<p>I am just very lucky that the boy who delivers the newspaper comes early everyday, and in the winter months, even before the mist lifts. I hear the metal squeaks and the crunch of rubber on gravel as he pedals and shifts his weight on the seat, manoeuvring his cycle and swerving along the curves of the road, just as happily as I await the newspaper. As November approaches, the weather will assume a nip in the air. That’s when the pleasure of reading the newspaper becomes more enjoyable. <br /><br /></p>.<p>I make my coffee and time it ever so perfectly… I hear the slap of the paper against the floor of my compound, I carry my coffee, open the door, fetch the newspaper and walk towards the small patch of lawn that makes me proud. There, on the garden swing, I sink and gently set the coffee mug down on one side. The crisp morning air, the whiff of fresh newspaper and the aroma of coffee, is the perfect combination to begin the day. ‘Swing gently!’ I remind myself so not to cause a coffee overspill. It’s that time in the day, those 20 minutes, when I lose myself to the three most precious things in life.<br /><br />Once the 20 minutes are lost, I jump up to the time: it is 6.30 am! The morning chores begin – the breakfast is done, boxes packed, the lunch is almost ready, and I have waved off the last of the family for the day. I return to the second cup of coffee, the break I much need.<br /><br />My computer awaits my attention. I’ve taken on a load of articles that I am yet to complete! Shoot! I remember I have an interview to get to. I need to change, rush to the place and talk to the restaurateur. I reach there. He is calm and we do the interview in a good span of time. I notice he loves his job; food I guess is what everyone loves. The interview done, I wrap up and head out of there to make a few purchases that I may need for tomorrow.<br /><br />Once home, I complete my assignments and heave a sigh of relief. My officious editor is on chat, asking me to make certain revisions – some are legit while most are her own forceful expertise. I just do what she says. Now, I hear the doorbell. I open it and behold! Standing before me is a tall woman who, with not a worry in the world and with a score of PILs, hands me a paper. I sign it as quickly as possible, smiling and pledging her my support, and send her off. <br /><br />I hear the doorbell again and it is my cousin. I am astonished! The rarely seen kinds, I look at her in disbelief. ‘Not today!’ I beg and shut my eyes and open it again. She is still there. “Come in,” I invite. She smiles her way in, while her husband follows. It’s eight in the evening, almost dinner time. They will join us they say, doing me the favour.<br /><br />The next day I wait again. I hear the clank of the cycle, the herald of my newspaper, and with the cup of coffee in hand, I head to the door. Seated on the swing, inhaling the morning air, the aroma of coffee and the whiff of the newspaper, I laugh. Well, yesterday was funny!</p>
<p>I am just very lucky that the boy who delivers the newspaper comes early everyday, and in the winter months, even before the mist lifts. I hear the metal squeaks and the crunch of rubber on gravel as he pedals and shifts his weight on the seat, manoeuvring his cycle and swerving along the curves of the road, just as happily as I await the newspaper. As November approaches, the weather will assume a nip in the air. That’s when the pleasure of reading the newspaper becomes more enjoyable. <br /><br /></p>.<p>I make my coffee and time it ever so perfectly… I hear the slap of the paper against the floor of my compound, I carry my coffee, open the door, fetch the newspaper and walk towards the small patch of lawn that makes me proud. There, on the garden swing, I sink and gently set the coffee mug down on one side. The crisp morning air, the whiff of fresh newspaper and the aroma of coffee, is the perfect combination to begin the day. ‘Swing gently!’ I remind myself so not to cause a coffee overspill. It’s that time in the day, those 20 minutes, when I lose myself to the three most precious things in life.<br /><br />Once the 20 minutes are lost, I jump up to the time: it is 6.30 am! The morning chores begin – the breakfast is done, boxes packed, the lunch is almost ready, and I have waved off the last of the family for the day. I return to the second cup of coffee, the break I much need.<br /><br />My computer awaits my attention. I’ve taken on a load of articles that I am yet to complete! Shoot! I remember I have an interview to get to. I need to change, rush to the place and talk to the restaurateur. I reach there. He is calm and we do the interview in a good span of time. I notice he loves his job; food I guess is what everyone loves. The interview done, I wrap up and head out of there to make a few purchases that I may need for tomorrow.<br /><br />Once home, I complete my assignments and heave a sigh of relief. My officious editor is on chat, asking me to make certain revisions – some are legit while most are her own forceful expertise. I just do what she says. Now, I hear the doorbell. I open it and behold! Standing before me is a tall woman who, with not a worry in the world and with a score of PILs, hands me a paper. I sign it as quickly as possible, smiling and pledging her my support, and send her off. <br /><br />I hear the doorbell again and it is my cousin. I am astonished! The rarely seen kinds, I look at her in disbelief. ‘Not today!’ I beg and shut my eyes and open it again. She is still there. “Come in,” I invite. She smiles her way in, while her husband follows. It’s eight in the evening, almost dinner time. They will join us they say, doing me the favour.<br /><br />The next day I wait again. I hear the clank of the cycle, the herald of my newspaper, and with the cup of coffee in hand, I head to the door. Seated on the swing, inhaling the morning air, the aroma of coffee and the whiff of the newspaper, I laugh. Well, yesterday was funny!</p>
