Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
Thursday, 26 June 2014
The perfume of cigars
I went to a pub last weekend, had a beer in the beer garden. I don't always go to beer gardens, because it is usually a place where smoking is allowed, but I went anyway because it was a big beer garden so I could avoid the smoke. Nasty, filthy, stinky cigarettes smoke. So I was enjoying a beer in the shade when I smell something else. There was a big burly British man smoking a huge cigar, one of those the size of a club that looked like the stuff you see stuck between Churchill's jaws on old pictures. And it smelled absolutely lovely. I don't know why, and it is a confession I have to make: although I hate cigarets, although I find smoking the nastiest and stupidest habit, cigars just smell so darn nice. Maybe it is because my dad used to smoke them, and does still sometimes. I am used to its perfume since childhood. In any case, I can't help it: it just smells nice.