I was so proud of myself when, in October 2023, I finally gave up smoking. Again. After more than 60 years and numerous attempts to break the lethal habit, I was determined to hold firm.
I’d had a fall, broken a vertebra, spent three weeks in hospital and then nearly two months recuperating in a care home. It was the ideal time for me to break the habit of a lifetime. I loaded myself with nicotine patches, kept Nicorette chewing gum constantly to hand and remained smoke-free for more than a year.
But this January, I had an unbearably stressful few days. Madge, my beloved ten-year-old chihuahua, had had cataracts removed from her eyes and was just learning to have confidence in her sight again when she suddenly fell ill with gastroenteritis. She was rushed into hospital but couldn’t be saved.
I was driving to see her when she died. I was too late.
In a state of shock and grief, I hit the edge of a high pavement on my way back home. The front passenger-side tyre burst. I had to wait three hours for a mobile tyre company to replace it.
Sick with the stress of it all, I sat in my car crying.
Dua Lipa unabashedly shared a photo of herself holding a cigarette like a fashion accessory
What was the first thing I did when I finally got home? I ordered 20 Red Royals on Deliveroo. As I lifted the first cigarette to my mouth and puffed hungrily, I felt as if my best friend had come to comfort me. I smoked three in quick succession, felt the familiar sense of relaxation and relief and went to bed.
What a fool I was. All that effort to become a non-smoker wasted. My first thought on waking the next morning was to make coffee and have a cigarette. By late afternoon I’d smoked the lot.
Seven months on, I smoke as many as ten a day. There’s no denying how tightly nicotine holds me in its grasp.
I was 13 when I started. First it was due to defiance of my mother, who disapproved of women who smoked, and admiration of the two great loves of my life, my father and my grandfather, who were both heavy smokers.
Like so many of my generation, I thought it was cool. We were inspired by the Hollywood stars – Lauren Bacall, Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis – who were so often photographed with a little white stick held between two fingers of an elegant hand.
So, you see, I know how powerful a cultural trigger such glamorous images can be.
Fast forward to this week and a smouldering photo of the singer Dua Lipa has made me hopping mad. She looks absolutely stunning but there’s a cigarette held so elegantly in her hand.
For a long time, celebrities concealed their addiction, thinking being seen as a smoker would tarnish their reputation. But now the likes of Dua Lipa – it wasn’t a paparazzi shot; she posted it herself – are unabashed.
She’s not the only one. So many famous women – Beyonce, Sabrina Carpenter, to name two more – are seemingly happy to become ‘cigfluencers’.
I know young people will rush to follow their lead. There is actually an Instagram account called ‘Cigfluencers – your favourite smoker’s favourite smokers’. When we know so much of the dangers, are these people insane?
Their influence can already be seen. After years of decline, smoking appears to be on the rise again. It went up 10 per cent in Southern England between 2020 and 2024, leading to an estimated 7.5 million people who smoke.
Think of the impact of that sort of number on the NHS.
My generation didn’t know the health risks. In fact I remember hearing friends of my father coming into the house, lighting up and having a cough saying: ‘I needed that. I can always rely on a smoke to clear my chest.’
Relaxing, calming, we thought it was good for us. We didn’t know that smoking would lead to all kinds of horrors.
Dua Lipa posts on Instagram elegantly holding a cigarette between her fingers, much like the glamour of film stars like Bette Davis, who glorified smoking in their day
Some would get lung cancer. Chronic obstructive lung disorder or emphysema would make simply breathing painfully hard. Feet and legs might become numb and impossible to use because smoking impedes blood flow.
OK, now I do know all the risks and still I do it, but that’s because I’m an addict. The only way to remain truly free of the addiction is never, ever start.
As for me, I made some rules. No smoking in any part of the house apart from at the open back door or in the garden. No smoking in front of friends or family and no more than ten a day.
I’ve managed to stick with them but never shake off the shame I feel. Friends and family are furious and worried about my health. You can’t keep a secret of something that makes your clothes and hair smell disgusting. They’re right to insist I stop again. Every day I vow this will be my last cigarette. It never is.
There is nothing cool or glamorous about this pernicious habit. Even I was shocked when the first pack I bought on that sad day in January cost me £15.
Maybe the Dua Lipas and Beyonces of this world can afford the cost. Young people can’t. They need to know that smoking will get you in the end because the longing will never go away.
My father allegedly gave up many times in his 50s, but I knew he was a secret smoker. In his 80th year, I sat by his bed as he lay dying from lung cancer in a hospice. Some of his last words to me were, ‘Have you got a fag, love?’
Of course, I said no. He was in a hospice. ‘Not going to do me any harm now, is it?’ he asked.
He died in my arms. I shan’t be at all surprised if it goes that way for me too. If only I hadn’t started all those years ago.
Why don’t the women hug, too?
I’ve noticed a curious split in how men and women behave at the end of a Wimbledon match.
The women march to the net and, more often than not, extend a chilly hand for their opponent to shake. The men stroll towards each other and have a brotherly hug.
Are women less generous in the face of defeat?
Winner Carlos Alcaraz, left, hugs Fabio Fognini at the end of their match on day one of Wimbledon this year
Danielle Collins, left, shakes hand with winner Iga Swiatek at the end of the third round Wimbledon match on day six
At 75, I’ve become an Oasis fan
I hope rumours the Gallagher brothers are already at war after the start of their tour last Friday are false – because I’m a new Oasis fan.
At the weekend, I couldn’t resist downloading their hits to relive the Nineties. I played them back to back and loved them.
It would be a shame if their reunion didn’t lead to some fantastic new Manchester music.
Liam Gallagher, left, and Noel Gallagher take to the stage in Cardiff for the opening night of their reunion tour on July 4
As a patron I saw good of Sure Stuart
I have to commend the government for the planned return of Sure Start, now to be called Best Start Family Hubs.
In 1999, I was asked to become a patron of the original Sure Start in the town of Leek in Staffordshire, close to our home in the Peak District. It was a lifesaver for so many women in remote farms and villages. They supported each other and became better parents to children who learnt from books, play and socialisation.
It was simple, but a marvellous community.
I was sorry to hear of the death of Norman Tebbit. I always had a soft spot for him. Before the 1987 election I was ready for a tough interview on the Today programme with the old bruiser.
At the sight of very heavily pregnant me, he went all soppy, saying if I went into labour, he’d be able to help – he’d been at the birth of his children. I had to remind him we were there to talk politics, not midwifery!
