Raising funds via a coffee morning - an idiots guide

This is not a standard blog post....it's exactly as advertised so you don't need to read this unless you've come here specially to find out how to organise a coffee morning. Or you're bored and just want to read something. Either way.... Welcome.

I was requested to write this guide by Natalia Spencer whom I, along with my lovely friends, held a coffee morning for a few weeks ago.
We raised £1925 for The Grand Appeal.

Step my step guide for idiots like me on how to raise money via a coffee morning. 

1. Book a large hall. 

Think facilities for hot drinks, plenty of seating and tables, buggy room, room for children's activities and stalls. Say it's for charity and you may get it free or for a reduced price. 2-3 hours for event and an hour to set up and an hour to clean up.

2. Rope in friends and family. This is so much easier as a team. Delegate roles and play to people's strengths. The more the merrier. We defo had jobs for everyone and you also need people floating about to say hello to people and move floats about etc.

3. Blag raffle prizes! Local businesses are usually happy to donate something. If they need a bit of a nudge offer free advertising for them via a shout out on social media. 

4. Advertise on all local Facebook sites for face painters, balloon modellers, messy play, disco babies, book people, cup cake decorators. All these people will usually do sessions for free and they can give out leaflets about their businesses. If you can't get face painters then rope in an artistic friend and buy some 'snazaroo' paints off of Amazon. Get them to have a practice before the event. If they are good you can charge £2 a face or get some stencils and do for £1-£1.50. Same with balloon modellers. You can rope someone in to knock together a dog etc. Advertise the event immediately and you can update it with what's happening as soon as you know. Put posters up around the town and contact the local press for a free article. Get on the radio. 

5. Sell the raffle tickets as soon as you rope in the first prizes. Keep updating the list of prizes on Facebook before the event and inform people who they can buy them off and that they can also buy them on the day. Everyone who is organising can be given a some to sell. Make sure people write their name and number on the back if they aren't present for the draw. We sold ours for £1 a ticket.

6. Get baking!!!!!! Get as many cakes in as us possibly can. Sell them for £1 a slice at least or 2 small ones for £1. 

7. Charge adults to get in but kids free. Suggest and entry fee of at least £1.

8. Have buckets dotted all over the hall for donations. 

9. Stalls. We arranged a tombola, guess the sweets jar, colouring competition and lucky dip that we ran ourselves and we had local businesses come in for free and do cupcake making (all decorating items donated by Sainsburys), disco babies, messy play, a spinning businesses brought bikes in for the kids to zoom about on, we had Elsa and Anna from frozen come in for free from a local mascot business. We sold teas, coffees and drinks with straws (no cups needed) and we drew the raffle at the very end of the event. 

By having so much for the kids to do, it kept the adults there and they bought more teas, coffee and cakes. 

At the end of the event if you are left with anything you can ask people to take what they want and drop a donation in the bucket. That way you aren't left with anything and you can collect more money. 

10. Have thank you letters to send out to all business's that have helped and donated.

11. You'll need to buy teas, coffees, plastic cups if the venue don't provide them, plastic bags for rubbish, buckets for money. You'll need to arrange a float for each stand. Delegate a person for each table and they can make posters and decorate their own tables. Ask everyone to bring a cake stand with their cakes to present them nicely. We just gave ours out on napkins and it's good to have sandwich bags for people to take cakes home. 

Blog award MADness

What is a blog?

I know you know what it is but until about 8 months ago I just thought it was an online diary written by upper middle class people about 'upper middle class problems' such as Porcha's allergy to pomegranate or Tarquin's newly discovered love of roasted red pepper Humous.

Nowadays I am well aware of what a blog is because I write one. Ooooooo get me. Arguably it's crap in places and then not so crap in others. It's very sad but also maybe a bit funny, or so I'm told. 

I'm good with whatever really because when i first sat down to type, I typed for myself. 

In the beginning of September last year I was just like a normal person. I had two young sons, crows feet to rival the San Andreas fault line and potty training shit stains in my bog. 

Peppa pig was my arch nemesis, oinking about the joint with her bad attitude and head that simply screams pink hairdryer or penis. My youngest Tait was biting anything or anyone that came near him with a gob like PacMan and my biggest concern was how to lose weight and still be able to inhale all food in a 25 mile radius. Yes my friends.....I was just like you!

