Eurovision 2010

Just had a top night watching this year's Eurovision Song Contest. The competition was pretty good this year - no outstanding entries, but solid, I thought. Highlights of the night were the Greeks with their mixture of butch tribalness and Belarus' beautiful butterfly costumes. It was won by the Germans, so next year's competition will take place in Germany. I haven't been back to Germany since I lived there - If it's possible to get tickets, I might seriously think about going along - it's on my list of things to do before I die. (Quite low down, though). Anyhoo, here are some pictures - only two of us went in fancy dress (well done Ruth!), I had to explain my efforts to the younger ones (I went as Uncle Bulgaria, in case you're wondering). Fortunately, nobody seems to have taken a picture of my grey furry chaps.

Reasons Not to Listen to your Mother #2156

I have a skin tag on my neck, which looks a bit like a mole and my mother has been going on at me for months to let her freeze it off. Finally, last weekend, I consented and allowed her to attempt to freeze it off. And the result is, I now still have a skin tag - it just no longer looks like a mole. Now it looks like a very small erect penis. On my neck. Thanks. for. that.

I'm not saying I have a large penis. But I am implying it

Just back from a fun weekend spent with my family in Ipswich - culminating in a visit to the O2 Arena to watch the WWE wrestling. Now, I actually quite like wrestling. Watching it, I mean. So I was so excited when we got the tickets, I told everyone that I would only go if we went in fancy dress.

I decided to rework an old favourite, so my character was Giant Mansacks. Seemed like such a good idea at the time, until my sister (who's been before) told me that NO ONE else dresses up and they all take it VERY seriously.

On the night, both me and my nephew Jake got dressed up and I was slightly worried that our irreverent costumes might annoy a few people... But I needn't have worried. Aside from a few embarrassed parents trying not to explain to their 6-year old children what 'mansacks' were, most people took it in good spirit. And the guest presenter was David Hasselhoff!

So, here are some choice photos of the night.

Shit and Run

You know life does have a way of really testing you when you don't really need any more testing, thank you very much. Went outside my house today and some utter shit has smashed my car up. I cannot understand how it's happened, though - the damage is on the side by the pavement, not the road. It's either someone that can't park and has done a runner or a pissed-up kick. Utter, utter bastards.

I tell you, if I got my hands on them, it'd be like watching a stoat in a bucket of kittens. So long as they were tied firmly to a chair and couldn't hit me back, obviously.

Permission to be mightily embarrassed, Sir?

Permission granted. Aaaaaarrrrghh! I really should be banned from going near a computer when I'm stopping smoking. Of course my dark mood has flown as quickly as it came, and today I am left sheepishly reflecting on a rather melodramatic outpouring of self-indulgent nonsense. Again.

Still, it's good to know that I'm not actually mental. And it's a useful point of reference if I have another crisis to know that is isn't actually real. But now I'm in virgin territory - I really don't know what comes next. It's different when you're giving up because of someone else and I've usually fallen over by now. I'm hoping that's it and I've cracked it, but I'm not going to bank on it. That's just what it wants me to think...

So it's back to normality and apologies for those of you that actually read through it all.

The Spell is Broken, Crisis Averted

Phew. I was ambushed last night by an overwhelming and surprising need to smoke and I was totally unprepared for it. I managed not to smoke, obviously, but it gave me such terribly sad dreams (thanks for nothing, subconscious) that I awoke feeling unbelievably low. I can laugh about it now, but it felt pretty damn real at the time. It was the usual stopping smoking stuff - life is rubbish, you feel crap, you can't cope with it, what you really need is a cigarette, that will make it all better...

Fortunately, I decided to do something about it rather than mope about the house in a cloud of self-pity. I went to Aldi and bought misshapen vegetables, I went for a four-mile walk around Burrator, I made myself a full Sunday roast and I made a huge pot of my special soup to eat during the week. Lovely.

And that did the trick, it got me out of the melancholy in which I'd somehow managed to find myself. It's so weird that it can get me like that, it's like a veil of deception slowly descends and makes you see life in a very different way to how you normally do. It makes you forget what's real and what's not.

