On Wednesday 5th January, two things are happening.

The first is that I'm turning 40.

The second - and significantly more important - is that my friend, client, and all-round inspiration*, Catherine Gladwyn, is heading into hospital for Neurosurgery - to have a fifth tumour removed from the pituitary gland in her brain.

What I'm about to say next is going to sound incredibly curt, but seeing as Catherine seemingly grows these fuckers for fun, this dance she's doing of going in and out of hospital for these procedures will one day have to come to an end.

The respite between each tumour being removed and the next one growing is getting shorter.

The surgery carries increasingly more risk on each occasion she has to go through it.

The quality of life Catherine can expect with each new growth and subsequent surgery dramatically decreases - along with the dreams she's worked so fucking hard in her life and business to realise for her future.

Catherine's stronger than most people I know (and I'm not just saying that because I'm terrified of her), but I know she's not been able to get through any of this shit-show without her loving family, and the support they've been shown by a small charity in Bristol called The Pituitary Foundation. As a believer that the smallest organisations often have the biggest impact, I want to raise money for this charity so that they can continue their vital work for people just like Catherine. That work includes a dedicated nurse helpline. 

So, why Catherine? Why this? And why now?

Catherine is going for her surgery on the very day I've spent moaning about since the day I turned 39. I've never been a lover of my birthday anyway, but the whole '40' thing has utterly (and shamefully) 'depressed' me.

Imagine what a (much-needed) kick to the metaphorical bollocks it was to have everything put into perspective for me in finding out what my 40th birthday has in store for someone who would most definitely (and rightfully) say to my face... "You don't realise how lucky you are, you miserable cow!"

So for each of the days I will have moaned about turning 40, I would like to raise £1 for the charity. I would love it if my friends, clients, loved ones, and anyone who Catherine's story resonates with, could see fit to donate. It's cheaper and easier than buying and trying to think of something funny to write in a card! You know how hard I am to impress!

Happy New Year to everyone, and thank you for reading this far.

*Don't tell her I called her that.