On my trolley

Look carefully, this is not Cyril but a French look-a-like.  Actually on closer examination you can tell Le Chat has got a lot more savoir faire and je ne sais quoi than Cyril.  Not to mention an extra leg.

Last time I posted I was happily off my trolley on steroids.  Now the steroids are finished and I’m back to being moany post-chemo person with tiredness and joint aches.  I don’t see why I shouldn’t inflict my whingey-ness on you, life isn’t all cats-in-planes I’ll have you know.

Actually I’m beginning to come round a bit now from the usual post-chemo grot, which is just as well as I had to drag myself off to hospital at nine o’clock this morning for a CT scan (and I don’t really do nine o’clock in the morning anymore as a general rule).  I see the oncologist for results on Wednesday so it’s scanxiety time yet again.

The three-legged monster cat has been fairly sedate in recent days, no doubt he’s planning something horrendous.  Meanwhile the other-half has been doing battle with guttering which is, I’ve been told at length, No Laughing Matter.  The great guttering crisis has to be sorted out before the front garden can be finished apparently.  Place your bets now as to which unlikely event takes place first, front garden completion or the end of the world (Mayan version).  

PS.  Have just seen highlights of last night's closing ceremony for the Olympics and was treated to the vision of Boris and Dastardly Dave Cameron dancing.  I feel the world may already have ended.  All bets are cancelled.