As I walk round our once proud city looking for remnants of the old town I used to know in the shape of grand architecture, which is sadly few and far between these days, I keep noticing a sickly stench.
It is not unlike Willy Wonka or perchance the Gingerbread man being cremated, and my curiosity was indeed piqued as to what was causing this sickly, sweet pong pervading my nostrils until one Friday night as I had a pint or two with friends.
As we sat there discussing meaningful thoughts, such as why there were three brick-shaped holes high in a backyard wall in my area (ventilation for the outside netty) and the like, one of my chums took out what looked like a baccy tin with a nozzle on it and he popped the nozzle in his mouth and appeared to suck on it like a milkshake. He then sat back, then he leant forward and blew out a cloud of steam, and there it was, that sickly sweet stench.
It appears that those damnable e-cigarettes are polluting the air that I breath.
Now I look out for the dreaded cloud of vapour and go out of my way to avoid the heady mix of steam, phlegm and sputum floating about.
Alan ‘The Quill’ Vincent,