Category Archives: smoking

A cunning plan.

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So, this red folder has appeared at work, it sits on a display table. The display table changes from week to week and is managed by the equalities officer (this is public sector, by the way). You never know what the display is going to be from one week to the next.

I think this week it was a display about National Inuit Dairy Produce Week. Down here in the sticks we only get the display, up at HQ in that London they get the whole shebang, and we see the emails and the links on the intranet home page. We have a picture of some woman swaddled in polar bear fur sat on a little stool milking an elephant seal, at HQ they’ll have a demonstration. ‘Please feel free to come along to the refectory/theatre at Administratum House on Wednesday afternoon for a demonstration of elephant seal milking and an eskimo ice-cream tasting session, just ask your line manager to release you, it will only take an hour and all are welcome.’ Somehow I doubt some bloke in Coleraine asking to go to London for the day to see the elephant seal milking will get the undying admiration of his line manager.

They live in a different world up in London, they have a subsidised canteen, we in the sticks have a bloke that comes round in a van with some depressing and over priced sandwiches. They have a theatre/auditorium. We’ve got a reception area.

Anyhow, this folder. It contains a printed copy of the department’s equality policy. I hadn’t seen it before the other day, so I wondered over to leaf through it and see what it was. The section about religion and belief was most enlightening. I wasn’t able to read it properly, the lack of elephant seal milking and a line manager who was likely to react well to a request to watch same meant I had work to do. I will have to study the text properly at some point, but as far as I could work out, so concerned are the department about causing even the merest milligram of offence, anything goes.

One thing we do have is a ‘multi-faith prayer and reflection room’. I think I know one member of staff who has used it in the few years we’ve been in the building. It has to be multi-faith, and has to take into account those who have no faith at all. According to the text, lack of faith is just as important as active faith, so I suppose I could go down and have a good reflect once in a while if I wanted. I’ve never been in there, but I understand there is a strategically placed arrow pointing in a certain direction. Set as it is in deepest Kent, well, this ain’t exactly Bradford. Takers are few and far between.

One thing we are absolutely not allowed to do, unsurprisingly, is smoke in the building. Indeed, we’re not even allowed to smoke on site. We have to walk off the property in order to have a gasper. Here the law of unintended consequences comes into play. You see, the building’s car park backs onto the motorway, and tucked away round the back is the bike shed. What with this being rural Kent very few people cycle to work. The bike shed is only used slightly more than the multi-faith yada yada room. The bike shed is under cover, but woe betide the poor sod who tries to have a smoke under there during one of the regular coastal squalls that blows up.

This is an organisation that is obsessed with image. However ‘Leper’s Corner’ is on the pavement out the front, where everyone can see us. There are two box style ashtray/dog end bins attached to the fence, but in a wonderful bit of public sector logic, the cleaners are not contracted to clean off-premises. Accordingly the fag bin is overflowing and dog ends litter the corner like confetti after some kind of bizarre wedding.

In the old days we had a smoking room. People who smoked would go in there, people who didn’t wouldn’t. People who smoked would sit in there doing their work whilst they smoked. Now they go outside and do nothing but make the place look untidy while they smoke.

Where am I going with this?

I had an idea after leafing through the file, I suppose you could call it divine inspiration.

Leg Iron is a proponent of using the rules against those who put them in place, and I feel a hand of victimhood poker coming on.

I think I’m about to develop a devout belief in Baccus. No, not Bacchus. Baccus, his Aboriginal American cousin.

Baccus is the God who created the tobacco plant. He came to me in a dream, and very convincing he was too. You see, hundreds and hundreds of years ago Baccus created the first tobacco seed and then sent his son to Earth to plant, germinate and nurture the seed until it grew into the first tobacco plant. But there was a problem. The land that the tobacco seed was planted in was very poor soil, and in order for the the plant to thrive, Baccus’ son, Germino, had to give his life so his earthly, mortal body could be buried under the plant to feed it. In doing so, his spirit was taken up into the plant. This means today that when we smoke, we celebrate Germino’s sacrifice, releasing his spirit back into our mortal plain as the tobacco burns. Think of it as the Father, Son and Holy Smoke.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Baccus was telling me it is vital when we release his son’s spirit into the world that we focus completely on the action, it must be carried out in warmth and comfort, reflecting the warmth and comfort that his son brings to the world. Conversation is very important as well, the movement of the lips, tongue and larynx improves the circulation of Germino’s spiritual re-emergence. The smoking must be done thus, to smoke stood outside in discomfort is a cause of great sadness to Baccus, it is an abomination.