I was about to return to studying and had relocated to my home town in search of free child care and I was pregnant with my 3rd child who I would come to learn was a girl. 

Then, the day after PacMans 1st birthday I was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer with a typical life expectancy of 2-5 years. 

Yeah just let that sit there a minute.............

Well shit.....that wasn't fitting into my life plan. I was now looking at a death plan. Not only that but the best way to save me was to terminate my pregnancy. Now how's that for the modern version of 'Sophie's choice'? Be here for your boys or be here for your girl? 

I was 13 weeks pregnant when diagnosed and I'd peed on that stick long before, so there was no other option in my head. 

I would do right by all of them. 

I would give my daughter the best shot I could and then I'd give myself the best chance to be here for all three of them.....

I wanted to read about others who had been in a similar boat via one of these Blog things....

I found myself online typing in searches such as:

'Inflammatory breast cancer in pregnancy'..... Nothing

'Humourous blog / cancer in pregnancy'...... Nothing 

'I'm fucking fucked and need a funny blog about cancer...help me!'.... Nothing

Now there were some blogs that did encompass cancer treatments and living with dismal prognoses but my god were they depressing!!!!!!!!!!! (Understandable given the nature of the subject). But I guess I'm weird and I needed to laugh or the crying would have taken me down. I did find one blog... I read it until the bottom where it ended with her husband announcing that she'd died.....that was motivational I can tell you. Of course, I'm not blaming her. She didn't do it on purpose. But i'd lost her. She felt like the only one that thought like me and she would never write again. I needed to read something that wasn't all doom and gloom and yet where would I find it?

So I thought bollocks to it and wrote my own. 

I'm one of those sad people that finds themselves  funny and I thought, I want to rant about Noah's allergy to pomegranate somewhere. But actually what I wanted to create was a diary for my children to read when they are old enough that showed everything mum had handled when they were young. I wanted to laugh because every fissure in my humanoid structure was screaming...... HOW DO I SAY GOODBYE TO MY CHILDREN? How do I live with this towering over me and what will I do when I realise that I have zero control over what is happening to me? 

So, I documented and I laughed at myself and I cried at myself and then things got very very dark.

Things got so much worse then Cancer. 

If this is your first time with me you'll be wondering how? But let me tell you categorically Cancer is now just an inconvenience in my life. There is a much more profound pain that I wear every single day and will continue to wear when it's threadbare and reeks of mothballs. 

But I continue to document... I continue to 'blog'. 

I do it for me, I do it for my 3 children and I do it for you. 

And now some of you nutcases somewhere thinks it might be worthy of an award. A MAD Blog Award (FYI MAD means Mum and Dad not confused to the point of space hopping backwards with your arse flaps hanging out) which is incredible. (The nom not the arse flaps)

This made me so happy for so many reasons but ultimately, it means you're doing some of this with me and man I could use some company!!!!! 

So if you think the writing in Storm In A Tit Cup is 'best' please vote for it as best writer. And instead of me saying 'click here' and then you click here and a form appears,  Click here....... shittybumbumbutthole

Thought that would be funnier. No? Just me then

Hyper Aware

People often ask me how do I cope so well with what is happening?

Initially I consider if they are talking about dealing with a rare and aggressive form of cancer with a very dismal prognosis, or, are they asking me about the loss of my daughter Ally? 

What I have established is that 9/10 times they are asking me about Voldertit. 

This is because people don't want to ask about Ally for fear of upsetting me. I totally understand. No one wants to be the reason that tears arrive. However, I feel I should point out that I am thinking of her every second. By mentioning her name to me you are not reminding me that my daughter died, you are reminding me that she lived. 

You are telling me you are also thinking of her and that is important. You see, Ally exists with me, always. 

I want to talk about her, I want you to ask about her, I want her name spoken as often as possible because she is a huge part of who we are. 

Every time I look at the boys I wonder how much Ally would have looked like them, what her personality would have been like and what her first words would have been. Would she have recited the word 'Bellend' as proud as punch after hearing it from her daddy just as her oldest brother did? Would she have had my sense of humour and our rogue ginger gene? 

