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Into the Lister hospital- a place where they're usually really nice, but occasionally cut one of your bollocks off - to meet my oncologist Dr Sharma for the results of my scan and bloods. Only about 15 months from the all clear - will I make it? Or will the comedy gods that rules my life send cancer to get me at the last minute. My life is quite a dark comedy, but that's what the kids like these days (oh wait, no they don't, they don't think you should joke about anything - no wonder no one's watching).
One of the staff asked for a selfie as I arrived and asked how I was. I thought that was their job. "I'm about to find out," I said. "You look well," she said, perhaps practising for the future of the NHS, where that's going to be the best they can manage.
It was lovely to be greeted with a smile and a hug and I suppose it's better to get the selfie on the way in, just in case it's bad news. Had she had a peek at the test results first? Was this a sign that everything was going to be fine?
Always nice to see Dr Sharma, even if he insists on me taking down my trousers so he can feel my ball. And I thought the selfie was an imposition! (I didn't). Look these guys saved my life, they can do anything they like.
Anyway after we'd got that out of the way and he took me through the results and everything is OK and I don't have any cancers that they've noticed. So just one more of these to go and then my remaining ball is safe and indestructible.
Dr Sharma sorted out my blood test for next year and asked if I wanted a PSA test (for prostate cancer). There's some family history of that, so I've been having that each time, but Dr Sharma said that everyone wanted it now because of Chris Hoy. Which is a great result to come out of a terrible event. That man is going to save a lot of lives. And the doctor thinks that Chris has a good chance of living for a lot longer than has been predicted, something Chris is very conscious of too. Cancer is, I think we can agree, not good, but the progress being made in treatments is very impressive.
I walked away knowing how lucky I have been. I haven't felt or looked ill through any of this, apart from directly after treatment. I get to go on stage and talk about it all and make people laugh and be paid. I have got to see my kids for four more years already, when I thought at the time I might just have months left with them. Even when I am unlucky I am a jammy bastard.
I am still on Twitter, though it seems to have lost its charm and its usefulness, so like all the other stupid cunts in the world I am trying out bluesky.
You can follow me here.I'll keep posting on Twitter no doubt. But hopefully this means I never have to look at Threads again. That place isn't full of Nazis, but it's still somehow worse than Twitter.
Fucking up Twitter is the worst thing Elon Musk has done... oh wait.
