Help! I need a smoking ban

One thing Spain has helped me to do, apart from drinking less and eating better food, is to start smoking in earnest again. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, my blazing comforter is there hanging between my lips. It´s not my fault, I know I´m weak but if I don´t see or smell it I don´t want it, and after a couple of cervezas the most natural companion is the camel, well camel lights. It doesn´t help either when the bartender has one sparked up and is serving you between draws, nor for that matter everyone else in the place, and the Spanish senoritas make smoking look dammed inviting. Older blokes still puffing away good style and looking all the more healthy for it, the older dears in their fur coats exhaling in style. I need a smoking ban, it worked for me in Edinburgh, I only really smoked at weekends, and having to get up and go outside for a fag cut down on the intake, but sitting in a poky wee bar here in San Sebastian, where all around you beautiful people puff away, the barman, handing you a beer, smiles as smoke escapes from his mouth, does not help me. It entices you, whispers in your ear, tickles the top of your mouth and before you know it there he is wafting poisonous fumes. He´s a bastard, he´s sick, twisted and he´s got me by the balls. I think I need to relax, I think I need a smoke.