When I pitched to write this article, I thought I’d swung low and hit a doddle of an assignment. What I’d actually done was swing low and hit myself in the groin. The more I’ve looked into the subject of smoking as the second anniversary of the ban in England and Wales looms, the deeper I’ve found myself falling into what, unsurprisingly really, is almost too big-a subject – at best impartial, at worst pretty controversial – to do it anywhere near the justice it deserves.

I’m a full-time smoker. I’ve been smoking since I was 21, bar the odd puff in my late teens, and where my addiction began life as nothing more than a prop to make myself look (supposedly) sophisticated, I was well and truly hooked by the time I properly thought about what a low-life habit it actually was. After a few years, I afforded myself an objective look at me as a smoker: what had changed?

Apart from the obvious (that’s a 15-a-day cancer stick dependency to me and you), I was aware that my lung capacity – once notoriously vast during my more athletic days – had diminished significantly. A hostile tightness in my chest the morning-after-the-night-before reminded me of that scene in Alien; literally, my body very much letting me know that what I was doing to it was precisely that: alien. I used to sing, but since I began smoking, my voice has been ear-trashingly ravaged. I’ve wasted heaps of time as I’ve taken leave to suck on a cigarette, ostracised and antisocial for five minute interludes in my day. With that said, I’ve had some awesome ideas for books and articles, but that’s the best I can do in my smoking defence. I’m significantly poorer and continue to succumb to the wiles of the fag tax I insist on peeing my money away on – I worked out that if I’d put away the money I spend on cigarettes (well, roll ups in my case: cheaper, yes, but just as physiologically ruinous) over the last year, I’d have been able to afford two tickets to Glastonbury this year, with a heap of cash left over to burn on what I liked therein. The list goes on.

Smoking’s tough iconography to detest. That devastating photograph of Marlene Dietrich, cigar in hand, shrouded by provocative plumes of smoke; Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one gloved hand cupping her face while the other languidly clasps a cigarette in a holder; Bob Dylan (I challenge anyone who says he is not a worthy fashion icon for women) in No Direction Home; and then there’s the likes of Kate Moss and Sienna Miller, both equally as famous for being heavy smokers as they are for their talents. When I looked into the possibility that equality, particularly since the 1980s, might have a strong part to play with regards to the acceptability of women smoking, my conjecture was disabused. Reports by Cancer Research UK express that since the 1970s, smoking amongst women has decreased by 20% (results ending in 2007). It would seem that women do and have always smoked less than men (Cancer Research UK report that in the latter half of the 1940s 41% of women smoked compared to around 85% of men and more recently, 20% of females compared to around 22% male). But why do women smoke at all?

That appears to be a matter for individuals and any reason as to why remains the domain of speculation. It’s hard to quantify blaming the media – hell, let’s go the whole hog and open up all manner of theories: anorexia, bulimia and other eating disorders, cosmetic surgery, gang culture, solipsism etc – but, as modern medicine and related research escalates, there are plenty of reasons for women (and men) not to smoke. Nearly all of my friends, male and female, smoke. Since the ban, a few of my girlfriends, non-smokers originally, have taken up the habit socially to avoid being the smokers-gooseberry in the pub, club or bar. I can only hope for their sakes that the habit remains merely social. After all, in my experience, that’s how my addiction started although at that time, I wasn’t required to step outside for a puff. And what about that; stepping outside? I resent the number of drinks I’ve had stolen as I stand outside being a ‘drag queen’. Very few bars allow drinks to be taken outside if they don’t have the luxury of a garden or other suchlike outdoor areas. But drink theft isn’t nearly as worrying as the purported spike in date rape cases as a direct side-effect of the ban. However, although I’m endlessly paranoid about having my own drinks spiked as I slip outside, I’ve not been able to find any conclusive evidence or research concerning this.

Back in May, Denis Campbell, a health correspondent for the Guardian and The Observer, ran an article about lung cancer in women as a direct result of smoking. According to his piece, and quoting oncologist Dr Martin Frueh who’d investigated the cases of 683 lung cancer patients in St Gallen in Switzerland; “Our findings suggest that women may have an increased susceptibility to tobacco carcinogens. They are alarming because they show that women, despite smoking less than men, get lung cancer at an earlier age.” Confusingly however, a report run last year by The Lancet puts the kibosh on the carcinogenic gender divide, with Dr Neal Freedman, the oncologist who lead the research in this instance, contesting that the difference between the sexes where susceptibility to lung cancer in smokers is concerned was just 0.9%. Whatever the case, no good can come from smoking. Cancer Research UK purports that in the region of 90% of lung cancer cases are unmitigatedly the result of smoking tobacco.

