What's your addiction?

I'm in a growing minority. Usually, I'd be proud to say that - I like to be different- but, in this instance, I have to admit to feeling ashamed that I'm still a smoker. There. I said it. I'm a nicotine junkie.

The first step in curing an addiction is to accept that it exists. I just never made it past the first step. Well, not for long anyway. Pregnancy provided a couple of periods of abstinence. I'd like to say that I developed will power for the sake of my unborn babies, but the truth is, my body made sure I didn't indulge my cravings by making the smell of smoke totally repugnant to me.

I tried reading Allen Carr's 'How to give up smoking the easy way'. I was sold by the adjective in the title and encouraged to keep reading as the opening chapter gave me permission to puff away as I digested the book's message. It promised that by the final chapter, I would be a non-smoker. I never read the final chapter.

The stubborn ones amongst us know that it's no use telling us we must/should do/refrain from something. We like to work that out for ourselves and do it in our own time. In my case, it's usually at the last minute. This approach to time management governs many of my actions..........depositing the children at school with 1 minute to spare (an improvement on last year when they ran to catch the end of their line of peers as it gambolled through the school doors), revising for exams, completing my VAT return, packing, arriving for appointments/flights/dates, getting out of bed..................Much of this behaviour can be explained by my loathing of waiting around and fear of boredom. Reading between the lines, perhaps I'm subconsciously smoking my way to an earlier expiration date in order to avoid any potential boredom. I mean, it's all well and good living to the grand old age of 97, as long as you maintain at least a modicum of independence. Be that enough to pedal the coast to coast route, or simply the strength to wheel yourself away from the your fellow nursing home residents (or 'inmates' as my Nana fondly called them), huddled around Dickinson's Real Deal.

So, I've established that boredom is a factor in my unsociable habit. I have a busy mind and sometimes my hands need something to do, just to keep up. The Playstation I bought to help me through one attempt to kick the habit, succeeded until I'd mastered the controls enough to be able to hold a cigarette and navigate Crash Bandicoot through the Egyptian tombs. I once imposed a daytime smoking ban on myself but, by occupying my fingers on the PC keyboard, I ended up with another, less obviously dangerous addiction. (more about that in a future blog)

I'm old and wise enough to know the things that push my buttons. My sister quit after a beauty therapist commented on how her skin was aging. Vanity isn't a big enough motivator for me. A friend used her fag fund to finance the Mini Cooper she'd set her heart on. My husband has curbed his craving by sustituting the ciggies with some pills the doctor prescribed. No nasty side effects either, but I worry that because it seems so easy, I wouldn't feel the same level of achievement at the end of it. I'll live in hope that, one day, (preferably before I'm diagnosed with my fate) I'll find the thing that pushes my STOP SMOKING button.

Choose Life.

No, I'm not about to extol the virtues of Katherine Hamnett's range ethical range of 100% organic cotton T-shirts, nor do I intend to recite the similarly named poem by John Hodge, made famous by Ewan McGregor.

It's quarter of a century since that slogan adorned the chests of neon bangle wearing Wham fans. It spawned a whole new generation of 80s propaganda. Thousands of us wore oversized T-shirts bearing Frankie's command to 'relax', yet how many knew which Frankie our fashion statements alluded to? Frank Sinatra was as relevant to teenagers in the 80s, as Frankie Goes to Hollywood is to a toddler today.

Fortunately, the connotations of relaxing 'when you wanna cum' are also lost on my 13 month old nephew, recently seen sporting a 'FRANKIE SAYS RELAX' top. He's more interested in relieving the recently decorated Christmas tree of its baubles. As fast as he pulls them off, I frantically strive to rehang them. Some onlooking diners smile wistfully, others tuck into their Sunday roasts, oblivious. The landlady shuffles nervously, presumably worrying about an impending law suit. Luckily we're out of view of my sister. Given that she firmly declined my offer sharing my lamb hotpot with her son, on the grounds that it was full of salt, I don't think she'll appreciate me risking his life by allowing him to explore a pub full of tables at toddler head height.

I return him to our table, unscathed, and after a glass of wine, I'm starting to do as Frankie says. It's Sunday and I'm surrounded by the family I love. The four cousins are playing happily, my husband has offered to drive and my dad is paying for the meal. I'm enjoying spending time with my niece and nephew but, at the same time, appreciating the fact that my own two children are now past the age of teething, nappies and stairgates.

I've heard stories of parents having mid-life crises when their offspring finally leave the nest, but for me, this state of uncertainty came about sooner than expected. Unlike many mothers, I'd looked forward to the day my youngest started school. I'd spent almost 5 years preparing her for it and was confident that she was ready to adapt to her new routine. I just didn't anticipate the transition being so difficult for me.

I was so excited about my new found freedom that I failed to notice the dangers ahead. Who'd have thought that the PC I used to run my business would be the source of so much uncertainty in my life? All of a sudden I was faced with choices again. The overwhelming mixture of fear and excitement I feel, when forced to make decisions, reminds me of the pained expression worn by the sweet-shopkeeper as he bagged up my 30p mix-ups. I liked value for money, variety and a good ratio of chocolate:chews:junk, so it was never going to be a speedy process.


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