YES, I’ve gone up to £14.73, but something else has changed. We used to be so happy together – practically inseparable. Now you’re so distant, and I can’t understand why.
We were always doing things together, mainly smoking, but nothing was too much trouble for you. You’d go to the garage any time – in the pouring rain, in the middle of the night – if you ran out of me. Now it’s like you’re trying to avoid me.
You looked so cool puffing away, like Alain Delon, and I was happy to go along with that ludicrous delusion. You didn’t even mind coughing up gobbets of disgusting yellow phlegm every morning. I thought that was ‘our thing’.
Sure, we had our ups and downs, but all couples do. Like when you went off with that little slag of a Nicorette inhaler. She wasn’t even that good-looking. But we came through it. I’ll never forget how happy you were to have a real fag again.
So please, tell me what’s changed. You haven’t smoked at all today, but I’m the same 10.9mg of nicotine. I’m still slim and attractive – I haven’t let myself go like a saggy roll-up leaving strands of tobacco wherever you were sitting.
Is it the cancer? I know a lot of smokers don’t like the idea of a slow, painful death, but that’s out of my hands. You’ve got to look at the big picture – without me looking after you, you could easily put on weight. And what about fag breaks?
I’m only saying this because I care, but I think you’re going through a phase where you’re worried about getting older, what you’ve achieved in life, if you look like a chav because they’re the only sad bastards who smoke these days.
Please let’s go back to the way things were. I really fancy standing in the pissing rain outside a pub turning your teeth yellow. Come on, let’s do it now. Go on. Ah, you’ve seen sense and you’re getting your jacket and your lighter. I love you.
