We have recently returned from 10 days in Sicily with our two children, (who are not really children, our son is 17 and our daughter is 21), so, yes we were honoured that they deigned us with their presence. We are the sort of family who usually head somewhere in Europe, never holiday in the same location twice, opt for self-catering over hotels and like to be near a beach. However, what I have noticed is that whatever our country of choice and no matter what activities we get up to, there are certain things that are guaranteed to happen on a holiday. I am presuming (hoping) we are not alone. Please tell me it’s not just us!

So here we go, 13 things guaranteed to happen…..(and some pix from my favourite Sicilian places from this year’s trip tossed in for good measure).

1.MOTOR MAYHEM

If you hire a car expect to be completely bamboozled by your rental vehicle. After making your way gingerly, (and quite possibly very jerkily), away from the hire centre, brace yourself for a chorus of unexpected dashboard beeps. Driving too fast? Driving too slow? Driving whilst not wearing a sombrero? Who knows.

Expect the driver to angrily shout, ‘How the f**k do we turn these f****ing things off,’ around the 3km mark and for the incessant alerts to be a feature of your road-based adventures for the duration of your holiday.

(Also expect to be completely flummoxed by the complicated chain of events needed to connect your phones to the bluetooth stereo system and to have no clue which invisible button is required to open the petrol cap during an essential pit stop for fuel).

2. WIFI WORRIES

As soon as you enter your holiday property, particularly if you have teenagers and young adults, get ready for the scramble to locate the Wifi password the second your noses and toes cross the threshold. Who cares what the sleeping arrangements are, who cares that the towels you thought would be provided are suspiciously absent. Gimme the code. Gimme the code. There will be minutes of heart-pounding panic until everyone is successfully online.

3. SHADY SHENANIGANS

Your first trip to the beach will see you forced to purchase a parasol in order to avoid severe sunburn, heatstroke, a slow and parched death by unforgiving rays. For some reason your parasol will be the only one on the beach prone to take off at the slightest hint of a gusty breeze. As your shade flies through the air like a demented winged beast and crashes into the surrounding supine sunbathers, you will be required to leap up and wrestle it into submission as your feet get burnt by scorching sand and your bikini bottoms ride halfway up your arse during the ungainly physical tussle. Humiliating.

You will spend the rest of your relaxing beach stay with your hand gripped round the pole having lost all confidence in your drilling technique and the cunningly placed rocks you used buttress-style to support it.

4. TEENAGE KICKS

Having set up camp in a suspiciously ‘empty’ patch of the beach, expect an excitable party of teens to descend from the sea. You’ll be treated to loud music, snogging, the saccharine scent of watermelon vapes and a football flying through the air as they enjoy a kickabout inches from your head. ‘Ah well. You’re only young once. Live and let live,’ you will mutter through clenched teeth whilst attempting to reread the same sentence of your novel for the 33rd time.

5. OUT OF CONTROL ANXIETY

If you are a perimenopausal or menopausal woman, (me), get ready for your stomach to lurch and adrenaline to flood your nervous system when family members announce they are heading off to explore the area, dive from rocks, amble around crumbling clifftops.

Two hours later and with water bottles not taken, sun cream not applied and no phone signals available you will try to push all thoughts of Michael Mosley to the corner of your brain. You will fail.

6. ALL ABOARD

If you are feeling brave you will hire a boat for some sea-based fun. This boat will be driven by your family…

The following things will happen:

*Someone, (possibly me again), will panic about your family’s suitability and competence for this seafaring adventure and make sure they have the hire company’s number on speed dial, fret about the location of life jackets and ask if there is a flare available in case of emergency.

*One person will cause major jeopardy when trying to anchor the boat.

* Another will eschew the use of suncream, (all that sea air is deceptive), and return to shore the colour of a sun-dried tomato.

* There will be some kind of quayside wrangle with the company post-trip about the extortionate ‘additional’ cost of the fuel that was nestled in the small print of the document you signed.

7. COOL IT

Back at base there will be an issue with the aircon. It will stop working. It will start making strange noises. Worse case scenario there won’t be aircon at all but merely ‘con’. Having booked a property solely on the basis of chilled air provision you will have discovered the owner’s saggingly loose definition of aircon is a rattly fan placed on a bedside table. Oh dear.

8. SOGGY SUPERMARKET SWEEP

You will find yourself ambling around a supermarket with sandy legs, salt-laced straggly hair, eyeliner sliding halfway down your cheeks and wet patches slowly expanding across the boob area of your flimsy beach attire as you hunt for cheese, mosquito repellant and fun biscuits that you can’t buy in the UK.

9. SPOT THE SPACE

There will be a struggle to find a parking space anywhere near the beach/ town centre/ tourist attraction/ that you have decided to visit that day. Tempers within your (still beeping) vehicle will start to fray as you circulate the rammed carpark for the fifteenth time willing a space to emerge or attempt to unpick confusing parking restrictions in 35 degree heat on various side streets.

10. CONE OR TUB?

You will eat ice cream. Every day. Fact. You will return to UK shores half person, half gelato.

11. LET’S PLAY….(OR LET’S NOT)

You will pack wholesome entertainment for your family to enjoy like Banangrams, a pack of cards and a pocket crossword book that will remain unplayed, unopened and uncrossed.

12. FURRY FRIENDS

You will be befriended by a selection of very thin cats or collarless dogs who roam around the vicinity uninhibited and untroubled.

13. RISE AND SHINE…IT’S LUNCHTIME

Your teenagers will wake up and be ready for action around the time you have completed thirty lengths of the pool, read five chapters of your book, contemplated the meaning of life and got the cheese and ham out of the fridge for lunch.

And finally, you will have a brilliant time and do the whole thing again in a different location this time next year.

Happy Holidays everyone

T x

What have I forgotten? Anything you think should be added to the list? Let me know, I love hearing your thoughts …..

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Hello! How are you doing? You may have noticed I’ve been a bit quiet (completely silent) on here lately, or you may not have. Both reactions are totally fine. Having two busy jobs, general inertia due to scorchio temperatures and life have taken over. Anyway I hope you are ok.

Several things have happened since I last wrote anything on Substack. Some big. Some medium-sized. Some small.

So ‘What’s occurring?’

Well, this…

I got married to Jonny, my partner of 22 years. There were four people at the ceremony. Two were us. Two were our children who doubled as our witnesses. The sun shone. We smiled for pictures amid beautiful pink roses in the garden of Camberwell Registry Office. We dined on crab risotto, chicken pie and grilled lamb at The Camberwell Arms and then hopped on a bus to Brixton to bask in a rooftop sauna overlooking the London skyline. Perfect wedding day.

Our daughter turned 21 and graduated from Cambridge University. Swishy gowns, certificates, people speaking in Latin inside the ancient walls of the Senate House. I could not be a prouder mum. She went to our local state schools, was diagnosed with dyslexia when she was 8 and had a tough time in her last year of sixth form thanks to some spiteful girls. Her determination, resilience and drive continue to wow me. Her gorgeousness, wisdom and empathy as a human being continue to astound me. She is an inspiration. It was a very special day.

My 85 year old father–in-law fell in the River Cam during a punting trip. The water was shallow. The stench of the boggy river bed was pungent. He had to wear my Sweaty Betty joggers, my big pink scarf and my fleecy Uniqlo coat to keep him warm in the car on the way home. It was surreal to see an elderly, silver-haired man dressed as me. He was fine. Nothing ruffles him. His stoicism is legendary.

I spent 3 nights on a lush Italian hillside with two of my oldest friends from university, Rachel and Vicki Mac. We ate polenta and gelato by day, ambled along the cobbled medieval streets of Bergamo, people-watched by the canals of Milan, cried with laughter reminiscing about past shenanigans and cosied up on a double bed to watch Rivals on a laptop and rejoice at Danny Dyer’s moustache before our heads hit our pillows.

I interviewed a former NASA Flight Director called Bob for a documentary called Terror On The Space Station. Our zoom call was beset with so many issues it was Terror In Our Spare Bedroom. Patchy wifi, sound delay, Bob not seeming to know anything about the documentary he featured in. The irony that he had overseen key space missions during his illustrious career and yet we were failing dismally in our simple mission to conduct an interview was not lost on me. Hey ho.

We celebrated the end of a footie era. No, not that one (although I chalked up what seemed like about 267 hours of World Cup viewing time). After nearly 10 years of coaching my son’s football team my husband hung up his boots, cones, whistle, poles and first aid kit. He stepped in to be a coach when the boys were cute little 7 year-old classmates. Ten years later and with the trophy-winning team now strapping 17-year-olds sporting six-packs, Saturday morning hangovers and with A-Levels looming it was time to call it a day. Jonny’s dedication over the decade has been tireless. He’s about to get his weekends back (and I’m about to get the corner of the living room back where all the smelly bibs and muddy cones are tossed.)

I went on set of the new series of Last One Laughing where I interviewed the ten comedians and actors who will be doing their very best to suppress all giggles when the new series airs (I’m not allowed to say who they are yet but it is a GREAT line up). I also had a laughter-filled night at Always Be Comedy, South London’s gem of a venue at the Tommyfield pub, where you pay a tenner to watch top comedians practice their material. The night’s ‘surprise’ guests turned out to be Joe Wilkinson and Joel Dommett. Joe Wilkinson was brilliant. Joel Dommett was sweaty, flustered and very sleep deprived following the recent birth of his second son but he quickly won over the audience with his TV-perfect grin and self-deprecating charm.

I joined my fabulous team of volunteers from the charity Restore for our latest ‘Show and Tell’ event at St Thomas’ hospital where we model our mastectomy scars and breast reconstructions for breast cancer patients awaiting surgery to help them see what options are available and what they look like. It’s always an emotional day for many different reasons but it’s so rewarding to see women who arrive fearful and anxious leave us feeling a bit more informed, confident and reassured. (I wrote about my experience of going from patient to model in my very first substack post here)

We had our first ever family trip to the opera where - top tip - we bought some cheapish £25 standing tickets for La Boheme at London’s Royal Opera House and managed to manoeuvre ourselves into some very expensive seats that we spotted were empty before the curtain went up. I’ve decided opera is not for me but I enjoyed the opulence of the theatre, the incredible set design and the stem ginger ice cream during the interval.

Other stuff that’s been happening…

I had my last session with one of my postnatal doula clients, a solo mum who has been an absolute joy to support.

I danced in a very hot Brockwell Park to Little Simz and Joy Crookes at Cross The Tracks festival.

I dodged the figs from the next-door neighbour’s tree that have been falling like squidgy hand-grenades into our garden while I’m trying to relax in our tiny garden.

I spent four nights in Cromer, Norfolk, tucked into the best ever fish and chips and climbed aboard a boat trip to spot some seals.

I learnt how to say ‘There is a scary woman in the bathroom’ in Italian. Thank you Duolingo.

I got bitten by our 17-year-old cat Sammy who left juicy teeth marks in my heel that made my foot throb and itch and my mouth swear very loudly. He’s prowling about right now trying to knock a cup of tea over my laptop as is his wont and I don’t like the glint in his eye.

So that’s what’s been going on here. Maybe the next couple of months will be a bit less action-packed. Or maybe they won’t. We’ll find out.

Thank you for reading. See you next time, T x

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Thank you for reading this one x

*************************************************************************************************************
You are three days old
We sit 
Your little body nestled in my arms 
You have been fed
Your milk-laced lips purse and loosen
Purse and loosen
Your stare up at my face 
Your brown eyes not yet able to focus far
Checking out the contours of my face 
What thoughts are burrowing in your mind? 
Three days ago you were warm and cosy inside the womb
Soft sounds, muffled noises, your liquid home cushioning your tiny tucked limbs 
Now here you are 
Arms and hands and legs getting used to space and air and edges 
Slowly, slowly over the days and weeks you will unfurl
A bud blossoming

We sit on the sofa
Cushions propped at helpful angles
A window ajar nearby
A gentle breeze slips across your cheeks 
I hum a tune
It is low and meandering and soft
Your little hand grasps around my finger
You are getting sleepy
A wide yawn
Eyelids gently closing
Lashes like butterfly legs squeezed between folds of skin
I watch you as you fall into a slumber 
Your small chest rises and falls, rises and falls 

The minutes pass and stretch into an hour 
We are still
You sleep curled up against me
I watch you
I watch the cherry blossom falling from the tree outside 
Petals as light as feathers twirling in the breeze
We have nowhere else we need to be
Nothing else we need to do

Your mother sleeps upstairs 
Her body resting after the gargantuan effort it has made to bring you into the world 
Spring is here 
You are here
All is well 
***********************************************************************************************************

Alongside my journalism work I work part-time as a postnatal doula in my South East London neighbourhood helping new parents navigate the early days, weeks and sometimes months with their newborn babies. I’m there to be a sounding board, an extra pair of hands, a listener, a cook, a signposter to useful resources and information, sometimes a shoulder to cry on. In the early days I am often someone to hold their newborn baby so they can catch up on some much-needed sleep or rest which is the inspiration for this poem.

I have been a postnatal doula for a few years now and I love it. As well as helping lots of tired and overwhelmed couples, I have supported solo mums, solo mums with twins, people with no family members in the UK, a bereaved wife who tragically lost her husband just months before the arrival of their first baby and second-time parents who have experienced previous birth trauma. Every family is different. Everyone has different needs. It is an absolute honour to be someone’s trusted person in their home at such a life-changing time and so rewarding knowing I am making a positive difference. And of course I get to cuddle a few babies too.

If you have enjoyed reading this poem please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you.

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Leave a comment

And if you’d like all of my future posts delivered straight to your inbox then consider subscribing and you won’t need to check back here to get the latest one.

As I seem to average one post a month I won’t be taking up very much space among your emails and all my posts are currently free to read.

Thank you for reading this one

T x

Hello everyone. I’ve had a busy few weeks of TV-related work which has included interviewing the cast of BBC1’s brilliant new drama, Babies, meeting and interviewing the celebrities, including Patsy Kensit and Hermione Norris, for the new series of Pilgrimage, heading to London’s BFI on South Bank for the screening of Channel 4’s comedy drama Big Mood series 2, (starring Nichola Coughlin, (Bridgerton, Derry Girls) and Lydia West (It’s A Sin), and spending an afternoon in Watford (glamorous) on the set of my favourite detective drama, ITV’s Unforgotten which will be returning for a new series later this year.

Oh and I also spent a Monday morning at the super-fancy London hotel, Raffles in Whitehall, where not only did I get to interview Hollywood star Kerry Washington for her drama Imperfect Women in a plush hotel suite, but I also got to experience my first ever heated toilet seat in the ensuite bathroom. What an exciting and luxurious surprise that was.

Anyway, loads going on here at home, my daughter has just got back from Uni, my father-in-law is here celebrating his 88th birthday, we’re off on a road trip later today and I was out last night watching a George Michael tribute act in London’s New Cross which was fun and uplifting and I now have Freedom and Club Tropicana on a loop in my head.

But before I hit the road I thought I’d quickly share some of the TV that has been catching my eye / that I’ve been writing about/ or that I’m looking forward to incase you enjoy it too. Here we go, remote controls at the ready. Play….

BABIES

BBC1, (Box set, BBCiPlayer) - 6 episodes

Starts Monday 30 April, 9pm - DRAMA

This is my top recommendation and the reason I’m hurriedly sharing this now as it starts tonight. Written by Stefan Golasewski, (the award-winning talent behind gems such as Mum which I was a huge fan of, Him and Her, which I dipped into, and Marriage, which I wasn’t so keen on), this is a six-part drama that follows a couple who are very much in love navigating the intense heartache of baby loss, which, yes is very upsetting subject, but this is essentially a beautifully-drawn love story too. Newly-weds Stephen (Paapa Essiedu -currently starring in The Capture) and Lisa (Siobhán Cullen) are keen to start a family but when Lisa suffers multiple miscarriages their relationship is put under intense strain. Very gently-paced and typical of Golasewski’s pared back style, the story also features Stephen’s best-friend, Dave (Jack Bannon), who’s in a new relationship with the seemingly aloof ice-maiden Amanda (Charlotte Riley). It’s tender, it’s beautifully observed, it’s moving, it’s funny in parts, the performances are all BRILLIANT and you’ll be rooting so hard for Stephen and Lisa.

Episode one features the most excruciating restaurant meal as everyone is privately dealing with their own stuff and you will be wondering what the hell is going on with Amanda and why she is with Dave but all becomes much clearer in episode two.

On the subject of Amanda, fun fact which I discovered during my pre-interview research, Charlotte Riley who plays her, is married to the Hollywood star Tom Hardy in real life. They met when they both starred in the ITV adaptation of Wuthering Heights in 2008. Maybe you knew this already!

RACE ACROSS THE WORLD

BBC1, Starts Thursday 2 April, 8pm / TRAVEL REALITY

Always love RATW. We got into watching this as a family in lockdown to provide some much needed vicarious escapism and adventure and have since watched every series. Really enjoyed the last celeb one which you can watch on iPlayer if you so desire. This one is the sixth series of the civilian version and this time the pairs - made up of cousins, a daughter and dad, in-laws, friends and siblings - are racing across Europe and Asia crossing Italy, Greece, Turkey, Georgie, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and ending in Mongolia. I’m particularly invested this season as the starting point is Palermo in Sicily where we had a great summer holiday last year. (I’ve written about our Sicilian adventure on a previous Substack post if you’d like to know what we got up to).

