Back from black.

Well it's all go around these parts. Yesterday I walked to the nearest corner, had a bit of chicken with mash and green beans and made a joke (albeit a dreadful Mr T one but hey, cancer was never known for its humorous side effects). Then today I made it to the end of the street, washed my hair (in the chemo-standard Johnsons Baby shampoo, AKA honey), sang a bit of Let's Get Ready To Rhumble with my Mum (let's just call it another weird side effect) and put on some mascara. These, ladies and gentlemen, are big moves in my world. 

Yes, I'm still super-exhausted and yes, I still feel a bit sick after a normal conversation and yes, everything still tastes like cardboard, but stuff all of that. I'm feeling more like myself and it ain't half bad being me again. I'm even back to enjoying the daft things in life like fixture lists and Hollyoaks and laughing at the kid next door on his skateboard and that lovely Heinz Salad Cream advert with the Sesame Street song. I'd be back to my hourly check-ups of the entertainment news, too, if it weren't for Another Winehouse Story dominating things. Hospitalised for a 'reaction to medication' this time eh? Jeez. (You want to try some of these chemo drugs, love. Good shit.) I fear it'll be a while until I can get back to Winehouse-championing ways, actually – did I ever mention that I walked out of hospital from the second stage of my diagnosis to see her standing outside? I didn't know whether to get her to sign my breast cancer leaflets or give her paper cuts with them. She'd probably have preferred the latter.

Anyway, if you'll excuse me this short post, I've got some serious business to attend to. This evening, I've got a chicken and veg wrap to eat, a bunch of emails to reply to now I can focus on the screen long enough, a stack of Friends episodes to watch and a husband to snog the face off. It's good to be back.