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?

How to become ridculously well read in one evening

Despite time spent writing my blog, my hits have not gone up. Apparently there is some bloke with a bet who has seen his hits go from 100 to one million in about two days.

To cut a long story short, I don't give a shit. More to the point is my googlewhacking obsession. Until yesterday my whole family were world googlewhacks, then it turns out my brother has a namesake in Rotherham. But, and this is a big but, my favourite books are 'blooglewhacks'. Noone else seems to have read them.

'How to become ridiculously well-read in one evening' is an all time classic. It's a 1980s literature gem. It sums up classics so you don't have to read them. This also means it gives you brilliant ideas for stories.

Artonomics Part Deux

Had a wonderful evening last night with a darling girl, a friend of Phil’s who speaks like the Queen (especially when drunk) but who has a heart of gold. One of her birthday presents was a glossy photograph book by some rich idiot, who is essentially nicking all my ideas from this website and making a fortune from it. It was portrait photos of a load of actors who suggested a famous actor friend of theirs for the next photo (see my Coincidence or Fact entry from a while back).

About three years ago I went to a party in Stoke Newington, invited by my acquaintance S. I turn up; there’s about 20 people there including an acquaintance F. Did F know S? No. But both F and S knew me. Then an acquaintance I turns up. Did he know F or S? No, but I, F & S all had met me before, but had never met each other. Then C turns up, then K and then T, and this situation was repeated again, each time another person I knew turning up and then not knowing anyone else there apart from me. There were six people at the party, which was not organized by me (S, F, I, C, K and T) all who I knew, but who had never met each other before. By the time T turned up, I had to leave early as I was so freaked out by this improbable and mind boggling experience.

I drew a mind map when I got home as to how this had happened, but I’ve probably lost it now. Anyway I didn’t take any photos so it would be really difficult to display that artistically and it’s not much to do with economics.

But my new idea for artonomics is to have the 5 richest people in the world, contrasted with the 5 poorest people in the world. It probably wouldn’t be that difficult to find photos of the richest people in the world. But taking photos of the poorest people in the world would be a bit of a mission. I’ll ask my blogging heroine J about this.

Tatski - PR Watch 5

Tatton can ski - on blue runs!

Amazing! Had a brilliant time skiing with a load of Tories (and I mean it). Feel the most refreshed I have ever felt after coming back from holiday - it is all that exercise. Marvellous.

Also the Today programme plus the rest of the media is finally catching up with last year's news and they mentioned the NHS cuts today, plus their complaints man rang me to 'deal' with my complaint from two weeks ago. The NHS cuts were on the front page of the Guardian, the Mail and the Times, so my personal onslaught against them all is starting to pay off a bit.

In a good mood all round. Professor Pat Thane described my proposal for an MA as 'very good'. Chuffed.

Me and Phil have been dancing round to 'Billie Jean' substituting the last bit 'but the child is not my son', for 'but the NHS is not for sale'. That bit was my contribtuion, Phil rhymed some other bits saying something a bit rude about a lefty colleague of mine.

Then I went to 'Hackney's Health Hustings' which was like the Life of Brian meets Yes Prime Minister meets the Green Wing meets the Darling Buds of May meets City of God if you can imagine such a thing. Utter Hilarity. Monty Goldman, my hero and an absolute legend is standing as the Communist candidate in the election for Mayor and has this poster of himself looking like Che Guevara, which has gone straight up in our hall. The Tories (and I mean it) didn't turn up! Apparently the socialist unity party have nothing to do with the communists or unification socialists, who have nothing to do with the Socialist Workers Party (Respect) who are also having nothing to do with the new workers socialist party being set up by the socialist party. Brilliant!

Maundy Thursday

I'm not the world's religion expert, and I know I felt like God last week when I did that personality test and this week, having been dumped with the bastard child of all time, I feel like the mother of Jesus Christ. Slightly overweight, a bit of cellulite around the buttocks, quite miserable and not looking forward to the immediate future with any relish. OK, I may not have my own son's crucifixion to contend with (was the Vigin Mary still alive when he got crucified?)but I have got saving the NHS on my shoulders, which is a bloody great weight I can tell you.

