Smoke Day ends, but smoking lives on.

Not surprisingly, smoking is at the forefront of my mind today because I’ve kippered myself. All three pipes had an outing including one filled with the home-made. Far too strong! No wonder the pipes used by the original American peoples had long stems and small bowls. I’ll have to dilute it with some ordinary pipe baccy or get one of these. It’s sixty quid so it’s expensive but oh, doesn’t it just break every PC rule in the book? I’ll bet there wouldn’t be many antismokers willing to have a pop at me if I was smoking that.

It’s functional so you really can chop wood with it, then stop for a smoke. With the same thing! This thing isn’t just cool, this thing is Lake Vostok cool.

Then the Henri Wintermans, a fine cigar. I’ll have to try making some next year, or maybe I have enough intact leaf this year for one. I notice the price has increased enormously since my Christmas cigar. Wyatt van Mann doesn’t stock cigars yet… just wait for a decent price differential.

Growing tobacco hasn’t been banned in the UK but it surely will be. That’s why I’ve been seeding waste ground and untended verges and hedgerows, because then I’m not growing it. I’m just picking leaves and flowers. Along the riverbanks are prime spots as long as you stay clear of the paths used by dog-walkers and fishermen and it’s easy to harvest there unobserved. I wonder if the council will notice the pretty pink flowers in their flowerbeds?

Moves are afoot to make tobacco entirely illegal in Wales because making things illegal has totally eradicated the use of pot, cocaine, heroin and guns. Smuggling anything across a border that doesn’t exist is, of course, impossible. Unless the smokophobes plan to re-dig Offa’s Dyke? I wouldn’t be too surprised if they suggested that. There are quite a few on the English side who would help, since the ‘divide and rule’ game has been playing for so long now.

One day you’ll be visiting Haverfordwest and you’ll say ‘Where’s the smoking area?’ and they’ll say ‘Gloucester’. There’ll be frequent buses. You’ll only need a one way ticket.

Meat is today’s Smoking, so next year we can expect National Tofu and Lentil day for which I will have to buy half a cow and a gigantic bread roll. These attempts to control my life are going to bankrupt me, you know. If any antismoking non-vegetarians happen to call in here for a sneer, take a look at this. Then take a look at this.

Yes, meat causes cancer, heart attacks and infertility. Meat is rapidly approaching ‘no safe level’. All the same things that were caused by smoking and then by drinking. All the same warning labels can be re-used on your pork chops now. All the same. Is any of this starting to sink in yet? Somehow I doubt it. The antismokers will decry the meat claims as lies but accept exactly the same lies when applied to something they don’t like. And to think, they call us stupid. True stupidity requires doublethink.

Smoking, drinking and meat all cause sperm to hover about at the entrance of the womb, trying to remember what it went in there to do. All three things cause infertile sperm and the first two already cause Floppiness of the Little Gentleman so smokers’ and drinkers’ sperm go nowhere anyway. Their exit tube cannot be deployed.

And yet all those chavs who are smoked, boozed and burgered to buggery are supposed to be having kids at fourteen? Not possible. Those children simply cannot exist and any that did exist would look like something out of ‘The Hills Have Eyes’. There is no underclass. They’ve died out because they have been hit with a triple whammy that means they stopped breeding three generations back. So who’s getting all that money?

My father smoked, drank and lived on lard-fried everything including bread, so I don’t exist either. Since both my grandfathers lived much the same way including having the old-style chip pan that set when cold, my parents don’t exist. In fact, as far back as you care to go, my family never existed at all and for 80% of the population, neither did yours. I am a figment of the antismoker imagination, a bad dream, a nightmare they wake up with cancer from, Freddy Kreuger with lighters for fingers.

I have the wide-brimmed hat and I used to have one of those red and black striped shirts. I will have to have a rummage.

Smoking causes infertility but the hard-smoking council estate kids are becoming parents long before they are legally allowed to buy cigarettes or watch porn. Drinking causes softness of the diddly member but the hard-drinking council estate kids are porking each other with gusto and bad breath long before they are legally allowed to buy alcohol or join the military. Now, fat causes sperm to become so obese that they are all out of breath long before they reach the end of their delivery device and yet children are swelling up with infestations of smaller children in towns and cities all over the country.

There can only be one explanation. It’s the antismokers getting all those young girls pregnant, the filthy, Glittery perverts.

As smoking prevalence declines, teen pregnancies increase therefore the answer is to get the young smoking again. Oh yes, we can all play the causality game. Smokers cannot possibly be responsible for fathering all those children so lads, if you take up smoking, drinking and deep-fried pizza, it can’t be your fault. I would dearly love to see that brought up in a paternity case. ‘Me, Yer Onner? I was smoking me way through five packs of Bensons, chugging down Red Stripe an’ scoffing a burger, innit? Couldn’t be me. Look at the science, innit? Me dangler’s firin’ blanks if it even fires at all. All them scientists said it’s true.’

