking about the other Y axisses (or is it Axes?). Truth, Love, Faith, Hope. How on earth would they measure them? And what about enjoyment? Light of course should be on the Y axis, but then without Time what the hell does it matter? Then you have matter itself. And then the Blackberry rings; it is Kingston. Phil has left his bleep in theatre. I suggest they try the Doctors' Mess.

Blog Time - PLease God help me

I am writing this at 1.47am yet the stupid blog says whatever it says. The only reason I did the last blog was that it would be the second one for July and according to this American bloody rubbish it is the same day. Somebody please help.

Parental Censorship : PC

Both parents, despite missing my campaign of about 12 months ago to get comments on my blog, are now the most frequent commentators. Better than both John Motson or Mark Lawrenson.

But, a bit like fascism, they work in mysterious ways. Rather than post a comment as say 'Anna's Mum' or 'Anna's Dad' they use supposedly obscure pseudonyms, or even, (so very 1980s) ring me up in person and say that 'using the word scum is using the same language as the BNP'. And I think to myself 'Are they advocates of freedom of speech or do they mean to suppress it?'. And a bit like George Orwell, I am caught, between the two (or three in my case) should I go with them - and delete a bit of history? Or go with my gut instinct and delete slightly less history at a later point?

I met a self-confessed fascist tonight. I was shocked, that in 2006 with gay rights etc in London this could happen, but yes it did. He said "If anyone laid a finger on my Sinead I would kill them, wouldn't you try and kill someone who tried to kill your partner?' I said 'No of course not, I'm a pacifist. Every human life has value and it's terrible that you think this way. It's wrong. I would never hurt a human being'. Simon, the true anarchist, with a shaved head and no job said 'Well yes, I would and if it was the state doing it I would disagree with you and say no the State cannot intervene'. And socialism appeals again. We don't let people get away with murder. That's what happened in the Spanish Civil War. The fascists won because the pacifists wouldn't side with the anarchists. But who's who? I was asking myself as I downed some more anaestically pleasing alcohol.

Engagement Bliss

Spoke to one of the last people - my beautiful, face of an angel friend Allison from Middlesborough - about the bad news last night. She was shocked and upset, but I said that we were planning to come up and visit in between my radiotherapy sessions in the summer, some time in August, when also visiting Jenny and Derek, surrogate parents in York.

But I do feel absolutely marvellous (apart from some pain). Had the best evening ever with Phil on Tuesday, if married life is even 20% as good as that I'll be happy. Utterly spoilt. Never had so much chocolate in the house ever. It's all Green and Black too apart from some incredibly expensive French stuff from our gay French neighbour, Fabrice. Had a full house of about five guests on Wednesday night when my brother Joe came down from Leeds. Phil was working and GG from work came over. My best mate Paolo from Italy had also popped round and helped with some odd jobs like putting the washing out. We all sat outside drinking some rather excellent red wine. Malcolm, a musician mate of Joe's also turned up and we were playing Neil Young with Paolo saying 'I used to listen to this twenty years ago and not understand the words', and other such intellectual, fascinating nuggets. He got talking to GG which was quite good as both can talk for England/Italy so keeping them both going together was quite a neat trick. One of my ambitions is to write a character profile of Paolo. He is so funny that he needs to be written about he is so uniquely boring, predictable yet hilarious, Italian, beautiful-life-esque as to be unbelieveable and some of the scrapes we've got up to need documenting. You can tell Malcolm and Joe are also getting slightly more successful as they spent the entire evening shouting on their mobile phones trying to get bass players to different gigs. Malcolm was saying that he was fed up of World tours as they are 'boring'. Both Joe and Malcolm are currently riding on the back of the successful Corrine Bailey Rae, claiming that 'pop' is dead simultaneously.

The ideal thing about writing a character assasination of Paolo is 1) He is IT illiterate 2) He knows I don't mean it 3) It won't ruin my career 4) It will be funny yet correct

GG promised not to talk about work or the NHS until I return to work and instead got me a lovely card, more chocolate, a Philip Pullman book (socialist) plus Thelma and Louise DVD. I asked her for funny photos of staffside/unison people to put in my Rainy Day box. That's the thing about socialists - they need their sense of humour injection from the anarchists.

