A Heavily Dependent Habit
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: It takes a certain strength for an addicted person to reach out and ask for help. This is the sorry tale of one such addict.
_____________________________________________________________________
Until quite recently I was the owner of a heavily dependent 99p a day habit. I gave up the smokes twenty-five years ago without too much trouble, this despite a great liking for African Woodbines. These days, I don't drink alcohol during the month of February, just to prove to myself I can do without it for a month. Not wise to attempt this in January because of all the socialising connected to that time of year, but February has only twenty-eight days as a rule and is therefore ideal for such an endeavour; although I've been known to mutter obscenities when a leap year rears its ugly head.
I went cold turkey on the smokes, safe in the knowledge I could still get out of my gourd by means of ingestion; a method once employed in times of need when perhaps a vital ingredient wasn't to hand, whether it be matches, tobacco or skins.
I toyed with the idea of using a small hash-pipe or maybe doing Boulders, but that meant inhalation and I was seriously trying to do without that. Boulders, for the uninitiated, often referred to as hot knives, are an ingenious method of getting an almost instant hit from solid hash. An upturned biscuit tin is adorned with small lumps of dope, Boulders. Two ordinary eating knife blades are placed on the gas ring until they glow, then, one is used to pick up the Boulder before the other is applied, fusing said Boulder to where it releases a stream of smoke which is then inhaled from close quarters; easy, not. A certain care is necessary in that the knife handles should be suitably insulated by use of oven gloves or some such protection. Boulderers can be spotted a mile away by virtue of their split lips, a legacy of the Boulderer's over-eagerness in making sure nothing goes to waste. They're no good where grass is concerned and in such cases infusion is a suitable alternative.
Doing without a bevvy doesn't bother me in the least. I still go to the pub and I can make a couple of pints of iced water last for as long as I want to be there, but there are odd times where February can feel like the longest month in the calendar year.
My latest addiction, for that's what it is, is proving much harder to shake off. At under £1 per day it's never going to break the bank but that's not the point. I adapted the notion of a drink-free February from a course of action a mate of mine, Kenny Brookes, took when he declared February to be a 'cake-free' month in order that he could shed a few pounds. Now, I wish I had Kenny's resolve regarding such an undertaking.
I responded to an advertising campaign which suggested we Scots should 'give it Aldi', i.e., shop at the Aldi store. This I did, and found their prices and products easy on the old pocket; easier than anywhere else. That's where I discovered my latest habit in the shape of 'Desira' Cheesecakes, three of the little fuckers for under a quid. They don't last long in the fridge I can tell you.
Four flavours comprising Blackcurrant, Strawberry, Lemon and, last but certainly not least, Caramel. Irresistible isn't in it. I was very soon on three a day with one after breakfast, another following lunch and the other as the sweet course to accompany the evening meal. I actually panicked one day when my nearest Aldi store had the audacity to run out of them, petitioning the staff to double-check the store-room in the possibility they were perhaps hiding in a corner somewhere. That's when I knew I had a problem, had it bad.
I tried the Blackcurrant first, I like Blackcurrants. It was love at first bite. I assured myself I could walk off the effects to my waistline but the thing about that is, I live on the west coast of Scotland which is famous for its levels and frequency of precipitation. Add to that the complete lack of anything resembling a shelter along the coast road between Ardrossan, Saltcoats and Stevenston, the three towns, and there you have it; certainly not conducive to walking any distance unless you have webbed feet. Another huge factor is my recent qualification for the bus pass, something I managed to ignore for almost three months, being somehow able to dodge the raindrops quite successfully. Throw in a couple of absolute drenchings and I was soon making use of the document to get around.
'Join a gym,' I can hear you say. 'What! With my Arthritis?' would be my response.
I was wary of the Lemon Cheesecake, Lemon can be tart but surprisingly it was rather delicious. The Strawberry hit the spot too but neither of them prepared me for the delight that is Caramel Cheesecake. I knew the moment I peeled back the foil that this was something special indeed. When I licked the inside of the lid before discarding it I knew I was hooked, big time. There's an almighty succulence to each of them but the Caramel was the one that did the damage, causing the receptors to go into overdrive and ultimately creating the all consuming craving.
I wasn't happy with merely devouring the contents, finding a desperate need to stick my tongue into the almost but not quite empty container. I discovered it was best to rotate the pot on my tongue and not vice versa, thus releasing what was left by the spoon; I had it bad.
I'm three months clean and counting, mostly thanks to my counsellors who have given me terrific support throughout the long hard road to recovery. I at first wanted to picket my local Aldi store to highlight their 'pusher' mentality but my support team talked me out of it. They very quickly got me down to just one a day which doesn't really sound like much but believe me, it's easily the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I no longer shop at Aldi. Come to think of it I no longer shop at Iceland either for the simple fact it's next door to Aldi. I feel the temptation to regress is still too strong so I'm on a boycott of sorts until such times as I can totally resist.
Let this sorry tale be a warning to anyone with a sweet tooth. These delicacies are highly addictive, so much so I've lobbied my local MP in an effort to have them banned from the shelves and, if not, to be labelled with a Government health warning. I'm waiting for word back on that so keep an eye out for the next health information scare to hit the headlines.
I'm in recovery, it could soon be you seeking help; I certainly hope not for your sake.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: It takes a certain strength for an addicted person to reach out and ask for help. This is the sorry tale of one such addict.
