PAPER ROUND

I hate wearing my hi-vis vest, but Mr Andrews insists.  I grab the waterproof bag and get on my new bike, my best Christmas present.  I cycle along the pavement into the dark Friday morning.  If I can get the Standard delivered before Billy Norris delivers the Teedleside Review, I’ll be in Mr Andrew’s good books.  He may even give me a bonus.

Carlotta Nolan gets her kicks by dressing beside the window, light full on.  There she is; a stunner in beautiful lingerie.  She sees my bike lights and gives me a little wink.  I ring my bell.  There’s Billy Norris’ bike unattended in the dark, Billy is yards away struggling to shove a Review through a letterbox, I can hear growling - a dog has got it.  I pull my penknife out and gouge his front tyre, payback for when he twisted my handlebars that time.

I pedal to the Penfolds’ second home.  Mr Andrews says they paid silly money to live in it Fridays to Sundays, that people like them price locals out of the housing market.  It didn’t stop him from listening to them complain though.  Am I really noisier than a London bin man?  I’ll give them noisy!  I hurtle past their fence, rattling my bicycle chain along it, clang, clang, clang!  That’ll wake ‘em!  I giggle as I push their paper through their door, then off again, past their fence, clang, clang, clang!  Hahaha!

There goes Nervous Neville Fergus out to his car, jumping as I appear out of the dark; “Jim, you gave me a scare!” he says that every morning.  I pass him his paper and he thanks me before driving off.  As I start up the hill I’m nearly flattened by Marco the Builder’s white van haring round the corner.   He turns up straight after Mr Fergus leaves.  Mr Andrews says that Mrs Fergus looks happier these days, but progress on that conservatory is slow.

Mr Miller never speaks to anyone.  The garden is over grown, no-one sees his wife anymore and he never turns on the lights.  He’s in though, standing in the pitch dark hallway waiting to grab your hand as you put his newspaper through the door.  I park my bike and run like hell to the front door, I shove the paper through, there’s a bang on the other side and he snatches it from me, a cry escapes from my lips and I run back, hoping no-one heard.  They’d call me a right wuss.

The rain’s easing off as I reach the Post Office.  My old rival Billy Norris is there with his big brother, tall as he is wide, not in as good shape as he was sixty years ago when he gave me that hiding, but still ...  “What?” I say as I approach them.

“You bust my tyre Jim!  I saw you!” snaps Billy.
“I did not!” I deny strenuously.
“You’re old enough to know better than to lie!” Billy’s brother growls.
“It’s not fair!  I didn’t do it,” I whine, “I’m only here to collect me pension, I don’t want trouble.”  I shuffle past them and take my place in the silver haired queue.
I feel a sharp shove from Billy’s brother between my shoulder blades as we wait for our stingy annuities and young Mrs McManus looks up from the counter; “Play nicely you sweet old boys, I don’t want any trouble in here!”