I suppose it doesn't matter if they're Marlboro light...

Bryan Rancier. To many of you, it's just a name. But to those in the know, you'll recall that in his prime, he promoted the greatest catch phrase (And equally, the greatest philosophy) of all time. "Follow the signs" he claimed. Just follow the signs. Show upto a party and there's no food t'be found anywhere? We should probably leave the joint. Yer girl starts talking long term? It's time t'leave that joint.

God gives you a hint; you'd be foolish not t'listen. I think that's what 'ol Rance was after, wherever he is now.

And Bryan Rancier, that man without compromise is probably the reason I'm typing away as furiously as I am. It's Friday night in East Istanbul, nearly quarter t'9. Today was my day off, and I spent it as I should...Drinking local brew and putting words down.

I had just opened the fourth or fifth of the day and opened a new pack of Marlies. (Allow me t'apologize to my dear mother. She confronted me in a completely diplomatic fashion today. Though she understood the perils of a son growing old and how a mother must relinquish responsibility, she still implored me to "Not start smoking like a Turk". I apologize Mom. But like I said, I'd have t'grow a moustache t'start smoking like a Turk. And if I take after my father and start up a moustache, then you know we'll really have reason t'worry)

Anyway, apparently mothers work in mysterious ways. I didn't think I was doing anything unfortunate tonight; in fact, I've been grooving away rather righteously. (Hmmmm....Can anybody else hear David Bowie in the background?) But admittedly, I've been drinking and smoking. Nothing new, nothing perverse.

But no sooner had I cracked that fourth or fifth can of Efes did I let out a gasp, and curl back into my seat. I don't believe in a God, but I believe in mothers. And apparently, my mother had chanelled all her motherly energy tonight into giving me a sign that I was doing something detrimental t'my health.

I didn't doctor this photo in any way. (Ok. I moved the TV flicker out of the way. Cos TV's a worse habit than smoke and drink combined) But it speaks volumes, I think.

So will I listen to my mother, and give it all up? Probably not. Mothers, you'll find, usually value freedom of expression in the highest regard.

I've just cracked another. Don't be sad. Send happiness through a mental telegram, and maybe it'll turn that frown on my table upside down.