It's four and a half months since I gave up smoking. Or is it five? I dunno. Brain's not been right since I stopped. 30 fags a day - and then nothing. It's not easy, you know. I can't sit still, I can't concentrate, and my brain doesn't work properly - which is all a bit disastrous if you're a writer.
Come on, Nicola. Get a grip. What have you gained from giving up the fags?
What have I gained?
Weight.
I've gained some interesting new habits, too. I've started biting my nails. I've started drinking - wine - lots of it - at night. And I keep buying shoes. Shoes that are so outrageous you couldn't possibly wear them outside the house.
So now I am fat, drunk, bankrupt...and I can't close my wardrobe door. Not very impressive for someone who does a bit of fashion and image counselling on the side. When she's not not writing a novel, that is.
I'll move swiftly onto the biggest advantage of giving up smoking. The singing. I couldn't get that top B. Well, I can get it now. Only the other day I was singing something from the Barber of Seville, and it had three top Bs in it. THREE! So I just slammed my voice up there and belted them out.
Afterwards, I said to my singing teacher, "Those Bs were a bit rough, weren't they?"
"Rough?" he said. "They were fantastic. More power than a hiltigun."
Then I noticed a big grin on the teacher's face.
"Okay, what is a Hiltegun, then?" I asked.
He was astonished at my ignorance. "You mean you don't know??" he replied. "Goodness me! It's a thing they use on building sites. To drive nails into concrete."