Therefore it is vital that a room for this observance is provided. The congregation must be seated in comfy armchairs, facing west to the lands of Virginia. The High Priest must be sat in a leather wing-back chair in front of them, dressed in a silk smoking jacket, holding the silver cigarette case of devotion. On either side in front of the High Priest’s chair must be two freestanding dress mirrors, facing away from the congregation so the High Priest’s gaze may also fall west.

There is also a litany:

High Priest: Welcome one and all, we are gathered here in the sight of Baccus for fag time.

Congregation responds: Thank Germino for that, I’m bloody gasping.

High Priest: Please, be seated. (Congregation sits. High Priest pats hits pockets) Which one of you bastards has had me lighter?

Lay member from congregation: Not me, boss. But you can borrow mine.

(At this point, if it is High Church, and the High Priest has a cigar the Lay member should respond: You shouldn’t use a lighter on a cigar, you’ll make it taste of gas.)

High Priest (having checked all pockets): Oh no, bugger me, there it was all the time. Please, spark up. Baccus, we faithful gathered here before you dutifully release your holy son’s spirit in our most devout observance.

Second lay member from congregation: Bollocks, I’ve left mine in the car.

High Priest: (Giving deep sigh and addressing youngest or newest member of the congregation) Please give your brother/sister one of your smokes, or we’ll never hear the bloody end of it.

Youngest member: For crying out loud, why is it always me?

Second lay member: It had better not be a bloody menthol or Silk Cut.

Youngest member: You’ll smoke what you’re given and be thankful. (Tosses cigarette over) And who keeps putting their cellophane in the ashtray? Cut it out won’t you? Why does nobody ever empty these bloody things? The bin’s only over there.

High Priest: Brothers, sisters, please settle down and let us enjoy our smokes in pleasant conversation.

(Smoking commences with general discussion, gossip and character assassination of that twat in IT.)

(Upon cessation.) High Priest: Thank you brothers and sisters. Let us reconvene at the next appointed moment.

Congregation: Yes, see you in a bit. Oh well, back to the bloody grind.

This to be conducted at intervals of no less than once every ninety minutes.

Now, what do you think? If we can sell this as a religion, it’ll probably be illegal under equality laws to deny the observance. Much sport would ensue.

So who’s up for being a Baccunite? Can I get a witness?

If you can’t beat them. . .

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I’ve decided to embrace the whole plain packaging thing.

In Canterbury there is a wonderful old school tobacconist and confectioner. He sells snuff and chewin’ ‘baccy and all the old sweets you thought didn’t exist any more but do. He has jars from which he sells pipe tobacco, they are labelled with things like ‘Cherry Delight’, ‘Vanilla Smooth’ and ‘Rough Shag’ or stuff like that, it’s a great place and the sort of place that would make the mouths of the Righteous go into puckered cat’s arse mode in no time at all. He also calls his customers ‘Sir’, the youngsters get called ‘young man’, he has class.

Anyhow, I was passing today and decided to pop in, if only because he is one of the few reliable outlets for Brannigan’s roast beef and mustard crisps – to (mis)quote Ron Burgundy, if you don’t think they’re the best crisps ever, I WILL fight you. One of the reasons I popped in was because I’ve been taken with the concept of a cigarette case recently, and our classy old school tabac had a selection. Not one, a selection. God bless ‘em. So I invested £10 in this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing flash, just a plain chrome effect case, although I am thinking of having a pastiche of a health warning engraved on it, ‘Smoking Rules’ or something. Maybe, maybe not.

