I mentioned a few days ago that I had run out of baccy.
I ended up buying a fifty gram block of plug, of a variety I hadn’t tried before – Yachtsman Navy Plug.
It wasn’t bad as tobaccos go. It did the job, but because it was a plug tobacco it required a lot of effort. I needed a sharp knife which wasn’t easy as Herself has hidden them all, a cutting board and a fair wallop of patience. I stuck with it though and by yesterday I was running short.
I’m not quite sure how fifty grams lasted that long but it did.
Anyhows the time came yesterday when I thought I would mosey down to the village to replenish my stock of my usual baccy.
I called into my usual shop. No, they hadn’t got any. No sweat. They ain’t the only shop in this here village.
I called into the main shop. Ah yes! They had ordered some in so the girl went to get some from the stock room. She came back empty handed. She came up with the theory that they weren’t producing the 25g packs any more and were starting to produce 30g ones, but that they hadn’t actually delivered any. As theories go, it sounded reasonable even if the logic of moving from 25g to 30g is non-existent at best. But then that’s Tobacco Control for you – logic is something they apparently haven’t come across.
I was beginning to suffer from a bout of stubbornness at this stage. This had become a quest.on the level of the search for the Holy Grail. I was going to find some baccy if it killed me.
I drove over to a garage some way outside the village which has a bit of a shop attached. No baccy.
I carried on to another garage where I had replenished in the past. No baccy. She did offer me a few alternatives but they were all rollie baccy which is too dry for the pipe.
Fuck this! I was becoming more and more determined, so I set sail in the direction of Skobieville. As I was driving I realised I was to pass near a small shopping centre which is full of carpet shops, pizza places and weird stuff like that. I wondered if they had some kind of tobacconist. I drove over and there was a tiny little supermarket I had never noticed before.
I said it was tiny but when I went in I discovered it was in fact the Tardis. The fucking pace was huge, behind a tiny shop front.
I asked the Cheery Chappie behind the counter if they sold pipe baccy. He didn’t sound too sure but he opened a drawer. There, resplendent in the middle of all the ciggy baccies was Condor. He put a pack on the counter. I told him I wanted more than one pack. “How many have you got?” I asked. “Loads” says Cheery Chappie. “Give me loads so” says I.
I bought his entire stock of around nine or ten packs.
He then started questioning me about the pipe. He was a cigarette smoker and had never spoken to a pipe smoker before. We had a grand old chat as I explained the joys of the pipe compared to cigarettes.
Maybe I have made a convert?