Movies make smoking look cool - I think that's fair to say.

I've often wondered how cool I'd look if I smoked, but then again I can safely conclude that I don't look like Sean Connery in a tuxedo, and never have the essential accompanying music or script to bolster my presence in a room. Also, you rarely see James Bond having to step outside of a Monte Carlo casino when sparking up, just to adhere to a smoking ban.

Smoking has never really bothered me, although the last few days have really caused problems for me. Last night I not only got a nasty piece of wayward ash in my eye in Borough's Brewer's Wharf, but after a birthday party in Battersea I had to break up a night bus queue fight when an overenthusiastic gentleman kept jokingly asking me for a cigarette, and an irritable bystander told him to stop annoying me. Although mildly annoying having to fake a laugh every 2-3 minutes, it wasn't really causing me any problems. If anything, from my experiences of night buses it's best to keep things as jovial and light-hearted as possible as relations can briskly take a turn for the worse. This instance was no different. I've never, sadly, had to break up a fight over me though - as in, a fight between two parties looking out for my best interests. I can confirm that at 2.31am on Clapham High Street, this was a life first.

So that, combined with having to run through everyone lighting up outside Victoria station before work, standing on enclosed terraces that sail close to the legal wind making sure my clothes absorb absolutely all of the 2nd hand smoke floating around and the majority of girls who smoke also have tattoos and zero life prospects, means I don't think I'd miss it at all.

Perhaps we should confine smoking to the old movies that capture its cool, and don't let it be ruined by the reality in its ever polluting role of what you want your life to be like.