I quit smoking more than 20 years ago, which was a good thing for me because if I’d continued crashing the ash at the old rate of knots my final appearance in this newspaper would have been in the obituary columns a good few years on the other side of the last millennium.
But I still miss the bloody things. The other night I was watching some really crap television when I told Sheila I was thinking about smoking again. Her reaction surprised me. She said: “I don’t know why you don’t. You do everything else.”
My first reaction was to give her a backhander. But then I thought on; I would certainly get one back (Sheila punches above her weight) but in all fairness maybe she was right. A pinch of snuff, a big fry-up, a bottle of scotch, a gallon of Stella; all forbidden and very bad for me.
Frankly, I’m into S and M too. Not sado-masochism, unfortunately (if you haven’t tried it, don’t knock it) but nasty old Senior Moments.
Had a beauty the other morning, when in truth I am rarely at my best.
I loaded my toothbrush from the tube and started to scour what few teeth I have left. Big problem: it was a tube of Preparation H, which used in conjunction with the patent cushion made by the Happy Bum Corporation of Kowloon, which makes for happier haemorrhoids too.
I swiftly realised my error and swilled out my mouth with Harpic before my gums receded so violently my surviving teeth shot out and disappeared down the plughole.
Luckily I didn’t substitute Macleans for the Preparation H. That would not have gone down – or up – very well either.
But I may have had the whitest piles in the business.
Mine you, one doesn’t have to be ancient to have a bad tubular experience. Many years ago I had a motorcycle-mad mate who degreased his bike engine in the bath. The rest of the machine was in the spare bedroom.
He cleaned up the bathroom, also wiping-out 99.9% of all known germs, before his wife saw it.
Tragically he left the degreasing aerosol on the window ledge.
The following morning she discharged a generous burst of the stuff into her left armpit which, I understand, was never quite the same again. Neither was my mate, incidentally when she later took savage reprisals with his high-pressure grease gun.
He also was never quite the same again...