There is a point to this, a normal packet of fags receives no attention when sat on a table if out for the evening. This will, even non-smokers will pick it up, open it and inspect it. They’ll be looking at those smokes inside (Gauloises bleu for those who are interested, normally my puff of choice when I’ve been over the water) which they wouldn’t if they were in a normal packet, especially as such an accessory is a rarity in someone my age.

It adds a certain sophistication to the whole thing, but embraces completely the concept of plain packaging, well, I’m just doing as I’m told.

Smoking like a sir.

 

 

 

 

 

Getting ready.

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(WOLFERS’ WARNING: This post displays images of cigarette packages, if you have children and don’t want them to become instantly addicted to cigarettes because you saw a picture and they saw its reflection in your soul, then go here. If you’re not a total moron, then don’t click on the link. Really, don’t.)

I needed to buy some cigarettes. I go to France fairly regularly but haven’t been over for a few weeks. Doubtless I’ll be going again soon but my stocks are down to the last half of a packet so I had to grit my teeth and get some in the UK. Unlike Leg Iron, I don’t and won’t use man in a van for personal reasons. Not criticism of my ferrous limbed friend, it’s just, well, personal. We’ll leave it at that.

When I struck out heroically down the high street to accomplish this task, along with a couple of other errands that I wish I’d done before realising it is half term this week down here, Leg Iron’s post about Tesco was fresh in my mind.

In my local Tesco Metro they’ve put sliding doors up over the baccy behind the kiosk, although there is a barely noticeable window cut out displaying the papers, matches and lighters (sorry Leg Iron, I lose lighters like a Greek politician loses billions of Euros, so I daren’t use a zippo because its loss would annoy me greatly, so I don’t know state of play regarding flints and fuels). It took the woman behind the counter an age to track down my favourite smokes, she was sliding doors back and forth like a lunatic stage hand on the final portion of the generation game.

This is going to cause great sport, because you don’t even need to make names up like Leggy suggested, they can’t find the real ones anyway. I’m going to get my kicks by going in of a Saturday afternoon and asking for three real, stocked, yet obscure brands. Waiting for the worker to come back to the counter before asking for the next pack. Do they still make Woodbines and Senior Service? They can’t sell many of them.

Anyhow, due to my regular outings to La Belle France where I’ll normally only pick up 200-400 at a time, it’s been a little while since I’ve bought fags in the UK. When I have to purchase said item in the UK I tend to smoke Royals, because like me they are cheap and nasty. Although not as cheap and nasty as some brands, but even I’ve got standards.

When I started smoking Royals they looked like this:

They used to do them in packs of 25, then the financial squeeze saw that drop down to 24.  The price difference between a pack of 24 and a pack of 20 is now something like £3,000 per smoke for the extra four, so now I only buy packs of 20.

Anyhow, not long ago the design was jazzed up, no doubt to reel in the legions of schoolkids you see outside every newsagents with their faces pressed up against the windows, staring at the tobacco displays, longing for the day when they are old enough to go in and buy a packet. So they changed it to this:

Now, when I toddle into the shop I see the design has changed again, and I can’t help wondering if it’s in preparation for the big plain packaging change, because, well, I’m sure you’ll see the evolution and will be able to predict the next packaging change for yourselves:

I took this image with the old camera phone, so it ain’t great. The body of the package is silverish, but is a very dull silver, cross hatched, almost grey. You’ll also notice that the logo is relegated to the flip top lid, and the font is only one step removed from a bog standard Times New Roman font.

This is an observation, not a rant. I couldn’t give a pair of dingo’s kidneys what the packet looks like, surprising as that may seem to smokophobes. It’s the contents I’m interested in.

What does bother me is the concept of one last photo, this taken from the excellent Fifth Element, here you’ll (just about) see Bruce Willis’ character smoking a tab that is 8/10 filter.

Sign up!

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But only if you support the aim, unlike ASH, I’m not about to browbeat anyone.

Via Dick Puddlecote comes news of a new e-petition, created by Anthony Worral-Thompson (of all people) to request Parliament to review the effects of the smoking ban and to consider allowing publicans to have a separate, ventilated smoking space in their pubs should they so wish to have one.

You’ll notice there’s no demands for enforced areas or enforced smoking.

Do toddle over and sign up if you agree with the sentiment.

