Today I corrupted Matt "Phoneboy" Jagger. I took him into the seedy backroom of my local pub. Stuck him in the corner, pushed my hand into my pants, pulled out a coin and shoved it into the slot of my* pinball machine. I think by the end of it he was hooked. I felt very satisfied to know that I'd managed to induct someone into this seedy world of bouncing metal balls and flashing cheeky lights. There's something a little bit sexual about pinball machines. I often fantasise about them late at night.**
I remember when I was a smoker I used to happily dish out fags to people who I knew were not full time fagheads. You'll notice this. Smokers are happy to lend out cigs to bona-fide part timers. Their logic is simple, if I get this poor bugger hooked that can only be a good thing for me as a smoker. I used to see it as an investment. However, when these "non-smokers" genuinely enter the ranks of the smoker, lending fags becomes a real pain in the a#se. "Arrgh, why do you never buy your own" signals a smoker's triumph over a non-smoker. They are putting you in your place. Slaming the iron door shut. You're trapped in their prison.
Very strangely I still have odd cravings for fags. I'd never smoke one again but there's a little gap in my life which has been created by my years of addition. You can never really give up. My flatmate always tells me that if I had one I'd hate it. I wouldn't. I really wouldn't. Therein lies the problem.
*What? It sort of is mine. I hold the highscore and pay more monet than anyone into it.
**This bit is of course lies. Mostly.