Breast cancer, Cancer, Health, UK, Uncategorized, Women's Health

‘Happy Cancerversary’

20130620-221342.jpgHappy Cancerversary
to Me…
Happy Cancerversary
to Me…
Happy Cancerversary
Dear Lau-raaa…
Happy Cancerversary
to Me!

Hip-hip…

Ok, you may detect a hint of irony. I have long hated the word ‘Cancerversary.’ First of all, it doesn’t go particularly well with the word ‘happy,’ which should be reserved for things like holidays and families and birthdays and cake. ‘Cancerversary’ is up there with ‘Your cancer journey’ and ‘Your battle with cancer’ in my Most Disliked Cancer Terminology book, even though I’m guilty of using some of these myself. It’s also perhaps because I’m a grammar and spelling Nazi that I hate the adding of ‘-versary’ onto anything that isn’t ‘anni,’ but don’t get me started on that.

Hating aside, today is the anniversary of the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I would like to say it was the worst day of my life, but the truth is there were far worse days to come. A year ago today, I was the naive Laura who said things like “Ah, it’s just like breaking a leg” and “I’ll be running marathons again by the end of the year.” Pah! Little did I know what was ahead of me.

BUT…

I survived. And the fact is, I’m doing wonderfully. I haven’t quite got the ‘One-year all-clear’ yet because I’m still waiting for my mammogram and MRI scan, but the important thing is I feel healthier and happier than I did a year ago.

As proof, here is a photo of me looking suitably content on a beach in Ireland last week (yes, I did just say “content,” “beach” and “Ireland” in the same sentence – we were truly blessed with the weather.)

20130622-134705.jpg

And, while I may not have fulfilled my slightly farfetched hopes of running marathons by the end of 2012, I did manage to climb to the very top of this rather sizeable mountain in Ireland last week and am making significant progress training for the half marathon I’m going to attempt in October.

IMG_0553Considering there were times during chemo when I couldn’t stand on my feet long enough to even brush my teeth, I’d say I’ve come a pretty long way. So there!

Rejoicing aside though, I am very aware the ‘cancer journey’ (for want of a better phrase) doesn’t end here. Life goes on for me, but I’m well aware not everyone is so ‘lucky,’ which is why we’ve got to continue spreading the message and encouraging early detection. I’m very proud to have joined forces with Coppafeel!’s Boobettes and will be giving my first breast-cancer awareness talk to the boys and girls of Britain next month. (More on this later).

So… while I may not exactly love the phrase ‘Happy Cancerversary,’ I’m going to celebrate anyway, because I’m alive and well and that’s good enough for me!

Standard
Argentina, Breast cancer, Cancer, Careers, Dublin, Emotional Health, Ireland, UK, Uncategorized, Women's Health

Find What You Love: The Next Chapter

IMG_6429The day I quit Bloomberg in March 2012, I expected my managers to be mad at me. I was abandoning the company to which I’d devoted most of my 20s, and I was leaving my colleagues in the lurch.

Instead, the wise bureau chief gave me a hug and said “You’ll never regret leaving any job. Every time you leave a company or make a big change, things always work out for the best.”

Fourteen months on, I can honestly say he was absolutely right. Things did work out for the best. Just not exactly in the way we both imagined.

It turned out the decision to quit Bloomberg and leave Argentina was the decision that saved my life. The move to Ireland prompted me to return to the doctors for a second medical opinion, and the rest is history.

IMG_6431So, when a colleague at Facebook said the exact same thing when I told him I was leaving today, I couldn’t help but smile. Everything happens for a reason.

Some people have found it hard to see why I’ve been – for the most part – a happier person since cancer came into my life, and it’s always been a little hard to explain. Now, here goes:

When I was about six years old, I knew exactly what I was going to be when I grew up. I was going to be the editor of a magazine. From the day I learned to write, I was scribbling down stories, typing away furiously in MS-DOS and making my own magazines with cut-out pictures and Pritt Stick. Over the years, I broadened my interests and grew to love a lot of things, from acting to languages to teaching to sport. But one thing always remained constant: my passion for writing.

Somehow, though, my career took a different path. I took a languages degree, travelled the world, became a financial journalist. Seven years into my career, I left Bloomberg – partly for personal reasons, partly because I had lost track of my goals and wasn’t passionate enough about finance. I moved into a job at Facebook, continuing with my love of languages and Latin America, but it wasn’t right.

