I don’t have many luxuries in life, regular treats that I look forward to. Except one, which is my delivery each morning of four daily newspapers, plus an evening one too.
Now, thanks to the unreasonable bureaucratic demands placed on my local newsagent, this is to come to an end this weekend. Legislation demands that he is personally responsible for the safety of his delivery boys’ bikes, he has to be satisfied their lights are in good working order and that their tyres are pumped sufficiently. He also has to ensure they wear safety helmets too, which teenagers would never be seen dead in.
He has had enough of being told what to do and how to run his business after many successful years in the trade. Let alone follow nanny state rules.
So from Monday, my papers will be left behind his counter for me to collect. I can no longer flick through the pages over my fresh fruit and coffee in my pyjamas. This was the time of day I treasured most for a quiet read and to become fully informed of global events.
It was the one daily treat I looked forward to, a tiny piece of luxury that I could wallow in each day.
I know there are online news versions, but I am a news junkie and suffer terrible withdrawal symptoms if I don’t get my daily fix of newsprint in my hand by 7am. And I don’t feel guilty about the trees that are being cut down because I recycle the papers.
Still, my newsagent now gets a well deserved lie in each morning.
