Ooh and I joined the gym on Thursday. I was completely amazed to find I could run for 20 minutes on the treadmill with a fair amount of ease. In fact I thought aha, how great I am. Only not, as it turns out. I woke up in complete agony the next day and spent much of it walking around like John Wayne and even yesterday I was only able to get around using exagerrated steps like some kind of demented stegosaurus.

My muscles and whatnot seem to have recovered now although I've undone all my good work by going out last night with Tori to my favourite Watford nightclub Destiny, stayed out until 3.00 am and had quite an awesome time indeed.

Of course I'm paying for it today. I got up and had crumpets and duck for breakfast with Tori, which I threw up. I got into my car to drive home and had to open the door before I set off so I could vomit a nice water/bile mixture, I got home and had some more water which I again threw up. I decided to replenish my body with salty goodness with the help of a packet of crisps, which went down a treat, so I took it upon myself to make a fish finger bagel. As I was about to get the fish fingers out of the oven I realised the crisps hadn't gone down as well as I thought and vomited them in their entirety. Thought 'Fuck it,' and ate the fish finger bagel anyway and laid down in bed for a few hours worrying that if I moved a fraction I would be sick YET AGAIN but no, it seems four times is my limit.

I feel like such a tramp. But a much less ill tramp than I was earlier.

This is good as my gran is coming over for dinner in an hour or so. The cancer hasn't spread, which of course is the best news possible. She's going under the knife on Tuesday to have it cut out of her. It's a very serious operation so we're still worried, but it's a far better option than chemotherapy, which would only have delayed the inevitable.

I am sorry for writing about my throwing up in such minute detail.

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