I'll never know. 

So we go back to coping? How do I 'cope'? 

Well someone told me that everyone copes because what is not coping?

I guess it's dying? Some could argue that I'm already doing that... I'm stage 4 with no cure. I'll always have cancer. But then we are all dying right? We all go at some point but maybe we live our lives based on assumption of 'making old bones' and I've been reminded that death knows no rules. It rolls however it wants to. It smokes crack one day and goes to church the next. It does whatever it wants, to who ever it wants, whenever it wants. 

Death is very real to me so I put it to you...

Am I lucky?

My mortality is very tangible and will continue to be this way until I'm switched off or I become the epitome of irony 'Cancer-mum who risked life to save daughter who passed away after 8 days beats cancer only to be crushed by unsecured letter 'V' hanging off of 'VUE Cinema' Cribbs Causeway.' 

........seriously this has occurred to me!

 

Sorry.

 'Am I Lucky?'

I live with the knowledge that I may die a lot sooner then I planned.  Therefore I see the world in a slightly different way. I'm hyper aware that maybe when I do something now it could be for the last time. I don't mean like 'make a sandwich' or 'put the bins out' I mean if I go to the beach it could be the last time. When I take off my shoes and feel cold sand beneath my feet then dust that sand off to put my shoe back on, that could have been the last time I will feel sand. 

Now again, that can be said for any of us. What you are doing right now could be the last time you do it (please don't die reading my blog....that would mean I literally bored you to death) because don't forget that massive proverbial 'bus' driving around the world wiping us out one commuter at a time. 

That bus!!!!!! Remember everyone it could hit you at anytime!!!!!!

That FUCKING bus is getting more air time then this weird celebrity threesome story doing the rounds.... Can I say who it is? I doubt they'd gag me. Not good for PR......'tragic cancer mum who writes shit blog full of grammatical errors names celebrities involved in (cock)gagging order, is then arrested and forced into a line up with Phil Mitchell then subsequently thrown in gaol whereby her cancerous body shrivels into a skeleton on the floor, when found her twisted corpse had an outstretched finger pointing towards some really dodgy plastic coloured glasses and a Dolce and Gabbana carrier bag.'

No I won't say whose involved because really, does anyone actually give a shit?

So, I digress. Everything I do, I'm wondering if it could be the last time. 

It's exhausting but it's also kind of beautiful. 

Taking things in on that kind of level is one hell of an experience. I'm planning all these grand trips with the kids and they are so important to me but it's the small things (cliche ding ding ding) that really count. 

When I put Tait to bed and he has his milk and is calm (normally he's running around like he's being chased by the dude from Texas chainsaw massacre) I look at him. I mean I really look at him. His fingernails, his eyelashes, his hair and I take it all in. I absorb it and store it in my memory. 

When Ally was in NICU I didn't take it all in. 

I took in some things but I didn't really get everything locked down that I should have. 

I can remember when she was poorly that she looked at me and flicked her eyes from right to centre. That was the only time I can recall eye contact with her and it's crystal clear in my mind but why didn't I take in everything else? It's because I didn't observe things fully until I realised that actually things aren't going to necessarily be ok. 

I have been handed a pair of glasses that make me view the world in a different way to this time last year. I was a normal 32 year old with two young children driving her round the bend. Things have changed since then. (The bend driving is still the same)

None of us knows when we will die but we all assume we'll be grey, crinkly and rocking in a chair whilst looking at photos of our great grand children. 

Me? In theory I'll be lucky if I make 40. 

But I still visualise myself as that woman rocking in a chair, so thankful that I defied the odds and  so grateful that I lived my life as a hyper aware. Taking in every detail that matters. 

'Cancer-mums last words on death bed: I will remember it all, always.'

Uno-bap the Robot

Happy Easter just autocorrected to 'happy raster.' Made me laugh.

Anyway..............

A few weeks ago someone I know who also lost their beloved daughter in the latter part of last year said to me that he'd looked around himself recently and wondered when it had become lighter? 

What he meant was that when his daughter had died it had been winter and that time had stopped at that point. He'd now suddenly realised that the nights and mornings were becoming lighter and that he'd lost all concept of time. 

