Monday: Belly-flop into the void.

Day 1 of Not Smoking. My plan was to take my luvverly hard-smoking boyfriend Martin and Ted the collie to my mum's remote Hampshire field. We would live in my campervan until one of us died or I was cured.  I would go from 40 cigs a day to 0 with nothing but nature to assuage my cravings. What could possibly go wrong?

Part 1: Travelling Hopefully 

We awoke in good time for departure at 8am. In spite of a massive hangover and a leaden sky I felt feebly optimistic. Martin bought lychee juice believing it to be a valid substitute for the  grapefruit juice I had demanded ("Are you insane? Lychee juice is the sweetest substance in the world. It is the antithesis of grapefruit juice.") but otherwise all was fairly nice.

We left at about 11:30am having mislaid only 3.5 hours, not a bad result for me and the Hackney Poet working as a team. Martin drove the campervan in the manly capable manner he is forced to adopt around me.

Speeding down the magnificent A329M, Martin asks: "M4 towards London, right?"

H: (rather over emphatically). Don't go on the M4. Really. Please don't. It's wrong. OK? Avoid it at all costs.

[Stressed by the idea that we may accidentally go on the M4, I start rummaging in my bag looking for oral gratification]

H: (looking up) You've gone on the M4 haven't you?
M: Yes, M4 towards London
H: Why? Why? It was the one thing I said not to do.
M: I looked it up, it's the best way
H: How can you possibly know better than me? You arrogant arse. I've done this journey 5 million times..(etc etc)....You need to come off at the next junction and come back the way you came..jeez I don't believe you...

[pause]

H: This is still the A329M isn't it?
M: Yup.

How we laughed! Well HE did.

Part 2: Mental collapse in Sainsburys
We arrive at Mum and Maurice's, introductions are made, eyebrows are raised, Mum plays a blinder by getting Martin's name right and not calling him by the name of the previous boyfriend. 

Martin and I go to Sainsburys for provisions. In the shop he does that bloke thing of galloping ahead and saying "Let's just get what we need and get out". By now I have been 12 hours without nicotine and have become a looper. I stare at vegetables feeling that they are somehow essential to my recovery. But they confuse me, nay overwhelm me. I blindly grab some leeks and break down into pathetic sobbing. I stumble to the next aisle where I meet Martin. Tears running down my face, I suggest that I am not coping that well without fags. I go on to say I really want some Halloumi but am not sure what form of matter it is. "It's cheese, darling", says Martin, and taking control of the trolley masterminds the rest of the spree. We buy loads of junk food, Jim Beam with Honey, a box of red wine and a Nicorette Inhalator, soon to become known as the sucky stick, as in "Have you seen my sucky stick? I need it I need it". 

Cold turkey, cold schmurky.

Part 3: Astonishingly Grim First NightOur cosy camp established, Martin hits the junk food, I make a delightful Halloumi thing. An uneasy silence descends.We find that if you mix the Jim Beam and Honey with coffee it is more like a lovely nightcap than an experiment in binge-drinking. Though the effect is stunningly similar.

I decide to make trouble by giving a blunt harsh assessment of Martin's issues. Stamping all over an area where angels very  much fear to tread. He yells "You have no idea what you're talking about" and disappears. Eventually he comes back and sits in the passenger seat and says nothing. I am gently snivelling and in a drunken non-sequitur decide I have always had an affinity with horses. I duck under the electric fence to commune with the dappled grey that lives next door. Me and horsey do seem to get on quite well, we snort at each other and walk up and down the field together. 

I say goodbye and duck back under the electric fence, this time it electrocutes me on the bum and I lie spread-eagled on the field for some time, hoping Martin will notice that I've died. But nope, I have to return to the campervan unmourned.

He's STILL not talking to me when I get back. So I have no option but to traverse 5 miles of common-land in the blackest blackest dark to find a shop that will for sure not be open and purchase some cigarettes. 

At first I set off with Ted, but he gets zapped by the fence so I take him back. I put him in the van and say to Martin "Can I trust you not to mistreat my dog?", possibly the most outrageous thing I have ever said in my whole life. 

I set off through woods and brambles in the pouring rain. I realise it is hopeless after about 5 minutes. I lie down under a tree and reflect on how everyone will be sorry when I'm dead. After a while I get cheesed off and go back to the van. I tell Martin that he doesn't care if I live or die. He asks, how long do I think it would be before he came to look for me? Huh! I feebly reply. 

Bloody hell, I love that man.