Friday, July 11, 2014

The Standard Man

If I say my relationship with the man who hands out copies of the Evening Standard often feels transcendental, I am not exaggerating by very much. It's a simple, unwritten relationship: every evening he yells out the word 'Standard', every evening I take the folded copy which he hands to me. Even though I don't particularly like the newspaper (especially since they cancelled their daily chess puzzle when it became free) there's something reassuring about taking the newspaper from him. It suggests a coda to the working day but it's more than that. It's a transaction, an agreement which I find very satifying, more satisfying than other relationships in my life, perhaps because it's so simple, reliable and clear cut.


Reena said...

It seems that a simple accepting of an Evening Standard can confer such happiness. I must try it sometime but I tend to veer away from reading the news, as my motto in life is

No news is good news

Barnaby said...

Well funny you should say that. I haven't actually seen the man since I wrote the post!

Barnaby said...

He's back now. Order has been restored to the universe.