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6 Cigarette brands in Britian that VANISHED ! Close your eyes. Picture it. That distinctive white and green packet, crisp as fresh snow. The promise written right there on the front in bold, confident letters: "Cool as a mountain stream." Consulate arrived in 1962 like a breath of fresh air—literally. Britain's menthol revolution. The cigarette that changed everything about what smoking could be, what it could feel like, what it could mean. Suddenly, it didn't have to taste like ash and tar and yesterday's mistakes. It could taste like mint. Like freshness. Like clarity. Like stepping out of a smoky pub into a crisp winter morning, the air sharp and clean in your lungs. The first inhale was a revelation. That icy menthol hit rushing through your chest, tingling, cooling, almost medicinal in its intensity. It felt cleaner somehow. More refined. Like you were smoking something sophisticated, something modern, something that belonged in the new Britain of the swinging sixties rather than the austere, grey post-war years your parents had endured. Your mum might have smoked them in the seventies. Sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea going cold and her white handbag on the chair beside her, a Consulate held elegantly between her fingers like she'd seen in the magazines. She was convinced—truly, genuinely convinced—that they were somehow less harmful than the unfiltered horrors your dad still insisted on. The menthol made it feel gentler on the throat, easier on the lungs. Surely that meant it was better for you? That's what everyone thought. That's what the cool, clean packaging seemed to promise without ever quite saying it out loud. The adverts were masterpieces of aspiration. Beautiful people in pristine white clothing against impossible backdrops. Snow-capped mountains stretching to the horizon. Crystal-clear streams tumbling over smooth rocks. Purity made visible. Freshness you could almost taste through the television screen. Consulate wasn't just selling a cigarette—it was selling a lifestyle, an identity, a version of yourself that was cooler, calmer, more sophisticated than the person you saw in the mirror every morning. And it worked. God, it worked brilliantly. For nearly sixty years, that green and white packet sat on every shop counter in Britain. In every newsagent from Land's End to John O'Groats. Reliable as the tides. Familiar as your own reflection. The menthol option that everyone knew, even if they didn't smoke it themselves. "Twenty Consulate, please." The shopkeeper would reach for them without even looking. They were part of the furniture of British life. As permanent as red telephone boxes and zebra crossings. Then came May 2020. The menthol ban. EU regulations Britain had committed to follow, even amid Brexit. Overnight, Consulate became illegal to sell. Fifty-eight years of British smoking culture—erased. Wiped from the shelves. As if it had never existed at all. No fanfare. No farewell tour. Just empty spaces where those white and green packets used to live. One day it was there, as reliable as rain. The next, it was history. Cool as a mountain stream—frozen solid and left behind. ----- Everything we share here reflects our personal opinions and perspectives on financial topics. This is not official financial advice. Always do your own research and consult a qualified financial advisor before making major financial decisions. The content on this channel may include gossip, rumors, or dramatized interpretations of real events. Viewer discretion is advised, and please keep in mind that not all information presented is verified or factual.