Yes. This is what I have become.


"You can have one if you like, love."

"No thank you. I've quit. I'd just like to breathe in yours if that's ok?"

"Um.. ok"

"Super."


This may not have been the exact dialogue but it was something to that effect.

Stood in the wind and rain on Hemel Hempstead's old town High Street shamelessly breathing in the fumes of a stranger's fag.

I had stormed outside in a terrible temper, but inhaling some random man's smoke didn't make me feel any better. Just cold, wet and disappointed that I'd slipped up.

I know I sound like a stuck record but, why isn't this getting easier?
Well, obviously in some ways it is easier being nicotine-free now it's been out of my system for nine weeks.

For example I can do something I never imagined possible, and that is go an entire working day without thinking about smoking (except when I'm writing this blasted blog).

I can also look into smokers' eyes when I'm talking to them, rather than be completely transfixed on their cigarette.

I even seemed to have combated the 'drinking = smoking' cycle, having been inebriated on three occasions since quitting and not having a single drag.

The one thing that is seriously still pushing my will power, however, is stress.

When I am utterly infuriated with people/myself/press officers/the world where am I supposed to turn?

Once upon a time a cigarette would have cured any and all of the above.

And I just don't know what I'm meant to do now.

My mother has helpfully suggested Yoga.

Nice one, Ma.

Every time I feel pressure in the office I'll get into the lotus position outside where the smokers congregate shall I?

I don't think so.