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Such was the life in breakfast cereals. Once a year we would all travel from the regions and congregate in the utopia known as Coventry. Quite how this city has not been blessed with an accreditation for its attractiveness and finery eludes me. Ah, wonderful Coventry. Or, as I prefer to call it, Not-quite-Birmingham.

Nameless figures congregated in the hotel lobby, all boasting of how they managed to get an extra listing of a bran flake in their local Co-op against all the odds. And to a man, despite their tales of retail heroics, they hung back from returning to their rooms to freshen up before the wonder of the final night feast. They were scared. They were petrified.

The hotel carpet was made of that material they show you in Science class when you were not learning about static electricity because your sudden rush of hormones made other things far more interesting. The lift on the other hand was constructed of the finest metallic conductors engineers could find. It was an awesome conjunction of stupidity and bad planning. Slowly, one by one, the sounds of “Ow”, “Shit” and “Oooyah bas…” filled reception each time the lift button was pressed.

My mind recalled the happy event when I first saw the draft regulations for ecig advertising last week. I always wondered what hotel designers did once the building was complete – and now I know: they come up with the stupidest, most unenforceable plans for controlling the discussion of vaping.

Some people lament the long-gone days when vaping was a small, close-knit community. Enthusiasts would share their discoveries and try to come up with their own. By virtue of the vape pioneers and their open-source mind-set an industry grew. With it, a community of ex-smokers all asking the same questions on a monthly rotation as new vapers experienced the same dry hit last week’s vapers had. The community, through social media, has been a support network, information resource and centre of inspiration to millions. It has and would continue to be vital but idiots want to take it away, they’d like to see the likes of vape groups on Facebook banned.

It’s been a tough week although not one that is in any way unique, we all have them: I’ve had cars blind me on country roads, lorries pull out on me and a puppy leaving presents on the landing carpet. Presents that could only be found with the aid of a naked foot on its way to make the first cup of coffee of the day. There’s been a stream of people delivering parcels but not one of them was for me containing an exciting vape purchase. A real 1^st-world problem kind of tough week. And then I had a flash fire in a Block 454 mid-inhale.

Fire in the mouth is not something I can say I’m used to. I’ve had many things in my oral cavity, some of them not very pleasant, but never fire. It would be nice to think that the new regulations don’t prevent vapers in the future from being able to discuss such things in the public domain. Take my ex-regional sales director for example; I don’t know if having fire in the belly is half as perturbing as fire in the mouth but I hope he found someone to help him extinguish it.

It would be nice to think that we could continue with the free trade of information to circumvent or overcome such matters, sharing knowledge is how the world moves forward. If the sales reps had paid attention in class they’d have known not to all wear rubber soled shoes in Not-quite-Birmingham hotels. Criminalising discussion of vape chat in social media is crass, ill-considered and almost entirely unenforceable. Three cheers for the ex-hotel designers, blinding work once again.

Proposed regulations covering what and how ecigs can be advertised means that at some point in 2016 we will no longer be able to say things like “They’re 95% better for you than smoking, so Public Health England say. You know, that body funded by the government.” We won’t be able to say it because officials say so. “Madness”, you say – you don’t know the half of it.

In fact, just holding a cigalike out in the open where a child could see it, where a child may have been or somewhere a child may have dreamt of is set to be banned. To do so after Xmas can result in one from a vast range of harsh punishments: first offenders can expect to be insulted on Twitter by a government minister calling you a health terrorist. Repeat wrongdoers will be on the receiving end of a sound shouting in Argos and an MP will call round to your house to punch your dog in the face. Vapers not owning a dog will be expected to buy a rehomed smoking beagle.

What else can’t I say?

All words appertaining to vaping will be officially removed from the Oxford English Dictionary. No “eliquid”, no “atomiser” and no more “mechanical mods” – the legislation will also be extended so that the ones quoted will have to be removed from this blog and replaced with the words “ocelot”, “flippant” and “Y-fronts”.

You might say: “This sounds excessive?” Just remember that these people are doing it for your own interests and the benefit of all young people. Remember the last time you walked into a room and totally forgot why you were there? Exactly. You’re stupid. Experts know exactly how stupid you are and that the reason was “slippers” but they aren’t going to pop round and tell you – no, they are planning on banning slippers. In the meantime they have been forced to act because 2.8 million vapers are simple being too senseless to continue making their own decisions.

