So sick of cigs
OUT on Saturday, I went to Caffe Nero on Cross Street for a coffee with some friends.
They found a table while I went to order the drinks.
The table was around a corner and I approached, horrified, to see them obscured by a cloud of smoke.
“Surely they don’t let people smoke here,” I said, a little too loudly. “How disgusting!”
A couple harrumphed at me and then left.
There was nowhere else to sit down, so we had to endure the stink and the carcinogens. Had I known Caffe Nero’s policy, we’d have gone to Starbucks.
How delightful that this will soon be a thing of the past. July 1 will see smoking banned throughout England and I shall visit my local pub for the first time in 12 years to celebrate, safe in the knowledge that – should I choose to – I’ll be able to wear the same clothes the next morning without them whiffing of stale tobacco.
I imagine the smokers among you are now describing me as a “smoking Nazi” – a term of abuse that’s ironic when you consider who’s doing the gassing.
Their apologists (the smokers I mean, not the Nazis) moan that they have an addition and cannot help themselves. Well, they can always stay at home if they want to smoke.
Indeed, I’m so militant about the issue that a few years ago I decided to “divorce” those friends I had who smoked. I realised I disliked them smoking more than I liked them. With one or two notable exceptions, I’ve stuck to it and not socialised with them at all.
I even went on holiday in Ireland soon after they banned smoking in pubs – just as a gesture of support.
Those who believe their own propaganda about being “a considerate smoker” (if they indulged their addition only in the privacy of their own home, I might believe it, otherwise it’s nonsense) sometimes ask if we mind if they light up.
Being British and wanting to avoid a scene, we normally say no. Even I have said no in the past. But no more.
When I was asked recently, I simply said “yes”.
The response? Incredulity. Questioning. Why?
Well, because it stinks. It gets in my eyes and makes them water. It almost certainly increases my chances of contracting cancer. Need I go on?
And then another smoker came along and – with numbers on their side – they lit up, agreeing that I was being unreasonable. Silly me for believing such a question could ever be sincere.
The weed-freaks have got used to going without their fix at the pictures, on buses, on planes and (most of them) at work. They’ll soon get used to going without at the pub.
One thing for which I’m very grateful to our MPs is their support of the silent majority – this country’s non-smokers.
So, this Christmas will be the last in which fag-addicts will ruin the atmosphere at pubs and parties.
Meanwhile, roll on the summer. I’m looking forward to being able to socialise with some old friends and breathing pleasant air at the same time again.