The Hole Truth

Sunday mornings are days when, usually, I wake up late. The wife tends to wake up even later, giving me a rare opportunity to enjoy, in peace and quiet, two of the most enjoyable things to start the day.... 

............ I get to make my own giant mug of filter coffee

....................and I get some "quality time" to read my favourite newspaper without too much interference

And so it was, yesterday too.... having read, on the net the previous day, about the sad death of the unnamed gang-rape victim I was feeling a mixture of grief, anger, rage, hope that things should change etc - and wanted to know what the Indian Express had to say. 

So, when I kept the water for boiling to get that perfect decoction of SIFC and opened my door to pick up the papers (IE and BS for self, Loksatta for the wife and fil) my heart slowly SANK.

I knew my day was shot.

Disappointment stared me in the face.

Not because the paper was not delivered. It was. There it lay, on the floor, staring up at me.

The story ought to have been there. It was, too. 

But not the whole story..... 

what I got, instead, was a wholly different thing, a story in which I could pick a hole - literally. I mean, take a look at THIS 

this was the condition of the newspaper delivered to my doorstep. The "depth" of this damage extended right through to the 9th page...

The Hole Truth!!

Sats