IMG_6114Then I got cancer, and every instinct in my body told me to write, write, write. And it was the easiest thing in the world: writing about something close to my heart, something I knew, something I truly cared about, something people wanted to read about.

Apart from my Mum and Dad, to whom I owe everything, writing was the thing that got me through the last 11 months of hell. My blog was what connected me with my friends, family and colleagues past and present when I was too sick to keep in touch with them in person. My blog was the thing that put me in touch with a whole new set of friends – a group of girls all over the world with whom I have cancer in common but who are by no means defined by their cancer.

But there comes a time when the Cancer part stops and the Life part starts again. I will continue this blog because there is still plenty to say and people who are benefiting from it, but I will be writing more and more about other things and the cancer part will take a back seat. It’s a shame when it takes a major illness to push you to follow your dreams, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the last year, it’s that life is way too short.

photo(1)Tomorrow is my last day at Facebook and after that I plan to take a few months to properly rest and reflect on the crazy year I just had.

In September, I’ll be moving back to London to start the MA Magazine Journalism at City University – a course I’ve wanted to do for about a decade but never got the chance because life was too busy passing me by. I may be the oldest student in the class, probably doing my knitting in the back row and drinking cups of tea while the rest of the class go out drinking, but that’s ok. I’m doing it for me.

I will be forever grateful for the amazing times I had working at both Facebook and Bloomberg – two brilliant companies that taught me so much. From the lifelong friends I made at Bloomberg, to the people at Facebook who supported me through the hardest time of my life over the past year. I’m so lucky to have worked with so many talented, inspiring people at both companies and I don’t regret a single moment of my career so far.

When I was on sick leave, a colleague wrote a career testimonial in which the main message was “Find what you love”. A couple of weeks before me, she took heed of her own advice and jumped bravely into an unknown world of book-writing and doing what she loves. She didn’t even need cancer to spur her on.

When I announced my resignation from Facebook a couple of weeks ago, a big smile spread across my manager’s face. While there is the smallest possibility that he was just pleased to get rid of me, I’m pretty sure the smile indicated he was happy because he knew I’d found what I loved.

IMG_6268

Standard
Breast cancer, Cancer, Hair loss, Hair regrowth, Health, Humor, Humour, UK, Uncategorized, Wigs, Women's Health

The One Where I’m Told I Look Like Chicharito

Shit my Dad says

Dad: “Your hair’s getting blacker and thicker every day. You know who you look like?”

Me: “Who?”

Dad: “That little Mexican bloke who plays for Manchester Utd. You know, Chick-a-rito [sic].”

Huh. So I do!

IMG_5794IMG_5795

Standard
Baldness, Breast cancer, Cancer, Chemotherapy, Dublin, Hair loss, Hair regrowth, Health, Humor, Humour, Ireland, UK, Uncategorized, Women's Health

Baby Brushes Are Like Buses

IMG_5658“Baby hairbrushes are like buses. You can’t find one for months and then five come along at once!” — Laura Price, breast cancer survivor and baby-chick hairstyle advocate.

Baby hairbrushes really are like buses. Those of you who read my last blog post will know I’ve been looking out for one to tame my nascent but increasingly unruly tresses. I bought one years ago at The Body Shop for my baby niece, but alas, they discontinued the product and I couldn’t find one at my local Boots either. So I issued a call on my blog for advice on where to find one. What ensued was an unprecedented flood of recommendations: online links to baby hairbrushes and combs and advice from mums and breast cancer gals alike from around the globe.

Without further ado, I clicked on one of the links and ordered a teeny-tiny soft hairbrush last Sunday night. So I was surprised when I arrived at work Monday morning only to see my very thoughtful colleague Joana bounding over to my desk to present me with a lovely baby hairbrush-and-comb set she had found in a much better stocked Boots. And then I got home to England on Thursday and of course, Mummy Price had bought me a baby brush too. So now I have three! It’s a good job I have an army of pregnant girlfriends to avail of these surplus hairbrushes once their sprogs are born and my locks are flowing once more…

IMG_5688So, Thursday hailed my return to a very snowy England for the nine-month check-up with my surgeon at the Christie Clinic in Manchester. It’s hard to believe it’s actually been nine months since that fateful day when I went under the knife, but somehow it has.

The appointment didn’t exactly go to plan, with the hospital emailing me at 11am on the day to tell me that actually the surgeon wasn’t going to be in and would I mind changing it to next week? Naturally, I kicked up a fuss as I’d had the appointment in my diary for six months and had booked flights months ago. Thankfully, they managed to squeeze me in under another surgeon, so off I went to Dublin airport for the 35-minute flight.

