Stoptober...day 4

Is it only day four? I'm in the danger zone now...for the next two weeks I have to guard against complacency. The first hurdle is giving up for those first few days, saying no to all those cravings...now, I have to guard against those thoughts that say things like 'well done you..that wasn't so hard...you can give up any time...why don't you just have one to prove it?' And that would be a slippery slope to ruin....but sooo easy at this point...

No nicotine fuelled dreams to report...I'm sure there was one but I had to hit the floor running as teenage son woke me at six to tell me he had a migraine...and so, I have had company today. And so my day has been spent vegging in front of the telly, watching Alien films. Distinct lack of cravings and naughty tempting thoughts this morning...but I finished my e-ciggie! This is disappointing, I was hoping it would last a little longer. The packet says that it is the equivalent of 30 ciggies...however, money wise, it does not equate to my normal smoking habit. I normally spent £7 per week on tobacco, which does not equate to £6 every three days on the e-ciggie...it would seem that I need to restrict my use of this technological marvel...I think that a re-chargeable one may be the way forward...and possibly look at nicotine free cartridges...it's all very confusing! Plus, I don't have a great deal of money to play with...

Smoking clinic in the morning...not sure how much of a lecture I'm going to get about the e-ciggie...oh well!

Stoptober diary...day 3

Day 3.

 

Strange nicotine fuelled dream last night involved marrying my ex-partner (vomits) and flying to the Caribbean in a light plane that had to make a forced landing in the ocean. The pilot then drove the plane up a street and took off again...I'm assuming this is my sub-conscious telling me that my last relationship was a plane crash....YES! I FECKING WELL KNOW THAT!!

 

Finding everything a bit of a chore today...unable to find any enthusiasm for anything and am finding myself watching day time television; the sure fire way to brain entropy...A few cravings today but nothing major. The biggest problem is the way thoughts keep popping into my head...'I'll just have a ciggie before I do that...'...'Ooh...a ciggie would be nice' This is the biggest problem...these thoughts just pop in there and are difficult to dismiss. Annoying little mind worms!!

 

Today has been doubly stressful as I have had to go to the docs to get my coil changed...But Ms Monkey, I hear you cry, you are a spinster! Why put yourself through such manoeuvres? I did ask myself that for several hours this morning...nothing quite like having a piece of sharp plastic rammed up your cervix, without pain relief, to put the necessity of contraception into sharp perspective. However, what sold it to me in the end, was the thought of no more periods for the rest of my life...at my age 'the change' is just around the corner and so five minutes of discomfort for another eight years lacking hormonal roller coaster rides and monthly 'builders visits' suits me just fine, thank you very much! And so, I was a little early puffing away at the old e-ciggie today, but I have successfully resisted the temptation to puff on a real one...that feeling of smugness is back!

 

As the addition of the e-ciggie to my arsenal was a last minute thought, I didn't shop around but bought a disposable one from the local co-op. It's very good...although I have little to compare to...however, today I decided to buy another one...just in case this one runs out! This one is going strong...but best to be prepared! I have no idea how long it will last, but if I end up getting through one a week, I may have to consider a rechargeable one. I have done a little research, and they seem to come in a variety of colours, although this one looks like a real ciggie...apart from the glowing blue light on the end. I do quite like the idea of the 'matt black' e-ciggie, very goth! They also come in a variety of flavours, including 'branded' flavours, such as; Old Holborn or Camel...I am a little dubious as to whether these flavours will translate accurately, but there are also interesting flavours such as strawberry, chocolate & whiskey...who would've thought? One can also vary the amount of nicotine one intakes, from 35mg to 0. They've certainly come on a long way since their dodgy Chinese origins...Although, I would recommend that you only purchase them from a reputable UK seller! I shall write more on this subject as the days progress...

Stoptober diary...day 2

Day 2:

 

Last night's nicotine fuelled dream involved running off and becoming a cowboy...I wasn't a very good one, rustlers stole the panda....yes, I said panda.

 

I have woken up with a throat that feels like it has been sandpapered...I think I may have been a little over enthusiastic with the e-ciggie yesterday. I shall have to resolve to save it for those moments of total desperation. I feel as if my cold has come back, as all of the phlegm loosens up. My nose is running and I feel the urge to cough up big lumps of ...well, nasty.

 

This morning seems a little easier. Today, I feel a little smug that I have made it through 24 hours without a smoke. The cravings are not as strong and they're not popping into my head every five minutes....just every fifteen!

