Seven weeks. 

That's as long as it took for bowel cancer to kill my dad. 

Seven weeks, from diagnosis to death. 

My dad, Tommy, was a great man - kind, thoughtful, quick to laugh. I inherited a lot from him, including his hairline, but you can't have everything. 

He was diagnosed with bowel cancer (which then spread to his liver) in July 2010, and passed away in September. That's astonishingly, painfully quick. The picture on this page is one of the last shots of the two of us together. He was sitting in my sister's garden. The sun was shining. He was overjoyed because (somehow) I had won an award. 

He was also painfully thin. And in pain. And gone too soon. I miss him everyday.

But enough of the maudlin introspection. Cancer, of all forms, is a pernicious foe but can be defeated. Which is why I, the least athletic person I know (and I know Jabba The Hutt), have signed up to run the Vitality London 10,000 on May 29th. And I'm doing it to raise funds for Bowel Cancer UK and help them fight the good fight. 

And I'd like to ask you to help me. Any donation is gratefully received, no matter how small. Well, that's not true - if you donate 1p, I'll forever judge you. 

So please give generously, and together we can make sure people passing away seven weeks after their diagnosis is a thing of the past. 

Cheers, Chris

PS I know this will probably kill me. So bear that in mind when donating — this could be the last thing I ever ask you for.