Then on Thursday we went to Cambridge to visit the beautiful baby Zia, daughter of our best man Joel and his wife Zoe. She is only six weeks old and virtually (although possibly not quite) as pampered as I am at the moment. I gave Joel a hard time saying that the one thing people remember about a wedding is whether the best man's speech is funny or not. He said he wasn't a stand up comedian. I said he'd better start practising. Phil is more concerned about the stag do. Phil was very dismissive of the present I had got Zia - a folio society hard back edition of 'Anne of Green Gables' with an introduction by Margaret Atwood. But it went down a storm, as of course it was Mummy's favourite book (which she had disclosed whilst pregnant, admitting crying whilst watching the video). The other link which I hadn't realised is the Canadian link (LM Montgomery Canadian and Zoe spent some years there) so it was even better and something that can be kept for generations. We ended up spending the night in Cambridge - in the wonderful camper-van which is still code-word for Anna&Phil special time 'Camper-van time' as we had such an amazing holiday in J&Z's campervan a year ago.

Four days after breast cancer surgery

I'm still reading Alan Clark's diaries while Phil is mastering Level Five of Grand Theft Auto. Was in a bit more pain this morning and have necked a couple of mega drugs which are now reserved for real pain following my codeine overdose on Sunday.

Anyway the trick with Alan Clark is - first his dialogue is very good. Also he assasinates his characters and shows his own hypocrisies; whilst Employment Minsister in the depths of the highest unemployement figures in the early eigthies he challenges the unemployed saying there isn't enough demand in the economy then says he's lucky they don't know how much him and Nicholas Soames spend on a night's meal out. He desperately wants to work at the MOD which he eventually does. I desperately want to see Ken Livingstone as Prime Minister which I probably won't.

It's interesting comparing his diaries say, compared to WF Deedes memoirs (the Editor of the Telegraph). I read these when we went to Spain last year to stay in Auntie Shirley's flat. (Uncle Derrick is a Tory, well probably New Labour now, God knows, but he had Deedes memoirs). This Deedes guy was apparently happily married with three kids, AND HE NEVER MENTIONED THEM. It put me off him, and journalism. Alan Clark very fondly talks about his wife, which although I'm sure he was racist sexist scum, somehow makes him more endearing. There are a couple of nice photos of her in the book.

The problem with following Alan Clark's example of putting some decent dialogue on this blog, is that in my case there is very little going on.
It's things like Phil saying 'The reason you're so stiff is because you haven't done your exercises... Can I just finish this stage darling? ... [And when I do my exercises] 'Well done, That's so much better than yesterday'.

Clark's hatred of his job certainly puts me off rushing back to work in a hurry. The thing that Alan Clark will be best remembered for are his funny, entertaining and quite frankly historical diaries. He takes the piss out of people like Tom King. Like him I'd rather be remembered for something like that than sorting out car parking for health centres in Hackney, or in his case putting a report through the committee stage. But can my blog live up to his diaries? In my case I'm deliberately trying to be polite about people in case they sue me, or worse stop speaking to me. Also I don't know the people I hate like he does so can't comment about them properly (eg Patricia Hewitt).

The upper class is a funny old phenomenon, mutating to firmly establish itself as still in control. They're probably more popular now than when Clark was in office. (Take Prince Charles or David Cameron).

Now I'm about to marry Phil, AND I've attended the Fulham Breast Cancer Haven place I'm practically one of them already so I'd better shut up. Only joking, there is no doubt that I am middle class. You do have to be born into upper class, but then look at Kate Middleton...

Day 23 of Breast Cancer

I'm back at home and it is absolutely marvellous! The sun is shining on my resplendant golden showers roses plus the chamomile. Mum is cooking a massive brunch for me and Dad who is due any second. I can just about type and am in minimal pain - despite having had an operation on Thursday!

I was the first on the list which was great as it meant no waiting and the team were fresh. I was up and about in no time at all and the breast is hardly different. They have done a neat cut around the nipple which will hardly show, so fingers crossed (and everything else) that the damn thing hasn't spread. We find out the results a week on Friday.

I tried reading Miss Marple in hospital, but found it too saccarhin, instead turned to 'How to Enjoy your operation' a humour book from 1963 which I quite enjoyed. Now I'm reading Alan Clark's diaries which is very good indeed. Can't put it down. Except I hate his racist sexist self. He reminds me of me though - hates his job and would prefer to be out in the countryside, or in my case the garden.

Phil was wonderful, although we both had a little cry when I had to go to have an Xray and I was fussing about my photos when he got back. He had just been saying how terrible it would be if I had Lung cancer. Of course that hasn't been ruled out yet. He went on a little walk and then we were ok. Mum was there too and I was so delighted with how well I felt than I rang everyone in my address book.

