THREE PIPE SMOKERS WALK INTO A BAR ...

Yesterday was intoxicating. Not because of booze (a very small shot of Jameson's, with some tap water), nor because of the double helping of cake and ice-cream for dinner -- it had been my birthday on Thursday, which my apartment mate celebrated with me on Friday with prezzies, cake, ice cream, and a box of bonbons, what with Thursday being a work day from which I returned home late -- nor, remarkably because a drunken or crazy person in a doorway yelled words of empowerment at me ("hey faggot, don't you dare come near me!"), but because of tobacco.

Please note that the empowering phrase cited above strongly suggests TWO things: 1) he's immensely threatened by my blazing masculinity, and 2) this blogger has the magic power to scare random people. He could've also been offended by my pink Hello Kitty backpack, in which I carry smoking equipment and a selection of tobaccos on work days.
Hello Kitty emasculates fragile flowers.

On Thursday, Joe from Laudisi brought by some tobaccos for the pipe club. One of the tins being Gregory Pease's Regents Flake. After having one bowl, I decided to take a little home for further sampling.

I stuffed fully one third of the tin into a plastic bag.


Friday I only smoked one pipe, fairly late in the day, when the tobacco hangover from nine pipes enjoyed on Thursday had finally worn off.
None of the Greg Pease stuff.

Saturday morning it started raining.

It was a slow day.

Boring.


I had five bowls of Regents Flake.


REGENTS FLAKE
G. L. PEASE, OLD LONDON SERIES
Manufactured by Cornell & Diehl

Blurb: "A generous measure of fine Izmir leaf is layered on a sturdy foundation of mature red and sweet bright Virginia tobaccos, then pressed and allowed to mature and ferment in cakes before being sliced and tinned. This is one for the lover of Oriental mixtures, with their exotic and enticing incense-like aroma and brilliant flavour. Rub up a flake or two, fill a cherished pipe, and prepare for an exceptional smoking experience."


Very good stuff. Somewhat perfumy, due to the interaction of the Turkish tobacco with the Virginias. It's a solid tobacco, and quite one of the most enjoyable Virginia and Turkish melanges I have ever tasted. Often I find such blends to be pallid; this one satisfies in ways that are hard to describe. Yes, I swilled tea all day, in between sticking my head into the lounge to make snarky comments at cigar-smokers and stir up sh*t, but it wasn't from over-stimulation, but rather a sense of patronizing bonhomie.

[Thought: "You poor repulsive sods, all you have is penis objects, but I have a pipe, and this is some purely wonderful stuff, which you guys will never taste!"]

It's hard to resist such splendid tobacco. It is figgy, and smells degenerately refined. No idea what anyone's significant other would think of it. My own ex-significant other would probably disapprove -- she once came bustling out of her room at three in the morning to tell me to smoke the dead rat up at the abandoned church with all the other unwashed crazy people -- but it is quite possible that I could indulge in this product safely around sensitive souls. More Virginia than Turkish. Grassy, pale, silken, intensely happy-making, and possessed of balance and alluring subtlety.
At least I hope I could.

They will damned well have to put up with it.
This should age exceptionally well.
I am resolved to have more.



By the way, I expect Joe to give my regards to Mary and Kaz.
I wonder if they've tried this stuff yet.

The pipe club meeting lasted from pasta at lunch to whiskey around midnight. Much was discussed, in small groups that wandered around admiring Savinellis. There was wine and cheese, but my access was blocked by mobs of people, and I would have had to be more perfectly social to wade through them. The only wine I had that evening was what seeped into a cut from a broken bottle outside on the veranda.

Other than appreciating Savinelli pipes, I'm not sure the pipe club meeting actually had an agenda. If there was one, it escaped me. The president left fairly early, and several people flung money around in a frenzy.

It was a success.



AFTERWORD

My apartment mate, who is also my ex significant other, in addition to gifties gave me a birthday card. In it she wrote: "Dear Toad, Happy birthday to a gentleman and really nice person." (signed: 'Poot')
Yes, I'm rather pleased. It's nice to be thought well of, by someone of whom one likewise thinks very well.
A toad. A gentlemanly person. And a not particularly objectionable sort, all things considered.

TOBACCO INDEX



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