Phew!

My wardrobe is safe for the moment. Nobody was wearing anything from it in last night's EastEnders episode.

I booked an appointment at The Mole Clinic in London and went along yesterday. To while away the tube journey and take my mind off my tube terror (fear of being stuck underground for hours while dying to go to the loo) I dipped into The Secret. I had deliberately avoided reading it when it was trendy and everyone was spouting its wisdom and writing their wishes on pieces of paper so that the universe would do their bidding. Then I saw it cheap on Amazon and decided to give it a go. I found it surprisingly inspiring. I had a nasty stomach ache so I sent out some positive thoughts, telling myself, the universe and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all, that I didn't have a stomach ache and felt perfectly well. Coincidence or not, ten minutes later my stomach pains went (and no, I hadn't farted!)

I also sent out the positive thought that all my freckles and moles were fine and this turned out to be the case. Yes, even the large and ever expanding one on my leg that had gone knobbly round the edges. (The mole, not my leg.)

They are extremely thorough. I had to strip down to my knickers and bra then a young Aussie lass with a close-up lens with a light on it started with my hairline, went all over my face and behind my ears, then systematically checked me from head to toe. Not even the soles of my feet were overlooked. She tweaked my bra strap out of the way and looked beneath than. However, there was one vast area she didn't explore: my bum. Is that because nobody has ever got skin cancer on their derriere?

There were three small new black dots which I have to keep an eye on, and something on my forehead that might be the start of a scary-sounding but quite benign basal cell carcinoma. She took close-up photos of that to send off to my GP. But I got the all clear, bought a bottle of wine on the way home to celebrate and drank half of it last night.

I also wished for a £ six million win on the Euromillions, but no thrilling email has arrived so far. (I buy my tickets on line and every so often I get a Good News About Your Ticket email to tell me I've won a tenner - or, this week, £2 for my Lucky Number.) Still, the day has only just begun so there's still plenty of time for the news to arrive, as I sit here polishing my copy of The Secret.