It's bizarre, because I'm actually feeling really quite positive about things at the moment. I've stopped smoking (and everyone who knows me will appreciate how important that is for me). I'm living healthily, with proper food and actual real-life exercise and I'm even enjoying it (mostly). Work is better now than it has been for about two years - I've already done more business this year than I did in the whole of last year. Sams is going well, I've got my fundraising mojo back and I'm three weeks into a new training group. I have a tremendous group of friends, both new and old. On the whole, life is pretty good.

On the relationship front, which was the battleground of the latest attack, I'm also feeling pretty comfortable. I've been single for nearly a year and a half and although of course I'd like to eventually meet the girl of my dreams, I'm in no rush to jump into anything. I know what I want and what I don't want. It has to be right, on both sides, and sooner or later, someone I think is brilliant will also think I'm brilliant. Until that point, I'll just carry on being brilliant on my own.

It's just that when the smoking veil of deception is lowered... I forget all of that, I really do. I suddenly feel terribly lonely, insecure, rejected, incapable, demotivated, inadequate, helpless and hopeless... followed by the sickening realisation that the only thing I really have in my life is a cigarette. And that is really how it gets me, often without any real basis whatsoever. It's like being under a magic spell or hypnosis. And it really does take a superhuman effort to snap myself out if it and get back to reality. And when I do, it's actually like waking up from a bad dream, you can't quite believe that you felt like that.

That's one of the reasons why I write these little updates - they're probably not of much use or interest to anyone else but me, but they do enable me to remember what's important when the veil descends. Because it can be frightening - it's so real at the time and yet it's absolutely not me at all. There's a part of you that is in some way aware of what's going on, but no matter how loud you shout, you just can't break the spell.

Fortunately, I'm not the only one. Having spoken to a few ex-smokers and to others who are in the process of stopping smoking, it would appear that my experience is not unique. And that's really quite reassuring to hear, to know that I'm not actually going mad - and that it does go away eventually. Someone has told me that by three months, you're normally out of the woods and into the clear. I'm about halfway there, madness permitting.

One last thing - I will allow myself a modicum of pride - I have managed to overcome the six-week hurdle, which has made me fall so many times in the past. I managed to shake myself out of it, to break the spell and come out of the other side. I'd like that to be the last attack, please, but we'll see. Onwards and upwards.

Below the Belt on Valentines Day...

Yup, it's another smoking update. I'm nearly at week 6 of stopping smoking and I've reached the point where the vast majority of my previous attempts to stop have failed. I don't know why it is, but around the six-week mark, the smoking bug just creeps back into my head and I can really, really feel it trying to force its way in. Like menstruating at Castle Dracula, this is a very, very dangerous period.

It was around this time in December that my last attempt failed - back then, I was working nights which made me overtired. This in turn - coupled with smoking withdrawals - made me overemotional, which made me want to smoke. And rather than it being a craving of wanting to smoke, it felt like a fact that it was only a matter of time before I would smoke. Not a fear, not a desire, but a hard, cold, undeniable fact. And no matter how much I tried to dismiss it, not acting on it felt as futile as saying I would never eat or breathe again. I genuinely felt like I didn't have a choice, all I was doing was delaying the inevitable.

This time it's different. Not because I feel different, because I don't. I feel just as vulnerable as I did back in December, perhaps even more so. And I can feel it once more, checking for cracks, looking for a weakness to exploit, trying to get me to recognise the futility of believing I can stop. Tonight, incidentally, it's trying to get me on Valentines Day, trying to get me to reflect on love lost and rejection. It would be so easy to follow that path, to immerse myself in melancholy and misery - it's not fair and it's below the belt. And yet I know where that path will lead. And that's why this time it's different.

It's different because I realise that this is actually just smoke and mirrors. I am normally a tremendously positive person, comfortable with myself and my surroundings, I'm not a particularly insecure person - the only time I get in any way maudling or self-doubting is when it comes to smoking. The physical dependency of smoking is broken within days of stopping - the psychological dependancy takes much, much longer and it undermines my very being until I eventually break. I can't believe that it's taken me this long to really appreciate that.

The complicated thing about all this is that it's hard to tell what's real emotion and what's smoking-related nonsense. I think that there is an element of reality, but that it's magnified manifold by smoking's desire to break me. It's funny - many non-smokers think that smokers are weak. If only they knew the psychological battle we face and the mental strength needed to overcome it.

