As ever the, normally, excellent V cars warns me that booking a cab at 4.20 AM for a 4.47 train is "at my own risk" as I really need to allow 45 minutes to get to Temple Meads from my home in Bristol. As ever I ignore them. The cab is early and we depart at 4.19 AM. By 4.25 AM I am standing outside the station. We got lucky with the lights. Sometimes it takes almost nine minutes.
In the old days this allowed me time for one leisurely fag before the station doors are opened up and I could wander in to buy a ticket and head to platform 3. Or sometimes, as today, platform 7. But as a non smoker of five and a bit weeks this is not a option.
I know what I am thinking about and also know that I should not be thinking of such wicked pleasures. It is not that I actually crave a fag it is just that I am thinking about one given where I am standing, in a smoking zone. I survive. Such cravings are getting rarer and I feel confident enough to go to London for a lunch where I know that there will be alcohol and at least three smokers. Or, as they should be known those heroes who lay down their lives to fund the NHS.
I am feeling strong and rather proud of myself on the smoking front. Tomorrow is my final sort out visit with the dentist and then as part of health kick 2016 it is an attempt to shed a few pounds and really get my blood sugars under control.
I do not reed the Government to raise taxes on any of these vices which I crave, the sugary foods, the fags, the booze, in order to change my behaviour. What I put into my body is my decision alone, the idea that Big Brother has to steal yet more of my hard earned cash to force self discipline on me is ludicrous.
I either want to try to be healthier or I do not and right now my choice is to try to do what the doctor suggests.