Promises promises

JUST before I went to University in 1980, I made three promises to
myself. Very simple promises aimed at helping me to keep healthy and to
keep sane. Here they are :

The First Promise - That I would not smoke
The Second Promise - That I would not knowingly ingest hallucinogenic
drugs.

Before you start accusing me of being as pure as Saint Cliff Richard,
let me briefly explain myself.

In the case of The First Promise, I just wanted to try to keep my lungs
clean, to not smell of stale tobacco and to not see my grant money go
up in smoke.

In the case of The Second Promise, I didn't trust the potential content
of the drugs. How could I tell if a Space Cookie was made of, for
instance, the purest dried cow shit ? Or the acid drops were made from
Toilet Duck ?
Note that I was careful to exclude alcoholic beverages from the scope
of The Second Promise. I was not averse to getting hammered at regular
intervals on beer and lager. I was almost certainly doing myself more
cellular damage than if I'd have taken a "recreational" soft drug now
and then - but there we go. They were my promises, so let's not argue
about it.

Note also that the promises were very simple. Nothing like "I won't go
round stealing cars" or "I won't go round strangling cats" or "I won't
go round coveting my neighbour's ox". These sorts of things were
givens, covered by Universal Laws of Decency and the Ten Commandments.
I was only eighteen so I wasn't going to compete with the magnitude of
those sorts of designs for life. Like I said, let's not argue.

Anyway, some 20 years later, with University life well and truly
history, I am proud to say that I have yet to break The First and
Second Promises.

The more attentive reader will notice that something is conspicuous by
its absence. I said that I made Three Promises. I am less proud -
somewhat ashamed, even - to admit to making and then breaking The Third
Promise. This is my confession.

It happened somewhere in France. I was on a coach bound for Calais on
the way back from a holiday near Cannes. It had been a long and hectic
day. I was tired. I was fed up at the thought of having to go back to
work after my holiday. It was the wee small hours of the morning, a
time when the human - in both body and spirit - is at its most
vulnerable and is therefore at the greatest risk of succumbing to
temptation. These are the excuses for my weakness.

Throughout the journey, I'd seen a couple of other passengers call for
this particular "service" from the stewardess. Despite being tired, I
was fully aware that by partaking, I would transgress The Third
Promise. And the thing was, I didn't care. After years of abstaining, I
decided that I wanted "in".

I could feel my heartbeat quicken with anticipation as I stood quietly,
taking care not to wake my sleeping partner, and tiptoed my way toward
the stewardess. I felt excited; an adrenaline rush caused by the
thought of partaking in a previously forbidden activity.
The anticipation made me feel guilty and dirty. I knew that once I'd
tried it, then there would never be any denying the fact that I'd
broken a promise to myself. What sort of person would that make me ? I
wouldn't be able to trust myself anymore.

My inner turmoil was obvious to the stewardess. She could see what I
was going through. She smiled and gently took my hand.
"It's OK", she whispered. "Everything will be fine. It's not as bad as
you think." The voice of experience.

I looked nervously down the coach at my partner, still sleeping and
fortunately blissfully oblivious to what was going on.
The stewardess whispered "I won't tell her. Promise."

I gave her a sum of money, a mixture of Sterling and left-over French
Francs. In exchange, she gave me a small plastic container and left me
on my own. It was now up to me, in my own hands.

The stewardess was right. The experience was not so bad after all. The
"hit" was instantaneous and I enjoyed it. I didn't feel at all dirty,
and I admit that I have freely and frequently indulged since. I have
even encouraged others.

Thank you for listening to me. I feel better now, a confession off of
my chest and a weight off of my mind. Oh ! The Third Promise ?
That I would never eat Pot Noodle.