 

By lunch time, I have really had enough of the chewing gum...it is starting to leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth and my jaws are starting to ache. I make it until two o'clock before I have a puff on the old e-ciggie...it makes me cough...I take this as a good sign!

 

Feeling stressed by about 4pm, it feels like my lungs are screaming for a ciggie...my brain takes my lungs aside and tells them to stop being such a pussy...when that fails, it administers a slap and tells them that they are just going to have to make do with the e-ciggie as we are not even contemplating failure, especially at less than 48 hours tobacco free!

Evenings are normally a weak time; there is nothing so pleasurable as a cigarette after a meal. And so I disappear to my room, praying that the children won't pop in to see me and chatter about some inanity...I might just bite their heads off. I shall, therefore, be puffing like Ivor the engine on the old e-ciggie tonight!

Stoptober diary

And so, dear friends, Ms Monkey has decided to give up the fags. It's not the first time I have tried to quit the noxious weed, I made just shy of two weeks last time and then spent six months just smoking two or three a day. But, inevitably that crept up and I found myself puffing away on about fifteen a day....still an improvement on the forty a day habit I used to have but not tobacco free.

Now, I enjoy smoking. I love the sensation of the cool smoke as it draws down my throat and I like the flavour. It is the perfect accompaniment to a pint and a wonderful treat after a meal. However, it's also killing me and I have no desire to die...goth or no, death does not become this Monkey! Besides, I have little enough energy with my depression, that little energy I do have I want to utilize to the maximum. There are also the matters of nagging sore throats, chesty coughs, stinking like smelly old ashtray. Don't even get me started on the cost...

I WANT TO RETAKE CONTROL!!!!

And so I have decided that enough is enough and today is the day. And so, I shall endeavour to write a little something; a quitters diary if you will, to share my experiences and, hopefully, motivate me NOT to relapse and give in to temptation. Misery loves company dear reader...

I am using a combination of methods...I am that weak willed...a 24 hour nicotine patch, quick mist inhaler and electronic cigarette. My electronic ciggie has died...not a good start! The patch feeds you a constant stream of nicotine over the day, supposedly relieving the cravings....supposedly. However, the glue isn't the strongest and they have a tendency to fall off. They also have a tendency to irritate my skin and I am left with a wonderful chequerboard effect on my legs. One interesting side effect of them is to make you sleep lighter, giving you the most wonderful, vivid dreams.

 

Quick mist gives an instant hit and is much better at relieving those annoying cravings...it does, however, taste like peppermint battery acid...I pop a bit of chewing gum in at the same time to suppress the need to spit it out...another problem is that if you swallow too quickly after squirting you get a spectacular fit of hiccoughing. Have to admit that by about three in the afternoon I have had enough mint to last me a life time...

The electronic cigarette is not recommended for those giving up...according to my long suffering smoking counsellor, it is not advised because of the variable amount of nicotine it delivers...and, initially, because a lot of them were dodgy Chinese imports with no controls. Things have changed now and you can buy them at the local supermarket. You can also buy nicotine free ones...mine isn't! They work by providing a smoking sensation and releasing clouds of water vapour...now these really do satisfy that smoking craving...one only needs a couple of puffs to get a sense of release...of course, a time will come when I have to wean myself off these little blighters....but I'm not going to worry about that for a while!

Day 1:

 

I awake and instantly think about smoking...not a normal early morning thought...but today is the day. I try to spend the day in bed...I haven't smoked in my bedroom for years, nor do I have any cravings while I am asleep. However, an argument breaks out between sons as to who is wearing whose school trousers interrupts my pleasant slumber and I am forced to get up...

As I make a cup of tea and blearily try to feed the cats, I am thinking how one little roll up wouldn't hurt...I am strong and retreat to the living room with my cup of tea. All day, I think of smoking constantly...my electronic cigarette refuses to charge, which does my temper no good. By lunch time I have a chesty cough as all that tar starts to loosen up...I resist the unladylike urge to spit large grollys into the sink. I can smell more than I could yesterday....my dog smells...no, she stinks...by lunchtime I am in the car and off to the co-op to buy an e cigarette...I make it till 4pm before using it...I can't face anymore quickmist, its left a minty corpse like flavour in my mouth...my cough disappears and the e ciggie has a bonus of relieving the cravings post evening meal...but I now have a sore throat...

 

I am going to have an early night, once those teeth are clean, the cravings will stop and I can sleep like a baby...tomorrow, Scarlet, is another day!

