DALLIANCES

The April get-together was a blast. Several more people showed up than I expected, with varying levels of depth and investigative curiosity in our little depraved hobby. All of us had tales of encountering Nurse Ratchets. Martin recounted a call from a professional from his hospital who asked him what his "personal wellness goals" were. He told her that his main goal was staying alive, for the time being, and he was doing that. And no, he didn't wish to attend any cessation therapy sessions, but he was interested in getting CAT scans to see what years of indulgence might have done to his lungs.

They called back a few day later and informed him that the hospital didn't really worry about pipe smokers, it was the habitual cigarette smokers who were their target. And they were okay with him being a stubborn old coot. More or less. Sort of.

My own experience was a previous regular care physician who was convinced that with enough encouragement and perhaps nicotine patches I would stop indulging in tobacco.
And thus not die of smoking related infirmities and obvious insanity.
Surely, as a pipesmoker, I was on the road to ruin.


One of the members, who is in his eighties, suggested inviting one or two of the medical profession to a meeting, so they could meet aged pipesmokers enjoying life, and hear how pipes, fine tobacco, and stinking a bit, could fit into a modern with-it lifestyle. Calm people down while pepping them up. And if they smoked certain heavy aromatics their sex lives would improve, the opposite gender would fling themselves at them. He himself smokes civilized Virginia-Perique products, and leads a quiet life with his spouse of many years. He was incredibly proud of his daughter, and one of his grandsons likes the same kind of pipe tobacco. Of which the Germans and Danes are making splendid versions.

Conclusion: Perhaps the antismoking brigade should visit Holland, Germany, and Denmark. They'll lear to be less opinionated, and how to pronouce 'Gouda', 'Scheveningen', and 'persoonlijke vrijheden' properly.

Heroes were also mentioned, such s Pipestud in Texas and JimInks. Both are well-known in the community, and stellar pillars. Also Marty Pulvers, whom many of us know personally. Naturally Dunhill's (now under the Peterson line-up) Royal Yacht mixture was mentioned, that being the only blot on the first-mentioned gentleman's escutcheon, which is inexplicable and can make grown men burst into tears before going out back to hurl. Pipestud loves it.
We are all perverts in our own unique ways. Though only a few of us are Texans.

Cox's Bazar, Yangon, and Rome were talked about. Bernard was upset that his relatives had pulled an intervention: no more international travel for the time being, at least until the world is a bit less likely to play with fire. He's probably already planning to break curfew.

One of the ladies present was pleased that I spoke well of the products that Bob Runowski had a hand in. These are solid old fashioned Burley blends that harken back to a golden age of American pipesmoking, enjoyed by men of gravitas and consistency. Newly popular in some circles, with a small but keen fanclub. She thoroughly enjoys two of them.

Several of us also went into detail about the reek of Financial District sewers, where each intersection has four different repellent odours, and the entire area is, generally speaking, inutterable. That discussion lasted for at least half and hour.

The San Francisco Financial District is the beating heart of America's commercial pulse. You can smell the spirit of Yankee enterprise, it flows in steaming abundance underfoot.


Whiskey, wine, cheese, deli meats, cookies, pastry, champagne. Plus pâté. of which I ate most. Washed down with two mugs of strong tea. Pu erh.


By the way: there were two tins of Cornell & Diehl's latest release of Palmetto Balkan on the table. The owners of which were mighty chuffed at being able to score them, and generously letting the other members sample. It's mighty good stuff.
I have eight tins from four years ago.



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