(Don't) Read All About It.


I bought a newspaper today and didn’t read it. Sometimes, experiencing the transaction is enough.

That’s actually not true. I hate wasting money. It may surprise you to learn my line of work isn’t always the most lucrative. It’s got to the point where I’ve started seeing my wallet less as a functioning item and more as a prop. I only carry it to maintain the passing semblance of an adult.

Buying the paper was a miscalculation. I had a casting with Glyn today, and thought he’d be joining me later than he was. In the end he met me on the train into town. The time for catching up on all the latest (or yesterday’s latest) news had gone. Instead it became something to fill my bag with: a journalistic stuffing, of sorts.

I suppose I can still read it tomorrow, provided nothing happens of note overnight to render it defunct. If not, I’ll just keep it to hold under my cat’s head the next time she's sick. It’s a shame it’s the Guardian and not the Mail; then her vomiting would feel like a political statement. I’d rather have a pro-left-wing than a pro-right-wing cat. If she coughs up a furball on a picture of Quentin Letts, even better.

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