Sure, having the news delivered to you on your mobile, on your blackberry or relayed to that implanted chip behind your left ear is the future, and there’s no denying of that fact.
But my sun only rises when the papers arrive on the doormat. A (to be continued) ode to printed joy. Leave your love letters in the comments below.
1. I love the blackened fingers. Scars of a devoted reader willing to suffer.
2. I love that moment on Sunday evening when I’ve really finished off that tree, top to bottom.
3. I love the grateful nod of a fellow train passenger when he picks up my paper, carefully left behind.
4. I love it when my boys start flipping through the comics. Nostalgia for the next generation.
5. I love losing time on the loo, cos’ I gotta finish that great piece in G2.