Gospel of this Constanze Populi

Evening guys and dolls and sprogs and frogs,

So much to talk about today! The first one being the number one news story of the week (well, number one in England, I have no idea if it's spread overseas), the amazing Stephen Sutton raising well over two and a half million for the teenage cancer trust! He posted a message from that he thought was his deathbed but had since gotten a little better which makes the whole story even more beautiful and wonderful and generally exciting. So cool. I'm also happy because I think the last thing I said to him was about handjobs and that's not a very classy note to leave things on. I had the pleasure of meeting him at FYSOT and he truly is awesome (excuse the terrible Americanism there). But yeah, donate donate donate and if you don't I will come to your house and make your innards outards. BITCHEZ.

This really has highlighted how many super cool people I've met because of my smelly illness and how eye riveringly sad it is that they're not all here with me today. Jamie is the best example, my first proper cancer homie, it just feels so weird that he's now been gone for years. Years. Like fucking years. I still expect to walk into day ward and see him sitting there with some grin on his face over some vastly inappropriate thing he's found on the internet. And all the people who years on are still ill, the varying amounts of light at the end of the tunnel as those cancer dice are thrown. It's just bizarre, this world I live in. This unique situation where I've seen more friends die than most people see in a lifetime. I'm so fucking lucky to be here. And that's not just because of the cancer, the amount of trees I've nearly fallen out of is startlingly high.

And now as my five year anniversary slips ever nearer there's the constant all pervading sense of being so free and yet so unfree all at once. I'm alive, I'm relatively well, I can eat a slab of cheese the size of my head but ticking underneath is that little bit of cancer, still being a cuntbotherer and holding me back in everyday life. Oh, want to walk to the supermarket do you Constanze, well fuck you, I'm going to make your legs be as useful as a bangdinging chocolate saucepan. Just oh so happy and oh so ticked off all at once. It's five years on now. I'm supposed to be either cured or dead. Not this Schrodinger's Cat like cured/not cured ball of confusion.

I've also gone and caught myself another virus which is slowly and surely destroying my lungs. I'm determined to not let it get as bad as the last one because that was STUPID and VIRUSES ARE BAD. I have no idea where I've caught it from as I haven't been hanging around any coughy people recently, I'll just put it down to the horrible polluted Southern air. Damn London filling up my organs with shit. How does anyone live past 30 here? We can all place bets, will all the muck in the air or Mr Leukaemia kill me first? Grumblemumblemoan. AND I have a new doctor's surgery which is even worse than the old place, I think they're trying to kill me too. I'm about to have a MEDICATION CRISIS. When I first tried to make them give me some tablets I had 24 days of drugs left. I now have nine days left and they still haven't given me any. To cut a long story short they're rubbish and smelly and I want my drugs drugs drugs and why won't they just give me some drugs I am so legit all I want is some goddamn thyroxine it's not like that's even an abusable drug. Moral of the story: trust no one. Manufacture your own drugs in your pantry and rule the world. Swordfishes and cabinets. Maracas and oblivion. Humpbacks and horseradish.

However on the good side of life my hair is now officially going grey. Well, the very small amount of it that's still my natural colour. Salt and peppered, but only very slightly so. The reliable source that is the internet says that this is often caused by thyroid problems so I'm blaming that. I do actually find this quite exciting as I love grey hair but for now I'm covering it with a bit of purple; when it's proper impressive salt and pepper I shall show it off like a precocious todder. But at the moment it's just a bit pathetic. I'm no silver fox, just a prematurely aged condiment rack.

Another thing I have to party about is that my whole periods-no periods-menopause-no menopause malarkey has definitely calmed down. I am officially a very big fan of the coil. Blood never comes out of my fanny and no one can put babies in there, it's simply wonderful. I guess the only problem with it is that we don't really know if my body is trying to have periods (in that the coil stops periods) so no one knows how much ovarian function I have. Big mysteries. To be honest we won't know until I decide I want kids which sure as hell ain't going to happen now or anytime soon. If ever. As exciting a science experiment that would be, OH MY GOD WILL IT HAVE GREEN HAIR AND FIFTEEN ARMS WHEN IT'S BORN WAAAAA WILL IT COME OUT SINGING I'M JUST A SWEET TRANSVESTITE. Constanze's genetics are scary. Constanze is scary. Like an especially riled Northern lion. Speaking of scary, I was nearly in a fight the other day, whatever you do kids don't high five someone who's taking part in a drunken seat related brawl because that's taking sides and then you're not neutral like Switzerland and bad things happen.

Anyway, the usual mix of snacks and bathtime for me. I have all of the dye on my hair and I need to wash it off to revel a beautiful rainbow princess beneath. Something like that, a princess of a dark land where everyone sound German and wears velvet and drinks only ale and has lasers coming out their ears. And lassi is the cure for everything. I am so addicted to lassi right now. I am so addicted to life. Shit's good.

Au revoir my beauties,
Stanley Knife :) xXxXx

P.s Is it just me or are prams getting bigger and bigger? I saw on today that was basically a bathtub on wheels.

P.p.s I like newts.

P.p.p.s I have also stopped being sick which is WONDERFUL. My stomach contents are contained once more!