February 4, 1939.
The latest in cigarette holders smacks slightly at the clairvoyant, for the ones I saw today on view in a West End tobacconist’s have a little crystal globe in the middle of the stem, through which one can see the smoke whirling and twirling as it is inhaled down the tube. Rather fascinating, and, for a novelty, not too expensive at fifteen shillings.
I suppose the next step will be cigar holders of a similar pattern designed for women, too, for following the pioneer fashion set by Mrs Pat Campbell, women are now taking to Havana cigars - and not little ones either. In Denmark this is not unusual; in fact, a little while ago I saw nearly every woman of my acquaintance there smoking a cigar at one time or other.
But somehow I don’t like it. You see something attractive and beautiful in a gorgeous gown come swaying into the room, and smells - like men smell - of cigars, and when you look for her escort and find there is none, you look down and see in her manicured fingers a Romeo and Juliet, or a Larranaga, or a Henry Clay.
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Last week social interest centred on the first royal ball of the season. Though it rejoiced in the rather unbecoming title of the Mental Hygiene Ball, it brought together most of the best-known people in London, and the gorgeous ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel presented a scene almost as brilliant as a Buckingham Palace Ball.