A Lot Of Money For Honey

Exactly three years ago I had a lobectomy after finding out I had carcinoid cancer, so today has been a bit of an emotional mixed bag.

Mainly elation that I'm alive, to be honest, but also a little disappointment that I still don't feel back to my bouncy old self.

I'm still not at my best in the morning, although those who know me well have never felt I was great first thing and have tended to steer clear until I've inhaled a few cups of coffee. I still seem to pick up whatever germ / virus / cold / lurgy is doing the rounds and at the start of the year even managed to get pleurisy, which sounds like something I picked up in the Debtor's Prison and hid under my petticoats. And, I'm still struggling to get my exercise programme up and running (just picking up my trainers and looking at them doesn't count).

So, in a bid to boost my health and get myself fit, fun and feeling fab I've started with the basics - vitamins and feel good supplements. This has, so far, meant the purchasing of Echinacea (to clear the latest lurgy), Cod Liver Oil (no creaky joints here), Berocca (if it's good enough for the dancers on Strictly) and Manuka Honey (how much?!).

I can appreciate how hard those little bees are working to provide me with a jar of antibacterial wonder-stuff but at just over £15 a jar, I'm expecting it to contain properties that will make me look like I've had a full face and body lift, and give me enough energy to leave Lance Armstrong trailing in my wake.

(P.S. - a big thank you to my other half for paying for the Manuka Honey after I fainted on seeing the price, although I felt that dragging me from Waitrose by the ankle back to the car was a little excessive)

I win a little, they win a lotto

Since Tuesday night, I have been hoping against all hope that a 'news about your ticket' email might appear in my inbox.

By Wednesday, I knew it wasn't going to happen and started scanning the pavements - there was always a miniscule chance that the winner of Europe's biggest every lottery win would have somehow carelessly dropped their ticket on the way to cash it in at the newsagent and I would find it while out walking Hobbs.

Today, we find out that the lucky recipients of enough cash to sustain even the most exgravagant of wish lists are a lovely couple from Largs, who somehow managed to hold their nerve and talk calmly about a win that makes them almost as wealthy as Posh & Becks (and look at how much posturing and pouting she had to do to rack up that fortune!).

Green with envy, my boss and I watched their televised press conference and found all feelings of 'it should have been me' fade away as they revealed themselves to be the kind of people who should win that kind of money - our biggest fear had been that some monumental waster was going to claim the cash, rather than a couple who say they will use that lovely lolly to help others.

So tonight I'm raising a toast to Colin and Chris Weir with not a jot of jealousy (okay just a teeny bit) that I could have cleared my debt - and that of a Third World country - had I been the winner. I hope they have the health and happiness to really enjoy the good things their one hundred and sixty-one million pounds (gulp!) can bring to them and those they choose to share it with.

Besides, I'm not stranger to winning.

Just last Friday I cleaned up on the Euromillions; although I have to admit, I had no idea they had prizes as small as £5.80.

My moment with Mark

To be fair, that's a rather misleading title - it was more 'smooching with Mark' and it was Hobbs doing it, not me.

Glasgow has been going Take That-tastic over the last few nights and it got me thinking about the time I met Mark Owen.

Normal people would probably have met him in fairly normal circumstances; not me.

I had to meet him in the corridor of a disabled toilet (my radio station colleagues and I had temporarily converted it to a canine creche) and try to explain that the small puppy which he was cuddling and kissing (and which was kissing him back with great enthusiasm) was there because he had a throat infection and the vet had told me to keep an eye on him.

As Mark was in the station to promote a single for his solo career, this wasn't great news to have to impart, but rather than dropping Hobbs like a germ infested hot potato, he carried on with the cuddling and then signed a photograph for him, which Hobbs still has to remind him of the moment that most women dream of - kissed and cuddled by Mark Owen.

Admittedly, he was the cutest puppy ever but damn, that dog gets all the fun!

My Eggstra-ordinary Mother

This has nothing whatsoever to do with spending, not spending or being a shopaholic; although I suppose it's an excellent example of what you can do with a little time and effort and very little expense.

It is, however, the perfect way to show just quite how fabulously bonkers my mother can be.

This is what she had prepared for us to roll down the hill at her house last Sunday and it seems selfish not to share it...

Eggstra Special Easter

PS - for those of you curious to know who hurtled down the hill into pole position, it was Isabella. Go Blow!!

The Tank-top Of Shame!

I have very little in the way of an excuse for my latest action, but I'll give it a try anyway.

Firstly, I was feeling sorry for myself having found out that I had pleurisy and was doing that whole 'Woe is me' lying on the couch thing; secondly, Charles Tyrwhitt had sent me a voucher for £10 off anything that took my fancy; thirdly - and most importantly - I'd spotted a tank-top in the brochure they'd sent.

I blame my tank-top addiction on my parents, who took every possible opportunity during my childhood to subject me to 1970s golf wear. Somewhere amidst all that retina searing clobber, I managed to single out the tank-top as my favourite piece of geek chic.

Now, I've been strong in the face of shopping this year - giving way only when (in the best interests of my work-mates) I felt that ripped, rump exposing linen was unacceptable for the office - but this tank-top was a temptation too far in my weakened state.

It was navy, a mix of merino and silk, and (did I mention this already) it was £10 off!

Anyway, those are my excuses and, quite frankly, none of them are good enough to justify keeping what is essentially half a jumper (delightful though it is), so having unwrapped it and gazed at it for the last 24 hours, I've decided it's going back from whence it came and I can sleep easy; guilt free in the knowledge that I haven't quite broken my shopping ban.