Warning – here lurketh earthy language, move on if easily offended.

I had an epiphany a couple of weeks ago. I decided that cancer is a total twat. It’s a bully of the worst kind. It does not discriminate between black or white, rich or poor, funny or boring or smelly or well scrubbed. It just casually stops picking it’s nose every once in a while, looks around and just picks on someone totally at random. They could be a bit of a twat, they could be a God fearing volunteer who does great work with homeless people. The point is it doesn’t care.

A couple of weeks ago, my Mum was diagnosed with a brain tumour. We don’t know at this stage if it’s cancerous, but the fine (and I really mean that) people at Hope Hospital at Salford did some great work, got a lot of it out and sent her back home, where she’s doing miraculously well. Before this, I’d always thought of cancer as something that just affected other people. You hear about it in conversation and you find yourself doing that tilty head thing and furrowing your brow whilst saying “ahh…what a shame”.

This time last year, I did the Great Manchester Run for the first time and got myself sponsored for Cancer Research UK. Ironic really, in hindsight. I only picked them at random because they’re a well know and deserving charity amongst many other fine causes. I’m too late now this year to do the same again, but should I do another 10K (and feel free to take me into a corner and have words if I tell you I am), I intend to get sponsorship to help those fine people at CRC and let’s beat this twat with all we’ve got. Things have come a long way in just a few years, but we aren’t there yet. Like all bullies, it won’t stop until we’ve ground it’s fucked up face into the dirt with feeling.

If you are a cancer sufferer, I wish you well from the bottom of my heart.