Leaving On A Jetplane......The Homecoming Part One

There's no doubt when you take children, especially those under the age of ten, and confine them in a small space for any extended length of time that you increase the probability of drama and disaster proportionate to the size of space and length of time.  Car journeys, for example, soon fall into the category of, "is it really necessary?" and, when undertaken at all, suddenly include all the weapons of mass distraction you can think of such as - portable DVD players, crayons and colouring books, a stash of biscuits, an endless supply of drinks, cuddly toys, books and the failsafe in the world of childhood bribery - chocolate.  Flying anywhere, is generally regarded as something best engaged in by the truly desperate or insane.  Flying long-distance, and it doesn't come much more long-distance then Brisbane to Dublin, would only be considered something that the desperately insane would consider.  To decide to do it on your own, well I don't think there is a category for that.....



The Sun Rises On a Pretty Big Day

And so it came to pass on 29th May 2014 the Mad Mammy and her crew of two boarded one of Emirates Airline's flagship new aeroplanes - the A380.  Oh and what a magnificent ship of the sky she is!  Euphoric on excitement, the kiddies quickly got to grips with the in-flight entertainment, sorted out their blankets and pillows  - like we were on a camping trip - and snuggled down into their pillow-pets.

Two Slightly Excited Children

The time was nine o'clock in the evening and I was betting on them falling asleep as soon as they'd had something to eat.  Deciding to take the 9pm flight out of Brisbane had formed a crucial part of my plan for as smooth a journey as possible.  This was the longest journey I had ever undertaken with them and I was on my own - forward thinking and planning - even for someone who is clearly insane, were vital.  However, I am well aware, oooooh sooooo well aware that when kids suspect you have a plan, they feel obliged to wreck it.  Actually, take it and rip it asunder, jump on it till it's completely unrecognizable and then flush it down the toilet, would be more of an accurate description of what kids do to parents' plans but it doesn't stop us fools from making them anyway.  However, so far, this particular plan of mine was working out perfectly, even down to the fact that the Dude fell asleep before he could finish his meal which, fortuitously, meant I could nick it.  Unfortunately my precaution at ordering the gluten free meal hadn't worked out so well for me - eurrrrgh!  However - Mad Mammy Travel Tip Alert!- if you can invent some sort of dietary special need, the benefit is that you get your food first - which is brilliant because it means you've finished yours by the time the kids get theirs and your dinner doesn't sit there getting colder by the second whilst you sort out the kiddies, which, as every mammy knows, happens all too often anyway.  However, the one drawback to this plan is: if your food is half-ways edible, your critters just might "help" you eat it whilst waiting for theirs to arrive.  Both La-La and The Dude looked on sympathetically as I put half my meal to the side of my tray.  The Dude felt it necessary to confirm that he wasn't, "getting that!"  As he snored contentedly beside me, I happily polished off his "chicken something or other" with mashed potatoes and carrots.  The big A380 sailed upwards and onwards like a giant, graceful eagle of the sky.  La-la was snuggled up to her pillow-pet and doing a good job of trying to catch any stray high-altitude flies and somewhere throughout Kellan Lutz doing a mighty fine job of being "Hercules", I dozed off.



Up, Up & Away On The Big Ship of The Skies - The A380

Fourteen and a half hours later we made a dawn landing into Dubai. The only fly in the ointment at this stage was a throbbing pain in my mouth where I'd had some recent dental work done.  Also, the Dude had hardly slept, such was his delight at an endless supply of movies and video games.  However, he seemed to be happy enough and we toddled around Dubai airport for two hours before boarding our flight to Dublin.  At this stage the pain in my mouth had reached unbearable proportions so I knocked back a few Codapane tablets and it is just as well.  At this stage the Dude was starting to look a little frayed around the edges.  His eyes were bloodshot and looked as if they were being propped open by invisible matches.  I quickly settled him into the window seat and set him up with a movie in the hopes he would fall asleep.  My plan was going perfectly until the stewardess appeared beside me with kiddies' blankets cutely rolled up and each held together with a cuddly toy.  Now, I know what you're thinking - how lovely - and to be honest I was thinking the same thing too.  La-la (the family's resident cuddly toy aficionado) eagerly stuck out her hands and joyfully took ownership of the newest member of her collection.  The Dude eyed the steward with suspicion, like her cuddly-toy blanket thingys were some sort of trick but grudgingly took one anyway.  And that is when ALL. HELL. BROKE. LOOSE.

