Today, I’m going to talk about smoking and my on/off relationship with cigarettes. A quick note, just on the off chance any international readers peruse this post: I may use the term “fag(s)” throughout. This isn’t an offensive term; it’s how Brits sometimes refer to cigarettes. Actually – now I think about it – is this a British thing? It’s certainly prevalent in London/South East. I’m trying to recall if I’ve ever heard someone from elsewhere in Britain use the word “fags”. I can imagine hearing it from someone from Birmingham, perhaps? Possibly Yorkshire? On the other hand, I can’t imagine hearing the word in a Scouse or Geordie accent, as a couple of examples. No idea what they say in Northern Ireland, Scotland, or Wales either. I can say with some authority that it is definitely a south east England thing. Not such a quick note after all…
Recently, someone I hadn’t seen for quite a while remarked that I wasn’t smoking and asked me when I quit. I was genuinely stumped by this question, for two reasons. One, it’s not something I think about; it wasn’t a big event, I just one day finished a pack of fags and decided not to buy another pack. I didn’t make note of the date, because I had no intention of counting down the days/weeks without a cigarette; I knew I could quit, because I had before. The second reason was that I don’t properly consider myself to have quit. I’d say my current consumption is between 5-10 cigarettes per year. Half a pack in a year is about as far removed from being a regular smoker as you can get (discounting complete nonsmokers of course). But I still feel like a smoker.
Do you know who I think does the best depiction of a smoker on TV? You’re probably imagining a character from a gritty crime drama or perhaps a British show from the 80s or 90s. But my answer is: Chandler Bing. The Friends character almost perfectly sums up what being a smoker is like for me. He goes years without touching a cigarette, but all it takes is being in close proximity to a smoker, and all of his old urges come flooding back. I’m not quite as bad; I can hang around other smokers and not be tempted in the slightest. But the urges never really go away.
It’s really difficult to explain. At the risk of offending alcoholics, the best way I can describe it is similar to how someone might not touch a drop of booze for 20 years, but they might still consider themselves an alcoholic. I think I’ll always consider myself a smoker, even if I go a long time without smoking. I don’t need to smoke full time; I’m quite content just having the occasional one here and there.
I monitor myself quite closely though. As most smokers probably know, it’s a real slippery slope. One fag a month can easily become one fag a week. One fag a week can easily become one a day. Before you know it, you’re back smoking full time. That’s how I started smoking in the first place. I guess I’ve got a bit ahead of myself. Let’s go back to the start.
Paris, circa 2003. This story isn’t anywhere near as interesting as that opening just made it sound. I was around 15 years old and on a school trip. One of my classmates offered me a puff on their cigarette. Not wanting to look lame, I dutifully obliged. Now, this episode shouldn’t entirely be put down to peer pressure; I was curious to try smoking, just to see what all the fuss was about. This was my first real opportunity. And it was… disgusting.
I’m sure there are some smokers who liked smoking from that very first puff. Not me. I pretended to enjoy it – thinking it would make me look cool – but it wasn’t for me. And I never touched a cigarette again… for about three years.
I don’t know what it is about alcohol, but it turns people into smoking machines. Smokers smoke more than usual and – most bizarrely of all – nonsmokers smoke. The latter sometimes class themselves as “social smokers”. I guess I fell into this category myself. That was until I started working full-time.
When I started my first proper job, I joined a team of smokers. I was only the fourth member of the team, but the other three all smoked. This posed a problem for me for two reasons. Firstly, it was the slight unfairness of it. For anyone who hasn’t worked in an office, you may not be aware that smokers get the added perk (in all offices I’ve worked in) of being able to go for a smoke break almost whenever they want. I don’t have a problem with this – I was certainly fine with it once I started smoking – but it does seem a little like nonsmokers are punished with extra work because they don’t have a habit that’s bad for their health.
Anyway, I was new to the workforce and I wasn’t going to complain about staying in to work whilst my teammates took various breaks throughout the day. But the second problem for me was team nights out. We’d go out for drinks at least once a week. And of course, going out with smokers meant that at some point between starting the first pint and finishing the second (and then many points after that), someone would suggest going out for a fag. I obviously wasn’t going to stand around in the pub by myself, so out I went. My teammates – being the generous souls that they were – would offer me a cigarette. We got into a bit of a routine where they would rotate who gave me a cigarette, so it wasn’t always falling on one person. And this is where the problem really started.
Guilt. I felt guilty about taking fags consistently from them all. Cigarettes aren’t exactly cheap (though they were certainly cheaper back then!). So I came up with an ingenious workaround: why not buy my own cigarettes? I know that sounds obvious, but if you’ve ever spent a lot of time with a social smoker, you’ll know that actually paying for their own fags is usually the furthest thought from their mind.
So there we are. Problem solved, right? I’d buy a pack before a night out, I’d smoke as many as I wanted, and then they’d get tucked away until my next night out. The funny thing is though, with the cigarettes in my pocket, I started to hear a voice in my head. Don’t worry, I didn’t have a psychotic break; the voice in my head was my own. In hindsight, I suppose you might say the voice in my head was addiction. “Someone’s sent me a bit of an arsey email at work? Better go outside, have a fag and cool down before responding.” Or, “got a tight deadline and the stress is getting on top of me? Better go smoke before tackling the rest of your work.” Before I knew it, my smoking had snowballed and I was smoking throughout the day, whether there was a “good” reason or not.
With experience, it all seems so obvious. Because – as anyone who has spent time with smokers will tell you – there’s always a reason to smoke. Here are some of the most common reasons:
- I’m stressed
- I’m relaxed
- I’m sad
- I’m happy
- I’m bored
- I’m excited
- I’ve just eaten
- I’m hungry
In the end, there’s really only one reason for smoking. Because you want one. And that’s ok. If you’ve never touched a cigarette, well done; I’d advise you to never start smoking. If you’ve quit smoking, well done; I know how hard it is, keep up the good work. If you did quit, but now you’ve started again, don’t beat yourself up; you’ve quit once, you can do it again when you’re ready. If you smoke and you have no intention of quitting, that’s fine too; keep going if you’re happy. And if you’re a social smoker: buy some f****** fags once in a while! Please.
Thanks for reading. Bonus points for you if you read this on a smoke break. Back next week. Until then.
A Rob Blog 