Oh they will, will they?

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A minor boiling of the blood as I saw this on Facebook this afternoon:

‘Every smoker knows that one day he will have to quit. Either voluntarily or involuntarily.’

Is that a threat? Involuntarily? How does that work then? Are a crack squad of antirauchennazi going to kick my door in and wrestle me to the ground whenever I spark up? I do hope so, because if they’re not quick enough they’ll drop stone dead as soon as I exhale. These guys must be on serious danger money.

Oooh, what’s that I spy? There’s a little. . . thing. . . in the corner of the clever little logo which looks like a stubbed out ciggie. Ah, yes it would be the EU, wouldn’t it? I thought I’d have a little look, see what they’re all about.

You can’t display the content while I’m viewing Facebook over a secure connection? What’s going on here? The EU wants me to view one of their Facebook apps by surrendering my secure connection? Let me just go to the kitchen drawer and get my tin-foil hat.
This isn’t the EU trying to covertly harvest data from Facebook, is it? That would be a low trick. I wonder how many people fell for that?

So, out of a population of 500 million, 55 people have decided to ‘like’ this. I bet they’re doing the conga around the corridors of Minitruth about that.

Unstoppable? More like unstartable.

Muppets.

Just take it.

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I don’t have any horses. Not one. Therefore, for me to pay for a stable, hay, oats and a stable lad would be a ridiculous waste of money. Thus I do not pay for these.

I am thankful that my health has always been good, however the time may come when I need to make use of the National Insurance contributions that are taken from me, without so much as a by your leave, every month. I’d be very annoyed if I needed the service having paid all this money, only to be told that I was prohibited from using it.

Dick Puddlecote has highlighted the following:

It’s been coming for a while, but NHS West Kent have become the first health authority to actively pursue a comprehensive policy of restricting treatment based on social criteria.

The policy document states that:

From this month, patients who smoke and need planned surgery will have to complete a NHS Stop Smoking course before their operation.
  
Patients who are clinically obese or with a BMI (body mass index) of more than 30 will also have their surgery delayed and will have to carry out a weight loss programme. Health bosses said that losing the weight would reduce the length of hospital stay and lessen the risk of complication.

It’s a good job I don’t live in Kent. . .

Oh, bugger.

That’s alright, though, there’s no way that anyone else in the county would do the same. It isn’t as if savings have to be made to accommodate the legions of non-surgical management and outreach diversity equality community bollock juggling officers is there?

Oh, bugger.

I would raise merry hell if he were denied treatment. Leave aside the anti-smoking dog whistle for a moment. I pay my NI contributions because I am forced to. If I were not forced to, I would take out a cheaper, better, private healthcare package. I would pay a premium for this as I would declare my smoking.

As a smoker I also pay a premium on top of the NI contributions to cover my NHS treatment in the form of the duty on the tobacco I buy.

So I pay for a service, and am then told that even though I pay for it, I am to be denied treatment? There’s a word for that, it’ll come to me in a moment. . .

Ah yes. Fraud. That’s it.

Oh don’t worry, I am but a filthy smoker, I deserve everything I get, I am untermensch. If you drink alcohol, or eat food that does not fit the dictated standard, they’ll do the same to you, too.

Yeah, OK, snort with derision. Don’t believe me, I really couldn’t care less. When they go after the drinkers, they don’t mean you, you who sit there with your glass of Chianti classico riserva with your dinner, they mean the chavs who get dosed up on slut petrol before hitting the vertical drinking establishments on a Friday night. When they go after the fatty food eaters, they don’t mean you, you who eat your filet mignon with duck fat chips, they mean the pram faced single mums who serve up fat and salt ridden microwave meals to their multi-coloured offspring in the estate on the other side of town seven nights a week.

Sail on, it has nothing to do with you, you’re a good boy or girl, you do what you’re told. I am evil, I deserve to be turned away. I should probably be chained to the hospital gates to act as a warning to the others like me.

Scum, scum, scum. I’m scum.

Fine. Well, Leg-Iron has hit a nerve with me, and I’ll act like fucking scum. You’ll not like it, but then I couldn’t give a toss.

