Today's object on show is the choice of daily paper in our house. On weekdays I wake first, so I wash, dress, put the kettle on and grab my coat, shoes and keys, then wander down to the local shop, and collect The Guardian. At weekends, it's delivered to the door.
I look at the row of papers in the shop and my heart sinks at the mountainous stack of red tops and tabloids on sale. And then there's The Guardian, hidden away near the back. Our shop stocks anywhere between one and four copies at the most, per day. I shake my head at the idea of all those copies of the Daily Star, or horror of horrors, The Daily Mail, being bought, read and even worse, opinions being formed upon the articles within. I realise I'm a snob when it comes to reading matter. The bestsellers tend to be the lowest common denominator. So, you won't find me dirtying my hands on a red top, nor the current number one novels (as I write, this year's is 50 Shades of Grey, I rest my case & weep), nor the magazines with soap stars on the covers.
The Guardian, instead has more of an artsy leaning, it's the choice of theatrical actors, as a stereotyped example. It's not a perfect paper but it's articles and opinions are generally thought provoking and most news is reported without sensationalism (though it can be a bit smug sometimes). And the best reason for buying it? The quick crossword. I leave Nick to solve the cryptic version whilst I tackle the so-called easier puzzle. Most days I complete about three quarters of it but there are times when I only manage a handful and then there are those rare, delightful days when I complete it (to which I often find myself saying Oh it must be an easy one this time).