Let's just face it, I will one day be a non-smoker for good - when I'm dead!
In the meantime, I'll have to contend with the fact that I'm a permanently LAPSED non-smoker.
Willpower clearly isn't my forte...
I haven't got a chest infection, it transpires. After a thorough examination, I have been advised the source of my pain is most likely a pulled muscle.
The doctor, who took my temperature and even checked my blood pressure, listened to my chest and declared it to be "clear".
However, I have been inspired to stop smoking - again.
I'm sporting a nicotine patch and am using a fully-loaded inhalator like there's no tomorrow.
ALL the signs are there - runny nose, aching back and fatigue. I've got a chest infection. I'm certain.
It was a bad omen when I spotted my GP as I was queuing up to pay for a Sunday paper and buy 20 Mayfair at the same time.
I gestured for him to go first, because I didn't want him to see me make the purchase. It was one of those rare days when I faced the world 'bare', with not a hint of make-up to colour my washed-out complexion. He looked at me in a dismissive way, as if fully aware of my failure.
A few years ago, I wouldn't have collected a pint of milk from my doorstep without two coats of foundation and lashings of mascara, at the very least. These days, age seems to have got the better of me. I slop about in jogging bottoms and slippers at weekends, and snatch my milk from its perch with such lightning speed that I convince myself it's highly unlikely anybody will notice I'm still wearing my dressing gown. However, my towelling robe is bright pink so, maybe, I'm kidding myself.
The encounter with my doctor took place at Uplyme Garage, a week ago.
I first noticed the signs of a chest infection last Wednesday. Having failed so spectacularly on the SmokeStop course, I decided not to push myself forward too quickly for a prescription of antibiotics. Instead, I decided to eat healthily, avoid alcohol and cut down my nicotine intake.
My valiant efforts are not working. Forget five-a-day, I'm eating fruit and veg till it comes out of my ears!
Last Friday night was hard work. My house was full, on the account that my daughter had invited two friends to sleep over (a third friend went home early, when he realised he was the only male!), and I felt dreadful. I was coughing and my back was aching to such an extent that I was forced to take two Paracetamol tablets to ease the pain. I was struggling to get comfortable, but forced myself to stay awake for A Touch of Frost.
I had a good night's sleep and awoke, slightly later than usual, feeling not too bad.
However, after repatriating the guests to their respective families and having undertaken the weekly shop at Morrisons in Bridport, I was pretty much back to square one.
Saturday's Daily Mail didn't help. I was looking forward to an afternoon in front of the telly, watching Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. The free DVD was going to be the highlight of my day. Unfortunately, I had to hang fire and buy Part Two of the film (the conclusion) with yesterday's (Monday) Daily Mail!
What am I coming to?
I've lapsed back into a nicotine addict slob, with a chest infection, and what am I doing about it? Hoping it will all go away, that's what!
I'll end up, as usual, phoning the surgery and pleading for a same-day appointment.
Of all the unpopular Government initiatives NOT to be cast aside by me is the one that recommends local GP surgeries should be open weekends and evenings.
I know my body. I know my lifestyle. I know when I may need antibiotics.
It will be my own fault when the moment arrives, but arrive it will...
Monday night: I was first in the queue at Tesco in Honiton this morning - to ensure I get the concluding episodes of Pride and Prejudice. I'm just about to watch them, having typed up 12 stories from tonight's Honiton Town Council meeting. I'm seeing my doctor at 4.30pm, after deadline. While I'm there, I'll be pointing out the lump that has appeared on my face. It isn't a spot, I fear.
MY fellow 'quitter', Heidi, has made it.
Unlike me, she has breezed through the final stage of the SmokeStop course to almost being a non-smoker.
Yes, she's on the final hurdle - the dot-sized nicotine patch that is the last step in an addict's quest to become 'free'.
When she showed it to me, my eyes almost popped out of my head.
The patch is the same size as a corn plaster.
It took me back to the time when I actually had a 'corn'. It was so painful, I was certain only surgery could cure me of the agony.
When I was presented with a tiny, circular plaster, I could have cried.
"How is this going to help?" my inner-self screamed.
By God, I soon found out my questioning was ill-placed. The little plaster was a miracle worker. It drew out a big lump of hard skin and I've never looked back.
Maybe, the last stage of becoming a non-smoker is similar.
I'll let you know - as soon as Heidi tells me!
I'M a tad disappointed that the Midweek Herald has not been banned from Zimbabwe.
Although the newspaper is only distributed in East Devon and West Dorset, it does cover the affairs of all those in the patch - including people who have been jailed by bogus president Robert Mugabe. His regime has banned the BBC.
The Reverend Merfyn Temple, a retired Methodist minister from Honiton, was imprisoned for speaking out about Mugabe's tyranny in 2005. At the time, Mr Temple was 86 years old.
Although now 89, he is one of the most informed and impassioned local voices on the present day crisis in Zimbabwe.
Mr Temple wants Mugabe to face trial at The Hague - for crimes against his own people.
We have reported Mr Temple's views. We are unable to access Mr Mugabe for a reply.
When I agonised over my page 2 report of Mr Temple's imprisonment, a colleague quipped: "The Midweek Herald will be banned from Zimbabwe."
Everyone in the newsroom laughed.
Suddenly, I recalled the recent case of a Worksop man (Entwistle) convicted of double murder in America. To ensure non-biased reporting, the small weekly newspaper in Worksop sent a reporter to America to cover the trial. Honest!
As I read the reporter's daily web reports and admired her video clips, including one of a fire engine racing up to the court steps following an alarm sound, I could see myself there. I could envisage the Midweek Herald crossing borders of such magnitude that maybe a camel should be placed on order.
Then it hit me - I haven't got a passport!
Any unlikely foreign assignment would have to go to my Axe Valley reporter, Angela Brennan, who could fly off at a moment's notice. (She's just raced into the newsroom after two days in Germany.)
I rarely venture past Cribbs Causeway, you see. I know practically every street across the West Country - in case I'm ever called upon to cover them as a reporter - but the wider world is unfamiliar territory. I holiday every year, with no complaints, at The Toorak Hotel in Torquay. Occasionally, I venture as far as The Rembrant in Weymouth. (I've got a cat, so I can't go too far.)
Up until last Thursday, I thought my lack of travel could be viewed as a form of ignorance. I'm feeling more upbeat about my preferred stomping grounds - thanks to a captain of industry.
I spent last Thursday afternoon with the managing director of a world-renowned factory. Although his business falls slightly outside the Midweek Herald's patch, he specifically approached me to talk about a matter dear to his heart.
During our meeting, he revealed he lives in Midweek territory. We picked over last week's paper together and, obviously, came across the page 2 story about Mr Temple's imprisonment.
I told the businessman about the office joke and admitted my great failing of not owning a passport.
He replied: "Do you know, I'm a bit like you? I rarely travel past Bristol."
How's that for solidarity? An international businessman preferring to stay 'local'!
The Midweek Herald doesn't venture much past the Devon border with Somerset.
What if the Herald WAS banned from Zimbabwe? What could I say in response?
Probably loads, because that's ME.
Meanwhile, it would be great to do a telephone interview with Mr Mugabe!