Tuesday, 24 February 2009
I can’t apologise enough for my prolonged silence. The problem is, I’ve honestly done cock all for about a month now. However, just in case you assumed I had died, I thought I’d quickly update you with three hugely important dates in the next week or so:
1. Thursday 26th February - Only my sodding birthday!
2. Friday 27th February - CT scan
3. Thursday 5th March - CT scan results
Why they gave me a CT scan at 9am following my birthday, only Christ himself knows. Don’t they check these things? Apparently I’m not allowed to eat or anything for from 5am onwards, but they say nothing about inhaling gas chambers or vomiting my entire face off.
Anyway, I should have plenty to write about in the not-too-distant future and, if you’re getting withdrawal symptoms, you could always have a look at an article I did for Hecklerspray today at:
Friday, 13 February 2009
I’ve done nothing this week. Literally nothing. I know that, sometimes, someone may ask you what you’ve been up to and you might reply ‘nothing’ but, the vast majority of the time, this is just a cunning lie told in the hope that an idiot will stop talking to you. You don’t truly know the meaning of the word until you’ve spent an entire week sitting on a chair, in front of a massive television, gorging yourself on one million Ferrero Rocher like a foreign diplomat whose had a massive nervous breakdown. Due to my lack of activity, I feel that I have no option but to join the ever-expanding list of self-indulgent, awful people who have decided to inflict 25 facts about themselves on the Facebook public in a lamentable attempt to keep the blog rolling until my imminent CT scan.
1. I have played guitar for seven full years, but I’m yet to learn anything that would either impress or interest an entirely deaf man upon the exact second that he regained his hearing.
2. I once broke my elbow due to slipping when attempting to fly-kick a teenage girl in the face. It was so painful that I was almost physically sick, but the sheer humiliation hurt one million times more.
3. Dairy products repulse me. Why does no one realise that they’re drinking the bodily secretions of a farmyard animal? Why is this even remotely acceptable?
4. For over a year, I was led to believe that my friend’s father was Deacon Blue heart-throb Dougie Vipond. This turned out to be a pointlessly elaborate trick.
5. Since deleting my Bebo account I just appear as a shadow in various Top Friends sections and I’m absolutely certain that, consequently, some people will assume that I’ve died.
6. I turned down an interview with The Sunday Post specifically because they wanted to include me in a hideously sentimental series entitled ‘Coping With Life’. Past headlines include ‘Brave Sophie Has Learned to Walk Tall Again‘ and ‘Tiny Dancer Living Her Dream’.
7. I once went to a WWF wrestling event. I was a full eighteen years old, and most likely looked a highly suspicious character amongst the thousands of children.
8. On Tuesday, I woke up with a singular Frosty attached to my forehead. An occurrence that, to this day, remains a perplexing mystery.
9. I hate myself for finding it impossible not to snigger like a tiny child whenever I hear the name ‘Ed Balls’ on the news.
10. Two of my toes are very slightly webbed and, consequently, I encounter a higher level of prejudice, discrimination and vitriol than any existing ethnic minority.
11. My uncle used to star as a priest in High Road, and my Grandfather flew a plane in the sub-par James Bond film Thunderball. This makes my family equally as showbiz as The Osmonds.
12. Seconds after being diagnosed with cancer, I was asked if I was in a relationship by the doctor for his medical records. “Why, are you asking me out?” I replied, which, to this day, remains the one joke that I’m most pleased with.
13. I saw Benjamin Button today and I thought it was good, but would have been better if he had crawled back into his dead mother’s womb at the end.
14. For a joke, I decided to study Archaeology in my first year of university. This joke turned out to not even be slightly funny, nearly derailed my entire academic career and made me wish that human civilisation had never existed.
15. There is probably just enough hair on my face to make up one serviceable eyebrow.
16. Alot of my t-shirts have various band names on them. This appears to make it acceptable for strangers to approach me in pubs and berate my taste in music.
17. After consuming one beer, I am adamant that I can speak fluent French. An actual recording of one of these conversations would most likely reveal me to be saying nothing but ‘aw he haw he haw’ like a giant racist.
18. Chemotherapy only made me vomit once in six months. You may consider this a good thing, but I had hoped to lose some weight like a pretty supermodel.
19. My favourite way to insult people is by placing a swear word infront of a word that I consider to be funny. Efforts include piss-splat, cock-juggler and arse-haddock.
