Cancer specialists don’t tell as many half-truths as estate agents. But one lie I was told shortly after being diagnosed with incurable bowel cancer is that I wouldn’t need to buy new clothes. This lie meant I didn’t prepare myself mentally for the changes my body would go through during treatment. I wasn’t prepared for the way that the steroids I’m on have helped me gain two stone in weight and given me more chins and a fatter neck than I ever thought was possible.

I wasn’t prepared to switch from my trusted medium-size clothes to a large and definitely not to an extra large. I also wasn’t prepared for spending a lot of time in Next changing rooms. Yes, for the first time in decades, at the start of last summer I found myself in a curtained booth trying to find short-sleeved shirts I could wear over my hernia, while a man in the booth next door struggled with the realisation that 38-inch waist trousers would be best for him.

Taking the brightly coloured shirts off their hangers, I pondered whether I had become old before my time or whether it was just cancer.

As someone who always looks like they’ve fallen out of bed and then been dragged through a bush after being strapped to the hooves of a Wildebeest, you would be forgiven for wondering why I care.

But as the days get shorter and the weather gets warmer, my thoughts are turning, as they do every spring, to getting beach body ready.

In the olden days my attempts to have a hot boy summer always failed because I didn’t do the gym thing and didn’t eat the chicken and broccoli needed to get my abs to razzle dazzle.

They are now failing because I look more coffin-ready than being ready to pack a bucket and spade for a trip to the seaside.

This unique look has left me with a major dilemma this week as I try to find a green spring jacket (pictured at the top of this article) to replace one I bought in my pre-cancer years.

I used to call the fashion police on colleagues at an old job on a regular basis and know the actual meaning of the word Primarni so this week I’m asking myself three big questions. Where can I shop so I look nice and don’t look old before my time?

How and where can I buy a jacket which will fit my tumour-ravaged body and look good against my big pink face? How do I buy clothes without looking like I’m coffin-ready?

For me answering these questions, and finding a nice jacket for slightly chilly afternoons in beer gardens, is part of keeping my identity as a person rather than as a cancer patient.

While I’m trying to keep my identity, I’m also appealing again for your help to ensure all cancer patients have the mental health support they need from their medical teams so they can keep their identities.

You can do this by signing the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign petition.

It won’t stop estate agents from telling half-truths, but it will have a massive impact on society — and that’s more satisfying than finding a nice green jacket.