Wednesday is my favourite day of the working week - by a long chalk. Mostly because I haven't worked on a Wednesday for eons and now especially, as it is the only day when I am not at my desk but at home with my littlest man, catching up with domestic duties.
We have an regular routine. Up and out early, to deliver the biggest little man to school. Then we pop into town to peruse the market stalls, stock up on fruit & veg and essential supplies like new plants for the garden (pretty vital in my book) and then onto the newsagent. For little A it's the highlight of the week, a proper packet of sweets all to himself. Sometimes buttons but usually smarties, to be savoured one by one in the buggy while mummy chooses a magazine and picks up the paper.
Because this is one of my highlights of the week. Half an hour, reading our weekly newspaper from cover to cover, with a cup of coffee, when the shopping is all unloaded and little A is busy building rocket ships.
I've worked in communications all my career and I'm a bit of a news junkie. Being married to a journalist means that home life is pretty dominated by it too and over the years the way we access it has really changed what with 24 hour channels and the Internet. But there is something very old-fashioned, and a bit exciting really, about having to wait for market day, when the town paper is printed, to catch-up with the smaller world right on our doorstep.
I read it all. Front page stunners, spats on the letters pages, nostalgia, what's on and who's been born, who's passed on and who is celebrating what. I read the farming page religiously; its a link with the fields outside my window. Some of it I understand a tiny bit (what's at auction - the only cattle market left in the county is in our town) but much of it is above me (European subsidies anyone?)
It might feel a bit behind the times but I do enjoy sitting down with the paper like people have done for more than a hundred years and feeling that this is where I belong.