Sunday: Farewell my Fag Friends

Goodbye lovely fags

Traditionally I like to spend the day before a quit smoking my head off and getting drunk.

I still recall the collaborative quit of '07 when I chatted online with Mystery Dude while necking wine at an amazing rate. In the white heat of creativity born of despair, we worked together on a poem, a paean to seminal fluid entitled "Spunk Song", now sadly lost to history.

I became convinced that this was the most important poem ever written and decided to publish and be damned (against MD's advice). It appeared briefly in this very blog.

The next day I was driving the kids to my mum's when I suddenly remembered what I had done. I had to pull over and phone MD and ask him to please please please take the poem down. Which he did. Great memories great times. Not.

Anyway, last Sunday dawned sunny and warm as far as I remember. I had acheived some sort of cod Buddhist acceptance and peace and was chanting my mantra "I want to live I want to live". I settled into 20 JPS silver and a cheeky bottle of whatever (£3.50 from over the road).

Incidentally, I told Sadda from over the road that I was quitting and he told me that under the Afghani moral code he is entitled to kill me if I break my promise.

Martin was coming over to support me in my last smokey binge but man he was slow. I wonder if he suspected I was about to turn into a terrible terrible psycho bitch. Or more likely he was just farting about. I sent several sweet communiques stating that he should take his time, no rush etc

8:30 I lost it and sent a message "Never mind Buddhist acceptance, hurry the f*ck up"

10pm I was listening to Calvin Harris at ear-splitting volume and dancing with zero aplomb.

10:15 I accepted I was actually alone in the world, apart from Ali coming downstairs to tell me to please turn it down.

10:16 I started a phoning binge that included Nicky, Die, Chris, and Iain.
These calls were all roughly similar with me going
Im giving up smoking but dontknowwhy cos itdoesntmatter because noone loves me anyway I might justaswell smoke myself stupid because who cares and anyway you're the only one that ever cared nobody else does and I might die anyway
Other end: Huh?
Really sorryIbothered you but Im giving up smoking but dontknowwhy (repeat and fade)

Martin turned up circa 12:30 when remarkably I was still on the phoning jag.

Truly can't recall what happened then, presumably we went to bed and I fell into a light coma.

And so the scene is set for the horrible but brilliant quit of August 2013.