I know I have been banging on about this all week but today I wake up having not smoked for three months and I am fecking proud of myself. It did it via cold turkey so there is no legacy nicotine in my body from vaping, gum or patches.
It was playing soccer with a range of nephews and nieces aged 7 to 16 on St Valentine's Day that made me quit smoking. My lungs were burning after just a few minutes. I wanted to run but could not. Being outpaced by a 7 year old is just not on. Enough was enough.
And so today I will toil in the fields for a couple of hours. I am clearly not fit, that is a given. I've put on a few pounds during the past three months. But while my limbs ache it is that that forces me to take a break not any shortness of breath. My smokers cough has gone and apparently my circulation is improving while my blood sugar is falling. Just nine more months and apprently I will have more than halved my risk of a heart attack. Touch wood. It is all good news.
I do feel better and there is really virtually no desire to get back on the weed.
I say virtually as just now and again I find myself thinking gosh a fag would be great. But then I think that one would lead to twenty as it always has when I have given up before. And so I stay clean.
I hope that being back at the Greek Hovel will start to deal with the weight as well. Being here means only lunch and supper, no breakfast. It means a diet of Greek salads for both meals, it means physical labour every day - as opposed to once in a blue moon in Bristol - and then there is the nervous energy expended worrying about snakes and rats.
Maybe I should market the place as a health farm?