Smoking was my religion once. I worshipped at the altar of Benson and Hedges. I was convinced that slim gold box had a certain prestige that would rub off on me. It didn’t but I kept smoking anyway. That was until I discovered Sobranie cocktail cigarettes and was smitten with the idea of matching my lavender dress to my lavender cigarette.

In the 80’s, Sobranies had gold filters and came in rainbow colours like a (flammable) box of crayons. At 19, a girlfriend and I, going to a ball, split our waitressing money to buy a pack so she could match the turquoise Sobranies to her eyes. I thought those coloured cigarettes gave me what the French call panache: a combination of charisma and reckless courage. But all they really gave me were head spins and a throat made of sandpaper.