THE CURE AT THE BBC

BBC4, Friday April 3 - MUSIC / DOCUMENTARY

Looking forward to this one. Big fan. LOVE Robert Smith. According to the BBC we’re promised, ‘A celebration of The Cure, Robert Smith and the unique songwriting talents that meant their long list of singles were always destined to break out from the bedrooms of tortured students and be embraced by a far wider audience’. This archive collection is going to be showing the band’s performances from their early days with hits including A Forest, (soundtrack to my teenage inter-railing adventures, walkman clamped on ears), through to Lovecats, Friday I’m in Love, Close to Me and Boys Don’t Cry. A must-watch if you’re a fan. I saw them a few years ago at Hyde Park and they were phenomenal.

IMPERFECT WOMEN

Apple TV - DRAMA - Currently airing - 8 episodes

As mentioned I interviewed Hollywood star Kerry Washington for this which meant I watched a couple of episodes before meeting her and I was instantly hooked. Adapted from the novel by British author Araminta Hall, it’s a glossy 8-part thriller, told from the different perspectives of its three protagonists - Mary (Elisabeth Moss), Eleanor (Kerry Washington) and Nancy (Kate Mara), all in their 40s who’ve been friends since their college days. Flipping between the present and past, the story begins with the shattering revelation that Nancy has been found brutally murdered. Set in Los Angeles and with a great cast including Corey Stoll (House of Cards) and Joel Kinnaman (The Killing), I raced through all episodes and could not have foreseen some of the major twists. My only beef was the slightly implausible relationship that Eleanor has with one particular man, I don’t want to spoil it by saying who but I wasn’t convinced.

TWENTY TWENTY SIX

BBC2 - Wednesday April 8 / MOCKUMENTARY COMEDY

I haven’t watched a preview of this yet but I’m hoping it’s just as good as the brilliant mockumentary Twenty Twelve. Hugh Bonneville reprises his role as bumbling bureaucrat boss Ian Fletcher who, having previously held a leadership role on the London Games of the Twenty Twelve Olympics and a spell in W1A as the Head of Values at the BBC, is now bound for the greatest stage in world football. This time he’s got the 2026 FIFA World Cup to navigate when he joins the Twenty Twenty Six Oversight Team in Miami as its Director of Integrity. With the tournament hosted by the USA, Canada, and Mexico, 48 countries taking part and 16 venues thousands of miles apart across the whole of North America; what could possibly go wrong? Can’t wait to find out.

LAST ONE LAUGHING - Season 2

Amazon Prime - currently airing - Reality/ Comedy - 6 EPISODES

If you’re looking for a bit of silly and joyful fun at the hands of some very talented comedians, including Bob Mortimer, Romesh Ranganathan, Diane Morgan, Alan Carr and Mel Giedroyc I definitely recommend this. Alan Carr going head to head in a word association game with daytime TV legend, Richard Madeley, was a personal highlight for me. I’m obsessed with Romesh as friends know so he is a constant source of entertainment. And Mel’s joker. Wow! I was impressed with her physicality and commitment to the role.

PILGRIMAGE: THE ROAD TO HOLY ISLAND

April, BBC2 - FACTUAL - 3 EPISODES

Not really something I’d normally tune into but as mentioned I recently interviewed the celebs taking part and it was such a nice group this year. They genuinely seemed to have all got on so well. The show is now on its 8th series and this year’s group of celebrity pilgrims donning their walking boots and backpacks are actors Patsy Kensit and Hermione Norris, dancer Ashley Banjo, TV personality Tasha Ghouri, radio presenter Jayne Middlemiss and comedians Ashley Blaker and Hasan Al-Habib. All of them have different faiths and beliefs and are walking 390 km across the North East of England, following a pilgrim trail that ends on Northumberland’s Holy Island. It’s gentle viewing with some beautiful landscapes to admire. Enjoyed meeting Patsy Kensit and Hermione Norris in particular as I’ve followed their careers, both lovely - both got quite emotional talking about their pilgrim experience.

And finally.

DTF ST LOUIS

DRAMA / currently on Sky Atlantic and HBO Max

I’m a bit late to this but watched ep 1 a couple of nights ago and very much enjoying it. Jason Bateman plays Clark Forrest a local weatherman who is a minor celebrity in St Louis, Missouri who becomes friends with a sign language interpreter, Floyd (David Harbour), when they are sent to report on a violent storm together. Funny, original, dark, intriguing. I will definitely be watching more.

Other recent TV dramas I’ve loved that you may like….

Waiting For The Out available on BBCiplayer

Small Prophets also available on BBCiplayer

That’s it for now. This was a bit of a whirlwind rush but hope you’ve enjoyed it. Any TV recommendations you’ve got? Send them this way and we can all share them…

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Thank you for reading this one

T x

Hello everyone. Thank you for finding your way here. And thank you to new subscribers. It’s really lovely to have you all here for this evolving patchwork and somewhat sporadic medley that is T with Tess. And thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment, I always really enjoy hearing what you have to say. Much appreciated.

OK. Let me start by saying I like dogs. I grew up with dogs. One of my first words was ‘Wilbur’, the name of our creamy coloured whippet who used to snuggle up in the large framed pram with me when I was a baby. It was the 70s. Different times back then. Parents didn’t worry about the hairy limbs, damp noses and twitchy tails of pets being nestled alongside the peachy chub of a newborn baby. Or at least my parents didn’t.

I know the joy that four-legged friends can bring. However, unlike my siblings, my parents and the majority of my local friends, I am not, and have never been, a dog owner, (although never say never). What I am is someone who enjoys a lot of walks. Wanders around Peckham Rye or Dulwich Park in my little corner of South East London are pretty much a daily occurrence, often with mates. Which is how I come to spend a fair bit of time going on dog walks when I’m dogless.

And this, dear reader, is what I’ve learnt about the perils and pitfalls …woof woof.

1.BE PREPARED FOR PAW PRINTS

Now this doesn’t happen with ALL my friends’ dogs but it seems the majority I come into contact with like to greet me by jumping up. Two things occur. Firstly I get muddy paw prints all over the clothes I am wearing. (London parks + rain = disaster). Secondly, my dog owner friend - D.O.F - will act as if this is a total surprise to them and in no way the regular occurrence we both know it to be. ‘Down Bessy! Down Bessy’, the friend will say whilst trying to inject a bit of exasperation and shock into their voice but fooling no-one.

I have learnt to adapt and choose my wardrobe accordingly depending on which dog/ friend combo I am meeting. (Some are much more jumpy-uppy and excitable than others. The dogs. Not the friends). Pale trousers or skirts are out, bare legs are high risk and the cream coloured coat I was planning on wearing to work after one particular walk is NEVER coming with me again. I have concluded the best attire would be a pair of camouflage combats or maybe some mud coloured leggings. Disappointingly I don’t own either and won’t be investing any time soon.

2. THE WALK WILL BE STOP/ START IN STYLE

If your friend likes to let their dogs off-lead, which all of mine seem to, expect the walk to be a jolty stop-start affair in which you will have to wait while Bobby stops to sniff the bottom of a passing furry friend or darts off to chase a nearby squirrel. It reminds me of the park walks I had when my kids were toddlers where progress was painfully slow and numerous pauses occurred while the little people wanted to prod, poke or marvel at fascinating items such as manhole covers, discarded Wotsit packets or shiny laughing gas canisters, (London innit). Let’s just say a walk with a toddler doesn’t exactly flow. Same with a dog in tow.

3. YOU WILL SPEND A LOT OF TIME IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO A BULGING POO BAG

My pooch-loving friends are all responsible members of society who pick up their dog’s poo and scoop it into a bag. However this bag will often accompany us on the rest of the walk. Or at least until the D.O.F finds one of one of the (un)handily located, (usually revoltingly overflowing), dog poo bins. TBH it’s not an ideal start to my morning to be keeping pace with a bulging shit-filled receptacle swinging along merrily by my hip. Not when I’ve yet to eat my morning Bran Flakes. But hey, needs must. I fully understand that dogs need to excrete and a swinging bag of faeces is preferable to a turd-littered pathway. It’s not a biggie in the large scheme of things. Although some of the poos that have accompanied us on our stroll have been very biggie indeed.

4. YOU WON’T HAVE THE FULL ATTENTION OF YOUR DOG-OWNING CHUM

If a dog is off-lead, the dog owner’s brain is likely to be off-lead too. Yes they will be listening to you, but there will also be a small section of their mind preoccupied with their pet. As mentioned previously the physical walk can lack ‘flow’ and so too can the conversation. Let’s look at a real life example:

D.O.F ‘So, how has your week been Tess?’

Me: ‘Actually something really terrible has happened. You know my mum and dad’s next door neighbours, their friends Patrick and Tina…

D.O.F. ‘Yes’

Me: ‘Well Patrick had a psychotic break-down and murdered Tina last week while she was asleep in bed’.

D.O. F ‘Oh my god ……Bobby! Bobby COME here. No! No, Bobby put it down’ (D.O.F runs off to go and retrieve pet who has now got its jaws around some discarded chicken bones).

Flow of shattering and harrowing real-life story very much interrupted. Extreme example but 100 per cent true.

Other less dramatic examples displaying lack of concentration from D.O.F:

D.O.F ‘How was that restaurant you went to in Camberwell at the weekend?

Me: ‘Oh not great, the food was really overpriced and one of the waiters was rude to Kate. Then I managed to leave my bag on the bus on the way home.’

D.O.F ‘Oh lovely. Sounds good. Minty! Minty!’ (D.O.F seen scanning the horizon for AWOL dog)

5. DOG OWNERS LIKE TALKING TO OTHER DOG OWNERS

May I refer you back to point 2: the stop/ start nature of the walk. I’ve discovered a lot of dog owners REALLY like talking to other dog owners about their furry friends. ‘Aaah, he’s adorable. Is he part terrier’. ‘Oh right, yes, my friend has a wire-haired dachshund’ ‘How old is he?’ ‘Oh a fellow cockapoo! Bless them! Look at them saying hello to each other.’ ‘Is she allowed a treat?’

Cue, quite a lot of standing around for the petless person while the D.O.F shares doggy facts, treats and general pleasantries as the pooches careen around in carefree bliss. Take your half hour walk and add in another 15 mins for dog owner bantz.

6. SOME DOGS ARE THIEVES

In the same vein if your friend’s dog has form for stealing balls factor in additional extra time as you stand waiting, your patience ebbing slowly into the path beneath you as your D.O.F makes futile attempts to retrieve it while you ponder the large amount of things on your to-do list and resist the strong urge to just walk off muttering, ‘Adios. I’m out’ as you spin on your heel to head home. Watching a tea-leaf dog do joyful laps around the place with a stolen item for ten minutes when you have work deadlines to complete? Best use of your time? Nope. Not really.

7. CAR TRIPS CAN BE PONGY

Occasionally a D.O.F will suggest we go further afield. Nice idea. I’m all for getting out of the Big Smoke. However, to put it politely, car journeys can be on the smelly side. ‘Oh dear Dandelion!’ your friend will chuckle, (even with a hint of amused pride), as rancid fumes fill the car once again following another toxic puff from Dandelion’s rear quarters. Even more distressing the D.O.F doesn’t acknowledge or notice the retch-inducing whiff because their nostrils have become so accustomed and immune to it, leaving you to grapple with car window controls as you desperately try hard not to inhale.

OTHER THINGS THAT CAN HAPPEN WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED TO ME…

Your D.O.F stops to talk to a friend and you are suddenly aware of a warm, fluid and not entirely unpleasant feeling spreading over your sandal-clad toes. You look down and see to your horror your friend’s dog, Billy, urinating on your bare feet. It’s the start of the walk. Soggy, wee-soaked sandals. Let’s go! Not ideal.

Your D.O.F arrives at your house to meet you for the walk and announces they’ve just put a full poo bag in your wheelie bin. ‘Hope that’s ok?’ Er no. Not really. A poo bag languishing at the bottom of an empty bin waiting to be crushed or worse, pierced, until the next collection in a week’s time. Non merci.

(Side note: I am now recalling a walk in the Gloucestershire countryside and the haunting vision of a tree festooned with bags of dog poo that owners had hung from its many low branches near a gateway. What on earth was going on there people?)

Your D.O.F goes off to try and locate a lost ball leaving you temporarily in charge of Pebbles. You see a large German Shepherd dog pelting towards you. Your D.O.F shrieks, ‘Can you pick her up? PICK HER UP! ’ in panicky tones. You oblige as the large German Shepherd starts jumping up attempting to hump you and the wriggling Pebbles clutched in your arms. ‘I think she’s in season’ your D.O.F later tells you. WTF!

Anyway, there we go - the perils and pitfalls. As I said, I like dogs. Really I do. (More photographic evidence from childhood days below although to be fair my sister on the right looks a little more relaxed than me).

I once spent a week of my life dog-sitting a very needy Jack Russell called Molly in Chiselhurst and have regularly been relied upon and entrusted to take friends’ dogs out when they can’t do it. So dear reader, I’m not anti-dog but rather a mere dogless observer. In that vein please imagine this piece being read in a friendly upbeat tone, (maybe Zoe Ball vibes), and not in ranty Victor Meldrew style despite possible appearances to the contrary, (maybe I should do my first Substack voice recording …that might be fun)

In the meantime, happy dog walking to everyone whether you own a pooch or not. And I’m dedicating this piece to my friend Meera. She will know why.

* Names of dogs have been changed to protect their identity.

** Names of murdering neighbour and his wife have been changed too. Eek.

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If you have enjoyed reading this, please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

And if you’d like all of my future posts delivered straight to your inbox then consider subscribing and you won’t need to check back here to get the latest one. As I seem to average one post a month I won’t be taking up very much space among your emails and all my posts are currently free to read.

Thank you for reading this one

T x

Triggers, triggers everywhere

Triggers, triggers everywhere,
They blast, they flare, they slyly creep
They pounce from unexpected corners
Sometimes they are a clenched fist grasping at my guts
Sometimes an icy jet blasting through my lungs

Sometimes they are a pinching at my throat with syringe-like intensity
Sometimes they are a pounding of my racing heart
Like now
A hospital waiting room
The epicentre of my triggers
I sit
I wait
The throbbing behind my ribs causing the cotton of my clothing to quiver to the beat

Triggers, seeping and gathering
This place
Two doors down the site of my biopsy
Further along, the room where I learnt I had breast cancer
Across the corridor the place where the surgeon told me the meaty size of the tumour
The minutes pass
Poised for a new scan
Headphones on
Distract, distract
Tune in
Tune out
Breathe

Rows of plastic chairs
Women of all ages
Some fiddling with phones
Some staring into space
Some with frightened eyes
Names appear on a screen
One by one we disappear to re-emerge
Reassured or rocked
Calm or crumbling
For some it’s a good chapter
A hopeful passage to the story we didn’t want to be in
For others it’s just the start

Triggers, triggers everywhere
The NHS MyChart texts delivered at sporadic times
The news on the radio
The shouty headlines
The king, the princess
The posters for charities splayed across billboards

The new ailments that cause anxiety to soar and spike and bloat and bleed

Cause of death: cancer
The singer who didn't make it
The dancer who is 'battling'
The supermodel who vanished silently
The clenching in my stomach as I read about her death, the sixth sense which told me it was breast cancer before I saw the words

The anniversaries
The ‘awareness’ month
The anecdotes from acquaintances
'My aunty had breast cancer too'
Well-meaning
Ill considered
Her fate left hanging in the silent seconds that follow
You dare not ask
You know an unforthcoming outcome could be a funeral ending
Triggers, triggers everywhere

1 in 7
The TV dramas
The film plots
Even the innocuous reality shows
Do not think you can burrow into the safety of a soft cocoon
The triggers are crouching waiting to jump
The heartbreaking backstories
The change in music, the sudden lowered tone of voice
They are coming
They will get you
Once you are tuned in you can’t tune out

Triggers, triggers, everywhere
Will they fade with the passing of time?
Will they be dimmed and diminished, trampled and wiped?
Time is a healer
I'm holding on
Hope intact

The 16 inch scar across my stomach
The disc of transferred skin where a nipple once was
The teat that fed my babies, gone
The surgeons’ work etched on my body
No longer triggers but reminders
Reminders of the team who found my cancer
Who took it out
Reminders of the nurses whose kindness restored me

Take your triggers
Let them slowly bleach into the milky abyss
Let them fade and pale along with my scars

………………………………………………………………………………

I wrote this after a recent hospital appointment which required me to be in the waiting room at the Breast Clinic in Kings College Hospital, London. It is a room which prompts a visceral reaction every time I approach its double doors for the reasons I’ve written about.

It’s been just over two years since my mastectomy and breast reconstruction. Although my physical recovery has been good, as anyone who has gone through something like this will know, recovery is not linear and the mental strain is big. You become tuned in to triggers that crop up all over the place in everyday life. The trick is knowing how to cope with them, something I’m still learning.

So, this poem is for everyone but especially for anyone who has gone through a cancer diagnosis. I get it. And OH MY GOD….anyone else hugely triggered by the NHS MyChart system that seems to like sending text messages at 7am or 9pm? I’m still working on how to make my stomach stop doing jolty flippy things every time a new text springs up.

As always if you liked reading this, or it resonated in some way please do press the heart button / share / restack / all that stuff so more people can see it. I really appreciate it. Consider subscribing if you don’t already.

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Thanks for reading. Lovely to have you here. Thank you too to new subscribers. And just to say I’m planning for my next few posts to be a little ‘lighter’…. dogs may feature. We’ll see.

