IT'S BEEN seven months and six whole days since I threw my fags away.

Sounds like a Prince song, come to think of it, and while I'm not quite blubbing like Sinead O'Connor, part of me still gets misty-eyed when I think about the pleasures I have left behind.

The truth is, nothing does compare to the feeling you get as you choose your seat at the harbour-side, watch the sun dip beneath the waves and light up for the first time on your hard-earned holiday.

These days I can only watch and dream as the delicate smoke rises seductively from someone else's relaxing cigarette... then wince as it starts to drift my way, reminding me how disgustingly it used to smell.

None of my fellow smokers and ex-smokers can believe I still feel pangs of nostalgia for the habit I finally ditched in March after 25 years, on and off.

I was never a 40-a-day woman, and a lot of my fellow smokers scoffed at me when I told them I'd stubbed out my last cigarette.

"You're not even a smoker!" they insisted. "You only have a fag on a night out - how can you say you're addicted, let alone that you're giving up?"

The fact that I could easily puff my way well into two packets whenever I did get stuck in apparently counted for nothing.

And it seemed to matter just as little that anyone who tried to part me from my cigarettes at that point would be risking permanent disablement or, indeed, death.

Months later, it still feels almost as though I am somehow not entitled to feel pangs of nostalgia for smoking.

A curious bravado is involved, as if only those who reach for the packet in their sleep can qualify for 'proper smoker' status.

But after I gave up, it was weeks and weeks before I felt safely able to go into a social situation where I knew there would be smokers. Pubs, parties, a day at the races, a meal out - all presented a stiff challenge to my less-than-iron will.

Whenever I had tried to give up cigarettes before, it had been exactly these social situations which had led to another fall from grace - and 'just one fag' would invariably put me right back at square one.

If I'm honest, there were two minor slips this time, both in early summer; so it really isn't a simple matter for 'social smokers' to pack it in, despite what the 'proper addicts' might have to say.

I'm not sure what stopped those minor slips from leading to total failure this time around. All I can think is that in the weeks before quitting I registered a nasty headache twice or three times, and when it happened for the fourth time I suddenly realised it might be because I was smoking fags end to end, and it might be starving my brain of oxygen.

I've not had a headache since I gave up, which suggests my hunch was right; and whenever I've felt a bit regretful as I watched someone else light up, a quick reminder of just how ill I felt has done the trick for me.

It's often been said that if someone were to offer you sweets that tasted vile, gave you a hacking cough, made you stink and eventually gave you cancer, you'd probably decline.

But, in my experience at any rate, it helps guard against temptation if those sweets have already made you feel pretty ill.

Updated: 10:39 Wednesday, October 19, 2005