The paper round

For some reason, I woke up at a quarter to six, this morning. That specific time of day has a special resonance for me as for two or three years in my mid-teens that was when I had to get up to do my paper round. 

I'd get out of bed, put on some clothes, drink a glass of milk and have a couple of digestive biscuits, and then I'd bike up to Worcester Park station. I was really afraid of the dark back then and for a long time my bike lived in the shed at the bottom of the garden, so each day in the winter months would start of with an anxious trip to fetch it. 

I'd get to the kiosk at the station just after six and fill my bag with the papers that needed to be delivered. At first I had about thirty of forty houses to do but later another part was added to my round, although there was no increase in pay. Sunday was better because I didn't need to start until seven but the Sunday papers were so much bigger that I could hardly balance on my bike for the first part of the round.

The pay wasn't great either, to be honest: £5 a week for seven days' work. Plus it meant that I spent a lot of that period of my life completely shattered. I'd come home from school each day and fall asleep on the sofa. At the weekends, I'd go back to bed after my round, which was bliss, unless I had a rugby match.

You know, even when he's a bit older, I wouldn't let Dan get up so early to work in all weathers but both my parents - from working class London families - were, I think, far more accepting of this kind of work for a young man. I'm pretty sure they'd worry about it now if Dan was to do it. Actually, my fondest memory of that period is from one particular winter when, unusually, we had quite heavy snow. My dad came out with me each morning while the snow lasted, driving me around in the car so I wouldn't have to try and cycle in the snow. Now that's the kind of thing I hope I would do for Dan.

Mind you... I really wouldn't fancy getting up so early every morning these days. I took this photo and went back to bed.