You know how they say smoking kills? Well, I’m kinda inclined to believe them. My lungs are starting to rebel, despite my persistent attempts to persuade them that tobacco is what’s been missing in their lives all these years. I’d compare the situation to what is currently taking place in Burma, if that wasn’t so mighty distasteful. But there are definite similarities which are impossible to overlook.
The lungs are holding a peaceful protest, the occasional crackling coughing fit being the only real sign that things could get unpleasant. I am the evil dictator, attempting to silence them with smoky abuse, ignoring their pleas for clemency as I suck on yet another burning stick of crap. This isn’t going to be easily resolved.
Why don’t people get addicted to things which aren’t bad for them? Like fresh air, or spinach? I wonder if it’s possible to smoke spinach?
Things have got a little out of control on the smoking front this week because I’ve been in Dover again, at the No Hope Hotel. The budget for what is tastefully referred to as the ‘overflow project’ is beyond pitiful. What overflow boils down to is a place to keep everybody they don’t really know what to do with, and are hoping will just go away. We ended up making bingo cards out of scrap paper to keep everybody entertained. I had to keep going outside for a fag and a discrete kick of an inanimate object every twenty minutes or so, to avoid handing out kerosene and matches to the boys and advising them to burn the place down.
Interestingly. I met the head of Kent Social Services at a conference this week, the woman clearly thinks she is shit hot. I’d say part of this assumption was true. What we need is Anneka Rice and her super keen team to come on down and renovate the entire place. She must have a window, last time I saw her on the telly she was dressed as an elf and being poked fun at by Ant and Dec. Does anybody have a contact number?