There’s always a first time

The last thing I felt like doing yesterday was driving back to the Northern Beaches for my annual skin cancer check-up.

I thought about postponing it, but I’m fixated on knocking over all my late 50s health stuff – it’s a very long list – so I decided to bite the bullet and get it done.

The doctor examined me from head to toe and announced there were a few little things he needed to zap off my hand.

“This will tickle a bit,” he said as he fired up a liquid nitrogen gun.

Tickle? It didn’t bloody tickle. It stung! And now I have two fat blisters on my hand.

I’d never had it done before, which is improbably fortunate for a redhead.

I haven’t escaped scot-free on the skin cancer front. When I was 17, I had a cancerous mole removed from my upper arm, which is pretty rare for a teen.

I was blissfully unaware of how nasty it could have been. All I remember was having a black spot cut out of my arm. I blanked out the rest.

When I was living in New York, half a mole was removed from my back at vast expense and sent off for testing. I have no idea why the doctor only took half, but it was benign.

And many years ago I had a basal cell carcinoma cut out of my clavicle, but I was given the all clear following that too.

My current skin doctor nodded approvingly when I told him how disinterested I am in stylish swimsuits these days.

I explained that I do my snorkelling in a full -body stinger/UV protective suit. He said that was very sensible.

The suit features a whale shark pattern and is not flattering, but it means I don’t need to apply any sunscreen while admiring all the pretty fishies and coral on my cruise adventures. Love it.

After work I made DD brown fried rice with leftovers from the American barbecue we attended on Saturday … and accidentally set his kitchen on fire.

I heated the oil in the pan, threw in some frozen peas and the whole thing erupted in flames. It was very scary and I forgot all the kitchen safety rules I’ve been taught over the years. I just squealed and looked on helplessly. After a few seconds of sheer panic, the flames died down, leaving black soot all over DD’s kitchen cupboards and splashback. Oooops. Sorry DD.

I have no idea how the fire started. That was my second burning incident for the day. Lucky me.

The fried rice wasn’t too bad, not my best work. And the clean up was a bitch. Then I made the long trek back to the real world via a petrol station to top up my car at vast expense.

I am not a fan of straddling two worlds, but I also don’t think I could handle the commute from the Northern Beaches to work (and friends and Drinks Digest events) each week.

So – for now – I need to suck up the lesser of the evils.

Speaking of which, it’s time for me to struggle out of bed for another day in the trenches. Catch you tomorrow.

Song of the day: Bruce Springsteen “I’m on fire”