From He's Smoking to E-Smoking; One Man's Journey

I'm a walking, talking oxymoron; in equal parts I'm an immature child; from temper tantrums to a diet of Haribo, and an old, out-dated curmudgeon; not prone to new fads. For this very reason I don't like any major changes in my life, so nobody was more surprised than myself when I successfully gave up smoking.

Before this point, I'd attempted to give up smoking maybe once or twice, but both times were an extremely half-hearted affairs. They were in that late hours of the night, those times you sit up in bed with every possible fear, worry or life problem announcing itself into to the forefront of your mind, clouding your inability to sleep.

“I'll quit tomorrow... for good... cold turkey. I'll be healthier and have more money in my pocket!” I'd unwittingly try to convince myself. Eventually those fears, worries and life problems would retreat to where they belong; the back of my head, not to be thought of again until the next time I can't sleep. Then I'd drift off, wake up, forget about the previous late night promise I'd made to myself... and smoke to my lungs content.

I had less will power than a paralysed Fresh Prince. Smoking wasn't just some addiction or habit, it was a part of me, deeply integrated into the soul of my being, the fabric weaved into the tapestry of Ben Broughton. It was a friend, a confidant, a support system and one of very few things that produced a sense of coolness or an air of mystery about me. Why would I want to give that up?

So why did I give up?

I'm not entirely sure. I never minded the stench of stale smoke that constantly clung to every piece of clothing I owned, it gave me character. I was a smoker after all, my senses were easily dulled so that I'd never really notice them too much. I never truly worried about my health too much, like 95% of tobacco inhalers I'd deem myself indestructible and simply think any disease or ailment caused by smoking would only happen to some other poor schmuck. One aspect that did play a factor was that of financial costs. I knew I'd be better off if I quit due to the amount of cash I was shelling out to wake up each morning with a dry, hacking cough that made me heave.

The one major factor that even bought about the contemplation to quit was my BFAM*/Spiritual Advisor/Constant Alibi Provider; Frenchie. He had managed to throw off the shackles of suckling on the tobacco teat and that was all the inspiration I needed. Some may see this as 'monkey see, monkey do', but as we are both Richard Dawkins praising Atheists and great believers in Darwin's theory of evolution, our retort is simply; “aren't we all a bunch of overachieving intelligent monkeys?” Frenchie acted as a trailblazer for me. I've seen acquaintances and previous girlfriends quit smoking before, but I'd never seen someone I respect do it. So I put the wheels in motion and bought myself an E-Cig.

After spending a pretty penny and more importantly two purple slips of credit on my 'start-up kit', I realised I'd have to stick at this for at least two weeks to cover the costs of the thing. To my surprise, it worked much better than I expected. You see, I tend to lean towards being constantly pessimistic so when something good does happen, it's quadruples the impact. And since starting on my vapour E-Cig thing [I'm not entirely sure what you call them] I haven't touched a cigarette since [please hold your standing ovation until the end].

I'm reaching the four month mark now, so substituting tobacco for a different array of fruity vapours does actually work. But do I miss real, proper, Cowboy smoking? Do I still yearn for that orange-tipped white stick of death?

YES; more than an amputee misses a limb.

You see, the vapour contraption is good, but it'll always fall short of the original. It's like comparing a light snooze to a deep slumber, a cold, crisp fresh pint of larger to the warm dregs in a stranger's glass, a hand-job from Abu Hamza to the best sexual experience of your life, weapons-grade weed to a bushy bag of sticks, stems and seeds, a beautiful Shakespearian sonnet to a drunk karaoke rendition of “My Heart Will Go On”, iPhone 5 to a Nokia 3210 … you get the picture. But what keeps me sticking to it? Let's just say the Fresh Prince has made a miraculous recovery and is Boom Shake-Shake-Shaking the [muh'fuckin'] room.

There are some other drawbacks, despite the blatant one. The second biggest flaw is a personal one. It may seem a little strange but making the switch has made me question my morals. As a smoker, I saw myself as some sort of Black Lung Ambassador; fighting for smokers' rights. Now, I've jumped ship and left it on cruse control directly towards an iceberg... in shark infested waters... and the sharks have guns... with heat-seeking missiles. I feel as if I've put the 'Ben' in 'Benedict Arnold' [no homo].

Not only that but I'm put into situation in which I have to defend myself against the very people I used to represent. “I wouldn't smoke one of them, you don't know what you're inhaling or what's in it!” They wheeze at me, in between spouts of coughing fits and chest convolutions. Which is true to a certain to degree, I don't know what's in it. But please examine the “Smoking clogs arteries and causes heart attacks and strokes” warning and picture of some guys second tumorous chin on your cigarette soapbox before you start preaching to me. Because despite the research into what you're smoking and the negative effects they carry, you continue on. [That's the 95% I was talking about.] At least I'm brave enough to take a gamble. Then sometimes they wave their yellow, tar-stained finger at you and you get the old; “Only quitters' quit!” [as if it was half as funny as when I used to say it]. “Only quitters' quit... only quitters' quit” … I wonder if people say that to reformed paedophiles too?

Then there's the practical drawbacks. I'm a forgetful type of person, it takes me around 10-15 minutes for me to leave my house because I have to repeatedly do an inventory check to make sure I have everything. Yet, I still forget things [the system isn't yet flawless]. One time I forgot my E-Cig, not a problem when I was a real, actual, man's man smoker [no homo] and I forgot my cigarettes because fags are easy to come across [no homo – Jesus, the gay sounding comments are coming thick and fast], but now I have to power through.

Despite popular belief most places don't welcome the E-Cig to be smoked inside, so we're still cast out into the cold with the clan members we desperately tried to separate ourselves from. And they only serve as a harsh reminder to the good ol' days that we eagerly try to forget. We're treated like some half-breeds, shunned by our former comrades and not yet accepted by the 'clean-lunged'.

There's also some shitty attributes to using the actual device. One being having to remember to keep the fucking thing charged. The battery life is brilliant on mine, but it's so good it's lured me into a false sense of security and when it does die I'm usually without my charger. Plus there's the risk you run when choosing a vapour to smoke. With more flavours in front of you then an overturned truck carrying every single kind of Haribo, it can be difficult on what to chose first. I regrettably ran the risk of trying a Dr. Pepper flavoured vapour, called Mr. Pepper [see what they did there?] and it was vile. It was more of a white powdered pepper taste than that of the popular soft drink and that's people why doctors are better than misters. I still smoked the thing, just as a punishment to myself for taking a risk.

But enough about the negative aspects, there's got to be something good about it; do I feel any healthier? Does food taste better? Has my sense of smell improved?

No, not really, maybe it has and I'm too idiotic to realise, although I'm quite self-obsessed so that'd be hard to sneak passed myself. I did manage a three minute jog to my local shop the other day without having one of those vivid hallucinations bought on by lack of oxygen, so perhaps my health is improving, although I did like those hallucinations.

But hands down the greatest aspect of making the switch is that for four months I haven't had some scum-bag interrupt me as I walk around begging me for a cigarette. Nobody has barged into a conversation I'm having as I walk by with; “Giz a fag, mate!” No longer do I have to pull my earphones out to listen to the pitiful, needy plea of some bottom-feeding reprobate craving for the devilish kiss of nicotine. So if I can put up with this shitty substitute and all the drawbacks that accompany it to save myself 10 seconds of unwanted dialogue with someone that doesn't deserve to be breathing fresh air let alone someone else's cigarette smoke, it's well worth it.

[Proceed with standing ovation I halted before.]

*BFAM; Brother From Another Mother