Oh, well, that’s better news

Of those almost one in two people who will receive a cancer diagnosis in their lifetime…. 4/10 will die of other causes.

And it doesn’t mean that half of us will have (have had) cancer by 2020 either. So that’s OK.

(I really want some lunch, the numbers are making my stomach rumble. Also, we’re almost entirely sure Dad’s got a virus, as he says he’s now feeling somewhat better)




One in two?

One in two of us will get cancer?

Four years ago, it was one in three. Then that changed to 4 in ten. But one in two? And it’s not as if it’s been a big announcement: it just popped up, in passing, in something the CEO of Macmillan was saying.

One in two?

Yesterday, K and I went collecting for The Eve Appeal at Liverpool Street Station. One of my colleagues is collecting after work at Bank Station. We’ve decided we all love The Eve Appeal. There’s only 10 of them in their office, they’re bright and cheerful and lovely ladies, and it’s a good cause. They really, really rely on supporters – you can tell they’ve not got many, because they are very good at contacting, at phoning, and emailing, and it’s so very personal each time.  Plus, they had the coolest charity day: funny feet. The Brownies had a feet-themed evening, with silly socks and mad shoes (the best thing about this was that simply by wearing odd socks, you could join in. So much simpler than anything else. Everyone has Odd Socks).

Today, I took a picture of a lovely sunrise for N’s Dad (who loved the stories and pictures from the Zoo). I’m going to take a picture of all of us at coffee tonight: the letter was very well appreciated, and it’s simple enough for me to print pictures and write. And it makes me feel better.

Meanwhile, my Dad mentioned nothing about going to the GP on Tuesday, so apparently really does just have a virus.

I think the office window will blow in… i need to shut the outside window. Hang on.



So, I worry randomly

I’ve had three emails from Dad today – all about my tax return. Nothing about his trip to the GP. Suspect this means that I don’t actually need to worry, but, still, I worry. Worry. Worry. Being woken by someone else’s alarm at 5.45am did not help matters.

Plus the tax return had things in the wrong box, so apparently I don’t get a rebate (why? I’ve been paying tax on rent that I didn’t get ‘cos Jo moved out earlier than anticipated). Sigh.

On the plus side, I ran up Primrose Hill in my second fastest time this evening, and we think we’re going to do the Rome Marathon if my GP will sign me off (I have no idea if he’ll be difficult or not. He was unconvinced last time I needed a letter to go overseas, but this is a proper form, so should be more straightforward. If costly).



Woke up at 4am. I think this was because foxy was going clank-bang leaping from the old cistern (which the bin men didn’t take, so I’ll have to dress up in my balaclava and use the skip down the road) to the bins. He poo’d round the bins too. Anyhow. I woke at 4am. I worried about Dad.

Mum says he’s still not right from Thursday’s fun and games. He’s lost his appetite, he’s not drinking anything like as much alcohol (only 2 glasses of wine and one of beer on Sunday, which is about 1/3 of the usual quantity). He says he feels lethargic, tired, achey. Now. The tests at the hospital on Thursday said “probably a virus”. But three months ago, N’s Dad had similar symptoms, and the hospital said it might be toxoplasmosis, and gave him antibiotics….and now just look where he is.

At 4am, one is not rational. Before first coffee, one is similarly not rational. Before first coffee, there’s generally an awake N. At 4am, well, he was sleeping so soundly, and making nice snorey noises, I didn’t want to wake him up.

One Daddy not being there for our wedding, and we’ll just about cope. Both…doesn’t bear thinking about. So why does it prey on my mind?


Ooooh, I think this was so close to a PB but I don’t know

My watch recorded 47.28 for today’s 10km race. Except it didn’t record about the first half mile. So I don’t know if I got anywhere close to my PB or not. I suspect not. But it might be. And I just don’t know.

Nick was 4 seconds of a PB and has blisters. I don’t have blisters. It seems that buying a pair of shoes half a size larger (by accident) stops the sub-ungual suppurations I’ve had on my “index” toes because I’m no longer hitting the end of the shoe. Why no-one suggested it before is beyond me. So pleased that the shop assistant couldn’t count.

Anyhow. I might have a PB. I might not. I might be 30 seconds out. I might not. I did manage to put in a storming effort, I got my best estimated 1km effort and my third best estimated mile…and if I’d not had to stop dead for a stitch, I think it would be my best 10k.

Oh, when will the results be out?


Results out: 51:53. Not my best, but not my worst, and definitely two minutes faster than last month. Also. I’m going to do a marathon next year. So there.