Arriving in Manchester was a bit like landing in an alpine ski resort, with more snow over the hills than I have seen in the UK in my entire life. (Turns out it’s the most snow since 1979, before I was born.) The drive home across the Yorkshire moors involved bright blue sky and roads flanked by three-metre-high snow drifts. I’m quite grateful I had my chemotherapy during the summer, because I wouldn’t have fancied making the 1.5-hour trek through the snow every time I needed an impromptu mid-night blood test!

IMG_5692To the left are pictures of the snow that greeted my parents’ on their front doorstep a week ago and the cat (Tilly) contemplating whether or not to brave a garden expedition. (As a side note, for those of you who’ve followed this blog since the very beginning, Nurse Molly and Tilly are both doing most excellently. Molly has taken a well-deserved break after being my chemo companion for six months and has decided to sleep for the rest of 2013.)

Happily, everything was just as fine as I had expected with my boob (see? No need to worry!). Because of the scar tissue, my breast can feel a little lumpy to the touch (but only in a totally attractive and sexy way, you understand) and I was reassured to know that this was indeed just scar tissue and not further cancerousness.

However, I did inquire about a tiny little ball-bearing-sized lump under my armpit that appeared after the surgery and has grown slightly, and it turns out it’s a sebaceous cyst that will need to be removed. I am reasonably convinced it came from the days post-surgery when I had surgical adhesive goop stuck all over my armpit area. In my very humble and highly experienced medical opinion, this must have blocked the pores and led to the little cyst. In any case, it’s absolutely no cause for alarm, nor is it dangerous, but nevertheless I’ll have to have a little procedure to get that removed back in Dublin.

IMG_5685Anyway, that’s a relief. Back to the hospital next week for another check-up after the radiotherapy. Now on to more important missions: there are Easter eggs to be eaten and snowmen to be made. (Okay, maybe I won’t do the latter…)

Happy Easter!

Standard
Breast cancer, Cancer, Chemotherapy, Dublin, Hair loss, Hair regrowth, Health, Humor, Humour, Ireland, Radiotherapy, St Vincent's, Uncategorized, Women's Health

Radiotherapy: Week Four

18 down, 15 to go…

Technically, that means I’m more than half-way through my radiotherapy sessions, but I still have 1-2 months of lethargy and sore skin ahead of me. Still, at least there are only 15 more hospital visits to go, and I’ll be particularly glad to say good riddance to the late-night trips to St. Vincent’s! (A lot of my radiotherapy sessions are after 8pm because the machines are in maintenance during the day).

After three weeks of feeling spritely, it’s safe to say the tiredness has officially kicked in. It hit me like a brick wall mid-last week and I’ve been feeling sleepy ever since. It’s not quite into the realms of chemotherapy exhaustion, but my eyelids feel heavy and I can see myself becoming partial to afternoon naps. In a month’s time I may be like a walking zombie. On the plus side, though, my skin is still only very slightly red and I’m not feeling any soreness from the radiotherapy.

The highlight of my week was when a lady asked me how I did my eyeliner. As all of my girlfriends will testify, I have never been able to do make-up, particularly not eyeliner, so the lady’s question came as something of a small triumph to me. Fair enough, she was a lady in the hospital, whose husband was having radiotherapy, and not some fashionista on the streets of Dublin, but nevertheless I gave myself a small pat on the back. If having cancer has taught me nothing else, at least it’s shown me how to do eyeliner.

Other highlights of the week involved the radiotherapy computer breaking down and causing a waiting-room backlog, sparking a rare conversation among patients; witnessing 13 seconds of snow in Dublin from the office window, while all my friends and family in the UK had several inches of the stuff; being caught in a horizontal hailstorm that materialised just moments after perfect blue sky and sunshine earlier today; and being told by the heavy-accent Irish guy who came out to fix my TV that I have a ‘tick accent’. Other than that, it’s been pretty uneventful.

On the hair-front, IMG_4351I was afforded the opportunity for a rare back-of-head shot this weekend, on account of having a visitor from London, so I seized the chance. IMG_4424As you can see, I do have a bit of hair, but it’s slow progress. The good news is it’s growing back brunette, rather than grey or ginger. (I’ve mentioned previously that people’s hair can grow back a completely different colour after chemo, and very often grows back curly before it goes straight).

