Happy Mothers’ Day!

Happy Mothers’ Day everybody! I hope all of the mothers reading have been well and truly spoiled. As you’ve probably guessed, today’s blog will largely be dedicated to the greatest person in the world as far as I’m concerned: my mum.

Here she is, being awesome.

Here she is, being awesome.

Like most little girls, my mum is the most important person in my life. She’s been my teacher, my doctor, my councillor, my dance partner and my best friend. She taught me that the best thing to be when you grow up is happy. She taught me how to mix a mean French Martini. She taught me that no matter how bad things get, life always looks a little brighter after a danceathon. I’m not going to say that she’s my whole world, but she’s a big, big chunk of it. Like Africa or something.

Here she is, trying to kill both of us.

Here she is, trying to kill both of us.

Getting drunk in public.

Getting drunk in public.


Casually meeting Take That.

Casually meeting Take That.

mum and soph

I know I’ve said this before, but I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost her. Happy Mothers’ Day, mum. I love you.

It’s actually not just my mum who I want to talk about this Mothers’ Day. A few of you might remember my back sign from last year’s Race:

back sign

What most of you probably won’t know, is that my  dad was one of those kids. He lost his mum to breast cancer, not too long after I was born.

Look! It's little me!

Look! It’s little me!

Cancer took her away before I got a chance to know her any better than this. It’s because of cancer that all I have of my granny is flowers, butterflies and a little diamond.

granny marion

Me and religion decided to go our separate ways a long time ago. But I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t say hello to every red admiral butterfly I see.

Photo on 10-03-2013 at 14.30

It’s because of cancer that my dad doesn’t have a mum to spoil this Mothers’ Day. I want to make sure that no mother has to sit down her children and tell them she has cancer. I want to make it so that everyone gets to keep their mum around until they are old and grey. I want every grandmother to be able to see her grandaughters grow up. I know she’d be proud, but it’s cancer’s fault that she can’t tell me that herself. That she has to send down little flurries of snow to say hello instead of picking up the phone.

Please give all that you can this Mothers’ Day. Together we will beat cancer.


*UPDATE at 5pm, just another example of my mum kicking ass:

Screen Shot 2013-03-10 at 16.58.31


My Cancer Wishlist

So as you may recall, yesterday I encouraged you folks to get in touch with suggestions, comments or dares that would make you want to donate to our cause. We received a reply from a mysterious commentor by the name of “Yolo Swaggings”. What this fine, upstanding fellow requested was that I write my next post in that most reviled of all fonts: Comic Sans.

You have got to be kidding me.

You have got to be kidding me.

And in the name of beating cancer, I was prepared to lower myself to this detestable level. However. It would appear that there is literally no way to change the font of a post in WordPress without changing the layout of the entire blog. And I refuse to do that. I mean, look at my “Moneymaker” and “Mushy Bits” arrows. That shit is fancy. So, Yolo Swaggings (whichever one of my HILARIOUS flatmates you are), I can only apologise, hope that you will still donate and invite you to enjoy this photograph of a guide dog meeting Pluto at Disneyland.

Found at imgur.com

Found at imgur.com

Now! On with the post!

I consider myself first and foremost to be Scottish. I feel like this has been reflected in the “Hey Cancer, I’m gonnae kick your head in” tone of the blog thus far. However, I also feel like my Britishness is an important part of my identity, and thought that today I would alter the tone a little to reflect this secondary identity.

(Please note: I do not wish to have a political debate on Scotland in Britain. If you were thinking of starting this debate in the comments, please go outside and yell your point into the snow instead.)

So while I do possess a deep desire to pan cancer’s windows in, here are just a few rather more Britishly passive-aggressive things that I hope cancer will encounter.

  • I hope cancer stands on an upturned plug.
  • I hope cancer kneels on a lego (one for the 90s kids there).
  • I hope that cancer pours a big bowl of cereal only to realise it has no milk in the fridge.
  • I hope cancer bites into a raisin cookie, thinking it is a chocolate chip one.
  • I hope cancer stands on a wet floor in its socks.
  • I hope cancer gets toothpaste on its shirt.
  • I hope cancer gets that thing where you are itchy, but don’t quite know where.
  • I hope cancer gets its hand stuck in the Pringles tin.
  • I hope cancer stubs its toe.
  • I hope cancer discovers that there is something sharp in its shoe just as it’s finished lacing them up.
  • I hope cancer’s Youtube videos buffer endlessly.
  • I hope cancer’s seatbelt gets twisted inside the buckle.
  • I hope cancer’s printer jams.
  • I hope cancer says “orgasm” instead of “organism” in biology class.
  • I hope cancer steps in chewing gum.

There we have it. My cancer wishlist. Just a few of the curses that I would wish upon it. Please, please get in touch if you can think of any more, I would love to have a giggle at them. If I get lots, I might even do a follow up post later in the campaign with my favourites.

Cancer is a scallywag. Let’s join together to wish it a horrible weekend.