I gave up smoking about 32 years ago but quite often say to smokers: Just blow it my way - I don't mind passive smoking - it's as close as I'll get to a real fag. After today, I take it all back. I've found out what passive smoking means.
Alex and I offered to do Monday afternoons at a new library. We went to three houses. After the first house, I was ready to call it a day and go home.
This house was dark. More accurately, it was brown: brown ceilings, brown carpets, brown paintwork, brown furniture, brown curtains, brown windows. The wallpaper had once had flowers on it - you could see their outline - but now it was just yellowish-brown. It looked as if every surface had a covering of yellow gunge on it. And the smell. O gawd, the smell. Years of nicotine build-up made me cough as soon as we walked in. We weren't offered a seat - just as well, because nothing would have persuaded me to sit on that furniture. I doubt if a window had been opened here in twenty years.
The man handed us a supermarket bag with library books in it. The bag was brown too and it stank. We got out as fast as we could and I had to use my inhaler on the doorstep.
Back at the library, I described the house to the librarian as 'a health hazard.' She looked sceptical but then we handed her the bag and she gagged. We wondered what the next client would make of the reek coming off the books.
How many fags do you have to smoke to get your house into that state? Does he cook - and eat - in that atmosphere? Does the old boy have family? Do they visit? Have Social Work intervened? Is there a carer who comes in? Surely not! Has anyone tried cleaning the place up? And where would you start? I doubt if any of the TV makeover shows would even contemplate working on this house! Personally, I'd torch it and re-house him and the neighbours, whose own houses are probably stinking too because of him.
Gross. That's the word. And we have to go back in three weeks' time!
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