It was at that point that I wondered the same thing. Where has the time gone and also how does the earth keep turning at the point your world implodes? It's very much like that grandfather clock in that song about the old man. When he died, the clock stopped. 

But it's only your clock that stops....everyone else's keeps ticking along. Everyone else keeps going. 

That's because they have too. 

That is the way of the world.

We now find ourselves in Spring and with spring comes many things. The little bulbs that have been shivering below the surface push through into the unknown showing us their beauty, all the pastey vampires like myself now have to reveal a little more translucent skin and the kids go off the fucking dial when the clocks go forward. 

But nothing beats Easter!!! 

The chocolate from Christmas has started to melt and reform into some unrecognisable blobs that are half diary milk half tin foil and there's something unsettling about biting off a chocolate snow mans head at the end of March.

 It's time to bring in the eggs!!! 

Why is it eggs we give at Easter? Well eggs are a symbol of new life. 

Spring is full of new life. It's all around us. It's time for a change.

So let me tell you about something that's changed for me...

I am now operable!!!!! 

I can have Voldertit removed! 

I can become UNO-BAP!!! 

You might be scratching your heads here for several reasons. I understand. 

'Wasn't she always going to have her bad-bap removed?' 

'Why is someone so happy to have their boob whipped off?'

'Why can't she think of any other funnier word for her fun-bags?'

Well, I never told you but after Ally was born, Voldertit was so strong, so big, so out of control that it wasn't looking good for me. Inflammatory Breast Cancer  has to be shrunk with chemo before it can be removed and my chemo didn't work so it was looking like Voldertit had won. Then Lung nodules were discovered and I stepped up to stage 4 as a result (I'll never be cured, cancer will always live with me but it'll be hiding in that cupboard that no one ever opens for fear of all the shit falling everywhere) and aggressive treatment began to buy me as much time on this turning planet as possible. 

It is not a given to have a mastectomy with IBC, it's something you hope for.

This month was always going to be that milestone we dreaded but it's been and gone and the boat is a pretty good one. 

I rocked up for a CT scan whereby I was handed a large jug of dye contrast to drink. It was bad. I was gagging as it tastes foul. I'd eaten bugger all, all morning in preparation and Scouse was next to me chomping on a double decker ( my favourite). I looked around for the nearest toothpick that I could stick under his finger nails so he'd scream and subsequently drop the Chocolate bar into my wide drooling grid. 

There weren't any! Dam the NHS and their cutbacks!! 

I then went for a Breast MRI. This was where you flop your tits into two holes whilst lying face down on a gurney and you're squeezed into a tunnel. Then an IV floods your body with 'Gadolinium.' It's a rare-earth metal with the atomic number 64. 

What the hell does that mean right? Who knows but I'm lying there practically converting to Robot status.

The noise of the machine is like a repetitive twang at a million decibels and honestly after listening to it for what felt like eternity I swear it sounded like DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE. Honestly!! It made my 'chemical self' start chuckling away at the irony. All the shit I've been through to this point and the scanner which indicates the progress of my illness is telling me I'm screwed!!! The cheek! 

I am one pissed off Robot and immediately steal Bender from Futuramas line and utter to the scanner 'bite my shiny metal ass'. 

As I am now 80% the chemical element GD, I walk out of the hospital and up the hill towards the car. 

Spring is very much in the air. I notice I'm not wearing a coat and I feel warm. When did that happen? 

My companion nods discreetly in the direction of a rather large lady walking towards us from a distance who is wearing jeans with holes in and mutters something along the lines of 'I always think large people who wear holey jeans look like they've 'exploded' them. You know, kind of like the 'Incredible Hulk'. 

'Yes' I say as I'm mentally throwing my holey jeans in the bin. These steroids have made my legs in 'holey jeans' look like a play-dough fat factory. Good times. 

I go in for chemo number 8 and I'm told that after reviewing my scans with the surgeon I can now have my rotten, malfunctioning cahoona removed!!! AND my lymph nodes are bloody well clear!! The chemo blasted them good and proper. If we ignore the lung nodules crap then this is fantastic so I'm taking this as a victory in this battle. 

I've never cared about what this shit storm will do to my looks so having wonky or no baps does not bother me at all. 

