Sunday changes

Yesterday was a big day for me, marking a significant break in my sunday routine. For the last few years I have had a steady stream of Sunday Times vouchers from my Mum - my parents subscribe to The Times newspaper by getting a sheet of daily vouchers. They found that come the weekend they still had a pile of papers left over from the week to read, so they would always send me the sunday vouchers.

Most sundays I have undertaken a little ritual which involved wondering around (picking up buns and milk on the way) looking for a newsagent that would accept the voucher. Many don't, because it's too much hassle I guess, some stare at it for so long I consider putting the paper back because the news will have become out of date. Often I'm asked why the voucher is made out to Mrs C Braithwaite, and I mumble something about my sick bedridden mother/neighbour. When the newsagent man says "alright" it's like a little spark of triumph in my chest. If he says "I'm sorry we don't accept these" I feel a kick of defeat.

Anyway, my parents are giving up on the subscription and are going to buy the paper as and when they feel like it. I guess now they don't have a dog there's less need for newspaper to stand muddy boots on. So my sunday voucher supply has dried up, yesterday was the last one, and next week I will have to hand over cash and will loose the pre-breakfast thrill of the mental tussle.