I’m 62 years old and originate from Stockport. I retired last year after a busy career in social work and am now enjoying the slower pace of life. A normal day starts with reading the Guardian with a pot of coffee and progresses to such activities as swimming and badminton. I’ve been going to watch Manchester United since childhood and now find the time to watch the under-21s as well as the first team.
I started reading the Guardian at university, finding that it accorded with my developing political views. It’s been an important part of my life ever since. Even when living in France for a time in the 1970s, I got my fix through a subscription to the international edition which came of course in the post. No online stuff then.
These days in the paper I value the forthright views of Polly Toynbee; Steve Bell’s bawdy cartoons chime with my own sense of humour; Simon Hoggart’s wit is sadly missed but John Crace is proving a worthy replacement. The Family section on a Saturday rarely fails to evoke warm smiles and sometimes tears. Tim Lott’s insights on its back page have led me to his novels.
And of course the obituaries – a focus maybe for a lot of people who get to a certain point and realise that life is not going to go on forever. “He was only my age,” is the cry.
A few years ago, I reached an agreement with my daughters that after my own demise they would put an announcement in the Guardian. This wasn’t meant to be morbid but seemed a fitting way to bring things to a close given my love of the paper.
However, my wife thought it might be more fulfilling for me to have the experience of seeing my own name in the paper and made contact about my participation in this column. I’m glad to have done it but would warn the family that I still want the other mention, hopefully not in the near future.
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