May 2008 - Posts
210 at 9am today, Thursday, May 22.
Preparing for Quit Day 2 - Saturday, May 24.
IT'S all doom and gloom - now that I've reverted, temporarily, to being a smoker.
An isolated spot in the company car park is my occasional 'home' as I puff away, in disgrace.
Yesterday (Friday) I was the only person employed by Archant South West to use the butt bin area, and it was a lonely experience.
During my nine weeks as a non-smoker, I saw people lighting up everywhere - or so it seemed. Now I'd lit up, I couldn't see anyone.
Dwelling on the pitfalls of being a smoker, I hit on the extreme. The clouds were black and the odd streak of lightning flashed across the sky.
I put my 'risk assessment' hat on. What if a lightning bolt struck the pitiful excuse for a tree next to the butt bin? What if I was standing under it at the time? Who would get the paper out? I'm never ill, but being frazzled is a different matter!
Even worse, what if I ever got so desperate for a cigarette that I dashed out into the car park, without looking, and got run over by a car?
Unlikely as they may sound, these events could actually happen. There's nothing so *** as life, they say.
I care more about the Midweek Herald than I do for my addiction to nicotine.
Time to put a patch back on!
But, as an addict WOULD say, I'll wait until next Wednesday before being 'good' again.
IS it time to admit defeat?
For two days now I have been smoking. Yes, SMOKING!
Lurking in public places, I have been accosting complete strangers and asking them for a light. I don’t own a lighter anymore and feel to buy one would signal the true end of my quest to be a non-smoker.
I’ve got plenty of helpline numbers to ring, for support, but I’m an addict. Talking to someone isn’t going to achieve anything – except waste somebody’s time. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it.
You see, an addict doesn’t really need an excuse to exploit a weak moment. Bad news, good news and, in my case, no news, are all valid reasons to light up.
This time round, my lapse has been prompted by good news; of the kind that you could only ever dream of happening. It involves money and that’s all I’m going to say – except I haven’t won the lottery.
If this phase passes and I’m able to get back on track, I’ll let you know.
Yours, shamefully
Belinda Bennett
Lapsed non-smoker
Day 64
IF ever there was an enchanted wood, it is at Offwell.
In the resplendent former grounds of Offwell House, near Honiton, is a treasure that, I feel, I can hardly convey in words. Likewise, pictures could only ever tell part of the story.
It was in these woods, spanning 48 acres, that I took shade from unrelenting rays of sun last Saturday.
Beneath a thick canopy of leathery leaves, my brain gorged on a fountain of information - about history, landscape management and wildlife.
Creating habitats for endangered species was high on the agenda, with the official opening of The Dormouse Trail. In a valley that time forgot lives not only the dormouse but also creatures that roamed the Earth long before dinosaurs.
I was visiting Offwell Woodland Education Centre on 'press day' and I was the only member of the Press to turn up.
If East Devon MP Hugo Swire could make the effort, bringing his family and the relative of a senior politician to such a remote place, why not representatives from other newspapers?
Those not present were the losers. I arrived at 11am and stayed until 3pm. I enjoyed a truly wonderful day, learning about the Victorians' fascination with rhododendron - and how their deviances are now wrecking the countryside. Extreme measures, such as burning, are the only ways to rekindle dying forests.
I also witnessed the tremendous work being carried out by volunteers as well as less than a handful of people who are employed, thanks to a Heritage Lottery Fund grant.
In two clearings, beautiful log cabins have been built. They are classrooms for a multitude of school children whose visits to the woodland are providing a real education in nature.
The man who built the cabins first visited Oregon, in America, to discover how logs can be perfectly slotted together, to avoid drafts.
In the blazing heat of an early summer's day, I was kept cool by a multitude of trees - some more than 100 feet tall. Beneath was mainly a grey kind of darkness - a mystical area.
Although we saw the leftovers of a dormouse's meal, a nut, we also saw areas where roe deer had lay. Judging from freshly laid footprints in a stiffening mud, the deer hadn't long departed our company.
