This morning on my way to the tube something shiny caught my eye - a gold packet of Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes in a rubbish bin. There it was, shining away like it was the last sliver of the sun. It reminded me that I used to smoke Stuyvesant tabs back in the day. Them or Dunhill International. Both were just that little bit longer than 'normal' tabs (half an inch or so, and we all know size matters).
Then I remembered that later this week will be my eleventh anniversary of finally giving up the dreaded weed. Giving up cigarettes is easy. I can say that with confidence since I gave up when I had my first operation for a slipped disk and had access to morphine and codeine tablets to help with the pain. The perfect opportunity. Easy peasy.
Then I thought that the fact I bought extra-long cigarettes must say something about my character. Not for me the ordinary length cigarettes, no, I had to get extra-long tabs. Not everything has to be about a penis extension. I suspect it's more about my addictive personality. Not for the first time did my thoughts fly back to when I used to work with drug addicts and others in the '80s and think that there I could be but for a few safer decisions. I am rather addictive and tend not to do things by halves. Perhaps that's where my addiction to fresh pineapple from the Strutton Ground market at lunchtime comes from? Whatever next?