ample outdoor seating and when I was served by the muscular waiter with his slightly lopsided artificial smile my eyes , for the first time in days , gobbled wantonly at the shapely male form . Convivially I ordered more tapas than I could possibly eat : squid , patatas ali oli , mini-paella , sundried tomatoes with chorizo , and to drink : an extra large glug of spicy local Rioja . I smoked extravagantly , breaking only to put the occasional forkful of tapas into my mouth . Exuberant , I chatted amiably with the waiter in Spanish and let him teach me some Catalan . He praised my pronunciation which I took as flattery buttering me up for a big tip but I was pleased nevertheless . I left the large tip he hoped for , wandered laconically towards the bus as I smoked yet another cigarette , noting with fondness the interplay of alcohol and nicotine on my central nervous system , and when I arrived back in Palma I had spent everything my father had given me and felt entirely restored by my decadent afternoon .
When I lit a cigarette on the hotel balcony my father simply remarked , unsurprised : ' so you ' ve taken up smoking again .' He didn ' t phrase it as a question . I was tempted to offer some justification but there was no need . We both knew I wouldn ' t make it through a trip away with money in my pocket without buying cigarettes . The remainder of the holiday was , in stark contrast to its beginnings , just as holidays should be : carefree , indulgent and smoky . When I returned to the UK my mother wasn ' t surprised either and she blamed my father for failing to break my unpopular habit , but we all knew I hadn ' t ever really wanted to quit . I never tried to quit smoking again , having learned a valuable lesson about self-control : Don ' t bother with it .
smokers ' manifesto 16