Out of the corner of my eyes, in my Nicotine Dreams, I could almost see mystical creatures, such as the unicorn. It was THAT kind of place. Enchanting, to the extreme. And that's excluding the thousands of bluebells and other wild plants that left me spellbound.
Even more enchanting, to me, was the remains of a Victorian lake. Purposely created in the 1800s, it was huge and teeming with fish. Lily pads dotted the horizon as I made my way around its carefully kept boundaries. This, to me, was Heaven; the kind of place I want to idle away my final hours on Earth.
If smoking, or hereditary misfortune, should take me away from this life at an early age, this is the place that I want to remember - before the time that I enter St Paul's Church for my last visit.
The wood is not a place I would want to end up. It is too full of the past. Dragonflies, for example, have been there since before the Jurassic Age. Nineteen species have been identified, so far.
My place is in St Michael's Churchyard, Honiton, but I came close to a second Heaven in Offwell - just five fields away from my final resting place.
Keeping busy.
KEEPING busy is probably the most important part of my SmokeStop routine.
It’s getting easier. In the beginning, it was a struggle to find ways of keeping myself occupied outside of work. Previously, the highlight of my day was boiling a kettle and going to the corner shop. Now, I’m spreading my wings.
Keeping active is starting to come naturally. I’m not forcing myself to do things; I actually WANT to do them.
Glorious, glorious sunshine – and a wardrobe full of new summer clothes that I want to show off – got me out and about yesterday. After a good day at the office, I arrived home and told my daughter: “Get ready! We’re going to West Bay.”
With the landslip at Lyme Regis, apparently the largest recorded in 100 years, attracting the national press and hoards of sightseers, I decided to steer clear and go somewhere a bit quieter.
Quiet it certainly was in West Bay. I found a seafront parking space easily. In fact, the harbourside was quite deserted.
When I bought my daughter an ice cream, I asked the lady in the kiosk: “Have you been busy?”
“No,” she replied in a disappointed tone. “The sun came out when all the holoidaymakers had gone home.” She was hopeful she’d see more people like me – local people who’d decided to make the most of the sunshine, before it disappeared. She said she would be staying open late to catch people returning from work.
The time now is 9am on Thursday, May 8, and the sun is still shining in Honiton, although there’s a keen breeze. The weather forecast is for rain later today. Luckily, one of my two trips out of the office today is in about 10 minutes’ time – so I’ll be motoring into the countryside, to a village, while the weather is still great.
I haven’t used the inhalator for two days. I might have to later on. I’ve just realised, I forgot to put a fresh patch on before I left home. It’s not bothering me at the moment, though.
I feel fine. Not craving a cigarette. And my breathing is improving, once again.
Almost forgot! When I told my cousin that I'm wearing my patch as a badge of honour, he came up with a brilliant idea. In fact, it's so brilliant I don't know why nobody has done it. He said it's a shame patch manufacturers couldn't make them more like badges - so people would want to wear them. How about ones with the England flag for football fans and patriots? What about Page 3-style ones for men? And ones that are coloured to co-ordinate with ladies' outfits?
DOES it really matter how many days I've committed myself, so far, to being a non-smoker? Does it matter that I've reached eight weeks, with just one weak spell? It, the spineless bit, lasted less than 48 hours.
Yes, for eight LONG weeks, I've been trying to be smoke-free. For a 30-a-day-er, I don't think I've done too bad.
I'm STILL smoke-free, all you doubters, even after such a long time.
And I'm glad I'm smoke-free!
That cough has finally started. I feel like a 19th Century orphan, living down in the sewers. I can even hear a Cockney accent in the distance.
I went to Yeovil at the weekend. It's a place that's changed, for the better, since I was there last. Middle Street upwards has improved, with a whole new range of shops - and, sideways, even a bowling alley and Blockbuster movie shop. It was a walkway to a remote park, opposite a pub called The Alex, when I lived there.
