JULIE Ritchie-Evans recently ordered a brand new Audi convertible and has booked herself a winter holiday in Canada.

Although she is terminally ill with cancer, she has no plans to shuffle off just yet - and when she does, she would like it to be under the stars on an Italian lake, surrounded by people she loves with a glass of wine in her hand.

Most of us wonder how we would react if we found out we were dying. Would we head off on a world cruise? Draw out our life savings and blow the lot in Las Vegas? Spend quality time at home with our loved ones? Or just try and carry on as usual?

Jane Tomlinson's answer to being given six months to live back in 2000 was to embark on a series of demanding challenges, including marathons, triathlons, Ironman events and long bike rides, including her last journey across America.

She survived more than six years longer than doctors had thought she would before succumbing to advanced breast cancer earlier this year.

Apart from raising a £1.5 million for charity, one of Jane's motives was to show that terminally ill people can still lead active and fruitful lives, pointing out: "Death doesn't arrive with the prognosis."

Julie, 41, of Bournemouth, shares her outlook. "I always give myself goals. I swim, go to the gym, do aquarobics, walk and go on my bike. I thrive on that. If you don't focus on anything, you can get very within yourself," she says.

Before her diagnosis, Julie was very fit, but in the summer of 2005, she went to her doctor because she thought she had felt a lump in her breast. "He said he thought it wasn't a lump and sent me away."

By September, she was experiencing backache and shoulder pain. "I would come home from work and just fall asleep. I had no energy. I was losing weight. I just didn't feel right."

After a friend intervened, Julie was admitted to accident and emergency at the Royal Bournemouth Hospital. Tests revealed that she had two tumours in her breast, that the cancer had spread to her liver and bones and was inoperable.

Julie had already lost her husband to cancer of the oesophagus, so knew how tough chemotherapy could be. But without it, doctors gave her no more than 12 weeks to live.

After thinking it over, Julie threw a bonfire night party for 50 people and announced that she had decided to have treatment.

She remembers sitting on the bed in hospital soon afterwards as she was about to start chemo. "It was a very strange feeling, thinking nothing would be the same again."

Julie was also placed on the breast cancer "wonder drug" Herceptin. The chemo made her hair come out in clumps, her nails and skin suffered, and her tongue became covered in ulcers.

That Christmas, she had a chest infection, and in February 2006, she nearly died from septicaemia. Then came the good news: the disease had been brought under control.

But Julie is under no illusions. "I'm terminally sick. There's no point in opening me up to remove the tumours from my breast because the cancer is dotted about my liver," she says matter-of-factly.

"The chemo has enabled me to have 12 holidays a year and enjoy being with friends. I've been up in a hot air balloon, swum with dolphins. I've been to so many places and done so much.

"I exercise a lot. I have no choice if I want to remain mobile and enjoy the things I want to do. One of the side effects of the bone cancer is you can get joint pain and arthritis," she explains.

"Because I want to live my life to the full, I grab every moment, but I listen to my body. I can't party until two or three in the morning any more."

She adds: "I'm in pain 24 hours a day but I don't let the disease control me. I hate going to the hospital because it's a reminder that I'm ill."

The disease has changed her outlook. "I do a lot more on impulse than I used to. I go out in the sun, I eat and drink what I want. I probably clean the house every three weeks," she says.

"I'm still enjoying life. My friends are absolutely brilliant. I don't just owe it to me, I owe it to everyone around me to fight this to my last breath.

"If someone is going through chemo at the moment and can't see light at the end of the tunnel, you can come out the other side. Go out and grab life with both hands."