Theoretically I have lost two potential new friends because I'm an unrepentant smoker. But then an association with anyone who projects their caring, informed - usually middle class - values on you is not offering friendship, but a conditional acceptance. That is if you wish to be accepted into a politically-correct social gulag. I have to come despise 'well-meaning' far left- wingers as much as far right-wingers - they are the same breed: authoritarian zealots.
I smoke because I enjoy smoking, even in the knowledge that it may probably kill me. I have always believed that certain flourishes, gestures and the execution of a point, the bon-mot conclusion of a topic is enhanced by the curling plume and the saeta of sensual exhalation of smoke. It is romantic. It is not about being clever - cleverness is for the mediocre. In any case, the Anglosphere can no longer grasp this aesthetic, yet it bore so many stylists and 'drawing-room acrobats' in the last century and beyond. The French - whom heroically have always refused to countenance imported ethics - do.
I was at the coast a short while ago to attend a fiesta and was introduced to two friends of a Spanish friend of mine. We were dining at a table in a restaurant where men were puffing away at the bar. It was affable enough to begin with: the exchange of inconsequential pleasantries that prelude what may or may not become a chemistry, a connection. (Rarely so - they're fanatical about coffee and I don't do coffee after midday.) Until I took out my lighter and packet of Fortuna. The atmosphere changed instantly. I may as well have placed a pack of playing cards depicting zoophilia on the shared vinyl geometry of the table-cloth.
The woman, a librarian in her fifties, henceforth spoke only in valenciano - which I do not understand, as neither do many Spanish - while assiduously holding eye contact. Eye contact is pointless if there is no comprehension. The male friend gave me a short sermon on the evils of cigarette smoking - while I lit up - stabbing the health advisory on the front of my packet : "fumar perjudica gravemente su salud y la de los que están a su alrededor". [Smoking harms you and those around you.] "Why do you smoke?" he finished, interrogatorily, when an adequate soup arrived.
As we all sipped, I asked him, in the most off-hand manner possible, "What do you think about when you're masturbating and about to cum?" Spoons hovered in mid-air, eyebrows arched and lips receded as, pop-eyed with incredulity at my casual intrusiveness, he stuttered, "I - I - think that is a very personal question!"
I smoke because I enjoy smoking, even in the knowledge that it may probably kill me. I have always believed that certain flourishes, gestures and the execution of a point, the bon-mot conclusion of a topic is enhanced by the curling plume and the saeta of sensual exhalation of smoke. It is romantic. It is not about being clever - cleverness is for the mediocre. In any case, the Anglosphere can no longer grasp this aesthetic, yet it bore so many stylists and 'drawing-room acrobats' in the last century and beyond. The French - whom heroically have always refused to countenance imported ethics - do.
I was at the coast a short while ago to attend a fiesta and was introduced to two friends of a Spanish friend of mine. We were dining at a table in a restaurant where men were puffing away at the bar. It was affable enough to begin with: the exchange of inconsequential pleasantries that prelude what may or may not become a chemistry, a connection. (Rarely so - they're fanatical about coffee and I don't do coffee after midday.) Until I took out my lighter and packet of Fortuna. The atmosphere changed instantly. I may as well have placed a pack of playing cards depicting zoophilia on the shared vinyl geometry of the table-cloth.
The woman, a librarian in her fifties, henceforth spoke only in valenciano - which I do not understand, as neither do many Spanish - while assiduously holding eye contact. Eye contact is pointless if there is no comprehension. The male friend gave me a short sermon on the evils of cigarette smoking - while I lit up - stabbing the health advisory on the front of my packet : "fumar perjudica gravemente su salud y la de los que están a su alrededor". [Smoking harms you and those around you.] "Why do you smoke?" he finished, interrogatorily, when an adequate soup arrived.
As we all sipped, I asked him, in the most off-hand manner possible, "What do you think about when you're masturbating and about to cum?" Spoons hovered in mid-air, eyebrows arched and lips receded as, pop-eyed with incredulity at my casual intrusiveness, he stuttered, "I - I - think that is a very personal question!"
Some people.....
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