GLAMOUR - a story in one hundred words

GLAMOUR

“Why did you even start, Nan?”

“How could I not? Smoking was glamorous in the sixties.

I remember people like Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart – a sultry film star waiting for the handsome leading man to flick his gold lighter.

We used to practise with sweet cigarettes after school, and bought packs of five Woodbines to share behind the bike sheds.

A slim case was a standard twenty-first birthday gift, filled with pastel-coloured cigarettes. You bought menthols to be ‘cool’, or Abdullahs to appear daring.

Smoking was normal – everyone did it.

Nobody ever said it could kill us.”

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I'm still in the throes of renovating the cottage we are due to move into at the end of the month, so this week's story for Friday Fictioneers is the best I could come up with over this morning's cuppa. Thanks to Yvette Prior for the photo ans to https://rochellewisoff.com/ for hosting Friday Fictioneers.

To my fellow FF writers, please forgive me if yours is not one of the few I manage to comment on this month. 

NAG ME!

March 24th was my birthday, and was also the day I smoked my last cigarette.

This photo of the OH shows how we had to dress up last December in Derbyshire just for a smoke - thermal hat, fleece jacket, the lot!

After smoking for about 75% of the last 50 years (pregnancy and breast-feeding intervened on occasions, and I actually gave up once for some years) I shall need all the encouragement and/or nagging you care to dish out.

And there's no point in mentioning the savings - my cigarettes out here only cost 10.50 euros for 200!