Breast Cancer – Week Three

A matter of hours before I go in for the op and I’m at the computer (but brilliantly for the first time this week!). Am doing all the right things – just got back from the Alexander Technique – a double session for us both to get us nice and relaxed.

Have created a ‘rainy day box’ the size of a small house, and deciding on reading material. Also – and this is terrible, it’s taken me to get breast cancer for work to decide they need a car park attendant! But I did smile when I saw him as I was delivering my sick note on Monday.

Had lovely cards from people and still getting excited about the wedding. Hollinsclough School has agreed for us to use their field for a marquee. Doing meditation like it’s going out of business, including a session at the London Buddhist Centre ‘ Let me be well, Let me be happy, Let me be free from suffering, Let me learn, grow and develop’; my new mantra.

Saw my lovely friend Anni and her three kids yesterday – Nina and the two twins Jamie and Alexander. They are all absolutely gorgeous. Tried on my wedding shoes yesterday. Going to have a bird theme – on the shoes anyway, I’m thinking two swallows and then a dove as a decoration for the dress. The EPP gang have got me some beautiful flowers. Phil is building some garden furniture.

And the Druids (plus friends) are dancing for me – at Stone Henge!

Week Two of Breast Cancer

Since I got my diagnosis so far it hasn't rained. In fact it's beautiful and I've asked Connie (our cleaner) to water the plants in pots today. But yet again I'm indoors, at a computer updating my blog. But there is a lovely water feature in the Fulham Haven (where I am exploiting their facilities at the moment) and I've been here all day.

It's an old church with a beautiful stained glass window someone gave. The Haven itself was set up by a rich woman as she decided her nanny wasn't getting enough support on the NHS. It's only ten years old and it's great.

I've been keeping incredibly upbeat - probably the least depressed I've been in the last six years. Amazing how if your life suddenly may be in danger you actually start to appreciate it. The room we had our meditation and relaxation sessions in was the same temperature as a glass oven, but even so I went back there early from lunch as the other 'contestants' (I do feel like I'm on some bizarre game show where we all want each other to survive) starting comparing notes on chemotherapy which didn't sound like the summery picnic I'm enjoying at the moment. They're thrusting a healthy diet on us like there's no tomorrow, but at the moment I'm fattening myself up for surgery. For lunch we had rice salad followed by some stange stuff they claimed was cake with strawberries. Dairy and soya are no-nos.

I feel like a world expert on meditation after just one week, people were scribbling down the book I'm using (John Hudson - Meditation). Mum's best friend Elspeth said it the cancer couldn't have happened at a worse time, but I think it couldn't have happened at a better time. It's early summer for a start, I had learnt meditation already, I'm an Expert Patient volunteer tutor, just got engaged, my fiancee is a surgeon of all things and Work is actually Hell itself.

The methodists are praying for me, the Catholics are asking for my forgiveness, the Jews are gesticulating (or whatever they do) the Church of England are letting me go round their graveyards, The Baptists are also praying for me and the Seventh Day adventists. The Muslims are praying for peace on my behalf. The Atheists are getting angry and the agnostics are asking a load of questions. I'm trying everything. No stone will be unturned (literally - I was on my tummy getting stones out of Mum's stream in the garden for my new engagement/recouperation water feature present). Surgery a week on Thursday (22nd June).

Love to all

Breast Cancer: Day Four – The Story so Far

Having suffered from serious depression/anxiety [God knows - in fact He probably thinks it was cannabis psychosis] when splitting up with my ex-boyfriend (Mick) about four years ago, this is a totally different kettle of fish. I remember when my first boyfriend (Steve) and his sister (Ang) were told they needed to have their wisdom teeth out. This is more like that; they went in perfectly fine and came out looking like the Hunch Back of Notre Dame. In my case it’ll be more like the Saggy Tit of Stoke Newington. To be honest, if you can’t laugh about it, then you may as well cry, which I don’t find at all useful. And that really is the hilarious thing. I seem to have spent virtually my entire life looking for some reason or another to wallow in self pity, and then the reason finally comes along and it’s the last bloody thing you want to do.

I’m really appreciating even my step brother’s kids. And my step brother/s. And Buxton Pavillion Gardens. The list is endless, but I will continue; B&Q, the Today Programme (now I’ve got Cancer when it annoys me Phil allows me to switch to Capital), the sunshine, the rain, Homerton Hospital.

