Happy to be a quitter

FOR a smoker, stubbing out for the final time is daunting prospect. When the nicotine monster is crying to be fed, it seems to drown out the other voice - the one saying smoking is probably the world's most expensive way to kill yourself.

Like most smokers, I had known for a long time that my habit was damaging my body and sending me on a kamikaze mission which was only ever going to end one way. But I didn't want to stop.

A smoker since the age of 14, I could not contemplate getting through a morning, never mind a full day, without nicotine.

It woke me up at the start of the day, added something to my morning coffee, helped me feel less full after meals, stopped me from snacking, relieved my stress and even helped me sleep. In short, it was my crutch.

Smoking was also something to do in an uncomfortable or boring situation and an emotional support. Waiting for a bus? Light up. Boyfriend dumps you? Reach for the ciggies. Don't know anyone at a party? Whip out the Marlboro Lights.

Then there's the glamour factor. Undoubtedly, nicotine and the silver screen go hand in hand, creating the illusion that smoking is an acceptable - even desirable - habit.

In 1940s film noir, cigarettes were ubiquitous accessories of allure, seduction and charisma. It is impossible to imagine tough-guy Humphrey Bogart or rebel James Dean without one. Iconic shots of screen beauties Marlene Dietrich and Audrey Hepburn suggested smoking was sophisticated and sensual. Never has a cancer stick looked so cool. And to impressionable youngsters, this can be fatal.

I can still remember my first cigarette. I had just turned 14 and was on a week-long school trip to Germany.

Back in the 1990s, there simply wasn't the wealth of anti-smoking feeling there is today. Indie bad boys Oasis - who even gave a nod to smoking in the song Cigarettes and Alcohol - were topping the charts and unashamedly living the rock and roll lifestyle. Chain-smoking was commonplace for characters in popular films and television shows, including Trainspotting and This Life.

In Germany, cigarettes were shockingly easy to obtain from street vending machines and no one seemed to bat an eyelid when youngsters used them.

Although I had always been anti-smoking - having had the evils of cigarettes drummed into me by my mother for as long as I could remember - I felt under pressure to try it because everyone else was. But it was also partly curiosity and rebellion which enticed me to smoke my first cigarette.

After that, the habit gradually crept into my life and before I knew it, I was smoking every day and spending some of my lunch money on cigarettes. Looking back, I find it horrifying that shops served me and my friends with cigarettes, largely without question. And so began a ten-year habit.

I have, many times before, tried to give up smoking with the aid of nicotine patches, but each time I've failed. My downfall was always alcohol - I found it impossible to have even a glass of wine without the all-important cigarette.

I was scared to give up, but at the same time, I knew I had to break the habit. I've always been reasonably fit and fortunate to enjoy good health, but last year, at the grand old age of 24, I started realising how unfit I was: going to the gym was getting harder and running up two flights of stairs made me breathless.

Then there was the money. I was on between ten and 20 a day, so smoking was costing me between £2.79 and £5.54 every day. That's a whopping £1,018.35 to £2,022.10 a year. Which could buy a girl a lot of shoes - between three and six pairs of Manolo Blahniks, to be precise.

So I took the decision to quit. Cold turkey. I chose a day after a big night out, when I knew I would have smoked myself sick, and chucked away all my cigarettes, lighters, ashtrays and other paraphernalia, including a rather fetching Audrey-style cigarette holder.

The first day wasn't as bad as I'd thought. Still feeling rough from a big night out, and with the distractions of Channel 4's T4 on Sunday, I didn't really miss the fags.

But when I climbed into bed, it was a different story. Despite being hungover and tired, I found it impossible to switch off and was still wide awake at 2am, finally getting some sleep at about 3.30am - not ideal on a Sunday night.

And that was just the start. Although I'd expected cravings and mild irritability, I was not prepared for the plethora of symptoms I was suddenly faced with.

In the first week as a non-smoker, I developed mood swings to the extent that my colleagues joked I had, at various points in the week, been every single one of Snow White's seven dwarves - except Happy, that is.

I was tired, grumpy, highly irritable and found it almost impossible to concentrate for more than five minutes.

On top of this, I developed physical withdrawal symptoms, which as well as insomnia, included light-headedness and restlessness. I also found I had started eating like a horse.

But by far the most serious side effect I experienced was depression. After the first week, I felt as though I was walking around with a black cloud over my head. I couldn't see the point in anything and just wanted to lie in bed and not wake up until I felt normal. I was starting to get seriously concerned about myself until one of my friends pointed out to me that feelings of depression were part and parcel of giving up.

That really helped because it made me realise my life wasn't that bad and the way I was feeling was simply part of a chemical reaction.

Having survived this, the next challenge was to get through a night out without smoking. I had managed to avoid pubs and clubs for the first few weeks but knew I would have to go out for a friend's birthday at the end of February.

Nights out are tricky for those giving up for two reasons: firstly, alcohol has a tendency to kill self control and willpower; and secondly, you are surrounded by smokers.

A brilliant tip to cope with this situation - which should be attributed to one of my ex-smoker friends - is the three-pint rule. You will only want to smoke for the first three drinks after which, the cravings will desist.

So I went out. I applied the rule and I was astonished to find that not only does it work, but that not smoking also means less severe hangovers.

Fortunately, I can report that while many withdrawal symptoms are unpleasant, they get do easier. And if you manage to stay off the cigarettes, you only have to go through them once.

Although it's still early days, I can barely believe I've got this far. Only trouble is, I'm now turning into one of those hard-line, evangelist ex-smokers who are despised by smokers everywhere. But I make no apologies; I've chosen life and it's so much better than being a fag ash Lil.