As you can see in the second photo, I still have plenty around the sides, including the partial resurgence of the famous Pricey sideburns, but still no sign of anything on top. (Please excuse the eyebrow situation – a result of the aforementioned horizontal hailstorm).

The green shoots, it seems, are appearing in all the wrong places, as I realised this morning I suddenly have rather hairy legs. Seriously?! Firstly, it took me just three weeks to lose every strand of hair on my head, yet pretty much every strand of hair on my arms remains strong and sturdy, 6 months after starting chemo. And then, just when I want my head hair to grow back in a hurry, I go and get hairy legs! Where is the justice? I’m going to have to start shaving again!

Standard
Breast cancer, Breast Cancer Awareness, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Breast Cancer Screening, Cancer, Health, Humor, Humour, Mammogram, Ultrasound, Uncategorized

A New Home for My Blog

My blog has a new home on the Huffington Post UK website. You can read it by clicking on this link, or click here: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/laura-price/breast-cancer-20s_b_1951530.html

Here’s a preview:

For those of you who didn’t read the WordPress blog from the beginning, the new HuffPost blog is a good place to start as I go right back to the day I was diagnosed.

For those of you who have read the original blog from the start, please don’t dismiss the new one as there’s loads of original material and I’ve told the story differently. It might be a bit samey initially, but once I get up to the present day, both blogs will be aligned.

I need all the support I can get, so please click the button to become a Fan, follow me on Twitter @bigscaryCword and comment as much as you like on any of the posts! The more, the merrier!

Thank you all so much for your continuing love and support,

Laura

Standard
Baking, Breast cancer, Cancer, Chemotherapy, Cooking, Food, Uncategorized

Tom Yum Soup for My Soul

Spurred on by the hundreds of reruns of Come Dine With Me that I’ve watched since getting cancer and the three recipe books I’ve been sent from different friends and colleagues, I decided it was time for a bit of cooking therapy.

The Tom Yum Soup recipe from the Leon cookbook had been on my to-do list for more than two years. I must have some sort of an aversion to newness because I like to wait for things to get old before I use them. Whenever I buy new clothes, I wait at least two months before I wear them, ensuring that I am positively never wearing anything fashionable. It’s not something I do on purpose, it just sort of happens. It’s like I need a while to get used to the new thing being in my life and phase it in before showcasing it in public. I order books and DVDs on Amazon with alarming frequency, yet I rarely watch DVDs and I’m a slow reader, so the Mad Men box set waited almost 2 years before being watched (it was another year before it was watched to completion, but I am now fully up to date and ready for season 5 when it arrives on my doorstep next month).

Well, the same goes for cookery books. I even bookmark the pages of things I want to make, but it takes me years before I get around to making them. This entire syndrome is particularly heightened at the moment with the fact that I only have a one-week window in every three-week period in which I am even capable of getting out of bed to buy ingredients and cook something. (Fortunately, my mother is there with her apron on the rest of the time.)

And so it was finally the turn of the Leon Tom Yum Soup, and a salmon teriyaki dish from a Delia Smith online recipe. Soup is such a great thing to make when you’re sick and it’s cold outside. I particularly love Tom Yum soup in Thai restaurants so I had been looking forward to making this recipe for quite literally yonks. (Perhaps that’s why I wait so long, to build up the anticipation, like planning a holiday a year in advance). So I was disappointed when, after all my chopping and food-processing efforts, not to mention the time spent pounding up and down the supermarket aisles in search of ingredients (let me tell you, it is impossible to find such things as Sake and Mirin in Huddersfield Morrisons, and don’t even get me started on manioc starch), it turned out to be very bland and frankly not that tasty. The salmon teriyaki, on the other hand, was delicious, but unfortunately the above photo doesn’t do my presentation skills justice because I forgot to take a photo of the two nicely presented dishes and instead ended up being left with my own salmon, which had broken in half and which I hadn’t bothered to present in beautiful restaurant style.

Oh well. More cooking to come.

In other news, I received an email to say that I didn’t get a place in the 2013 London Marathon. This is probably a good thing. I applied in April, before I knew about the cancer, obviously, and have been applying for the last couple of years in the hope that I’ll eventually get a place. It would be pretty tough to run 42k in April after only finishing radiotherapy in February and having not run at all since June. But I might’ve given it a go. They are supposed to be sending me a raincoat as a consolation prize, but I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t get one because I entered as an overseas applicant, which is just downright rude. Anyway, it’s a good job I did the Buenos Aires marathon this time last year, checking that box just in time on my mental “Things to do before I’m 30” list. Things jolly well happen for a reason.

