Harry walked in to the bar in and asked for a drink. The day was hot and he was glad to be in here rather than out there. It was a small, empty town on the border of the Czech republic that Harry had found himself in. God knows how he had ended up there or what he was going to do. He had been trying to cross the border in to Poland the next day but the bus he had been travelling had broken down.

Well, so what if I don’tr make it? he thought. He had been travelling on strict deadlines for the last two weeks  –  keeping track of train and bus times to various towns in Eastern Europe. He wanted to see the real life out here, not the cities of Prague or Kracow, although he had enjoyed those very much.

There was tall young woman working on the bar and Harry recognised her dark features as Slavic immediately.

Vot would you like?

Harry looked around the bar. There were various beers of Eastern European origin that Harry had never heard of, with hard to pronounce names such as Okocim and Zubr.

‘One of these please,’ asked Harry, pointing at a gleaming beer tap. The woman took a glass off the shelf and fixed her eyes on the pump, tilting her head so that the beer poured right up to the brim.

Harry took the glass up to his lips and took a big sip.

he smiled at her but she was too shy to return it.

‘How much?’

Er, twenty-five crowns.

Here, said Harry, pulling out a note which was in one of several currencies he carried with him.

She put the note into an old register and took out some gleaming coins which she emptied into his palm.

Harry decided she probably wouldn’t have much to talk about so he went and sat down in the corner. He took out a pack of cigarettes that he’d bought in Prague and lit one with his metal lighter. He was thirsty and he’d almost drunk his beer. He put his cigarette out in a long wooden ashtray, crushing the cigarette and laying it down like a body in a coffin.

Harry thought about all the places he’d visited on his travels. He had shot machine guns in an army field in Slovakia, drunk vintage wines on the hills of Buda in Hungary and kayaked outside Prague.

All the time he’d had people around him. Harry met other travelers and they’d share their stories and experiences. He enjoyed listening to them talk even if he didn’t find what they had to say particularly interesting.

The woman came out from the counter and picked up his empty glass.

She pointed to it and Harry nodded. Another one, why not? Harry was finally completely alone.

The first cigarettes I smoked were Dunhill King Size. They came in a dark red box with gold edges. They were strong, at least 10mg of tar. I liked the fact that they had the signature of Alfred Dunhill on the back, the same Dunhill who founded the Dunhill fashion brand. a pack of twenty retailed at £4.89. That was usually enough for a week’s worth.

 

Occasionally I went for a box of Dunhill lights. Funnily enough they were cheaper as they were so unpopular they never put the price up. The box was beautifully designed, with clean white packaging and bevelled sides. I used to love holding the box whilst smoking or leaving the box on pub tables next to my glasses of beer. I think they had a kind of crest on the front which always made the cigarette I was smoking an extra special kind of event.

Finally I sometimes opted for Dunhill Internationals, the same as the ones Robert De Niro smokes in Casino.

Even though I was loyal to Dunhills, I made my way through pretty much every brand of tobacco I could find. Between 2001 and 2005, the years of my heaviest smoking I smoked:

Peter Stuyvescent 100s (as advertised in old magazines I looked at from the seventies showing people sailing or lounging by the pool)

Camel lights and camel regulars (I always felt that the packaging of these was cheap and somewhat shoddy. The box never stood up well and got misshapen in the pocket. These cigarettes are mentioned by Bukowski in Ham on Rye, so I guess they will always have some cultish appeal.

Park Drive – these came in an art deco box with stylish old fashioned logo. I only ever bought one pack of these.

Gitanes: smoked a few of these. i learnt that they were made with dark Turkish tobacco, which explained why they tasted like petrol.

Gauloises: with an Asterisk helmet. popular all over the continent. Again, the packaging was too flimsy for me.

Lucky Strike: these were advertised with the meaningless but effective slogan ‘its toasted’, seen on Mad Men.

Benson and Hedges Special: these have always been smoked by a particular kind of smoker. I still remember the advertising of these on giant billboards. 

Lambert & Butler: horrible packaging, ok fags.

Marlboro reds/ Marlboro lights: according to someone in the pub, these are the most popular cigarettes. Or at least they were when it was still legal to smoke in pubs. I once bought a pack of Marlboro Reds in the Almeida restaurant. They were presented on a saucer by the waiter. What glorious times!

Petra/Sparta: I smoked these in Prague, 2004. They were at least 10 krowns cheaper than more famous brands.

Drum tobacco; when I couldn’t afford tabs, I opted for tobacco. I rolled Drum consistently through my second year at uni.

Golden Virginia: what everybody else smoked at the student union.

Craven A: another old cigarette brand, smoked a lot in France but oddly not in England where they originated from.

  

Take a look at these pictures. It may be the last time you ever see them.

After the theft of several priceless artworks from the Kunsthal museum, investigators have announced that the paintings may have been burnt by the suspect’s mother to prevent her son being found with the paintings in his possession. From the International Herald Tribune: forensic scientists at Romania’s National History  museum appeared on the verge of confirming the art world’s worst fears: that Ms Daguru’s tale may be true.

Here are the seven paintings which were stolen and are feared destroyed:

Monet: Waterloo Bridge, London, 1901

 

Gaugain: Girl in front of Open Window, 1898

Picasso: Harlequin head, 1971

Mayer de Haan: self portrait

Matisse: reading girl in white and yellow

Lucian Freud: Woman with eyes closed

Monet: Charing Cross bridge, London