The Tobacco Papers #5: the relapse, or temporary virtue displacement.
For those of you who’ve never seen a Restoration comedy, or consciously choose to remain ignorant because you favour ‘real’ (issue-based/pretentious/worthy/weighty) drama, admittedly there’s not a lot to know. You don’t really need to know much about it now but for reference, all Restoration comedies are the same.
They’re based around four main groups: perky widows, gold-digging bloodthirsty young wives, emasculated brow-beaten older husbands and frisky, rakish bachelors with Wildean wit (they’d would probably be more gay if the Restoration had happened circa 1880). The bachelors ignore the fact they’re shot through with syphilis to agitate the bonds of matrimony, piss off the wealthier patriarchs and make a pass at their silver sisters over high tea. Chuck in a couple of extras – a ridiculously camp, gossipy sidekick to accompany the rake figure (though never rival their friend because presumably they’d much rather sleep with them – see above for allusion to homoerotic subtext) and that’s your drama. Port wine, high libidos, low morals and the rake’s risk of getting found out then chucked out by high company. Good fun and easy on the grey matter.
It’s taken me until now to work out why they’re all the same. I’d always assumed that there was an inherent laziness underscoring the Restoration art imitating life principle; dash off five rehashed acts of fondles in cupboards and you’ve got more time to down a bumper of fortified plonk and goose your wife’s country-bred chamber maid. Or – in more generous moments – a cutting commentary on emergent middle class scandal as social lubricant. Wrong. There’s something far more cogent at work here.
In a current climate where broadsheet newspapers devote space to the bikini bodies of the over 40 (who are also so over facial expressions), being able to accept yourself, your humanity and tendency to transgress in the face of cake/lust/vin rouge has got to be a good thing. That’s where the Restoration bit comes in. They’re all about the soft, squishy self-acceptance that flicks two fingers at Augustan denial, flagellates forbearance and says: yeah, it’s probably not great to over-indulge or sin or whatever, but ultimately, it’s quite fun and if I don’t do it too much (or – more importantly – get caught) then it’s probably okay.
[Moot point. There are exceptions to the ‘I indulge, you indulge, we ignore’ rule. Namely, any post Britpop era UK musicians who have a crack addiction and 2ft tall hair/propensity for writing pharmaceutical-addled shite in an exercise book bearing the archaic name for Britain. Stalker-grade media coverage circa 2006-8 is partly the reason – the career-for-column-inches fuelled by repetitive relapse under focused lenses is quite difficult to avoid, apparently. But mainly because prodigious drug abuse is a really bad idea.]
However, to err – inevitable; to get over it without guilt, recrimination or repercussions is trickier. Smoking relapses come in all sizes of tricky. On one simple, shiny level there is the comforting ease at which you can rediscover the head rushes of yore. A sneakily manoeuvred Marlboro Red from someone just outside your social circle who doesn’t know you quit and doesn’t really care retains all the heart-hammering ‘I shouldn’t be doing this’ of the illicit smoking years. Except this time it isn’t your mum telling you she’s disappointed. It’s your friends, partner, colleagues and people who feel completely entitled to patronise you despite being YOUR AGE. There’s a double negative at work here. Smoke and you’re a pariah cast out into the cold. Give it up and have one temporary lapse (alright, alright, seven) in virtuous self-denial and you’re a pariah without any willpower, self-control or hope.
Unduly harsh judgements and repeated exposure to the risk of nicotine addiction, cancer, bad things, blah blah blah ad nauseum (or death) aside; if you do relapse, at least adopt a Restoration attitude to it. For tomorrow, you’ll be found out AND have to listen to appropriately concerned lectures during second-phase nicotine withdrawal.
Light up. Inhale it. Enjoy it.