Don’t take my money, eject me from the game and still expect to play nicely. It ain’t gonna happen, chum.

And that’s not all. . .

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Let’s see, what missiles are being thrown our way today?

People who are exposed to the second-hand smoke from others’ cigarettes are at increased risk of hearing loss, experts believe.

Oh good, it is nice to see they believe in something. They probably decide they believe in Father Christmas around 23rd December. Where is this item of research from? Which august publication has this startling revelation?

The latest study in the journal Tobacco Control, involving more than 3,000 US adults, suggests the same is true of passive smoking.

Obviously no vested interest here then.

“Hearing loss can often be very frustrating and lead to social isolation, if not quickly addressed. 

Good, because I’m not bloody listening to you.

“Before you next light up a cigarette, consider how it could impact not only on your own long-term hearing but your friends’ and relatives’ too.”

OK, will do. But not as much as I’ll consider how it will impact your vision, when I stub it out on your cornea, you utter mong.

Meanwhile, over at Harvard. . .

Mothers who puff a pack a day or more while pregnant run a 30-percent higher risk of having kids who become criminal offenders, according to a study published Tuesday…

Well hang on, what about control groups? What about mothers who visit McDonalds throughout pregnancy? What about mothers who had a drink every day? What about mothers who wear odd coloured socks? What effect do they have? I think we should be told.

Elsewhere, Hugh Jarse of The Institute of Mythical Anthropology and Zoology said this:

‘Passive smoking attracts goblins and imps to the house, and smoking when pregnant increases the chances of your newborn being replaced by a fairy changeling by up to a percentage I’m just about to make up. It also makes you very greedy. Dragons smoke all the time, and those selfish bastards are obsessed with gold. I am getting paid for this, aren’t I?’

I made one of those studies up, I’ll leave it up to you to guess which one.

What a waste of bloody money.

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It is bad enough that money is taken from our pockets and pissed up the wall with gay abandon on projects you’d never even be able to dream up, let alone support. It is even worse when you willingly surrender your income for a service and then find that you’ve been stabbed in the back.

What am I going on about? This:

Workers at a district council in Norfolk must now clock off and back on if they take a cigarette break. 

Staff at Breckland Council will no longer be paid for the time they spend smoking after the proposals were given the go-ahead.

Simon Clark, from smokers’ lobby group Forest, said everyone was entitled to a break during work.

That’s old news. We’ve heard this story before. But here’s a new spin:

The group described the plan as “tyrannical”, but council management, unions and workers backed the change.

Council management I’d expect no more of. Workers come in the same group as ‘the people’ in Righteous speak, they are a homogenous mass, of one opinon and utterly identical to each other. But the unions? What the fucking flying fuck?

I don’t even know where to begin. I really don’t.

Firstly, I bet I can guess which unions are involved in this, at least two of them, and they are biggies.

What the hell? Are members paying their subs only to find that when management penalises people for engaging in a perfectly legal activity, an activity which sits very much in a bracket with other perfectly legal activities, the unions actually support it? As the bloke from Forest says:

Some take coffee breaks others go out for a cigarette.

In the old, old days, you could smoke at your desk, but they are long gone. I don’t object to that. In the old days there was a smoking staff room where I worked, people would take their work in with them, so the loss to the business was nil, now we’ve been sent outside, from our sealed and vented room which no non-smoker had to go into, and having been sent outside we find ourselves being penalised for doing what we’ve been told to do.

Ah yes, but you don’t have to smoke.

True, but then I don’t drink tea or coffee, you don’t have to drink it either. So why the fuck aren’t you clocking off when you go out to get your umpteenth fix of caffeine of the day? Oh, they’ll come for you eventually, your addiction will become as anti-social as mine, make no mistake, they’re coming. Don’t come crying to me. You’ve spat in my face, when your time comes, I will point, dance and laugh at you until I’m sick.

I’m getting side-tracked here. For a union to take subs from members under the pretence of representing their desires and interests, and then to arbritrarily abandon those members, members who are engaging in an activity which harms no other members, nor the union as a whole is a sickening betrayal.