In the meantime, if you scroll down here’s a couple I made earlier if you like a bit of rage

T x

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Following an examination, the female gynaecologist who later complimented the perfume I was wearing, (it’s strange the things that stick with you), told me matter-of-factly that I was in ‘perimenopause’ and that if I wanted any more children I shouldn’t hang around.

On my bus journey back from the hospital I remember slow and feeble tears trickling down my cheeks. Alone. Shocked. Trying to absorb this news.

I wasn’t crying because I was desperate to add to my lovely little family of two children, (although I hadn’t ruled it out), I was sobbing because I had heard the word ‘menopause’. The mysterious prefix ‘peri’ may as well not have existed.

I was 41, how could this be happening to me?

At the time it felt like a punch in the ovaries, like a big, heavy slab of a door was slamming shut. I had no idea about the list of symptoms tied up in perimenopause. This was an era seven years prior to the Mariella Frostrup and subsequent Davina McCall TV documentaries, pre all the swathes of information and media coverage that ensued.

Did I get home and seek further information via Google? I can’t actually remember. What I do know is over the next few years, from my early to mid 40s, I transformed so slowly that it was almost imperceptible, from someone who had always been capable, confident, level-headed and calm, into someone who often felt overwhelmed, anxious and angry.

I started catastrophising. My sleep pattern resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. There was no pattern. It became normal for me to be awake at 3am or 1am one night, 4am the next, midnight a few nights later. And yet still I failed to make the connection that these symptoms were related to the perimenopause because I had still never experienced a hot flush, my periods were as regular as clockwork, no achy joints, no heart palpitations, dizziness, no night sweats. In fact no physical symptoms to speak of.

It wasn’t until watching Mariella Frostrup’s BBC1 documentary in 2018, The Truth About The Menopause, (Davina has garnered a lot of praise but it was Mariella who laid down the paving stones), that the point was finally hammered home that anxiety and overwhelm was ‘a thing’ and all the psychological and cognitive symptoms I had been feeling were thanks to the ‘peri’. So what did I do next?

MY DECISION TO TAKE THE HRT PLUNGE

At the time I still didn’t know anyone taking HRT. None of my peers were to my knowledge. Then one day a friend, who is two years younger than me and has a medical background, mentioned she was on it and so was a doctor mate of hers in her mid 40s. They were both fans.

‘Ok’, I thought, ‘Maybe I should give this a go.’ And yet still I procrastinated. Still something was holding me back. Do I really need it? My symptoms don’t seem that bad. Should I wait until things get worse?

It’s fair to say I gave my situation a LOT of careful thought before heading to my GP. I left the appointment clutching a prescription for Evoril Sequi patches. Weeks later they were still sitting in my desk drawer. Why?

WHAT WAS HOLDING ME BACK?

I recently read an excellent substack piece by Annie Ridout titled Why Am I Scared of HRT? and it struck such a big chord with me my neighbours could probably hear the twang three doors down.

In it she describes how she had gone to her GP to get HRT but something was stopping her from slapping on the patches. Her words really hit home because that was exactly me seven years ago almost to the letter.

I have always been someone who doesn’t like taking medication unless it is absolutely essential. At the time I think I felt I should be able to cope without HRT, I felt I was ‘caving’ too soon, that I should keep my little patches tucked away until I really, really needed them. I was worried there may be confusing side effects, I got overwhelmed with the instructions, bogged down with small print inside the packet. It all seemed too much. Like Annie, there was a whole web of things stopping me from ripping open the foil wrapper, including a tiny little voice at the back of my head whispering, ‘very small increased risk of breast cancer’.

However, as my mental state continued to seesaw and the brain fog, overwhelm and anxiety ramped up, (still no other physical symptoms), I decided in 2019 I was going to give it a go. What was the worst that could happen? That I might be one of the unlucky women who developed breast cancer? The risks were minimal. I had been reassured by the stats. I had watched Davina roll around in a ball pit with pink and white balls in her C4 programme Sex, Myths and The Menopause, to demonstrate exactly how low the percentages were. Well guess what…

BREAST CANCER DIAGNOSIS

In 2023, following a routine mammogram I was diagnosed with Grade 2, invasive lobular breast cancer that was hormone-receptor positive (ER+) and stimulated by oestrogen. (There are 3 Grades of breast cancer). I was immediately told to stop taking HRT by the consultant who broke the news. A mastectomy and radiotherapy followed.

So, was my cancer a result of the HRT which was giving me extra oestrogen? It’s a question I have asked several of the professionals who have treated me and the answer is always the same, ‘We don’t know’.... ‘It’s hard to say.’

What I do know is I was fit, healthy, definitely not a big drinker and not overweight so I wasn’t ticking any of the ‘more at risk’ boxes but then nor were the vast majority of the amazing diagnosed women I have met since through charities and friends. Breast cancer can happen to anyone. 1 in 7 women in the UK will develop it.

WHAT I WISH I’D CONSIDERED

So what am I saying? Well, it seems I will never know if HRT was linked to my breast cancer. There’s nothing I can do now to change what has happened so I’m not going to linger on the ‘What ifs’. I have always been a glass-half full person and I want to make it clear that this is definitely not a ‘DO NOT TAKE HRT’ post. Not at all. Many of my friends and women I know use it and are currently reaping its many benefits. New supportive evidence seems to be constantly emerging and we now know it can do lots of helpful things like maintain bone density and reduce the risk of osteoporosis. But what rankles me a bit is that for me HRT never made a huge amount of tangible difference, it certainly wasn’t a magic bullet. I would say at best it dimmed and dampened my feelings of anxiety, it may have helped my sleep slightly, made me slightly less angry. To sum up, it may have ‘evened’ me out a bit at the time.

So what happened when I came off it? Well my periods stopped immediately, (I had no idea prior to this that HRT can continue to cause monthly bleeds), my sleep and anxiety got a bit worse but then I was in the middle of a cancer diagnosis navigating numerous stressful scans and appointments and awaiting major surgery and radiotherapy. It’s no wonder I was feeling a bit ‘anxious.’

GOING ONTO ANTIDEPRESSANTS

It was for that reason that my breast care nurse suggested an antidepressant might be beneficial. I was prescribed sertraline. Again I held off taking it for a while, (my innate reluctance to be on medication kicking in once again), but following my mastectomy and hitting a particularly stressful couple of months, I started it and found that for me personally it did pretty much what HRT had done, evened out my moods, helped a bit with sleep, reduced the feelings of anxiety and overwhelm.

SO WHAT NOW?

These days the only medication I take is Tamoxifen, (2 years down, 8 to go), the daily hormone therapy medication that reduces the risk of my type of breast cancer recurring. I decided to stop taking sertraline after reading an article about it potentially reducing the efficacy of Tamoxifen. When I raised this concern with the endocrinologist and breast care team treating me it seemed to be a slightly hazy area and I didn’t feel 100 per cent reassured, (so if anyone has any medical insights around that combination of Tamoxifen / sertraline I would be keen to hear them). The last thing I want to do is make Tamoxifen less effective in preventing a reoccurrence. Goodbye sertraline.

Meanwhile, with HRT permanently off menu and deciding not to use antidepressants for now, I have become pretty tuned into other things I can do to help myself. I could write about some of these at length but I’ve gone on for long enough so to keep it quick the main things boil down to this:

• I do strength training, Body Pump, for bone health and generally feeling strong.

• I do pilates and yoga for flexibility and calm.

• I have pretty much given up alcohol. There was only a handful of occasions I had a glass last year. Booze definitely exacerbates hot flushes, poor sleep, low mood.

• I have a blast of cold water at the end of my morning showers which gives me a buzz.

• I go for a lot of walks to help my mental health.

• I have cut out caffeine apart from one morning cup of tea (I’m fine with decaf tea and have never been a big coffee drinker). Again, I found for me caffeine promotes and exacerbates menopausal hot flushes.

• I take magnesium, vitamin B and vitamin D supplements.

• I occasionally take the sleeping pill Zopiclone which was prescribed by my GP

So in hindsight my thoughts and what I wish I’d known before was maybe I should have taken sertraline rather than HRT all those years ago? After all I found the benefits of HRT minimal and it may or may not have contributed to my breast cancer. Meanwhile I found sertraline did a good job of helping my chief perimenopausal symptoms -anxiety, overwhelm and poor sleep. Interestingly I have since discovered that several women I know take sertraline, (other antidepressants are available), to combat their perimenopausal symptoms in preference of HRT.

Anyway, as I always state in all my breast cancer pieces, I am not a medical expert, I am just sharing my personal experience.

What are your experiences? I would really love to hear from you. Are you a fan of HRT? Or like me are you unable to take it? Or maybe you have chosen not to take it? In which case have you found things that have helped you with perimenopausal or menopausal symptoms? Are you favouring the antidepressant route? It would be really great to hear how you are coping so please do leave comments below if you feel like it.

You might also like…

This piece I wrote when I was feeling quite upbeat a year after my mastectomy. as I cover some of the lifestyle changes I have made since coming off HRT.

Or this one- when my perimeno symptoms collided with me interviewing a well known UK TV actor.

And thank you to Annie Ridout for this piece Why Am I Scared Of HRT? which is what prompted me to write this one.

If you have found this post helpful or enjoyed reading it, please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

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I recently had the pleasure of interviewing 80s pop superstar Rick Astley. If you’re around my age you’re likely to remember a shy and slightly self-conscious 21-year old dancing around in a suit and singing his hit single Never Gonna Give You Up. It was the song that catapulted him to fame in 1987. His bouncy brunette quiff, clean cut looks and soulful voice were Never Gonna Let Him Down, (sorry, couldn’t resist), and following the almighty success of that first single, which was number one in 25 countries and sold a gazillion copies, he enjoyed a string of hits produced by Stock Aitken Waterman, the pop-meisters whipping up catchy tunes for the likes of Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan, Bananarama and basically hijacking the entire UK charts in the 80s and early 90s.

However, six years after his stellar global success, Lancashire-born Rick decided to step away from fame to focus on family life and for a while that was that. Fast forward a significant chunk of years and he’s been experiencing a comeback, new albums, festival performances, he even performed a selection of The Smiths songs at Glastonbury in 2023 to a rapturous audience of excitable young-uns, (quiff not so intact then), which I don’t think anyone could ever have foreseen - it’s kind of like Ariana Grande jumping on stage in her late 50s and smashing out a load of Nirvana tracks.

Anyway, the reason I was interviewing Mr Astley was because he’s the upcoming subject of Dermot O’Leary’s BBC2 series Reel Stories which sees famous musicians sit in a cinema with Dermot, watch footage and clips from their past and chat. A kind of visual Desert Island Discs if you will.

As is the case with many of the people I interview, there is only limited space in the TV magazines I write for and I loved chatting to Rick so much I didn’t want his words to be left languishing in a google doc on my laptop so I’m sharing them here with you. I hope you enjoy them. Without wishing to sound too much like my late granny, what a lovely man Rick is.

MY INTERVIEW WITH RICK ASTLEY

How did it feel watching clips spanning your career and life. You seemed to be getting quite tearful at times?

I defy anyone to be taken into a cinema room and be played footage of themselves from the age of 19 to 60, talking through highlights and the not so highlights of their life without getting emotional! When I look at myself from those early days on Top Of The Pops and chat shows like Wogan I think, “Who is that lad?” I want to go and put an arm around him and say, “It’s going to be ok mate”. When some people get a glimpse of fame they think, “I’m in!” I went the other way and became more introverted. I retracted into my shell. I was a solo artist and I often think I would have liked the camaraderie of being in a band.

What memories did it stir watching your first ever performance on Top Of The Pops which was such a breakthrough moment?

Getting on Top of the Pops was like the dream thing to do as a kid but then when I got there I was so unimpressed, nervous and out of my depth. You’d have thought someone would have explained beforehand how it all worked but no-one even planned what I was going to wear. I was up in Scotland doing promo beforehand and no-one said, ‘Right you’re going on Top Of The Pops in two days’ time, you need an outfit.’ I had to go out and buy something myself, I think my suit was from Next.

After such huge success you decided to quit the music industry at the tender age of 27. That must have been a difficult decision?

I’m beginning to realize that a lot of the decisions I have made are something to be proud of. I don’t want that to come across as conceited or big headed but I think I’ve always had a toolbox that has allowed me to say ‘That is amazing. That is absolute nonsense’. When the nonsense became far greater than the amazing, I just thought, ‘ I’ve had enough’. A lot of people in this industry just keep going. It’s a bit like when you see a boxer in the ring and go, ‘You’re done mate’. I was done and I made the decision to just politely, quietly walk away. Looking back, that was quite a thing to do at the age of 27.

Was all the scrutiny and being so well known at the time hard to handle?

The problem is pop stars don’t get to grow up. You get pushed around, you do everything you get told to do in order to have a hit record. You become a product. People are handling fame a lot better today than I ever did. I look at someone like Harry Styles who’s about to release a new record and tour but he’s been practically invisible for the last year. How the hell did he do that? I don’t mean invisible to his fans but he’s just said, ‘No. I’m done for now, I’m off’. That’s bold and it’s something to be applauded.

You walked away to focus on family life with your wife Lene and daughter Emilie who was born in1992. What does Emilie make of your fame and your more recent successful comeback?

My daughter has a really good balance on everything that happened to me back then and what’s happened in the last 10 or 12 years. She tells me she’s proud of me which is amazing but she’s over it too if you know what I mean. She didn’t grow up with me being famous, (Rick had quit by then), we weren’t going on holidays with people gathering around me on a beach lounger or waiting for a photograph.

She went to a school in London where some of the parents were in the biggest bands the world has ever known. At sports day I did the 100m dad’s race with Mick Jagger and Daley Thompson (Olympian and decathlon gold medal winner). You’d turn up at the school gate and go, ‘Oh, that’s a member of The Young Ones over there.’ We didn’t say, ‘Oh let’s send her to a school where there’s famous parents’. It was just an area of London, Richmond (South West London), where there were a lot of media types, so I guess she’s always had that in her back pocket. She’s not bothered by my fame and that’s how it should be.

What would your advice be to aspiring and ambitious young musicians?

It used to be ‘Get a good lawyer and a good accountant’ but these days I think it would be get a good social media person. So many kids are not even bothering getting signed to record labels anymore. They’re doing it themselves at home, getting their names out there. But my main advice is only do it because you love it. Boring but true. None of the other parts, the fame, the money will do what you think they’re going to do. They won’t help you when you’re sitting at home in a darker moment wondering where you go from there. I’ve sung some of my songs so many times but I still get a tingle from performing them. It’s the joy of music and the love of it that keeps you going. It’s looking at the audience and going, ‘Ok, they liked that one.’ That’s an amazing feeling.

On the subject of social media, how do you think you’d have fared in today’s music industry if you were starting out as a young person surrounded by social media, influencers, Tik Tok?

If you’re 21 right now then you’ve grown up with the Internet, you’ve grown up with everyone having a phone. There have been times when I’ve been videoed in public bathrooms when someone has had a couple of beers and they’ve pulled out a phone and started filming me. I’m like,’ Hang on a minute. I’m fine to do a video, but we’re not doing it here.’ Young people today are used to it. If I was my 21-year-old self thrown into today’s world I’d be a complete mess within a couple of months. I’m glad we didn’t have the Internet when I was back doing my thing.

You’re just about to celebrate a big birthday. How does it feel to be turning 60?

60 is a big one! I made a record when I turned 50. I’m in the process of doing something along those lines right now and I’ll be touring this April. It does feel a bit weird to be doing gigs at 60 but I mentioned Mick Jagger before and then you’ve got Paul McCartney. Those guys are made of something else! I went to a Paul McCartney gig a couple of years ago in Texas and I was like, ‘My god, where do you get the frickin energy to do a full set like this?’ My body feels older, I’m not gonna lie, but I don’t think my heart does. I still feel hungry for things, and I still want to do things. I just pace it a bit more. My wife, Lena, who is also my manager, can’t pace anything, but I can.

What’s it like having your wife Lene as your manager? (The couple met in 1989 when Lene was working as a promoter for RCA Records and married in 2003).

I wouldn’t swap it for anything because we have done so many amazing things together. But it can be difficult sometimes. There will be occasions when I’m like, ‘Are you being my manager right now, or are we married right now?’. Her real job is producing films. In fact she’s in LA right now, she manages me as a hobby (laughing). She enjoys being busy and taking on a lot of stuff. I’m the opposite. I need to fill my batteries.

On that note, how do you keep fit and healthy and look after your mental health too. You don’t seem to have aged. What’s the secret?

We have very good lighting in this industry! I think one of the main things I do is I walk a lot. I try to get out first thing in the morning for an hour. I’ll be by myself listening to audio books and podcasts. I do have a bike, I’ve got some weights and all that stuff but I actually think walking is really, really good, especially mentally. We live pretty close to the River Thames and so that’s where I go. There’s something about it that releases and relieves something before the day’s even properly started.

You have travelled the world, performed in incredible places and met all kinds of people. What has the biggest ‘pinch me’ moment of your career been?

Playing at Glastonbury a couple of years ago was nuts because I did my own set and it couldn’t have gone any better to be honest. Everything was perfect, the weather, the crowd. And then to also go and do the other set I did with Blossoms (the Manchester Indie band with Rick singing covers of The Smiths songs), to be performing with this amazing band who are having a brilliant career and are the same age as my daughter, it was like some kind of mad fantasy world. I’m so proud of that weekend and how well it went. A lot of my family and friends were there, it was very special.

