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| Talk,
julie miller,
02:00:00,
01 June 2001 | |
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I remember thinking that I’d give up the fags before I was 30. Well that birthday came and went as have many others and as the photos show, almost every glass I have raised since is accompanied by at least one Silkcut firmly lodged in my left hand.
So why oh why haven’t I stopped?
I’ve read the horror stories. Even one of the Supermodels has come a cropper ‘Christina-Super-Model-Turlington-in- emphyasima-shock’ headlines made me stop in my tracks (reading the news stand as I queued for a pack of 20). How ghastly I thought and made a mental note to stop as soon as I got my next cough. Not that I haven’t tried, I stopped when I was pregnant, but spent most of the time hovering around non-pregnant people sniffing their freshly lit fags.
I counted down the days until I could once again inhale for one - and drink for ten.
The moment I gave birth I wanted a fag. Forget the post coital number - the best ciggie I’ve ever had was after giving birth. All that pushing and it was - “Nice baby - now, does has anyone have a light” I didn’t go down to well at the NCT.
I’m not proud - just addicted.
All the interesting people smoke - even the gorgeous Johnny Depp claims to have moved to Paris so he could ‘smoke in peace’ and how cool is he? I don’t even mind ex-smokers, at least it shows that at some point in their lives they broke the rules, lived a little, ignored the gigantic health warnings - and puffed for England.
Even now the smoking room at work is a great place to hear the latest gossip and swap secrets, occasionally cranking open the door to clear the fog.
So how did I start? well like most smokers - at school. Back then anyone worth hanging out with had 10 Embassy rolled up in their gym kit. I remember the best looking boy at school asking for ‘a lug’ of my fag...A lug of MY fag! That was it for me (I kept that dog-end under my pillow for a very long time - unfortunately it was the closest I would ever get to swapping saliva with Mr Heart-throb). But smoking was officially cool, it got you mixing with the in-crowd and made you feel grown up. These days smoking makes me feel younger . Having children makes you feel the opposite to carefree, and just now and again, that’s exactly how I like to feel.
I love smoking. It’s just that my responsibilities have got the better of me and the thought that my children will be orphaned and my husband a ‘Silkcut widow’ has finally pushed me to making the call- ‘ALAN CARR’S STOP SMOKING TODAY CLINIC.’
When I called, the answer machine said ‘Congratulations this is the most
important call you will make in your life ‘ (rather presumuptious I thought, especially compared to the call I hope to make to Camelot to claim the £10 million jackpot one day - but I sort of see their angle). Anyway I’ve done it. Made the call. Fixed the date. Thought it through. Very, very soon I will have to stop. No more chasing up the garden path prior to my mother’s weekly visits to Brighton, hurriedly picking up the discarded dog ends.
‘Have you started smoking again?' she asked last time she found the fag butt that got away. I didn’t like to say ‘yes, about 20 years ago’ (The last time she caught me smoking I was still in uniform) My mother’s mission is to single handedly rid the world of such evils - ironic isn’t it. And it just goes to show you, no matter what you tell your children they’ll go right on and do it anyway. (My pay back will surely be when my daughter announces that she’s become a meat-eating-Tory, with a penchant for hunting fishing and shooting).
So I’m going to join the happy band of ‘Alan Carrs Merry Men’ and quit the weed. No more smelly breath, no more Sellotaping the last broken fag in the packet together 'cos it’s 11.30pm and the shop’s closed. No more piling the children with sweets so they sit quietly in front of yet another trashy video, while I smoke my head off in the garden.
The purple packet and I have to go our separate ways...And you know, there’s only one thing that really bothers me - what in God’s name will I do with my hands now?
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