I hadn't been feeling too well and I hoped, sincerely, that the warmth and the sea air would work its recuperative magic.

It did for a short time. And then the bomb dropped.

I was diagnosed with my cancer and my life changed in an instant.

I mention Whitby because I was there again at the weekend seeking the mental uplift that such surroundings can bring.

I'm a different person now to the one of eight months ago.

Both mentally and physically I've been through dark times – my family also – and I'm now fully aware of my own mortality (oh for those childhood days when we all felt indestructible).

The old me is somewhere in there and gradually more of me/him has been coming back to life as I have won my early skirmishes with this most awful of diseases.

To bring everyone up to date, I've now had nine courses of chemotherapy at Jimmy's and the last three have been the toughest.

I've been lucky, I suppose, in that the side effects only really began to manifest themselves fully towards the end of my regime.

The sensation of pins and needles in my fingers – which I understand is down to nerve damage – grew stronger and spread, in cold weather, to my nose and cheeks.

I felt physically exhausted for much longer periods and with a much greater severity leaving me virtually bed bound on some days.

My taste buds were hit much harder, leaving me unable to enjoy the simple pleasures of food and drink for days on end.

Everything tasted either bitter of like dishwater. This didn't help my mood at all.

Bizarrely, only pineapple seemed to retain its flavour but its acidy nature didn't always sit too well with the mouth ulcers which were another unwelcome side effect.

But, no doubt like many other cancer patients and indeed those with other ailments and disabilities, I learned to work around my "chemo cycle" disability – timing outings and spirit-enhancing treats, such as our recent couple of days in Liverpool, to coincide with the times I knew I'd be relatively lively and avoiding commitments on days when I knew the treatment would take its toll.

As for the future, I'll be seeing the oncologist tomorrow so I'll know then how much of a break from drugs I'm likely to get and how much normality I'll be able to bring back to my life.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed.


Gibbering idiots at the wheel

NEARLY died about a week ago.

It was nothing to do with my illness but it was nearly at the hands of a brainless bimbo driving a flash BMW.

Only my sixth sense saved me as for some reason I chose to ignore the fact that she was indicating to turn into the junction at which I was waiting and instead of pulling forward I stayed put.

I chose well. Despite indicating that she was turning in, she sailed past (meaning had I pulled out she would have hit me broadsides) and instead turned into a car wash another 30 or 40 yards along the road.

As she sailed past I couldn't help but notice that she was blabbering away on a mobile phone held to her ear.

Just for a moment I considered following her into the car park, banging on her window and – once she had put the mobile away – giving her a piece of my mind.

I the end I chose not to bother. In one of my steroid-enhanced "hulk" moods – to which I referred in this column a couple of weeks ago – I might have done something I would later regret.

But it does reflect what I truly believe is a fast deteriorating standard of driving on our roads. You come across examples of it all the time and, of course, there's never a policeman – or even a speed camera – around when you really need one.

And the other thing that annoys me is the number of people with big expensive cars who I see gibbering away on their hand-held mobiles while driving.

Why, if they can afford such luxury vehicles, can they not afford a few extra quid to pay for a hands free system?

It's either laziness or the same "ooh look at me I'm very important" mentality that leads them to buy big luxury cars in the first place.

Curry with a cherry on top

WHITBY was at its glorious best on Saturday.

Bright and sunny skies meant it was a little chilly for me but wrapped up warmly in my new winter walking coat I felt insulated from all nature could throw at me.

I wasn't sure my legs had it in them to get to Sandsend via the beach route so we spent our time walking round Whitby itself and poking our heads into many of its delightfully eccentric mix of shops.

We had been doubly warmed the previous night by a curry at the Whitby Tandoori restaurant, inside the railway station, where I was thrown at one stage by the appearance of a dish garnished with glace cherries.

In all my curry chomping years I've never seen glace cherries added to a dish before but it kind of worked in a bizarre way. Still full credit to the restaurant because when the bill came it was accompanied by a flaming sambuca liqueur for each diner which I thought was a nice touch and one guaranteed to result in repeat business.

Sadly I didn't get the same vibe on the second evening – at Moutrey's bistro – where we weren't even shown to our pre-booked table. It was merely pointed out to us and we were dispatched to get to it ourselves.

When the wine came we had to pour it ourselves which again lost the restaurant points despite the cheerful nature of our waitress.

Sunday was slightly warmer and for the second morning in succession my first glance out of the window of our weekend accommodation was greeted by the sight of a seal in the harbour.

Flabby and with a cheerful look on its face it reminded me of myself before it dipped beneath the water.