Not being funny but those early years of owning a restaurant were the most stressful I have ever experienced. It is not so much a job as a lifestyle (in fact hubby refers to it rather as a 'prison sentence'). The general public can be unbelievably obnoxious and badly behaved and treat people in the service industry in an abominable way...I won't bang on about this too much at the moment, you are welcome to read my "How to survive running your own restaurant" if you'd like to hear more tales on that subject...

Anyway, it soon became apparent that there was no point in both of us being up at 8 in the morning to open for the cleaners and then both staying up until 2 a.m. to close after the last punters wobbled their way out of the bar door! All it meant was that we were both short of sleep, occasionally a bit hungover from succumbing to the offers of insistent late night party goers and certainly capable of starting a row with a bitchy little comment. So we switched tactics to suit our strengths and hubby took on the early morning unlocking while I did the herding out and locking up (aided by our two very loyal and loveable 'bouncers I hasten to add, before you conjure up an image of me as a sumo wrestler!) Sometimes it takes a while to get rid of the very last people, but turning the music off is quite effective even if sometimes it has to be followed by the lights!

As I was saying, the stress was on occasion intolerable and once hubby was safely tucked up in bed, all the diners were out of the restaurant and I was just left with my battle scars and a few late night drinkers in the bar, I would sneak round to a corner in the restaurant in the dark and indulge in a puff.

This went on for several months and probably took place two or three times a week, sometimes it would be on my own and on other occasions I would dare to 'do it in public' with a couple of loyal waiters and our kitchen manager - who's job was also not without severe 'stressy nights'.

Gradually the occasions became fewer and farther between, maybe only once a week,

Then once every two weeks and then eventually there was a particularly stressful night and I bummed a ciggy off a waiter, thinking to myself, well it must be a month since I last had one... as I was not in a position to be picky over the brand, I ended up take a long drag on a strong one and instantly almost lost my dinner over the bar. The nausea was unbelievable and I was so disgusted with the taste!

That was it. I haven't touched a cigarette since. But back to my point...

About a year after this event, we were invited to a party and had finally got the restaurant to a standard whereby we were confident that our staff would be able to complete a shift without us incurring too much collateral damage.

I took pleasure in bathing, doing my hair, deciding what to wear and finally putting on my make-up, then the weirdest thing happened, I looked in the mirror to do the final preening and guess what my brain said...

"Righto, time for a Gin and tonic and a ciggy before we leave for the party!"

That had been the habit every weekend for the ten years previous!

Friday night and Saturday night, get ready, call a cab, sit and have a G & T and ciggy then get in the cab and so the evening started, 30 fags later I would be in bed!