10th May 1951

Even though I couldn’t actually see him I could tell George was watching me with disgust as I had a cigarette after tea this evening. So I made a big play of wafting my hands around to leave smoke trails and exhaled as slowly as I could to fill as much air with smoke as possible. I smiled to myself when he started to cough from his chair behind me.

He’s not actually said anything to me about it, not yet, but I know he hates the fact I smoke. The other day he said how when he was a lad hardly any women he knew smoked, and a good thing too as ‘it’s so un ladylike’. I can’t see the problem with it, everyone I grew up with does it, and even George has a pipe for goodness sake! 

I secretly wonder if he thinks it ruins me somehow. I feel like recently he's been comparing me to how I was when he first met me, just little things he's said and the way he's said them. I was so eager to please and so naïve back then. Well, I’m not a little girl anymore, so he’ll just have to go on coughing in that aggravating manner of his. Which reminds me, I'm down to my last two Cravens, I must buy another pack when I go into town tomorow.