Week three

I've had an entertaining few days, but from the point of view of a non smoker like myself, it's been a disastrous time.

It's true, I went out with Bloom and Stella, non-smokers on Wednesday night. Stella had suggested a chi-chi Turkish place on Wilton Street. These sorts of chi chi new places are generally the non-smoker's friend, and true enough, it appeared to be a smoke-free joint. Then Stella - who's usually "Make mine an Appeltise" after two glasses of wine, suggested we retire to the ante room to enjoy another bottle of some Spanish white.

As soon as I spotted the hookahs, it seemed appropriate to have a go on one. Apple flavoured tobacco. It's a subtle smoke. So subtle that Bloomie and even Stella had a puff, but I have to say that for me, the experience only served to wake up my lungs again, and after fishing around in my bag, I found my last Marlboro Light.

It was only around 9.30 when we exited, and Bloom suggested a quick one in the Pub on the corner. At least, I think it was Bloom. I needed to get cash, and the machine was right there on the wall of Sainsbury's. Seeing as the smoker's hatch was right by the door, it was convenient to slip in for another packet of ten.

You don't feel like you're committing yourself with a packet of ten, do you?

The bus home goes via Camberwell, where Claire lives. She fancied meeting up for a quick pint. Claire is a failed non-smoker, and she had her tobacco with her.

Over our breakfast cup of tea at Claire's I didn't share a morning fag with her, or after lunch back at my place.

And when I went out to meet Ana at the Wheatsheaf that evening, I took no cigarettes. I smoked Ana's rollies, instead.

The picture above is there to remind me how disgusting they are - I had to fish it out from the bottom of the sink. The fruit looks good, and I'm about to eat one.