I received an invite to a special occasion today that a few years ago I would never in a million years have expected.

Unfortunately it isn’t dinner with David Tennant; however it is something far more special. I’ve just RSVP’d to a “Celebrate the Fourth Anniversary of the Day I Was Told I Had Terminal Cancer” Party.

As Hallmark don’t seem to do an appropriate card for the occasion, I thought I’d selfishly write an open letter to the party’s guest of honour.

Her name is Ali Booker and she’s one of those people who unexpectedly comes into your life out of nowhere, and inadvertently changes it for the better.

I met Ali nearly two years ago sitting in the sunshine at the Trout in Wolvercote.

I was too busy trying to act naturally to remember the entire conversation, but I do vividly remember Ali telling us she was tired of sitting at home waiting to die, and that one of the things she disliked the most about having “The Big C” was having people tell her how brave she was.

You see, Ali thinks our young men and women fighting wars are brave, whereas all she’s doing is living with something that has rudely hijacked her body. She also told us a great story about the day someone asked her if her ‘sunsets are more beautiful now’? Her response was that she sees the same b***** sunsets as the rest of us.

It’s estimated one in three of us in this country will be diagnosed with cancer. And I’ll admit that I secretly feel fortunate that (touch wood) I’m not one of them.

But if I were to be, my one wish would be to handle it with even half the dignity and sense of humour that Ali displays.

To me Ali doesn’t have cancer.

Ali’s just a friend and work colleague who sometimes has to have a few extra days off, and it’s just a lucky coincidence that she manages to find an empty car parking space right beside the front door each morning.

She’s also a friend who we’ve smuggled wine into hospital for and a friend whose family jokes about having her stuffed and mounted in the back garden.

We know there are days she pretends to be better than she really is, and that she hates letting us down, but we also know if the positions were reversed, she’d do exactly the same for us, not because we have cancer, but because she’s our friend. I know she’ll get mad at me for writing this but Ali, on that day we met at the Trout you said that maybe, just maybe, when you popped your clogs that you might rate a few lines in the Oxford Mail as ‘That ex-BBC presenter who had lost her brave battle with cancer”. Well, ‘Jack Fm Presenter who is busy living life to the fullest’ I figure why wait until after you’re gone to tell you how lucky we are to have you in our lives.

Happy Fourth Anniversary Booker!