I went to my local park today. Summer was trying to break through and it was kind of mild. I had my trusty Ashton, a full bent with a mother of a 25mm bowl, a tin of Punchbowle, and my newspaper. I always head for an area of the park that's out of the way, in particular a seat that's hidden from view behind a large holly bush. As usual the seat was empty. I sat on my seat and pulled out the Punchbowle, and as normal I held it to my ear and gave the tin a shake. Why I do that I have no idea, but I always do. I twisted the lid off and held the tobacco under my nose, and took a deep breath. For some silly reason I think that deep breath before filling is important. To me it kind of adds to pleasure of the smoke. My dad did it, so I do it. Filling the Ashton is a pleasure unto itself. With such a large bowl the Punchbowle is tamped down with the finger, and I find I get it packed into the bowl better by feeling its springy firmness. As anyone who has toked on Punchbowle will tell you, it lights with an immense eruption of smoke and flavour. The smoky aroma from that earlier sniff from the tin kind of added to the anticipation. At this point I sat back in the seat, and closed my eyes. It's a ritual I do every week. For those thirty minutes I switch off and nothing else in the world matters. When I walk away from those smouldering ashes next to the seat I have a new found spring in my step, and I’m ready for whatever life throws at me.
