Royal Juice

I picture this juice being served to the Queen of Sheba as she reclines on silken cushions.

Everything should be organic

About three smallish raw beetroots

6-8 strawberries

Juice of one lime.

Put the beetroot and strawberries through the juice extractor. It’s better to put the strawberries through in between the beetroots. This is because the hard beetroots will help to push the softer strawberry pulp through the mesh of the juice extractor. If you’re using a Champion juice extractor scoop up the pulp and feed it through a second time. Squeeze the limes on a citrus press and stir in the lime juice.

Let the Celebrations Begin

I’ve just returned from Harley Street and my final radiotherapy session.

It was a strange farewell. I shook hands with today’s radiographers, gave Bruce a little pat and then left. I will be back there next week for final chit-chats with Dr Coulter and Mr Hadjiminas. And then in three months time. And then every three months for a year, every six months for another year and then every year for the rest of my life.

I feel I will celebrate with a big glass of celery and grape juice and a tofu fry-up.

Not so Fast

I am sooooooo tired. Thinking that the chemo is all over and I would be back to normal I booked in several appointments today. First, a committee meeting about a charity event then a surprise birthday lunch for my friend Sumaira and finally the movies with Sheldon.

Having fallen asleep at seven-thirty last night, I jump out of bed at the crack of ten. I make a divine fennel, grape and lime juice, run the juicer parts under the cold tap and hop in the bath. Ten minutes later I hear splashing. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere quite close by. I ponder for a while on what it might be. I’m hesitant to get out of the bath because last time I did that I slipped and fell, injuring my foot and cracking my head. But finally I feel that I must investigate.

The kitchen sink is overflowing and there’s an inch deep puddle all over the floor. I skip about chucking down every towel and tea towel that I own, empty the bath and then pile the sopping textiles into the tub.

What has become clear to me is that the chemo has not yet left my body. Nor my brain.

Carrot Zinger

After a tiring chemotherapy session the absolutely best thing to get me back on my feet is a classic carrot and apple juice - with a twist.

Everything should be organic

3 big carrots

1 apple

half an unwaxed lemon

a piece of ginger, about an inch square

Cut everything into pieces small enough to fit into the feeder of your juice extractor. Put all through the juicer including the lemon, skin and all. If you’re using a masticating juicer put the pulp through the juicer again.

I Do Éclair!

Today my cancer-busting diet starts well with a delicious vitamin and enzyme packed glass of organic celery, lime and grape juice.

I take the bus to Harley Street. Here is a testament to the power of addiction... I stopped smoking eighteen months ago. Four months ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I have had surgery to remove a malignant tumour and I am in the middle of a debilitating course of chemotherapy to be followed by radiotherapy. I am on my way to the hospital. The number 23 bus takes a route down Edgeware Road. As we pass by I gaze down on a tableau of men, some in crumpled suits, some in flowing white robes, all smoking shisha pipes. It is everything I can do to restrain myself from getting off the bus, abandoning today’s chemo session and joining them. Just for the one, don’tyaknow?

At present I’m skint so I choose to forgo a healthy and scrumptious lunch at The Providores. Instead I opt for the hospital menu. It is perfectly decent and free. But none of it is organic nor specifically alkaline forming nor especially high in raw, cruciferous vegetables. It comes down to a choice between a sandwich, an omelette or a baked potato, with various trimmings. Minestrone soup with a prawn sandwich followed by fruit salad seems a reasonable way forward. So far, I’m not too many miles off the righteous path.

My uncle David arrives with his wife Penny. Uncle David was married to my aunt Ophelia. He is Ben’s and Gaby’s father. So I suppose, technically, he is not my uncle. But I have always called him Uncle David and I don’t see why I should lose a perfectly good uncle just because my aunty got divorced. I haven’t seen him since B.C. so it’s a rare treat. He and Penny live in Cardiff. They came up to London yesterday to attend the opening of an exhibition featuring photography by their son Timothy, Ben’s half-brother. I didn’t go because I was feeling simply toooooo tired, tired, tired.

Uncle David and Penny bring a ribbon bound box containing three chocolate éclairs from Patisserie Valerie. They’re different to the ones from Paul. The Paul éclairs are filled with chocolate custard whilst the Patisserie Val ones are filled with whipped cream.

We chit-chat for a while about cancer and chemo and how is Timothy and how was the show? Then, at last, Uncle David offers to make us all a cup of tea. “And crack open those éclairs whilst you’re at it,” I command. “Oh, we can’t eat those,” replies Uncle David, “Penny doesn’t touch cream or wheat or chocolate.”

So I’ve eaten three.