A boiler too far...plus a little Dunkirk spirit

Boiler less Diary. Day 1. The radiators are covered in wet clothing after our drenching at Eden..they will now stay wet.

Yes, Ms Monkey's boiler has gone and died on her. Not at the most opportune moment either! On Saturday, Ms Monkey went to see Tim Minchin at one of the Eden sessions. Imagine, if you will, a warm, balmy evening. The scent of herbal oils and citrus blossom from the Mediterranean biome, wafting gently on the breeze. The subtle flavours of tannins and fruits caressing your taste buds from a fine red wine. The heat of the day gradually dissipating, as one is entertained with amusing, witty anecdotes and songs.

It was nothing like this!

Imagine, instead, a months worth of rain falling in one evening. Imagine wind, gusting at forty miles an hour. Imagine wearing so many layers to keep warm that you dare not enter the biomes for fear of overheating and not being prepared to remove any, for fear of soaking oneself because every outer layer is dripping. I had over compensated on the layer front, as sitting in a wheelchair for any length of time is a chilly experience. Sitting in a puddle, in a wheelchair, is close to soul destroying. Imagine going to a gig in wellies and waterproofs and still being soaked to the skin (brollies were not permitted!).

Drenched does not even come close to describing how wet we were by the end of the evening. luckily, it wasn't too cold....but my mittens looked like a pair of dead otters by the end of the night and sitting in my wheelchair (mobile puddle) meant I had a soggy sit-upon. I opted for the cider, rather than wine, as it lasts longer.....it lasts eternally when it is constantly diluted by a deluge from the heavens. Now I like Mr Minchin, but must confess, I was praying that he wouldn't do more than one encore (he didn't). I wish I had had my hip flask with me....or maybe a hot water bottle! I have no photos of the evening, my camera is not waterproof...neither, it would appear, are my waterproofs!

Boiler less Diary. Day 2. The sun is shining. Who needs a boiler? Still have wet clothes, perhaps a washing line would help?

One should be grateful, however, for small mercies. At least we weren't on the Isle of White!

Are we having fun yet? (Isle of White Festival; courtesy of Huffington Post)

We decided to take the dogs for a walk at Gwithian....we forgot the dogs were banned. A quick U-turn found us at Upton Towans, which is a sandy beach with little pools, running down to the sea. My dog decides it's toilet time. Not by the car, nice and convenient like, no, by the sea. And not on the sand for easy scooping....no, she stands up to her leg pits in a pool and poops away and guess what? It doesn't all float! And you know the worst thing? Putting your hands into a pool of water to fish out poo and finding that your bag isn't water tight....nice! I normally carry a spare, but typically, on this day I had forgotten....thank all that's unholy for friends with poo bags! *note to self: buy hand sanitiser!

Ms Monkey goes fishing for strange fish

Boiler less Diary. Day 3. The rain has started again...the gas board cannot send anyone until tomorrow....and I had to pull the disabled card to get anybody that quick! I must wait in all day. It's cold and damp...I think I might have frost nip!

Of course my big mistake was to have a bath on the Thursday before the weekend (no, I don't bathe everyday; I'm single). My second big mistake was not to dye my roots as soon as I removed my hair extensions. I now feel like a tramp!

Boiler less Diary. Day 4. The gas man has come! He switched the boiler on and it worked...he serviced it....and then condemned it. My seals have gone and my fan sounds wonky. There is only one repairman on tomorrow for the whole of West Cornwall. I must wait in all day. It is raining and cold. I may have frost bite. There is a funny smell....

Now I smell like a tramp! I can't carry kettles of boiling water up the stairs anymore....I am not filling the bath with a Trangia! The house also smells; we suffer a lot from damp here in Cornwall and my house isn't exactly waterproof. There is a distinct smell of mildew....lovely!

Boiler less Diary. Day 5. The gas man has come. Two arrived at the same time. Just like buses. Neither had the right fan. They have ordered the right fan. Maybe. It will come tomorrow. I must wait in all day. It is raining and cold. I definitely have frostbite. There is still a funny smell....I may have gangrene...I have attempted to hide it with deodorant. Perhaps there is a dead hooker behind the sofa. She may have snuck in to die...possibly of hypothermia!

I have been camped in my living room, under a blanket, since Sunday. So this is what retirement is like....

Boiler less Diary. Day 6. To compound my misery, a roving pack of Jehovah's Witness's circled today. Sadly the fire that I had lit in the living room was not sufficient to keep them from my door and I could not hide as they had spotted me through the window. However, my coherent scientific arguments were strong enough to repel them. The Damned sweatshirt probably helped.

