I'll huff and I'll puff ...

Everyone smokes here. Of course the all inclusive pronoun everyone is bound to be false eventually, but from my estimates the percentage of people who smoke in the UK/Europe warrants describing it with that particular word. There is a legitimate and long surviving smoking culture, you can tell by the way everyone just assumes that you smoke too--and the way everyone seems to so skillfully tap their ashes into the ashtray and hold their cig at just the right angle.

The fact that smoking is permitted, excuse me--thrives--in public is also slightly telling of how ingrained tobacco is in the culture of this society. I've been told that non-smoking is being introduced to restaurants and public facilities this year, I've yet to see any evidence of this. The first time I walked into a club I had to register what exactly that grey haze was, floating dramatically above the patrons' heads. By the end of the night out in the UK, I rub my eyes as they sting and weep in reaction to the chemical assualt they have never before been exposed to. My throat is sore and my clothes smell like I've just stepped off the page of the latest Virginia Slims ad.

I've surprised myself with my own tolerance of what is so foreign to me. I estimate Canada is about five to ten years ahead of the UK and Europe as far as putting the awareness of the detrimental effects of smoking into action. Not that I think any Brit would be surprised if you told them that smoking was unhealthy for them--but the severity of smoking just wouldn't register. It is a part of the culture.

On the other side of the pond, it is very much so a social taboo to smoke in Canada. Anyone who continues to smoke is relegated outdoors and even now, supposed to keep ten feet away from the entrance. Melting heat, pelting rain or freezing temperatures...heck, come Noah and his ark...smokers endure their "punishment" for persisting with that "dirty, little habit."

"Oh.... you smoke," is a natural response to the discovery of someone lighting up, followed fittingly with a wrinkle of the nose and every facial expression of disgust imaginable.

Even smokers themselves often precede their own indulgence with an acknowledgement of their apparent misbehaviour:

"Excuse me, I have to go get some "fresh air."
"I know, I know... it is a dirty habit. I'm trying to quit."
"I'll be right back, I just need a quick suck on my cancer stick..."

The thought of anyone justifying smoking a cigarette here is unimaginable. Smokers here rarely ask if you mind their puffing in your presence, let alone excuse it. It is not because they are inconsiderate, but simply because it is so rarely they are smoking around someone who isn't delighted at the excuse to light their very own cigarette and join them. Cigarettes and cigarette boxes are passed around here like the Stanley Cup is passed around the winning team's players, family, friends and wannabes--everyone wants a piece. I even congratulated one individual for getting through a whole box from the time I started dancing to the time I needed a break--maybe six or seven songs--I truly was impressed.

Lit cigarette tips join the light effects on the dance floor, ashtrays are hopelessly full all of the time and the smell of cigarette smoke will forever remind me of my time in England. They smoke in the morning, they smoke at lunch. Never is a cigarette turned down after dinner, and I even witnessed one dedicated individual prepare a meal all the while with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. You know the Alanis Morissette song...

One hand cooking dinner and the other one is flicking a cigarette...

I picked up a pamphlet on secondhand smoke today (to appear as if I had better things to do, to be honest with you), and was surprised and slightly amused with one of the first headlines:

Let's face it, we all smoke.

So I'm obviously the anomaly here.
It's alright though; no need to set off the fire alarm. We're all getting out alive.
The irony might be a little strong on that one, but my point being that the smoking is nothing I can't handle.

It is fluff in comparison to my hair appliance situation.

Besides, according to this pamphlet, my body starts recovering from secondhand smoke just twenty minutes after becoming smokefree. After eight hours my oxygen levels return to normal; 24 hours later and I can look forward to the mucas and debris cleaing from my lungs, and (best yet), by two to twelve weeks I can look forward to running like a marathoner! That must be the explanation for why I keep putting off running--my pesky secondhand smoke habit.

I've never been a numbers person, so if anyone can work out what

my 4 months in England
+ my embarassing number of hours spent in the Pav
x the number of cigarette brands on the market
- the square root of the number of different slang terms for a cigarette and then
/ by the 21 years I spent nearly secondhand smoke free...
_________________
we should come up with my chances of surviving the next four months in smoker's heaven.