(Deep-fried pizza is real. My very first night in Ayr on my very first visit to Scotland, I called in at a chip shop and ordered a mini-pizza and chips. The man behind the counter unwrapped the pizza and dropped it in the fryer. I’d never seen that before – but it was the best pizza ever. Later I found that it all went in the fryer. Pies, everything. Strange how there are still so many people around…)

Today, naturally, there were idiots telling me my life would be improved by giving up one of the few things that make it enjoyable. Okay, so those who like driving would save vast amounts of cash if they traded their Ferrari for a Prius. Those who like flying in Cessnas would save incredible sums if they gave it up. Mountain climbers, stop at once, think of the savings on pitons and rope.

Yes,  I would have more money if I didn’t smoke. Of course I would. Those Ferrari drivers would have more money if they drove Citroen 2CVs and even more if they took the bus instead. The flyboys would have an awful lot more money if they stayed on the ground. The mountaineers would be much better off financially if they didn’t buy all the gear and then travel to places where there are mountains.

Money is not an end in itself. Money is a means to an end. There really is no point in having tons of money, it’s just something you earn to buy something you want. What I want to buy with money I earn is nobody’s business, but since you’re wondering, it’s mostly booze and baccy. I don’t want a Ferrari. I don’t want a plane. I don’t want to climb a mountain, I can use Google Earth to find there’s nothing at the top.

I enjoy smoking. I have done a lot of it today. I’ll do less tomorrow because there’s no official arsehead committee telling me not to while charging me for the privilege of being nagged at, and because I am nicotine-saturated. I might even fire up a zero-nicotine Electrofag tomorrow but I definitely won’t touch one while No Smoking Day is active.

Ah, sod it. I have Grants at a bargain price and I’m right in the mood for another pipe. This place looks like a pub used to, ten years ago, with that thermocline-separated blue haze.


22 thoughts on “Smoke Day ends, but smoking lives on.

  1. I hope you enjoyed Smoke Day, I did by keeping a selection of my pipes going through out the day.
    Anyway completely off topic but I hope you will appreciate this one.
    Our local ASDA now has doors on it’s tobacco products shelves, which they open and close as they serve customers.
    Being in the Lottery queue and feeling mischievous, as the assistant went to serve a customer by opening the doors; I said in a rather loud voice:
    “Excuse me, I can see those cigarettes!”
    The poor assistant slammed the doors shut, then turned to her customer saying she couldn’t serve him till I had gone.
    I did feel a bit guilty about affecting a fellower smoker but I do think the more we can expose the idiocracy of what our political elite are imposing upon us, the more the sheeple might finally wake up.


    • Just come back from ASDA and those stupid friggin doors, don’t normally buy in the UK but had run out so needs must. Just fired off this email to them

      Your policy of hiding all the tobacco products beind doors is stupid.

      Just visited my local store, as usual there was only 1 person on the till and 11 people in a queue. The lady serving had run out of £1 coins so every transaction was taking an age to complete.

      When I finally got to the front of the queue I was informed that you had run out of my brand. A fact I would have been aware of 10 minutes earlier if I could have seen the shelves.

      In any other shop I would have seen on arrival you had run out, scanned the shelves for an alternative, alas this is not possible with your policy.

      The server offered no alternatives and didn’t open all the doors to allow me to view any other choices and so I left and went to sainsburys where my purchase of 200 cigarettes went smoothly.


    • There’s going to be a lot of that so all you did was get the other smokers used to the idea. A product that has been on display for decades and which those who didn’t want to buy simply ignored, is now so terrifying that certain people will be offended if they catch a glimpse of a packet.

      Soon we’ll be able to fend off muggers by waving a box of Player’s at them.


  2. I don’t normally smoke but I lit up yesterday in celebration, accompanied by an almost immediate bout of fake coughing from the noxious Guardian-reading type walking about 30 feet behind me. I felt strangely powerful, being able to accomplish such action at a distance.



    • Get close enough so the cough isn’t fake any more 😉

      Then describe, in low, measured tones, the chest-tightening they can expect to feel at the first onset of cancer. Take your time, give them time to imagine it and to start to feel it. Then tell them how fast they are going to die.

      I think of it as natural selection in action. Weeding out the worthless.


  3. Leggy

    In one of those strange things that just happen sometimes, I do have a pipe tomahawk.
    Years ago I was walking in a great hurry through an outdoor market and what I thought was just a pretty axe in a dark corner of a reinactors stall caught my eye. I threw the money at the trader, grabbed the bag with the axe in and didn’t look at it properly until I got home.
    It had a heart cut out in the blade and I thought it would be fun to use in the garden.
    I was very disappointed to find it was a pipe and just left it on the top of the wardrobe and forgot about it.

    I only discovered what it really was after the Smoking Ban stirred me into action.

    As well as the heart, it’s decorated with brass tacks, which is probably why it first caught my eye.

    Brass tacks on 19th century plains indians artifacts

    “Brass tacks were originally manufactured in Europe and intended for wooden furniture decorating, primarilly period wooden trunks. This fashion reached the north american continent along with the expansion of the Europeans.”

    Queequeg’s Tomahawk:
    A Cultural Biography, 1750–1900

    “The pipe tomahawk, however, tells a different story. From its backcountry origins as a trade good to its customization as a diplomatic device, this object facilitated European-Indian exchange, giving tangible form to spoken metaphors for war, peace, and alliance.”

