Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? *

You don't happen to have kept last Monday's Guardian? said the newsagent to Huttonian last Wednesday. We under ordered and have an anxious customer. Fortunately the recycling had gone on Monday morning and the Guardian in question was in the new bag. But, Horrors, I had forgotten that the wood burning stove had gobbled up half the review section the day before (4 sheets of G2 will ignite the kindling if used the day after publication, 3 sheets the following day as they will have dried out a bit. As my father used to say: the Guardian is for Wets**)

I gave the Newsagent what I had. All complete but for a mangled G2.He said that his customer would be most relieved, as was he.Apparently she comes in on Thursdays from the country and only takes Monday's Guardian amongst a range of weekly publications. Why? What is so special about Mondays? Would she not mind about the gutted G2? Don't know.Still don't know . No; she claims not to read it.

My theory is that she lights her fire once a week , on Thursdays; by which time a bone dry paper is up to the job. G2 is too fiddly, better the Sports Section where you get a lot of blaze for your buck.

And in the Summer?

Well for some thing else, in Lieu***. Fit for purpose. The Coop not having any of the politically correct, recycled, double sided, porous stuff which will one day save our planet and unnecessary trips to Lidl.

* Rough trans: Who will look after our Guardians if the Newsagent doesn't
** But not Tory ones. To my dad an oxymoron. Only Liberals read the Manchester Guardian.
*** Convoluted Pun intended

Labels: lighting wood burning stoves, Loos, The Guardian

  ¶ 9:14 AM (0) comments

 
Have Faith in the Grudian

As the newsagent riffled through the papers he kept for those who had reserved one - English Daily Mails well represented, I noticed that my Guardian was the sole specimen from that stable. 'How many do you stock?' I asked 'Twelve and they generally all go' 'And am I the only customer who reserves a Guardian?' 'Yes'.

Now what does that say about me and those others who need their daily fix of good quality if often inaccurate and stridently querulous journalism. Me, I am I like to be sure person. No empty handed return to base and a thirty mile round trip to Berwick to Sir Morrisons. But that does not seem to apply to the 11 other Faithful Guardian Readers. Laid back and trusting they are confident their reliable friend will be in the racks and for a measly 90p it will be theirs to have and to hold if not to light the wood burning stove. And does not No 11 FGR, late riser, picking up his paper at 4-30 pm realise how lucky he is-the whole mathematical formula could have failed him thanks to a visitor from beyond the Merse, Guardianless in the wilderness and picking up the last copy at 4.29.

I must ask Mr Nairn how often a natty gent, corduroys and leather elbow patches comes into his establishment and shouts ' ****! No ******* Guardian That will be the moment gently to suggest ' Shall I order one for you?'

And Huttonian's copy, behind the counter, jostled by those nasty common Daily Mails, will not feel so lonely anymore

The image? Yes, Yes Observant of Oswestry, I know it's not today's (all gone actually)

Labels: Duns, Nairns, The Guardian

  ¶ 11:02 AM (4) comments

  Scene in Newsagents this morning:

Irascible Old Gent: 'What happened to the Guardian yesterday?

Newsagent 'Not published on Boxing Day'

IOG ' Was last year'

Second IOG 'No it wasn't. (Aside re IOG) We had this conversation a year ago'

IOG (aside re SIOG)) 'Marbles going...anyhow have you my Guardian today?'

Newsagent ' Yes' starts to hand it over

IOG 'You can keep it. Pinko rag. Lot of layabouts taking two days for Christmas' Exits

SIOG 'Marbles Gone'

Exits

Labels: The Guardian

  ¶ 10:45 AM (0) comments

 
Christmas Day over. Children exhausted and quiescent. Intellect damaged by cracker riddles-two each cracker plus a 'trivia' quiz question for goodness sake. (What is the longest river in the USA and the largest one. Who cares.?)

Now Boxing Day. Batteries to be recharged before second coming of more children this evening. Gentle stimulus required plus opportunity to get mildly irritated but not terminally incandescent. Newsagents open. Guardian ordered; leisurely read in prospect.