I disagree with the TUC affiliated unions on a good number of subjects, but give them their due, they will support (by and large) the terms, conditions and rights of their members, even when those demands are excessive, outdated and completely against the interests of the public that fund them.

But this? This is a total betrayal, and if were a member of one of these unions, I would be livid.

The thing is these unions, the really big ones, I’m talking PCS and Unison here, the two I’m convinced are behind this capitulation, aren’t really about staff in the way unions were when they first came into existence. They are more about politics than staff t&c’s, it is the members’ job to pay their subs and then dance to the tune which is played for them.

How loudly would they squeal if a clock was put on the computer terminals in the office to measure how much time was spent on ebay or slebrity news websites? How high would the pitch of that squeal get if that time was then knocked off staffs’ flexitime?

Exactly.

Treacherous, spineless, hypocritical cowards. The fucking lot of them.

If you are a member of the union(s) behind this capitulation and you smoke, make no mistake, this will not be confined to one anonymous district council in Norfolk, it will come to your office soon and the precedent has been set. Be a good drone, pay your cash and do what you’re told. They know best. Not you.

Oh, won’t somebody think of the children?

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Dick Puddlecote and Leg Iron have been banging this drum for some time now, it isn’t entirely clear which vice will be next, will it be eating or drinking? Perhaps the eaters and the drinkers will be played off against each other to ensure mutual destruction.

One thing is for certain, now the smokers have been dealt with, it is time to paint at least one other group as the evil, murdering architects of society’s downfall. Today it is the drinkers.

Children as young as five are contacting a charity helpline to talk about their parents drinking or using drugs.

Note the weasel words in there. Not about their parent or parents alcohol abuse or alcoholism, but just the act of drinking.

Of course there are parents that are alcoholic. Of course there are parents who are alcoholic who become abusive towards their partner. Of course there are parents who are alcoholic who become abusive towards their children. To pretend otherwise is stupid, blinkered and short-sighted.

Just go and read Inspector Gadget or Bystander. You’ll see plenty of evidence that courts will accept a sob story of alcoholism as a mitigating factor. It’s been an interesting tactic, stab someone who has broken into your house and is threatening you and yours and that mitigation will not hold as much water as the mitigation of ‘it was the drink wot made me do it’. It would seem from the above that the tide is slowly turning, the victim is being turned into the perp.

I for one think that is a good thing, ‘was pissed’ is no defence. Alcohol cannot be a shield to hide behind. But, and here’s the very big but, how many people who have a drink at any one time end up in court because they’ve acted like a clot? Very few.

Slowly, slowly the creep towards the denormalisation of drinkers has changed, almost inperceptably the pace has picked up, we’re not in the final sprint towards the finish line yet, but the signs are there.

Notice how the act of drinking is up there with the use of drugs? Smokers were painted as drug users a long time ago. The same brush is being loaded with tar for the drinkers now.

How best to apply that tar? Well, getting the kids as soon they enter school and tell them how any act of drinking is something to be frowned upon. Next year’s intake will be told how an act of drinking is to be objected to. The year after will be told how an act of drinking is something to be reported to nanny. Nanny will keep you safe.

I remember Childline being set up, I was a child myself when Esther and her teeth launched it way back when, I can still remember the jingle that advertised the phone number. As I remember, Childline was an independent service giving the kids the opportunity to speak to advisors on a range of subjects from sexual abuse to bullying.

I wasn’t aware that one of the worst fake charities out there, the NSPCC, had taken it over. I suppose the Righteous have struck again, we can’t have people helping without their say so and their all seeing guidance. Those people might make the wrong decisions. The Righteous are incapable of making mistakes. The Righteous are never wrong, the fault lies entirely with you.

Give the kids a bogeyman. Give the kids a friendly uncle or aunt to tell on the bogeyman. Give the kids a free method of doing it.

Give the kids a uniform, perhaps a badge for doing the right thing.

1984, anyone?

The drinkers still think it won’t happen to them. They’re going to very disappointed and very, very angry. But it won’t matter, no one will listen to them. They are untermensch, after all.

UPDATE

I’ve just seen this over at Dick’s.

I’ll be Kevin Costner, you can be Sean Connery.