The postman has been busy, as per usual. Thank you to Martina for the amazing care package full of goodies for my ‘brain, body, indulgence and health!’ … And a belated thanks to George for the brilliant Neal’s Yard Remedies treats for my hands, nails and general wellbeing… And to her big sister Danie, aka Rouge, for another very creative card… And to Valdimir for the São Paulo postcard, reminding me of my former home and workplace! I feel like a celeb who gets sent loads of amazing free stuff all the time, it’s brill!

Finally, I just had the last of my 10 daily immune-system injections and am very much looking forward to having 10 whole needle-free days! Hooray for Fridays. Happy weekend, all.

Standard
Uncategorized

Ostrich and Baby Chick Therapy

The time seems to have flown since my last chemo and this time next week hopefully I’ll have completed round three and will be half way through my six cycles. Yesterday was my first weekday without a post-lunch injection and I must say, it’s a great feeling knowing I have a completely needle-free week! That said, my veins are really sore and this will get worse as the course goes on.

Because of the setback last time where my blood count wasn’t back up to standard, I will be going to the hospital on Monday for tests to save time on Tuesday, so fingers crossed for next week.

In the mean time, I’m trying to relax as much as possible and have booked myself in for some nail treatment on Friday. I tried to book a massage too and was told they don’t do massage for chemotherapy patients – charming! I knew I wasn’t able to have aromatherapy treatment during chemo (though I can’t imagine why not) but I really can’t see why I can’t have a massage. I could particularly do with a head massage right now after all those uncomfortable, itchy wigs…

In an exciting start to the week, I went for a dental check-up yesterday. Since visiting the dentist is not the most relaxing activity, my Dad (who still thinks I am five) drove me home via a local farm shop to browse the vast array of local produce (cheese, etc) as well as to browse the goats, chickens and guinea pigs in their viewing pen! I’m not sure what use ostriches have in West Yorkshire, but I have to admit I did quite enjoy my five-minute glance at the baby chicks and cute goats, especially since Nurse Molly has evidently decided I’m well enough to fend for myself now.

Standard
Uncategorized

Correspondence From Across the Seas

A cardboard chicken from Bristol, a massaging cat from São Paulo, Marmite-flavoured cheese from the Queen (in London, obvs), a postcard from Bogotá, a card from Texas, sweet treats from Down Under, a care package brimming with treats from Dublin and cancer-appropriate head gear ranging from beanie hats to Team GB sweatbands from around the UK… these are just a few of the things the postie has brought me in the past few months from my friends and family in their various corners of the globe.

Twenty years ago, I would write several letters a day to my various pen pals around the world, as well as writing my diary in a beautiful journal and sending colourful postcards to my relatives from whichever holiday destination I went to that year.  (The postcards would always take a month to arrive and I’d usually have seen said relatives and told them all about the holiday before the small rectangular piece of foreign-stamped card arrived on their doorstep, but it was the thought that counted).

Even as little as 12 years ago, I was still putting pen to parchment and scribbling 10-page letters onto super-thin airmail paper to my friends, family and fellow gap-year students from my far-from-anywhere temporary home in the Northern Brazilian state of Tocantins. My letters would take an age to arrive and one of my fellow gap yearers, Chris, had to walk several miles to pick up his mail from the post office in a village somewhere in the middle of Brazil’s Minas Gerais state.

Despite the logistical problems of sending and receiving mail in such hard-to-reach corners of the world, Mum would endeavour to send me a chocolate advent calendar every Christmas without fail. (She would always succeed, but she also learnt that chocolate advent calendars do not necessarily fare well when left to melt in 40-degree Brazilian sun by incompetent postal staff). And I will never forget the time when Helen tried to send me a tin of Heinz Baked Beans in the mail from Yorkshire to São Paulo in 2007 – such a thoughtful gesture. Tragically, the beans were stopped by customs somewhere along the way and never reached me.

Fast forward to 2012 and most of my correspondence is done by email, Facebook and text message, and I write my diary mostly online via this blog.

What happened to good old-fashioned letter-writing?

