Wednesday 28th June, 2017                 1445

The Great Cigar Drought continues.

As you may imagine, I am less than ecstatic at paying treble the price to satisfy my habit when my preferred purchase is unavailable, especially when I made the mistake of buying 100 Great Wall tipped cheroots and now find they are probably not cigars at all because they continue to burn a la cigarettes when you are not puffing. I slot the odd one in between “normal” ones because I am not wasting money and smoking two on the trot makes me slightly nauseous.

More in hope than expectation, I took a trip to the big China Tobacco to at least buy some more expensive ones to keep me from climbing the wall. No, my usual ones were still sold out but at least the lad who speaks English was there this time. They did have one carton of the same brand (and indeed I smoked them when I first arrived in China) at double the  price so I bought them to tide me over until next week. I complained that it took me two hours each time to go there only to be disappointed so he suggested taking my number so he can text or call me to tell me when they get more. I did point out that with my staying another year that would mean I would require a further 6,000 of the things so it was worth their while ordering a decent number. It seems to be the old story of “there’s no demand” - well there is because I am demanding them.

I watched a Storyville BBC programme last week called The Smoking Years and it focussed on the history of a fast-disappearing breed, the smoker. It was absolutely spot on and echoed what I have been saying for years - soldiers sent to war to die for their country were sent free fags by the government (cigars for officers of course and at 7 million cigars in a single order, still the biggest ever number ordered in one go). Of course now we are being hounded out of existence everywhere and many people never stop to think where the lost revenue from tax on tobacco products is coming from - yes, the goody-goodies face higher tax on other things to take up the slack.

Disappointed but happy to have at least staved off the cravings a while longer, I continued to the train station so as to guarantee a seat for the return trip. Feeling a bit peckish, I decided a curry in Dicos was in order. Sadly it seems that some schools have either knocked off early for summer (ours breaks up 14th July even though I finish this Friday) or are sending them all on field trips judging by the number of groups dressed in identical t-shirts and rallying outside the station under different flags. Dicos was crammed. I went to KFC. I really don’t like KFC in China, not that I really used it in the UK either, because I always feel the chicken is undercooked and I detest the texture of chicken skin that isn’t crispy.

KFC was pretty busy too and I almost abandoned the idea but psychologically I had made myself hungry. But what was this? They were advertising the new “Chizza”. The picture showed 4 squares of what appeared to be pizza and being KFC it could be reasonably assumed chicken was involved somewhere. 23y for a Chizza and 10y for a Coke I never ever finish and I managed to get someone to shift their backpack from a stool they weren’t using so I could sit down and enjoy this revolutionary new offering.

Disgusting is an appropriate description of what I bought. The chicken component was actually the “pizza base”, consisting of a breaded, fried piece of chicken. This was topped with a pizza cheesy topping and was utterly ghastly. Why oh why do I bother?? Even a Big Mac is better and that’s saying something.

And no, most of it went in the bin.

On the bus, about three stops into the return journey, a young woman got on. I had to consciously clench my jaw muscles to prevent my mandible slamming onto my chest as it went into freefall. She was a pure vision. Initially she stood right next to my seat (I even considered offering her my seat, albeit fleetingly seeing as there was an available one she could use) but then spotted one of the inward-facing ones was unoccupied so she took that. At the next stop the person obstructing my view of her got off and all I had to do to feast my eyes was look straight ahead.

Bliss until the next stop, when a man of perhaps five years my junior got on. He sat on one of the seats opposite the girl for a couple of minutes and then unbelievably (seeing as he was in a 4-seat row with only one other passenger) he changed seats to take the one next to the girl in the two-seater. He then leant right across her to deposit his bag of plums on a luggage space.

Clearly unnerved, the girl got up and changed seat to way up the rear of the bus. I started to wonder whether this chap was a pervert or mentally deficient. As luck would have it, both stayed on the bus to the terminus at Peili Square but I decided to light a cigar to see which way they both went. The girl went in the direction I would go to get a taxi or perhaps cross the road to get the school bus and bugger me if the bloke didn’t follow. I was almost tempted to stroll that way but reasoned there were plenty of people about and she would be safe, even allowing for the propensity here for people not getting involved.  I hope I was right.

Normally of course on the bus, whilst others are playing on their phones or listening to music, I simply watch the world and think, usually about what to have for dinner! Salad? After all, it’s a warm one with a little rain perhaps later. Nope. Normally when people make bubble and squeak they use leftovers but I have none because I have had chips with something four nights on the trot. So I bought vegetables and potatoes to specifically make it for later! As it never turns out right in a frying pan, this time I will try baking it in the oven. What the hell, it will do for Friday night as well. Maybe salad tomorrow………