In the past I have been able to stop smoking, but it's often been for other people. This time I've broken that link and I'm doing it just for me. That's a good thing, and I know that when I do break the psychological hold it has over me, it will taste all the sweeter.

Whatever happens, I will not smoke. It can break me into a thousand pieces, I will not smoke. Because this time I have finally seen it for what it is, it's a con act, an illusion, a simple trick which I have always fallen for - I stop smoking, it makes me feel crap, I dig in, it keeps making me feel crap, eventually I crack and then I smoke. Finally I have worked it out and I will simply not react to it.

In some ways, it feels like I am trapped in a cold, dark cell, with walls of thick, grey stone. And yet if I look closely, the walls are just cinematic props, made of paper. I just have to recognise that, remember that and punch my way through. It's going to take some time, but for the first time ever, I now have a cold, hard, undeniable fact of my own: whatever the question, smoking is not the answer.

Run Fatboy Run

Well, I'm a month into my training routine for the Plymouth Half Marathon and truth be told, I've hit a bit of a snag. See, I have never really run in my life - and I only stopped smoking just over a month ago, so my initial level of fitness isn't the best. I found a running schedule for beginners on the internet to prepare for a half marathon in 20 weeks and I can't keep up. Or more to the point, my fitness isn't improving fast enough to keep up with the schedule. I guess there are 'normal beginners' and then there's me.

To be fair to my already dented pride, I always thought the schedule was ambitious, to say the least. To go from wheezing, smoking couch potato to running for 30 minutes without stopping in just 6 weeks was simply never going to happen, no matter how many ice baths I take. And I haven't missed a session in the last 5 weeks or so since I started, no matter how much I hurt - I just can't progress at the level I should be according to the schedule.

At first glance, this may appear to be yet another 'Chez in massively over-ambitious and highly unrealistic doomed to fail plan shocker', but it won't be. I am training when I need to, I just need to take it more at my own pace and develop naturally and organically, rather than by some off the peg plan. The plan works on paper, but is simply unrealistic in real life.

So I have thrown it in the bin and got a more realistic plan from a friend who's recently got into running herself - I've tweaked my diet to be a bit more training-friendly - and now that my fitness is better, I'm ready to go to the gym to build up a bit of muscle so my shell-shocked body can handle it a bit better. And I'm still doing the ice baths - my legs would have fallen off by now without them. Seriously, they're not as bad as you think. Well, they are, but you get used to it.

And the marathon? Well, my plan is to not worry about it too much, just gradually keep increasing my fitness. And I suspect that if I am able to do that, to the point where I can run for more than half an hour without stopping - well, I will run, walk and crawl my way round if I have to.

Fags for Nothing

Today I have reached the magical three week mark of stopping smoking, and as such, I am now officially no longer mental. Therefore, unless the absolutely unthinkable happens (which it won't), there will be no more smoking updates. Simply assume that I'm still not smoking unless you hear otherwise (which you won't). And believe me, if I do fall over again (which I won't), the fallout will make Chernobyl look like a birthday candle (although hopefully with fewer dead sheep).

Marval-ous

Just spent a short mini-break with friends in la belle France and managed not to smoke for the whole time I was out there. What was especially pleasing was the fact that many of my old triggers were there and I wasn't the slightest bit tempted.

On the first night, I only had one hour's sleep, which left me feeling massively overtired and therefore a little bit emotionally fragile. This was what got me last time, but this time, I managed to not react like a petulant infant. Throughout the weekend, I was in the company of three people that were smoking and there was also a fair amount of alcohol. Although I was careful on the alcohol side, I didn't find that drinking or being around smokers made me want to smoke. I was tremendously pleased about that.

All things being considered, I felt pretty good about it all. Wednesday will be the three-week magic mark and hopefully bring an end to the emotional turmoil I always get in those first three weeks. I'm feeling overtired again this evening and therefore still a bit wide-eyed (it's amazing how lack of sleep really does affect me) but it's nothing a good night's sleep won't sort out and I should be completely back to normal by Wednesday.

