Christmas is a time of contemplation.
Specifically, contemplating OTHER people snarfing down the roast goose and plum pudding, with angelic kiddies singing in the distant background, and gay tinkly titters of joy.
'Bah', and 'Feh'!
Scrooge and the Grinch are my heroes.
Their determined sufferings during this festive season are sheer epics of resolve and principle. Their battle-cry: "bah humbug!"
I'm washed and dressed, and off to Chinatown to eat tofu. I normally hardly touch the stuff, but today I feel like it. There are two pipes in my coat pocket, along with a pouch of tobacco from a freshly opened tin.
First tea. Then a pipe. Then dinner, and another pipe.
There's an operational theme here.
Review: sweet, mild, and plummy. Fully rubbed it yields pale strands of a very refined appearance. Yes, there is a top-dressing, though that provides an aroma well in keeping with aged Virginias. It smells like the tins of Japanese cigarettes (50) which I purchased years ago.
Apricots, with a hint of fresh hay.
It reminds me of holidays in Switzerland during younger years, the age at which I did not yet smoke a pipe or drink whiskey. Very summery.
And consequently also suitable for Christmas.
Here's a picture of Jersey in winter:
I wonder if there is a perfume with the exact fragrance of this tobacco.
It would be very suitable for a young woman of delicate build.
Someone nice, with sparkling eyes.
I may have a glass of whiskey after nightfall.
At a place where I can smoke.
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