One of the things I’m still learning about this whole cancer thing is the fatigue. I don’t know if it’s the chemo or the surgery, but doing one Big Thing means I need to recover. Which is why after last night’s choir (which I loved) I am too exhausted to go into Town as planned.

For some reason my Substack about ovarian cancer now has a significant following of older American women. One decided to tell me that being chipper meant I had a “sense of spunk.” open.substack.com/pub/janehill...

I went for a taster session with a local choir tonight and I loved it, so now I’m busy with sea shanties and fishing songs for a festival in June. I haven’t sung properly for about 40 years but it’s like riding a bike, as it turns out.

Anemonenome

Finally got around to writing my latest Substack post - this one all about recovering from surgery and how weird it can be. You can find it here: open.substack.com/pub/janehill...

Facebook thinks all I want to see today is London Marathon posts, and honestly think I’m scarred for life by Eilish McColgan’s photo of her exploding toe blister. That woman is absolute nails.

One of those days where I feel so rubbish that I checked my temperature and wondered if it was just more chemo nonsense…. And then I checked the fucking pollen count. It’s completely knocked me sideways today, on what should be a very good day chemo cycle-wise.

The Tasmanian TV police comedy series Deadloch even paid tribute to Neil with a bad tempered seal called Kevin. www.youtube.com/shorts/4N5s7...

I had not realised that Kevin in series one of Deadloch was based on an actual real-life sealion.

Today’s another one of those days when my competitive older brother (it was ever thus) soundly beats me at NYT Connections because he - get this - works it all out using pen, paper and Google before entering a single answer. Also he is two hours ahead of me. Bloody brothers.

Annoyingly the live stream of the finish line ended an hour ago, I think. So I’m watching a dot on the map as my excellent friend Suzy finishes her marathon. She’d be the first to admit she’s not exactly a runner but she has stuck with it. So proud.

Oh my god. Two men under two hours. That’s amazing. #londonmarathon

I’ve always enjoyed watching Kejelcha on the track so I am rooting for him, I think. He’s got a kind of laidback loping thing. #londonmarathon

This, from John Robins, rings a really strong bell with me. www.theguardian.com/culture/2026...

My excellent friend Suzy will be jeffing her way around the London Marathon today. Actually, more like walking tbh. Her hat says “Powered by Pasties and HRT.”

I think Juliet nails my bloke vibe here.

On the bright side, my scalp rash has cleared up. On the down side I have a bad case of male pattern baldness and have never looked more like a divorced bloke who plays bass in a local band. #chemohead

Three for me, one I mentioned here the other day. 1) Wanting to hear Never Let Her Slip Away again so I started listening to Radio 1. 2) Walking into the campus radio at Dartmouth College while on exchange term. 3) A profile of Kate Adie in Company magazine, which listed postgrad journalism courses.

Tough times out there for a lot of people… I know it. Luckily, I have LOADS of cuddl cards (some more saccharine than others ;D) Send HUGS Dippyfishcards.etsy.com #ukgiftam #ukgifthour #mhhbd #bsnm

I’m now watching the Main Course where there’s a wild card chef who looks identical to all the others.

Bette Midler is an icon. That’s Barbara Hershey with her, btw. Didn’t recognise her. But what a lovely thing. youtu.be/uBj57ivPsxQ?...

Look! No socks! Or coat! Could this be… actual lovely Spring weather?

I’ve been off work sick for seven months now and on pretty much every day for the last six months (including weekends) I’ve had a reminder that I need to do my mandatory online data protection training. Honestly might just do the fucking thing to stop the emails.

When I was a very Christian teenager, my Bible was chock-full of those little tasselled bookmark things with Bible verses on them - and I even made my own for the verses that were important to me. (I was also insufferably pious.)

Catching up on the Great British Menu finals where we have seven competitive blokes with scrappy beards who all reckon they’re going to get at least two dishes to the banquet, and lovely Nikita just quietly doing her thing and hoping to at least be mid-table.

Treated myself to Friday lunch out today.

Dreamt I attempted to run a marathon in my Keen Uneeks because @davecakes.bsky.social persuaded me to.

I found it a tough watch because reasons, but I would urge you to watch the beautiful, funny, loving Come See Me In The Good Light on Apple. “Anyone who thinks poetry is frivolous Has never needed someone to tell them something unspeakably hard Beautifully.” Andrea Gibson

Fellow hayfeverers - the pollen is brutal today. Let’s be careful out there.

For those of you keeping tabs on the itchy scalp that my sister forced me to ring the oncology nurse about, I now have prescription steroid shampoo. The labels on the bottle describe it as both “very strong” and “very potent” and I’m like, calm down mate.

Oh, this is wonderful.

Hang on, so the film about Jackson is a whole different thing from the documentary on iPlayer that’s unwatchable because of all the fucking around with different angles/effects during the interviews?

I have a sick headache this morning which has resulted in me telling Babbel to FUCK OFF twice when it would not accept my pronunciation of “der erste August.” Fucksake.

This is art

Watched about five minutes of not very good crime doc on Netflix about US horse community and I suddenly remembered that time I got sent to cover the European Dressage Championships at Goodwood in the 80s because it was on our local radio patch. 1/

Mother Shipton is a famed prophet, said to have been born in a cave just outside of the town of Knaresborough. "Her soul is as fine as any saint's, you could pray to it. If she's as good as they say, she'll see you from all the way back there." - Kym Deyn

Just encountered the world’s rudest man in Marky Sparks food. Stood right behind me huffing as I slowly packed two bags with neuropathic fingers. Then beckoned me back & shoved my empty basket at me, telling me to clear it away. Hope his card gets declined.

My Facebook memories have reminded me of the day many years ago when I nearly pissed myself laughing on the train filling in the Evening Standard cryptic crossword à la Reggie Perrin.

I’m meeting a friend for a chazza rummage after her eyebrow tint test, and her appointment’s just been moved forward to 9.30. Other than hospital appointments, I haven’t been up & dressed till 10am in months. This feels unnecessarily stressful.

I’m a bit late to watching #universitychallenge but I see Amol is wearing his dressing gown.

Well done, Diane. Amazing scenes. #mastermind

As we watch the #Mastermind final, spare a thought for the two spare contestants who’ve revised a third subject and are sitting in their hotel room in Belfast just in case until they’re stood down at lunchtime.

RIP Desmond Morris. I love the fact that he and the future Diana Dors were each other's first boyfriend / girlfriend when they were teenagers in Swindon. Here's his painting of the then Diana Fluck he did aged 18. www.museumartswindon.com/collections/...

Evan Whatsit clearly annoyed at having to be in Merthyr Tydfil when it’s all kicking off in Westminster.

Support flooding in for Jeevun Sandher!

Talking of people who should try smiling… (joke)

Okay, she has replied and she seems to be saying that because she’s from the 1950s and has a British mother, she was raised with the idea of smiling through. And then I get a bit confused but I think she’s apologised and won’t do it again. Special thanks to @samdeane.eurosky.social

A woman commenting on my Substack has requested that I smile in the next photo I post. You know, that Substack I’m writing about fucking cancer.

I have been to the nice café so this can only mean one thing: a new blog post will be along in a day or two.

Definitely a case of post-chemo euphoria, but I have signed up for a taster session for a choir next week! I haven’t sung in a choir for 40 years. My singing standard is what might be described as “can carry a tune as long as there’s a bucket” and “okay to pad out the altos in a scratch Messiah.”