Last night after work I went for a drink with a friend. That's two pints in a pleasantly dark old pub on the Kings Cross Road. For the first time in my pub-going life I arrived home not smelling of smoke.
I don't feel sorry for smokers. I just feel cross about all the times in the past that I came home reeking and had to hang clothes out in the garden to air them. I'd like a few of those nights back.