The many and various ways I pass the time now has a new addition. Usually it involves drinking coffee whilst sitting at a computer keeping in touch with chums, or sipping wine sitting on our tiny terrace catching the sun, and wondering what else I can do to avoid any cleaning or tidying or putting away of stuff and things that aren't even MINE. And now I am going to type this blog. Provided that doesn't become a chore as well, in which case...

Wednesday, 29 September 2010


I've never liked my nose much, but in recent months - perhaps the past twelve - I've gone right off it.

You see (and you will, when I next meet you, if we are personally known to one another, because I'll show you) for the first time since I was about sixteen it has started growing again.  It has, truly.  In fact, if really truly, my nose and both my ears are all growing.  The bony part of my nose is just perceptibly thickening, very, very gradually widening, and the lobes of my ears are fleshier and longer.

I am turning in to an old man. And I have decided to blame something else other than my age (because I guess this phenomenon affects older women too) and have instead turned my exasperation onto part of the adjuvant therapy I am on after my breast cancer four years ago.  Because my tumour was the type that responds rather too enthusiastically to the presence of female hormones I have had to take first Tamoxifen and now Arimadex to counteract this.  Which I guess lets the naturally-occurring testosterone all women produce to come forward and make its presence and effects felt.  It could be worse. It might have been a moustache, but so far no, my upper lip remains just sweetly and femininely downy.

I am wondering where all this may end, though.  Will I order cavalry twill trousers from the back pages of a Sunday supplement?  Buy a beige car coat or a cardigan with suede patches?  Stuff my hair up under a tweed cap?  Shuffle off shopping wearing tartan slippers and come back with pipe tobacco and a quarter bottle of scotch?  Wash, polish and hoover the car every week?  Take over all the Willy Jobs from The Husband? 

There is one comfort, though.  The Gold Standard of NHS breast cancer treatment is three years on Tamoxifen followed by three years on Arimadex.  Which means I only have two more years of tablets to do.  So my nose and ears are under strict instructions not to get carried away in the meantime. I might get The Husband to bring home some very finely calibrated calipers from work to measure any changes, however gradual.

Just so's my nose and ears know I am onto them...

That's all I have to offer you today, Dear Reader.  Sorry it's so self-absorbed.  I really must widen my interests.  What'll it be?  A model railway lay-out?  Or subscribe to a caravanning magazine?

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