It's just over two years to the day that I left Charing Cross hospital after surgery for colon cancer. Once I returned home, as well as luxuriating in my own bed and generally feeling so happy to be back, I threw out all my smoking paraphernalia.Into the bin went my packs of rolling tobacco, Rizlas, lighters and even the odd pack of American Spirit I kept in case I ran out of the essentials to roll my own.I was 66 and had smoked since I was a teenager, only stopping while I was pregnant. Despite this I didn't have a moment's difficulty quitting because, shortly after my colon surgery, I was diagnosed with a massive pulmonary embolism. Thankfully it dispersed by the time I was discharged, but I wasn't prepared to take any chances with my lungs.Smoking is famously hard to give up. It's the most pernicious of habits. But I've been fortunate: over these last two years, I've hardly had a moment's difficulty in sticking to my new non-smoking life. Scarcely a pang... until the other night when, sitting in the garden as the heat dimmed to about 26 degrees, the moon began its journey above the rooftops and we were tucking into a platter of prosciutto with a glass of wine, I suddenly yearned for a cigarette. Smoking is famously hard to give up. It's the most pernicious of habits, writes Alexandra ShulmanIt wasn't a physical craving but a mental one – for 50 years the perfect evening has always involved me holding a cigarette between my fingers, slowly inhaling the smoke, tapping the ash.I rarely smoked during the day but did every single night, lighting up after supper as I watched TV, enjoyed dinners with friends or even when I was alone reading a book. Smoking was habitual to me, rather than addictive.And there's something about this unusual, torpor-inducing heat that has rekindled that same insistent need for a cigarette. On that delightful evening last week – a night that resembled so many I've enjoyed on holiday over the years, sitting out in the balmy heat listening to the crickets – I felt there was something missing. And that was smoking.No, I did not rush out to the corner shop to grab a packet before they closed, but it was a stark reminder that the desire never leaves, it just lies dormant.I hadn't expected the craving to reappear like that and it's subsided now, but I suspect that, should I get to a point when I know my days are definitely numbered, I will almost certainly allow myself the pleasure of a cigarette or two on a hot summer night. After all, why not?Hot and bothered by summer whinesSurely this summer of 2026 is going to go down as one of the all-time greats.England's incredible performance at the World Cup, our wildcard tennis star Arthur Fery and the joy of waking up to reliable sunshine.Which is why I can't bear it when people moan about the heat. Those who suffer ill-health or live in cramped, badly ventilated conditions are allowed to complain. To the others, particularly those I know who have reasonably sized houses with access to gardens or terraces, I say: Shut up and appreciate this precious time.We will be returning to our usual bleak, dodgy weather and dreary weekly football matches soon enough. Great memories are made of years like this. Arthur Fery waves to the crowds after defeat in his semi final match at Wimbledon on July 10Are you still Mr Mischief, Harry?How the posh love a nickname. Charlotte Griffiths' entertaining account of her encounters with Prince Harry during his party-loving days, which ran in the Daily Mail last week, detailed this.She instantly allocated him the moniker 'Mr Mischief'. (The name his long-term friends used was not disclosed.) Griffiths, meanwhile, became known as CG-String by Harry. Gosh, nicknames are absurd.Sharing a flat in my 20s with a girlfriend who knew many people from that tribe – Etonian, titled, frequently 'hog-whimperingly drunk', to use Winston Churchill's grandson Rupert Soames' memorable phrase – I became used to this behaviour.None of my friends had nicknames but here was a whole cast of 'Monsters', 'Bunters', 'Peabrains' and 'Nobbles', to pick some choice examples.Entering this group, it was hard to know whether I should also use their silly names – words so daft I found it almost impossible to say them. Fortunately, those nicknames have now by and large been ditched. But I wonder if Harry's friends still refer to him by his? Or has the intimacy which those nicknames bestow, long gone? Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex takes part in Scotty's Summer Festival at Maxstoke Castle on July 11Whoops! I almost jinxed it for KaneThere is nothing like a great sporting event to bring out the superstitious in me. Having got up at 3am on Monday to watch the second half of England v Mexico – despite writing here last week that I wouldn't be able to bear the tension – I had to retreat back to bed almost immediately.As soon as I switched on the TV, Mexico won a penalty and it looked as though Harry Kane got a yellow card (though fortunately he didn't). This from a 3-1 lead before I showed up.During Wimbledon, I've been convinced that my presence on the sofa causes any favoured players to start double-faulting. Curiously, I never have the same conviction that I can bring on a winning side's most successful moments. My magical thinking only seems to go in one direction. Harry Kane of England pictured prior to the FIFA World Cup 2026 Quarter Final match between Norway and EnglandTribute to Stoppard - I will never forgetThere aren't many people who can attract the King and Sir Mick Jagger to their memorial, but that was the case on Thursday afternoon at the National Theatre, where playwright Sir Tom Stoppard was celebrated after his death last November.While the King sat with Stoppard's widow Sabrina, Jagger gave one of the tributes, hilariously describing how Stoppard had said he admired Jagger's 'three-minute ditties', before going on to eulogise the utter brilliance of Stoppard's own rather longer plays. It was an afternoon I will never forget.