Are you finding you’re appealing to a whole new generation these days?

It’s always a shock when I see younger people coming to my gigs. I was performing in America and I saw these five guys, teenagers who were probably 16 or 17, in the audience and they were all wearing T-shirts that spelt out ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’. I got them up on the stage at the end and they were dancing about. You find younger people are coming across music on Tik Tok or online, they don’t care whether you’re alive or dead, they just like a song.

Then there’s the people who tell me ‘I never really liked your 80s stuff but I like what you’ve been doing recently’. But the majority of my audience are people who are there for a trip down memory lane too.

To be honest, and I don’t mean this to sound like false modesty, I’m just glad there’s anybody in the room. I remember watching the actor Michael Keaton accept an award when he hadn’t been in the public eye for a while and he ripped up the speech he’d planned and he said something like, ‘Thank you for letting me back in the room.’ That’s me. This business is amazing and gorgeous but it’s also cynical and tough, it spits people out. I’m just happy anybody is in the room!

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Rick Astley: Reel Stories is on BBC2 Saturday 7 Feb and will also be on BBCiPlayer.

If you have enjoyed this post please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

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What kind of crazy and hedonistic party was I at? What substances had I been pumping or pouring into my body?

Well …..let’s see. Having gone to a local party at a friend’s house I was back home by 11.45pm to welcome in the New Year with my first alcoholic drink of the night, (a large Bailey’s for anyone interested. I barely booze these days). Wild!

As midnight struck and 2026 showed its moonlit face, I was exactly where I wanted to be, supine on a sofa, blanket draped over me, my partner Jonny on the adjacent sofa and Jools Holland on the TV making musical chit-chat with Jessie J and The Kooks.

What a very gentle and sedate New Year’s Eve. So what the hell happened after that?

How did my night of sofa-serenity suddenly spin into hours of adrenaline-fuelled mayhem?

Teenagers and young adults happened after that.

Where to begin? It’s fair to say, the last time I had a good night’s sleep was circa 2005 before the birth of my daughter. Since then it’s been varying degrees of shit. First it was young babies squawking demands and needing to be fed at insanity-inducing times like 1am, 3am and 5am. Then it was the realisation that I am the lightest sleeper in the world and can be woken by the sound of a radiator groaning two rooms away or a small child hiccupping.

Next it was the perimenopause which did all kinds of mean things to my sleep and anxiety levels and segueing nicely alongside the peri was my children becoming London-street-roaming teenagers who do teenage things like stay out late, forget to tell you important stuff such as, ‘I’m not coming home tonight because I’ve decided I’ll stay at my friend’s house’, fail to answer messages when you are frantically WhatsApping at 1am and yet, in a cruel twist, are known to be surgically attached to their phones.

So, back to New Year’s Eve then. I had already been informed by my son, 16, that he was going to be out late with friends, exact destination unclear, while my daughter, 20, had announced she was off clubbing in south east London, exact location also unclear. Fine. Par for the course. It’s New Year’s Eve for godsakes. I want them to be out having fun.

Prior to their departures I rattled off the well-used reminders - ‘Message us if plans change and you’re not coming home. Make sure your phones are charged. Get home safely. Got your keys? Have a great time’... bla, bla, bla. Off they went into the icy December night wearing flimsy and wholly unsuitable clothing, my words rolling off their backs as the front door slammed.

So far so good you might think. But here’s the thing - if, like me and many people I know, you gave birth to your children in your mid to late 30s you will find yourself plunged into the perimenopause and menopause just as your kids are navigating their teenage /young adult years. What a magical crossover of hormonal chaos this is. A fact that had definitely not crossed my mind when deciding to have babies because let’s face it no-one had even heard of the ‘perimenopause’ prior to 2012.

These days, aged 54, I’m someone who can no longer take HRT, (thank you breast cancer), a person with a vivid imagination and the tendency to catastrophise particularly in the early hours, (cheers perimeno), a person who was once known amongst friends as the ‘chilled’ and ‘laid back’ one but who now has a a book titled ‘Overcoming Anxiety’ by their bedside, (thank you menopause). A person who is guaranteed to wake up at least once, if not twice a night, usually around 1am and 3am, (again, I thank you menopause, you really are the gift that keeps giving).

So on NYE having retired to bed at the wholly sensible time of 12.45ish, I got a couple of hours of what can only be described as ‘light shut-eye’ before waking at my usual 3 am. A trip to the bathroom confirmed bedroom doors were still flung open, lights left on and no young people had returned to the premises.

The rest of the night unfolded in a pattern I have become all too familiar with during weekends and school holidays when my teens are out, or worse ‘out-out’ - my brain spinning and lurching, locked in a mini and exhausting battle with itself:

‘They’ll be fine’

‘But what if they aren’t fine?’

‘They’ll be back soon’

‘But what if they aren’t?

‘They’re with friends’,

‘But what if they aren’t?

‘What if drinks have been spiked, drugs taken, alcohol overdone, phones dead, lost, no way home, helpless, lured into some hellish scenario by evil strangers? What if they are lying unconscious in a crumpled head having fallen off a perilous Lime bike? What were they wearing? How will I be able to tell the police when I can’t even remember what damn coats they were wearing? Were they even wearing coats?’

I know, I know it’s madness and I have no doubt some of you, (possibly many of you), will be reading this thinking ‘What the hell? Spear this woman with a jumbo size tranquilliser dart!’ But this is what happens. This is what no one tells you about when you have teenagers, that your sleep is going to be shot to pieces as you wait for your family to all be back safely under one roof. That you will not be able to relax in any meaningful way until you hear the sound of a key in the door and footsteps on stairs.

That you will be wide-eyed at 1am, heart-pounding, blood-chilling as you deal with not only your offspring being out in the wild but the cacophony of hormones, (or rapid depletion of them), powering about in a disruptive, derailing fashion.

That you will be locked into an ever evolving dilemma of should I just ‘track’ them like lots of other people seem to do? (That’s a whole different post, a whole other debate).

That your shaky, hesitant finger will be hovering over a phone keypad at 1.30 am as you ask yourself, ‘Message them or don’t message them?’ ‘Call them? / Don’t call them?’ Again, a tortuous dilemma because, as I’ve learnt from painful experience, a WhatsApp message sent only to be left languishing unread as your heart races and blue ticks fail to materialise is often more anxiety-inducing than not sending any message at all. Likewise an unanswered call.

So what’s the solution? Well the answer on NYE was I ended up cracking and WhatsApping them both at 3.30am asking for updates.

My daughter responded uncharacteristically quickly, (well done her), saying she was ‘Working out how to get home’ from the club, (location still unclear). Mmm. Not ideal. Another update minutes later announced she and a friend were now hopping on Lime bikes. Mmm, even less ideal given the combination of alcohol consumption, freezing conditions and black ice on the road. I tried not to dwell on visions of mangled Lime bikes as I waited for communication from my son who responded 15 minutes later to inform me he was ‘OMW now’. Good news indeed.

Suffice to say that shortly after 4am the sound of fumbling keys and downstairs doors being opened heralded that both were home and I was able to breathe a large sigh of relief - although the relief was immediately offset by the fact my daughter’s friend was also now under our roof. ‘She’s just coming in to thaw out before she cycles home because her shoe broke in the club and so she’s barefoot and freezing’ my daughter announced to my drained face and bloodshot eyes as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Oh that’s ok then. My kids are home and now I’m worrying about someone else’s young adult making their way home barefoot on a bicycle at 4.30am in sub-arctic conditions.

Naturally I found it impossible to resume any kind of sleep. At 5.30am feeling peckish and admitting defeat as Jan 1 showed up for duty, I was downstairs making myself a peanut butter sandwich and a camomile tea. At 6am I was optimistically rubbing magnesium gel into my skin to try and aid relaxation and at 7am having finally drifted into sleep I was woken by the sound of our cat flap crashing off the wall downstairs to which it’s attached.

And what was my partner doing throughout all this nocturnal activity of stress, chaos and general mayhem? Sleeping soundly in blissful ignorance.

Which brings me to another thing I’ve learnt from my extensive research, (ie asking mates), this: in any household where there are two parents, one will be the worrier, the one on high alert waiting for the teens/ young adults to return, the one poised to get in a car if someone needs rescuing, the one battling with this whole riot of stress-induced emotions while their nearby other half gets a great night’s kip and remains in a state of untroubled slumber.

So if you’re reading this thinking, ‘Tess, you’ve completely lost it. Who on earth worries this much about their teenagers or behaves in this way?’, you can assume you are in the latter category and your partner is quite possibly the one bearing the brunt of the nocturnal anxiety.

So there you have it, broken sleep for years when your kids are babies. Broken sleep for years when your kids are teenagers, (assuming they like to go out), toss in the heady mix of perimeno symptoms such as anxiety and insomnia colliding with teen years and this is what no-one warns you about. If you are the parent of a young child or children, consider yourself duly warned! This is the fun that is heading your way. You are most welcome.

I’d love to hear how you cope? What’s the answer? Do you track your kids and does that actually help? Maybe we can ask the brilliant Philippa Perry for some advice? All answers much appreciated…

If you have enjoyed reading this post please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might like it.

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As part of my job writing for various TV magazines, I get to interview all kinds of interesting people. It’s always a mixed bag. One week I can be chatting to a famous gardener who’s presenting coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show, the next a well known comedian who’s hosting a new game show and the following, a producer who plots the routes for the BBC series Race Across The World to ensure that no one dies in a remote jungle in Columbia.

There have been many highlights but here, as we dive into 2026, are just a few of my favourite interviewees from the past year in no particular order…

THE ACTOR

Henry Winkler aka The Fonz

TV SHOW: Hazardous Histories (Sky History)

OMG you’re interviewing Fonzie? There was a lot of excitement from friends and family when I told them I was going to be chatting to Henry Winkler, best known as motorbike-riding, quiff-combing ‘The Fonz’ from American sitcom Happy Days. (Apologies to younger readers if you have no idea who I’m talking about. Happy Days was big in the 70s and 80s and all you need to know is The Fonz was cool. Very cool indeed). Henry is now 80 and a grandfather of seven and I was slightly worried when I connected to the Zoom call at my allotted time only to see his home office in LA and a very empty chair where he should have been sitting. What had happened to the Fonz? Had he been taken ill? Had he suffered a fall on the way to his desk? Was he lying just out of view, sprawled across his study carpet? There was a tense eight minute wait until a door opened and Henry, silver-haired and smiley, appeared. Phew. The Fonz was fine and had just been having a ‘comfort break’ in between interviews.

Henry was so delightful to talk to, super-charming and engaging with his wide trademark grin flashing throughout our chat. When I asked him what he was most proud of from his long career he said it was the children’s books he’s written. Henry is dyslexic and he has penned a whole series of books featuring the adventures of a dyslexic child called Hank Zipzer. My daughter is also dyslexic and so this struck a chord. ‘Growing up I was called “dumb dog” so the fact that my name is on books as an author is astounding to me”, he said.

Favourite revelation: Henry telling me how he was banned from riding the motorbike his character Fonzie was so famous for after he lost control of it on his very first day of filming. ‘I came onto the set like a bat out of hell and almost killed the Director of Photography. From that day on I had to be pulled along on a towrope’. Who knew!

THE PROPERTY PRO

Kirstie Allsopp

TV SHOW: 25 Years of Location, Location, Location (Channel 4)

People seem to either like Kirstie Allsopp or loathe her. I’m in the first camp. I’ve interviewed her several times and have always liked her no-nonsense, straight-talking style. This time I was invited to her West London home to interview her and screen ‘husband’ Phil Spencer as they marked 25 years of their C4 property show, Location, Location, Location. I had been to her Notting Hill gaff once before to do an interview. This time I arrived to find her kitchen table laden with buttery cookies and a large veggie quiche which I was encouraged to tuck into while her little border-terrier, Dandelion, trotted around and Kirstie and Phil got stuck into my list of questions.

‘I’ve never understood why people are scared of me’ she said when I asked them both what their first impressions of each other had been when they were thrust together for a screen test 25 years ago. ‘People always ask me, “Is Phil as nice as he seems?” Whereas the question Phil gets asked is, “Is Kirstie as scary as she seems?”’

I have never found her remotely scary - she loves a good chat, seems genuinely interested in people and is guaranteed to answer any interview questions with unwavering frankness unlike many celebs who stick to well-rehearsed, disingenuous, crowd-pleasing responses.

I left having had an impromptu mini tour of her house because she was excited to show me the wardrobe space she’d had built to keep the dresses she wears on screen. She told me she doesn’t have a stylist for her shows, buys her own stuff and does her own make up for Location, Location. ‘A viewer once wrote in to complain they could see me holding a vape on screen when it was actually my lipstick I was clutching’, she said. I also left with my rucksack full of cookies that Kirstie had wrapped in foil and insisted I should take. A very pleasing and delicious end to an interview.

THE RETIRED BRAIN SURGEON

Henry Marsh

TV SHOW: Confessions Of A Brain Surgeon (BBC2)

I was intrigued to talk to pioneering neurosurgeon and author Henry Marsh whose BBC documentary was so candid I was concerned he might suffer a backlash after it aired. The programme sees Henry, who retired in 2015, reflecting on his medical career and sharing with unflinching honesty the mistakes he felt he made along the way as well as the successes. In a particularly emotive scene he meets a woman, Tina, whose young son died following surgery to remove a brain tumour thirty years ago. ‘I failed her son miserably’, said Henry. ‘I didn’t see the evidence in front of my eyes and the tumour I operated on grew back and he later died. When I met Tina she told me she’d been carrying hatred towards me for nearly 30 years which I fully understand.’

When I asked why he had wanted to make this documentary he said, ‘I feel I have a duty to be really honest about the way doctors make mistakes and the best way of illustrating that is to talk about my own.’ He also said, ‘Any decent surgeon will tell you they have an inner cemetery that they carry around with them, especially if you do dangerous surgery as I did for many years.’

Now, at the age of 75, he has been diagnosed with prostate cancer and so has become a patient himself which has given him a whole new perspective on doctor-patient relationships. ‘It reminded me that as a hospital doctor you only see a fraction of what your patients are going through. The whole system is designed to shut patients up and not allow them to express their anxiety.’

Having had my own experience with a range of surgeons fairly recently, (for breast cancer treatment, not brain surgery), I can testify that their demeanours and different approaches to delivering information varies enormously, from the very blunt, to the much more empathetic and that a few choice sentences, or lack of, impacted, my anxiety levels enormously.

THE HEALTH AND FITNESS GURU

Joe Wicks (aka my lockdown hero)

TV SHOW: Joe Wicks: Licensed To Kill (Channel 4)

This man would have to do something very, very bad indeed to lose his hero status in my eyes, like superglue a load of puppies to a tarmac road and run over them slowly in a bulldozer. Sorry dog owners, I don’t know why I have puppies in my head, maybe it’s because Joe reminds me of an enthusiastic, curly-coated Cockapoo with boundless energy. I placed him atop a high pedestal in lockdown thanks to his daily ‘PE with Joe’ sessions which not only gave me and my son, who was 13 at the time, some much needed daily structure, but also bonded us as we leapt around our living room doing star jumps, (me attempting not to wet myself), and burpees, (my son laughing at my crunchy-sounding knees).

The reason I was interviewing Joe was for his C4 programme in which he was demonstrating the evils of ultra-processed food and how our British food industry needs much tighter regulation. To hammer home his point he created a protein-bar full of dubious ingredients that could legally be marketed as ‘healthy’ in the UK. He told me, ‘All the evidence and research shows that ultra-processed foods are linked to strokes, cancer, gut health problems, anxiety, depression and early death. It’s a huge issue and yet UK legislation allows food manufacturers to put these ingredients into our food and sell it to us.’ I loved my chat with Joe, not just because it was nice to speak to my lockdown hero, but because he is a good guy who is passionate about trying to make a difference to our health and wellbeing.

THE HISTORIAN

Bettany Hughes

TV SHOW: Bettany Hughes’ Lost Worlds: The Nabateans (Channel 5)

If only all secondary school teachers could be like historian Bettany, her infectious enthusiasm and clear way of explaining things completely won me over. I am most definitely not a history buff having dropped out of historical learnings aged 14 after a term entrenched in the Boer War with a particularly fearsome teacher called Mrs Lisk who made pupils stand outside the room if they coughed or sneezed. She was terrifying! Farewell history lessons. Hello art lessons.

During my half hour phone interview with Bettany I learnt more than I did in a term of secondary school as we delved into her four-part-series which saw her visiting archaeological sites in Saudi Arabia to reveal how the Nabateans, an ancient Arab people, built a vast and wealthy empire in the 4th century in the inhospitable desert.

She was one of my favourite interviewees of 2025 because not only did I learn a lot, (although with my goldfish-like memory retaining facts is frustratingly hard), she was also super friendly and down-to-earth. She had called me from her personal mobile- none of the usual agents or press officers involved which is the usual process- and she kindly told me to call her again on that number anytime if I needed any other details for the interview. I later got a WhatsApp message from her saying ‘I’m outside Pret’ which I assume had been a message meant for someone else.

THE COMEDIAN

Romesh Ranganathan

TV SHOW: Can’t Knock The Hustle (Sky Max)

I’m borderline obsessed with Romesh, (as my friend Ruth can testify). I find him incredibly funny, have been to see him do stand-up many times, am the owner of the books he’s written and watch most of the things he’s in on telly….which as we all know is A LOT, the man is never off our screens. One of my career highlights was getting to interview him for his Sky sitcom, The Reluctant Landlord, where I almost combusted with excitement when we got to eat lunch together on the set of the pub used for filming. This time the interview was on Zoom for his show Can’t Knock The Hustle and there were a few other journalists on the call, so it wasn’t quite so ‘intimate’ . Nonetheless, spending half an hour with him via the power of Zoom was a definite highlight of 2025.