"I don't want this one."  came the wail.  I instantly caught the hysterical, slightly maniacal vibration in those ominous words and swiveled my head in the direction of the steward, my hand out-stretched, in the hopes of grabbing her and garnering a replacement toy but she was nowhere to be seen.  She'd obviously got the "kid about to kick-off"  alert and ran as fast as her standard issue stilettoes would carry her.  I slowly turned to face a rapidly developing situation.  His face was scrunched up into a defiant snarl, his red-rimmed eyes blazing and the toy was having the life squeezed out of it between his clenched fists.  "I don't want this one," he growled.  I opened my mouth to speak, to utter some sort of nonsense about it being a lovely cuddly toy, that it was a special one just for him, blah, blah, blah......  But I was shot down by an ear-piercing, "I don't waaaaaaant this one!"   All around me hands flew to cover shattered ear-drums.  And so it began - two solid, hair-gnashing, teeth-pulling, hours of crying, shouting, screaming, pouting, kicking and head-banging.  After much abuse of the assistance button, the steward finally made an appearance in the middle of it all.  I explained the source of the problem and she promised to return with another cuddly toy blanket thingy.  I suppose she would have come back much sooner if she hadn't been subjected to the Dude's death-stare.  As it happened she returned approximately an hour later  - not with the promised peace offering but with breakfast!  And before I could warn her she had deposited it in front of the Dude, whose only response was to announce, "I don't want any crappy aeroplane food" and to send his orange juice flying up into the air.  Oh happy days.......  I sat there, incredulous, as orange juice dripped into my eyes.  La-la was soaked.  I didn't dare look behind me.  Now, up to this point I reckon the combined powers of paracetamol and codeine had kept me calm but two hours had passed and their calming effects were obviously starting to wear off as a red mist descended upon me.  I had tried placating him. I had tried cajoling him. I had tried to understand that he was just a little six year old boy who didn't know which way was up after eighteen hours of travelling, two hours sleep and very little to eat.  But now I was done!  I shot him the death glare and went straight to threat level one -  "I am taking La-la to the toilet to get changed, you eat something and don't move from that seat and no more screaming and complaining or you will never go to K-Mart again for the rest of your life!"  I spat at him.  Now, you might think the K-Mart threat is strange but the Dude loves nothing more than cashing in his good behavior beads in the toy department at K-Mart.  He blanched.  The threat and the death glare combined to bring him back to some semblance of reality.  "Okay," he agreed, albeit through gritted teeth.



The Little Guy Who Created Such A big Fuss

Myself and La-la returned five minutes later to find him munching on his bread roll and giggling away at something on his screen.  Snuggled into his chest was the offending cuddly toy.  He turned and smiled, "It's okay, I like it now Mummy," he announced.  I stood there dumb-founded, resisted the overwhelming urge to unleash a string of expletives at him and took in a breath so deep I'd say the oxygen masks were close to being released.  I sank into my seat, a half an hour passed and I watched as his eyelids started to droop, my breathing normalized and  I even entertained the idea that I might get a bit of shut-eye myself.  Then it happened.  Someone released the fart equivalent of the atomic bomb.  This was no mildly unpleasant gaseous interlude but a full-on toxic assault and the first person in the line of fire was, you guessed it, the Dude!



Fart Alert!

"Oh God!" he shouted in alarm, "oh God, what is that smell?  Oh God, oh God, I think I'm gonna die!"  he wailed as he then proceeded to gag and choke.  To be fair to him he was soon joined by the rest of us.  La-la was even trying to stuff her cuddly toy up her nose.  All around us hands covered mouths and eyes watered as people fought the urge to puke.  After about five minutes the air cleared and I'm sure we all collectively thought we were safe as we considered the fact that no human being could possibly produce another fart of such over-whelming putrid stench and magnitude so soon.  We were wrong.  The second atomic fart was so powerful the lady across the aisle from me heaved.  The Dude really thought we were under some sort of gas-attack.  "Jeeeeezus!  Mummy, they've done it again," he wailed as he jumped up and stood in his seat, in full-on ninja mode.  His rabid eyes scanned our section of the plane as he shouted, "who is it?  who is doing all that farting?" At this stage people didn't know whether to puke or laugh.  It was obvious if this kid found the culprit then he or she had done their last fart - EVER!  I started to laugh and thought I might not be able to stop such was the furious indignation on my son's face.  I got him to sit back down and prayed for a reprieve from the frightening flatulence.  The Dude wrapped his blanket around the bottom half of his face and proceeded to watch whatever was on his screen.  The guy sitting directly in front of him (and my main suspect as the master-farter) got up and went to the toilet.  Thankfully he must have undertaken a complete evacuation of his bowels as no more toxic gas-clouds were released. 