I'm hoping that my brain doesn't find something wonderfully interesting and yet strangely pointless to occupy itself with tonight. Last night, having spent the evening reading a book about eco-houses and do-it-yourself builds, I was awake until around 3 in the morning imagining how I would build a yurt complex around a giant tree. I pondered over the idea of incorporating a double-decker bus into the scheme - it's always been a bit of a dream of mine to convert and live in a double-decker bus. I decided that I would try to include it, if at all possible, perhaps somewhere in the centre.

After spending around half an hour trying to work out the logistics of the composting toilet, I remembered that I don't actually own any land (with or without a giant tree) or a bus and am not likely to in the foreseeable future. And with that, I turned over and finally went to sleep. Still, it's good to have dreams, eh? Something to work towards - so long as the dreams don't keep me awake all night.

Oh, and France? We were in Marval, which is erm, in the middle of France somewhere. We spent a couple of days in a beautiful house with our friend's mum, which was wonderful (thanks Fred!). I ate my own bodyweight in cheese and loveliness, went to a market, bought some tea, discovered the wonders of a raclette (I've never had so much fun cooking a tiny omelette) and I saw a real-life leopard-skin horse (at first I thought it was a zebra, but instead of stripes, it had spots).

All in all, a top weekend. Great company, great surroundings, good food, no slip-ups and I even managed to stick to my new running routine when I was out there. I'm sad to see Anna once more head off for distant shores... Still, if I can just get my work stuff back on track, there's a holiday in the Maldives with my name written on it...

The Running Man

I am now in my second week of training for the Plymouth Half Marathon, and things are indeed hotting up. I did about two miles today (half walk, half run) and my fitness is already starting to improve. And bizarrely, I actually really enjoyed it. I mean yes, it was hard, I thought my legs were going to fall off and yes, I did have to really push myself, especially at the end. But I found myself smiling once I'd finished, and I was deliriously happy and rather hyper for about 2 hours afterwards. In fact, it felt almost exactly like being on ecstacy, I should imagine.

Afterwards, I tried a new thing, which I was tremendously excited about. I tried an ice bath. You have to remember, I haven't run since, well, never. And after the first couple of training sessions, my poor underused muscles were screaming. Not just afterwards, I'm talking about three days later, when it was time to do the next training session. Then I remembered Eddie Izzard got through his marathons with ice baths, so I did a bit of research. And apparently ice baths really do help.

So I emptied a bag of ice into the bath and filled it with cold water. I'm thankful that no-one was in the house at that time, they would have thought I was being raped by an eskimo. I have never experienced anything quite like it. It wasn't too bad once I got used to it, but the first five minutes or so - well, it would have been less painful if I'd punched myself in the nuts. With a hammer. With a spike in it. Whilst on fire. With a steam iron tied to my cock.

However, the effect was simply magical. My throbbing legs hurt no more, there was no stiffness whatsoever (not surprising in water that cold). And the best bit of all - an hour later, when I had a hot shower, every single nerve in my body tingled. It was exactly like having a shower on speed, I should imagine.

I think the biggest surprise of all of this is that I'm actually starting to enjoy it and incredibly, I'm actually looking forward to the next one. I always thought that getting fit was something you sort of felt you should do, but it wouldn't be much fun and would probably hurt quite a lot. A bit like having sex with Madonna or punching Bono.

And that's the reason why I signed up for the marathon. I thought if I signed up for something and then told everyone I was going to do it sponsored for Samaritans - I wouldn't allow myself not to do it, for fear of letting people down and the shame of admitting I actually have no mental grit or discipline. I never thought for a second that I'd actually enjoy any of it.

Oh, and smoking? Yes, I do still think of it from time to time. And I'm not quite ready to be surrounded by it. But it's a lot easier and I have without a doubt cracked it. Yup, all in all, 2010 is shaping up to be a good year.

I love the smell of permanent marker in the morning. It smells like victory.

OK, so it's day whatever on the stopping smoking front and that's quite a good sign. When you forget how long it's been since you stopped (I think it's about nine or ten days), you know you're really on the way up. Next milestone is the three week stage, which is when proper normality should resume. I do still get the odd faint urge, plus the occasional bout of wibble. That should come to an end in about 10 days time. All I have to do now is just remember never to smoke ever again. Bizarrely, that's what's always got me in the past. However, I very much doubt that I will fall again. I am already starting to feel like a non-smoker.

