Never mind that I’m behind with the books.

It’s my Weekends. The Saturday Guardian Weekends, that would be. Not to mention the Guardian generally. It’s a long time since I read the newspaper with any great care and thoroughness. A quick glance at the headlines just so I know roughly what the rest of the world is worrying about. And so much is speculation that has yet to happen, and that does mean I get away with less reading.

I detest listening to the radio, I have to say. I like specific programmes well enough, but refuse to have the radio in the background, droning on and on. But if I did, I’d at least have a vague idea of what’s happening.

I was going to blog about being one day behind. And I am. One day behind. I tend to access yesterday’s newspaper most of the time, and the hardest bit is not paying too much attention to the television guide or the weather forecast.

And it can be handy, as sometimes yesterday’s news turn out to be irrelevant once it’s tomorrow. If that is what I mean. I seem to have no today in this scheme of things. More perspective on old news and speculation. However this Saturday’s reading of Friday’s news meant that I was still on Libya when everyone else is in Japan.

My Weekends, the Guardian colour magazine, is coming to my kitchen table increasingly late every week. This week’s is being ignored in favour of last week’s, but also the one from four weeks earlier, because I still have to take in the piece on Tim Dowling’s marriage counselling.

All this is fine. Really. But then I discovered I had not received my last two months of Vi. Inquired. They said I hadn’t paid. And, strictly speaking I hadn’t, but purely because they had not invoiced me. Or perhaps the same post gremlin who might be reading both the latest Sara Paretsky and the new Adrian McKinty is also protecting me from my bill.

Once we had sorted that, the missing copies were sent out and they will need some attention. My latest house magazine arrived a while back. And Pippi very kindly gave me three copies of Vi’s new sibling magazines in case I need something to read every now and then. I lie. There are two house magazines. I just turned round and there they were, behind me.

Along with some catalogues that actually are of interest to me. But then I will save money on not buying anything due to not having perused the catalogues. Which is good. Except raspberries only grow once you’ve bought the raspberry canes and put them in the ground. On the other hand, no jam for the Resident IT Consultant to make without raspberries.

It must have been last year that I finally came to the end of the pile of magazines the Uncle gave me thirteen years ago. They weren’t new then either, and you do get such lovely perspective being fifteen years or more behind.

Occasionally I read books, too.


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