20. I have a flying-V shaped ukulele. It looked cooler in the picture.
21. I’ve recently joined Twitter and, like one hundred and fifty thousand other morons, genuinely believe that Stephen Fry will, one day, reply to my sycophantic warblings. I’ve also attempted to e-bully Yoko Ono.
22. I only ever own one pair of shoes at a time. Each pair has an exact life span of one year as they have to be replaced the day after I spend a weekend stomping about in three feet of piss and sick at T in the Park.
23. On a similar note, I was once sick in a bin at the Arches nightclub but managed to conceal this fact by incorporating the motion into a wicked dance move.
24. For three months, I insisted that I would start a fitness regime two weeks after my final chemotherapy. However, it was snowing and I had Ferrero Rocher to devour.
25. I hope and pray that I get my CT scan and results soon, mainly to prevent me revealing a further selection of tedious facts about my life next week.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Every now and then, something so utterly fantastic happens that makes you question whether, by comparison, you’ll ever be able to enjoy anything ever again. An event so ridiculous, so divine and so beautiful that it makes you relatively certain that the entire sprawling narrative of mankind has finally hit a peak and has reached what will now be an eternal decline. Such an event has taken place.
A few days before the newspaper feature started, I set up a hit-counter on the blog to see what kind of response the articles were getting in terms of people actually bothering to click on the link to this site from the Scotsman website. On top of telling me how many people had visited, it also gives a little bit of information about the people such as their location, how long they spent on the site and where they found the link to it.
The vast majority of the time, this is incredibly uninteresting due to almost everyone who reads this being from within a twenty mile radius of me, but I’ve had some hits from such exotic places as Indonesia, South Africa and Tasmania - which children’s Saturday morning TV had led me to believe was an entirely fictional place.
One man, and you know who you are, came to this site from Plovdiv in Bulgaria. ‘How odd’ I thought, what possible reason would a man from Bulgaria have to visit the story of a distant teenage cancer patient? It’s only upon further investigation that the whole sinister tale becomes apparent.
Yes. At 9.38am on Wednesday the 4th of February, a deranged Bulgarian man inexplicably reached this site by googling ‘ultra sperm koktail’. One can only imagine his crestfallen little face when, primed and ready for some hot sperm guzzling, the inspiring chronicle of a teenage cancer patient flashed up onto his screen. I can’t deny that I’m a bit hurt he didn’t stick around for longer than ‘0 seconds’ to read some of my funny cancer jokes, what could he have possibly been busy doing? Whatever it was, alas, he had no time to waste on me and decided to return to his frenzied internet stampede for more refreshingly novel cocktail recipes.
My favourite thing about this is how a normal sperm cocktail apparently doesn’t quite quench his thirst for frankly unhygienic concoctions, it has to be an ‘ULTRA sperm cocktail’. Usually, in a crap student pub, this might mean that they add an extra shot of throat-meltingly shit vodka to it but I suspect that all usual cocktail rules and conventions are thrown out of the window if they already consider it acceptable to use gametes as a main ingredient. Perhaps ’ultra’ means that, instead of a cocktail umbrella, they use a human shit.
I sodding knew this would happen. In retrospect, writing about my testicles so often in previous entries was a foolish choice. Not only has it made this blog a hub for the world’s worst people, last week it led to my own Grandmother reading about me romancing myself in a hospital with adult magazines that I chose to describe in graphic detail. For most people, I suspect that getting their first bit of writing into a national newspaper is a time of immense family pride, especially for Grandparents who would surely love nothing more than to show it off to everyone that they possible could. I, however, have brought nothing but shame upon Granny Ross with my Graham Nortonesque smut. “I liked the bit about your hair” she said diplomatically, refusing to comment on the seven thousand other words that I wrote.
Nothing to report health-wise this week, I’ve just been taking advantage of the fact that I can get as many infections as I please without fear of postponing treatment. This included a trip to Edinburgh where, amazingly, I was spotted by a blog fan who recognised me from the newspaper - instantly inflating my ego to unprecedented levels. He didn’t approach me, deciding that it would probably be safer to send an email afterwards just in case it wasn’t actually me and he approached a confused stranger to wish them luck with their cancer battle. He’s since added me on Facebook and seems like a thoroughly pleasant stalker, as does everyone who has been in touch with me. At least you’re not all huge perverts from Bulgaria.
Until next time, take care cancer fans.
P.S. I've decided to join Twitter to try and make celebrities my friends. JamieRoss7 if anyone wants to follow these futile attempts.