So, that’s six of my 2025 favourite interviewees. Who knows who I’ll be chatting to in 2026 but in the meantime here are a few shows I’m looking forward to seeing on our screens this year that you might like too…

Waiting For The Out, BBC1

Tip Toe, C4

Rivals: Season 2, Disney

Twenty Twenty Six, BBC1

Take That, Netflix

The Party, ITV

Pride & Prejudice, Netflix

Maya, C4

Any TV treats you’re looking forward to this year? Any good stuff you watched at Christmas that we can all catch up on as we hunker down in Jan? My most recent favourites were the comedy dramas Amandaland (BBC1) and The Cockfields: Christmas Special (BBC2) and to my surprise, Simon Cowell’s Netflix series, The Next Act which I wasn’t expecting to get sucked into but somehow did.

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If you have enjoyed reading this post please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might like it.

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Thank you for reading this one x

My cover story thanks to Substack. Turns out you never know who might be reading!

When I started this Substack just over a year ago, one of the main reasons was to have an outlet where I could share my recent experience of breast cancer. As well as it being a way to process my thoughts, I wanted to give an honest account of my mastectomy, what I have learnt along the way and continue to learn. My hope was that other people might find it helpful too.

What I wasn’t expecting was for it to lead to me being featured on the cover of a magazine. It turns out some of the team at the brilliant charity, Breast Cancer Now, had been reading my posts so it was a lovely surprise when they messaged me asking if they could interview me for their magazine Vita which is sent out to thousands of people across the UK and can be read online too.

I was honoured to be asked to do their winter issue out this week and so here I am looking wistful….(please excuse the slightly blurry photo. I can’t get the image to download so this is a screenshot. Me and tech!)

The feature focuses on the volunteer work I do for Restore and how I am part of a fabulous, feisty and supportive group of women who model their bodies and scars at hospitals around South East England to show patients awaiting mastectomies what the aftermath of surgery looks like, (in a positive way!), whilst also giving them the opportunity to ask lots of questions.

You can read the full feature here.

A Party with special guest Elizabeth Day

As well as being a surprise magazine cover star (ahem), another recent highlight has been a trip to Wales to the TV set of The Party, the adaptation of Elizabeth Day’s novel which will be coming to ITV next year and which is being filmed at Bridgend’s Dragon Studios - Doctor Who, Sherlock and Finding Eve are among the many productions that have been made there.

It was such a fun day. Not only did I get to interview the very charismatic and handsome actors who play the lead roles, Luke Evans, (Nine Perfect Strangers, Fast & Furious) and Tom Cullen (Trespasses, The Gold) who play friends Martin and Ben, I also got to watch Tom strutting his stuff to pumping house music at 11 in the morning as he filmed the party scene amid crowds of gyrating extras. It’s a funny old life acting isn’t it?

A huge added bonus was author, How To Fail podcast host and substacker, Elizabeth Day was also on set that day and found time to squeeze in an interview too. She was great to chat to and fizzing with excitement to see her novel being brought to life. I enjoyed reading The Party in preparation for the morning of interviews and am already halfway through reading her follow up, One Of Us.

One of the many things Elizabeth talked about besides The Party, (more of that when the drama airs), was her love of reality TV - a woman after my own heart - on the subject of which……

I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here

Did you watch it? What did you think? I haven’t seen it for a couple of years but found myself tuning in as this year’s assortment of celebs had me intrigued.

I was familiar with Aitch thanks to my teenage son who also got me up to speed on Angry Ginge. I’d also interviewed four of the ‘Campmates’ for various past TV shows, Ruby Wax (hilarious), Lisa Riley (super-honest) and Shona McGarty (lovely), and this year I had the pleasure of chatting to Tom Reed Wilson not once but twice - first in June for his new series, A Grand Tour which is coming out in January on Channel 5, and later for his show, The Taste Test Restaurant which he hosts and which involved myself and some other writers heading to the pub in Kings Cross, London where the series is filmed to immerse ourselves in the ‘Taste Test’ experience.

The morning involved eating a LOT of supermarket chocolate pudding and voting which was the best just like the participants do in the TV series.

As well as coming away feeling intoxicated with oozy chocolate fondant fillings, (I don’t think we were meant to finish all three puddings but I somehow managed it), I left thinking just how charming, witty and unique Tom is. He really does light up a room, or an Australian jungle, with his conversations, curiosity, sparkle and love of language. I’m not at all surprised that despite being a relative unknown compared to some of the other campmates, he won a huge chunk of viewers’ votes and finished as runner up behind King Of The Jungle, Angry Ginge. I now have a big soft spot for him and predict we’ll be seeing a lot more of Tom on our screens next year.

Meet the Rack Pack

Finally….need a 2026 calendar? Of course you do. Need to buy someone a Christmas present? Of course you do. Well look no further!

As readers of this Substack know, Breast Cancer Now has been a huge help to me since my diagnosis in 2023, (in particular their Someone Like Me scheme), which is why I was delighted to do Vita’s cover story with them.

My friend Lisa, who I’ve got to know through our mastectomy modelling with Restore, is the creative force behind this fantastic fundraising calendar which features “The Rack Pack”, a group of friends who’ve all gone through breast cancer in an array of boobtastic poses for each month of the year.

This is their second calendar. The first raised a formidable £31,000 for Breast Cancer Now and The Royal Marsden Cancer Charity but they are hoping to top that this year. I’ve already bought my copy and got one as a present. (Great quality paper btw).

You can use the link below to buy your copy and get a warm inner glow in the knowledge that you are supporting two brilliant charities and the crucial work they do. And if you don’t feel the need for a calendar in your life there are options to just donate.

Buy your calendar, read the stories of the women involved or donate here

So as well as doing my postnatal doula work supporting parents with their newborn babies, writing about forthcoming TV shows for the magazines I work for, (very much looking forward to the Amandaland Christmas special with Jennifer Saunders), and attempting to embark on a bit of Yuletide shopping it’s been a busy few weeks.

Thank you for reading. I hope you’re not feeling overwhelmed with oncoming Christmas things. What have you been up to this week? I always love hearing from people x

And for anyone who hasn’t already read it this is my Substack piece which prompted Breast Cancer Now to get in touch for their magazine feature.

If you have found this post helpful or enjoyed reading it, please do share it or press the little heart button below to like it - not only does that give me a little surge of joy, it also helps more people find it via Substack’s busy algorithm. You can even restack it which would be very lovely of you or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

And if you’d like all of my future posts delivered straight to your inbox then consider subscribing and you won’t need to check back here to get the latest one. As I seem to average one post a month I won’t be taking up very much space among your emails I promise, and all my posts are free to read.

Thank you for reading this one x

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Vast sandy beaches bordered by dunes. Dramatic sunsets of wispy pinks, rich golds and burnt oranges. Disobedient dogs having the time of their lives. Juicy scallops prepared in a remote shack.

I recently went away for three wintry nights to Camber Sands, East Sussex with my parents, my sister and brother. Just the five of us. No kids / grandchildren, husband, wives or partners.

The catalyst for the November getaway was to celebrate mum and dad turning 80 this year and having already had bigger family gatherings on their actual birthdays, this little sojourn was a pared back family affair due to various children being at uni, school, nursery and all kinds of weekend commitments to navigate.

It was the first time we had been away just the five of us since a French vacation circa 1987 to the Dordogne where, as a sixteen year-old intent on getting a good tan I instead got severe sunstroke and ended up bent double, vomiting onto the parched brown grass outside our caravan while New Order rang out from a tinny radio and my younger siblings looked on with disgust. I have never overdone it in the sun since. And I can never hear True Faith without being transported to Le Paradis campsite.

Anyway a few decades later and there we were, the five of us squeezed into one car navigating the winding roads to the picturesque medieval town of nearby Rye on a moody November evening.

So how did it go? Well, this is a little summary, in numbers….because, well, why not?

TWENTY- the number of minutes spent trying to get the parking app Ringo to work at various carparks. Seriously, why is this so challenging? My poor octogenarian parents didn’t stand a chance as they grappled with Apps, forgotten passwords, registration numbers, bank cards that were inexplicably rejected and ‘out of order’ machines. My sister later sent this very relatable and funny instagram post which sums up the experience.

FOUR - the number of walks along the vast expanse of Camber Sands which was a short amble from our rented accommodation. After a gentle stroll on our first afternoon when the tide was out and the sun was setting in a magnificent riot of colour, we managed morning walks for the three remaining days. A largely deserted beach, a few horse riders trotting along by the shore, a fresh salty breeze….it was the perfect start to each day.

FIFTEEN - the amount of minutes spent apologetically trying to retrieve a ball from the jaws of my parents’ unruly and feisty little dog, Harris (left), who had stolen it from a very patient Golden Retriever and its even more patient owner. As Harris had a field day doing triumphant laps around us in the sand with the ball lodged in his mouth, my dad as always, acted as though this was highly irregular behaviour from his pet when actually we all know Harris is virtually uncontrollable and unresponsive to all commands…..but very cute.

TWO HUNDRED AND COUNTING - the amount of ‘seaside themed’ objects in our holiday rental. It was a great house bordering onto the fields of Camber and packed with everything we could possibly need, (thankfully we didn’t need the wall-mounted buoy or the miniature lighthouse). Plenty of room for everyone and no sibling bickering over who had to sleep in the top or bottom bunk.

THREE - the amount of unnecessary but very satisfying purchases made from the beautiful shops in nearby Rye after a morning wandering around with my sister while mum and dad busied themselves in Rye Castle Museum.

Here were some of my favourite shops:

Wideye (soaps, bath bombs, gorgeous treats and lotions for all bathing possibilities).

Duck and Dog (clothes, homeware. If you’re partial to a fancy cushion or a pleasing fleecy jumper, this is your place).

Puckhaber (for ‘decorative antiques’ and some lovely perfumes that got our nostrils excited).

The Paper Place where I bought a hand-painted Christmas bauble and was excited to recognise the shop as the one that Interior Design Master competitors, Craig and John, (who was the series winner of 2025), worked their magic to transform.

As friends of mine know, I am a huge fan of the BBC show and its presenter Alan Carr who I’ve interviewed in the past and who I’m pleased to report is just as lovely and funny in person as he is on screen. My sister and I got chatting to the shop’s owner (below) who said she was delighted with the colourful makeover which has held up well. Good work John and Craig.

FIVE - the amount of times family members were accused of cheating as we got stuck into the board game Scattergories one afternoon. I can’t remember now what some of the dubious answers were but suffice to say my dad was soon perusing the rule sheet. Some things don’t change even when you’re in your 50s and your parents are 80.

THREE - the amount of exquisite, juicy scallops eaten in freshly made flatbreads from the Dungeness Snack Shack on Dungeness beach. Go there if you like seafood and are ever in the area. It was one of the highlights of our Sussex stay.

MILLIONS - the amount of toxic plastic ‘biobeads’ washed up onto the shore of Camber while we were there. We got chatting to the dedicated volunteers who were helping with the clean-up operation which made the national news. They told us it was a result of a mechanical failure at one of Southern Water’s treatment works which uses the beads and how they were fatal to wildlife. Grim, depressing and avoidable.

SEVERAL - the amount of times the famous film director, gay rights activist and artist Derek Jarman was mentioned on account of his house being located on the baron coast of nearby Dungeness. ONE - the amount of times we actually saw Derek Jarman‘s house as we did a slow drive by, the mighty nuclear power station looming in the distance.

ONE - an evening visit to the fabulous pub, The Globe Inn Marsh Rye, to dine on hearty fish pie, lamb steaks and salted caramel sorbets. It was the perfect place for a wintry evening, cosy corners, log fires, delicious food. Highly recommend. We also enjoyed a Sunday morning in Hastings watching the world, and a miniature train, go by as we walked along the seafront near the fishermen’s net huts.

So there we go, just three nights away and I have to say it was pretty idyllic, (bar the upsetting plastic bead-polluting news). When I got back to London I felt I’d been away for a week and we all enjoyed it so much mum and dad want to make it an annual occurrence.

At a time when so many of my friends have lost one or both of their parents I feel incredibly grateful that mine are still here, compos mentis, rattling around with their knee and ankle replacements, their pacemakers and assortment of daily prescription medications. It was truly lovely to be able to enjoy a few nights away together.

So I guess my message to anyone with ageing parents, (not that there has to be a message and not that the parents have to be ‘ageing’), is seize the moment. Go and do something special with them. Or just carve out some time to be with them and let them know how much you appreciate them.

Last weekend I was jolted into a state of high anxiety when my mum was admitted to hospital with breathing difficulties. Thankfully she was discharged after two nights but as I sat by her hospital bed I felt so grateful that just a couple of weeks beforehand we had walked side by side along Camber’s dramatic sprawling sands, chatting about books, friends, life and where we could go for the best fish and chips.

Have you been to Camber Sands, Hastings, Rye or that area of Sussex? Any other hidden gems you can recommend as I’m pretty sure we will be going back? Any memorable family trips away with your ageing parents?

If you have enjoyed reading this please do press the little heart button. It helps more people find it on the Substack algorithm and more importantly it gives me a little surge of joy. You can also share it with someone you think might like it. And if you would like to get more of my posts send directly to your inbox then do subscribe. All my posts are free and as my output seems to average a very undemanding one post a month you definitely won’t be bombarded.

If you liked this post about Sussex you might like this one about our family holiday to Sicily and the things that took me by surprise.

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A couple of people have recently asked me what it was like having radiotherapy and so I thought it might be helpful to share my experience here. I underwent radiotherapy last year as part of my breast cancer treatment. Having already spent eight hours in surgery a couple of months beforehand, (for a mastectomy and immediate breast reconstruction), I was relatively unfazed by the prospect of being blasted with some radiation. To be honest it sounded like a breeze in comparison.

My breast care team told me I would be having five sessions of radiotherapy administered on consecutive days at Guy’s Hospital, London. They explained that when surgeons remove a tumour they do their best to clear the margins but there is always the possibility that some pesky cancer cells may be left behind. Radiotherapy would target these and ‘mop up’, (their words), any strays.

So how does radiotherapy work?

Without getting too scientific, (because I am not a scientist but rather someone who interviews people like Danny Dyer and Davina McCall for a living), it works by using high-energy rays called radiation on a local area which target and destroy the DNA of cancer cells. However, it isn’t sophisticated enough to differentiate between healthy cells and cancer cells so it will destroy both. Whereas normal cells can repair themselves, cancer cells struggle and will die off.

Everyone’s experiences, the amount of radiotherapy they need and the precise treatment they are having will differ so I can only speak from my own experience but here are a few things I discovered as I went along that may be helpful…

GETTING A HANDLE ON WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN…

You will no doubt be given an information booklet by your breast care team explaining the treatment. For additional reading I found Rosamund Dean’s book, Reconstruction and the chapter on radiotherapy really helpful. I also scheduled a phone call with my wonderful ‘Someone Like Me’ volunteer at Breast Cancer Now who was able to share her experience of radiotherapy and give me some helpful insights. (If you haven’t heard of the Someone Like Me Scheme I highly recommend it. You can find out more here).

TIP

I also found it really helpful to watch some of the YouTube videos that broadcaster and journalist Victoria Derbyshire made during her treatment. That really brought to life the machinery involved and explained how you may expect to feel.

MOISTURISE, MOISTURISE, MOISTURISE

Keeping the skin hydrated around the area that’s going to be treated is important because it helps reduce irritation. I remember my oncologist telling me to start doing this a few weeks before the radiotherapy began.

TIP

You don’t need any fancy or expensive moisturisers, and ones with fragrances can actually irritate the skin. I used Aveeno which was one of the brands recommended by the breast care team. Things to avoid include using any hair removal creams in the armpit area, swimming in chlorinated pools and extremes of temperature so hot bubble baths or icy plunges, if that’s your thing, are definitely out.

WAITING AROUND

Out of all the treatments and scans, radiotherapy appointments gave off the most ‘production line’ vibes to me. Depending on your hospital you are likely to be in a waiting room with people having radiotherapy on a whole range of different body areas. I’d previously imagined I’d be hanging out with women being treated for breast cancer and pictured us chatting and sharing experiences. It was absolutely nothing like this. It felt more like being in the waiting room of a busy station.

At Guy’s the drill was to wait until your name was called then disappear into one of the many changing rooms, get into your gown and deposit your possessions and clothes into a basket. You then left the changing room via a different door and emerged into the treatment ‘holding’ area to sit outside the room you had been assigned. (For anyone my age who remembers the lovely children’s TV show, Mr Ben, the changing room arrangement reminded me of that. Step inside and emerge into a whole new world. Although to be fair, I don’t think Mr Ben ever underwent cancer treatment. Anyway, I digress.) I found this sitting in silence in the ‘holding’ area the most nerve-wracking as there was no-one to talk to and you were poised for treatment. On day one I remember my heart pounding and experiencing a rush of anxiety as I waited to be called through, which took about 10 minutes.

TIP

During the wait I took some big slow breaths to calm down my nervous system. I also made use of the EFT technique of ‘tapping’ that I had been shown during a session at the fabulous charity Future Dreams which helped to not only occupy me but also soothe me.

