Good morning. Thought I’d bring you up to speed with my life as a non-smoker. Ha, ha, ha, surprise, surprise! I haven’t been quiet because I’ve caved in, I’ve just been lax as every time I started writing, my whining irritated me so much I thought I’d spare you my withdrawal woes.

But today I feel happy enough to quickly put paper to pen.

Yesterday (Friday 11 Feb) we celebrated my dear friend and house mate, Ula Taute’s birthday with a lovely luncheon at our house – if you can call a party that starts at 11:00 and carries on till 19:00, a lunch!

A mere 12 days ago I would have been one of two smokers – we were 15 in total - but as I am still hanging in there, only one gal had to pretend to enjoy a stroll in the garden to have a puff or two.

I envied her. It smelled and looked great. Edda is, like all female smokers I know, smoking hot and looks Parisian when she lights up. 

Forget the image of Antie Stienie of Agter elke man that the anti-smoking lobby always presents. Utter bull.

Antie Stienie.

Smoking kills, but while you’re committing this slowest of suicides, you look damn glamorous and sophisticated.

As I have a strong rebellious streak, smoking has the added attraction of being frowned upon. So, after a few glasses of wine, I was tempted to go smell the roses with my smoker friend, but then I remembered that the loveliest of men is coming to visit for a week (he’s arriving this afternoon!) and my nicotine lust went up in smoke!

Some lusts are stronger than others. And my lust to kick the habit is still standing strong. Hie, hie, hie.

It’s the weekend baby! Have a jol, not a zol!

Ladies who lunch… From left: Lucia, birthday girl Ula, Edda and Elsabé.