Today was only my second training session for the Plymouth Half Marathon and I already hate running and want it to die. And I cannot find my yellow running trousers for love nor money, so I'm having to wear shorts. Although on reflection, that's probably not a bad thing. On the plus side, I did manage to do about a mile, so if I can just get fit enough to do that another 13 times in one go without collapsing, I should be fine.

I have to admit, though - the best bit about it is getting back in the house and putting a big black cross through the training schedule date I have pinned to my mirror. There's something very satisfying about putting a big black cross through anything.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually going to get fit. The last time I got fit was purely by accident and completely out of laziness. I was at university and lived around an hour's walk from campus. My bike was stolen after about three days, so I had to walk in. Uni started at around 9am, and that meant getting up at around 7.30 to be on time. Invariably, I'd end up staying in bed til about 8.30 and then would have to run to try to avoid being too late.

I quickly realised that the fitter I was - and the more I could run - meant the longer I could stay in bed. So I ended up running to Uni every morning (in Doc Martens and a leather jacket, incredibly) and became really very fit indeed. Until I eventually realised that a moped was even faster and meant even more time in bed, and that was the end of that.

This may well be the first time I will ever get fit out of choice. I will keep you informed as to the developments.

Five is the Magic Number

Big sigh of relief all round as I have reached the first smoking milestone - the magical Day Five. Day five is the day when the cravings subside, a level of normality returns and I stop being quite so melodramatic.

I still have some way to go before I reach the next milestone of three weeks, so I'm not out of the woods just yet. But in general it's a much milder and more subtle form of madness - more hapless than Hamlet, you could say. But the bare-chested, mano-a-mano battle is over and for that, I am grateful.

Actually, this is the first day I've been able to feel positive about stuff this year. It's taken ten days, but slowly I feel like I'm starting to get my head above water and make some progress. I've made some amazing curried soup for work tomorrow, I've bought some running shoes for the Half Marathon I'll be doing in May (plus found a total beginners plan to do it) and I'm really starting to feel good on the smoking front. Thank you for all your kind words of support.

I don't want to tempt fate - but whisper it quietly, the boy might be back on the way up. In no time at all I'll be back to nob gags and terrible puns. Happy belated 2010.

The Morning After the Night Before

Ahem. This morning I am feeling mildly sheepish about my nicotine withdrawal-fuelled emotional outpouring last night. There is always a moment when I stop smoking where I feel that I am going to fail and I am going to smoke. I feel that it is simply inevitable and I might as well just go out and buy cigarettes right now. And that's the point when you really do have to dig deep, to keep fighting even though you feel that you have a 0% chance of success. To keep fighting when all hope is lost really does require an enormous amount of mental strength.

Bizarrely, that's what non-smokers can never understand. Smokers are not all weak-willed, ill-disciplined idiots. The thing about stopping smoking is that you have to have willpower and strength and never, ever have a moment of weakness for the rest of your life. It's no good being strong for 364 days a year, but weak for 1 - that one day will make you fail. Can you, as a non-smoker, imagine being mentally and emotionally strong without one minute of weakness ALL THE TIME, FOREVER? No matter what? Heartbreak, bad news, stress, worry... Yes, it gets easier over time - but you always have to be on your guard and that does take real discipline and inner strength.

Fortunately I managed to get through that last night and this morning things are looking a lot more positive. I'm not out of the woods just yet, but I can certainly see more daylight. And I'm feeling better too.

Incidentally, I do have something to hold onto for this - I would like to do the Plymouth Half-Marathon this year (which is on May 31st) and to do this, I need to be fit. Last time I wasn't smoking (in Portugal) I managed to walk 15 miles, so theoretically it's not impossible... What do you think? Reckon I'll do it?

Drawing Lines in the Sand

Arse and buggery, things are afoot this evening... As many of you know, I've been fighting the bastarding shitweasel that is nicotine for some considerable time, with mixed success. Last year I stopped in June sometime, only to fall over when I went to Portugal. I managed to stop again in November before the late nights of Royal Mail finally got me to fall again shortly before Xmas.

