I have noticed that the smoking ban in ‘enclosed public spaces’ has unleashed a rather priggish attitude in many non-smokers.
On July 1st, the very first day of the ban, a middle-aged woman at the bar of my pub turned to a man waiting to be served and made the comment, ‘Isn’t it nice now there’s no smoking?’
‘**** off,’ was the reply.
Appropriate, I thought, if a little discourteous.
But it’s not only disgruntled smokers who can be rude. I myself was standing outside the pub a week later, enjoying a cigarette and watching the summery girls walk by, when a man passed me. A rather anonymous, unprepossessing character, whom I could imagine washing his car on a Sunday morning while listening to Richard Kledermans. As he walked past me he flapped his hand in front of his face to waft away imaginary smoke.
‘Yes, it is hot today,’ I remarked, but what I thought is unprintable, probably unspellable.
Sometimes I get very angry about this business. In fact, I often get angry about it. I hate to sound pompous, but it IS a denial of my personal freedom. More than that, it is a denial of choice and an interference in the working of the market economy.
When you get angry you sometimes cease to bother about consequences. The other evening I got up out of my seat in the pub to go outside for a smoke. As a tiny gesture of rebellion I lit up before leaving. I heard a muttered complaint from somewhere but ignored it, but determined to repeat the gesture later.
When I did, I heard the same shocked protest, and so I turned to enquire if my action was of any real consequence to this individual. Except I put my query more succinctly. I must admit I had a slight twinge when I realised that the protester appeared to what is known as ‘handy’. What the hell? He was obviously a man with great respect for the law.
What irritated me was that, although I was in the wrong, I doubt I’d have been rebuked so automatically if I had been dropping litter on the floor, swearing, telling racist jokes, making lewd remarks to the barmaids, slurring my speech or being sick on the carpet. No, I was smoking. And that gives a green light to every smug, self-righteous, sanctimonious prig to feel superior for once in their pitifully useless lives.
And now the bastards have got one of my friends - angrier, braver than I - barred.
On July 1st, the very first day of the ban, a middle-aged woman at the bar of my pub turned to a man waiting to be served and made the comment, ‘Isn’t it nice now there’s no smoking?’
‘**** off,’ was the reply.
Appropriate, I thought, if a little discourteous.
But it’s not only disgruntled smokers who can be rude. I myself was standing outside the pub a week later, enjoying a cigarette and watching the summery girls walk by, when a man passed me. A rather anonymous, unprepossessing character, whom I could imagine washing his car on a Sunday morning while listening to Richard Kledermans. As he walked past me he flapped his hand in front of his face to waft away imaginary smoke.
‘Yes, it is hot today,’ I remarked, but what I thought is unprintable, probably unspellable.
Sometimes I get very angry about this business. In fact, I often get angry about it. I hate to sound pompous, but it IS a denial of my personal freedom. More than that, it is a denial of choice and an interference in the working of the market economy.
When you get angry you sometimes cease to bother about consequences. The other evening I got up out of my seat in the pub to go outside for a smoke. As a tiny gesture of rebellion I lit up before leaving. I heard a muttered complaint from somewhere but ignored it, but determined to repeat the gesture later.
When I did, I heard the same shocked protest, and so I turned to enquire if my action was of any real consequence to this individual. Except I put my query more succinctly. I must admit I had a slight twinge when I realised that the protester appeared to what is known as ‘handy’. What the hell? He was obviously a man with great respect for the law.
What irritated me was that, although I was in the wrong, I doubt I’d have been rebuked so automatically if I had been dropping litter on the floor, swearing, telling racist jokes, making lewd remarks to the barmaids, slurring my speech or being sick on the carpet. No, I was smoking. And that gives a green light to every smug, self-righteous, sanctimonious prig to feel superior for once in their pitifully useless lives.
And now the bastards have got one of my friends - angrier, braver than I - barred.
