AS I approach Blackpool by train, the famous tower juts above green fields, a raised middle finger to Middle England's settled ideas of good taste and restraint.
This Lancashire seaside town acknowledges no tomorrows, merely the right of the individual to party right here, right now. It is, therefore, the most natural place in the world for someone to take a stand against the smoking ban.
Hugh Howitt, a Gl
aswegian known to all as Hamish, has been a pub landlord in Blackpool for 11 years. He owns and runs the Happy Scots Bar, a former theatre so close to the sea front that spray soaks and corrodes the pro-smoking posters covering its facade. In November, Howitt became the first landlord in England to be prosecuted for flouting the smoking ban. He was fined £500 and ordered to pay £2,000 in costs. Yet he continues to allow customers to puff away on his premises.
I meet him on an ash-grey day. A slender man of 55 with spiky silver hair, Howitt has so much energy Blackpool Council could use him to power the illuminations. He and his wife, Jo, pick me up from the station in a Mercedes, the interior somewhat chewed by their two shih tzu dogs. The Howitts have 14 pets, including two toads, a lizard, a brace of lovebirds, Zasu the toucan, and a parrot which speaks fluent Glaswegian and is forever imploring Jo to "put the kettle on, doll".
In his car, Howitt points to the hole where the stereo used to be. "No point reporting it to the police," he says, shaking his head. "They won't do anything."
He says it's ridiculous that 200 police and enforcement officers have visited his pub since the smoking ban was introduced in July yet real criminals go unchallenged. Smoking has become the prism through which he sees the world. Through a fag darkly.
He parks outside his home and we go in. Having spent around £50,000 on his campaign, and expecting larger fines, Howitt is facing bankruptcy. The kids have been taken out of private school, and Jo's parents have loaned thousands. He, meanwhile, is exhausted, stressed and on every type of pill. It seems like an obsession tipping over into masochism, but Howitt is clear about why he is doing this and how it began.
"This all started with my boy," he sighs. "I lost my 21-year-old. I would never have done this if that hadn't happened. It was the pivotal point in my life."
Derek went missing in late September 2003. His body washed ashore the following month and the circumstances of death remain unknown. Howitt was devastated but found comfort in alcohol, cigarettes, and the sanctuary of his pub.
"After the funeral we opened up all three bars and had 2,000 people through that day," he recalls. "All these relatives and friends were coming up and giving me a cuddle. If it happened now, I would have to stand outside to smoke. When I most needed dignity and privacy, I would actually be mocked and stared at by people who never spent a penny in the pub in their life."
For Howitt the smoking ban is "a hate crime" against the working class, members of which he argues are more likely to be smokers and regular pub-goers. He no longer smokes, has taught his nine children it is a bad habit, and wishes the Government would ban tobacco. However, he believes that while people live in poverty they should have the right to smoke in pubs.
"If you are getting stuffed by society and the Government's not doing anything for you, why would you give up the only comfort you've got – a fag and a pint?"
We drive round to the part of the Happy Scots Bar in which Howitt allows smoking. Although the ban was only introduced in England in July, the ashtrays lying on tables already appear anachronistic, a feeling amplified by the smoke in the air and Spandau Ballet's 'True' on the jukebox. I am introduced to one regular, a 74-year-old gent, dapper in a check sports jacket, who tells me "human life would not be worth living" if he couldn't come here for a cigarette and drink.
People visit from all over just so they can smoke in his bar, says Howitt. One blind woman comes down from Denistoun. A Christian and socialist, Howitt regards himself as catering in particular for the old and infirm, people he says would otherwise be starved of human contact.
Howitt grew up in the north-east of Glasgow in the Garngad slums, one of 12 children, and dreamed of becoming a doctor. Although he won a partial bursary to grammar school, the family couldn't afford the rest of the fees.
Bitter, he became involved with a local gang and, aged 17, went to prison for serious assault. On release, he got out of Glasgow and spent 20 years running bars around the world before returning to spend time with his father, who was dying of lung cancer.
It's clear Howitt changed his life after prison, working hard to become a better person and make a good living. It's also clear that if he persists with his campaign he faces financial ruin and a custodial sentence for non-payment of fines.Yet he feels he would be an apathetic coward if he didn't resist the ban. He has formed a political party, Fight Against Government Suppression (Fags), and believes he can change the law eventually.
We go back outside. "I would never do this if I thought it was just about smoking," he insists. "If I win, my kids will grow up in a freer world. I've not got the funds, though, and I'm converting my house into flats to try to save everything. It's how far you'll go. But I've nowhere to go any more."
He leans into the wind coming off the Irish Sea, Blackpool Tower at his back. "I don't see a way out for me. I really don't."
