YOU SAY YOU WANT SOMETHING SOOTY?

By now you should know that I am not involved in a relationship, and therefore spend my weekends happily twiddling my thumbs in solitude. They're very good thumbs. Two of them.
Most Saturdays and Sundays I soak a bit in the bath, head into C'town for a bite to eat, then end up at the office for several hours.
And, of course, I smoke my pipes.


FAVOURITE BRIARS

There's something addictively sensuous about a fine piece of wood, made more wonderful by memories and attached meanings; which blend you last smoked therein, where and when, and with whom.

Several pipes in my collection have rarely been used in many years - they are associated with places and people that cannot be regained, and there is a note of fond sadness to them.
Others are temporarily back-shelved, for strong yet unclear reasons.
Comoys, Dunhills, Petersons, & other famous makes.
Some pipes I'm just not sure about.
Emotions come into play.
Can't explain it.

One of my favourites, however, is an extremely unimpressive piece. A plain bent briar of unexalted make, mellowed and polished from much handling. The top is blackened, unlike most of my other pipes. Neurotically, I want to see just how tarred-up I can get the rim.
Because of the cut, one side is paler than the other.
The smell of affection adheres to the bowl.

It's not a superior grade of wood, and looks quite common.
And yet it is special, I feel happy smoking it.
The badger and his trusty pipe.

I stroke it fondly, and it speaks to me.
It evokes, and also comforts.
A remarkable friend.


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