SCOTLAND'S health chiefs and law makers have hailed the new smoking ban as a rampant success. Figures show that more than 15,000 Scots ditched the habit following the introduction of the new laws last March and the country's First Minister, Jack McConnell, claims the move has led to a drop in cases of heart disease, stroke, and cancer, easing the pressure on the chronically overburdened NHS.

The law is a rare, high-profile instance of the new Scottish Executive really flexing its legislative muscle. Impressed with its own piety, the parliament now has its sights set on increasing the legal smoking age from 16 to 18.

With strict penalties in place for any bar or club caught in breach of the rule, landlords and breweries across the country have policed it with startling efficiency, if a little grudgingly. The Scottish Licensed Trade Association reported last week that a third of pubs have been forced to lay off staff in the ban's first year.

My own view of the law has changed after a few nights out north of the border.

After kicking a ten-a-day habit around two years ago, I'm what used to be described as a 'social' smoker, although nowadays it's seen as anything but.

I can't enjoy a drink without a cigarette in the other hand, so I wasn't looking forward to my first visit to a post-ban Scotland last year.

Heading up to Aberdeen on the train for a university reunion, my first telling-off came during a fag break at Edinburgh Waverley station. A shrill cabin announcement informed me: "Passengers are reminded that legislation recently introduced in Scotland bans smoking in all enclosed public places, including train stations."

I'd half forgotten the ban existed, and was slightly miffed that my weekend's partying was going to be spoiled by this new-found Caledonian abstemiousness.

Once up in Scotland, and out on the town, I couldn't believe how well observed the ban was. No-one tried to light up indoors.

Well, almost no-one. Whenever I'm hauled onto the dance floor in a nightclub, I put a lit tab in my mouth in the hope it'll give me a look of detached coolness, and distract from my mannequin-being-zapped-with-jump-leads dancing style. After a few drinks later that night, I absent-mindedly reached for a Marlboro, only for a complete stranger to snap it from my lips and angrily point to the no smoking signs posted around the bar. Thinking I'd been harshly treated, I looked to my friends for some sympathy, but they were just as horrified.

"It is amazing how well observed the ban has been. You never see anyone smoking in bars now," said Bruce MacAulay, a self- employed businessman, and a smoker, from Larbert, near Stirling.

"It's made me smoke a lot less. You have to stand outside if you want a cigarette now, and in Scotland in the middle of winter, that's not always a nice thing to do. I thought there would be real problems enforcing it, but people took to it straight away."

And there are no grey areas in the legislation. The message is clear: if you're indoors, stub it out or get out.

I found out just how rigid the law can be when I nipped outside for a smoke during a recent night out in Glasgow. Standing in the street with a full pint and a lit cigarette, I realised I was a walking, talking legal conundrum. A barman reminded me I could be fined for drinking in the street. But when I made my way inside to avoid trouble, I was told I couldn't do that either - the lit ciggie in my mouth made me a felon indoors. After puzzling uncomfortably over the dilemma, I stubbed out the smoke and returned to the bar.

At that moment I couldn't help but feel I was being micro-managed by the government, but overall the ban can only be a good thing. The added incentive did make me smoke a lot less. Come July 1, I plan to give up altogether.

In a packed Edinburgh nightclub for a gig earlier this year I finally realised just why the law has been so effective. As hundreds of fans waited for the band to come back on stage for an encore, an almighty row broke out behind me. Turning to see what the commotion was, I was nearly knocked to the floor as three NFL-sized bouncers barged their way towards the centre of the crowd, stamping over anyone in their way like a herd of angry elephants.

Turning to ask the person next to me what was going on, I couldn't quite hear his reply.

"Did you say someone nicked a bag?" I asked. "Naw pal," the guy repeated, "Someone's lit a fag."

Smokers in the North-East beware. The ban is coming, and ignoring it could endanger your health in more ways than one.