The British press do a great line in putting a negative spin on virtually any story you can throw at them. This morning: Cig Ban Will Lead To Blaze Death Chaos! or something of that nature, in the reliably sensationalist Metro paper. Apparently, the impending cigarette ban will lead to more people smoking in their homes; which means more house fires and more deaths as a result.
Smokers? I'm sorry, but I don't care if you die in a fiery inferno, sparked by your own supidity and laziness. One dead smoker is one less a**hole making my journey to work/trip in the elevator/lunch at the pub that much stinkier.
In other news, Bob Fossil got on my 43 bus this morning. And I am happy to report that his hair is still very much in character.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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I have to admit, I used to smoke. Even now if I go out with friends I might (MIGHT) have one (literally ONE). But if another cigarette never makes contact with my lips again I don't care.
And I've discovered that being subjected to someone elses billowing cloud of toxins actually makes me feel ill these days. Case point: Yesterday morning the train was pulling up and a guy was in front of me, in the under-cover part of the (outside) platform, desperately dragging his last few puffs into his lungs. And of course exhaling it. Now, firstly, smoking in the under-cover areas of train platforms is not allowed here now, so that's one point. Secondly he was doing this with no regard to the other people waiting to get on the train, we all had to suffer with it. And finally, I almost retched. I did in fact have a dry heave (I'm sure you REALLY wanted to know that).
Even when I was a smoker I was always very conscious of where my smoke was going. I'd move away from groups of people. I'd stand down-wind. I wouldn't smoke RIGHT NEXT TO THE FREAKING DOOR of a building.
On the upside, this has all prompted my boyfriend to try quitting again. And now to comment on your "country music" entry....
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