Removing words means that people can’t labour under the misapprehension that they are making “informed” choices. Words that can be used in multiple locations.

Where can’t I say it?

Words that will no longer exist will not be able to be used in posters, television adverts, on social media, on forums, in telephone calls, texts, notes added on to shopping lists or carved into your arm using a rusty knife. Health fascist and pie fan Martin McFly has called the move: “A huge victory for common sense, and will provide my team of snoopers a huge health budget dividend.”

Is there nothing we can do?

Well, that’s the million-dollar question. Vapers and vape companies have a couple of options open to them. First is to use alternative language. In place of saying “ocelot” we can talk about great tasting “Ilford films”. In doing so, as you can see from the advert I’ve mocked up by stealing one from the internet, it is possible to continue with our plan to advertise directly to non-smokers and children. For example: Ilford Films are sold in either HP3 or FP3 heavy depending on whether the “photographer” requires clouds or the sensation of leaping over a tennis net.

Then there’s the smart alternative. While some idiots are looking into transferring their businesses offshore we believe that 2.8 million of us could all chip in and by an island, a vape republic. We can all appreciate that poor neighbours reduce the price of property so if we all go vape in boats off the coat of the Isle of White we could buy it for £94.23.

Yep, vaping is soon to be not as we knew it – it’s time to get creative.

Our hobbies can appear incredibly bizarre to those outside the circle. “From the serenity of casting your rod by a river bank to the joy of hooking a silvery salmon or trout, fishing is a hobby that rewards and rejuvenates,” claims the Silversurfers website. Angling stands as the UK’s most popular pastime and is a market worth over £3billion a year. Now no one appreciates escaping from the family more than I do but I have no idea why someone would run away to a rain-soaked waterway to eat cold beans from a tin.

This is in no way a criticism of those of you who like to tie feathers onto a bit of metal – no doubt you find the reasons I enjoy watching 22 men feigning injury near a football equally impenetrable. We used to have a pair of lodgers for who triathlons were their entire life. Forsaking beer and pizza…going without anything resembling fun in fact…they would vanish every weekend to do whatever it is that a triathlon involves. I’m still unsure of that bit as I used to feign death whenever they’d begin talking about it. Which was a lot, they had to fill in the time when they’d otherwise be having fun somehow.

But I guess I’m becoming them thanks to vaping. Thanks a bunch, vaping.

The other week found me in a local cycle store. My requirements were quite simple; I needed something to carry my bulk, aid me shedding some of it and (most importantly) it had to be black. Unlike Bradley Wiggins, I never found smoking compatible with being able to achieve any level of fitness. I found fags complimented beer and pizza far better than peddling up the Alpe D’Huez. If I’d try to cycle and smoke I’d have been a smouldering, coughing heap on the floor.

I wheeled the thing out of the shop like a kid on Christmas Day. I was going to do the eleven miles home on it but, of course, I had no idea it was eleven miles. In a car it only took a few minutes therefore it had to be damn close. “I would suggest you are very careful if you haven’t ridden for a while,” advised the shopkeeper. Damn, if Mr Benn could get away with ignoring shopkeepers then I’m pretty sure I can too.

All began brilliantly. The sun was out and it was downhill to the reservoir with a flat track all the way around. The air was so crisp. You know how I know? Of course you do – because I vape. The middle and the end sailed by as enjoyably as the first bit. Even if Glantz and his chums refuse to accept anecdotal evidence – we know for a fact that vaping is orders of magnitude better than smoking because we experience it on a daily basis.

We walk further, breath deeper, move freer and can enjoy the benefits of exerci…hang on a minute…are you feigning death? Right, I’m off to peruse an issue of H&E.

The architectural design critic has to be one of the top jobs in the list of Most Utterly Pointless Professions. Some people get paid to look at a building and slag it off in print for not being buildingly enough for them. John Loudon, a Victorian arbiter of design taste, declared that: “To hang an open iron gate to a wooden doorframe is a gross violation.”

People vehemently objecting to particular designs predate Prince Charles and his carbuncle outburst by some measure. Only this week a Guardian journalist was laying in to the government’s Starter Homes Design document as if its authors had stolen his mum’s pension and were responsible for the Erlkönigin.

