I thought vaping was my pleasure but a book showed me it was a tyranny. With one leap, I was free

‘I started to feel ashamed that the e-cigarette was, as a friend put it, surgically attached to my hand.’ Photograph: Nicholas T Ansell/PA

I have been a nicotine fiend ever since I smoked my first cigarette at the age of 14, perched on some steps during my school lunch break. It tasted disgusting but I persevered and soon I was hooked. I must have looked like some kind of Dickensian urchin, trailing around north London in my school uniform puffing on a ciggie.

And boy, did I love to smoke. It was great fun for a while. I happily trooped into the pens outside nightclubs and pubs where the smokers were held. Smoking was a group activity back then. I swapped white-and-gold packets of Marlboro Lights for the more cost-efficient squishy green pouches of Golden Virginia tobacco. My best friend and I chain-smoked rollies until our flat reeked and the ashtray overflowed.