I was shocked - honest. Yeovil's great. And the best bit of all, after the fantastic shopping, was that the multi-storey, town centre parking cost just £2 for FOUR HOURS! Nowhere in the South West could beat that, I'm sure.
I could go on and on, but I'm too tired from all the walking in Yeovil to continue for much longer.
I bought True Match foundation by L'Oreal in Boots for £9.99. It's OK, even though my face looked like I'd rubbed gravy granules into the skin this morning. Not the miracle I was looking for. Instead, I looked like I had a dirty face.
I'm pleased with my latest trial skin care range from Boots - this time a deep down cleansing balm and skin peel lotion. It all feels lovely.
Mainly, I spent £75 on clothes in Peacocks and probably mega bucks everywhere else but, hey, I had the best of best times. The shops were BRILLIANT.
Only a cough and shortness of breath stopped me from exploring further.
I remain, truthfully, yours - Belinda Bennett, NON smoker!
I'M back on track, without reverting to full-strength patches.
Although I puffed my way through a packet of 20 cigarettes on Tuesday, it hasn't meant going back to Day 1 and starting all over again.
I'm not getting any terrible cravings and, this time, I'm making greater use of the inhalator.
My breathing has been poor. I was struggling for breath as I walked up Queen's Walk, Lyme Regis, last night. I stopped four or five times to take in air. Previously, I had been able to walk up the hill without stopping.
So, in terms of lung function, those 20 cigarettes did me a lot of harm. They set me back a few weeks, I'm sure.
I'm off clothes shopping again tomorrow, so I'll be too busy to think about smoking - hopefully!
SHAME faced, I wanted to tear out my heart with bare hands, hold up the weak mush to the heavens and scream: Woe be me! I’m useless!
I’d just smoked 20 Red Band straight off and was regretting every puff. Who’d of thought two weeks ago I’d go from 0 to 20 overnight?
I was a failure. My quest for a smoke-free life was over. …Or was it?
Five years ago, when I attempted to kick the nicotine habit, I was struck off the Smoke Stop course at my GP’s - for admitting I was desperate to smoke and very likely to leave the room and light up. I couldn’t re-start for six months. Hence, I didn’t go back until last March.
This time, it was a different story.
When I spoke to my Smoke Stop nurse, I’d puffed my way through about five cigarettes. Honesty is the best policy. I explained: I’d lost my concentration levels half way through the second week of reduced strength patches and hadn’t managed to recover. I hit deadline at work and convinced myself the only way there was going to be a Midweek Herald this week was if I smoked. Hence I got in my car, drove to Somerfield at Broadclyst, and bought a packet of cigarettes.
It wasn’t the end of the world, she told me. Apparently, relapses are part of giving up. I’d gone seven weeks without a cigarette which, she thought, was quite an achievement for a hardened addict.
She asked what I intended to do with the rest of the cigarettes – the ones I hadn’t smoked but still had. I said I was going to visit a friend, whose boyfriend was in hospital following a serious accident, and that I’d give them to her. My friend’s a shameless smoker, with no intentions of giving up.
That was acceptable.
The nurse duly arranged for me to have more regular appointments, to see me through this weak period, and gave me another prescription for patches.
I was thrilled and had no intention of smoking again that day or, indeed, ever.
I rushed over to my friend’s, at Charmouth, and was about to give her the cigarettes when her phone rang.
It was dreadful news. Her boyfriend had no chance of survival. She had to make arrangements to get to Southampton General Hospital to say her goodbyes.
I agreed to stay at her house overnight, to look after her children.
Automatically, without even thinking about it, I just puffed my way through every single cigarette left in that packet.
The following day, I stank of smoke. The smell made me feel sick. And my breathing had deteriorated. I hated myself. I didn’t smoke again.
My patch is back on. I’ve got my inhalator at my side. I’m determined to continue with my quest to be a non-smoker.