"Good morning, nice day' said the postman... I'd have to force myself not to shout, 'We might have a deadly cancer gene, but apart from that, it's business as usual around here.' Friends asking run of the mill questions, like 'Any news?' caused me untold inner turmoil. 'Nothing springs to mind' I'd lie. Inside I'd be screaming, 'Yes, I have news. Mum and I might be walking time bombs, ready to explode into a massive cancer tumour with eyes'."

These words sprang from the brain of Emma Hannigan. And it's these very words that made me finish the first book I've read in full since my father died. Not that he died of cancer, or anything, I just haven't gotten round to successfully concluding a book since March 2009. I was reading The Rum Diary at the time, and had left it by his hospital bedside on the day he passed over to the great yonder. I kind've put it out of sight after that. Since then, I just found myself "mislaying" books with either one page, or one chapter, left to read. It wasn't due to a trauma of any kind (although being a 30-year-old orphan was unexpectedly jarring), more a case of abject laziness on my behalf... the complete inability to commit to anything, apart from staring agog at the telly of an evening.

As I said, Dad didn't die of cancer. Three of his sisters did, though (Leukemia x 2 and bowel cancer respectively). And as for Mum's side, well, her sister (primarily breast cancer), her two brothers (lung and miscellaneous), and - as it happens - her good self (too advanced at the time of diagnosis to tell exactly where it originated, but they suspected the lungs. She didn't smoke) have all been claimed by the disease.

This uplifting tale doesn't end there. My sister is currently undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer, which is novel - she's one of the two people in our family who thankfully found "it" quick enough so treatment was an option. Sister number four on Dad's side being the other lucky one. In case you've lost count, that's eight relatives who've had an array of cancers on both sides of the family - not including the grandparents.

So imagine my joy upon being introduced to a book so honest, so darkly humorous, yet so miraculously positive and - above all - really f***ing funny. And it's all thanks to my determination to stare slack-jawed at the telly for prolonged periods. As divine timing would have it, Emma Hannigan was on The Late Late Show a few weeks back, a pretty tattooed angel armed with killer wit and pragmatism. Both traits are extremely helpful when you've beaten cancer six times (she's currently sparring it for the seventh) - especially when you've gone to the trouble of undergoing an elective double mastectomy and oophorectomy to avoid the bastarding thing.

Such was Hannigan's disposition on the Late Late, I bought the book the very next day and gave it to my sister. Ordinarily I'd be a bit dubious about jovially presenting a book to someone due to undergo Chemotherapy, declaring "you have to read this, it sounds like a laugh riot - and she's had it six times!" but it wasn't the case in this instance. Myself and the two sisters have been cultivating our starkly dark humour since childhood (long story) so I knew it'd go down a storm - what with it's author being refreshingly informative, upfront, upbeat and wrapped up in a ball of warped giggles. These are key ingredients when dealing with Cancer.

I was going to provide an array of extracts from the book, but I've taken up enough of your time. After all, you came here to read 'Sleb Gossip. Suffices to say, anyone who knows someone with cancer; is undergoing treatment themselves; or just fancies keeping themselves abreast (pun partially intended) of what happens to "one in three" people, should most definitely give Talk To The Headscarf the time it readily deserves...

Ooookaay, here's a taster: When Emma announced she wanted "both my breasts removed and my ovaries gouged out" to her husband, Cian, he responded: "I'm trying to eat my dinner, so you'll have to wait. Go and set up the Black & Decker Workmate and drape yourself on the floor. I'll get out the circular saw in five minutes."

How fantastic is that.