Up in smoke

"I observe that the Prime Minister has decided that in future, smoking will be banned" said Cornelius, looking over his dead legacy media artefact whilst indulging in a cheroot of vulgar length. I entertained private thoughts about the wisdom of having a heat source so close to a flammable object, but refrained from voicing them.

"That is within his purview" I replied, primly. "And one could make the argument that, libertarian concerns aside, it's not the worst idea he's had"

"Indeed not" replied my friend, who had now swapped his cheroot for an indecently large Meerschaum Pipe of the classic Sherlock Holmes style (the proper one in Black and White, none of this modern nonsense where they repress their homoeroticism in the Tate Gallery or somesuch before eating hummus) "For he has had at least four truly terrible ideas this week alone  The man's an arse."

"Indeed he is" I replied, "and one could furthermore make the argument that he's just randomly making shit up off the top of his head to stave off the sensations of encroaching doom, and due to the ever wonderful law of averages, some of the ideas won't be grade a stinkers"

"Perhaps not" mused my friend, who had set aside his pip and was now addressing himself to a giant hookah "it is not given to us to understand the inner workings of great men, nor those of third rate intellectual pipsqueaks. Pass me that crack pipe would you?"

I did, reasoning that it must be five o clock somewhere.