by Fabrice Bourgelle


I recently went away on holiday, and had such a distractingly beautiful time, that improbable as it seems, I forgot to smoke.

I’ve been on at least ten or twenty skinny cigarettes a day since around 2006, and clearly they’re a basic part of my routine. Anyone who’s come off them will be able to tell you, that after around a week, you become physically ill, as your body hastily begins to exhume the most colourful of the toxins that have become so entrenched and neighbourly, in your system. I didn’t have a smokers’ cough until I forgot to smoke.

I’m a stubborn, proud and obstinate sod, and I use this unattractive attribute to my advantage wherever possible. For now, for instance, it’s helping me to feel really good about being quite sick.

“Who’s… laughing… now…” Sort of thing.

So while watching the grey-brown gunk of my lung-butter pour down the drain, I’m free to wonder, delightedly, how many nights of anxiety, boredom, distress or general misery it represents, from over the seven-odd years, and indeed, the wages of how many Imperial Tobacco employees, who shared such transactions with me.

Anyway, I’m having an awesome time, being full of gack.

I’ll probably choose to be smoking again, maybe tomorrow, in accordance with my arbitrary whim. But for now all this hacking entertains me.

So there, and because I say so.

As for wether all this will to facilitate my singing even more like a little girl, we’ll have to wait and see. News on the subject thus far will be reachable here, among other places.