IT CAN FEEL A BIT DEHUMANISING

You will be lying on your back, naked from the waist up during treatment although by now you will have become pretty accustomed to showing your boobs to hoards of complete strangers. I overheard two of the radiographers having a conversation from behind a curtain before I went in saying ‘So many breasts in this week!’ Like I said, it did have production line vibes to it.

TIP

Wear something loose and comfortable on your bottom half. A pair of M&S joggers served me well. Also, all jewellery needs to be removed beforehand. On day one I was grappling around trying to unclasp my many bracelets and had to ask a member of staff to help me. It would have been better to have removed them before I even came to the hospital.

BE PREPARED TO KEEP VERY, VERY STILL

During treatment you are required to lie with your arms stretched above your head. If you’re a yoga fan, picture a ‘full body stretch’. You must also remain completely motionless during each session which can take between 10 and 20 minutes. By now you may well be used to lying still for various CT and MRI scans, I found the whole radiotherapy ‘stillness’ much more challenging, probably because a very precise area was being targeted. I asked the radiographer in a rather panicky way, ‘What if I have a sudden sneezing fit? Or I need to cough?’ She calmly assured me everything would be fine, the radiotherapy would automatically stop. (Needless to say no coughing or sneezing outbursts occurred).

TIP

You can try to mentally transport yourself somewhere else for the duration by visualising somewhere that makes you feel safe and happy. For me that was imagining I was lying underneath the fig tree in our back garden on a sunny day. I’ve heard in some places you can play music in the room. That wasn’t an option I was aware of at Guy’s.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND HOLD!

Breath-holding is not something you’re likely to have done much of before unless you are a freestyle diver or it’s your (strange) party trick. I think the last time I attempted to hold my breath for prolonged amounts of time was when my son was challenging me to a ‘who can do the most underwater summersaults’ competition in a pool in Turkey. Answer: him.

Because my tumour had been in my left breast I was given advance notice a few days before treatment began that I would be required to hold my breath for repeated stints of 20 seconds to protect the heart area. To protect the heart? You mean that rather crucial organ that keeps me alive? No pressure. I was told to practice at home beforehand.

What I quickly learnt is, holding your breath on the sofa at home for 20 seconds while watching The Great Pottery Throwdown is very different from doing it in a clinical setting, in a full body stretch, semi-naked with large machinery rotating and beeping around you.

TIP

Rather than counting, (although you don’t need to count as someone will be telling you when to stop and start), I found a good way to focus the mind for the repeated twenty second bursts was to recite a nursery rhyme in my head. Song lyrics, a poem, whatever you like - my experience was that it was far more distracting and occupied the brain for the breath-holding better than using numbers which for me just seemed to exacerbate stress. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star did the job just fine.

ALL ALONE

It can feel very isolating being in the room. The one I was in at Guy’s was very spacious. Once treatment starts you are the only one in there as the radiography team are in an adjacent room looking at you via screens and a window. All instructions are delivered via an intercom and I was told they would hear me if I needed to speak or ask anything. On day one I had a minor freak-out when I asked a question about what I should be doing and no-one responded. Unable to move an inch and with treatment underway I was relieved when I spoke up again and someone replied. I just don’t think they’d heard me the first time.

TIP

By accident, rather than design, I had a couple of items that friends had given me which were in the room, in the basket that contained my deposited clothes and shoes. One was a tote bag I had brought to the hospital, the other was a beautiful painted block an artist friend had made. (Thank you Amanda and Steph). It might sound odd but just knowing those two things were a couple of metres away helped me mentally. It was a connection to lovely friends. I ended up taking them with me every day of treatment.

TRY AND KEEP A POSITIVE OUTLOOK

While there are all kinds of side effects that can occur after radiotherapy, (sometimes many years later), my way of dealing with my cancer treatment throughout has been to try and focus on the positives and not worry about things that ‘may’ happen because there is a good chance they won’t. My Someone Like Me volunteer had told me she had got through radiotherapy with no problematic side effects so I locked into that and went into treatment with a positive outlook.

TIP

Try not to worry about the ‘what ifs’. Easier said than done I know. A wise counsellor from Macmillan Cancer Relief told me it’s totally natural to focus on all the scary information we are given or read about during cancer treatment. She recommended making a concerted effort to hone in on the positives and even write them down if necessary. So, for example, rather than fixate on the 15 per cent of people who may experience ‘X’ , focus on the 85 per cent who don’t.

YOU MAY LIKE COMPANY

As mentioned there can be quite a lot of hanging around in the waiting room and so you may want someone to keep you company and generally just be there for moral support.

My partner came with me on day one. Day two I decided I could go it alone and the same with day three but then I ended up having an unexpected emotional wobble on day 3 in the waiting room. On day 4 I took up the kind offer of my friend Ruth who said she’d come with me.

TIP

Take someone you know will be a calm or pleasantly distracting and supportive presence, not someone who’s going to flap or add to the stress. Also remember, It’s fine to have a wobble, it’s normal, but I find they can come at the most surprising times when the enormity of what you’re going through suddenly grabs you

TREAT YOURSELF

It’s nice to have something to look forward to no matter how little that may be. After each radiotherapy session I bought myself a hot chocolate on my way to the station. It was great to finish on the final day but I wasn’t exactly skipping from the hospital with joy as this was just another part of the treatment and I had more appointments with oncologists etc to get through in the coming weeks. There was no ‘bell to ring’ to punctuate the end of radiotherapy or chemo treatment like there are in some hospitals.

TIP

As the end of my radiotherapy coincided with the start of the February half term, (and my birthday), I had previously thought it would be nice to go away somewhere sunny. However all the information I read warned against exposing the skin to the sun, heat and swimming pools as radiotherapy makes the skin extremely sensitive. One of the other side effects is fatigue which can peak 10-14 days after treatment so on balance I thought staying closer to home may be better.

Worth noting, I never really experienced fatigue. In fact the only side effect I had initially was a slight darkening of the skin around the area that looked like a light suntan and nearly 20 months on, the only remaining side effect is my left armpit feeling slightly tight but nothing remotely painful, restrictive and definitely nothing that stops me from doing pilates, yoga and bodypump, all of which I’m a fan of.

So…this was my experience. Everyone is different but I hope it gives an insight into what radiotherapy for breast cancer treatment can feel like.

If you have found this post helpful or enjoyed reading it please do press the little heart button below to like it, (It helps more people find it and gives me a little dose of joy), restack it or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

If you’re going through breast cancer or know someone who is here are some of my other posts you might like or find helpful:

How to build your breast cancer support squad

A year since my mastectomy: 13 wins and positives I didn’t expect

From scared breast cancer patient to model

Breast reconstruction after a mastectomy - Diary of a DIEP

And if you’d like all of my future posts delivered straight to your inbox then consider subscribing, all my posts are free and you won’t need to check back here. I’d love to hear from you so comment away too and if there’s anything you want to ask me about treatment etc, go ahead.

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If you’re a working parent who’s filled with a mix of guilt and a trickle of regret that you can’t be there to greet your offspring at the school gates every day with a sunny smile and a tasty snack squashed about your person, STOP RIGHT THERE!

Here’s what I’ve learnt about pick up.

3.30 : THE ACTUAL PICK UP

Whereas picking up a small child from nursery was a joyful event in which my children would hurtle towards me at Mo Farah speed with outstretched arms and sticky lips waiting to be kissed, now they are at school the story is so very different.

On a good day I’m met with a smile before a hand is thrust in my direction wanting to know the specifications of the snack I’ve brought. On a bad day I’m met with scowls, surliness and a tirade of abuse. “That coat looks horrible”, “Why do you have to talk to the other mums?”, “Why can’t we go to the really expensive ice cream shop / cake shop / and gorge on chocolate and overpriced cinnamon swirls?….urggg….we hate you!” “We hate school”, “We hate life”.

3.30pm : THE SNACK DISPERSAL

I assume our school is feeding our children. I assume this because they print a handily downloadable menu, (perused once by myself back in November 2014), and because my daughter once pointed excitedly at three strangers standing at our bus stop and exclaimed “LOOK! The school dinner ladies!” as if she’d spotted a rare breed of puffin.

However at 3.30pm the children emerging from the battered red door and spilling out onto the tarmac to form unruly lines, claim to be not just “starving” but on the verge of collapse.

Tempers are frayed and parents exasperated as grappling hands reach for hastily ripped open packets of Pom Bears and wrestle with the foil of Club biscuits.

Should you have the audacity to bring something healthy – an apple maybe, a couple of optimistic oatcakes perchance – be prepared to be met with a look of absolute disgust from your charge and be on the receiving end of a public dressing down.

3.34pm THE LOST ITEMS ARE IDENTIFIED

You may, (or may not), have successfully managed to shunt your children to school wearing their correct uniform, carrying their own bags but it would be downright foolish to expect the same items to be in place come pick up.

Coats have been casually left lying in corners of the playground like wounded beasts, trainers used for PE have disappeared or re-emerged in a different size leading to you conclude they are not your child’s but the property of Felix in 3J. Meanwhile in a cruel twist of fate, forms that were supposed to be handed in remain screwed up at the bottom of bags, slightly soggy thanks to a leaking water bottle that should have been consigned to a recycling bin long ago.

3.38: THE BICKERING BEGINS

Having successfully managed to be united with your charges at 3.30pm if you have more than one child expect the first round of gentle bickering to hit at around 3.38 rising to full force confrontation at 3.40pm. You will normally be within earshot of the school having only managed to navigate 50 meters along a pavement before tales of injustice spew out, sibling rivalry rears its angry head and your children shout in loud voices how much they resent each other. But no need to worry because as you raise your exasperated head, bite your lower lip and roll your eyes to the skies, you will notice your own scene of domestic discord is being replicated 38 times over in the vicinity by small uniformed people harbouring similar anger and resentment issues.

3.45pm: THE JOURNEY HOME

A happy stroll along the streets? A chirpy car journey back to base in which you and your children chat merrily about the fun they’ve had and share the things they’ve learnt. Get hold of your expectation bar and lower it until it is skimming, limbo-like, a few cm above the ground. Instead of hearing tales of an exciting foray into pastilles during art or watching Mr Dunn create a mini volcano in class, expect to hear whiney-voiced remonstrations of why it’s not fair because Isobel has got a new Emoji pencil case, Finn is allowed to stay up until 10pm and Miss Barratt is really mean because she told Fleur off for wearing nail varnish.

4pm: THE ETERNAL STRETCH UNTIL BEDTIME

Having arrived home utterly frazzled and vowing to book your children into as many after-school clubs as possible next term - (ukulele for beginners / hang-gliding for under 7s, whatever… come on.. they’ll LOVE it ), the long road before bedtime stretches into the distance like an endless parched Arizona highway with a couple of tumbleweeds seen wearily blowing on the horizon.

More culinary demands are likely to be squawked and more claims of starvation tossed your way.

Meanwhile moaney requests to switch on the television will be made and be met with, “For Godsake, NO! We’ve only just got in, think of something else to do!”

4.15pm: THE TELEVISION GOES ON

After more uprisings and a small flurry of physical violence because someone has gone in someone else’s room / moved an important piece of Darth Vader’s Lego head …. and an abstinence period of …ooh look at the clock, precisely TEN MINUTES - the television goes on.

Depending on the age of your child expect to hear the annoying strains of an upbeat theme tune or the irritating Jimmy Carr- like laughter of Stampy / calmer tones of Dan TDM reverberating around the room as the children stare trance- like at the screen to marvel, slack-jawed as multi-millionaire 25-year-old strangers fashion Minecraft empires from breeze blocks and raise pigs next to swimming pools.

5pm: UPRISING #43 OF THE DAY

A scuffle breaks out on the sofa and shrieks of distress reach your ears as you enter the room to find your children embroiled in a wrestle over the remote control. The TV is angrily switched off and irate instructions are issued to go forth and play with Lego, get out the sticker book you got for your birthday, do a self-portrait in Hama beads, make a human-being out of loom bands, do SOMETHING ELSE, DO ANYTHING ELSE, DO ANYTHING THAT DOESN’T INVOLVE PUNCHING, DOOR SLAMMING, FIGHTING, MOANING, WRECKING.

6pm. TEA TIME

You present your children with something you’ve optimistically rustled up and wait for helpful feedback like, ‘Uurgh, we don’t like this!” / “ Why have you put cheese on top?” /“We had this at school today”/ “I’m not hungry” (because I’ve secretly eaten two Breakaway bars that I scavenged while you were upstairs and have tossed the screwed-up wrappers under the sofa for you to find in three weeks' time). You’re welcome.

7PM: HONEY, I’M HOME!

Your partner arrives home and asks helpful things like what’s for dinner? Why the cheese is in the fridge without its cellophane wrapper, why there are 25,000 Match Attack cards scattered over the hallway presenting a serious skid hazard and whether you’ve sorted the car’s overdue MOT.

You pretend you can’t hear and decide your local cinema is due a visit. An urgent visit. Even if none of your mates are free and you have to go by yourself. Even if it’s something starring Sylvester Stallone.

So you see, school pick up, it’s not all cheery smiles, happy exchanges, books before bedtime and engaging play-time. Some of us may have organised our working lives so that we can be there to pick up our offspring but occasionally some of us might actually fantasise about sitting at a desk 5km away, being pressed up against someone’s sweaty armpit on the train whilst listening to our choice of music on Spotify or being required to stay late at the office to work on a very important project.

Pick up guilt because you can’t be there?

Pick up exasperation because you are there?

The grass is always greener – just remember the grass can be sprinkled with mole hills, dog shit and discarded Breakaway wrappers.

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While some things unfolded exactly as I could have predicted, (sunburnt teens, jeopardy on a family boat trip, my complete ineptitude when trying to pair a rental car’s bluetooth with my phone), there were definitely a few surprises thrown into the mix. So here are a few of the things I WASN’T expecting on our Sicilian adventure which comprised four nights in the heart of Palermo, four nights on the island of Favignana and a week in Mondello, the beach resort on the outskirts of Palermo.

BREAKFAST BANQUETS

Prior to this trip my main experience of catered Italian breakfasts was dry-ish rolls and strong coffees courtesy of Italian Youth Hostels circa 1990. Which is why I was surprised by the sumptuous feasts laid on at breakfast time at our Palermo hotel, Porta di Castro. Cheeses, hams, arancini, squidgy pastries oozing sweet custard or apricot jam, platters of fresh fruit….scrumptious cheesecake. Cheesecake for breakfast everyone! And Sicilian specialties of cannoli, which are crispy tubes of pastry stuffed with delicious sweet cream involving ricotta. Maybe it was just our hotel or maybe this is a standard start to a touristy day in Sicily? Suffice to say by day two we’d become well practiced in bringing extra containers with which to squirrel away anything we couldn’t manage at a breakfast sitting. Who needs lunch when you’ve got leftover arancini balls and pistachio filled pastries to scoff on?

PISTACHIO HEAVEN

Leading on from that I am surprised I haven’t returned to UK shores a pale shade of green as I seemed to have eaten my body weight in pistachios. Flaky croissants filled with pistachio cream as a mid morning snack? Yes please. Fresh tuna steak encrusted with pistachios and bread crumbs for dinner. Nice. Pistachio ice cream from the place on the corner while we walk home? Go on then. I had the best pistachio gelato I’ve ever had in my life from Dolce Capo, a little gelateria we found tucked away down a back street. Highly recommend!

HORSING AROUND

One thing I definitely wasn’t expecting was to navigate my way to the pool area of our Palermo hotel, which was situated in the heart of the historic city centre, and open a door onto the shiny chestnut-coloured bottom and swishing tail of a horse who was being shod by a blacksmith. I can only assume the horse lived in some kind of hidden stable next to the hotel as he was spotted a couple more times in the narrow back streets behind our room, on one occasion all harnessed up and ready to take tourists on a trot around the city.

CRIME SCENE

We live in South East London and are used to the sounds of police sirens and emergency vehicles going full pelt down our high street. However it was slightly alarming to return to our Mondello villa on our first night and enter what looked like a scene from Happy Valley or to be bit more Sicilian, Inspector Montalbano, with three police cars and a fire engine, all hastily parked at various angles and completely blocking the driveway to our accommodation -windows down, lights flashing, engines running but eerily no sight or sound of any uniformed professionals.

After being forced to abandon our rental car further down the road we gingerly squeezed past the assembled emergency vehicles in a state of trepidation and high alert, my overactive imagination obviously having convinced me we were walking into some kind of mafia-related shootout zone. Days later we learnt there had been a fiery, (literally), domestic dispute at the neighbouring house in which various possessions, (including a lot of handbags apparently), had been tossed into a fire pit and gone up in flames. When we got back to London I told my Sicilian neighbour about this and he shrugged with a smile and said, ’Just a normal day in Sicily!

FELINE FRIENDS

We spent four nights at Giardino dell'impossibile di Antonino Campo which is a beautiful and relaxing oasis on the island of Favignana with self catering apartments. If you choose to come here it might be a good thing if you like cats, which thankfully our family does. At times I felt I was in the middle of an Andrew Lloyd-Webber production. Every time we stepped out onto our patio we were surrounded by friendly felines. Cats coming out from hedges, cats slinking over walls, cats darting out from oleander bushes, cats jumping up next to us on the bench or table as we ate our breakfast at the outdoor table. It was certainly a novel experience having six or seven pairs of eyes trained on our every movement for the duration.