“There is no doubt whatever about the influence of architecture and structure upon human character and action.We make our buildings and afterwards they make us. They regulate the course of our lives.”
Winston Churchill, addressing the English Architectural Association, 1924

For a long time 3^rd Gen equipment was distinctive by its regional influence and easily identifiable as such. While European manufacturers aimed for a simplicity of form, clean lines and plain steel, Americans broke out the engraving kits to add their own take on flair. Meanwhile, over in the Philippines, mod makers appeared to load up on hallucinogenics and engage in a game of Dare to see who could produce the gaudiest thing possible. The word gaudy predates Antoni Gaudí but it is as though he had a hand in the making of Pinoy mech.

It seems appropriate that the circle features so prominently in mod design, especially given that medieval scholars believed there was something intrinsically divine found in them; our quest for the perfect vape to be found within the set of points on a plane, all equidistant from the centre.

There are many reasons why I value Satburn’s Sat22 atomiser above all the other gear that has drifted through my hands – but none more so than its appearance. There is a glorious Bauhaus quality to it. I find simply looking at it mesmerising, it rewards beyond the vape; an appreciation of the design styles that extend to admiring the concentric circles of the Squape-R spreading out like pond ripples.

Brutalist box mods dominate sales currently, buyers opting for pure functionality in their purchase. As minimalist as they are, as one of the few in the country who adored Northampton’s sadly no more bus station, I adore them. Meanwhile the high end boxes are embracing the C-curve which, when I see it in conjunction with a StiG logo, sings modernism to me.

Of course, some people would say: “shut up talking guff and just vape.”

Oh, yes, there’s the whole life and death bit. For sure, that factors into it if you want to dwell on the morbid. We are (pretty much) all au fait with how vaping is safer when compared to smoking. And that extends to those seeking to legislate the sod out of mods & liquids. They may come out with all kinds of nonsense but they know in their hearts what the truth of the matter is – just yesterday they let that slip in a Welsh government committee. Even Glantz has acknowledged the relative safety; he just disputes the 95% figure.

I had a bout of illness that I’ll not bother going into here. After such a life event you find yourself in a strange place. Friends that feared they could catch it from you stopped calling round, others took deep offence from the drug-induced moods or didn’t understand what was going on – and potential employers look at you like you’re damaged goods. There’s hollowness to existence when 90% of the life you knew no longer exists.

Vaping filled that hole: The equipment, the forums, the meets and then the job. I’m not alone in this. We make friends in the vaping world, friends who go on to set up businesses or do reviews or make people laugh with their comments. We are tied to vaping more than we ever were to tobacco – and it scares people. They see this for what it is: it’s more than an addiction. Like spending your weekends jumping out of planes, off bridges or stock car racing, those with the power to control it will try to.

But it’s not that aspect of vaping that I ascribe to having saved me either.

I’d taken to travelling everywhere with a toilet roll following one very unpleasant Reading Festival when younger. A weekend of bands, drinks and food from people in vans who’d have had every possession burnt if Public Health inspectors had inspected back in the day. A couple of days of mixed deep-fried salmonella combined with portions of gastroenteritis in a bun took its toll.

But age dulls the memory of cramps and the sound of the laughter from your mates. The imperative to be as prepared as a boy scout makes way for the convenience of travelling about with just a phone and a wallet.

So thank you vaping.

Thank you for producing drippers that call for the constant mopping of the sides and the need to capture those errant rivulets from airholes. Thanks for giving me the need to carry more absorbent material than a hazardous materials emergency spill response team. Thank you for saving my life on the 4:15 from Euston.

There are those who see vaping as a linear trajectory, as kit moves along a path finding better ways to deliver the experience with the goal of a perfect vape. Mods and attys deviating from this trajectory are roundly mocked. Vapers place them in the corner of the online playground and hurl spiteful comments. But then something new takes hold and the line of progress veers off at an angle like a dog spotting a cat licking its balls in the road.

eGo to USA, USA to Pinoy, Pinoy to USA, USA to GB and the slow rise of the regulated device. A couple of ugly boxes later and the market became nothing but C-shapes and rectangular cuboids. Power outputs from chips have become engorged to a level that continually outstrips what is perceived as normal vaping. Virginal atomizer holes followed suit in the quest for increased airflow and most drippers now boast gaping holes to rival blocks of Emmental cheese.

