Standing on the lukewarm concrete floor wearing only his leopard-print jockstrap, the stripper looked relieved as his minder informed him the woman who booked him had only paid for the “package not revealed” package. She was the manager of a warehouse where I was working packing mobile phone accessories and for some reason had opted to have a stripper, rather than just bring in cake.
It was the only time that day we were allowed to pause our monotonous work, so no-one wanted the show to end. A few years later I found myself at a warehouse full of carpet and vinyl flooring. But this time I was reporting rather than packing anything into boxes, because I’d qualified as a reporter and the building was on fire.
I hadn’t thought about those warehouses for years, until last Sunday when I found myself at a repurposed warehouse called Ironworks in the east end of London, where views over the Thames included the Daily Express in Canary Wharf and The O2 in Greenwich.
Instead of being there for sightseeing, I was there to do something I hadn’t thought would be possible since I was diagnosed with incurable bowel cancer back in the summer of 2023.
I was there to see Charlotte de Witte dj. For those of you not accustomed with her name, at the moment she’s thought of as one of the world’s best techno DJs.
I hadn’t thought it would be possible because the gruelling chemotherapy treatment makes me less able to stand for long periods of time.
I also hadn’t thought it would be possible because I suffer from bouts of nausea and diarrhoea where it isn’t wise to leave my home.
And, in the week before the show I’d picked up a cold from somewhere or other. Last time I had a cold I was in bed for almost two weeks so was worried I’d be feeling it in the same way this time.
This time though, thanks to some tactical cancellations of other events, and the realisation that I had to make it there because it’d be a show of a lifetime and I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I stayed at home, I got to see Charlotte’s DJ set, along with most of the previous act (I wasn’t paying enough attention to catch his name).
Not only did I get to see Charlotte’s DJ set but I also danced for four hours. Yes, the person who sometimes gets out of breath walking to a bus stop and has to weigh up the benefits of running for a bus and damaging part of me versus waiting 10 minutes for the next one managed to dance in some form or other.
I did think about my cancer a bit, but instead of thinking how it might be the last time I get to do something like this, I was thinking about how I’d overcome so many things to get there.
I remembered the morning after I had a pre-cancer treatment operation. I told the surgeons on a ward round that I was feeling optimistic for the future, and I was, but I was also in so much pain.
I remembered how after every gruelling cycle of chemotherapy and immunotherapy I feel really sick, as if I’ve been hit with a baseball bat packed full of hangover.
And I remembered how I’ve missed so much of life over the past few years because of my disease.
So being there was me saying f*** off to cancer, at least for one night. Everything I do is shaped by how well I’m feeling and what’s going on with my cancer, and too many times I’ve let this get in the way of fun.
Eventually it will get in the way of everything, when my coffin is being lowered into the ground while some mourners chuck handfuls of soil on the lid, but that day isn’t today.
Hopefully I’ll get to see Charlotte de Witte play at least once more before that happens. And some other acts too.
By then, me and hundreds of thousands of other cancer patients should have a personal cancer plan, where we’ve discussed with our medical teams what’s important to us.
Spoiler alert for my team: For me, it’s having appointments on the correct days and at good times, and music, whether that be rediscovering an indie band from 1994 or…raving in a warehouse.
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This story originally appeared on Express.co.uk