The Dude soon fell into an exhausted sleep, joined by La-la who proceeded to fall asleep with chocolate in her mouth which she then managed to dribble onto my top.  To say I was something of a disheveled mess on arrival in Dublin is probably the understatement of the year.  But all that and the drama of the flight was forgotten at the sight of Aunty Helen's beaming smile as she waved a bunch of flowers at us in the arrival's area.  After two very long years and an interminable amount of time in the air, I was home.

 

Into The (digital) Dark.....

The Mad Mammy has gone dark!  Ain't no broadband, wi-fi or any such thing where I'm hanging these days and am just about to be chucked outta the internet cafe!  I'll be in touch......

Home

Conchita And The Eurovision Song Contest - The "Wurst" Yet?

The Eurovision Song Contest - where does one start?  What used to be an annual "cheese-fest" has in recent years become a strange mix of suspect music, outrageous performances and most tragically of all - politics. Whereas the shows of the last fifteen years may have incorporated at least one, if not two, of these elements  - think Lordi 2006 and Ruslana 2004 - the 2014 contest had them all and then some  - with bells on!.

Predator Meets Klingon -  Finnish
Rockers Lordi

"Music" meets Xena The Warrior
Princess in Ruslana and the rest of her
Ukrainian crew

One wonders how something which was mandatory family viewing only as recently as twenty years ago is rapidly morphing into a show that will very soon have a viewer's warning attached.  Last weekend we were treated to "joined at the hairline" identical twins from Russia, a man in a hamster wheel (I don't even know which country this was - I was so busy trying to figure out which circus hamster-wheel man had escaped from....) and the "milk-maid meets porno star" Polish entry, some of whom weren't even pretending they were there for the singing as they gratuitously ground their milk churns.

Seventeen And Joined At The Hairline
from Russia

Polish Milk Maid Meets Porn Star Combo

And then there was Conchita. Ah, Conchita - where do we start?  I have no idea what you sang about and wouldn't recognise the song if I heard it again.  I was so mesmerised by what I was looking at, all other details paled into insignificance......  I have to say I admire your balls (I think you still have a pair since you confess to being a fully intact man aka Thomas Neuwirth when you're not being Conchita) on getting up on the stage in front of a global audience, beautifully presented in your gorgeous dress and perfect make-up, with your piece de resistance - the beard.  However, I have a confession of my own - I sat watching you in utter confusion.  Here's the thing - are you a transvestite?  If so, why the beard?  Is the aim of a transvestite not to look as much as possible like a female?  Are you a gay man who just likes to dress up like a woman?  If so, why present yourself as a transvestite (er with a beard!) - not all of whom are gay?  Are you a man who wants to be a woman?  If so, shouldn't the beard be one of the first things to go?  Can you see where I'm coming from Conchita?  I'm even confused as to whether or not to call you Conchita as that is a woman's name and you are in fact a man...... To be honest Conchita I don't really care what you are but I just need to tell you that your are as confusing as hell!  So much so I don't know what your song sounds like as I was so busy trying to "decipher" you as I watched your performance - there was no mental room left for processing what you were actually singing - you did sing??? .  I know you dedicated your win to "everyone who believes in a future of peace and freedom."  I think I'm one of those people but I'm not about to try and grow a beard to prove it!  Anyway,  congratulations on your win even though I suspect the "douze" points you were awarded at an alarming rate were more to do with a combined international two fingers to Putin and his homophobic nonsense.  I wish you all the best and hope you have the balls to stand up to the inevitable scrutiny and critcism you put yourself out there for.  Of course winning the Eurovision is no guarantee of continued success and indeed in many cases it has spelled the end of a fine singing career.  How Eurovision 2015 is going to top the circus act / folk porn / gay transvestite (?) with a beard?  I have no idea but I have to admit I'm a little nervous at the prospects.  Perhaps there will be a complete reversion to more simple times when it was about someone simply singing a song......  On that note here is a gem - the year was 1988, the venue was Dublin and the singer went on to become one of the most successful female artists of all time but on that night she didn't get a single vote!  Ah maybe if she'd had a whisker or two.....

(For those of you on mobile devices, who for some reason can't see the video, you can check it out on the mad mammy page on Facebook.)

