No, it’s not a sardonic comment on the quite unseasonable ’spring’ weather we’ve been having - even though I woke this morning and, bleary eyed, stood at the window and marvelled at the snow being hurled horizontally from the north and sticking to the side of everything in its path that was vaguely vertical. Sun? Ha! No, we haven’t seen our friendly local exploding ball of gas for quite a few days now, sadly.

What I’m talking about is the collection of mashed paper and impermanent ink which goes by the name of ‘newspaper’ in this country.

We don’t actually have a newspaper delivered anymore. We used to have the Daily Mail, but dear old Dad was right, once they go tabloid, the slide downhill into magazine-dom is inevitable, and so we cancelled and couldn’t find a decent alternative.

So imagine my surprise when I was passing the front door and this thing came hurtling through the letterbox. Damn near dropped my morning cuppa, I can tell you, and then I’d have been doubly pissed.

As it is, I guess I’ll have to hide it in a bag and take it back to the Post Office, because I guess someone, somewhere, might actually want it.

Now, here’s a question: do I tag this with ‘The Home Front? Or Junk Mail?

Ah, let’s go for both.