I had been in Los Angeles as a rather reluctant émigrée for about two weeks when a copy of the Guardian Weekly slid out of our mailbox. Later, a letter from my brother back in England answered my query as to its origins.
So apprehensive was he, he said, about my continuing sanity in a place like Los Angeles that he sought to bolster my contact with the known world with a year’s subscription.
That was about 40 years ago, and my dear brother is still underwriting what quickly became, it must be admitted, a full-blown addiction for me. Being able to settle down to a good read in a corner of our shady garden, cup of tea on one side, sticky notes close by, is one of my gifts to myself.
After I’ve taxed my brain trying to match the numbers with the places on the World roundup map, I reward myself with the calming observations of Nature watch. Then I move on to check out the amazing centrefold of photographs and exhaust all possibilities in the Quick crossword before tackling the rest of the paper.
I have seen the Guardian Weekly diminish in size but never in content and integrity. And I have never doubted that it has played a major part in maintaining my sanity all these years.
So I thank you and my brother, Nick, for that.
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