I used to smoke forty a day. Without even trying! Players Number Six Tipped. Gorgeous they were. Just hit the spot, and got me moving in a morning (if you know what I mean). And they kept me regular an’all. They helped me with my nerves, helped me to concentrate, and they were good for my lungs too. At least that was the received wisdom at the time that I took them up. Everyone smoked in those days. My Raymond liked the Capstan full strength, but they were a bit too harsh on my throat, ‘cause he used to buy the untipped ones. But these days it seems its all the rage to go giving up smoking. Sticking ruddy plasters all over your arms, chewing gum like a ruddy American Soldier, or sucking on some ruddy thing that you have to plug into your computer to charge it up. What a load of nonsense. If you want to stop smoking, you want to stop smoking, not faff about with gimmicks and gadgets.
I stopped smoking on the day I died, and I haven’t touched a fag since. Not even when I have been manifesting myself through our Michael’s body. That’s eighteen years smoke free and counting. Of course, you might think that popping your clogs is a bit of a drastic measure. But it ruddy well worked for me.
My Uncle Godfrey went to see a Chinaman when he wanted to pack in the fags. The Chinaman laid him out on a table and stuck ruddy pins in him. He stuck them in his forehead, behind his ears, in his arms, in the crook of his elbows, behind his knees, all over the place. He finished off by sticking one in each of his ruddy nipples1 Right in the middle of each of them, on the little bumps. Apparently Uncle Godfrey never touched a fag from that day on, but he went back to see the Chinaman on a regular basis, and if you ask me, he got a lot more stuck into him than ruddy pins. Sometimes he even used to walk funny when he came out.
My sister Pearl tried to stop when her little Walter started asking her what she smoked for. She said it broke her heart, thinking of him growing up, getting hooked and wasting all his money on ciggies. She used to put the money that she would have spent on ciggies into a box on the mantelpiece, said she was saving up for something nice for the lad at Christmas. Then her George had his do with the Jam ladle, and she started smoking again. Little Walter got a chocolate smoking set in his stocking.
Auntie’s alternative revolution: Instead of giving up a pleasurable hobby, why don’t you just revolve to share the joy, and give a beggar or a tramp a ciggie every now and then? That way you can say that you are spreading a little happiness in the world as a side product of your filthy habit.