Inky fingers

This morning - but also thirty-seven years ago - my alarm went off at a quarter to six. In 1982 I was delivering newspapers, this morning I was delivering leaflets for the LibDems*.

I must say, I don't have many regrets in my life - there are things that I wish had been different, for sure, but everything has ended up very well so what would I change? - but the paper round was, I think, a mistake. 

Five pounds a week in return for a horribly early start every single day, which was especially agonising in the winter, not least because of the chronic fear of the dark that I had back then. And when my round was extended, there was no talk of extra pay. Boy, I wish I could go back and negotiate on behalf of myself!

Due to the absolutely crap bus service between Worcester Park and Kingston, my brother and I had to be at the bus stop by 07:30 in order to get to school, which meant I had to get up very early to do the paper round. This resulted in me being super tired when I arrived home from school but early nights were non-existent due to that late night wakefulness that teens have. But I just remember feeling tired.

This morning was OK, though. It was light when I got up and I made myself a coffee before going out to tackle my route: Fairgarth, Fairbank, Harling Bank and New Road. On my way 'round, I stopped in at the Institute to cast my vote. It was at that point that I noticed that my fingers were blackened by the ink off the leaflets, just how they used to look at the end of my paper round. 


*We don't need to get into politics here, guys. The Labour Party in these parts is non existent** so it's LibDem or the right-wing chaos machine.  

**I contacted them via their website (offering a donation) and they never got back to me. 

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-10.5 kgs
Reading: 'How Art Made Pop And Pop Became Art' by Mike Roberts