At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, February 19, 2012


Enjoyed the last of the tin of flake in the television room last night while my roommate (Savage Kitten) was asleep. My chamber opens into the t.v.r., whereas her door goes into the hallway. Consequently she never noticed that I was smoking, though whisps of pressed Caledonian may have crept in and favourably influenced her dreams.
Had it been the other way around, I'm sure they would have done so to mine.
Unfortunately, she doesn't like tobacco.

This is the thirtieth time I've fired-up a load in the Savinelli that I got at the smoking competition.
It is finally fully broken in, and has become a very nice companion.

No, I didn't win, but I was probably the only person to tap out a fine white ash at the end instead of wet shreds. That isn't so much praise of my own pipe-smoking hand as it is a testament to the oddness of the tobacco provided in a two gramme measure for the contestants.

[It really should have been 2.2 grammes, but the dope-dealers' electronic scale did not measure so finely - there's a lot to be said for analog devices.]

Really, there are NO winners when everyone is combusting a vanilla-cream and fruit essence funk-a-roo. We are not Europeans!

Savinelli makes some damned fine pipes. Pity so many of them will be loaded up with aromatic funkums. Many Euries don't know any better.


My father's stern lecture to me when it was discovered that I was a secret teenage smoker many years ago still rings in my ears: "good tobacco does NOT smell like a Turkish cathouse!"
Profound words. I took them to heart.
Good tobacco requires no aromatic jazzing up.

His advice on what I put in my pipe was as succinct AND as excellent as his talk about sex. In which he explained that one should ONLY have congress with someone very nice, preferably a good friend.
He did not specify gender, but I believe he meant 'opposite'.

Once I explored the non-aromatics, I realized what a horrible sin it is to doctor a decent product with a cheap skank odour.
Not only tobacco, but also coffee (no toffee, no hazelnut, no amaretto!), liquor, and tea.
Good coffee is strong and bitter. Good alcohol is not augmented with vanilla - cream - berry - cherry - mango syrup.
Good tea does NOT contain fruit by-products and cheap spices.
And very nice people do not reek of Hello Kitty perfume.

Rattray's Marlin Flake is an honest product with real tobacco flavour. It has that faint herbal scent that aged Virginias are known for.
Mellow, on the sweet side.
It needs to be fully rubbed and dried a bit before it can be used.
But fresh from the tin it is malleable, and a bit of effort yields pillowy mounds of medium-hued shreds.
An hour's exposure leaves these perfect for the pipe.
Smoke it contemplatively.

Last of the can. Once I've also finished all of the Samuel Gawith's St. James Flake, I may crack another tin. Either that or one of the other Rattray's Virginias.
I particularly like the Hal O' The Wynd.

I learned a lot from my dad.

One thing I learned on my own happened last night while I was smoking the last of the Marlin Flake.
When you pull a football-team sweatshirt over your head, because it is freezing in the teevee room at one in the morning baby and you wish to be warm, it is wise to remove the pipe from your mouth and the reading specs from your face.
BEFORE you attempt to put on the garment.
Not during.

My nose still hurts from having my glasses jammed down hard on the bridge, and I'm sure that the Medrash Gohova sweatshirt will now always reek of burning Scotsman.
At least right around the middle-chest area.

It was a very good smoke.
Quite a lovely smell.
Educational, too.


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