Sub Ohmers

“Life” said John Cleese, “is a terminal disease, and it is sexually transmitted.”

Sub-ohmers have taken a fair bit of stick of late on the forums and social media groups I look at. Some insult them for wanting to show off big vape, others decry them for inviting legislators to clamp down upon us all. Is it really fair?

For many, the finest smoke one could achieve was the post-coital fag of celebration. Now, and I’m sure it reflects upon my performance, I can’t say I ever got that urge to spark up afterwards – I couldn’t, I was far too busy ushering the animals back to the zoo. But even if I had enjoyed the luxury of being able to spread out in my jelly-filled paddling pool afterwards I’m still not certain a smoke would have been more preferable to another slice of pizza.

But is it even worth the effort to indulge in the ultimate experience?

Point Break’s Johnny Utah encapsulated the desire to take in the ultimate despite the fact that it would culminate in him crashing to his death. Now, if it had been Keanu Reeves I could have been tempted to help out by part-sponsoring the surfboard but I’m left pondering why any high would be worth the ultimate sacrifice.

I’m happy to hold my hand up and say I’m now of a age where some decent slippers and a nice cup of tea is preferable to raucous entertainment. In fact, if you add in cheese and biscuits you probably have the makings of my perfect vape right there.

As a biker, the greatest ride for me is the B6047, being at one with the machine and the road through the bends – feeling a part of the environment you are travelling through, smells changing by the field and the temperature of the wind on your face altering with every dip and rise. All at reasonable speed, unlike the leather-suited racer boys, time to smile and take in the experience.

And that’s where I come from when trying to comprehend sub-ohming. While I might enjoy a Zen-like biking experience there are many other who seek the adrenaline smack in the face; some career around A and B roads with an apparent desire to discover if God exists while others will perch on fat-wheeled bombs just fly in a straight line faster than middle-aged woman at a January sale.

If we pop back to sex for a minute (middle-aged woman at a January sale always do that for me) I’d like to consider the more risky practices some people indulge in. I’ve been married for the length of time it takes a glacier to carve a Welsh valley – not for us the madness of Sting’s tantric nonsense. What man of middle age would take such risks during congress? I feel my back aching and my dodgy knee hurting just thinking about it. But I’m happy for him and, to be quite honest, anything that keeps him away from the recording studio is a plus in my book.

I’m confident that there are multiple aspects of life that reflect our differing desires for exploration and recreation, all with an aspect of risk attached to them. I wonder if Rubik’s Cube addicts decry the activities of speedcubers for dragging their interest into disrepute?

Isn’t it time we accepted that an expanding vaping community will create subsets of interests? Anyway, I have more important things in life to get upset about than sub-ohming; the knitting circle is objecting to my extreme loop and stitch technique.