Stoptober

In one of those strange flights of lateral thought (if such a thing is possible), I found myself musing on the latest mangling of the English language, Stoptober, and what it represents, a no doubt admirable service aimed at helping people to give up smoking if that's what they wish to do.

My immediate reaction was to plan a counter strategy, that is to smoke a cigar every day in October. I won't degrade the activity with a name such as Stogietober, so please forget that you just read it, if you have. But it is something that I shall simply have to get on with.

Meanwhile, I thought, there must be something that I can give up, and it dawned on me. I shall cease from, desist from, refrain from, quit and stop the foul, unhealthy practise of trying to read the entire edition of Private Eye in bed in one go on alternate Wednesday nights. No more dragging on Strobes or HP Sauce through to Yobettes till the whole organ is empty.

Oh! The new health that I shall enjoy! Or I shall be able to listen to the Shipping Forecast, or Church Bells at Bedtime. Or read another chapter of Who Murdered Chaucer?

I am not so self-righteous, I hope, to pretend that it will be easy.

But, from now on, Private Eye will be kept Firmly Down Stairs.

Think of me in my struggle.