The Hat :
Newspaper delivery Round III. Yeah, who would've thunk there were a mine to seam here. I was confused as a teenage girl, uh, I mean, boy. -
That was just a throwaway line. I'm still confused. But anyhoo ... My longest delivery round wasn't when the Sunday supplements descended upon my small frame, but every fortnight, when Melody Maker, Sounds and NME came out. I would devour each and every page as the round progressed. Slowly slowly reading, discovering and learning; indirectly, I'm sure that's where my passion for music developed. And I always wondered if anyone ever complained that they appeared to be in receipt of a well-thumbed secondhand copy. But there was a slightly stranger, monthly delivery ... -
Penthouse magazine. I still remember the house I delivered that to, even now. A heavy, black, cast iron gate and a garden surrounded by dense, imposing conifers that even began to creep in on the porch. It was too secluded. The temptation was great. And at such an impressionable age, it had a lingering impact on me. I was nineteen before I learned that, where I had a bellybutton, women didn't actually have a staple instead. But at least I wasn't caught masturbating in the garden. -
Okay ... okay. So, it was once! Don't judge me. Oh, alright, twice. What can I say, when I was a hormonally charged teenage boy, Penthouse tempted me with their excellent motoring articles. -
Disclaimer: Some of the facts in this story are true.