    On reflection, it would have been useless in the garden.


    • I’ve seen a few ornamental ones brought back by people who had holidays in America, but they’re far too small to be used as axes and probably aren’t smokeable either. I’ll just have to save up for that working one.

      Have to be quick – that site used to sell swordsticks and butterfly knives before they became illegal. I still regret procrastinating on that swordstick. I had one once, many years ago, but it was poor quality and I broke it. In the 1980s you could buy them over the counter is a few shops in Cardiff. Stilettos were easily available too and were on open display. Butterfly knives were even sold as part of fishing kits! Now you get questioned if you buy a carving knife.

      It’s incredible how fast the country has become scared of its own shadow.


      • Quite.

        What I really wanted at that stall was the Spartan helmet, but it was very expensive and I couldn’t think of a valid excuse for owning one on the spur of the moment.

        I have of course smoked the tomahawk pipe but the balance is wrong and I nearly knocked my teeth out.
        I suggest that you spend the money and get the good one.

        I always wanted to learn to shoot a rifle, for no real reason, but when a friend was taking lessons he advised against it as I am right handed and left eyed and the recoil might smash my cheekbone. So I reluctantly gave up the idea.

        When I was at art college, I bought a cavalry sword from an antique shop, simply because it was beautiful, but an aquaintance borrowed it and I never saw it again.
        Probably just as well.
        Still, the Royal Armouries are just down the road, if ever I get the urge to view military beauty.
        The Hall of Steel is spectacular, but I haven’t been for years.

        Nevermind, at least my uncle showed me how to make a working longbow with string and a branch.
        I had discovered how to make the arrow heads all by myself by smashing flints in my grandfather’s garden when I was very small, only minor lacerations.

        You can tell I was born in the 50’s can’t you, kids don’t seem to have that kind of freedom, even of thought, these days.


  4. I don’t actually smoke myself, but I love the tone of this site. It makes me realise that I’m not the only one who must be mad. Cheers for the humour and the establishment scorn.
    Scotland is well on its way to taxing drink out of existence. I view it as a class apartheid temperance movement verging toward prohibition.
    Here’s my take on it:


  5. That is a great idea combining the tomahawk hatchet with a pipe, two in one. Would make it easier to take a puff, then use the other end to hatchet away at the prig who comes up behind fake-coughing. Both ends serve a useful purpose. Love it.


  6. “… the old-style chip pan that set when cold …”
    How that resonated! My mother, a 90-year old smoker, still uses the solid copper chip pan her brother made for her as a wedding present in 1940. And she refuses to have anything but the finest lard in it. Makes the best chips and fritters in the world!
    Unfortunately, my sister has dibs on it.


  7. It always makes me smile when the Puritans start using the old “fertility” line to promote their latest proposition for abstemiousness, because it shows what a rigid herd-mentality mindset they are in. Does it never occur to them that there may be some people out there for whom lowered fertility might be considered a positive advantage?

    I can remember, long ago, watching an anti-smoking colleague pinning up a “health promotion” anti-smoking display on a noticeboard, showing all number of dire consequences of the wicked weed, one of which was that women were likely to experience problems conceiving. Which gives smoking a distinct appeal if, like me, you don’t want and never did want, children. Needless to say, said anti-smoking colleague was most upset when a felt-tipped comment mysteriously (cough) appeared underneath that particular item saying: “So – not all bad, then!” Unsurprisingly, said item was swiftly removed, never to appear again.


  8. Pardon my belated comment on your extraordinary Fear the Witch post.

    Where there’s fire there’s smoke, so ban the fire if it’s a smoke-free world one seeks.

    It is now the Fire Extinguisher Dude who holds sway, with Big’n’Nasty Elfin Safety running interference to legitimize his extreme case of pyrophobia.

    Think about it for a minute. Household wood-burning fireplaces are on the way out, that little detonation in the cylinder of your engine is on the way out, the fire in the belly from a good shot of whiskey is on the way out, a diet of uncooked vegetables and fruits is said to be the key to immortality, and now Newport Beach in California is banning firepits on its windswept shoreline. They’re citing, wait for it, toxic fumes, smoke in the air and child safety. The commissioners voted 4-3 for removal.

    I guess there’ll be no more hopping into the ole’ internal combustion vehicle for a moonlit drive down to the beach to roast wieners (processed meat) and marshmallows (sugar) while swigging down some good whisky with the tanned and lovely surfergirls of Southern California.

    And to think it all started with an extreme aversion among a few pyrophobics to firing up some tobacco leaves in a paper tube.

    We are living in the dank, dark era of the Extinguisher of the Fire.

    No More Fires on the Beach


    • Houses around here have no chimneys. They were built without them and with central heating installed. I lived here for weeks before I realised why something about the place looked wrong.

      Some now have chimneys, galvanised ones sticking through the roof tiles, because they have wood burning stoves. I suspect that is going to spread very fast.

      When houses have real fires in them again, I wouldn’t be surprised if asthma cases drop very fast.


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