Presumably on this day (which we know it wasn't, it was probably in July) approximately 1973 years ago the poor Virgin Mary was not looking forward to a skiing holiday next week. More to the point, rather than going on to be leader of the Christian faith or whatever he was, Jesus would have been treated for paranoid delusions in the NHS. So, I'm having a week off my heavenly duties and I will enjoy the pagan festivities whilst skiing down some hills and thank my lucky stars I wasn't around 2006 years ago, as just like now there's not much I could have done about it.

Artonomics

I'm always getting brilliant ideas for exhibitions and just generally for things, but rather than carry them out I do some gardening. My new brilliant idea is to combine Art and Economics - Artonomics. Basically to display economics visually. Or to inject economics with a bit of creativity.

I've been thinking about this for a couple of weeks and already had some excellent ideas for an exhibition:

1) Have ten portrait photos of the world's richest people, the same size, in their own environment.
2) Have a photo of a bank statement of someone who's very rich, or even a copy, or a fake.
3) Have a selection of photos of when the super-rich get paid, the reasonably well-off, the poor and the very poor; the same moment when they receive their largest income for that month.
4) Have ten sausages or ten crisp bags or ten CD cases with the ten most expensive works of art printed on them.
5) Have a supply and demand chart (price). It's called something but I can't remember what. Have the supply curve made out of ten pence pieces, and the demand curve made out of those penny chews shaped like lips. Then you could have a fake diamond as the price.
6) could have five photos of something someone poor does in a day, then 5 photos at the same time of what someone ok-off does, then someone super rich.
7) Capital displayed visually. Perhaps displayed in sculture form. You could form a queue outside the museum looking at the building itself, with a balance sheet drawn up by accountants, with a tour from architects explaining why it's worth so much. The blind could be given samples of the items and what they're made of to feel. Then you could have Karl Marx's book - in braile, on audio and someone summarising it on braille, with a lovely painting of a capital city in the background.

Nine billion pounds invested in the NHS

It was announced this morning on the Today programme that the cleaning up of the nuclear power industry would cost nine billion pounds more than expected. Me and Phil had a good old fashioned laugh about this this morning. He said we could get a gold plated Barts for that. I said we could get Sir Nigel Crisp mummified in a pyramid. Then it got really ridiculous and Phil said we could get John Cleese as the minute hand on Mohammad Al Fayed's clock. I said John Cleese wasn't anything to do with health.

Embracing your outer contradictions

Sorry to completely plagiarise J, but I will explain.

We went to visit Phil's cousin at the weekend (who I will try to keep anonmymous in case the Daily Mail get on to us - but you don't have to be a brain surgeon or even an upper GI trainee to work out who she is). Anyway she is the Princess (too young to be Queen) of blogging. She did a recent entry 'Embracing your inner contradictions' which was quite sweet. My contradictions are defintely outer. Whether that makes them easier to embrace or not I don't know. Sometimes I feel like smearing them on Tessa Jowell's nose. My contradictions also seem to reproduce and produce mutant cousins, which come round and whack you on the bottom when you're not expecting it.

Or are they whacking you with a fat bunch of fifty pound notes, which they then stuff down your greedy little neck?

To cut a long analogy of contradictions short, I had the worst interview since the classic Spud in Trainspotting scene of 1996.

It started badly, with the pleasant interviewer lady, who must have been a few years younger than me, saying 'You're from Leek', 'I'm from Newcastle'. I couldn't think of anything to say and rather than say 'any of your friends died from heroin overdoses or motorbike accidents' had to think of what I remember about Newcastle. Posh of course, but it wouldn't be polite to say that. The New Vic, I said. Theatre in the round (I didn't say that). What I said was 'Good Golly Miss Molly'! The 'classic' musical which was the most famous thing to come out of Stoke on Trent (allegedly) before Robbie Williams emerged.

Then my presentation wouldn't work, so I read it off the piece of paper, and felt a bit like one of Taggart's young policemen assistants reading out some crappy statement from a well known crook. Even I had a glazed questionning look as I finished reading the thing. It turns out I was the only person who said that a good quality service wasn't cheap. They even told me so. Part of my presentation said that 5% cost cutting would be difficult in the long term. They told me that actually costs were being cut by 10%. I don't know if it was audible, but I took a deep intake of breath at that point. I was shocked.