Hell I'd surgically attach a penis to my nose and call myself Nellie the Elephant if it would help save my life. 

So see you later tit! You can hang in the bin with my hair, my previous size 12 body and my old untraumatised bumhole.  

So Let's embrace the change that Spring brings us. Let's eat chocolate til we barf and let's keep as strong as we can without morphing into Robots. 

And to my cancer.... Slide down my fist!

(The most up to date Bucket and Spade list

The Toothless Trails - Trail 1: Weymouth

If you had 3 nights of child free abandon with your oldest friends (they aren't crinkly, they have just been my friends for a long time) what would you do? A spa break sipping cocktails around a pool, a city break cutting some dodgy shapes in a Reflex that smells of feet and regurgitated Reef? Perhaps a spot of shopping and a pedicure?

Well we decided to drag our arses across Dorset in the freezing cold, flooding beautiful scenic points with our foul mouths to stand in the shitting rain having our pictures taken with funny road signs.

We my friends, know how to roll.

It all began weeks before the event. We couldn't plan enough!! Day dreaming of how magical it would be:

I can't wait to not have to count down from 4-7pm when the kids are at their most assholeish 

I can't wait to eat crap all weekend

I can't wait to wake up at 6am and then just roll over without a care in the world.

Mostly I can't wait to eat the pork rolls and the extra pork fat we've ordered from the butcher.......

'do you think he'll give us enough fat? I've ordered pork for 7 people, should we order for more as we know what we're like. The pork will need to cook for 7 hours to capitalise on the moisture vs an hour for the fat to make the best crackling. Do you think we should get more fat? We don't want to not have enough pork fat. pork pork pork fat fat fat!!!!!'

Now I don't need to highlight that we are women that like our food. 

It's important that you know we had a 3 carboots full of food. Pre cooked tagines, home made sticky toffee pudding, a plethora of crisps and nuts (the fallout from Christmas) and enough sweets to send all 7 of us into a diabetic coma. (That should be 8 but Tara couldn't get the time off work - fudge da poleece) Not to mention an online shop arriving later and various restaurant and cake outings planned for the weekend. Yes. We like to eat.

So we all bundle into cars at 9am sharp on Friday morning. I have Ally's Dragon 'Toothless' riding shotgun with me. No one is late, everyone has everything as we've been packed for 300 years. There are literally skid marks outside all our homes and the kids can be heard in the distance "bye muuuuhhhhh"...oh well can't hear. GO!

We arrive at the farmers market for breakfast (obviously - sorry I can't bring myself to write 'obvs') all excited, the dreams of food now unfolding in front of us. We que at the Baine Marie salivating at the thought of a farmers sausage in our mouths. (Oi oi) I look at the chief organiser Lucy, as the colour starts to drain from her face. Oh no, what is wrong with her? She's heavily pregnant so maybe her waters are leaking, maybe she's realised she's left the oven on, maybe she's forgotten to drop a sprog at nursery.... I'm concerned.  I flex a non existent chemo-brow at her as if to ask 'what on earth is wrong' as she declares "Oh shit!!! I forgot the fucking Pork!!!"

Noooooooooooooooooo. One job. ONE JOB!

Not the pork!!!! The ripple effect of realisation can be seen across the faces of all my friends. You can literally hear their hearts sinking. 

'That's just great. GREAT! What the fuck are we going to eat now' ....just as a huge breakfast gets passed across the serving hatch.

Anyway, I promise I won't go into so much detail again but you get the gist. We like food. So while we were shoving sausage in our mouths, everyone is quietly gooling to find the nearest place we can buy pork and pork fat. 

We set off again, bought some car sweets and stopped off for our fat. The conversation started again about whether we had enough fat. 

We then drove to the middle of nowhere and all jumped out to stare at a large field with a penis in. This penis appeared inappropriately erect to me but to be fair it can't be  easy to draw a 2D penis into grass. We were disappointed to learn that the large man also know as the Cerne Abbas Giant has now been fenced off as the great British public spent so much time having selfies with the penis that the paint wore off. 

Gemma tries for 5 minutes to get a photo trick of her being tea-bagged by the Giant. The old lady walking her dog was unamused. 

We were happy to have a group shot from afar....

