The fat lady sang. She cried. She threw up. She shot herself.

Well, maybe she only did the first-and I'm being a drama queen. But on Thursday night everyone knew what was inevitable: the fact that "call me douchebag Dave" was returning to Downing Street. Five more years of wreaking destruction on the people of this country. Sad, really.

I know a lot of people who are really upset-I think the most upset will be Clegg, Miliband and Farage, because they are now unemployed. There is nothing like an unemployed politician. Well, boo hoo to the lot of them. Personally, as long as I am okay I really don't give a rat's patootie. They all sucked anyway. Isn't it sad that we never seem to vote for the best candidate (witness the US Presidential elections for proof of that), but we choose the person we hope will do the least damage?

We probably can live without the NHS anyway. And doctors. And nurses. Don't get me started.

I was, however, thrilled that the Scottish people got even with the major parties for screwing them out of independence (and by blatantly cheating them, too) last year. The Scottish National Party won 56 out of 59 seats-so both Tories and Labour are virtually out of Scotland. Serves them right: what goes around comes around. The Scots are coming to Westminster. And they will be loud. Hooray for them.
My friends were so pleased that we all drank a toast on Friday night.

I spent the weekend preparing for my endoscopy in a couple of days. I checked to make sure that Sean, my gastroenterologist, will be doing the surgery. He is used to shoving a big hosepipe up my rectum. He's the one who usually does it, just to check that the cancer hasn't returned. So far, so good. And I have to behave this time. Last time the registrar stuck the needle through my vein, and I had no sedation. Was that ever painful! I said to Sean that I couldn't understand how people could ever want anal sex-either they are masochistic or have no nerve endings. He was in mid-shove at the time, and laughed so hard that he had to stop and turn away. Not good when you are shoving a hosepipe up somebody's rectum, I can tell you. Endoscopies are humiliating at the best of times. Who wants to stick your behind out and have someone you don't know examining you? Who wants to stick your behind out and have someone you DO know examining you?

So I basically fasted since yesterday, and I ingested the sachets the hospital sent me. Who needs to spend a hundred pounds (plus) on a "colonic irrigation" when you can do it yourself for free-and take some really nasty tasting powdered semtex (or perhaps bleach) to clean out the old pipes. I will have the cleanest intestines in London. But once I'm finished I will really, really want a pizza. That rather defeats the purpose of the endoscopy, doesn't it? Hell, we only live once. Might as well enjoy it!!

I spent yesterday and today really having a tough time with the medicine they sent me-so I walked from the bed to the bathroom, and that was all the excitement of my weekend. But tomorrow, if I can, I need to really sit down and think about what comes next. In a few weeks I will have some time off before my reconstruction-and I want to spend it wisely. I met one of my old neighbors on Friday, and she was saying that she is 80-where has the time gone? I commiserated-and that started me ruminating. We all know how I like to ruminate. It seems like last week that I was only 25-and yesterday that I was only 30. Where has the time gone? Where has my life gone?

I have spent the last five years surviving. Anger has driven me to do all the things everyone told me I couldn't do. I saw Tom over at the National Hospital (bugger it. Call it Queen Square. I'm too lazy to do all that typing). He's really pleased with my progress. I see him again in July-and he gave me more exercises to do. He wants me off the elbow crutch as much as possible. He agrees with Dr. Davies that my determination and obstinacy could help me get more balance back.

So I survived; now it is time to start living. I have forgotten how-so I need to start remembering. I feel like I have been smacked on the head with a celestial two by four (really?) and my head finally hurt enough for me to sit up and take notice. I'll tell you one thing: if I can do it, anyone can do it. Just never, never give up. I'm betting that all those people who voted against Cameron are now on Prozac.