We might as well mark the anniversary today. It's hard to work out from last year's post exactly when I gave up smoking dope (plus tobbacco - although I have never smoked a straight cigarette in my life), becuase I hid my every day, half-a-lifetime habit from hyperspace until, somehow, I broke the habit.

It has, in some ways, been remarkably easy. The fact that my indulgance was so solitary meant I had no regular smoking buddies to break with. But the fact that I had used hash as a way of escaping problems and compensating for my loneliness, means that those problems have come to the fore, and that loneliness has ached even more.

Everything - including new friendships - seem to be changing for the better since January - my hernia operation, followed by cranial-sacral massage with a remarkable local theapist. By February the cloud of dopey confusion at last retreated from my head - the hash had really gone on affecting me that long.

The only time I really miss the stuff is when I am trying to write - but less so, because nine months ago even writing a long post like this one would have made me jump up and down with thwarted craving. Now it only happens when I make my umteenth attempt to start my new novel.

The only thing that has changed in my life beyond the obvious (scoring, burn-holes in tee shirts etc) is that I barely ever watch TV any more. Doesn't seem worth it without being stoned - although Eurovision on Saturday was surreal enough without halluciginans.