It is, contrary to my better habits and presumably against my mental health, an unfailing impulse of mine to ascertain the news of The (formerly Manchester) Guardian as often as possible, a practice I can only put down to the tender but omnipresent force of habit as well as its generous policy of disposing news, and other matters, freely to the world. But as Mr. Big, the movie version, this gracious policy (supplemented by constant collect-like calls for the mercy of the benefitted readers for whatever coin they do have as consequence) hardly even smuggles in a motive of exercising an influence - well beyond Manchester too - which is well worth such partial charity.
And in my habit of still clicking the opinion pages, if not always due to the art of creating a simple-minded or nasty headline, I found myself grovelling over the words of
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