No admittance

There’s some stuff you’ve done during the course of your life that it’s probably a good idea not to admit. Innocent enough stuff, just things that for one reason or another might sound a little unappealing to people.

To give an example, many of you will have gone into the bathroom and noticed the scales sitting in the corner, and considered to yourself that you don’t really know how much you weigh. So you’ll hop on, and find out.

Then you’ll take care of the business that brought you into the bathroom in the first place.

And just before you leave, you’ll glance at the scales again, and an inquisitive thought will pop into your head.

That’s the sort of thing I’m thinking about.

But there’s one now forsaken activity, common to many, that I think quite underservedly gets discussed all too rarely, and that’s smoking. Or rather, enjoying smoking.

I gave up smoking nearly two years ago, and while I’m only occasionally tempted to go back, I will never think of my time as a smoker with anything other than wistful fondness. Because I really enjoyed it. And I’m sure lots of reformed smokers did. And I’m sure that lots of people still smoking are currently gaining immeasurable pleasure from doing it right this very second. Quiet little solitary moments full of stillness and comfort, slow deep breaths and clear thoughts.

But the concept that people might do it because it’s an enjoyable wee past-time never seems to crop up in the media. Smokers are addicts; poor, helpless souls compelled to feed their cravings, experiencing nothing but pain and misery every time they feed their unfortunate desires. We must help them stop. They’ll no doubt thank us for releasing them from their torment.

Well sorry, but no. While I recognise that it’s a terrible activity health-wise, and have given up accordingly, while I still smoked I loved it. It was gr-r-r-r-eat. I had more than a few coughy mornings, and my fingers turned yellow. I burnt a fair few items of clothing. I spent money that could no doubt have otherwise paid for various fantastic items. Once I dropped the cigarette from my mouth into my breast pocket and nearly set myself on fire.

But the actual act of smoking was in most instances nothing but ace. And tasty. Someone saying cigarettes taste bad based upon trying just one is like saying they don’t like crisps based upon trying one single solitary sample and ignoring all the other flavours.

But I loved it. And yes, while me and tobacco have gone separate ways, I will always think of it as an old friend. One who admittedly pollutes the air on double-decker buses to the accompaniment of terrible, terrible music played on abysmally bassless mobile-phone speakers, but then we don’t have to approve of all of our friends’ hobbies.

We’ve all done things it’s probably wise not to admit.