You see, I take a different view than most. I think I'm doing my kid a great service by smoking.
If medical stats are to be believed, I shall be dead by the time I'm 70, thus relieving him of at least twenty years of visiting me, in my wrinkled stockings, smelling of piss, in an old persons' home of probably his chosing.
He will not have to smell commodes, watch old men shuffling down corridors with their willies hanging out of their pyjamas, or spend pointless hours on a Sunday afternoon making small-talk with an old lady who's lungs are very fit, but whose mind has atrophied due to many decades of judging others.
Of more material importance, my lifetime's savings will not be frittered away in such dubious accommodations for the elderly, and nor will my house smell of fish and rotten fruit, because I will be dead before such things come to pass.
As Peter Ustinov most wisely noted, there are few pleasures I would defer for an extra ten years in an old peoples' home.
Amen to that.