It finished after a few more cock ups with me trying to crack jokes when I didn't know the answers to their questions. Suddenly the car park attendance and reception work looks attractive. 10% cuts. So much for meditation too. Much better would be to practice interview questions.

One major outer contradiction I have is this. The strength of materialism lies in its ability to help people in the here and now. Teaching women of the developing world how to meditate or do yoga isn't going to feed their families.

But I put this to my Yoga teacher, Roberto four years ago, in December 2001. He said look up Entropy in the Dictionary of Philosophy. I argued with him, and said that I didn't need to look it up, I'd done A Level Physics and knew that it was the second law of Thermodynamics, that you can't generate energy from a closed system. Energy is not perpetual; life is not eternal. He said, look it up. The dictionary said that the second law had been disproven, and that entropy can be perpetual. Life can be eternal.

So I will carry on my yoga and meditation in the hope that I will not become depressed and/or anxious about the impending doom upon us all. Phil bought his Mum a midwifery bike for Mother's day - so there we have it, the modern day dialetical materialism. Idealism (me) with a bit of healthy materialism (Phil). I have embraced my outer contradiction.

Tat Nav

Well. Another week of contrasts.

Started off so well with me cool, calm and collected. I'm successfully meditating. Let me qualify that. It means that in my part time role as Car Park Attendant I can 'lie'. On Monday when the car park was full and one lady got blocked in by about four cars, one of which wouldn't identify itself (the driver wouldn't anyway)I took the highly unusual step of closing the car park. When people started getting aggressive and trying to run me over to get into it I said there'd been an accident and we didn't want to disturb the scene.

Then after a couple of other disasters at work me and Phil got food poisoning from what was my favourite local curry house. Damnation, as Dad would say. Hours of puke.

But we had a day's holiday booked yesterday and had a wonderful time skiing. It started off badly with me wanting to leave the house while Phil was still in the throes of passion 'downloading' with the other love in his life (the computer). So we ended up leaving at about eight o'clock giving us about an hour to get to the other side of the universe (Milton Keynes - Snow Dome). Milton Keynes is how I imagine Los Angeles - you don't know if you've got there or just left. It's ideal for car lovers, and lovers of roundabouts.

We arrived an hour late, but the teacher was lovely, a woman in her fifties who smiled and welcomed me immediately. I had to ski the second I got there but managed to stay upright. There was a hilarious bit when I fell over on to the travelator and the lovely instructor lady fell on top of me, whilst trying to help me and we both went heading straight for the mechanics of the machine. It reminded me of Raiders of the lost ark, when the boulder was rushing for them, the instructor was screaming at one of the others 'press the red button, press the red button' and just like Harrison Ford, we were saved in the nick of time.

Basically, she was a brilliant teacher who made it so simple, with us all together as a team, skiing backwards and everything. I was amazed as to how good we were at the end of three hours (two in my case). Very lucky to have such a good teacher for my first experience of skiing.

On the way back I navigated a bit, showing Phil the shortcuts around Stokey - Tat Nav.

Have gardened almost all day. Planted all the stuff we bought at Columbia Road about six weeks ago at Phil's Mum's Birthday; pansies mainly. Also planted lettuce seed, pruned the climbers and tidied up the rubbish. Spring is the busiest time for gardening. Summer is just for watering and sitting.

When I look out of the window I can see the mini daffodils, the pansies and primroses, and the hazel is against the cream expanse of wall, twiddling its catkins waiting for the summer calm.

Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Saw this last night, which was a treat for Mum for her birthday.

I don't normally like theatre - I find it too contrived and unrealistic. At least with telly, somehow you can do whatever you want as it's not in real time for the viewer.

Perhaps the reason for this is I initially saw excellent theatre - one of the first things I saw was 'The Woman in Black' in its first showing on a school trip in 1988 - it was on in Birmingham or somewhere. It was absolutely brilliant and has meant that anything I have seen since has had to live up to this.

Anyway, this is a brilliant play. It's the writing that's outstanding, but I also loved the set and costume, the acting - well that was good too. I thought that with such a well written play, the acting couldn't really go wrong.

