Start, stop, start, stop, start again...
18 years old when I had my first one. A Consulate, if I remember rightly - menthol, otherwise known as 'starters tabs'. I quite enjoyed it, despite having vowed I would never do it - my mum smoked, and I hated it. Hated the smell, but probably more importantly, really hated being woken up at 7 o'clock in the morning by her to go and buy some from the only place open at that time in the morning - half a mile away.

In winter. In the fucking dark. I think I was about 9 at the time.

Flash-forward a few years and I'm at college. Recently split from my first love, who also smoked, and which I relentlessly nagged her to stop doing - maybe that's why she dumped me? So one night, having been on a particularly heavy session, I bummed said Consulate from my mate, and there started a few months of irregular weed inhalation.

Then I stopped, quite suddenly. Don't know why, but I did. Never missed it, once.

Flash forward again about 13 years. History repeats itself, I've just split from the ex wife and am indulging in a heavy social lifestyle, drinking myself into a stupor most nights and being late for work the next day. It happens again - this time on a works training course in Cheltenham. There's a group of us from the same office, a couple of whom smoke socially.

Again I blag a cigarette, this time from Dave - Marlboro light. Again I enjoy it, but this time my head spins and after a few more, I'm feeling quite dizzy from the combination of alcohol and nicotine. The next morning, I threw up violently in the hotel bathroom. I spent the rest of the day, on the training course (curiously it had a self-discipline theme to it), feeling decidedly ill and not a little spaced out.

But then, the social life kicked in big time. Anytime there was a Newcastle game on, I'd join Dave and some of his mates in the pub, and we'd smoke and drink ourselves to oblivion, regardless of the result. This was at the time when Newcastle seemed to win an awful lot of games though - 6-1 against Everton (I think - I was very very drunk) was a high point.

A couple of months later, I stopped, and once more didn't really miss it. Some months later, however, I got a call from Dave. He and his mates were on a night out in my town of residence, and forced me to come and join them. A good night was had, and we ended up in the town's one (at the time) late night establishment, HQ. A meat market, basically, and not a place I would usually go. But what the hell, I hadn't seen Dave for a few months, he having moved jobs, and I was having a good time. Plus, 2 o'clock licence = more beer, and I wasn't remotely drunk yet - by this stage in my life, it took a hell of a lot to get me rubber-legged, and I was up for more.

And then it happened. Dave got chatting to a bunch of women on a night out, and decided that one of the group would be right for me. Or I would be right for her. We got chatting, me somewhat nervously, having not really chatted to a woman in that context recently. Mostly I just dived in there and ended up regretting it in the morning. But this seemed different...

Possibly sensing my nervousness, she offered me a cigarette. A Marlboro Red, which I accepted. It blew my brains out, literally - these things can make your lungs bleed from 10 paces. We smoked, we chatted, we smoked some more. Her friends left, Dave and his mates went to get their minibus home, and we were left alone.

More beer, more smokes, more chat ensued. I felt relaxed, more than I had for some time. She had missed her lift home, I lived just up the street (literally a 2 minute walk away). I suggested she come back to mine for a coffee and she could ring a cab, she agreed. Off we went.

We did just have coffee, and ended up listening to Iggy Pop and the Cult. Oh, and having some more smokes. We agreed to meet up the following week, and off she went when her taxi came 40 minutes later.

My smoking became a bit more regular then, but only at weekends. Until about 6 months later, when I realised that Consulates were still available, and I moved off the Marlboro reds (too harsh), and returned to my first love - menthols.

Five years later, I'm still on them... anything so minty can't be doing any harm, can it..?

And that's how I met Tourette's, and how she permanentley corrupted me...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 19 Mar 2008, 23:20, 1 reply)

Hmm... HQ
Fondly known by most of the locals as "Whores & Queers" as most folk round here think "whore" starts with an "h". Honestly.

Bloody awful place - Davros & I both detest the place. But that night he was dragged in by his mates, and likewise, the bunch of lasses with whom I was out forced me in...

That should have been on the "karma" question t'other week innit.

p.s. My first ciggie was also a Consulate. Which was bummed. The first packet I bought was "More" menthol 100's. oh so coooooool...
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 19 Mar 2008, 23:41, closed)