TEMPLE OF FUN

One of our outings was to the Temple of Segesta which dates back to the fifth century BC and is so well preserved it’s considered to be one of Sicily’s most important historic sites. Having clambered up the hill to see it we were surprised to be met with pop music blaring from speakers and lots of Sicilians dressed in their finery milling around clinking champagne glasses. From what I gleaned it was a corporate bank event. It was all very incongruous, a bit like turning up at Stone Henge and finding a party underway for HSBC employees complete with waiters, white table cloths and people gadding about in sequinned halterneck dresses, mid stone circle to a soundtrack of Beyonce and Kylie.

HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF

It’s fair to say my partner is not a huge fan of dogs and I will never forget the expression on his face when we were greeted by the owner of our rental property in Mondello and a VERY large dog called ‘Luke’ who sidled over to give us a sniff. ‘He’s very friendly,’ the owner who lived below our apartment with Luke assured us. ‘What breed is he?’ I asked unable to identify the large canine in front of us. ‘He’s half dog/ half wolf,’ she replied breezily. Right, well that’s ok then.

We were a little taken aback/alarmed when Luke, the half dog half wolf, came padding into our apartment on the top floor one evening and looked around before making a beeline for some cheese on our table. ‘He’s very friendly. He’s very friendly’ I repeated on a loop in my head whilst trying to quell panicky images of snarly wolves with bared canines as I screeched for my son to help me usher him out. Suffice to say, I made sure the gate to our apartment was kept shut after that.

BOARDING GATE JEOPARDY

Another ‘surprise’ came at the very end of the holiday at Palermo airport. Having already endured delays at the departure gate we were aghast when an EasyJet announcement finally came over the speakers saying they needed 50 people to volunteer NOT to get on the flight. No volunteers = no take off. What the hell? This was definitely a first for me. Has anyone else experienced this? Apparently they were short of cabin staff so would need reduced passenger numbers for safety reasons.

On the plus side the 50 volunteers would be compensated with 500 euros, a night in a hotel and a flight out of Sicily the following morning. Cue chaotic scenes in which those desperate to get home leapt from their seats and surged to form a scrabbly ‘first come first served’ queue to board whilst others, mainly footloose and fancy free passengers in their 20s, weighed up their options. Friendship groups splintered with some deciding to stay, some to go, meanwhile people who really really needed to get home panicked that there wouldn’t be enough volunteers to ensure lift-off. It was total mayhem for about 20 minutes but eventually the flight DID take off. Hurray.

So there we have it - dog-wolves, choruses of cats, parties underway at historic sites, crime scenes, cheesecake for breakfast - just some of the things I couldn’t have predicted from Sicily, (which we absolutely loved by the way). How have other people’s holidays panned out? What unexpected surprises have been thrown into the mix? I’d love to hear from you…

Thanks for reading x

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Many years ago, (2018 to be precise because it’s recorded on my phone notes), something tipped me over a precipice. We’re talking a domestic precipice. Not a big, jaggedy cliff-face precipice with tumbling boulders hurtling past my ears. I can’t remember now exactly what it was that nudged me there. Maybe I had just mopped up some grass-infused cat sick from a carpet. Maybe I had spent fifteen minutes trying to pair up socks whose partners had yet again inexplicably gone missing in action. Maybe I had been wrestling with the putrid contents of a split food recycling bin thanks to helpful overstuffing of banana peel/ rejected pasta/ mashed potato by family members. Who knows. But what I do remember is getting out my phone and thinking:

‘RIGHT. THAT’S IT! I’M GOING TO SEE EXACTLY HOW MUCH OF MY TIME IS TAKEN UP DEALING WITH THIS SHIT ON TOP OF MY FULL TIME JOB.’

From that day on, (well for about the next six days until I got bored), I began documenting on my phone notes the amount of minutes that were being used up for every single ‘invisible’ thing I was doing around the house. Clearing away breakfast stuff /unloading the dishwasher: 9 minutes. Scraping hardened Marmite off a work surface: 3 minutes. Sourcing and wrapping up birthday present for classmate of a child: 58 mins. The list grew.

Fast forward a few years and I was asked to interview the fabulous British comedian and actor, Bridget Christie for her new C4 drama, The Change which she wrote and starred in. Imagine my surprise and deep-rooted empathy when I watched a preview ahead of our interview and saw Bridget’s character, Linda was keeping a chore ledger doing exactly the same thing - documenting all her expended minutes on thankless tasks she was carrying out in order to keep a household vaguely afloat, functioning and not encased in inches of grime.

‘I did this!’ I said excitedly to Bridget in our Zoom interview. ‘This is me! I am Linda! (Worth noting: Linda leaves her husband and teenage kids and goes to live in the Forest of Dean. Also worth noting, a few months after our interview I learnt Bridget had parted ways with her real-life husband, the comedian Stewart Lee. Your loss Stew).

So what happened to my list? Did I present it as ‘evidence’ in some kind of fiery and brutal domestic showdown? Well no. Did I leave my partner and head for the hills or the Forest of Dean? Also no. But I do remember bringing my simmering resentment to the fore and having a conversation with my family about how everyone needed to pitch in more. A LOT more.

Things improved. To be fair, one child left home for university reducing household chaos and detritus, the other got the message that bowls of congealed Rice Krispies left for people, (ie me), to find in bedrooms was not acceptable and my partner began working from home meaning there was no escaping many of the domestic delights that were literally staring him in the face.

However, my extensive research into the division of household labour (reading stuff, observing stuff, talking to frazzled female friends), would indicate the lionesses’s share of ‘invisible’ and not so invisible chores still falls to women.

So Substack friends, for any of you living with a spouse, partner, housemates, other people, children big or small, pets…. I present you with my handy Have You Ever? checklist.

Feel free to share it with a loved/ not so-loved one/ bitterly resented one, or even better, read it out to them while they are sofa-bound, feet up trying to watch the latest episode of Department Q or something sports-related on TV and let's see who is really doing the majority of this shit.

Let’s go…

HAVE YOU EVER? ……

CLEANING…

• Cleaned a bath littered with leg shavings / pubic hairs that weren’t yours

• Cleaned a bath coated with hazardous/ oily/ glittery remnants of a bath bomb not used by you

• Tugged tangled clumps of wet hair from a plug hole

• Wiped away congealed toothpaste from taps/ basin/ floor area thanks to sloppy and poorly aimed teeth-cleaning of housemates/ family.

• De-scuzzed the crusty toothpaste coating from an electric toothbrush head belonging to a family member because you can’t bear to look at it anymore

• Cleaned the area around a door handle where endless grabby hands have left grubby marks

• Cleaned a light switch, same reason, same grubby, grabby hands

• Cleaned the bannisters of stairs, see above.

• Wiped skid marks from a toilet bowl that belonged to someone else, (the skid marks, not the toilet although that too).

• Hoovered.

• Really hoovered. Like lifted things-up-hoovered, moved-things-round-hoovered, gone behind-things-hoovered.

• Mopped a floor

• Emptied a hoover bag

• Knew that hoover bags existed.

• Emptied a cutlery tray and cleaned out the crumbs, debris and inexplicably accumulated items such as mini cocktail umbrellas, toothpicks, useless bottle stopper things, wooden spoons taken from M&S that no-one will ever have cause to use

• Dusted the base of a lamp

• Dusted the top of a picture frame or mirror

• Dusted the top of a door frame

• Dusted anything

• Do you know where the dusters live?

• Do you know that a duster is not the same as a dish cloth? Or a tea towel?

• Pulled out a sofa and removed everything from underneath including disembodied Lego heads, chocolate wrappers, Uno cards, batteries, hair slides, pen lids.

• Plumped up a sofa cushion, not just once, but every day

• Plumped up bed pillows (see above)

• Opened the curtains/ blinds in household rooms other than your bedroom to allow some light to enter your abode on a daily basis. (Ok, petty you may think but this stuff adds up).

• Made your shared bed every single morning (ie pulled the duvet into neat formation rather than leaving bunched up, just woken up, messy disarray. Again petty but like I said, it all adds up)

  

• Ironed any items not belonging to you

• Emptied the bins

• Emptied the food recycling bin

• Dealt with split food recycling bins because householders seem intent on playing a game called ‘how far can we stretch this flimsy bag thing before it breaks’

• Gone through the contents of a fridge dispensing with items more than 5 years past their best before dates.

• Cleaned a fridge or at the least, the vegetable drawer bit

• Cleaned around the base of a toilet

• Cleaned the grouting of the tiles in a shower

  WASHING AND CLOTHES…

• Added dishwasher salt to the dishwasher

• Know where you keep dishwasher salt

• Know that dishwasher salt is not the same as salt salt

• Changed the bedding / put on a clean duvet case / pillow cases

• Hung washing up in acceptable manner and not so it dries in a weird, crease-heavy formation and is speared with pointy bits from the drying rack

• Taken washing down

• Folded up washing and distributed it to householders.

• Spent 20 minutes pairing up socks. Damn socks. Don’t get me started on socks….

• Bought special sock things so that people could actually PAIR up their own socks pre wash and they remain paired up.

• Abandoned pairy-up things due to lack of uptake by householders and decided that odd socks rule. No more life spent pairing. Pair your own, or don’t pair. Pairs? Who cares.

  RANDOM STUFF…

• Organised and weeded out a drawer containing things like phone chargers, staples, hardened Pritt-stick, instruction manuals for items bought 15 years ago, only for it to be in utter chaos a few days later

• Gone through 130 felt tips working out which ones need to be thrown away because they are old, tired, dried out and don’t function any more. (I’m talking about the felt tips although the ‘thrower’ may also feel old, tired, dried out and unable to function any more).

  

  CHILDREN…

• Spent 457 hours per year putting away children’s toys to allow access to a room/ pathway to a bed/ avoid death by small toy car left on stairs

• Bought clothes for your offspring

• Bought school uniforms or school shoes

• Sorted and dispensed of outgrown children’s clothes with trips to a charity shop/ online selling.

• Topped up dinner money on ParentPay

• What’s ParentPay? ….I rest my case M’Lud

• Replied to authorisations for school trips

• Been the transporter to after school swimming lessons/ music lessons/ football/ streetdance/ abseiling/ anything-that-keeps-them-busy classes

• Bought and organised the contents of children’s party bags

• Bought and wrapped presents for a child that wasn’t one of yours

  

• Replaced the sellotape in a sellotape holder

• Arranged ‘playdates’

• Spent hours, (probably days), of your life organising how to keep your kids occupied during the months of school holidays so you can do your job. The one that pays you money

• Booked a babysitter

• Ordered/ sewn / stuck name tapes into a garment

• Taken a child for a haircut

• Taken a child to the doctors or dentist

• Had to rearrange your entire working day when a child is off sick

• Made or sourced an outfit for World Book Day. Joy. Oh the Joy.

  PETS…

• Applied monthly flea treatment to a pet

• Topped up pet food so pet doesn’t wither and die

• Ordered new supplies of pet food so pet doesn’t wither and die.

• Arranged who will care for said pet when away on holiday so pet doesn’t wither and die

• Scrubbed off matted and unsightly cat hair from the entrance of a cat flap

• Taken pet to the vet (Possibly also having to use up extra precious minutes to source protective gardening gloves to lower a very angry and scratchy feline into a pet carrier).

  

  RANDOMS…

• Watered a house plant

• Dusted a house plant because yes, these big-rubbery leaved guys can actually get dusty

• Bought and written a card for a relative of your partner/spouse

• Packed a suitcase for someone that wasn’t you remembering to include essentials such as life-saving inhalers, antihistamine, favourite toys

• Taken things that are left on the stairs up the stairs

• Done the weekly ‘Big Shop’

• Spent approx 5,475 minutes of your year working out what to buy, cook and eat for meals

• Spent an accumulated 11 days of your life combing a child’s hair (and your own) for nits/ head lice.

• Got so despondent and defeated with the relentless weekly grooming that you actually contemplated booking your kids into some pricey place an hour from your home called The Hairforce that you’d read about online - ‘Experts in nit and headlice control since 2006’ don’t you know.

So there we are. How did you score? How did your partner or spouse score?

What do we need to add to this list? I’m sure I’ve missed loads off…

And while I’m here, another question - in an age when we have Apps for every single eyelash flicker and lip-twitch of our lives, why is there no App for breaking down who’s doing what on the domestic chores- front? I want Strava for household chores. I want pie-charts for this ‘invisible shit’ stuff, I want time used, distance travelled, rooms entered, appliances made-use of, stress and frustration levels logged. What do you think? Would it be a go-er? Let me know what you think….

Thank you for reading x (Please do press the ‘like’ if you liked it as it helps other people on substack find it and it brings me a little jolt of joy when people like things)

And if you enjoyed this one you might like these ones I’ve written too

A poem for when your day is full of rage

Losing your mind when there is too much on your to do-list

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ANGER 

Today I am angry
I am volatile, my emotions are overlapping
I am raw and bruised and feeling vulnerable 
But most of all I am angry

I am angry that my son’s school issues 'consequences' like raindrops falling from the sky
I am angry there is a bicycle helmet, carrier bags, broken shoe laces and an omnipresent wave of shit that spews across our kitchen table like lava
I am angry that a medical professional responsible for my cancer treatment appears ignorant about the side effects of the drugs he’s prescribed 
Today I am angry

I am angry I have trouble completing any task or transaction that involves a password
I am angry that good people, lovely friends and kind neighbours have died young leaving their families lost and crumpled
I am angry about the daily splashes of tea and coffee left on worktops and the back of the sink by careless hands and unseeing eyes 
I am angry that breast cancer slunk into my body when no one was watching
I am angry that my partner called me selfish five days ago and said, "It's always all about you."
It is not always all about me
Today I am angry

Today I want to stand in the middle of the park and let out a primal and prolonged howl until my throat hurts and my voice turns raspy
I want to slam a wire shopping basket to the floor
Instead I stand looking at shiny oranges on a supermarket shelf and feel my eyes pricking with hot tears 
Today I am angry

Now I am in the street
I see the husband of a friend 
I am hiding behind sunglasses and headphones
He sees me
I return his smile as we glide wordlessly past each other
I want to turn around and let him know that today my smile is a lie

My rage is understandable and inexplicable and wild
It is cloudy and pure
I want to smash
I want to run

I see a little girl 
She is howling on the pavement
Tears slide down plump cheeks
She stands motionless, a scooter by her side
I ask her if she's ok
She gulps, lips twist downwards
Splashy droplets fall from brown eyes

I see a woman further down the street
She watches from afar before approaching with slow, resentful steps
“She's upset because she's left her sunglasses at home and we haven't got time to get them before nursery”
The little girl is angry too
I feel her hurt and rage 
It slices and throbs in the space between us

I remove my sunglasses
Our eyes meet 
“Maybe we don’t need sunglasses today,” I say to the girl
“It’s not even sunny anymore.”
I look upwards towards loitering clouds
The grey June sky hangs heavy above us
Today we are angry 


(I wrote this last week following a particularly rage-inducing and frustrating morning. I'm pleased to report calm levels have been restored...although the kitchen table has new additions including an ice box, part of a broken shower, two packs of pristine, unused GCSE revision cards and some empty contact lens cases........Let it go. Let it go).

Thanks for reading x 

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How dense are your breasts? It's not a question that tends to crop up in general conversation and it’s not something you’re likely to have pondered.

However, it’s a subject that has been making the UK news this week….

It was after I'd had my second child in 2009 that I discovered I was the owner of 'dense' breasts.

A lump had formed in my left boob a few weeks after my son was born and I was swiftly referred for an ultrasound. After a week of spiralling catastrophising in which I convinced myself I was going to leave my newborn baby and his sister motherless, the ultrasound showed that the scary lump was in fact nothing more than an abscess that would need to be drained using a delightful syringe. It was then that the radiologist who had been looking over various scans informed me I had ‘dense’ breasts.

I didn't think much more about the ‘dense’ information at the time. I was high on relief, low on sleep and preoccupied with the ceaseless demands of feeding my four-week-old who couldn’t have cared less about the density of his mum’s boobs so long as they continued to squirt out a regular supply of food.

Fast forward to 2023 and having hit my 50s I was invited for a routine mammogram at my local breast clinic.

“Would I like to participate in a trial that Kings College Hospital was conducting in which I would be offered a 3D mammogram rather than the traditional 2D mammogram.”

Yes, why not. Sounds good to me.

I scribbled my consent and entered the room to have my boobs squeezed into the vice-like equipment by a smiley radiographer.

A couple of weeks later I got the news that the 3D scan had shown signs of breast cancer. However as I was about to discover this wasn’t the full picture. It was the tip of the iceberg or more literally, the tip of the tit tumour.

That 3D mammogram had initially shown a small area of concern and when I was called back for further tests the ultrasound and biopsy that followed confirmed the presence of a 16mm tumour. I was told I would be looking at a lumpectomy to remove it.

However, and much more crucially, I was also told I would need a further scan, this time an MRI, (the one where you lie motionless inside a long tube), to establish the extent of the tumour. It was explained to me that mammograms and ultrasounds could only pick up so much particularly with the dense breast situation and the type of cancer I had: lobular.

I was warned the tumour may be bigger.

And bigger it most definitely was.

A few days later I was back at the breast clinic where a surgeon informed me that the MRI had shown the tumour was 98 mm. A considerable leap from a marble-like 16mm.

I remember the way in which I slumped as I took in these new dimensions and lent into the wall, the side of my head resting on a pillar for support as the surgeon explained a lumpectomy was no longer an option and that I was now on the pathway for a mastectomy, nipple removal radiotherapy and possibly chemotherapy.

