So... I have two dogs. Well actually I have no dogs. My wife has a German Shepherd and my daughter Jo has a Shihtzu. I am told by everybody that dogs are relaxing. Well they are not.

There I am gently playing about with one of them. Usual stuff, tickling the belly, pretending to growl etc. I have no idea what happened next but in a flash of snarl I get punctured in the thumb like a cheap football.

The Alsatian? The big one with huge teeth?

Nope. The Shihtzu.

Well I tell you it hurt like hell. And bled. I pranced about the house in a way only men can courting sympathy from anyone in the vicinity. I was actually shaking like a leaf. It's not the first time I have been bitten by a dog but this was the most painful. I needed a fag.

I resisted.

Next day I attend Trinity Park near Ipswich to help launch Healthy Ambitions - an NHS Suffolk initiative to make the county the healthiest in the country. Did you know there is over 12 years difference in life expectancy between certain parts of Suffolk? Imagine that - living 12 years longer just because of where you live in the county.

I felt very proud as Rachael Sloane interviewed me in front of the assembled guests who seemed first shocked by my revelation that I have spent more on fags than the original cost of my house, then impressed that I have not touched the weed for 10 days.  It was an enjoyable but flying visit because of a photo-shoot that I was already late for. The traffic on the way back to the studio was crazy... I wanted a fag.

I resisted.

The photo shoot was OK. Not OK the magazine I hasten to add. The Suffolk one that you see in newsagents. I will be in the Christmas edition apparently. Back at my desk my beloved team of Sal & Shaz begin to see the funny side of my savaging at the hands of a very small and cuddly dog. Then one of them mentioned tetanus. In truth I had already thought about this but the fear of needles resulted in me preparing to risk lockjaw. On they went... Googling everything they could find about tetanus. I rang my GP to appease them, in the safe knowledge that I was up to date with tetanus and the bite was not bad enough anyway - thus escaping the dreaded injection.

Wrong on both counts.

Twenty minutes and a small prick later I left the surgery. Trembling again. I needed a fag.

Guess what?

I resisted. 

It's a conspiracy I tell you. I mean is life really against a person trying to quit I wonder? Did Ryan Giggs tell Fergie - "I won't score until 85 minutes boss - Hazell is trying to quit fags - Hehehe"? Did Lewis Hamilton sit there in 6th place thinking "I will leave this till the last corner - Hazell is trying to quit fags - Hohoho"? Did the bus driver that did not feel the need to avoid a small motorcycle this morning have a memo that read "If you see Hazell, stress him out - he's trying to quit fags - Teeheehee..."?

I assume paranoia is one of the symptoms of quitting right?

Jx