From the early '60s, borne along a chain of second hand passings-on: an unadorned collection of journalistic writings from the then iconic and respected J. B. Priestley. Tobacco's merits, theatre, the swindle of advertising. Bombast and bluster without any clear purpose, almost just the jovial old cove entertaining himself. Rich and soothing, his plain speaking swaddles the reader, but not with anything that lasts: put the book aside for a minute and you've already forgotten quite what the point was. ( )