Meditation is coming into its own: I’m going to dump my membership of the Folio Society (need self help books instead and now I’ve got a legitimate reason), Take the £50 worth of History books I bought from Waterstones on Wednesday back. I’m going to Hypnotherapy tomorrow. Phil is going to manage my pain. I’m going to use every trick in the book to manage fatigue. And I get six months off work. I’ve already done a list of my 100 guests to the evening do of the wedding and got all sorts of people investigating wedding things (Steve’s Dad for example – see above for genetic teeth information).

The most tiring thing so far is telling people. Of course because I had such wonderful news (engagement) two weeks ago, people are still sending me congratulations cards. I’m having to go round them one by one and say ‘Ive got a bit of bad news. I’ve got breast cancer, diagnosed on Friday’.

Slight pause. Then they normally say ‘Oh My God’, Oh Goodness Me (Catholic response) ‘What?’ (Sound of car crashing/screeching to a halt) ‘No’ ‘I can’t believe it’ (very common and this is the sort of response I would give) ‘I don’t know what to say’.

Then I take on a sort of Doctor-ish authorative air, putting them at their ease. Saying ‘Well It’s a grade 2 lump, Two centimetres, I will have to have surgery and radiotherapy, and it’ll be taken out a week on Thursday, but we find out the test results from today on Friday which determines the extent of surgery and whether I have to have chemo or not so I’ll ring you back then’.

Then there’s another five minutes of them saying ‘I can’t believe it’ sound of sobbing, croaky voice, complaints of hangover/just coming of shower which explains their shakiness etc etc. 95% of the time they say ‘Well you’ve caught it early’ which they assume they have because I’m only 32. Then I say ‘Well actually it’s not that early because the earliest to catch the lumps are by mammogram which aren’t routinely done on anyone our age as it’s considered too risky. It would be Grade One if I got it on a mammogram and it’s grade Two’.

Then we have a little chat about the wedding. Definitely Hollinsclough Chapel. A few jokes about this and that. Then, because I’ve told them some horrific news, they start revealing theirs. But I actually quite like that. Mine is worse and at the moment I can talk about it as though I’m talking about what to do about the greenfly problem on my climbing rose.

Phil keeps on saying ‘It’s so unfair’. But I think it’s fine. I wouldn’t wish illness or suffering on my worst enemy (don’t think they exist anyway) but there couldn’t be a better prepared patient. In fact Phil said ‘You’ve just been waiting for a disease and now it’s happened’ which I thought was slightly unfair, but I’m (almost) an accredited tutor on the Expert Patient Programme, got heaps of experience of Health care and Phil is now my fiancee. He is suggesting that if there is a worse case scenario (get given 18 months to live next week) that we bring the wedding forward – ie to next month. I think having a wedding to look forward to might help me get better.

If I could just get more people involved in ‘Keep our NHS Public’ then my mind would be at rest…

Breast Cancer

Unfortunately I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer on Friday. Apologies to anyone who knows me that I haven't managed to ring to let them know, but you know now!

I don't really know where to start on this one, except to predict that I don't think this is the end of the blogging as I predicted in my last entry. Mum tried to be helpful by giving me a book called 'Writing your Way through Cancer' which I'm sure is a great book. My next entry will be 'Politicising your Way through Cancer'. I'm using the Cancer as an reason to try and get everyone else doing all the political stuff I was doing, instead of which I'm doing a tour of family and friends trying to look optimistic before I get really ill. Having the segmentegtomy or whatever it's called a week on Thursday.

Dad already thought the blog was self indulgent, but he ain't seen nothing yet.

A time to search on the internet and a time to give up

Because both wedding planning and saving the NHS are such labour intensive activities, unfortunately the blogging is the first thing to go. Of course the best day of your life needs planning in the most minutest of details (eg date stamping your shoes, different perfumes in the toilets). Losing your job could be arguably one of the worst things to happen too, so that also takes a hell of a lot more work to be quite honest, to try to avoid, not just for me but the other hundred or so who I'm helping to represent.

Hollinsclough Chapel may necessitate a Sacred Text. My knowledge of the Bible (increasing on an hourly basis, thank the Lord) is limited to my recently purchased 3.99 'Wedding Readings' book. Fortunately my beloved already knew one off by heart (Catholic/Boarding School/Choir Boy/Scout/Army etc upbringing) which doesn't mention His Name, so united as committed atheist/agnostic, we may go with that: Paul's letter to the Corinthians, apparently common as Sacred Muck, but still the best.