My last plan had been to stop again once and for all on January 1st, but sadly that was not to be as the fates conspired to block that attempt. However, I have pulled myself together and am currently on Day Three of what I am determined will be the last time I ever have to do this. And although it's never easy to stop smoking, tonight I am finding it particularly hard.

Usually when I stop smoking, I like to give myself a clear run up at it - I tend to pick a time when things are fairly relaxed and easy, and get through it by distracting myself and only thinking about light and fluffy things... But that's not how things are right now. Life is complex and distraction is pretty much impossible. So there are two choices - either keep smoking until things get easier or just get stuck in and fight it face to face.

I've decided to get stuck in, and so far I've been able to keep it at bay, although it's harder than it's ever been. Stopping smoking is like being in a concrete bunker during an alien spider invasion. You lock yourself in, but you can hear them hammering on every wall, every brick, every door, hammering every second of every day and night without stopping, trying to find a way inside. And there is no concrete bunker, except for the one you have crafted in your own mind. If the spiders find even the slightest weakness, they pour in and your bunker falls.

And tonight the walls feel very thin. It's so tempting to think I've chosen the wrong time, there is too much else going on around me to remain strong enough to do this. And yet at the same time, I feel that perhaps doing it now will make it more permanent. The harder it is, the less likely I am to give it up on a whim.

I am still sure that this will be the last time I do this. I have said that before, but this time it feels different. There have been times in my life when smoking has taken priority over the things that really mattered in my life. Never intentionally, of course - that's just the nature of any addiction. But realising that has really opened my eyes and it's something I never intend to repeat. So for that reason alone, failure is not an option.

And 2010 is going to be the line in the sand that I asked it to be - it's just that the line is not necessarily where I would have chosen to draw it. Still, writing this has helped tremendously and the walls now feel a little thicker. I'm sure this won't be the last time I struggle with this over the coming days and weeks - but it is without a doubt a new beginning and it should get easier, with time...

Oh, and I also mustn't forget - I am a total and utter drama queen in the first week of stopping smoking and everything is magnified tenfold. It's not easy dealing with anything when you have the emotional stability of a pre-menstrual jellyfish.

Wish me luck. I'll keep you updated.

Out with the Noughties, in with the Teenies

So 2009 is done and dusted and all I can say is thank god it's over. It has been at best a complicated year, at worst a downright shocker. There have been some positives - but sadly they have been rather outmuscled by the negatives. Still, the noughties are gone and it's onwards and upwards; we now look forward to what the teenies are going to bring...

Every New Year's Eve I say that I have high hopes for the year ahead - that's an occupational hazard of being a hopeless optimist. And this year is no different - except perhaps it's more of a quiet determination to implement change, without fanfare or fuss, rather than just blind optimism or wishful thinking. It's not the empty promise of a New Year's resolution, rather a resolve to start implementing the lessons I've had to learn the hard way.

I've made mistakes, and have paid for each and every one; at times I've been the architect of my malaise, and at other times I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's been a white-knuckle ride from start to finish and for all the wrong reasons. And yet I've learnt a lot, I've become stronger and I'm still here.

If nothing else, I've grown up a lot this year. In many ways, I've had to. You can't undo your mistakes, but you can take responsibility for them and try to learn from them. And you can't choose your fortune, good or bad; all you can do is take the rough with the smooth and try to do the best you can with what you're given.

So let's hope it is indeed a Happy New Year, both for me and for you, dear reader. And that 2010 smiles on us all.

Birthday Bonanza!

I've had a great couple of days, which climaxed in a rollercoaster birthday today. I've bought a camper van from Ebay (again. I know. Shut up.) and it's been rather an adventure.

The van - a mighty 2 litre Bedford CF2 in British racing green - was situated in Dover, so I decided to pay a visit to the mighty Tafkass in Folkestone on the way. Buoyed by my good fortune at finding a coach ticket from Plymouth to Folkestone for the paltry sum of £14, I set off on Tuesday morning in good spirits. And the good spirits continued upon my arrival in Folkestone, as we once again raped Taf's whisky collection.

Following a hearty vegetarian breakfast with the Ladies & Gentlemen of the road in Folkestone's finest Wetherspoons, we made our way to my new van. After an emotional goodbye, Taf dropped me off and I picked up my new purchase - the Baron. (so called as I will paint him red and he's empty inside).