If that isn’t enough to make a girl want to eschew her smoking habit immediately, further studies by Cancer Research UK heavily link other types of cancer to smoking. The National Cancer Institute in the US found that instances of breast cancer were more likely to be perpetuated in women who began smoking in their teens. A report by The British Medical Journal said that women who smoke can potentially reduce their ability to conceive by a whopping third. In turn, the Institute of Cancer Research found that smokers increase their chances of developing the pre-cancerous cells that lead to cervical cancer compared to non-smokers. And then there’s the well documented stuff such as heart disease, the effects on sensory organs such as eyes, ears and the mouth, the risks to healthy brain function and the depletion of oestrogen that can lead to skeletal disorders.

Sadly and unarguably, it’s not just smokers who hang by their own petard; those that don’t smoke are as much at the mercy of smoking related complications if they’re exposed to second-hand smoke. When the smoking ban in England and Wales was implemented, I was among those that feebly refuted the embargo. This wasn’t because I felt especially concerned for the speculative effects it would have on pub culture: it was because I was hooked, and my hourly pangs for nicotine were no longer acceptable indoors. In short, it wasn’t a case of looking ‘cool’ anymore. I invested in a warm faux-fur coat in preparation for the winter months spent huddling under ineffective patio heaters and away from the inevitability of rain. I puffed my way through many more cigarettes than usual on the evening of 30th June 2007 in my local and couldn’t talk (well, rant) about anything else but the imminent smoking ban.

Rewind to the start of 2006 and there I was, chugging my way through a packet of Chesterfields in my friend’s tiny bar in Bilbao. Spain had then recently been on the receiving end of the EU’s new policies on smoking. As bans and their conditions were creeping their way around the 27 pertaining countries, my Spanish friends were spitting nails at the limitations now in place on what, they argued, was as much part of their tradition as tortilla patatas and pastis. They we were weird rules though. If a bar, club or restaurant measured over 100sqm, it was necessary for the proprietors to create a separate smoking area. However, owners of bars and restaurants that came in under 100sqm were free to choose if or not they made their establishment smoke free. Needless to say, my friend’s shoebox sized bar was every inch the smoking emporium. On a visit to England following our ban, my Spanish senorita friend couldn’t get to grips with the necessity to step outside when she sparked up. She even had an argument with one pub landlord; “But I’m Spanish!” she yelled; “That’s what I do! I dance and smoke!” This bore no truck with the landlord, and we were slung out.

A couple of months ago, I made my way back over to Spain where I found myself laughing out loud at the no-smoking sign on the door of a large restaurant: ‘PLEASE DO NOT SMOKE too much’ it said. In essence, a no-smoking sign that wasn’t a no-smoking sign. The Spanish, in the main, have completely ignored their country’s smoking ban and have largely resumed their national smoking habit in public places, large and small.

A large portion of my friends are musicians. Smoking kinda comes with the territory of ‘band life’, but that’s by-the-by. I was talking to a friend, a drummer, not so long ago about how smoking, in his opinion, has affected live music if at all. He told me the two main things were a) the constant off-putting flow of heads sloping in and out of clubs and pubs in search of a nicotine hit and b) the quick wane of applause once a gig is over. Rather than hang about for an encore, audiences favour the pavement and a bit of lighter sharing. “It was easy to take the thin applause the wrong way to begin with,” he told me; “but now we’re all pretty used to addiction over entertainment.”

I was nervous about finding much in the way of quantifiable evidence that the smoking ban in England and Wales has had a direct effect of pub culture. A lot of the results in this case carry disclaimers relating to the tumbling economy, but the figures are actually quite representative of immediate relations to the ban. A study by The British Beer and Pub Association states that 1,409 pubs closed in England and Wales in 2007 compared to 216 in 2006 and 102 in 2005.

I don’t wish insolvency upon any publican but since the ban came into effect here, I’ve changed my mind. I love that I don’t reek after a night on the tiles. I love that I’m not contributing to unsavoury odours – bar that of unstoppable bodily functions, but at least farts don’t cling to clothes – that so upset other people. I also very much appreciate the way in which I no longer mindlessly light up but instead, tend to really think about whether or not I actually want a cigarette. I also take back-handed delight in the new-found social trend of ‘smirting’. I’ve had the pleasure of some very life-affirming and inspiring conversations with people of all walks that I probably would never had had the opportunity to speak to before if it weren’t for outdoor smoking areas. But good conversation that lasts the duration of a cigarette proves little salve for the overall effect of the evils of smoking. I mourn the apparently rapid loss of traditional pub culture, but I thank the powers that be for making me take stock of my – and others – health.

In the time it’s taken me to write this article, I’ve powered my way through a number of cigarettes (I’m embarrassed to say how many exactly) but I can hand on potentially-dicky-heart say that I’ll probably be making an appointment with my GP next week: it’s high time I made the effort to quit.