The fact I’m posting this ought to let you know that I’m back online again – whoo hoo. But this isn’t a post about the Smith Commission, the British Labour party, or any wit and wisdom about anything remotely political. It’s just a wee update to let you know what’s going on with the big flit.
The move went smoothly, and we managed to get everything over to the new flat without breaking anything. Although my uncle did point out a loose wire on a model train when he was looking at it. Every single time that man looks at a model train or tram, it gets broken. It’s not even his fault either. He hadn’t even touched the train. He’s just cursed. He is to model trains as Gordie Broon is to politics, come to think of it. Although in Broon’s case it generally is his fault. And you can’t fix the devolution settlement with a bit of solder, you’ll only get burned.
I’m now unpacking everything, and working my way through all the packing cases. I’ve got loads of lovely things that haven’t seen the light of day since we moved back from Spain. And a shitload of crap too.
I’ve not had a fag since 2.30am on Tuesday morning, when I finished the last of the baccy I’d found in a tin in a drawer in the old place. On Saturday while suffering a severe craving I distracted myself by clearing out rubbish – only to discover a wee bit of rolling tobacco hiding there. So that was the giving up smoking buggered for last weekend. Until I finished that very last little bit. I’ve not used nicotine patches, e-cigs, or thon boggin tasting chewing gum, I’ve just gone cold turkey – and to my surprise it’s working. And I’m not even eating lots of sweeties.
I don’t want to smoke in this new flat – and haven’t. Moving has made it easier to give up because I’ve changed my routine. I still sit and watch Pointless with a cuppa, just not with a fag any more. I’m watching it in a different house in a different place – and it feels sufficiently different that the craving for the ciggie is controllable. I am determined to do it this time.
I’m still getting cravings of course, but they’re bearable. When I was a teenager I used to bite my fingernails, but managed to stop that by playing with a wee lump of plasticene instead. Believe it or not I still have the original lump of plasticene – which is now a solid ball bearing very little resemblance to modelling clay. But it fits my hands perfectly, and when I get a craving for a ciggy I roll the ball between my hands. Fingers crossed it’s working, or rather I would cross my fingers but they’re occupied with a ball of plasticene.
I have no idea what’s going on in the news – but I’ll try and catch up with myself and all going well normal posting service will be resumed over the weekend.