IT'S been three months now since I got on the wagon and left Marlboro country behind. But as I head towards the plateau of future health I have found myself glancing back over my shoulder with sweet nostalgia for my days as a smoker.
Yes, I miss my fags. Something tells me that if I don't admit this, if I consciously try to repress these feelings with anti-smoking messages, then it won't be long till my subconscious sneaks out the back door for a fly one. Best then to confront th
e longing. Exorcise the demon. Write the list.
Things I miss about smoking:
1. The ability to drop out of conversations, either by excusing myself with the alibi of nipping out to the garden/steps/street to smoke or by 'zoning out' while smoking. Since giving up I've come to realise the sheer quantity of crap people talk most of the time. All around us, every minute, millions are discussing reality television. This I now have to endure.
2. Looking profound. Smoking gives the illusion of intellectual activity. The inhalation is a metaphor for taking in information, the holding of smoke in the lungs evokes rumination, the exhalation implies the contemplation of breath, and hence of life and death. Often I'd be sitting outside a café thinking about doing the laundry, and my associates would assume, as I blew smoke rings, that I was deeply involved in some interior debate on the human condition.
3. Keeping people at a distance. There are far too many touchy-feely people in the world, always patting my knee or hand or trying to hug me. The threat of a potential eyeball burn from a fag end helped to keep them at bay, as did a well aimed blast of smoke to the face.
4. Subculture. Smokers are possibly the only people in the UK who speak to strangers. The 'have you got a light' line has led me to many new friendships and even bedrooms. Forced out on to the streets, it is a society of, quite literally, 'outsiders'.
5. Smoking keeps midges away. I have substantial evidence of this from autumnal trips to Loch Lomond. Whether midges actually drop dead from smoke inhalation or can't find you through the smokescreen I do not know.
6. Oral fixation. As I've never really advanced beyond sucking my thumb, I need hand-to-mouth surrogates. Chewing gum is unsightly. Hulking round bags of nuts, in the quantities I require to keep me distracted, is not feasible. The trails of pistachio shells I leave behind are hazardous underfoot.
7. The image. I enjoyed imagining my portrait in the Great Smoker's Hall of Fame: Jean-Luc Godard, Jean-Paul Sartre, Bill Hicks, Charles Bukowski, James Dean (how could they have been rebels without a fag?) For only £5.79 I can share in their greatness, 20 times a day.
8. Non-conformism. Smoking set me apart from the bourgeois busy-bodies who preach about the organic eco-friendly politically-correct way to live. Yes, by giving up I will have added another five years on to my lifespan, but who wants to live longer in a world full of whining self-righteous health police?
Conclusion: It is clear that 90% of my personality came from being a smoker. This must be what I miss more than anything: myself.
The full article contains 577 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
