We live in the year 2018. The Year of the Dog, according to our Chinese amigos. We have machines that allow us to see through our skin, and into our bones. There are marvels of technology that keep us alive when our hearts and brains cease to function. We can even spit into a vial, and a programme will tell us everything about our genetic structure and the basis of our very existence. But when a man needs his prostate checking, another man without a CRB check, in a white coat, takes it upon himself to stick his finger up our arseholes, and wriggles it about a bit. ‘Modern medicine’, my arse… Every TwentySomething, without exception, has the cast-iron certainty ingrained into his or her pea-s
Gareth W. Dunn
Hi, my name's Gareth, and I'm blogging about living with incurable cancer to raise money for Cancer Research UK before I pop my clogs. Take a look at my first post for some background, if you like. I'm totally hilarious, so it's worth a read, promise.
This blog is dedicated to my dearly departed friends, and two wonderful people taken before their time, James Averill and Sara Djoudi. Please give what you can!