In the year of my birth, 75 per cent of men smoked, as did 50 per cent of women. In films, you could tell a true gentleman by the assiduity and grace with which he withdrew his cigarette lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette of the woman to whom he was talking or trying to seduce. His lighter never got stuck: it always lit first time, effortlessly, proof of his competence and worldly accomplishment. All houses and other buildings must have smelt like a great ashtray. The curtains, the carpets, the clothes must have reeked of tobacco smoke. But strangely enough, although my mother smoked, I do not recall any smell of cigarettes during my childhood. I suppose it must have passed unnoticed because it was always there, like electronic screens and rap music today. It is not true, however, that so many people smoked in those days …