Cupcakes For Breakfast......It Must Be Mother's Day :-)

"Stay there Mummy," he whispered, "you're not allowed to get up yet."
"Okay," I acquiesced, "I'll try and stay here for another while, if I have to....."
The dude took his sister's hand and pointed his Dad towards the door, "we've got another 'aprise' for you," he announced, as he led them off in the direction of the kitchen.  I snuggled back into the comfort of the bed, now this is exactly how a Mother's Day is supposed to start!

To be fair, the "aprises" had been coming since Friday.  First up was a card, handmade by the dude himself and delivered with a shower of kisses, a bear-cub hug and the words,  "I'll love you forever mummy," whispered into my ear. Cue one mushy mummy outside the school-gates, barely able to find her way back to the car.  This was followed by a solemn promise that night as he fell asleep that he was going to make my mummy's day, "the best mummy's day ever!"  He was gutted the following morning to discover he had to wait a whole other day to put his plan into action.

The Card - A Simple But Effective Design!

Mum and Son - So Happy!

La-La kept the momentum up mind you with some artistic contributions of her own.

Supermum - That's Me!

Queen Mamma!  Oh Yeah She Rules Baby!

I just love the "All hale Queen Mamma" - I can even get over the spelling......  I rule supreme it would seem. I may look slightly menacing in my queenie outfit but that's ok......  I'm sure that's the way I look every now and again.  And get a load of castle "I Love You",  how cool would it be to live there!

In the evening hubby lit up the back deck with candles and opened a bottle of bubbles and I started to wonder if there was going to be anything left for the actual day itself......But I needn't have worried,  I was awoken with the sharp edge of something sticking into my ribs and delighted giggles in my ears of, "open it, open it!"
"It" was a box of everything I needed for a good old pampering session and a gorgeous card.  The Dude jumped on top of me shouting for joy that it was finally "Mudda's Day!" and a hundred more kisses followed. He then led his sister and father away to get the final "aprise" ready.

"You can come down now," he shouted up the stairs and I took myself and my grumbling tummy in the direction of the delicious smell of vanilla coming from the kitchen.  There awaiting me were freshly baked cupcakes.  I had no idea, but apparently you can't possibly start "Mudda's Day" without them.  I'm not quite sure who was more excited about this "fact" me or the Dude.....

Breakfast Cupcake

I took my double shot latte and cupcakes out to the back deck that was dappled with early morning sunshine and watched as the Dude happily demolished two of his efforts.  His smile could have lit up all of Australia - "Happy Mudda's Day mommy" he grinned.  I smiled back at him, just about to burst.  As mums we tear through the days organising, cleaning, shopping, picking up, hanging things up,putting things away, cooking, juggling finances, comforting, homeworking, doing just about doing every bloody thing! And we wonder if anyone ever even notices....  And then one little boy puts his heart and soul into making one day as special as he can for his mummy and all the "doing" pales into insignificance at the love shining out  from his eyes.  I never imagined I'd have such a perfect Mother's Day morning as I've had today.  It might be the best one I'll ever get as it's going to take some topping - so I'm off now to enjoy the rest of it.  I hope you all have a wonderful day and feel as cherished and loved as you deserve xx The Mad (and glad) Mammy.

This Is What A Blog Looks Like When The Blogger Is A Tech-free Zone

Okaaaay,  so I suppose some of you have noticed by now that this here blog ain't quite as slick (to put it mildly.....) as practically all the other mummy blogs out there.  That's cos I'm a completely tech-free zone and I even created the blog itself by accident when I went tinkering around in Blogger.  And the reason I found myself in Blogger was because I was simply overwhelmed by all the choices of "themes" in Wordpress.  I mean, how can you ever pick one of them!  To be honest, I think the whole, "choose a Wordpress Theme", is pretty reflective of an increasing issue in our society - sometimes there is just so much choice the mind boggles and shuts down completely.  Unless you are a single woman looking for a man apparently - my pals on the front-line of that particular stage of life tell me there is little or no choice there at all!  Can it be true?

Anyhoo, now I've just spent a day trying to get one simple, "like The Mad Mammy on Facebook", widget on my page.  Seriously - a whole day!  So, I'm thinking if you like your blogs slick and stylish then you may want to move on and explore other options.  However, if you like your blogs real and maybe even a bit messy then stick around......  Basically, this blog reflects my whole approach to motherhood really - I'm just muddling through and hoping for the best.

The Lego Movie - How It Should Have Ended. Brilliant!

A Little Bump In The Nose........

