We went down to the village yesterday.

We knew the weather was going to be a little inclement for the next few days, so we thought we’d enjoy the good stuff while it lasted.

Herself went pottering off to the shops and Sandy and I headed for a coffee.

We sat in the cosy corner, under the canopy out of the breeze.  The place was quite full, and it was pleasant there.  Sandy made lots of friends.

A group came along and sat down.  One of the group was on a mission.  He had a thing about smoking.  His three companions all lit up their cigarettes and listened to him politely while he regaled them with the evils of tobacco.  I listened politely too, as I didn’t have much choice.

Herself came and joined us and asked me what the bloke was on about.

"Anti-smoker," says I.

"Ah," says Herself, as she lit up.

Next thing the heavens opened.  It was one of those downpours that takes no prisoners.  It pissed down.

And the anti-smoker was the only one who was outside the shelter of the canopy, and there were no vacant chairs for him to move to.

He sat out there getting soaked.  The fires of his passion had been somewhat dampened.

We all supped our coffee and smiled at him as the fires of our cigarettes and my pipe glowed brightly.

So there is a God.

But is He pro-smoking, or just anti-anti-smokers?

I must ask Him sometime.