We then made our way to Piddle Lane and jumped out to have our picture taken at which point half of us were nearly wiped out by a Argos Lorry. Ahhhhhh memories.

Next it was onto Shitterton. I shit you not. It's real. This poor town has had so many signs nicked over the years, the locals clubbed together to have a proper stone one made. It's a shame really as I was so looking forward to putting that sign on the bathroom door. 

Yes I can steal stuff because I've got Cancer. 

After Shitterton, Anna grew concerned that we hadn't eaten for 3 hours and that we should head to the house rental. It was in Portland, and it was perfect. It had a kitchen, a sofa and wine glasses, and it was opposite a tea room. BOOM. We were straight in that tearoom and I was straight to the bog for poo-Nado 8 of the day (chemo ass) and not wanting me to miss out on cake, the girls came into the toilet to take my order without so much as batting an eyelid. True friendship.

So we smashed afternoon tea and then went home to get the tagine on. The crisps came out and then we played home made quizzes featuring the horrors of our friendship. You should try this....make up your own quiz ie 'who was fingerblasted in the store room at Redcliffe bay hall in year 8?' (FYI not me!) so funny.

The weekend consisted of eating, rehashing old gossip, gasping at the new, and talking about the meaning of life. 

Most importantly we played cards against humanity. (It wasn't at all awkward when one question was answered with 'Jade Goodys cancerous corpse'. ) And let me tell you the farting that took place was beyond comprehension!!!!!!!

I know men like to imagine female sleepovers as ladies clad in white cotton underwear, playfully bashing each other with pillows but what unfolded here was women clad in mismatching joggers and hoodies, whafting farts with pillows. Total bliss. 

On the last day for the majority, we went to 'Broadchurch' or Bridport. This was the town where a young man named Daniel Latimer met his demise. This is important as I feel we owe the poor residents of Bridport an apology. Those nutty women you heard for about 3 hours a few weeks ago constantly repeating 'Danny Lat-er-mur' in the broadest of Dorset accents, were my friends. 

Yes it was hysterical every single time someone said it, yes we laughed just as loud each time and yes we are in our 30s but fuck me it was so funny!!!

I guess you had to be there mind!!! Danny Lat-er-mur. 

So after we stuffed a freezing cold icecream into our faces in what felt like a -10 degree wind, most of the girls left. Myself and my friend Vic remained. Vic is quite a deep thinker and from there came the deep conversations. 

'Are we arrogant enough to believe that we are the only planet in the infinity of space that contains life?'

'So subsequently if we don't know, then we can't dismiss it?' 

Which is how I look at heaven and the question of 'what happens when you die?'

I go to this place often because I absolutely refuse to believe that I will never see my daughter again. 

With this conversation inevitably comes the tears and the never ending guilt. The guilt because I miss her so much and I should be approaching my due date. I should have kept her inside.

It was that night that I read about Natalia Spencer and her 'Walk of Love'.

Natalia is walking around our entire coastline to raise money for The Grand Appeal which assists Bristol Children's Hospital. This walk is in memory of her beautiful daughter Elizabeth Spencer who died the day before Ally was born. 

Upon reading the article it dawned on me that she was here in Weymouth and had literally stood in the same spot as us the day before. 

I needed to meet her, walk with her, talk with her. So I messaged and it was arranged.

The next day was another emotional one. Natalias daughter Elizabeth was 5 years old when she died from a very rare condition. Natalia was renting a house of which she moved out of a week after she lost her daughter and was now just walking. And when I say just walking, I mean that in the purest sense. She is literally just walking but walking has taken on a whole new meaning. As a mother grieving the loss of a child, the darkness is all consuming. It leaves you incomplete and you know you'll never fully heal. I've said before that just breathing becomes effort full. 

Natalia is literally and metaphorically putting one foot in front of the other. She has simplified life to putting one foot in front of the other because sometimes that's all you can do. She will just keep walking as others will just keep swimming. 

You have to navigate life the only way you can. You just do it. You just keep going in the hope that one day you'll laugh again, one day you'll look at pictures of the ones you've lost and smile and one day you may get back to being a little bit like your old self. One day. 

But for now, you make plans and you surround yourself with the people that mean the most to you.... Your friends and your family. And you live. 

