A few months ago we went over to see Helen’s Parents, just before we set off back the petrol gauge was over quarter of a tank, now I know that car eats petrol, but this was ridiculas only 5 minutes into our journey back the car started to jerk, guess what, and if you guess wrong then you must be slow…………… Yep the petrol was running out, well I think it actually was out, we must of been running on fumes, shame the car doesn’t run on fart power, we could of gone for miles then

We rolled up just before a roundabout, I could of set the bloody thing on fire, as just over the roundabout and up a small hill was a petrol station, it was out of sight but I knew it was there. Now I had a brainstorm, it wasn’t anything genius in fact I think it sounds rather dumb now, I just figured if I got the car over the roundabout and onto the start of the hill, if there was anything in the tank at all then it may fall to the back of the tank.

So Helen sits in the drivers seat and I start to push, there’s a car coming down the hill to the roundabout a good distance away, enough time to get the car over the roundabout however Helen then decided otherwise and hits the breaks. It had only taken me all my time to get the bloody thing to role and I ain’t exactly the fittest person in the world, just the thought of exercise makes me sweat and pant for breath.

After that devastating stop, my heart beating ten to dozen, the car passes and I’m pushing again, over the roundabout we go and onto the incline, until I couldn’t push any more. Helen moved over to the passengers side, I jumped in and then as if by magic the car started, we juddered to the top of the hill, round the next roundabout and into the petrol station.

I felt like shit for the rest of the evening and the following few days, for some reason I lost my enjoyment for smoking that day and yes before I really enjoyed it before, now it was different noticed how often I got out of breath, I was needing breath after just running to the top of the stairs now that’s just not right. Obviously this got me thinking more about my father too, whom died just over 2 years ago from terminal lung cancer.

Even though I was no longer enjoying the smoke, I still continued to do so, the addiction just never let up.

Something had to give, so I phoned the doctors and they put me in touch with this ‘stopping smoking clinic’, made an appointment and then popped along a few days later the pharmacy ripped me of for some £6.85 which apparently is a bargain for the nicorette inhalator.

I still had the occasional few fags, and couldn’t stop however for some strange reason last Friday the need stopped, perhaps it’s more psychological as the craving continues.

Now it’s been a week and two days since I last had a ciggie.

I could murder one right now, but lets not.