I DON’T have cancer.

I didn’t have it last year or a month ago and I still don’t have it now. In fact, I’ve always not had cancer.

But now, rather than not having cancer just being a fact of life I rarely think about, it’s become a joy akin to a pit pony emerging from the deepest darkness of the mines into glorious sunshine.

I don’t have cancer – and it’s brilliant.

What could be causing such euphoria?, you may well ask. After all, I also don’t have tuberculosis, scarlet fever or Ebola either, and none of these facts has left me jumping for joy.

Well, it all began a few weeks ago when I had to go to the doctor’s for a routine blood test – and was told to expect the results within about a week.

So imagine my shock when the GP rang the next morning and told me one of the results was rather alarming and I needed a scan immediately. And no, it couldn’t wait three weeks which was when I already had a scan booked.

My shock deepened when the hospital rang 10 minutes later and asked me to go in that very day.... in my panic, I put them off until the Friday. And duly spent the rest of the week fretting and gloomily bracing myself for a death sentence. Or at the very least, a foreseeable future marred by ill health, horrible treatments, trips to Oxford for radiotherapy and so on.

The scan came and went and I heard nothing. And in classic human style, I buried my head in the sand and didn’t quite get round to ringing for the results for... ooh... a fortnight.

Eventually, trembling, I rang the doctor at my local surgery who – and I can’t tell you how great this was – told me there was nothing to worry about. The blood test had raised the suggestion of ovarian cancer, but the scan showed that other issues (thankfully nothing life-threatening) were responsible for the result. OH MY GOD. I don’t have cancer! I’m fine!

Since then, the world has looked different – the rain has been musical, being hot and clammy feels tropical, train journeys are enchanting and work is a privilege.

I’m not sure how long this feeling will last. I had it a couple of years ago after a lengthy stay in hospital when sitting on a sofa and watching TV felt like the most amazing thing in the world, and being allowed to walk up and down stairs, feel the fresh outdoor air on my face and drink as much liquid as you like was like being born again.

“You’re experiencing the St Neots Margin,” said my friend when I shouted “Guess what!” and told him the happy news. Actually the first thing he said was “You’re pregnant!” which took the wind out of my sails – no, I said, and told him the happy news: “I don’t have cancer!”

Anyway – the St Neots Margin was noted by novelist and philosopher Colin Wilson, who in the 1950s was hitchhiking to Peterborough to see his girlfriend. He wasn’t happy about making the trip as he was going to break up with her but he felt it was only right to do it face to face.

He hitched a lift in a lorry but it broke down and the driver told him he’d be better off standing by the side of the road and hitching another lift.

Gloomily, Colin did just that, and stood there feeling miserable in the by now pouring rain. Eventually another lorry stopped and he was on his way again... until that lorry started making a dodgy noise and the driver feared they were going to break down. By now, Colin was close to despair.

When the driver, just outside St Neots, took a look under the bonnet and declared a false alarm, Colin felt relieved and happy — much happier, in fact, than he would have been had everything gone smoothly and he’d arrived in Peterborough without incident.

So, in a nutshell, we amble through life, sweating the small stuff when actually we should be appreciating it. Until now not having cancer hasn’t brought me any joy but after the vaguest of scares, I’m on cloud nine.

It’s a perversity of human nature that it takes a crisis to make us realise how great life is without that crisis. I’m going to try harder to enjoy all the bad things that haven’t happened – and all the good ones that have, no matter how mediocre.

Stan's definitely the man

TAKE a bow, Stan Pajak. The Liberal Democrat councillor for Eastcott was the only councillor to vote against a pay rise of up to 17.5 per cent for Swindon Borough Council members. In this time of swingeing cuts to libraries, children’s centres, Lydiard Park... the list goes on... our merry bunch of politicians have decided they deserve more dough. Shame on you, you greedy, self-serving rabble.

You were elected to represent the people, not yourselves. I’ve long had a lot of respect for Coun Pajak. I live in Eastcott and know how tirelessly he works for the community. But my admiration peaked a few months back when I was collecting for local charity Swindon Talking News in the foyer of Morrison’s at Regent Circus. I spied Stan from afar, just crossing the road outside the library, and watched as he made a beeline for our collection buckets and emptied his pockets into them.

He then went back out of the foyer and carried on to wherever he’d been heading. He hadn’t even planned to come into the supermarket but went out of his way to support our charity. Stan, I’d like to shake your hand.

See you in court...

A SVELTE and glamorous pal of mine is in trouble with the law. For some time now she has been receiving demands for an unpaid bill. Foolishly, but like so many, she has ignored them. Now she has received a letter threatening court action.

That made her sit up and pay attention – think of the bailiffs turning up at the door, the shame of a court appearance, the shapeless prison uniform and – ugh – prison issue shoes! Talking of shapeless outfits, said pal took a closer look at the letter, which is for an outstanding debt of £196.02 from JD Williams, somewhere she’s pretty sure she’s never shopped – particularly since it’s a plus size clothing company. Which would look probably less flattering than prison gear on this particular friend as she is most definitely on the petite side.

After some head-scratching, we’ve come to the conclusion that the debt recovery company, Lowell Financial Ltd, are simply contacting women across the land with the same name as my friend in the hope that they will hit the jackpot and find her chubby doppelganger. It’s a poor tactic and nobody should be plagued by letters threatening all sorts, including a black mark on your credit record. This scattergun approach is not acceptable and, frankly, it should be illegal. Have a word with yourselves, Lowell Financial. It’s you who should be taken to court.