This coaster that I spotted on the bar counter of On Cue last week, and which now resides in my personal collection, brought back distant memories of a time when I was healthy, and spent my days windsurfing off the coast of California with the sun on my face and the breeze in my blond, flowing hair. Memories of my active days, skiing down the icy slopes of Lake Tahoe, with nothing but Tina Turner playing on my cassette walkman and a smile of pure white teeth reflecting like the snow.

Of course, since quitting smoking my million dollar smile is nothing but a rancid display of gums, cavities and stains; my glamorous lifestyle a distant memory. Oh how I long for the days I could enjoy the action before the satisfaction of a cigarette, where hour apon carefree-hour was spent chasing the next adrenaline rush, bungee jumping before breakfast and partying until morning.

With tobacco by my side, I was able to race my fine steed towards victory at the Rothman's July; feel the salt on my skin after a day's surfing at the gruelling Gunston 500, and dance the night away at a Peter Stuyvesant Music Spectacular. With tobacco, the world was my playground.

And what are my beloved cigarette companies doing these days, since cruel legislation banned them from displaying their innocent logos to the everyday sheeple? Why, they're still enhancing lifestyles, just in a covert exclusionary manner that requires highly sought-after invitations issued only by the company reps. They are throwing exuberant parties! Parties in which the who's-who of Durban see-and-be-seen in an orgy of pampering, haute cuisine, free alcohol and jacoozis!

Oh Camel, Stuyvesant ... why hast thou forsaken me? Surely, as a once adamant smoker, you could find it in your hearts to let me back into the circle of royalty, where I could immensely enjoy spending your enormous advertising budget! I would even brush my stained teeth for just one sip of Moet champagne, one lousy oyster or spoon of caviar at your exclusive parties!

Unfortunately, I fear that the glamour days are gone forever. The exception of course being On Cue, which since 1995 has been flagrantly ignoring the rules of the country, and has actively encouraged smoking in all areas of the poorly ventilated hole it calls a premises. Fitting then, that I should happen apon this Stuyvesant coaster at the one bar that is so glamorous, it leaves it's patrons with a pounding hangover topped by a monthy laundry bill of thousands spent cleansing your clothes of the pungent stench caused by baby powder mixed with thick, hanging tobacco smoke.

You're asking yourself now about the baby powder. Don't worry, so is everyone else, so don't be shy, step forward; and see for yourself. See? There's a layer of it on every surface in the entire place. Gross, I know.

How did that coaster get there, since advertising has long since been banned? Did I somehow manage to drink myself back in time that night? Is the Doc gonna fly through the wall of my flat in a Delorean, back from the future to ensure that my parents meet and fall in love?

Or did it fall to the back of the coaster pile all those years ago, and fossilize, only to be rediscovered by happen stance, wiped down and placed innocently back onto a counter it hasn't seen for aeons?

Or maybe, just maybe, my angels are back to bring me the rich choice tobaccos which are so much more to enjoy, and the accompanying lifestyle of glory, entertainment and fame that goes along with it.

Angels, take me with you. My time is now.