An Addiction Is For Life
God that felt good. I just bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in five and a half years.
Don't get me wrong - it's not the first fag I've smoked during that time. I belong to a particularly annoying and, dare I say it, hypocritical brand of ex-smoker. I really can't tolerate people smoking around me, particularly in restaurants, but very occasionally when I get drunk with one of the (literally) dying breed of people who haven't yet managed to kick the habit, I'll "borrow" the odd one. Or six.
I used hate people like me when I was an avid smoker. Have you got a spare fag? No, I'm planning on smoking the whole packet, but thanks for your concern.
My husband's illness is back with a vengeance. He's had some kind of viral infection going on since before Christmas, similar to the 'flu (and I mean the real deal, not man-flu a.k.a. the common cold). He came staggering home from work tonight, close to death's door, and requiring large doses of TLC.
Unfortunately he makes for a terrible patient, and I'm not the greatest of nurses, but I have given it my very best shot.
After spending all but about 5 or 6 hours of the week by myself though, all I want to do at the weekend is let off a bit of steam, which I'm clearly not going to get the opportunity to do. Again.
Anyway, I was sent out on a mission to buy salt & vinegar crisps, since that's the only thing he could face eating.
En route I had an overwhelming urge to be 15 again. I had such a great time around then; it was my coming of age. The biggest issues of the day were dry or sweet cider, The Wonderstuff or The Stone Roses, B&H or Silk Cut (the former being the answer in each case, although The Stone Roses came a very close second). Back then our futures were so uncertain. We could have turned out to be anyone, doing anything.
Of course, it was probably as scary as hell most of the time, but that's not the way I remember it.
Now I've just turned 30 and I have a husband, a mortgage, a screwed up career and a biological clock to concern myself with, all of which are looking pretty certain.
Armed with these jumbled thoughts I somehow found myself at the front of the queue in Tesco's asking for 10 Marlboro lights and a box of matches, and feeling extremely pleased with myself, not least because if my husband knew he'd be really pissed off.
I smoked just one on the way home, and got such a nicotine rush from it I really did feel 15 again, if only for those few minutes.
Fuelled by a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio I may nip outside and relive the moment shortly. It's not quite the same as a 2 litre bottle of Strongbow, but it may just do the trick.
Don't get me wrong - it's not the first fag I've smoked during that time. I belong to a particularly annoying and, dare I say it, hypocritical brand of ex-smoker. I really can't tolerate people smoking around me, particularly in restaurants, but very occasionally when I get drunk with one of the (literally) dying breed of people who haven't yet managed to kick the habit, I'll "borrow" the odd one. Or six.
I used hate people like me when I was an avid smoker. Have you got a spare fag? No, I'm planning on smoking the whole packet, but thanks for your concern.
My husband's illness is back with a vengeance. He's had some kind of viral infection going on since before Christmas, similar to the 'flu (and I mean the real deal, not man-flu a.k.a. the common cold). He came staggering home from work tonight, close to death's door, and requiring large doses of TLC.
Unfortunately he makes for a terrible patient, and I'm not the greatest of nurses, but I have given it my very best shot.
After spending all but about 5 or 6 hours of the week by myself though, all I want to do at the weekend is let off a bit of steam, which I'm clearly not going to get the opportunity to do. Again.
Anyway, I was sent out on a mission to buy salt & vinegar crisps, since that's the only thing he could face eating.
En route I had an overwhelming urge to be 15 again. I had such a great time around then; it was my coming of age. The biggest issues of the day were dry or sweet cider, The Wonderstuff or The Stone Roses, B&H or Silk Cut (the former being the answer in each case, although The Stone Roses came a very close second). Back then our futures were so uncertain. We could have turned out to be anyone, doing anything.
Of course, it was probably as scary as hell most of the time, but that's not the way I remember it.
Now I've just turned 30 and I have a husband, a mortgage, a screwed up career and a biological clock to concern myself with, all of which are looking pretty certain.
Armed with these jumbled thoughts I somehow found myself at the front of the queue in Tesco's asking for 10 Marlboro lights and a box of matches, and feeling extremely pleased with myself, not least because if my husband knew he'd be really pissed off.
I smoked just one on the way home, and got such a nicotine rush from it I really did feel 15 again, if only for those few minutes.
Fuelled by a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio I may nip outside and relive the moment shortly. It's not quite the same as a 2 litre bottle of Strongbow, but it may just do the trick.
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