It’s the fourth day out here in the middle of nowhere, and it is fucking lovely! Matthew is healing nicely, getting plenty of rest, and miracle of miracles, actually letting himself recover. Meanwhile, I’m not just writing this blog; I’m officially starting to transfer it into a publishing file. That’s right, Screw Cancer: Rodger the Dodger is on the road to its first ever physical copy. Soon, we’ll be driving nurses on cancer wards nuts, all because they can’t stop telling the patients to be quiet. Telling people to shush has never worked on us, and it won’t start now. That’s our little rebellious streak, bringing the noise (and the giggles) to places that need it most.

Being known for making people laugh isn’t a bad legacy at all. DISCLAIMER: If we cause your stitches to burst, it’s absolutely not our fault! Our complaints department is run by two dachshunds, so you’re more likely to grow a third leg than get a response. However, if you happen to have cheese, they might at least sniff your complaint before ignoring it entirely.

Now, for the news of the week (cos fuck all else happens out here in the sticks), only my husband could be healing from bladder tumour removal and manage to bag himself a new job at the same time! Yes, you read that right, he aced an interview the day before his surgery. You have to admire the sheer stubbornness and the refusal to let Rodger (that bastard tumour) dictate his choices, especially about work.

Yesterday, we took the dogs for a walk around the surrounding farm. It’s all fields, trees, and a glorious ocean view. I swear even the dachshunds looked impressed, in between plotting world domination and rolling in suspicious farm smells. We’ve still got another two days of this peaceful bliss before we’re back to reality.

Today, we’re venturing out a little further to try a place called Fish Cottage. Fingers crossed the dickhead dachshunds decide to cooperate for once and let us actually eat our fish and chips on the seafront. But who am I kidding? They’re bloody idiots and will probably spend the whole time woofing at everyone and everything. Still, that’s our chaos, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Last night, my daughter FaceTimed me. (And no, she didn’t draw the time on my face; she actually video-called me.  She asked, “Mum, what do you want for your birthday?” I didn’t even have to think. I just responded with “A cancer-free husband.”

And read this last line in your best Miranda Priestly voice: …That’s all…..

Kate x

Stupid Disclaimer: No dachshunds, nurses, or fish and chips were harmed in the making of this blog (unless you count emotional damage from being called a dickhead). Side effects of reading may include spontaneous laughter, eye rolling, and an uncontrollable urge to eat cheese or adopt small, badly behaved dogs. If you experience any of these symptoms, please contact your local complaints department; ours is still run by dachshunds, and the response rate remains at zero. Proceed at your own risk!