How One Cigarette Sank a Yacht (trip)

Mr X and his Baltic Bride have been making noises about taking their yacht out; a wee cruise around the Bay of Islands, and then to Majorca later in the year. Thus, I knew it important I become their New Best Friend. I engaged the Bride in conversation; the POGs ignore her with a vengeance, so this met with some success. We even got to the air-kissing stage of friendship! I started planning my Majorca wardrobe, and bought new shoes.

Yet, alas Dear Reader. I ruined it all by smoking. Ah, Dunhills, my favourite food-substitute. The risks bother me not. I throw La Mer night cream in the face of premature aging. If my hands become nicotine-stained, I shall paint them yellow, and say I'm wearing gloves. Yet - due to one small transgression - I now see the evil that cigarettes can do. They took away my yacht trip to Majorca.

We were at Mrs S's house, when Mr X and the Bride showed up. I imbibed just a sufficient amount of wine, that eventually a nicotine top-up seemed an utterly sterling idea. I excused myself, and went outside. Unfortunately, Mr X followed suit.

Now, there was nothing untoward in this. It is true that Mr X has a wandering eye (it's positively nomadic), but I don't flatter myself in his regard. It was unfortunate, because Third Wives are an insanely jealous species, and New Best Friends don’t wander off with the husband. The Bride was not pleased. She rushed after us.

"X! X! We are leaving now! I want to go. You said no smoking. You said we would only be five minutes! We. Are. Leaving. Now! I want to go!"

Mr X hastily stubbed out his cigarette, and galloped for the door. I still got an air-kiss good-bye from the Bride, but there was something decidedly wintery about it. Far too wintery for Majorca.

I haven’t seen them since.