I am a retired chartered engineer whose career covered research for the metals industry. I was introduced to the Manchester Guardian at the age of 13 in 1938 by my headmaster, who had once been one of Lloyd George’s private secretaries, and I have been a Guardian reader ever since. My wife of 63 years was a freelance tutor, originally trained in the NHS and later specialising in residential care for the NHS and social services. Together we have enjoyed the open air life and have travelled fairly widely for recreation and in connection with my work.
About 10 years ago my wife began to lose her sight and can now see very little. She reluctantly had to abandon her custom of completing the Guardian cryptic crossword daily but we have adjusted our lifestyle so that we can remain mentally and physically active, taking advantage of specialist computer and other information technology. Each morning over coffee I read aloud to her the main Guardian items and we discuss the news and its presentation (on which we hold strong views). We do not take a Sunday paper, but I read selected articles from the Saturday Review section and from G2 issues of the previous week, which gives us an opportunity for wide ranging discussion of a good variety of topics. Can you imagine describing a Martin Rowson cartoon?
At 90 I am still legally driving, and we try most days to visit our local country park where we walk one and a half miles around a lake which is familiar territory for her. We have a large bungalow with a one and a half acre garden, mostly lawn and shrubbery, and together we do all our own housework and garden maintenance ourselves. We are also volunteers on various advisory groups and charities. We record those television programmes which interest us, and we watch them in the evenings.
I value the Guardian for its variety of writers who present an entertaining range of penetrating thought-provoking articles; in particular Giles Fraser whose current series does indeed stir the soul. The obituaries remind us daily of many remarkable people, some of whom I have had the privilege to know, while the country diary provides refreshing outdoor nostalgia. My bête noir is the way in which technical terms and foreign names are often split randomly to fit the line width and make reading an obstacle race.
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