Do you know something? I can smell my shampoo on my hair.

This is the comment that has secured baffled looks from everyone I've said it to over the last three weeks.

But it is strange, for me at least, as my hair has smelt of stale smoke since I was 16.

Not to mention the fact that I barely had any sense of smell after nearly eight years of suppressing it with a 20-a-day smoking habit.

I'll admit having hair that smells nice is a welcome change. But it's a poor substitute for my favourite hobby that I have been lost without for the best part of a month.

In fact, today marks a whole 24 days since I smoked my last cigarette.

If you're thinking of quitting, well-wishers will tell you that once you've managed a week of being 'smoke free' then you're practically cured.

This is garbage.

I've just thrown away a yoghurt that I couldn't finish eating because it was making me want to smoke.

Ridiculously, this was because I couldn't stop thinking about how I used to use yoghurt pots as makeshift ashtrays outside my university digs.

You may find that image disgusting, but I get an enormous craving for cigarettes as I remember the rush of nicotine that went with the grimy little pots of ash littered around my back garden.

Apparently, aside from losing my appetite for yoghurt, I'm supposed to feel better.

I certainly feel different, but whether it's better or worse I'm yet to decide.

The biggest change is that I've become a complete recluse.

Having locked myself away from my chain-smoking friends for three weeks to avoid the temptation to join them as they diminish their Marlboro Lights.

The smoking ban - my former enemy and now a god-sent ally - does not affect these girls, who will not allow a poxy British winter to stop them getting through a pack of 20 in an evening.

They wrap up warm and attach themselves to outdoor tables, strictly limiting their social lives to pubs with covered outside seating areas.
Heaters optional.

I did it too, but now there's no way I'm going to freeze to death without the pleasure of smoking to justify it.

So I've not seen them for weeks. How long is this going to go on for, they ask me. I don't know.

When will I be able to watch people enjoy cigarettes without wanting to snatch them out of their hands?

Could be this side of Christmas, could be never. I'm counting the days.

Jarvis Cocker, former lead singer of indie band Pulp, once said that smoking was like punctuation, describing fag-breaks as the commas and full-stops of day-to-day life.

My commas are now biscuits and my waist line tells the tale of a recovering cigarette addict.