Since then I can name every cigarette I've smoked.

21 November 08: standing outside a pub in London, with Charlie. Only managed half a one before I felt sick and put it out.

8 August 09: Mossy's garden in Leeds. I'd looked forward to it for weeks, but it really wasn't that nice.

5 September 09: In my back garden with the other Alice. I was quite drunk and can't really remember feeling strongly either way.

10 November 09: London, with Gordy, walking along the street. Had to put it out halfway through.

Less than a pack of ten in fifteen months.
I think I'm finally done with smoking.
I can have the occasional cigarette if I want, but it's dawning on me that actually, I don't even like them much when I do.

The best thing about smoking is the feeling that it has made a shite situation marginally less shite, or a great evening marginally greater. Unfortunately, it only works if you smoke regularly, and if you do that, you also have to put up with all the downsides like cost and health issues and setting a bad example to your kids.

I can't believe it's taken me almost twenty years to figure that out.