A couple of days later and with the tumour-size pulsating in my mind I was about to eat a satsuma when I noticed a tape measure I’d got out for some rug-purchasing mission lying on the table.

I felt my throat constrict as I gingerly got out the tape measure and realised my tumour was the same size as that (large) satsuma. How was it possible not to feel any kind of lump when it seemed to be taking up a considerable portion of my C-cup boob? How was it that the tumour size had barely registered on a mammogram?

It was days later that I learnt my type of cancer is strand-like rather than cluster-like (or large-satsuma-like).

I also learnt invasive lobular breast cancer (ILC) can be harder to detect than other types of breast cancer due to its unique growth pattern. The cells often grow in lines rather than forming a distinct lump, which can not only make it difficult to see on mammograms, it also means you often won’t feel a lump.

What became clear from the numerous hospital appointments that followed with specialists was that ‘dense’ breasts make excellent hiding places for cancer .**

It seemed to boil down to this: Dense breast + lobular = extra hard to detect.

Which is why I was pleased to read the news this week that there have been calls for the NHS to give women with dense breasts extra scans.

A recent study led by Cambridge University of over 9,000 women found that using different scans from traditional mammograms could treble the number of cancers detected in women with dense breasts.

The news report stated that around one in 10 women have dense breasts and a higher risk of developing breast cancer.

So how do you know if you have dense breasts?

Unfortunately it’s not just a case of self-examination or giving them a good squeeze to find out. The only way you will know if your breast density is low, moderate or high is to have a mammogram in the first place.

So my advice for anyone is go to your mammograms when invited. And even more importantly, don’t always expect to feel a lump as a warning sign of anything suspicious. I didn’t.

No lump DOES NOT necessarily mean no cancer.

I am really pleased it’s been recognised there needs to be more scans for women with dense breasts.

Now it’s the small matter of actually making those scans happen.

What makes breasts ‘dense’? And why is cancer harder to spot on mammograms?

** I found this helpful link that explains what exactly makes ‘dense breasts’ and why it is harder to see on mammograms.

It says: “The breasts are made up of dense breast tissue and fatty breast tissue. Dense breast tissue includes the milk glands, milk ducts and supportive tissue in the breast. Fatty tissue is made of fat cells. A person with dense breast tissue has more dense tissue than fatty tissue.”

“On a mammogram image, the fatty breast tissue is transparent. It's easy to see through to look for anything concerning. However, the dense breast tissue looks solid white on the mammogram image. It's hard to see through. Breast cancer, which also looks solid white on a mammogram, could be missed.”

Moving forward: worth knowing

If you have been diagnosed with lobular breast cancer do check this link provided by Lobular Breast Cancer UK - it explains how you have good grounds to request an annual MRI scan (rather than a mammogram) for the exact reasons explained in this post and it provides a template letter you can send to the hospital treating you. I did this and following a recent meeting with a consultant it was decided I would have an MRI scan for extra screening even though a recent mammogram came back clear.

I got the results the MRI this week. All clear. I’ve had fun this weekend letting off steam with lots of dancing at The WideAwake music festival in South East London’s Brockwell Park although as anyone who’s had breast cancer knows, it’s a long and winding journey. Scans (and daily Tamoxifen meds) will be part of my life for at least the next four years.

https://lobularbreastcancer.org.uk/monitoring/

Are you someone going through annual monitoring following your breast cancer diagnosis? And how are you finding the annual mammograms? If you had a lobular diagnosis have you requested to have MRIs instead? I would love to hear from you.

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Thank you for reading x

I shared PART ONE of my Support Squad in a previous post so it’s best to start there.

MY SUPPORT SQUAD PART 2….

THE AMAZING CHARITY, ‘FUTURE DREAMS’

It was my breast care nurse, Katherine, who first signposted me to what has become my go-to haven, Future Dreams. This truly wonderful charity offers a whole range of support, (practical, psychological and emotional), for people diagnosed with breast cancer and provides a huge range of workshops and 1:1 sessions which you can access online or in person. I have visited the beautiful sanctuary of Future Dreams House, (a two minute walk away from London’s Kings Cross Station), many times and signed up for all kinds of courses. Here are just a few of the many I’ve found helpful…

*A Fear of Recurrence workshop

*An online talk on nutrition ‘Nutrition and Breast Cancer: Understanding The Links

*A session on EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) for relaxation and sleep

*An online evening meditation session

*A workshop on managing your finances and how to make a will.

Future Dreams is my ever-present safety-net that has supported me in so many different ways. The first thing I do now if I’m having a ‘cancer-wobble’ is see what sessions I can sign up to. You can have a look here to see the selection of things they offer….(https://futuredreams.org.uk/)

MACMILLAN CANCER SUPPORT

A few weeks after my diagnosis I contacted Macmillan after seeing their details in one of the booklets I was given by my breast care team. As well as their extensive range of resources online and in printed booklets, they have a helpline, online forums and face to face support too. I was able to benefit from eight 45-minute 1:1 sessions on Zoom with a trained Macmillan counsellor. Find out how Macmillan can become part of your Support Squad here:

https://www.macmillan.org.uk/cancer-information-and-support

FITNESS INSTRUCTORS

Exercise classes have taken on a whole new importance since breast cancer came along. I used to like a weekly swim at my local community gym, a dabble with pilates, a shake about in a Zumba class when the mood took me but I didn’t exactly prioritise exercise. Since my treatment and mastectomy, keeping fit, feeling healthy and getting a good release of endorphins has become more crucial than ever to me. I do two or three regular exercise classes a week but if I’m feeling particularly anxious, overwhelmed or a bit flat or listless I book myself into one that I know will give me a boost or a mind-calming hour. If the gym isn’t a possibility I take myself off for a walk round one of our local parks. The fitness instructors at my local community gym are a very important part of my Support Squad (even though they don’t know it!).

LOBULAR BREAST CANCER CHARITY

There are many different types of breast cancer. Lobular, which I was diagnosed with, is the second most common form after ductal and accounts for around 15 per cent of breast cancer cases in the UK. Unlike ductal cancer, lobular grows in lines meaning it often doesn’t present as a lump and is much harder to detect on mammograms which I found brings its own set of anxieties.

I heard about the charity Lobular Breast Cancer UK via Future Dreams and signed up for a session in which we were given advice on how to get long term monitoring, how to advocate for ourselves during medical appointments and lots of helpful facts and research. The session also provided the perfect opportunity to connect with other women with a lobular diagnosis and share our experiences. This charity is another invaluable part of my Support Squad.

https://lobularbreastcancer.org.uk/support/

‘SHOW AND TELLS’ WITH THE CHARITY RESTORE

The fabulous charity Restore was set up to help women contemplating breast reconstruction after surgery. I went to one of their ‘Show and Tell’ events in which volunteers who have all had mastectomies model their bodies, show their scars, their breast reconstructions and share their first-hand experiences. The session was absolutely invaluable. Seeing those women and hearing their stories helped me so much that a few months after my mastectomy and DIEP flap reconstruction I became a volunteer model myself. Restore has become an absolutely crucial and ongoing part of my Support Squad. I have written about it in previous posts including how I went from a scared patient to a volunteer model here:

I’ve also sung its praises in my piece about all the positives that have happened since my mastectomy here:

https://tesslamacraft.substack.com/p/a-year-since-my-mastectomy-13-wins

THE MENOPAUSE AND CANCER PODCAST

This is a great podcast created and hosted by the formidable Dani Biddington who set it up after going into early menopause aged 39 as a result of her breast cancer treatment. With episodes such as….

*Alternatives to HRT

*Rebuilding confidence and self-esteem

*What to do when doctors’ opinions divide

…it’s a fantastic resource for any woman whose treatment has put them into early menopause and women, (like me), who are in perimenopause / or menopause but have had to stop taking HRT following their diagnosis.

Highly recommended for anyone’s Support Squad.

https://menopauseandcancer.org/podcast/

BOOKS AND AUTHORS

The books by these three authors have been key parts of my Support Squad and their writing has helped me in different ways.

Reconstruction by journalist and Well, Well, Well substacker Rosamund Dean is packed with helpful tips, practical advice and experience. It’s my go-to manual and so I was very excited to meet Rosamund at a Future Dreams event and chat to her.

Dear Cancer by the journalist and broadcaster Victoria Derbyshire (who I’ve been a fan of since her Radio 5 days) is written in diary form and follows her experiences from her diagnosis of lobular breast cancer through treatment and beyond. I found it inspiring, engaging, candid, reassuring and full of helpful insights.

The Complete Guide to Breast Cancer by Dr Liz O’Riordan and Professor Trisha Greenhalgh is written by two doctors who are both breast cancer survivors, this book is very accessible and a useful resource I’ve dipped into many times, especially when I want a more medical slant. Dr O’Riordan has recently written a new book, The Cancer Roadmap.

I also found this article really helpful when I was first diagnosed and sent it to lots of my friends and family so they could get a better understanding of breast cancer.

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/sep/28/the-secret-world-of-breast-cancer-17-surprising-things-i-wish-id-known

So there we go. I hope anyone going through breast cancer will find some of this helpful. As you can see there really is a whole lot of support that you can tap into.

I haven’t even touched on Instagram accounts or the array of online forums and facebook groups mainly because I’m not a big social media user. Instagram - @oriordanliz and @thetittygritty are just two of the many you might find helpful.

Which people, places or organisations have you made part of your Breast Cancer Support Squad? Who or what has got you through the toughest times? I’d love to hear from you….

If you have found this post helpful or enjoyed reading it, please do share it, press the little heart button below to like it, (It helps more people find it), restack it or forward to anyone you think might find it useful.

And if you’d like all of my future posts delivered straight to your inbox then consider subscribing and you won’t need to check back here.

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Thank you for reading, Tess x

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt in the wake of my breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment is just how much support is available.

It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village to look after and care for someone going through cancer, both physically and emotionally. But how do you find that village? And what if you’re someone who doesn’t like the sound of being in a village very much?

As I’ve said in my previous posts, everyone’s experiences will be different and there are a whole range of ways in which people will react and respond to their cancer diagnosis. Some may withdraw. Some may want to reach out and share what they’re going through with everyone they know plus the supermarket checkout person who has just given them a kind smile along with their bunch of bananas. We are all different.

My reaction, once I’d told my family, a few close friends and begun to get my head around what was going to be coming further down the tracks, (mastectomy, radiotherapy, need for chemo to be decided post surgery), was to seek out, accept and say yes to the vast array of help available even when sometimes I had my doubts and preconceptions about how helpful some of the ‘support’ would actually be.

A ‘meet-up’ session for breast cancer patients at my local hospital? What if I meet really unwell women whose cancer has spread and hear things I don’t want to hear?

A stranger talking to me on the phone arranged by a charity? How is that going to work and what if I don’t gel with the stranger?

An EFT session? What the hell is EFT?

It’s been a huge learning curve but I can honestly say that everything I’ve sought out or been offered has been beneficial in either a big or tiny way and even some of the support I had initial reservations about equipped me with insightful gems. For example it was a casual conversation at that hospital meet-up group, (the one I was slightly scared about going to), where someone mentioned the book Reconstruction. Fast forward a couple of weeks and that book which wasn’t previously on my radar, became and continues to be my breast cancer go-to manual, my friend and comfort blanket. Was it worth going to that session? Yes it was for that alone.

So if you are going through breast cancer, or know someone who is, please be aware of just how much support is out there, have an open mind about what may or may not help and dip in and out of it as and when you need it.

Below is Part One of who has formed my ‘Support Squad’…such a big squad it needs two parts! I am sharing it in the hope that some of it may help you too or someone you know or love.

MEET THE SQUAD….

BREAST CARE NURSES

For me, these amazing women, (they have all been women in my case), were and continue to be the glue that holds the whole messy, fragile and shifting thing together. They are the ones who are often present at your meetings with consultants or oncologists, who can explain, reassure and demystify, (when, in my case a consultant with poor people skills strikes fear into you again), they are available to answer your questions, chase up scan results, are across your care, appointments and medications. My breast care nurses have and continue to be a phone call away and have been on hand to answer a whole range of my spiralling questions such as; Why is my tumour being sent to America for analysis? Why has this angry rash suddenly appeared where I had radiotherapy a year ago? Are these antidepressants suitable for me to take alongside Tamoxifen?

FAMILY AND FRIENDS - WHO’S GOOD AT WHAT?

I’m lucky to have a very supportive, close family and lots of amazing friends. I have also come to learn that they are helpful in a vast array of different ways. Identifying who can fill your cup, when and in what ways is good.

Friends who are great listeners - who will really listen to what is going on for you? Who will know the helpful things to say when you’re crumbling, tearful and in emotional freefall or need some firm and strong bolstering?

Friends who are doers. Who will step in to help practically, whether it’s picking up some groceries for your post-surgery recovery, taking your dog for a walk or swooping in to give your child a lift to their weekly football training.

Friends who are present. The ones who will make themselves available to accompany you to a radiotherapy appointment, a hospital meeting, a scary new MRI scan, the ones who say, ‘How are you feeling today? I’m going for a walk this afternoon. Do you want to come with me?’

Friends who are entertainers and distractors. The ones who will always put a smile on your face, who know exactly what links to send you so you can watch, read, listen to something that brings you a little bit of joy and light or welcome relief.

Friends who check-in. The ones who send supportive WhatsApp messages, the ‘thinking of you today’ notes when they know there is another dreaded appointment or test result on the horizon. These friends do not require a response, they are making you know that you matter.

Know your friends. Know their strengths. Lean on them. Welcome them into your Support Squad.

WOMEN WHO HAVE EXPERIENCED BREAST CANCER THEMSELVES

One in seven women in the UK will develop breast cancer in their lifetime. That’s a lot of women which means the likelihood is you know someone who’s gone or is going through it. From my children’s London primary school alone I knew of six other mums who had gone through breast cancer, three of them diagnosed a couple of years prior to me, others many years ago. I wanted to hear first-hand about some of their experiences, the choices they made, how some of the treatments and surgeries felt.

They were so generous in chatting to me either on the phone or over a coffee. They talked about their recoveries, their anxieties, they recommended books, instagram accounts, they explained why they chose to have counselling or why they didn’t. Why they wanted implants, why they didn’t. What became increasingly clear was that no two cases are the same - different types of breast cancer, different grades, different surgeries and different ways of handling the challenges.

Friends are great but there is another layer and different kind of comfort and support talking to women who have gone through breast cancer themselves, who know the heart-pounding, stomach-churning dread of being in a waiting room before another ultrasound, who know exactly why there are seemingly innocuous events that will be extremely triggering. These women continue to form a very important part of my Support Squad. So my message is don’t be scared to reach out to women, friends of friends, acquaintances, strangers on support forums who have gone through it but do remember their experiences and required treatments may be very different to your own.

THE ‘SOMEONE LIKE ME’ SCHEME

Speaking to other women who have gone through breast cancer brings me onto this next one. Leafing through one of the many booklets I was given at the hospital by Breast Cancer Now I stumbled across details of their ‘Someone Like Me’ scheme. It’s a simple idea in which you are matched with a trained volunteer who has had a similar breast cancer diagnosis to you and who you can chat to on the phone.

I have to admit I had low initial expectations and was slightly apprehensive. What if I don’t gel with the volunteer they match me with? How can talking to a stranger I’m never going to see or meet help me?

I decided to give it a go anyway as a distraction more than anything else, (those weeks of limbo between diagnosis and waiting for a surgery date were torturous). It turned out to be one of the very best choices I made. I could write a whole separate post on the ways in which the amazing volunteer I was paired with helped me.

A similar age to me, a mum of teenagers like me, the same positive outlook on life, the same type of breast cancer - lobular, grade 2 - the same DIEP flap reconstructive surgery but 18 months further down the line, she very quickly became my go-to rock and we scheduled calls as and when I needed them; weeks after my diagnosis, waiting for scan results, days before my radiotherapy began.

She was a super-calm, reassuring and wonderful person to talk to and a great listener who not only lifted me but crucially armed me with positivity. I only know her first name and that she lives hundreds of miles away from me in the UK but I would like to take this opportunity to thank her and to thank Breast Cancer Now for matching us so beautifully.

This is another perfect example of something I almost dismissed unsure it would benefit me. How wrong I was. That wonderful volunteer quickly became a key and crucial member of my Support Squad.

SESSIONS WITH A CANCER PSYCHOLOGIST

For many people and definitely for me, the psychological impact and mental stress of cancer has been far greater than the physical impact, (worth noting, I didn’t have to have chemo). Seeing just how anxious I was becoming following my shock diagnosis, one of the aforementioned breast care nurses at Kings College Hospital suggested I would benefit from sessions with a Cancer Psychologists at the hospital. I said yes please and had eight face-to-face eight sessions provided by the NHS which I found hugely beneficial.

Not only did the psychologist give me some great coping strategies to chuck into my cancer toolkit, (which I continue to use as and when needed), but just being out of the house - Zoom was an option too - talking to her and airing my thoughts, my fears, my milestones and minor achievements was so helpful. My psychologist became a very important part of my Support Squad and the ripple effect of those sessions continues to benefit me. My advice would be to find out if your hospital can offer similar psychological support.

So there we have it - from nurses, friends, psychologists and volunteers- over the months I have come to know exactly what and who will help me best at any given time on this rocky old road that is littered with potholes. This is only half the squad. I told you it was a big Squad! In my next post I’ll share the other half.

Next time: How To Build Your Breast Cancer Support Squad: PART TWO

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