The gas men came back after lunch, they had a selection of fans. I do like to see determination! After much swearing and the sound of loud bangs and crashes, they emerged smiling and left me with warming radiators and the promise of a toasty bath, filled with bubbles and soft scents.

Spring festival type thing...

Well it's that time of the year when you religious types celebrate things rising from the dead (you see, you do have things in common with us gothic types...we like vampires and zombies too!). In the Monkey household, it is this time of the year when the Black Rabbit of Inlé visits the garden to shit chocolate.....(which part of 'goth' didn't you understand?).

The Black Rabbit of Inlé - Sapphire Gamgee

This results in the annual Monkey House egg hunt. You are never too old to have an egg hunt in my opinion. And there is nothing more rewarding than watching children running round the garden, like headless chickens, whilst you know where the bodies are buried....so to speak! Of course, on occasion, the egg hunt has gone on for so long that one does actually forget where one hid them. Of course, Lolli is wise to this now and waits, like some patient, overfed vulture, to see if any of the spoils of plunder will come her way. Now, I'm sure you are aware that chocolate is poisonous to dogs. Lolli seems to be the exception to this rule and is a regular indulger of all things under canine prohibition, if given half the chance. I have lost more than one half-pound bar of Galaxy to that mutt; along with cups of tea and glasses of Baileys. And don't even get me started on the amount of chicken carcasses she has stolen from the bin, it would appear she has a cast iron constitution. However, I have now taken steps to ensure she doesn't get her paws on all that spring time chocolate goodness.....I now only leave plastic eggs, filled with boiled sweets, at terrier height. I also count all of the chocolate eggs out and all of them back in, to ensure that none stay in the garden unaccounted for! (I have to write this down.....I am an old fart after all).

There would appear to have been a delivery!

Now the assault from beloved children, starts the minute I open my eyes. "Has the Easter Bunny been? Has the Easter Bunny been?" No, the Easter Bunny hasn't had a cup of tea or even managed to make it from the bedroom to the toilet yet! This continual 'pester power' carries on until I eventually lose the plot and explode in a fit of motherly expletives. Now Dude has only recently realised that the Easter Bunny is not in fact some kind hearted, leporine egg donator; but a grumpy, middle aged old goth who needs a caffeine intake prior to secreting, or indeed loosing, chocolate treats around the garden.

Competition is fierce, someone may lose a limb!

We have been lucky, the past few years, as the weather has been favourable for an outside hunt. Only once, in recent years, have I been forced to hide ovoid treats about the house, much to the interest of our chocolate loving canine.

You would think by now, that my soon to be 16 year old would be too cool for running bedlam like, around the garden for a few bits of cheap chocolate. But no, it would appear it is quite easy to sell one's street cred down the Swanee for a little of the cocoa bean! No doubt beer and ladies will have the same effect in a few years time...although I draw the line at hiding eligible batchellorettes around the property! I might concede to hiding a few tinnies though. Although not that early on a Sunday morning! Seems like only yesterday it was Pokemon and Yugi-Oh, now it's posh trainers and jeans that show more underwear than Katie Price on a photo shoot. I despair, although I suppose it's the rebellious equivalent of me dying my hair black and stomping around in Doc Martins and tartan mini skirts....and just as practical. The wind didn't half used to whip around ones nether regions. Although I tended to wear at least two pairs of garishly clashing tights underneath, albeit somewhat ripped and often 'fish netted'.

It would appear that a teenager can sniff out chocolate with only the minimum of training

Of course! This large, lazy cat will help me sniff out eggs

One thing that emerged with egg hunting, fairly early on, was that Dude has no real talent for finding eggs. Gee's patient, methodical hunting reaps him the lions share and so pooling the egg finds is the only way to ensure fairness between brothers. Dude's manic 'run around without actually lifting anything' method, fails to produce much but he has fun and big brother is magnanimous enough to sit back and allow him to play the 'colder'/'warmer' game....for a few minutes anyway.

I have considered taking them to organised egg hunts, but both boys are too old for anything local and boredom would soon set in for Number 1 son, if I could persuade the organisers to allow number 2 son to join in. And number 2 son would be reluctant to share his finds.

I have to say though, that my favourite part of Easter Sunday is the chance to splurge out on a nice joint of dead cow. A good piece of beef is too expensive for our budget normally, so it's nice to have a big lump of it on occasion. It does last for three meals, so I justify it to myself that way...although what I will do with three quarters of a jar of horseradish sauce I don't know?

