It's been many years since I put down my last packet of fags, and rediscovered my senses of smell and taste. I swore at the time that I would never be a sanctimonious quitter. I would not be one of those people who tutted smugly at others' lighting up, nor would I support the gradual pushing of smokers to the fringes of decent society.
Thus, even as my smoking friends are looking forward to the ban, as an opportunity to cut down, and maybe even quit, I have been up in arms about the injustice of it. I won’t rehearse the civil liberties argument here (apart from anything else, the anti-smoking lobby tend to get vicious when I do), but I am going to take this opportunity to sughgest that even lapsed smokers should perhaps take next week as the chance to revisit their old habits, and cough up a bit of phlegm in a few of London's filthiest ash-holes.
Your First Local Pub
Since taste and smell are so integral to memory, a cigarette is the perfect tool for a moment of Proustian nostalgia. Head down to the first London local you ever had. Since this has almost certainly gone extravagantly gastro on you in the last ten years, your only real chance of recalling those heady days of youth - the big plans, the banter, the conversations that didn't revolve around house prices - is by puffing away on a cigarette. Extra points for blowing smoke over the sommelier when he asks you to leave, because actually this place has been non-smoking for two years.
A Cigar Bar
There are still a couple of these ridiculous gentlemen's affectations kicking around in London, and they will be managing to stay open, due to a loophole in the law that allows the exceptionally wealthy to do what they damn well want (well, officially, the loophole allows smoking in 'specialist tobacco shops'). However, you'll no longer be able to have a drink with your Cuban, and given the dullness of the toffs who inhabit these places, sobriety is really not an option. Suck down a few cocktails and bask in the glow of reflected wealth.
At a Festival, in the Rain
The site of a mud-soaked Hoxtonite sucking frantically on a glowing cancer stick in a pathetic attempt to warm themselves up from the inside will become a thing of the past next Sunday, as Marquees are to be included in the ban. This hint has probably come too late for most readers – though if you're reading this on your phone at Glastonbury, thank-you. You're clearly my biggest fan.
The Shisha Lounge
The one genuine tragedy of the smoking ban is the cafes, clustered in Bayswater, but prevalent throughout the capital, which serve mint tea, juices and eye-wateringly sweet cakes to a crowd who are really only there for one thing: smooth, fruit-flavoured tobacco smoked through tall shisha pipes. They're lovely little places (and of course, absolutely invaluable to teetotal Moslems), and even if you don’t fancy the appallingly unhealthy pipes, it's while worth paying one a visit before this unique corner of London life gets fined out of existence.
The Office
Walk into your office smoking room, which is, I would imagine, being cleared out today, and look at what happens when they take the pictures down. That's right! The walls were white originally, not yellow! Take some photos of that difference, think about your lungs, and maybe that'll rescue you from these farcical fits of smoking nostalgia like the one I seem to be having now. |