Apart from reverse gear being where 1st gear should be (and therefore crunching the gearbox a few times on the way), my journey in the Baron was uneventful. As I reached the M25, my plan had been to drive straight home to Plymouth - but at the last minute, I suddenly decided to turn right to Ipswich instead, and make a surprise visit to my family.

Today was my birthday and it was great to spend it with my family for the first time in many years. And then finally it was time to head home - so I managed about a mile down the road before I suddenly broke down.

Oh no! The horror! For shame, to break down on my birthday! Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to also buy breakdown insurance (with my record on breaking cars and camper vans, it would be suicidal not to) so I called for help.

After the rozzers had nicely towed me off the dual carriageway (fortunately failing to see that my tax had actually run out in May - ahem), the cavalry arrived. Alas! My van was broken and he could not fix it. So he towed me back to the depot, whereupon he confirmed that I was to be towed back to Plymouth.

Down and deflated, I sat in the waiting room - another broken van. Another silly purchase. Another long journey on the back of a tow truck. Harumph. And off we set, some three hours later after I'd originally set off from my parents.

But all was not lost! The man in the van mentioned casually that my van wasn't actually broken - I'd just run out of petrol! And although we'd stuck a bit more petrol in it, the fuel pipe was just blocked with air. He'd cleared the blockage - and drove it onto the back of the tow truck. There was in fact nothing wrong with the van - he just fancied a trip to Plymouth.

Hurrah! So I saved a fair old whack in petrol home (it is a little thirsty on petrol, more thirsty than I had hoped), got back much quicker than the Baron would have done. And it doesn't need fixing.

As for the Baron - sadly, he's not quite wide enough for me to sleep in sideways, and is also a bit petrol-thirsty. So I have decided to kit him out as a proper camper van, get an MOT on him and sell him (hopefully for a considerable profit) back on Ebay.

So, all in all - I was disappointed to find out that the van wasn't really suitable for me and to break down - but all was well in the end. Let's hope that Friday the 13th is a little bit calmer than Thursday 12.

Three is the Magic Number

I've finally hit the magic three weeks of not smoking, although it actually feels like three months since I stopped. But three weeks is an important moment in not smoking - it's the time when the madness finally departs, when smoking stops being an integral part of your life and when you start being yourself again.

Oh don't get me wrong, I still have the odd urge - that quiet voice in your ear, the quietest of suggestions... And perhaps that never really leaves you, I don't know. And perhaps accepting and understanding that is what will stop me from falling over again in the future. I truly hope so. But right now, I'm just happy to have my head back and myself back.

It really is quite amazing how nicotine tries to get you to fall over in those first three weeks. It attacks on all fronts and can turn the most grounded and secure individual into a gibbering, fear-driven, clingy bundle of insecurity.

I am well and truly glad to see the back of it. Here's to a smoke-free lifetime. And if I ever end up smoking again, I will cut my own cock off.

Kemp Site

Today is indeed a day of days. My artistic folding of Ross Kemp's face has been selected for the Kemp Folds website. Simply entitled 'Zippy', visit the website to have a look. Feel free to post a comment, saying how brilliant it is.

http://kempfolds.blogspot.com/

Erm, Sorry about that.

Ahem. Your writer is feeling mildly sheepish today after this heartwrenching outburst yesterday on stopping smoking. It turns out I was simply overtired from not enough sleep. 10 solid days of getting up way too early, going to bed way too late and generally kicking the arse out of everything inbetween finally took its toll, turning me into a whining puddle of pathos. All it took was one good night's sleep and I'm back to feeling normal again. Yeah... sorry about that.

Thanks to everyone for the lovely messages of support and for those that did have to listen to my pathetic grizzling. I think the funniest thing of all is that when I am that overtired, just like any self-respecting 6-year old boy, I do take it really seriously. Thankfully I was able to get some good advice (you know who you are!) and then slept for 14 hours solid.

On a positive note, I do feel proud that I didn't fall over on the smoking thing and that stopping smoking wasn't actually the cause at all. Although I do need to perhaps take on a little bit less than I have been doing recently. Anyway, normal service has now been resumed and I will now stop whining like a bitch.

This is how sorry and sheepish I am.