Hamish Champ: There's no smoke without (a) fire

I visited a lovely out-of-the-way pub in the West Country last week and was shocked to find the interior wreathed in clouds of smoke. OK, maybe 'clouds' is overdoing it, but there was definitely a haze of sorts, through which one could just about make out the end of the bar.

But no-one in the place batted an eyelid. I thought I'd stumbled into an establishment run by one of the growing band of rebels who are increasingly making a stand for smoker's rights. Eagerly I looked around for someone to interview about this explicit bit of law-breakery, delving into my coat pocket to get my notebook as I did so.

However, after a minute of looking about the place I realised I was far from being in a haven of freedom-loving fag puffers. What I was inhaling was good old fashioned wood smoke from a lovely fireplace in the corner of the pub.

"Lawks," I said to myself - though quietly mind, as I didn't want people thinking I was some sort of nuttah - "it's smoky enough in here to be fooled into thinking the pub is chock full of smokers." But it was strictly legit!

And here's the rub. I am one of those people who used to smoke quite a bit and doesn't anymore. You know, the kind smokers HATE - not that I give a monkey's.

But I'll admit that on this occasion I didn't mind the smell of the smoke, or the effect it had on my ability to breathe freely and still hack little green lumps of 'goo' out of my chest. This led me to the conclusion that alongside the fact that smoking eventually hinders one's life, it's the smell​ of Silk Cut, Marlboro, Embassy Regal, et al that really does me in. Wood smoke I can handle.

Which got me thinking still further. All cigarette manufacturers need to do is come up with a cigarette that gives off the aroma of burning willow or hazel or whatever it is and in my book all will be very nearly right with the world.

True, it won't help get the smoking ban overturned, but then what will?