Long may he prosper

Sunday July 1, 2007

A somewhat strange day, but then it’s hard to be normal when you know that somewhere around midnight you’re going to have to creep out of the house, quietly, trying to avoid disturbing the neighbours, and then drive fifteen miles over dark country roads to a holiday camp where you’ll pick up your better half and then drive back.

Yup. Hard to be normal in that situation. Makes for awful long sentences, too.

Another of Graham’s eBay bargains turned up:  a 1950s ceramic vase by Vera Tollow.  About eight inches high, this is a perfect gem of 1950s vim and vigour in domestic pottery, with not a scratch or dint to show its age.

This always astonishes me. I reckon I’m super careful with my stuff but old objects tend to show a few scratches at the very least.

So, how come it’s unmarked?  The only reasonable explanation I can come up with is that it must have been wrapped and stored for most of its life. Otherwise, it’s popped out of intersticial time from then to now, by virtue of some art loving Time Lord.

No, much as I’d love it to be Tardis cargo, I’ll have to go with the storage theory.

Earlier in the day we’d spoken on the phone, touching on the subject of the nation-wide smoking ban that came into force at 06:00 this morning.

“You wouldn’t believe the difference it’s made already,” Graham said. “You can see the whole length of the bar and it smells like a battery of in-depth cleaners has been at work. The ballroom is another matter, though.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Now there’s no layer of stale smoke, you can smell the mould.”

“Ah. Some expert or other warned about us being able to smell nasties that the smoke had masked.”

And so, it’s happened. The smokers are banished from our public spaces at last. I can’t say I shall shed a tear.

Or shall I?  I shall not miss the stink, that’s for certain. But…

I grew up in a world of smoke. Pipes and cigarettes were everywhere when I was a kid. It was part of my world, and one that I enjoyed greatly. People smoked. It was part of our lives. There was a romance to it. Film stars on the silver screen in dark, smoke-filled cinemas wielded cigarettes with a sensuality that’s rarely found in today’s world.

It’s rather like the demise of communism; we didn’t mourn its passing but I felt sad for those who’d devoted their whole lives to its ideals.

I don’t mourn the passing of public smoking. I do however feel sad that those old, romantic, smoke-filled days are history, along with most of the people who lived them.

For a slide-show on the subjct, with narrative, hop on over to this BBC page, where Alan Sillitoe speaks of his life-long love of smoking with an admirable balance of regret and celebration. I find his level-minded take on the subject to be deeply moving. He’s still writing, and still smoking, at the age of 79.  Long may he prosper.