Okaaaay, so all you eagle-eyed followers of this blog (and there are more of you than I had imagined.....) will have noticed that I haven't actually been writing this blog much......  The reasons are many, varied and in the main boring.  However, the main reason all activity ceased back in August 2013 is because I hit one of those little bumps in the road that kinda bounces you out of your comfort zone and leads you to a place you didn't think was on your "visit list" just yet.

It all started out innocently enough with the words: "hey doc whaddya think of this thing on my nose?"
Doc: "Hmmmm....... don't like the look of that, I think we'd better get it checked out."

Queensland being the skin cancer capital of the world - doc was taking no chances.  And. Thank. God. For. That!

A ten minute appointment and quick biopsy later and "intra-epidermal squamous skin cell carcinoma" was confirmed.  (Not at first, you understand - oh no don't think anything, even something as serious as a cancer diagnosis could go that smoothly for yours truly.   Unfortunately, when I called to get my biopsy results the not so bright young thing at the skin cancer clinic initially told me I had the all clear.  My relief at "dodging the cancer bullet" was short lived when her older, wiser and slightly confused colleague called me the following Monday to see why I hadn't been in touch regarding my results - we were querying cancer after all......  Her silence as I explained how I had already got the good news from her colleague spoke volumes and told me, more than her words ever could, it wasn't good news at all.......  Note to people under twenty-three: Someone phoning to see if they have cancer is not the same as phoning to make a hair appointment.  It is kinda bloody serious!  So please get off Facebook, put the mobile phone down for a minute, halt that twitter post and CHECK YOUR FACTS!  Ok, rant over......)

Anyhoo, once we had cleared up the "have I or haven't I got cancer" issue, the lovely lady at the skin cancer clinic made an appointment to see the doc again.  Skin cancer is so prevalent here that there are just walk-in clinics where  you can go to see if that mole, lesion or itchy freckle is something other than a skin irritation.  Dr. Heeby-Jeeby (not his real name but this is what I call him due to the acute case of the heebie-jeebies I get when I consider what I very nearly let this guy do to my face) assured me that we had caught this thing early enough.  However, due to the fact it was at stage two in its development (there are four stages apparently) he advised the best course of action was to just cut the damn thing out and as luck would have it he could squeeze me in that day.  Okaaaay, this was a little more action than I was expecting and I felt like the skin cancer bus was going a little too fast.  I tentatively enquired as to how that would work.  Tentatively, you understand, because I didn't want to give this guy any indication we were going ahead with his plan. A tiny voice in the back of my mind was shouting, "whoa!"
"Well, I will make an incision here," he said, pointing at the offending lesion, "then I will cut around here, and then because I will have to take away so much to make sure we get it all, I will make an incision up here," pointing to between my eyes, "where I will take a flap of skin to cover the site of the carcinoma."

It was the word "flap" that got me.  What?  "Er... what will that look like afterwords?"  I asked.
"Oh, it won't look too good to begin with but the scars will fade in time and merge with the natural age lines of your  face," he replied.
"Hmmmm......"  I said, "I'm not sure...."  I envisioned the surgical equivalent of hair- line fractures - only on the surface of my skin - healing up over time and eventually being almost indistinguishable from the erm "crinkles" (the Dude's word) already competing for space at the top of my nose and between my eyes.
"Here, let me show you," he offered as he turned to his computer, "this is a man I did practically the same procedure on a few months ago."
And before I could say, "oh that'd be nice," up popped the image of a man in his seventies and all thoughts of speech deserted me and the best I could manage was a strangled "oh."  And the image wasn't nice at all!
Holy shit!  Forget tidy little hairline type scars fading softly into the background - this guy would put Harry Potter to shame.

Harry and the mark of Voldemort

"Oh, I think I'm going to explore other options," I croaked.  Dr.  Heeby-Jeeby didn't look a bit impressed and I got the distinct impression he considered me an incredibly vain creature as he admonished, "as you wish but I wouldn't take too long if I were you."

With a feeling of doom hanging over me, I scuttled back home to the comfort of the internet and started researching treatment options for "intra-epidermal squamous skin cell carcinoma."  Cream, laser and light therapy all featured but none had as high a non-return rate as surgery.  Uh-oh, now what?

This is where serendipity intervened.  As luck would have it The Dude has a little pal in his class whose mother just happens to work in a plastic surgery clinic.  And as luck would further have it she just happened to be picking her little fella up from school that day and, spotting the post-biopsy dressing on my nose, kindly enquired as to what I had done.  One explanation and horrified recounting of my "surgical option" later she patted me on the arm and assured me "that's not going to happen, you're going to see Dr. Alys Saylor."
"Oh, am I?" I squeaked.