My Dad was a proud man in the late 70s as his the bulk of his wardrobe was adopted by a section of the Punk community. “I’m back in fashion,” he’d exclaim. I remember seeing the smiles on the faces of hippies as they looked on at the resurgence of the flared trouser and my mother’s face when my daughter was decked out in a 50’s dress.

When the DNA40 hit many proclaimed the death of the mechanical mod. Resale values began to drop like a politician’s popularity with WI members after he’s named in porcine shenanigans. Why would anybody bother with a tube where you need to swap cells out because the useable voltage has gone? Why would anyone buy a tube when there are plentiful, useable regulated devices on the market?

But life isn’t linear; life is a coil of wire.

I sold off all bar a couple of mech and proclaimed myself shot of them. Why ride a leaky old Triumph when the Japanese were making two-wheeled machines of destiny? And yet the motorbike market came back around to Triumph, its history and the new iterations of the models.

And so, when faced with the opportunity of getting myself a treat, I looked at the options out there. Something distinctive, something that performed, and something I could get unbridled joy from simply holding. And I went mech.

There’s a beauty in simplicity. Heck, it’s the reason my wife finds me bearable. A good pair of scissors, a functional penknife, a table – forms uncluttered by deviation from functionality. It helps that I remain unconvinced by the temperature controlled mantra combined with a willingness to go low ohm – but I’m getting the vape from a tube that I was getting from a box. No, that’s wrong. I’m getting a better vape because I’ve dispensed with the chip making my decisions for me. I have obtained a Zen-like oneness with my vaping device. I made that coil and wick to perform with the mod; I am tied to it and it to me. If there is something I need to tweak it takes more than the press of a button…and I love that. Again.

This isn’t retro, it’s not grasping at the past to deflect the future from approaching too fast. It’s Tom and Barbara raising pigs in the back garden, it’s embracing a simpler and more fulfilling way of being. Of course it is also waxing lyrical about something that isn’t important but then neither are flared trousers, Triumphs, scissors or…probably…existence.

The mech is back.

Vaping is more than simply a coil heating liquid to evaporation. Sure, it is simply that if we reduce it to its basest function – but to ignore the rest is to cut oneself off from additional delight.

I firmly believe that we are all artists. As children we all had the capacity to wonder at the world, to gaze at things that marvelled us and to get busy with crayons while being instructed not to colour outside the lines. Along the way we switch off and stop noticing things. I’m pretty certain its down to the stuffy nature of the art world and the times we were told we were doing it wrong.

“If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” ~ Edward Hopper

If you have ever stood and looked at Van Gogh’s Starry Night you may, like me, have been blown away by the loops and spirals of thick oil on canvas. It is the same emotional response I get from looking at images of diffraction patterns or the paths traced out in particle physics experiments. Both of which are evocative of the plumes sprouting from a mesh wick.

Spirals and loops of vape, building patterns of waves cascading away from the coil – aggressive, crackling splendour; it interweaves and flows, creating unique patterns in the air. Like snowflakes, no two pulses on the switch of the mod will ever recreate the same image in front of you.

And then there’s exhaling the cloud, as it catches the tiny eddy currents in the room to drift before standing as a metaphor for life and vanishing like it was never there…just a sense of the smell indicating the entity it once was. I can assure you I’ve not been drinking yet, this is a genuine love of the airborne textures I create.

I know I’m not alone, I know you can get this otherwise there wouldn’t be a fascination with subohming or the painstaking efforts to marry the right mod with a fitting atomiser. You love it too; you get the aesthetic of vaping. Like the inspirational Alison Lapper, you paint with your mouth.

But our enjoyment isn’t limited to the visual aspect of vaping. When doing my Art Foundation I discovered a love of aural sculptures and ‘found sound’. It made sense to me that if I adored music then a logical extension is an appreciation of those noises that comfort or challenge us. Waking up to the sound of sheep outside is, to me, as pleasurable as the creaking door in a horror film, I need no image to look at because the sounds are painting pictures in my mind.

Darth Vapous mentioned a similar thing on the POTV forum; the delicious commotion created at the same time of the cloud. The rasp of a Hellfire, the suction of a large-hole dripper – even the whistle of a Kayfun; clicks and snaps, smacks and whooshes fill our ears with the noise of vaping. Pops from flooded wicks that are surprising yet entertaining remind us that the coil is bursting into life and, as the electrical latency of the mod dies away once releasing the switch, the afterburn hiss embraces silence.