_____________________________________________________________________
Until quite recently I was the owner of a heavily dependent 99p a day habit. I gave up the smokes twenty-five years ago without too much trouble, this despite a great liking for African Woodbines. These days, I don't drink alcohol during the month of February, just to prove to myself I can do without it for a month. Not wise to attempt this in January because of all the socialising connected to that time of year, but February has only twenty-eight days as a rule and is therefore ideal for such an endeavour; although I've been known to mutter obscenities when a leap year rears its ugly head.
I went cold turkey on the smokes, safe in the knowledge I could still get out of my gourd by means of ingestion; a method once employed in times of need when perhaps a vital ingredient wasn't to hand, whether it be matches, tobacco or skins.
I toyed with the idea of using a small hash-pipe or maybe doing Boulders, but that meant inhalation and I was seriously trying to do without that. Boulders, for the uninitiated, often referred to as hot knives, are an ingenious method of getting an almost instant hit from solid hash. An upturned biscuit tin is adorned with small lumps of dope, Boulders. Two ordinary eating knife blades are placed on the gas ring until they glow, then, one is used to pick up the Boulder before the other is applied, fusing said Boulder to where it releases a stream of smoke which is then inhaled from close quarters; easy, not. A certain care is necessary in that the knife handles should be suitably insulated by use of oven gloves or some such protection. Boulderers can be spotted a mile away by virtue of their split lips, a legacy of the Boulderer's over-eagerness in making sure nothing goes to waste. They're no good where grass is concerned and in such cases infusion is a suitable alternative.
Doing without a bevvy doesn't bother me in the least. I still go to the pub and I can make a couple of pints of iced water last for as long as I want to be there, but there are odd times where February can feel like the longest month in the calendar year.
My latest addiction, for that's what it is, is proving much harder to shake off. At under £1 per day it's never going to break the bank but that's not the point. I adapted the notion of a drink-free February from a course of action a mate of mine, Kenny Brookes, took when he declared February to be a 'cake-free' month in order that he could shed a few pounds. Now, I wish I had Kenny's resolve regarding such an undertaking.
I responded to an advertising campaign which suggested we Scots should 'give it Aldi', i.e., shop at the Aldi store. This I did, and found their prices and products easy on the old pocket; easier than anywhere else. That's where I discovered my latest habit in the shape of 'Desira' Cheesecakes, three of the little fuckers for under a quid. They don't last long in the fridge I can tell you.
Four flavours comprising Blackcurrant, Strawberry, Lemon and, last but certainly not least, Caramel. Irresistible isn't in it. I was very soon on three a day with one after breakfast, another following lunch and the other as the sweet course to accompany the evening meal. I actually panicked one day when my nearest Aldi store had the audacity to run out of them, petitioning the staff to double-check the store-room in the possibility they were perhaps hiding in a corner somewhere. That's when I knew I had a problem, had it bad.
I tried the Blackcurrant first, I like Blackcurrants. It was love at first bite. I assured myself I could walk off the effects to my waistline but the thing about that is, I live on the west coast of Scotland which is famous for its levels and frequency of precipitation. Add to that the complete lack of anything resembling a shelter along the coast road between Ardrossan, Saltcoats and Stevenston, the three towns, and there you have it; certainly not conducive to walking any distance unless you have webbed feet. Another huge factor is my recent qualification for the bus pass, something I managed to ignore for almost three months, being somehow able to dodge the raindrops quite successfully. Throw in a couple of absolute drenchings and I was soon making use of the document to get around.
'Join a gym,' I can hear you say. 'What! With my Arthritis?' would be my response.
I was wary of the Lemon Cheesecake, Lemon can be tart but surprisingly it was rather delicious. The Strawberry hit the spot too but neither of them prepared me for the delight that is Caramel Cheesecake. I knew the moment I peeled back the foil that this was something special indeed. When I licked the inside of the lid before discarding it I knew I was hooked, big time. There's an almighty succulence to each of them but the Caramel was the one that did the damage, causing the receptors to go into overdrive and ultimately creating the all consuming craving.
I wasn't happy with merely devouring the contents, finding a desperate need to stick my tongue into the almost but not quite empty container. I discovered it was best to rotate the pot on my tongue and not vice versa, thus releasing what was left by the spoon; I had it bad.
I'm three months clean and counting, mostly thanks to my counsellors who have given me terrific support throughout the long hard road to recovery. I at first wanted to picket my local Aldi store to highlight their 'pusher' mentality but my support team talked me out of it. They very quickly got me down to just one a day which doesn't really sound like much but believe me, it's easily the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I no longer shop at Aldi. Come to think of it I no longer shop at Iceland either for the simple fact it's next door to Aldi. I feel the temptation to regress is still too strong so I'm on a boycott of sorts until such times as I can totally resist.
Let this sorry tale be a warning to anyone with a sweet tooth. These delicacies are highly addictive, so much so I've lobbied my local MP in an effort to have them banned from the shelves and, if not, to be labelled with a Government health warning. I'm waiting for word back on that so keep an eye out for the next health information scare to hit the headlines.
I'm in recovery, it could soon be you seeking help; I certainly hope not for your sake.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He has a number of publications to his name, including Coont Thum and Tattie Zkowen's Perfect Days, both of which have been published by McStorytellers.