my mallorcan hell
WRITTEN BY ROBERT HAINAULT TRAVEL CORRESPONDENT
A popular Balearic island in the Mediterranean , Mallorca has it all : good weather , warm sea , outdoor dining and cheap fags and booze . And ideal place to unwind and recharge . Unless you decide to give up smoking there like a fucking moron .
It was doomed from the outset . I ' d just had a fierce argument with my mother about my extravagances - which are many . I forget exactly what we were rowing about but I hadn ' t been smoking long and was probably in debt . Mum was responsibly taking me to task about the illogicality of having acquired a deadly habit that I couldn ' t afford . There was no way to win the argument : she was right . So I threw my cigarettes into the bin in a gesture of surrender . The next day my father and I flew to Mallorca and he pledged to support me in my smoking abstinence . I ' d even agreed not to take any money with me and rely on dad instead so I would be unable to buy any cigarettes of my own .
I made it through the flight and hotel checkout reasonably well . It was when we went out for dinner that I realised what a colossal mistake I was making . We were dining outside and while I was nibbling olives and bread I was - if not completely content - at least not suffering too greatly for not smoking . It was when we had finished , when the smokers that must have surrounded us all along seemed to materialise like an affable nicotinic army , that I became keenly aware of the conspicuous absence of a postprandial cigarette between my fingers . A cigarette after a meal is a little like scratching a mosquito bite : the food prepares the itch like a caressing finger exacerbates the swelling . When that first blast of smoke bursts into the lungs there is the intense , deeply-penetrating relief : euphoric , orgasmic , like a well-charged sneeze or a longed-for bowel movement . The refreshing breeze of smoking cuts through the warm sunset of post-eating endorphins , sharpening the mind , smoothing out the transition from face-stuffing to feeling full and sedentary . It is without parallel . Wordlessly , these thoughts passed through my mind as the smoking hoards pressed in at the gates of my
smokers ' manifesto 12