I had the worst round in the shop. Over the hills and far away. I had to ride about 10 miles to deliver maybe 20 papers, and since we got paid by the paper, I got about a quid a week. I lasted about a month. A dark dank and dreary December...
It's all a bit dim now,(I think I was 14 years old) but I'll try to remember and post the route.
I suppose in these days of miracle and wonder, delivering papers is something of a dying trade. Good, I say. As a character in Kurt Vonnegut's novel, Slaughterhouse 5, said as he abandoned his round, "It's such a royal screwing."
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