Jog to shop.

'Guardian not published on Boxing Day' said in tone of gentle satisfaction (Suspect a Telegraph reader) NO thank you to Mail and Herald. Reluctantly buy the Independent. Note last copy.

Walk home slowly.

No fear of incandescence. Nor gentle stimulus.

Just Boredom.

(Perhaps batch two of children may arrive early)

Labels: Boxing Day, Duns, The Guardian

  ¶ 9:45 AM (1) comments

 
Who will Guard the Guardians Themselves?

Although I know there are a number of Grudian readers who patronise either Mr Finnie or Mr Nairn I have not been able to identify who they are. One caring, kindly looking, bearded and metaphorically sandaled gentleman clutching some Fair Trade Coffee and an Eco Bag, just the profile of your average GR was ahead of me in the queue at Nairns recently but bought two copies of the Sun, his and hers, I assumed- but on reflection perhaps they were both for her-the brash,brazen, faux blonde, Tory chain smoking floozy he lets his spare room to?

But today, Bingo! A Guardian Reader and one in a spot of bother. An aggressive, tweed jacketed, cavalry twilled green wellied red faced rural type came rushing out of Finnies, Guardian in hand, Discovery double parked. Unwisely, given the BBC Blether Centre's 70mph wind whistling up South Street, he momentarily left his Saturday inflated paper on top of the car while he fumbled for keys. Momentarily is right. A nano second later the square was full of the Grudian and its various weekend pull out and recycle sections. Willing helpers, including Huttonian rushed around, retrieving bits of the paper some from afar away as HBOS- The now apoplectic RTGR, un grand homme sans merci ( TR: a self important bloke who never says thank you)riffled through the various bedraggled sections as they were handed to him-'this is no flipping good or words to that effect-no flipping Sports Section-thats all I buy the flipping paper for. Tossed the rest of the Gerdian away, mounted his Landrover and whizzed off.

If you hurry you may yet get most of a Greddian, free of charge, some miles West of Duns.Not the Sports Section, that turned up just past RBS and was snapped up by a passing yappy dog, which chewed part of it and peed

on the rest.

Labels: . Duns, The Guardian

  ¶ 12:16 PM (3) comments

  Try putting that on the approach to the Orchard, Paxton. Or even in the Fishwick Golden Triangle.

Anyhow after a due period of respectful silence, I tried to pick up the overseas version of the Guardian from La Maison de Presse. 'Trop bientot' No English papers before the late afternoon, partly because the newsagents is closed for his light lunch from 12-4. ' Comment tres troisieme monde' I suggested.

He seemed not to understand

Labels: Frogs, SNCF France Hutton, The Guardian, Third World

  ¶ 2:29 PM (0) comments

 
Who Will Guard the Guardians?

is the rough translation of a familiar Latin tag so beloved of tweed jacketed Prep School teachers and senior mandarins in HM Civil Service (surely another oxymoron). Dave the Paper of famous memory who used to bring our papers every morning claimed that there were only two Grudian readers in these 'ere parts within his extensive beat. Since his departure we have had to flog into B-u-T to pick up the Gerdien and (for a neighbour) the English edition of the Daily Mail-an increasing rare commodity as you penetrate further north. But within easy walking distance of our-small-house-in-Duns there are two newsagents piled up to the ceiling with Gerdgians and as many English editions of the Daily Mail that you could shake a Zimmer frame at. If you judge a society* by the papers it reads, culturally up market we appear to be going. At last. And one does mean

Last

( *And not just a society. It was said of the famous up market Guardian reading- courtesan Christine Keeler-ask your father- that she used several Mirrors while enjoying lots of Mails and as many Times as she could get. And she was always happy to have an Observer)

A bloggee asks why is Ms Keeler not perusing the Guardian in this image? Perhaps she is? Much like the bloke who was asked by a fellow passenger on GNER 'Excuse me Sir. Are you reading the paper you are sitting on?'

If you can have eyes in the back of your head........

Labels: Christine Keeler, Duns, Merse, The Guardian

  ¶ 6:03 PM (0) comments