It's basically a story of a middle aged history academic (George) in what seems to be a poor marriage - destructive and degenerating with a heavy drinking wife (Martha), they invite a young biology fellow and his new wife round for drinks and have a few drug fuelled debates and a late night, where George ends up telling MArtha their 21 year old son has died.

But for me, in addition to the good laughs you have when they're having their rows, the play is tackling very bid topics.

There is a massive amount of symbolism, which to be honest is what floats my boat. George and Martha were the names of the first president of the United states and his wife for a start; the play is questioning existence itself. There are 3 acts to the play.

George symbolised History to me. The young biology teacher symbolised Science, and his young wife symbolised the Church (her father was a Bishop or something). I couldn’t decipher what Martha represented, but then we were told at the start of the third act – she represented Mother Earth.

What was so powerful about the play was how set in the ‘now’ of 1962 it was; I was very impressed with myself for spotting this. Even before looking at the programme I had written down ‘1962 set?’. The set and costume were so accurate apart from anything else and there were a couple of references to the war being about twenty years ago. The house was immaculate, academic American, but also very homely. Even the colours of the set had an impact – lovely warm browns making one feel very nostalgic for the now. Only Honey (representing the Church to me) was yellow in contrast. Then by the third Act, blue was introduced, in Martha’s top and a blue shadow cast from an open door.

George’s speeches constantly referred to ‘historical inevitability’, which chimes so well now and also reminds me of Castro’s speeches around then; ‘History will absolve me’ and the start of the Cold War.

Mother Earth, was older than History – Science and the Church come along together, then the Church gets sick, Science couples with Mother Earth. Then History tells Mother Earth her son, Humanity presumably, is dead. But at the end, you don’t know if this Death is real or an illusion. Then it’s just Mother Earth and History together again.

One criticism is that the play could have more music, the sound was also bad – Mum could hardly hear it and the sounds could have created improved ambience for the audience.

Should Mother Earth listen to History?

Excellent comedy on Saturday night

By reading mine and Phil's blogs you'd think we lived in different countries, never mind shared a relationship. He's managed to make Das Capital look small in his latest entry (I'm talking about blogging here!) - and he didn't even mention the amazing comedy we saw on Saturday night.

There was a women's writing festival - 'Chic-Lit' in Bethnel Green in this great, modern, small-theatre venue place. All of the women were hilarious - which I really wasn't expecting. It sounds awful, but I was expecting them to be radical lesbian people, and it was incredibly civilised without your average chavvish asbo lout present.

I have decided to get a dishwasher.

PR Watch (Number 4)

Phil has asked me to explain paragraph 3 from the last posting.

My argument is thus: PR (Public Relations) has essentially developed into free advertising. Perhaps that's what it should be called - FA; sweet FA. Anyway, large and small companies have 'Marketing' or 'Advertising' or 'Communications' departments. If they don't then they employ some other company to do it for them. Essentially they try and sell stuff, not through advertising but through the news articles themselves - because people trust it more.

I speak from personal experience. One of my first jobs when I moved to London, ten years ago, was at 'Freud Communications'. A PR company. It was about paying idiots quite a lot to spout bullshit, to try and sell some other form of bullshit, or even the same bullshit. Bullshit dressed as 'Vache Merd' if you will. When I was working there I remember Denise Van Outen was promoting coffee or something. The people I was working with said she had broken her arm filming a TV commercial - it was lies, but it got in the national newspaper. Then there was stuff at the other, even less salubrious end of the market. KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken). Some people on the team were paid quite a lot when KFC got 'positive coverage', ie not very often. So people would try to come up with brilliant ideas of how to get positive coverage of KFC in the press. They tried, but 'Zilcho' occured. So, still bizarrely enthusiastic, they spent hours getting together clips in the press every time KFC was mentioned. The even better paid idiots on the 'KFC account' were paid a fortune to do 'Crisis Communications'. I remember one girl, who was permanently on call (had a mobile phone which was quite rare back then) and the clients (KFC) would ring her day or night for a comment every time someone got stabbed in or around a KFC - which was incredibly often. So she would effectively quosh or bury this bad news in some bullshit, trying to show what a great contribution KFC made to humanity.

I hated it. I left after two weeks.

