Sign of the Times

I have become, god help me, quite a convert to The Times since my trip home. I'm being throughly spoiled. Firstly, the paper (and many other of its sister broadsheets) is handbag-sized. A newspaper! Handbag-sized! Genuis! Secondly, after lashings and lashings of real, actual news, of varied descriptions, both local and international it also has a plethora of columnists whose insightful commentary drives me wild.

Comment pieces from dating and assessing your chosen man's books collection when he is not looking, to queueing at Waitrose, to the price of oil to what-have-you. There was even a rather useful one on doping up your cat the other week (note to self, Bach's flower remedies...). These are grown-up columnists who like a gin and tonic and dislike great swathes of things about ordinary life and tackle it with intelligence and humour. They also fill me with despair. I'm going to stop reading the Worst (aside from work purposes) and start reading real newspapers again, otherwise how in hell's name am I ever going to get any better at what I do?

On the upside, the benchmark in WA is quite low so I suppose it's not a huge leap. Must remember to read outside the square and perhaps write something that's not a huge load of bollocks for a change.