I smoked fags. LOADS of them. Really strong ones, like you buy in bars in emergencies at 3 in the morning. But it was 9, in Dalston, and still I smoked. Loads and loads of fags. And I wasn't even drinking, because it was Brixton-to-Dalston and I'm unemployed and can't afford cabs and it takes hours and hours to get there on the tube and train and bus and that, so I drove. With half a burnt birthday cake and two tarts (not that kind) in the boot. Sensible, you know. Grown up. Like you do when you've decided to sort your life out because you find yourself going: "you twat" about lots of things you've been doing for years, and you're nearly 37 and should know better.
And then I stopped to buy some petrol and bought 10 fags in a packet, smoked two very fast, heard some music I've been avoiding by accident, and threw the packet and new lighter I also had to buy out of the window on Tulse Hill. I felt better after that. I reckon that's it now, and as I'm avoiding any situations that might make me want to smoke (e.g. work and gentleman callers), there really is no excuse.
That's that sorted then.
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5 comments:
Players Navy Cut. Unfiltered (There is no other sort).
Only ever purchased by 80-year old men who stink of rum, piss and spunk.
If you find yourself ordering a pack of them you are finished.
Oops.
Jesus
You sometimes say "You twat" when thinking about that stuff at 34, too. Perhaps I am just ahead of my time, no?
I tell you something, Favourite Friend In The Americas, if you're saying 'you twat' at 34, you're nearly 3 years ahead of me - and it'll save you 3 years of NONSENSE.
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