Better than 'Wives submit to your husbands' or 'The greatest commandment'.

TOTAL MORGANISATION AND IT IS ABSOLUTELY AWESOME!

I can hardly contain myself I am so happy and excited. Yes, we are now engaged to be married. It is wonderful! It was our year anniversary at the weekend and I had always said to Phil that anniversaries are more important than, say, Valentines Day as it is a unique day for us. So we had always said we’d do something special, but I didn’t expect that special! It was a complete surprise, as he had been totally throwing me off the scent. Only a few weeks ago he was saying, he wasn’t ready for the commitment of engagement and two years of going out was the right time for him to propose. I think I actually asked him what he’d say if I’d propose and I think he said he wouldn’t like it as that’s his job. He’s quite traditional and romantic like that. But, as he’s a terrible liar he had told me he’d got me an expensive present, so I was quite excited anyway. I’d roped in people at work to help me guess what it was, telling them that it wasn’t an engagement ring as he had said he didn’t want to get engaged. So based on his clues (could fit it in a skip, it was ‘heartfelt’, and I might not like the package) the best guess was a rowing machine. They also came up with a waterbed and a Nile cruise. The reality was much, much more amazing! Not only a propsal of marriage from the person I'm incredibly in love with, but the most bling diamond solitaire you could find – a carat with a hexagonal setting on a platinum band. Absolutely gorgeous. And I have a certificate which shows the pattern of the cuts – which is beautiful in itself. He went down on one knee at ‘Mr UnderHill’s’ in Ludlow, where we’d gone on a gastro-camping extravaganza, after I presented him with some significantly cheaper Art Nouveau gold plated cufflinks. I suppose the correct thing to do is cry, but I couldn’t stop laughing I was so happy! It was the happiest day of my life (so far) as I’m hoping my wedding day will beat it, not to mention taking my children home for the first time! Of course, I said of course straightaway. He is the most wonderful person in the world and I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Thanks Gorgeous and I love you very much!

Tattontastic Morganisation! xxx

Significant presence

I had managed to stop counting my blessings for the past three days as I was still buzzing from visiting the Houses of Parliament. It was so amazing – a feeling of togetherness, unity, ‘solidarity’ (mentioned three times on their platform!) with the nurses. Then we went to the lobby, a wonderful historic room with glistening stained glass windows with seven gothic passageways off the beautifully tiled central area, with us lobbyists sitting on lovely sofas waiting for our MPs. It is no wonder that the beautiful Noun begat the verb, ‘to lobby’. It was busy with nurses seeing their MPs, campaigning to save the NHS from all over the country (England that is). The lobby is very church-like, with mosaics of the four saints of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales in New Romantic style. Virtually as soon as the mosaics were finished, they must have been out of date I thought to myself, thinking about the Bloody Sunday protests of 1916. How much of history is interpreted correctly even if every word in the houses of parliament was documented? There were statues of the eighteenth and nineteenth prime ministers; no female subjects of course, apart from angels on the arms of the saints. The impact of women, apart from the nurses and angels was evident only from the damage a suffragette had done by chaining herself to one of the statue’s swords. But the very fact that I was sitting there, as John Reid, the new Home Secretary was being interviewed – the Health Secretary did not lose her job – gave me confidence. I am a part of history and not insignificant. My ‘leaders’ at work talk about ‘Change Management’. I create change – and in a good way.

"We will fight any compulsory redundancies tooth and nail"

Not the words of Hatton or Tatton, but Catton. Howard Catton, Head of Policy at the Royal College of Nursing yesterday afternoon. I couldn't believe my ears, then three other Nursing big wigs mentioned the word 'solidarity' on the platform. Perhaps my blog should be called 'Attontastic'.

How to become ridiculously peed-off in one evening

I wasn't really peed-off at the weekend, but one thing that was incredibly irritating was that Amazon rejected my brilliant review of 'How to become ridiculously well read in one evening'.

I wrote a limerick which Phil's brother and his mate contributed to (it was a team effort) and then, Amazon won't publish it! I don't know what the world's coming to.

Here it is:

I once read a book by E Parrott
It quaffed well like a good claret
T’was written in the eighties
And was a bit dated
But don’t agree with A Woollard, ‘e says it ain’t shit hot

I would put in the website address but still don't know how to.>IS this it?