After all, that's what's important and really what else can you do?

Danny Lat-er-mur

The BullRing of Fire

(This post is dedicated to the memories of Liam Fairhurst and his friend Jack Wilkinson.

Liam was born on 26th February 1995 and in 2005 was diagnosed with a rare high grade soft tissue Cancer called Synovial Sarcoma. 

Liam met Jack whilst undergoing treatment and they became fast friends, swapping treatment stories and spending hours laughing together. 

In 2006 Jack sadly died at age 12. 

Liam was subsequently driven to fundraise for others whilst undergoing aggressive treatments for his illness. Never once did he give up. He was selfless beyond words.

In 2009 Liam sadly died aged 14. 

His family set up a foundation in his name liamfairhurstfoundation.com and Liam's brother Callum is currently cycling around America for his brother. Their mother Sarah asked me about this story and I feel today is the right time to share. 

Happy Birthday Liam. I hope you like a poo story. Share it with Jack. You can laugh together. Aren't friends amazing.)

When Will from 'The Inbetweeners' shat himself, his friends didn't offer him a hug or comfort, they laughed and called him 'Bumlog Millionaire', 'Vladimir Pootin' and 'Brad shit.'

Some might say this is cruel and unkind. I say this is true friendship. 

When I was pregnant,  I was having 'baby-safe chemo', as you know, and one of the side effects is 'loose bowels.' Loose bowels??? Who I am kidding.... I mean the trots!! Ass cannon, bum wee, Poo-nado. Or medically; diarrhoea.

Anyway, whilst mid cycle of the first chemo that didn't work; my oldest friends and I went to Birmingham Christmas markets. 

Lucy sat with me while I had the drugs pumped into my arm and the minute the tubes were disconnected we were hauling ass out of hospital and into the cars for a night of carefree living in a Birmingham travel lodge. 

We spent most of the first day stuck on the M5 and when we eventually arrived we made the somewhat stupid decision to have a Thai. 

This Thai was hot. 

And when I say hot, it was tantamount to wearing a ski suit whilst licking the sun. 

Yeah that hot!

The next day whilst en route to the Bullring for a spot of sophisticated shopping, I got the pre 'poo-nado' warning siren in my guts. 

Oh crap. Literally. 

The good people of Birmingham were currently in the process of remodelling all their roundabouts so we were stuck in the mother-of-all traffic jams. It's ok. I can do this.

Then came the hot sweats and the panic that usually accompany the realisation of imminent soil-age of ones under crackers. 

Try and think of something else they said.

We are nearly there they said. 

So is this poo I said. 

As the threat of a full outfit right-off descended, the hub caps of the Bullring came into view and thus the promise of a public toilet...mind you I'd have settled for a long drop in central Deli at this point. 

Unfortunately the sweet sensation of imminent release had traveled to my bowels as I uttered the immortal words 'oh no. I think I'm guna shit myself!'

With driving skills to rival Jenson Button and re-enacting one of those chase scenes out of a Bond movie, Anna took a very hard left into what looked like the parking lot of a mechanic's business set to the backdrop of the film Deliverance. 

A war cry of 'don't worry I've got wet wipes' blasted out from the back seat as Anna breaked hard and I yanked on the door handle ready to do a moving exit stage left. 'Someone come with me' I cried as Gemma was already running out of the back shouting 'Me! That's me! I love this shit.' 

I bolted for the edge of the car park, dodging car part after car part to run into a corner of hell that can only be described as a crack-den intermingled with that toilet out of trainspotting. 

I was already 'dropping trou' as the departure gates were opening. As I began to squat I couldn't even consider that I might be reversing onto a heroine needle left by last nights tenants. I just needed to feel the air hit my bum and all would be well. 

The trousers were down, the pants were clear, Gemma's face was lit up like a Christmas tree when it came! 

The words biggest pooNami. 

And MAN , did it hurt!!!!! 

Squatting whilst pregnant is bad enough without having to fire the entire contents of the worlds hottest chillis out of your ass. It really gave a whole new meaning to the word Bullring. 

So, there we were. Me, my hysterical friend Gemma (who was laughing so much she nearly had to join me), and my bum contents. Just chilling in a car park.