Dead cow and a few veggies from the garden....nom, nom, nom

Where wolf?

Ms Monkey has just finished watching an interesting documentary, by the BBC, called The Land of the Lost Wolves. It's all about a pioneering group of wolves who have/had (sadly most of them didn't escape gun toting hunters) settled in the Cascade Mountains in North America and it reminded me of a fabulous encounter that I had with wolves while staying in Spain.

I had gone to stay in Spain with my then paramour, whilst he sorted out a property deal with his mother (they had a funny old relationship; whereby, he had moved to Spain and she had followed him out there. She was a strange old fish, who had real problems cutting the apron strings.....this probably accounted for some of his peculiar baggage. She later followed him back to the UK, I should have cut and run then, but hey ho!). On this particular evening, we had returned to her house for a bite to eat and a few glasses of what can only be described as red vinegar, before heading out to see what joys the local area had to offer in the way of night life (night clubs that looked like they were designed by Gaudi on acid, with an interior courtesy of Giger....they did very large goldfish bowl glasses full of vodka with a dash of coke as well, if my memory serves me.....it gets a bit hazy).

Now, she lived in a little shack, just outside of the town of Concentiana. About an hour inland from Benidorm (we went there, for an afternoon, about two years later.....and yes, it is everything you could want to hate about a resort. People call it Birmingham on Sea, but quite frankly I would say that is an insult to Birmingham.....and I'm not keen on going there! It does, however, have better weather). Now the area is mountainous (in the same way that Snowdonia is like the Alps.....the locals call them mountains and I certainly wouldn't want to climb one.....but then I have trouble with the stairs, so don't ask me....but I would say, they were really high hills but with some very big cliffs and steep bits. I remember visiting the Rockies as a teenager with my Canadian cousin. I exclaimed at the height of the mountains as we drove along....she laughed and said "these aren't mountains, these are foothills!" She was right!) and very rural. The hill sides were lined with olive groves and clusters of fruit trees, all surrounded in aromatic, herbal scrub called Maquis.

Her piece of land overlooked a river valley, and during the day a sizable flock of sheep could be seen grazing in the meadows adjoining the river. They could also be heard; as they had bells around their necks, which clanged gently and discordantly as they went about their business. You could just make out a shepherd (only because he seemed to have a penchant for royal blue jackets.....no accounting for taste.....of course it could be his uniform.....although I'm not aware of any such designation.....is there a guild of shepherds? What colour did Bo Peep wear?) and a motley assortment of canines, in a variety of shapes and colours....one man and his dog it was not!

My swain's mother was inside, putting on her slap or some such thing, and we were sat on the terrace, drinking terrible, chilled red wine. We had music on in the background and I remember that Gorillaz 'Clint Eastwood' was playing. I can remember thinking about all the spaghetti westerns that Mr Eastwood had stared in and wondering if they were filmed near where we were. At that moment, there was a ruckus from below us in the valley. The sheep started to cry out and their bells all started clanging noisily. A cacophony of barks erupted from the dogs and my companion turned to me saying "I wonder what that's all about?" "Wolves!" I said, probably still having day dreams of the 'Wild West' in my mind. "Don't be silly, we're only 2 miles from Town. Besides, I don't think they have wolves in Spain." I was just about to retort that I was sure I had seen a documentary about wolves in France, when the howling started.

Now there is something very primal about wolves howling. It calls to that imprint in our DNA that immediately triggers fight or flight....suddenly you are a stone age hunter-gatherer, wishing for a very big fire and a very big stick! I could feel all of the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and my beau's mother's dog started to growl from beneath my chair. Without realising it, we had both risen from our chairs and looked at each other with wonder. It was difficult to tell where the wolves were or how many of them there were, as the howls bounced around the hills but it felt as if we were surrounded by a lupine chorus. And then suddenly, it was quiet again and I realised I had been holding my breath. It can only have lasted a few minutes, but I would have to describe it as one of the most magical moments of my life.

We returned to Spain a couple of years later and stayed a few miles down the road in a slightly remoter villa. I hoped to hear the dulcet tones of those sun loving wolves once again, but it was not to be. But it was wonderful, to have been so close to such a shy, elusive predator and one day, I would like to hear the songs of wild wolves again!

The Iberian Wolf - It's moments like this which make Ms Monkey question which side of the Werewolves Vs Vampires debate she is actually on!