Early dawning, Sunday morning

Everybody has their own hangover cures, a friend of mine swears by Red Bull and cigarettes, personally I prefer the old two glasses of water before going to bed. But despite the inevitable hangover, my favourite day’s a Sunday, I can wake up late, go up to my parent’s house for a roast and I get a good old bit of gossip from the News of the World. Even if I couldn’t get there that day I always googled the front page, just to see what the whole of the UK would be talking about for the next week.

So imagine my sadness as I drove home from a friend’s house yesterday with a heavy head, leapt out at the nearest petrol station (still wearing my cookie monster pajamas) to retrieve my paper and to realise that I will never again have this enjoyment on a Sunday. One thing is clear, I do not agree with the News of the World’s behaviour and their desperation for stories but my heart goes out to the innocent journalists that lost their jobs because of other’s actions. Maybe there was no way out of the situation for them other than to close, but what about the readers that would have still bought the paper? With a fuzzy head there’s nothing better than cheap gossip, I will not make my head hurt any more by reading a paper with font smaller than any human can read! Yes, maybe I do sound like a philistine but I promise I have my moments of intellect especially ever since my father’s passed his subscription to The New Statesman on.

I did feel slightly out of sorts yesterday and started to wonder, what will be the topic of conversation at Sunday lunch next week? Will we have to talk about work? School? Will silence finally fall at the Shortland’s table? I’m sure somehow we will all pull through but I know an overwhelming sadness will wash over me as I will have nothing to sooth my aching head. So despite their problems over the last month or two, I will remember the News of the World in a positive way, as a paper that always made me feel better, for getting my heart to race and for the copious amounts of conversations started by me asking ‘oooh did you see the NOTW this morning?’ And whilst actors and footballers will now sleep safer in their mistresses beds and will no longer have to look over their shoulder as they snort a line, I on the other hand will never enjoy a hangover as much again.


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