“Each time I promised never to start they would congratulate me on my good sense, then stare silently for several seconds at the memory of my Uncle Gregory. My Uncle Gregory died of cancer at the age of 48, in the winter of 1973. Every Christmas, before my uncle died, my father used to light a King Edward cigar at the beginning of the Queen’s speech. He used to lean back in his chair, four fingers along the top of the cigar, smoking as happily as King Edward. Now, whenever I see the Queen, s...he smells of Christmas cigar smoke. Thirteen years ago, in what turned out to be my only year at University, I was allocated a room in the William Cabot Hall of Residence for Men. My next door neighbour was Julian Carr, who smoked Buchanan’s Centuries. The wall between our two rooms was institutionally thin, and whenever Julian had visitors, which was often, it was easy to follow the steep gradients of his impressive voice. The smoke from his cigarettes and the cigarettes of his friends would gradually seep under the adjoining wall, over it, round the sides of it, right through the plaster which held it together.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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