But PR is on the increase. Just like America, with the inexorable rise of the private sector and the accompanying corruption that goes with it, bad money chases bad money. We’re all persuaded to spend more on stuff we don’t need, at the expense of the stuff which is essential, that should be free anyway. Every TV or Radio programme you watch or hear is about ‘promotion’ – promotion to make you spend money when you quite clearly shouldn’t. And who is monitoring this? Ofcom. Absolute idiots. They’re the worst perpetrators – careerist media whores, with a conflict of interest register that makes the Bible look short.

My argument is that we don’t want a society where greed and money is the main motivating factor. In fact, we want the opposite. A society where care and love for humanity and the planet motivates us. Journalism should be coming from this angle – where we’re trying to report what’s going on to help humanity.

A couple of weeks ago in Time Out I saw a little article saying that Ofcom had ruled that it’s ok for media companies to make money out of stuff they’re supposed to be independently reviewing – ie Richard and Judy selling the books they ‘review’ on their programme.

Should Lord Archer, a convicted, lying criminal be allowed to advertise his (utterly shit) book on their TV programme for free without criticism?

Health PR is even worse. At least Lord Archer’s book can be used to keep yourself warm in the energy shortages. But the disgusting scum who promote private health care and crappy drugs in the ‘free’ press are precisely that. Why don’t they tell us to campaign for a free, comprehensive NHS, give up smoking, get rid of our cars, cycle to work, eat more fresh fruit and veg and do some yoga? Because they don’t make any money out of it.

But then, just when I was slitting my wrists at work, with none other than Jesus Christ’s own PR machine working overtime, it turns out Tony Blair no less has given Trotsky a large dose of free PR – for World Book Day. Is it a joke that a biography of Trotsky is his favourite book?

I did a bit of research on the internet and it turns out that Isaac Deutscher (the guy who wrote the book) is a bit unsympathetic to our Trotsker, but it is a good book, so hopefully they’re going to reissue it so I can read it.

Talking of PR, in Computing Which they are on about a new ‘gadget’. A computer ‘book’ where you can download 200 books onto this one book sized screen thing. Brilliant idea for someone like me. I will try and get Phil on the case. That would be excellent, a way I could take loads of luggage on holiday without the weight.

One minute I hate PR (Jeffrey Archer), the next minute I love it (new portable computer book). One minute I hate free speech (the BNP), the next minute I love it (a book about Trotsky). I am sick of contradicting myself. I suppose that's how David Cameron feels, but at least he's got a new baby to take his mind off life's hypocrises.

Tat Pot (PR Watch No. 3)

Phil has decided that my new nick name is Tat Pot. It's a hilarious mixture of Pol Pot, Tin Pot Dictator, Crack Pot and Tatton. Poor Pol Pot must be turning in his grave.

The fact is, Phil actually IS Norman Tebbit. They've never been seen together, spout the same sort of nonsense and both claim to like cycling. Joking aside, our world is a crazy place. On Saturday, listening to David Hitlerry's Any Questions, I found MYSELF agreeing with Norman Tebbit who was saying he didn't agree that Ken Livingstone should have been suspended. Can you Adam and Eve it - Tat Pot agreeing with the Chelmsford Skinhead?

My personal crusade against greed in the media has been given another boost today. By Lord Archer promoting his book - completely without any difficult questions on Richard and Judy. I have found the article which told me about them being able to make money from selling books they're promoting - it was in last week's Time Out. A new ruling from Ofcom.

Then there was the wife of an Economist employee promoting the magazine in a 'feature' in today's Media Guardian.

There was a speaker from the 'Corporate Social Responsibility Foundation' on Radio 4's Today on Friday. Doesn't come up on google - what the hell was that all about? Yet more corruption.

There will be people in PR companies in London who are calculating exactly how much free advertising this is for the multinationals as I type. Idiots.

Cat found - Ofcom watch out

Yes, Marmite was found outside trapped in our neighbour's courtyard. Miaowing her head off, and then her goldfish memory proving that human beings are superior to cats - she ran away from me when I came to rescue her.

Then Trotsky hissed at her - as her poor sister didn't recognise her either. But they're back to their old selves now, busy hopping from table to (incredibly expensive) record player.

