On the first anniversary (ok, first anniversary plus 17 days) of the UK Smoking Ban, I found myself reflecting on the CULTURAL implications of the ban. I'm reflecting on it now, 17 days past the anniversary, because I went to a charming village pub last night, and took my pint out to the garden in order to have a cigarette. No way, Jose. The garden (THE GARDEN!) was bristling with 'No Smoking' signs, which directed any would-be smokers to the 'Designated Smoking Area'. (I hate the word 'Designated'. It smacks of officialdom, parking tickets and local government official communications.)
So I obediently took my pint to the DSA (as I'm sure it is called by the humourless drones who dreamt up the term,) hoping to find, perhaps, a civilised little wooden smokers' gazebo in a corner of the pub garden. Wrong again. The DSA consisted of a bench in the pub car park, parked ignominiously between the kitchen extractor-fan and the dustbins. So I resigned myself to the DSA bench, availed my self of the warm hospitality of this charming village pub (The Crewe Arms, Hinton-in-the-Hedges, Northants,) sipped my pint and, as countless generations before me must have done, took baccy.
Now, we all know why the smoking ban came into place, simultaneously, across Europe a year ago. It's because lawyers had just established legal precedent in a passive smoking litigation case, and the governments of Europe realised they could be taken to the cleaners if they didn't ban smoking in public places. Fair enough, say I, I have no wish to prejudice the health of another through my smoking, and ask only to be provided with somewhere pleasant to smoke and to be afforded the same welcome as was presumably given to other smokers over the last 300 years at The Crewe Arms, Hinton-in-the-Hedges, Northants.
Anyway, as I perched on the DSA bench, caught tantalisingly between wafts of chip fat from the kitchen extractor fan and whatever was in the dustbins, I mused on the loss of smoking to the English Way of Life, and in particular, to English Literature...
Lady Bracknell: Do you smoke, Mr Worthing?
Algernon: No longer, Lady Bracknell. My physician prescribes me 24-hour nicotine patches, and I keep a supply of nicotine gum to hand for difficult moments.
Lady Bracknell: Do you drink, then?
Algernon: No longer, Lady Bracknell.
Lady Bracknell: To lose one vice may be considered a misfortune...
Sherlock Holmes reached for his Meerschaum pipe and filled it purposefully with W.D. & H.O. Wills' Nicotine-Free Herbal Smoking Mixture. "I say, Holmes," protested Watson, "You're not going to light that are you? I have to breathe this air too, you know!"
"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile
While you've a cranberry juice or similar acidic fruit juice to counteract the alkaline build-up associated with nicotine withdrawal,
Smile, boys, that's the style..."
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Posted by: Adonis | June 14, 2010 at 11:19 AM