I am a monster; an ogre; a fiend. Dying on a toilet in a detox clinic in Austria, scribbling new similes, squeezing new spots, I forgot to give up smoking. I forgot Quitnet - my beloved anti-smoking website - and our Quit Date: April 7.

It was morning on the lakeside; cowbells tinkled and the sunlight was reluctant. Sucking sheep yogurt through a straw, I remembered I own a computer. I rose from the toilet and limped toward it. Inside was a flurry of billets-doux - from Quitnet. I read. I was bewildered.

The first note said: "Time smoke free: two days, 22 hours, 20 minutes and 42 seconds." Cigarettes not smoked: 88. Lifetime saved: 16 hours. Money saved: £15.75." I was baffled. The yogurt gave a gentle churn and I understood. Quitnet thought I had stopped smoking. A song spluttered from my soul: "If you don't know me by now ... "

I entertained a fantasy that it was I who was deluded. Had I given up smoking but forgotten? I evicted the fantasy, without a kiss. Not this time, baby.

The second note was similar, the third note was the denouement; the denouement that I slept through while Quitnet smiled. "Hello! Today is your Quit Date! This is it, the moment you've prepared for, anticipated and even dreaded. Fear not! This is your quit! Nothing in the world can make you throw it away."

Quitnet bit its nails through Quit Date, clutching my corsage: it wrote again that evening, tenderly: "You've done it. You've made it well into your quit day and you are still smoke-free! Stand up and take a bow!"

The letters ached on: here is Quitnet's happy anticipation of my quitting: "Three days to your Quit Day! Discuss with your family the fact that you might be a bit hard to live with for a while"; "Two days to your Quit Day! You're almost there"; "One day to your Quit Day! You CAN do this. Good luck!"

In the corner of the screen lay a tiny button - it was failure, almost invisible. "Is this still your Quit Date?" it asked. I clenched my lips and clicked "No". The led me to a new Quit Date - December 31 2006; my 32nd birthday. Quitnet is resigned. But it has stopped writing; those friendly orange screams to quit are gone. How does a computer grieve? How does it sigh? Tears are leaking from my eyes. I have broken a website's heart.