On my return to Glasgow today, I noticed that a little bit of my childhood had died. My walk from Cathcart station to my parents’ house takes me past the Beechings pub on Clarkston Road. Every time I used to pass it, rounding the corner onto Monreith Road East, I used to stop and breathe in a pleasantly familiar smell, which was peculiarly evocative of getting my hair cut at the local barber’s shop when I was younger.
I passed today for the first time in over a month: the smell was gone. I paused, considered this for a moment, [formulated a catchy title for a blog post,] and carried on.
I’d just like to state publicly that this is the only way my life has been negatively affected by the Smoking, Health and Social Care (Scotland) Act 2005.