A couple of nights ago, I went to see a French movie as part of the French Film Festival called Les Jeunes Amants (The Young Lovers).

What struck me the most about the film was not their relaxed attitude to having affairs, but everyone smoked!

It was a bit bizarre to see everyone lighting up because in Australian, American and English shows and movies I predominantly watch, scenes with people smoking have long since disappeared.

At 3:30 am, I was tossing and turning and bizarrely, this is what was on my mind. (We get the strangest thoughts during those early quiet hours). I recalled years ago we used to call them “durries” when I was in the Navy. I thought it was a nautical term. It turns out the word might be used widely as Australian slang.

I checked online for its etymology and first of all, I got pictures of carpets from India. Turns out these rugs called “dhurries” so there’s a claim that the ANZACS brought this term back from overseas after World War I because like rugs, cigarettes were rolled. However, another source may be the brand name of loose tobacco called Bill Durham.

I don’t know why the cigarettes stood out for me in the movie. It was a glimpse into my past I guess. A past where you were surrounded by cigarette smoke, ash trays on the table and Marlboro ads on tv. Now, it just seems so foreign, distant and long forgotten. (Not that I miss them mind you).

Personally I’ve never smoked nor had any inclination too as I was always afraid of becoming addicted to cigarettes. I saw friends who smoked and how difficult a time they were having to give up. For me, it wasn’t a problem as I have this fear of losing control to anyone or anything, so I didn’t even try to smoke one. Flatly refused.

As a kid, growing up in the pubs around Melbourne, I remember going around the pub on Sundays (they were closed back then) looking for dropped coins so I could play Space Invaders or the Pinball machines. One time I picked up cigarettes off the floor (utterly disgusting to me now) and pretended to smoke it (gross)! I lit it up in the female toilets but the guilt overcame me as I thought of the belting black and blue I’d get if my father found out. So I confessed. In hindsight, I don’t think I actually smoked it. I don’t recall inhaling because as a kid, you don’t know this. Maybe the idea of even playing with matches was a no-no. I knew I was up “shit creek without a paddle” if anyone found out. I had the attack of the guilts soon after and fessed up to spare myself the punishment of not being able to sit down for a week afterwards.

I’m also the type of person who, also, at the same time of knowing myself that I’d go all in if given half the chance, I wouldn’t want to stop.

I think more about the pain of discipline and how arduous it would be to get back on the right path than of the pain of regret.

As a result, I’m pretty predictable and sensible when it comes to the crunch. I’ll do the right thing in the end and hopefully, choose the way out that prevents me getting into trouble in future.

Sometimes I think about this. Is this a good thing or a flaw? Does this become a regret? Maybe I should have just thrown caution in the air and be done with it? Bah, regret. It is what it is, ultimately I made the choice, I live with that choice and I must say, I feel better for it.

Either that, or I’m just making the excuse that the fear of consequence was drilled into me from an early stage. ?

I leave you with one of my favourite series of all time, Mad Men.