A forbidding had occured. I suppose it is to be expected that there is going to be one or two tobaccos that, though beloved by our own enjoyment, have not gained the same approval at the issue of the beloved comrades O'D the pipe smoker. Such a tonecco is my beloved Haunted Bookshop. I have found it to be one of my most dearly favored morning tobaccos. Always bursting forth with its nutty goodness and periquey punchiness. Lord love the stuff, but my wife hates it. Some have compared the dear the smell of perique afire to the great smell of urine on a campfire. Perhaps that adds to the appeal. I love the sound of the bagpipes, of the banjo. If you are resolved to hate it, I may take that as a challange to try to adore it, or at least find merit. I suppose it is part of being an insufferable contrary scoundrel, and quite pity. Yet off I go to a bowl of perique, an earful of bagpipes and a mouthful of Lapsang souchong.
