| Sunday, December 08, 2002 |
 | Jesus - oneof the definite disadantages of being a smoker who doesn't smoke is that you assume your body will still treat cigarette smoke with the same callous indiference that it did when you were regularly filtering a constant slow stream of the cancer-causing gascum into your lungs on a daily basis. Between Friday (shuttling between seeing Paul and co., and a late-arriving Summoning at Garlic and Shots) and Saturday (a long time percolating gently in a pub in Kentish Town), I was setting myself up for a fall, and duly got it, hard, in the neck. Woken after 4 hours' sleep at 6am, I realised that my throat had closed up. Somewhat perturned, I doused the affected area liberally in water and self-pity, only to find that I could not get a wink more sleep. So, at present, I feel throaty and exhausted, and somewhat in need of a companionable Will-and-Bran-style hair-ruffling.
Perhaps quitting in December was an unwise decision. But I can count half a dozen fellow spirits whowill join me in january. It'll be like an emphysemic fellowship of the Ring. Fellowship of the Smoke Ring, possibly.
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