Going loco

The other day I went out to buy a water filter jug but came home with this instead

Not the world's best picture I'm afraid but who wouldn't want a tin 1950s toy train (plus signal!) on their bathroom skirting board?  The other-half is threatening to paint scenery on the wall behind the train, but I quite fancy the real 3D McCoy that I saw recently in an the window of an old style model shop in York

It would certainly make trips to the loo a bit more interesting.

So yes, I've been to York for a few days.  It has two of my most favourite things - history and shopping.  I had a great time, ate too much, slipped off the Lent no-booze waggon, spent too much money (new red boots and a picture!), went sight-seeing and walked my legs off.  

The glory that is York

I'm absolutely knackered now but it was worth it.  Did I mention new red boots and a picture?

Before we went to York I tried to kill sis no 1.  We went to see the snowdrops I talked about last time.  It was as lovely as usual although a bit on the chilly side

Then we headed off to a pub for Sunday lunch.  We decided to go via the Stiperstones (if you've the misfortune to live somewhere other than Shropshire and have no idea what the Stiperstones is, I'm talking about a big hill).  As we drove up and up the weather got colder and colder and snowier and snowier

until we were almost in a white-out

Sis no 1, not a lover of all things wintry, was not impressed.  Anyway, we made it down the other side safe and sound, took refuge in the pub and stuffed ourselves full of grub before driving home, taking a less dramatic route.  I think sis no 1 has just about forgiven me.  Yhe other-half, on the other hand, enjoyed his Ice Road Truckers moment.

Have you notice I've been tinkering with the blog header again?  I'm not sure I like it but a change is as good as a rest.  And in that spirit I decided to experience some spring madness myself and go blonde

I'm not sure about this either as it's a bit too Bet Lynch for my liking

Picture from here

See what I mean. 

At my most recent hospital appointment I asked the oncologist what chemo options were left for me when the current regime (capecitabine and lapatinib) fails.  I was relieved that there are still two or three options to try but the reality is that nearly all of them would see me lose my hair again.  So I decided to have a bleach blitz while I had the chance.  So, no regrets there.  But no promises that the next post won't see me back as mousy brown and/or with another change in blog header.

While I'm on about all things cancery, my latest blog post for Vita (an online breast cancer charity magazine) can be read here, this month's not particularly happy subject is times when medical staff aren't all they could be, something most have us have experienced at times.  Big sigh.

Mellow Sunday

After a bit of a slow start (too much thinking time, stop it brain) we got going and headed out and about for a walk at Winsley Hall in Shropshire. It’s a private house which opens its grounds each year at snowdrop time. So had a bit of a sedate stroll and, what’s more, the entry fee was in aid of the Lingen Davies Cancer Appeal, so that may well benefit me too. Talk about charity begins at home. I’ll not be getting any prizes for selflessness that’s for sure. Anyway, the walk was very pretty, restful and, unsurprisingly, snowdroppy.

After that we drove around the countryside for a bit, over the Stiperstones, and had a good old-fashioned Sunday lunch in a good old-fashioned pub (The Crown at Wentnor), which also included a pint. All of which has induced a lovely feeling of mellowness. I suspect the booze is mostly responsible, now if I could just get a lager drip set up I’d be fine. Gratutitous Shropshire scenery shots:

I'd like to tell you that the fact that I could not get the two countryside photos to sit in a straight line on the page did not bother me one bit, for I am a free-spirit who laughs in the face of conventional formatting rules. However, the truth is that I will need extensive counselling to deal with the trauma.

In other news:

Cyril’s house arrest has seen him so bored that he too has taken up middle-aged pursuits (even though he’s only two) and is helping with the jigsaw in his own Cyrily way. There may be tears before bedtime. Maybe I could get him on to the sherry instead.

P.S. On a medical note

I know I've confused a couple of people (well, the thick ones) with my clumsy explanations of what is wrong me. For anyone interested here is a clearer version of what secondary breast cancer actually is from the MacMillan website.