I am empowered.

The kids are on holiday, the plan ahead is set, I feel great (except when someone elbows me in the boob. It's amazing how often that happens). The fortnight ahead looks pretty good - and we plan to enjoy it before the start of chemo.

The kids go zip-wiring, cinema viewing, waterpark splashing. I say yes to everything. Life is good (if a little expensive).

I decide to have my hair cut shorter - mainly because I don't want to go from long hair to George Dawes overnight. The received wisdom is that long hair on the pillow is very demoralising in the morning - and not easy for husbands and children to deal with either.

The added bonus is that if I hate it - hey, it's all going to fall out anyway, so no big deal right? So the appointment is booked and I feel as though I am sticking a finger (or two, not sure) up at The Thing - I am the one in control here, OK, so there......

The problem is that I don't want short hair.

I carry on feeling brave and empowered until the night before the big day - lying in bed I can see the edge of my reflection in the mirror and I like it. Probably for the first time in 30 years, I like my hair and I don't want to cut it off. Isn't that a metaphor for life - appreciate what you have, don't always wish for more/less/different - when it is under threat, you suddenly see that it's actually great and you are bloody lucky to have it. Hey ho.

I try and say this to J (not the "appreciate life" thing, sadly, the "I don't want to cut it off" thing). He sensibly tells me not to, then. I explain that I have to, and then start to cry as I say that I am going to look old and sensible and frizzy and Mumsy. He holds me tight and says he's always fancied Halle Berry. I hit him and cry some more. But I'm glad he knows how I feel and it makes me feel better. Although perhaps a teeny bit shallow.

Next morning I arrive at Heavenly H's house for the chop. I am determined not to cry and she has been primed with the No Sympathy, No Journey rules. She gives me a big hug and a cup of tea and we set to work. She says she's going to decide what to do as she goes along - how the hair falls will tell her how to cut - but she will stay medium length and we can always go shorter.

As she cuts (blimey I've got a lot of hair) she is Heavenly and offers to go wig shopping with me and says she'll cut a wig to suit me and help with scarves etc etc. And suddenly it's all done. I LOVE IT! I can't describe the feeling of relief - I look 5 years younger, and not old or sensible or frizzy or Mumsy. And it's deliciously cool in the heat. Take that, The Thing, and put it where the sun don't shine.......

J, bless him, says it's exactly what he was hoping for. He's lying of course, I know he wanted the Halle Berry, but he'll get over it.

As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx