HG has not smoked a cigarette or cigar or puffed on a pipe (always hated it) in 20 years. A battle with cancer (won by HG due to the extraordinary skills of a renowned surgeon) snuffed out the habit. HG is startled that smoking is not missed. No Marlboros with morning coffee. No Gitanes with red wine. No Sobranies with pre-dinner Martinis. No Upmann Brevas (Maduro leaf) with after-dinner Port. And no lovely cigarettes while writing, reading, thinking, waiting, etc. Still love, with passion, food and drink — even without tobacco accompaniment. HG has been pleased that trattorias in Italy and bistros in Paris are smoke free. BSK would complain that her hair and clothes smelled of cigarettes after a long, wine-filled dinner at these excellent eateries. In Paris these days, smokers (and there are lots of them) are relegated to the terraces. Passing through a terrace to enter a bistro is like walking through a mini-forest fire. Bistro owners, however, are considerate of the smokers. Many terraces are now heated even though hardy, flimsily dressed Parisiennes would gladly ignore biting winds in order to indulge in their unfortunate addiction.
