Pav’s Patch: Smokers are turning the air blue

I NEVER thought I would find myself saying this, but I actually have some sympathy for smokers.

I think it would be better all round if they were allowed back into pubs, even if only in their own rooms.

It would make it easier to walk past pubs, because there wouldn’t be groups of people hogging the pavement, and it would improve the air quality in the streets.

For months after the smoking ban, I would find myself approaching pubs, wondering what was going on outside, especially on dark evenings.

Invariably I would find there was no trouble, just a group of men having a fag on the doorstep. Their language was often a bit ripe — not what you want when you have a child with you — but they were just having a smoke.

But it goes further than that. Walk through Oldham any dinnertime and you will see employees outside virtually every shop, all holding a cigarette.

There’s a cafe I know of where there are seats outside, but I wouldn’t go there because virtually every table is occupied by smokers. The air would have been cleaner in 19th century Wolverhampton.

The smoking ban and extended licensing hours were supposed to create a café society in England’s streets. But I’ve never noticed it.

I’ve yet to come across anyone sipping rosé wine and reading Le Figaro, or asking for a black coffee.

Far from Paris-style umbrellas we have wooden picnic tables surrounded by blokes swilling pints of lager.

So get ’em inside I say, even though I wouldn’t like to see smoking in the workplace.

At a previous paper, I was surrounded by chain smokers. The editor constantly had a fag in the corner of his mouth, two others lived off cigarettes and very sweet black coffee, and the only way I knew a certain woman was alive was when her Zippo lighter snapped shut.

Eventually, smoking was banned, meaning smokers — managing director included — having to gather under a tiny canopy by the main door.

And the dimps strewn around on the ground made a nice welcome mat for our visitors.

No, I’ve never been interested in cigarettes, but I don’t mind pipes.

I can smell thick twist across the street and it always reminds me of childhood days.

I used to be minded by a lady and as soon as you opened the front door you could smell the pipe smoke.

Her husband, a wonderful man, used to sit in his armchair happily puffing on his pipe, occasionally stopping to make a big throaty noise and then spit into the fire.