A Little Post-Biopsy Accessory

And that is how, on a warm Tuesday morning in September, I found myself in a place I never, ever thought I would be - a plastic surgery clinic. And I was shocked - there wasn't a fake boob in sight, no botox babes, not even a trout pout.  Frankly I was a little disappointed - there'd be no salacious dinner party material out of this visit.  I was  busy staring at the carpet (well there wasn't much else to look at) when a pair of perfectly shaped legs appeared before me.  I heard my name being mentioned and looked up to see the lively eyes of  Dr. Alys Saylor  looking at me questioningly.  "That's me," I admitted as she shook my hand and asked me to follow her to her office. I was slightly mesmerised.  Doctors are rarely good adverts for their own services but Alys Saylor exudes health and vitality along with a no-nonsense professionalism that I was immediately impressed with.  She already had my details from the skin cancer clinic and proceeded to tell me in no uncertain terms, "that thing's got roots like a tree, God only knows where it could spread to," that my best option was surgery.  Note: If you don't like being told something straight up then never ask an Aussie.  Thankfully, I like my info clear, concise and straight between the eyes.  "Okaaaay," I drawled, "but does that mean I am going to look like Harry Potter afterwards?"
She looked shocked and laughed, I think a little nervously,  I'm sure plastic surgeons are asked for all sorts of crazy looks, maybe she thought she had a HP nut on her hands and I WANTED to look like Harry Potter.
"Why would you think you will look like Harry Potter afterwards?" she asked.
I explained all about what Dr. Heeby-Jeeby had been selling.
"I can assure you, you will not look anything like Harry Potter after I'm finished with you," she laughed and proceeded to explain how I should be left with an almost indistinguishable scar that would run across the top of my nose.  I thought about my two beautiful children and how being an older mum meant I couldn't play cancer roulette with my health.  "When do we get rid of it?" I asked.

A few weeks later I was back and one of the nurses kindly injected what can only be described as super-anaesthetic into the area at the top of my nose.  I swear I didn't feel a thing for hours!  Dr. Alys asked me if everything was okay and then proceeded to do her thing.  97.3fm was pumping great music out over the sound system and Alys and the nurses chatted away.  I closed my eyes.  I knew instinctively I was in good hands. The only icky part was when she had to cauterise the wound and I realised the burning smell was that of my own flesh but I quickly pictured daisies and rainbows and all was okay again in my world.  Fifteen minutes later and I was good to go.  A few painkillers got me through the night and a week later I was back for a check-up and to get the results.  For the first time in my life I had actually followed my doctor's advice and done everything she had advised to ensure as good a post-op outcome as possible.  In this case it hadn't been too hard as she had said to do as little as possible!  Dr. Alys was mega-impressed with my "efforts".
"Mmmmmm nice clean wound," she enthused, "it's looking good and oh by the way we got it all, you are cancer free."
The relief that washed through me at those words is hard to describe.  Even I hadn't realised, until that point, how worried I had been.
"Whoopeeee!" I exclaimed, "I'm off to buy me a bottle of Bolly!"
I can tell you, those bubbles never tasted so good.

It's a few months later now and the scar has faded from an angry red to an almost unnoticeable line across the top of my nose.  The international spotlight has fallen on skin cancer in recent months, mostly due to Hugh Jackman publicly acknowledging his diagnosis of Basal Skin Cell Carcinoma and the latest findings by cancer care and research organisations like McMillan in the UK, who recently confirmed: "Over the last thirty years the rate of malignant melanomas in Britain have risen faster than any of the top ten cancers in males or females."

Hugh Jackman sporting his post-biopsy accessory

Unlike most cancers, where we don't know the exact cause, in the vast majority of cases skin cancer is directly related to sun / UV light exposure.  Therefore it is one of the most preventable.  The top three tips for prevention are:
1. When exposed to direct sunlight always, ALWAYS wear sunscreen.  SPF 30 is advised as a minimum.
2. Wear a hat.  Many skin cancers are located on the face.
3. Avoid direct sun exposure during the middle of the day.

If you have any sort of freckle, mole or crusty / angry looking pimple that won't go away then get yourself checked as soon as possible, the earlier the various forms of skin cancer are caught then the higher the potential there is for a positive outcome and there is less chance of you ending up looking like Harry Potter.