That my friends, is friendship. 

The Bucket and Spade list - AKA The Toothless Trails

1. camping – regularly. Get all the kit and camp around the UK. As my treatment changes in the blink of an eye and I read in some 'middle class problems' article somewhere that kids who camp have a higher IQ I've always wanted to become a 'camp site wanker' and will be able to do this as a last minute trip.

Your job: recommend me UK campsites that are great with 1 and 3 year olds. Tell me what kit I need and general tips.

2. Disneyland Paris at Christmas - this is because my cousin goes every year and loves it and we are planning the worlds biggest road trip with the kids next year to USA and will take them to Orlando so his could be the warm up. I'm concerned Tait will just whinge though and bite people and it'll be a 'why the fuck did we bother' trip. Thoughts?

3. Lapland - would love to take the boys to meet santa in the snow. You can do a day trip to this but as we always seem to get delays I think a night stay would be great. In a log cabin.

4. Road trip USA - this is the big one! Scouse and I love America. We have both been separately and together. When I was younger I travelled the world alone and I covered a huge part of the west coast USA and a few southern states but there are still quite a lot I haven't seen. We have always said that when the boys were about 9, 8 and subsequently Ally at 7, we would go for a huge trip. We thought that was about the age where they could experience everything. This was the trip I thought about constantly and if I could only do one thing on this list it would be this trip. So we decided that whatever happens we are bloody doing it. It'll be around May/June next year just before Noah starts school. It's going to be for about 5 weeks and we will start in Florida and make our way up to Chicago and then across to Niagara Falls.

Your job: tell me what you have done or would like to do in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, South Carolina, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Pennsylvanian, New York.

5. Should we get married? - see that question mark!!!!

6. Get the kids christened.

7. A weekend with my mum to a spa or something similar

8. A weekend or trip with my brother and Tripe (my sister in law - she looks like a cows udder)

9. Trip with my BBB ladies (these are the incredibly sweary breast cancer tribe I am part of.) These girls have really bloody helped me and I can't wait to meet them all one day.

10. Get my blog into a book and sell it!!!!!! Learn how to re-root money to Monaco and avoid tax = live the dream

11. Write a children's book and get it published.

12. Visit friends and family more often. Old friends / New ones.

13. Legoland

14. Watch someone give birth.... At the business end!! I'd be really great as a birthing partner!!!

15. Thomas land

16. Ceebeebies world

17. skiing - with or without kids? I love skiing and would love to go again. It's been a while.

18. Australia. A road trip would be amazing as well as just chilling out. Take the kids to the Whit Sunday's and Uluru.

19. Meet The Unmumsy mum. Hopefully she'll then become my best friend = bonus!

20. Stay in a treehouse

21. Weekends with my best friends. These are of course child free but fuelled by wine. - completed Feb 2016.

22. Meet 'Counting Crows'

23. Sky Dive

24. Be a voice on the Simpsons

25. Take the boys horse riding - teach Noah to ride 

26. Walk up Glastonbury Torr - I live not too far from here but have never done it.

27. Drive around Devon and Cornwall in a camper van. The kids would love this!!!!

28. Take Noah in a cockpit of a plane or in a helicopter.

29. Ride horses on the beach again, galloping through the wet sand.

30. Cage dive with sharks ( I have advanced open water SSI qualification but never got near a shark - probably for the best)

31. Wing walk..... Think I might be too heavy for this though.

32. Camper van around Canada. Searching for bears.

33. An adventure playground garden at our house for the kids complete with a She-Shed thingy to drink wine and hot choc in and camp out overnight.

34. Boat trip in Alaska.

35. Actaully travel in the posh part of the plane.

36. Be dragged under a helicopter like they did on Bear Grylls, or go in one if not.

Now the very important ones

* See Noah start school (sept 2017).  Walk him to the gate in his uniform and be there to meet him afterwards

* See Tait start school (sept 2019).  Walk him and his brother to the gates and listen to them compare their days when I pick them up.

* Make my family and friends proud (this was previously number 24)

* Live to see the kids start secondary school

* Live to see the kids start Uni or travel or jobs etc

* Live to see the kids get married

* Live to meet my grandchildren

* Live