The final countdown...

Image from here

7pm, tomorrow. Be there or be... not in London.


This time tomorrow I'll be sitting in portacabin in Trafalgar Square. I'll most probably be feeling sick, nervous, terrified, excited, or a combination of all of the above. I'll be preparing to take my place on the Fourth Plinth.

I'm utterly gobsmacked by how much money has been raised so far. Almost £1300! That was beyond my wildest dreams when I first started out, I set my original target at £200! I have been continually amazed by the generosity that people have shown, the kind words and the good thoughts that have been coming my way and the way of my parents.

My Dad's had his second round of chemotherapy now. He's on a reduced dose from now on because of the horrific reaction he had to the first lot. It turns out that he developed Neutropenia as a result, which basically means that he had a ridiculously small number of white blood cells. He could have died. The slighest infection could have been fatal for him. But he's still here. And I'm so thankful for that.

He's reacting well to the second round and has even been on a 6 mile walk. His hair is falling out daily. Soon he won't have the moustache that he's had since I was born. But he's still laughing, still smiling, still positive. He's a legend, my Dad.


So tomorrow's for him.