Stunning.

*Image of the atomiser from an online vaper called Vape Geek.

Christmas taught me a number of things including (and not exclusively) that a Disney musical can tire the patience of saints, political debates can become immensely heated when fuelled by tequila and I really don’t use gennys that much.

I love a genny, I keep saying how my Origen V2 is my favourite atomiser, but I can count the number of run-outs it had over a fortnight on one hand. Clearly, this doesn’t mean I don’t love it – but I am left wondering why I keep going back to the Kayfun-lite like film producers keep hiring Nicolas Cage.

Like Cage, the Kayfun is pretty much a one-dimensional device (albeit far more rewarding and capable of expressing a greater range of emotions). I know that some people drill theirs out or sub-ohm with them but, frankly, it’s not what it was made for. You can cast Rupert Grint in any number of other roles but he will forever remain that odd looking one who once waved a twig: It’s what he was made for. To do anything else is akin to taking Argentine footy star Lionel Messi and playing him in goal.

I began my break playing with drippers, something I’d not done for most of the year. A new juice arrived from Colonel Boom and it sang in the Igo-W+, I was truly smitten. But, rather than keeping at it in an atty that was working well I insisted on going down the easy route of filling up one of the KFLs. Why? I’ve no idea beyond my latent stupidity and laziness.

It didn’t work; notes vanished from the experience like shifting from Lou Reed to a celebrity-strewn cover of Perfect Day. Did I return to dripping? Nope.

I used put the lack of use the gennys got down to the fact that I have juices dedicated to each one – and those flavours only tend to get a run out when drinking booze. But in a fortnight where I single-handedly raised the share price in several distilleries they still didn’t see the use I’d have expected.

The Heron has joined the list of single-juice attys; the only thing it sees is Powwow Sauce. What helps it is that PWS is pretty much one of my two all-day vapes along with some heavy GVC (residing in a 3.1ES).

The realisation of what type of vaper I am took hold at the outset of a fun festive family game. A delightful coming together of competitive souls that forced me to remember something important I had to attend to in the garage.

Sheltering from the enforced frivolity, I cast a gaze on the workbench littered with woodworking tools and a host of half-finished vape stands. Some had even reached the stage of having patterns burned into the shapes. See, I love the idea of building things but my attention span runs to that of our collection of fish.

I love the idea of atomisers I can build to my requirements but have, more and more, reduced to just swapping out some cotton and burning off the coil. It’s made me realise just how much I could never be a reviewer making videos on a weekly basis. Spending my time wicking and coiling instead of starting blankly out of the window seeking inspiration is just not anything I’d like to do.

So I’m a lazy vaper. I’m a lazy vaper with an aversion to enclosed spaces packed with in-laws. So much so that I’ve found myself frequently looking at pictures of the new Kanger Subtank thinking how brilliant it would be if I could cut the tiresome cotton threading out of my life. It’s not going to happen, I’m too lazy to find out if it works or not – I’ll go see if one of the industrious video makers has looked at one.

If only I could find a similar way of replacing those related to me.

Stealthvape’s helpdesk has been inundated of late. While we endeavour to deal with issues in a timely and constructive fashion we are unfortunately unable to assist with some problems…especially yours Mr R Venn of Bath; you really need to stop emailing that personal graphic picture and go see the urologist.

Let’s be clear here, no one manning the desk has what we would term official medical training. Personally, I’ve read all of James Herriot’s books (except for ‘Blossom Comes Home‘ and ‘Smudge, the Little Lost Lamb‘); Rob has Casualty on Blu-ray and Emma paid close attention when Madge was hospitalised in ITV’s Benidorm. But none of this qualifies us to answer those types of questions, Mr Venn.

We do know our stuff when it comes to Glantzism, though.

Firstly, have you suddenly discovered that you are desperately afraid of particulates? Worse, do you find yourself in a confused state because you are unsure what particulates are, how they got into your house and why the Home Office isn’t putting a limit to the numbers gaining access to the country? Maybe it has happened to someone close to you? Maybe it has happened to someone far away that you don’t like very much?