Now I'm happy again, rather than dedicate hours of my time to reading semi-shit autobiographies of bitches, I can restart the Tatton campaign to introduce good old fashioned philanthropy into society - starting with an attack on Ofcom. Their conflict of interest register on the internet is practically as long as the Koran itself, and over my dead body if they're starting to deregulate further the already pathetically regulated so-called 'free press' or advertising industry as it should be called.

Every day the BBC gets worse - its breakfast programme could just be called 'Press Releases of Conglomorates'. The Today programme could be called 'Sell'. Well, ok it's not quite as bad, although they didn't have anyone challenging Sir Digby Jones the other day when he laid into trade unions...

PR Watch

The thing about PR is it's essentially free advertising. But who regulates it?

Myself at the moment.

The Sunday Times magazine last week (5th Feb).

8 articles. 7 of those are essentially selling something or someone's services. Nicky Clarke - advertising hairdressing, Suzi Qattro selling her new album. Bryan Sykes, a DNA expert selling his DNA company's servcies. Jeremy Irons selling his acting services. Diana princess of wales story - advertising an auction house. The National Portrait Gallery advertising its Wlliam Shakespeare portrait and a children's charity advertising itself. Then in the newspaper another childrens charity with a three page puff.

I am on a rubbish mailing list at work. I know when stuff's been sent from it because I'm 'Catton' on it. On Friday a glossy 122 full colour 'magazine' called 'Public Service Review: Health' came through.

Can we get one or two celebrities to back 'Keep Our NHS Public'?

When you've got the Daily Express backing a 'ban Inheritance Tax' campaign, probably initiated by The Queen and Dr Fox saying that there should be a maximum tax rate in the sunday Times, yet not saying how much he earns, I just start putting on Coldplay's 'Parachutes' to cheer me up.

'Everything's not lost'

PR Watch

There seem to be plenty of 'media watch' type campaigning organisations. When darling Phil eventually teaches me 1% of everything he knows about computers, and I manage to put links up here I'm going to refer to them.

I'm also going to set up 'PR Watch' to keep a check on PR. Every other bit of journalism you read is basically trying to sell you something. Why aren't they officially paying for it? Surely it's corrupt!

Bishop Ba Ba of Boob

We decided that if Phil was around in the 1820s he'd be Bishop Ba Ba of Boob.

I want to create a more open society

The problem with having an open society - is first of all, how do you define it? Secondly, am I sure I'll want it when I get it?

For the first question - an open society is a society based on peace and other idealistic values like love, health and laughter. Having a society based on fear promotes privacy.

The second question - I think I may be being too idealistic. For example, when I started work at the organisation I currently work for, I loved it. I loved those in charge at the top, I could see where they were coming from, their ideas, and why they were doing what they were doing. I liked the way they communicated. They appeared to listen to lowly people like me, who were relatively speaking, at the bottom of the organisation. They were very open with us and told us what was what. There appeared to be relatively little bullshit.

Just over six months ago after the issuing of the-document-which-I-will-not-refer-to-as-it-is-tosh-wank my idealistic dreams were shattered. Suddenly everything's changed and all these people who I loved who were in charge of me are telling me to shut up - virtually on a daily basis. And I tell them to shut up - by shouting at them when they speak to me in their condescending tones on the Today progamme.

You see openness is fine and lovely when it's a beautiful sunny day on the beach. But when the bastards start pelting you with shit, you start thinking, actually if I could get together with a couple of like minded people, build a little hut in the mud, which we used to call the beach and then start secretly finding out the bastards' game plan so we can move to another beach, or preferably another fucking planet. Suddenly a little peace and quiet, a secret space where we could hijack the shit propelling bastards seems much more appealling than the dreaded mud tornado the beach has turned into.

Just reading this blog makes me realise how influential tonight's TV programme has been; 'How Safe is your house' was a really scary reportage style TV show which demonstrated the dangers of fire, gas leaks, tornados and floods.

I've changed my mind. I don't want an open society. I want to live in a fortress behind steel plated fire proof doors and ten thousand alarm systems which alert me to fire, floods, pestilence, wind, earth and fire again. I want to be shielded from the truth at every opportunity because the truth is scary and dangerous. I just want to think about the next ten seconds...