Those of my friends who aren't laughing their heads off at the thought of me managing to somehow disengage cigarettes from the idea of gin/coffee/days of the week have plenty of encouraging advice, ranging from the predictable ('Chew gum, twiddle your hair, whatever works'.) to the wrong side of unhelpful ('Douse yourself in petrol. That'll make you think twice about lighting up'.)
One unusually healthy journo friend suggested replacing the nicotine buzz with another high. 'It doesn't have to be drugs, of course,' he said, helpfully. 'It could be happy slapping or going on the dodgems, or clubbing seals'.
The main thing I'm worried about in the first week of quitting is that I always want what I can't have. Unlike those controlfreak bastards who claim to have quit through 'mind over matter', I have the willpower of a peanut. I once made the somewhat dubious mistake of attempting to give up chocolate for Lent. It lasted all of 30 minutes before the idea of no chocolate for a month sent me into petrified chase of an armful of Snickers.
Still, as of Sunday it'll be goodbye lung rape and hello healthy non-dependent Kat. Or something. I'm going to learn willpower even it kills me. Right after I've given up smoking. God, wouldn't that be ironic?