Particulates are small, foreign bodies, hard to see and almost impossible to have delivered if you live in a village. Stanton Glantz, hence the name of the disease, is petrified about particulates…vaping produces oodles of them apparently and he is overly concerned about the size. Yes, Mr Venn. I am fully aware that we are discussing size but that does not mean I’m going to address your issue – no matter how ultrafine yours is. Men like Glantz have a history of being overly concerned about size. Although commonplace, it is still misguided and irrational. So, could someone suffering from Glantzism rationalise her or his way out of this dilemma?

Let’s try an analogy.

Imagine an obnoxious adult; let’s call them Mr R Venn of Bath for sake of argument. Mr Venn is repugnant, easy to see (albeit offensive to the eyes) and therefore possible to avoid. But now imagine that person as a child. Does being smaller make them more dangerous? Clearly not, unless they remain in charge of an articulated truck doing 58mph on the open road. The size of Venn junior in no way increases danger to others although it makes it easier for him to creep up on you unannounced.

Let’s try another: Imagine being placed in a sealed sauna. In this room you will be breathing in loads of ultrafine water particles. Now imagine the sealed room is filled with water with you in it. If you find that mental image as disturbing as I found Mr Venn’s picture then this is probably an opportune moment to relax and find our happy place: imagine the sealed room filled with water and Stanton Glantz in it.

As Mark Twain said, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” It’s not the size of a particle that poses danger to vapers, it’s what that particle is, Mr Glantz. And, if that particle is nicotine then it poses no greater risk to the health of a vaper than has already been documented in the peer-reviewed studies you are choosing to ignore.

So, dear reader, you can see there is no reason to be alarmed at the outbreak of Glantzism. What can not be solved with a liberal application of common sense can always be cured using the sealed, water-filled room.

*Next week: Mr R Venn of Bath raises a question regarding the use of euphemisms and the word ‘mod’.

They were the highlights because my family would attempt to ruin the endless days of bliss by dragging me away to a part of the country where the sun never shone, the portable black and white couldn’t get a signal and the toilet needed emptying far too regularly.

Like all things we go through during those years, you never fully appreciate them until they become distant memories. The Kendal Mintcake, the pokey smoke-filled cinema, the boys at the campsite football match who thought my 70s hair made me a girl – oh, cherished memories.

At my smoking peak I was burning my way through 60 Rothmans a day while working as a sales rep. At no point during this period did I think “Hey, I love this thing so much I ought to hang out with some other people who do it to too.”

Now, fine, smokers do tend to congregate. We did it down the bottom of school playing fields, in works canteens and (for those who carried on into the smoking ban) doorways. The enforced conviviality of standing with strangers in alcoves must have had a lasting impression on us, a desire to share our experience.

Becoming a family man you have to draw up a set of rules, no one issues you with a book on Dadhood and if they did it would probably be a pile of toss written by someone who wants you to indulge in non-competitive games and refrain from using coarse language. It saddens me that while researching this piece a number of such tomes are readily available from your local bookstore. Little do they understand men – we don’t need no stinking instructions.

For anything.

So where do we draw our inspiration from? Well, in my case it is repeating all of those things that I hated as a kid so that my kids can look back fondly on the stupid things I made them do; we share our experiences, we pass down our stories.

The vaping journey has taken me into forums where the notion of “Hey, I love this thing so much I ought to hang out with some other people who do it to too” doesn’t seem as stupid as the fag-based version. And one, the Planet of the Vapes, arranged to hold a big get together for all of us keyboard warriors so that we could stand in the Lake District with a pint in hand and not recognise each other from our online avatars. We don’t share opinions about politics, football or an awful lot – unsurprisingly seeing as we are a cross-section of society. We share vaping and, seemingly, a liking for alcohol.

During one summer I stood at the top of Hardnott Pass holding the dog’s lead. I don’t know what the weather was like back then but I suspect it was raining. Last weekend I stood there with a couple of leads and two kids. And the sun shone on us all.

I have no idea if it is possible to extrapolate that all the vapers I was with were really nice people and therefore all vapers are really smashing types? I’ve no idea if forcing children to revisit the horrors of their parents’ past is as character-building as I’d like to hope even if I feel a failure because they enjoyed it so much.

What I do know is that the primary school notion of  ‘it is good to share’, experiences or otherwise, was deeply rewarding. Sitting sharing beers with vapers while swapping stories of nonsense I wondered if my Dad had felt the same?