‘Thankyou For Smoking’

In the last 6 months my life has changed beyond all recognition – I have gambled everything I own (and quite a few items that still have payments due) on my dream business, I have discovered that it is possible to survive without a social-life (although I wouldn’t recommend it), I have declared to all and sundry that I will give up smoking – and less than week after the ban was implemented I doubled my nicotine intake in a fit of pique.  Mel Smith has a point.

On a brighter note, I did manage to amuse myself by affording the occasional passer-by a blow-by-blow (no pun intended – if I mean to inspire hilarity I’ll give you prior warning) account of my attempts to deal with this Orwellian turn of events by way of the chalkboard outside the shop:

DAY 1: smokeless/having no smoke

DAY 2: grumpy/bad tempered (see: smokeless)

DAY 3: irritable/short tempered (see: smokeless, grumpy)

 

On day 4 I tried to find a word for “extremely annoyed to be dictated to by some smug, supercilious bastard (who obviously lives in more reliably sunny climes) as to what I can and cannot do on/in my own premises – what will it be next? Caffeine? Sugar? Sex? TV after 1am?” but the Oxford English Dictionary appears to be lacking somewhat in this regard. I had to settle for ‘DEMOCRACY??’ and a double espresso.

It’s been over four months now, and despite these last few blissful weeks of  smirting the winter months are looming large: rain, snow, biting winds and wrestling with inside-out umbrellas as people (who, given the gale-force 10 gusting up the street, could not possibly be affected by my piffling thread of smoke) stop to feign choking fits, energetically flapping their hands around my face whilst lecturing me about my sinful habit ignoring the fact that if they hang around in this weather they’ll develop a hacking cough more damaging than mine BECAUSE MY LUNGS ARE USED TO IT! 

Therefore, I am buying a tree.  A big one.  In a pot.  I am going to place it carefully between my dustbin and the nearest lamppost and use it to loiter behind, sulking, everytime I feel the need for a nicotine hit.  If you see me, shout “TEACHER!” really loudly so that I can truly relive my teens.  (I draw the line at polka dot ankle socks and a puffball skirt, though…)