When a cigar is just a cigar...

WE'RE all guilty, I would suspect, of over egging the pudding once in a while.

When it comes to cigars and you're as passionate as we are, it's easy to get carried away.

We enthuse about the wrapper, extoll the virtues of the aroma, test the pre-light and seek colourful and original explanations of the tastes we're enjoying.

Dangerous game to play, imho. Nothing says 'steer clear' to me more than someone playing the expert.

There aren't many of them around, believe me, and those that experts are not the ones crowing about it!

I'm certainly no expert and although I like to think I'm learning about this fascinating subject all the time, I doubt I ever will be.

I try and relay my experiences vicariously through my keyboard because that's what I'm good at - words. It doesn't make me an expert on cigars any more than commentating on the Cup Final makes John Motson a great striker.

Of course, everyone has the right to an opinion and the right to express it however they like, within the bounds of decency. I'm just very wary of straying over the line and treading on the toes of those who really do know what they are talking about.

Which leads me to a cigar I enjoyed last night. Instead of striving for flavours or trying to find an angle to write about, I simply enjoyed a smoke from the bottom of my humidor. It was a non-Cuban, nothing to write home about, but it made me realise (again) why I love cigars so.

After a taxing time of late, when I sat in my armchair and lit up the stick, it was as if my subconscious finally had permission to switch off. I read a book, chilled out and enjoyed the simple flavours of the cigar.

I find its sometimes all too easy to strive for something from a cigar and forget the simple pleasure of just enjoying one.

Sit back, take the weight off and let the stick do the talking.

Happy Herfing.

M.