As traditionally happens during the flipping over to a new year, much posturing and commitment wrapped itself around the quitting smoking hypothesis. I say hypothesis as it has yet to be proven unless you count twenty minutes when you are asleep. Two of us had picked up a nasty social smoking habit, one had extended this into an a standing outside the building five times a day routine and the other had been a packet a day man for as long as I’ve known him.

So well all gave up and it was going incredibly well. Notice the narrative use of the past tense here.

At a hastily convened meeting of the 2007 Non Smoking Club (Strand Chapter), a sea of guilty faces were washed up around the table. “My name is Moses* and it’s been – oh about – 10 minutes since my last cigarette” mumbled the a parody of him being without a fag casting the first light.

The litany of excuses dragged on like the first puff of a crafty fag; “well I’m stopping next week” and “I‘m off to Vegas so I may as well smoke now as I know I’ll smoke when I’m on holiday“.

Surveying this was the man on the mount, smugly occupying the high ground and declaring that aside from two moments of weakness, nary a nicotine drop has passed his lips for two months.

Imagine my surprise to find that man was me! Yes while others have fallen off the wagon and, in some cases, gleefully set fire to it, Mr. Monolung and his expectorant coughing has remained smoke free. Mainly because I’ve been feeling crap but crucially because I’m not keen on dying a horrible breathless death.

I’ve nothing else to say on the matter as this could be construed as gloating. But in lieu of any real exercise, I ran up the steps of Marylebone station last night. Okay walked up, but still did not require medical attention at the top.

Caught in this frenzy of good health, I briefly considered giving up all alcohol for the period of lent. But was advised against it by those closest too me who felt this would make me even more difficult to live with 😉

* Names changed to protect the guilty.