Last night I found what I have been dreaming about ever since I knew I was going to Monaco for an anti-ageing conference. A perfectly intimate, family-run Italian restaurant with more pasta on the menu than even I can eat. How sad is that? It reminds me of Johnny Depp who once said that when you get to a certain age you start viewing sleep with the same anticipation as you once used to view drugs.
So I was in heaven as I tucked into my starter of rocket salad with parmesan, reading The Portrait of Dorian Gray and sipping my white wine. Then disaster struck. Two rather nasty looking people sat down next to me and started smoking. It was horrible. Suddenly my rocket salad was covered in second-hand smoke and I could barely see my book.
Before any smokers out there write and tell me I’m over-sensitive can I just say, frankly, get lost. It is you who are in the wrong. Smoking is disgusting, stupid and dangerous and if I want to kill myself with poison I’m quite capable of doing so without any help from you thank you very much. Imagine if I came and sat next to you and spent all evening farting? Would you like that? I suppose as smokers you have no sense of smell left so you probably wouldn’t notice.
Anyway, I couldn’t stand it. So I moved outside. Pathetic isn’t it? I should have told the smokers to move outside and poison the trees instead of me. But unlike Olivia, who had told two hooded youths to pick up their litter after them earlier that day (and they did as well!) I lacked the courage.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007