This morning, my husband got dressed in about thirty seconds flat. T-shirt. Jeans. Socks. Pants. Done. If he wanted a jumper or hoodie, that might have added another five seconds.

We're quite a traditional family and so on Sundays we have a roast. For some reason, despite everyone normally eating their lunch at some point between midday and 1:30pm during the week, on a Sunday, lunch is at 2pm. It's tradition.

I've been thinking a lot recently, which as you know, for a person like me can be quite dangerous. I've been thinking about what makes me, me. I've been thinking about all the Pippas I used to be, and somehow all the Pippas I still am. I think there are about 27 of us masquerading as one Pippa in a trench coat.

Well... it's only taken me nearly a year to write this. Not because I've forgotten what happened. Quite the opposite, so much went on, so much that even now I almost can’t believe and have to keep checking in my medical notes that it did really happen.

Today is World Neuroendocrine Cancer Day. This cancer hides. It whispers. It waits. It doesn’t make itself obvious, or loud, or easy to find; it just changes everything before you even know it’s there. Most people don’t know what neuroendocrine cancer is. I didn’t either. It’s not the kind of cancer that gets headlines or fills shop windows with ribbons.

TL;DR at the end. However, I actually admit I can be wrong in the following, so you know, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. You’re probably better off reading the whole thing, because you’ll never see me admit it again.