The Blind Truth

Postscript. These blogs emerged from endless hours of storytelling with my friend Siobhain Santry, who's illustrated so many of the early blogs and the last one. It's been a joint endeavour and I credit her with helping to create so much of the humour and the spirit around what I've wanted to say. There's light and there's shade, in just about every situation we find ourselves in in life. Which ha...

Over the last year I’ve been plagued by my nemesis Anne Taylor. She pops up everywhere but has now met her match in the shape of that well known medical professional “Unauthorised”, who has dropped me a note to tell me it’s all looking good. This is one sorry chapter I’m glad to see the back of, along with Anne Taylor, impenetrable letters and being spoken to as your actual bonified half-wit. Ther...

“How did you dye your hair that colour when it’s so short?” “This is my natural colour,” I said. “Nahhh. No one has hair that colour.” “I do,” I said. “What colour was it before you had chemo?” she wanted to know. “This colour. This is my natural colour.” “Well it looks dyed,” she said before heading off to take her pick of people to chat to who really did have dyed hair and had the good grace to...

My friend Sceptic Tank thinks that a house should be minimal. I think that a house is not a home without stuff. The stuff I like is not the stuff she likes. My old creaking furniture is one thing but why would anyone who can’t see much want to fill up their house with china? It’s a good question and weirdly, I know the answer. My house is full of the china of my long dead realities. This is the re...

The Grand, is obsessed with cars. He lamented the lack of cars in this house. He’s not bothered about reverting to the use of my bus pass, but rather the lack of toy cars to be lined up on the kitchen floor for me to break my ankle on. In this desert of motoring delights, he was extremely impressed to watch a large black car pull up outside his house to whisk me, and my suitcase, away to my next f...

Now that I am feeling less nauseous, I’m trying to get through the jobs that I’ve been putting off for months. These range from emptying the waste paper baskets and relieving them of old banana skins, to making sure I’m up to date with my pension contributions. Neither of these activities have much to offer when it comes to any form of gratification, be it long term or instant, so I thought I’d st...

I’ve been called some choice things in my time. I don’t suppose I will ever be privy to the full range. The Son, who was a Red Dwarf fan, hit upon the idea that henceforth his Mother, should be known as R’mere. In his mind, this was the perfect response to his love of the lead character Rimmer, known for his intergalactic adventures, and the French for Mother. He was rolling down the side of a sno...

Vans are a contentious issue. My friend Malc had a van for nineteen years that he loved, until it got squashed between a Chelsea tractor and a small lorry while he was in it. My friend P loves her van, and so do I. It’s got it’s own shower and heating and it’s not bad for a slumber party on the beach. That said, when we slumbered on the beach, someone set fire to the caravan next to us and I ended...

Food is the new obsession in my life. I’m always cooking it. I don’t always eat it. Sometimes I give it away. Sometimes, I am ashamed to say, it goes to waste. Waste is a sin in my world of zero food waste tolerance. I pride myself that nothing goes to waste. It is with some pleasure then, that I am able to bring together twin interests of hot and spicy food and the desire to cook everything in my...

A tasty meal is like the hunt for Red October. I just have to keep going with the drive to hit that sweet, or in my case, that hot spot. Not everyone shares my ambition but I keep going, undeterred by the disappointment of having no taste buds and little saliva left. “That is the hottest chilli you will ever have. You just need to shave a tiny bit off and that will do you,” said the log man as he...

You might imagine that the demise of taste buds would rule out a craving for food. On the contrary, not even nausea can do that, and Lord knows I feel nauseous quite a lot of the time these days. However, nausea is no match for steroids. They have the ability to create feelings of hunger that are unrivalled. I have been, quite literally, shaking with hunger. Round one of chemo, of this new and not...

“Oh Granny, What are you wearing?” said a horrified looking Grand as I showed off my beach attire. I said nothing when he elected to come to my Birthday lunch in a multicoloured tutu, rugby shirt and jeans. He might not approve of my sense of style but I admire his nerve in mixing his. He’s a boy who knows his own mind and what he likes, well, he likes. We took a photo of ourselves before we sat d...

I’ve been doing a bit of media lately. I’ve got the face for radio and I’m comfortable with it. What I can’t stand is listening to myself. I don’t mind the sound of my own voice when I hear it inside my head and I’m spouting about something I’ve got the wind in my sails about. Hearing it back as others hear it, is a different matter altogether. I might not be that easy on the ear, but it’s what I...

At the first sign of a swollen arm you should definitely head for help if you have had your lymph nodes removed. I did this just before chemo number one. I phoned the breast nurse. On balance, she thought it best to avoid the hospital while I was on chemo. I said I’d like to come to see her immediately after chemo happened and that’s what I did. I dragged my dizzy, wobbly, walk like a drunk and fe...

The blonde bob has long since departed. Jackie, “hairdresser to the stars and your humble servant”, cut it short in an Audrey Hepburn homage. She is deluded. My friend Ranni, bought me three meters of navy blue lining cotton which I wound into a turban and practiced wearing about the house. There is a You Tube video for everything and when it comes to head coverings, I’ve done my fair share. I’ve...

I am not in Kansas anymore. Actually, it’s fair to say that I’ve never been to Kansas, nor have I ever had much of an urge to go there. It’s isn’t covered by my railcard and getting there would definitely involve wearing compression stockings, which don’t come in 15 denier. When I say that I’m not in Kansas anymore, I mean that nothing is normal, in it’s place or playing out as I had expected life...

I’m secretly curious about what it would be like to be bald. Baldness is not necessarily the preserve of old men. I’ve been on line, investigating head coverings, for fear that my own imminent baldness should cause others to run for the hills. My sleuthing has revealed a world, of wigs and turbans and scarf tying lessons, that I’m now watching on repeat. I don’t yet care too much about losing my h...

I’m still living season 1 of my live streaming dark comedy “my left breast”.  It’s a cracking little mini-series that has now been running for three months and promises to keep on running for at least another eight. I really hope that there is never a season 2. In the drama so far, I have given up a big old chunk of me that I thought I could never live without. It turns out that having a lumpectom...

The Halloween wig I have bought myself at a bargain price is destined for the Grand’s dressing up box. Too scratchy! Yesterday I woke up to find that the short back and sides that I had a few weeks ago, were attached to my face and not to my head. This wasn’t a migration of rootstock during the night, but a jettisoning of my locks, to reveal a pinker scalp than I imagined. I text Jackie, “hairdres...

Setting aside the demise of the blown fuse, and the kettle, before 6am. I’ve been to have my surgically induced fluid bubbles drained. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the last time I went out of the house in a state of heightened emotion and came home minus a vat of “lovely and clear” lymphatic fluid. This morning’s trip out also served as yet another training opportunity for someone who n...

It seems that this really is a country for old men.  Contrary to all expectations the favourite Uncle is now installed in a house round the corner. This will enable him to make a garden at my sisters and come round here with stale packets of biscuits and instant coffee while telling me tales about smoke alarms, fish sticks and moles. He has been digging flints out of the Sisters’ garden in order t...

There is nothing like sitting in bed in the early morning, with a pot of Earl Grey Supreme, chatting to girlfriends on the phone. I was happily doing just this when the doorbell rang. Short expletive at the prospects of being doorstepped by local politicos or evangelists. What a faff it was to haul myself into an upright position, stick the now compressed heart shaped cushion, made by the local WI...

The best things in life begin with the letter C. They include but, as manufacturers often say, are not limited to: Champagne. Pale imitations won’t do. Canapes which are about the most indulgent way that people, who enjoy a good networking event, sustain themselves while coiffing the afore mentioned drink. Countryfile because I’m a country girl at heart. Cats, and here I can be even more specific...

She didn’t get up but indicated the chair for me to sit in. I sat down. She introduced herself and I said how nice it was to meet her. Given the circumstances, I might have happily lived into old age and never felt I’d missed out by not meeting her. “Now I’ve had this nice letter from your doctor. It’s says your suffering with your eyes.” I raised my eyebrows. This was probably not the moment for...

The Grand was on his second babycino of the afternoon when he had a lightbulb moment: “Granny, I don’t think you can see very much can you?” “You’re right,” I said. With just a hint of caution he suggested; “Have you thought of wearing glasses?” “It wouldn’t help,” I explained. “Not shades on your head but glasses on your face like Mummy.” “I have tried it….” I began “Because then you could give m...