She tried calling back a couple of times but I always made sure I

She tried calling back a couple of times, but I always made sure I was busy…
Filed under G for “giving up smoking”, Cathy McKnight has figured in my life larger and longer than she’ll ever realise. But after a few excessively bad smoking hangovers last week, and with my 30th birthday on the horizon, I knew I’d finally run out of excuses. I made the call.Until now, National No Smoking Day had only ever meant one thing to me: a 24-hour slot during which nicotine intake had to be doubled and tar content increased. Instead of a wholesome 20 Silk Cut, I would treat myself to a slightly offensive 40 Rothmans.

Now, thanks to Cathy, it’s become a day where I have to keep a slightly lower profile. After 15 years joyously riddled with nicotine, I have crossed over to join the ranks of non-smokers who I once worked so hard to annoy.Cathy wasn’t my first attempt to quit, far from it. I have never subscribed to the view that willpower is enough, instead finding it essential to pay someone to do all the hard work for me.The first person I turned to for help came recommended by a friend (who, thinking back, had a roll-up on the go as he scribbled out the number). A well-spoken woman who lived in Fulham, she owned a leather couch and her walls were plastered with certificates. For £80 she spent an hour taking me on a trip round a beautiful garden, then furnished me with a cheap cassette to listen to in bed Within a week I was back, chucking more money at her. This time I got as far as the end of her street before I lit up.One year later and I was in Harley Street, visiting a man in a pastel-coloured room whose collection of “relaxation” music irked me from the start.

He too took me to a beautiful place (this time a beach) and asked me to imagine myself as a non-smoker “What would you be wearing?” he enquired Pervert, I thought. We parted on bad terms after the phone rang during my hard-earned hour and he started chatting to another client. Even so, three months later – my longest non-smoking record ever – I was back at his door waving my chequebook. Second time round, I lasted less than than a week.Why didn’t I go straight to Cathy? Because I was worried that this time hypnotism would work. Cathy doesn’t advertise because she doesn’t need to: word of mouth does the job for her In London’s East End, she’s regarded as a saviour. And sadly I do prefer people who smoke, I do think it makes them look cool and I do relish poncing fags off people who obviously don’t want to give me one. I feared Cathy would put a stop to all this and that, when I called her, I would be chucked out of the gang I’d grown up in, the one which I joined when it used to meet behind the bike sheds at school.But now I was here, in her dingy therapy room Cathy sees people in groups for four hours at a time.