HOW TO STOP SMOKING ; PART THREE

 

I started smoking at sixteen. I wasn't very good to begin with, but I practised until I was proficient. And I had flare. Friends remarked on my smoking skills and told me I made smoking look good, and I assumed that smoking made me look good. I became a competition smoker at eighteen, representing Dunedin, and then Otago, at a national level. At twenty I deferred my MA in philosophy& accountancy to turn professional. I was good. Represented New Zealand at the highest level, and brought home silver from the 1976 Le Grande Fumee in Marseilles against stellar competition. In two short years I'd made it - the world was my ashtray. And then it all went to shit. I don't know what happened but it just all fell to pieces. I'd lost that fire, that burning desire.

Forced to find some sort of job I ended up in television, writing scripts for soap operas and anything else that would pay the rent. Later I even worked in a cigarette factory. Packed cigarettes, counted cigarettes, drove around and delivered cigarettes. Even had a conversation with a carton of Benson & Hedges about the dangers of staring into the void for too long. Cigarettes were still my friend & smoking was still my life, but it wasn't the same. I still smoked, but just for fun. If you could call it that

And so it went for years. I was still good, still smoked a lot and did it well, but it just wasn't the same.  People stopped admiring . Smokers were no longer the stars we once were. I felt lost. Bewildered. Without a true vocation I drifted, drank more, took a bunch of drugs, and my life slowly unravelled. Then it quickly unravelled. At fifty-two I found myself in rehab. It could have been worse, I could have ended up living in a caravan park. Oh wait. I did end up living in a caravan park. That was earlier. Now it's not. Anyway.

At the rehab I fell into the clutches of wise women who cared enough about me to try to keep me alive. I suspect some sort of scientific experiment opportunity may have presented itself . Forty kgs and skin  a yellowy-purple shade rarely featured on Dulux colour charts. It was a challenge to keep me alive. I remember Sustagen being involved. Big family size bucket. Whether it was the Sustagen or the tough love, who knows. But it worked. Oh, and the meetings. Bloody meetings. People banging on about ruining their lives and having rocky bottoms. Yawn. I did them a deal . Shut up and I'll never drink again. They did, and I didn't. (at least that's the way I remember it. I was a bit hazy)  Of course through all this I'd kept smoking, the odd friendly match, the occasional all-night marathon. I won them all in a canter.

Then one night I went to a party where some of the boys were experimenting with nicotine patch. Some were hard core - two patches on each arm and one over the heart for show. And they weren't smoking.  Oh I know it was crazy but I tried a half a patch and it wasn't half bad. Next day I tried a whole patch and it felt quite good. I made the mistake of talking to my doctor about maybe you know quitting. After that I was fucked. Everywhere I turned there's these bloody wise caring tough-loving women giving me so much encouragement that it would have been churlish not to quit. So I quit. Never smoked again (excuse me I have to go have a cigarette, I'm getting quite emotional looking back on those early days of hope and triumph) Back to never smoking again. That was the plan. I embraced the life. Breathed easy for the first time in my life

Met a nice girl, fell in love and got married. She'd been a serious player back in the day: competed as a wild card at tournaments all over southern Europe and the States. She was a bit tasty and had picked up some impressive trophies. She had nothing left to prove, and quit cold. Just like that. We were both dedicated to the cigarette life and confessed we'd each tried to smoke in the shower on more than one occasion. Clearly a match made in heaven.

So we bought a white picket fence, built a cottage behind it and grew some kale. Went to smoke free symphony orchestra concerts and lived happily ever after.  And were never smug about it. No sir. No condescending looks in the general direction of those poor unfortunates too weak to quit. Just got on with the business of happily ever after.

And then she got lung cancer because God's a bastard well he is isn't he. She hadn't had a cigarette for twenty years and the demented old fart gives her lung cancer. The sort you can only get from smoking. Now it sounds like I'm making excuses here and maybe I am but fuck it's a bit much isn't it. So anyway, and you can probably guess where this is heading, I gave it another crack. I'd just bought Leonard Cohen's last album " You Want it Darker" & played it in the car on the way to the supermarket & instead of groceries I bought a pack of Marlboro Red and smoked that first fatal fag. I'd love to report that it tasted awful and that I felt lower than scum, but i didn't. I loved it. I was back. Master Smoker. Stayer.

Bring me my lighter of burnished gold, bring me onyx ashtray, my platinum and mother-of-pearl cigarette case. I wish to continue in style. But styles change. Cigarette prices change. Two and a half year old daughters appear on the scene. They have firm ideas about smoking. So one way or another change is called for Let's just say Doctors orders. And I have a lot of doctors. Many many doctors. So I have to stop & I have a cunning plan

This morning I purchased three packs of cigarettes. I have sixty cigarettes and when they're gone that's it. I become a non-smoker. Come along if you like. A tobacco tontine. First last cigarette wins. Or should that be last first cigarette. I'm tired, I need a cigarette. Anyway, have a crack. Join me. ( insert own inspirational thought)  Quit stalling and quit. You know you want to. 

# and yes there are six different font sizes in this piece. leave me alone I'm trying give up smoking