I don’t need you to answer that question, of course. The combination of our hectic modern lives and the ease and speed of electronic communication is an obvious recipe for the demise of traditional letter writing. But few things beat the joy of re-reading letters received decades ago, or – better still – letters from a previous generation. Mum was having a pre-birthday clear-out the other week and found letters from her long-deceased grandmother – lengthy letters where every inch of each side of every sheet of paper was filled with meticulous, straight-lined handwriting. Now, I never met my great-grandmother, but just reading the words she wrote in perfectly matter-of-fact, no-holds-barred, conversational “Well I never, Christine” style, I felt like I was having a good old natter with her over a cup of tea. What a gift! The great grandchildren of my own generation will be lucky if they find an old mobile-phone sim card full of text messages that read “Wot a gr8 nite, m8!”

As much as an advocate as I am for any form of communication, be it email, Facebook, Twitter, blogging or proper, old-fashioned snail mail, I don’t want the art of letter writing to die out completely. I still love writing letters, plonking a stamp on and popping them in the big red postbox down the road. So, thank you to all those of you who’ve taken the time to write to me over the past few months (and years) – including the cat named Harvey in Cornwall who sent me an eloquently typed letter last week!

I’ll leave you with this shiny-headed photo of me sporting my new Team GB sweatband. Sweatbands are obviously entirely essential for bald headed people who are unable to do any exercise, not to mention the fact that they are the height of fashion these days.

Standard
Cancer, Hair loss, Humor, Humour, Uncategorized

Meet My Alter Egos

You’ve had a bit of an introduction to my wig collection and many of you helped in the selection process, but I don’t think any of you have seen the full line-up, so here we go:

Valerie (Val, for short) – so named because she came from my friend Valdimir. She’s the posh one from Selfridges and goes well with my hoop earrings for a night out. She’s probably the most similar to my natural hair, though she’s a bit more 50s and has a lot more body than my own hair ever had. She also gives me the Rachel-from-Friends haircut I always wanted, even if it’s 15 years too late. Val is a sensible, classy lady who can go casual for a day’s work or play, or get dressed up for a night on the town.

Tiffany – The cheapest of the bunch, but by no means cheap. She is smooth, sleek and stylish and a little smoky. Granted, this is mostly the eau de burnt plastic from her cheap, synthetic material, but Tiffany is no plastic faker. She likes to laugh wholeheartedly, eat spicy food and is proud of her Peckham roots. She also needs a hair cut, because I can’t actually see through this super-long fringe (that’s bangs, to the American readers out there).

Samantha – She’s a classic, but she’s no plain Jane. Samantha is the shortest and darkest of the bunch and she’s a simple, wash-and-go kind of gal. She’s the girl next door and likes simple, fun, down-to-earth people. Samantha enjoys cooking more than any of the girls, largely because she doesn’t pose quite so much of a fire risk. Probably the quietest of the bunch, Samantha is shy but she’s no shrinking violet. (Just FYI, the bit in italics is an actual line from one of my school reports when I was 15 – thanks, Mr Downs, my GCSE drama teacher).

Brandi – The first of the redheads, she’s subtle but strong, with fire and flavour. She loves strong coffee and rich, flavoursome foods. Brandi, like her name, is intoxicating and will woo you with her secret charms. Deep down, she’s a family gal and loves to hang out with friends. She also loves to curl up with a good book on a cold day – her current read being Fifty Shades Darker. That might give you a bit of a clue as to her darker side, though she’s not into BDSM, so don’t go getting any ideas! (I’m talking hair dye here, obvs).

Joana – She’s a full-bodied red with a fiery temperament. Foxy and fruity, there’s never a dull moment with Jo Jo. She loves to flay her hair around like in the Timotei adverts and she’ll easily catch your eye. Joana doesn’t like to be ignored, but she’s no attention seeker. Probably the cleverest of the bunch, she’s a straight ‘A’ student who speaks several languages and loves a good conversation, but she’s no stranger to a night on the tiles with her girlfriends either.

Miss Candy Pink – Candy is a party girl who likes to let her hair down. She loves to be the centre of attention and will always be noticed. She’s a sweet girl, though, and never a diva. She’ll flut her big lashes at you and expect a smile, but she has a deep and meaningful side if you dare to look past her blinding neon exterior. There’s a lot more to Candy P than meets the eye.

The Egghead – she is liberated and free, the happiest of the bunch. She likes to go running and listen to loud dance music. She is smooth and serene and likes to smile. In the winter, Egghead likes to accessorise with hats and occasionally team up with Brandi and friends, but she loves nothing better than to let her hair down at the end of the night and relax with a nice cup of tea. The Egghead is also a tough girl, a warrior. Those who mess with her will feel her wrath.

Standard