Henry's Smoking Column - Duma, the lost weeks

Hello everyone, good to be back. For the last X weeks, I have smoked nothing but Duma, the Dutch shag that everyone brings back from trips abroad. It was a mite disorientating, to understate matters and I'm afraid I can't bring myself to write my notes up into a coherent whole. To give you some idea of the experience I had one of my (excellent) trained vervet monkeys transcribe the resulting dictaphone tapes:

[Tape begins]
So. here we are, a sunny, no, overcast Monday in March. Actually, what is the weather like? [shouts] Jo! Jocasta! What's the weather like, darling? [muffled sounds] Ok, light west south west, slight drizzle, 7 octas cover, cat refuses to go outside. Subject under test is 'Duma' rolling tobacco. I will be smoking rollies for a period of . . . well, lets see how long this batch of . . . 40 kilos lasts.
Jesus! It takes so damn long to roll one of these things I'll die of . . . Ah, that's better [blows smoke]. Hmm. Its been a while since I smoked Duma. Maybe I'll have to cancel that sub-contract and move rollie testing back in-house. Damn east Europeans get far too much work from me as it is. So. First impressions. Well, the tar content is good and high, yes I can feel the stickiness. Hmm, good stickiness. Yes, damn fine. A tick in the stickiness box. Two, yes two ticks and a second stick. Aargh! I need someone to roll for me. [shouts] Bingo! Bingo, come here and roll fags for me! [door opens] Yes, I said roll. With those little filters. There on the floor. Faster, please. Good.

Tuesday. We got rid of those damn filters about half an hour into the test, yesterday and the improvement was, well . . . er, marginal? Is that the word? Anyway, good stickiness and the flavour, after . . . 26 hours and 37 minutes, is that of [masticating noises] of . . . somewhere between new car plastic and . . . that particular humus you pick out of a gutter. Hmm, yes not bad. A tick and perhaps a squiggle in the flavour box.

Thursday is it? Bing . . . Bing . . . Go! [mutters] Bingo. Bingo. [shouts] What the hell is this squiggle doing in my flavour box? I pacifically 'splained that no unauthorised . . . unauthorised . . . [muffled sounds] oh, I did did I? Well. So there.
Day, er day 3, no, 5. Whatever, is 'feelings' day. Hey, Bingo - this 'feelings' box is huge. That's not right, is it? I love you. Yes, the feelings I have after [mumble] days of smoking . . . this stuff is of tenaciousness. Like I was listening to 'Trout Mask Replica' and wouldn't switch it off until I got to . . . let's say 'Sugar 'n spikes' even though my, er, buttocks had cramp, or something. Do I know you? [tape runs for 6 minutes 25 seconds with scraping noises]

Sunday. No, Tuesday. I . . . I can't, er . . . What? More smoke. 'Marry, sir . . . It makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him and disheartens him; makes him stand to and not stand to. . .' [incoherent mumbling] [tape runs for 47 minutes 12 seconds with nothing but scuffling and distant yowls]
Angström!
[Tape ends]

And I'm afraid that's all. I hope you can pick some gems out of that swill and if not, then swill out of the gems. You'll be glad to know I'm back on the straights.