Do you buy a daily paper?

I have to admit that it’s something I don’t bother with.

In my long ago youth, in the days before TV, I had a paper-round and I remember my heavy canvas bag, full to the brim with the well known perennials such as the Mail and the Express, as well as some less familiar and now extinct titles, The Manchester Guardian, the News Chronicle and the Dispatch.

I also remember the News of the World. This particular Sunday weekly was essential reading for a young paper boy in search of the truth.

In our house, the daily of choice was the Daily Mirror. These were the days when ’page three’ meant just that, the third page.

I soon found that the job of being a paper boy carried certain responsibilities. For a start, you would have to make your bag of papers and weeklies into the correct order for delivery.

Now I realise that you may not understand some of the technicalities involved, but I can assure you, this was not just a menial job. It was something to be taken very seriously. There was nothing worse than to turn up for work and be told that ’39 Hawarden hasn’t had the Women’s Own, this week’ or ’29, Ballabrooie has had the Exchange & Mart instead of the People’s Friend’.

This was a job that people relied on, and from my point of view, I soon learned what it was like to be taken for granted. You were not often thanked for being punctual and reliable for 364 days of the year but heaven help you if you forgot someone’s Radio Times on Friday.

This was a job that taught you some very important lessons, and it was hard work and you had to be reliable, accurate and honest. No doubt there were rules and regulations in place to protect the paper boy from harm and exploitation, but as far as I was concerned such things didn’t mean a thing. I needed the money and I was glad to have a job.

Folk of my generation have lived through many changes, and delivery of the news, from happening to hearing, is a classic example.

What once would have taken at least two days to tell the tale in paper form, can now be on your TV or computer instantly. Literally, as it happens.

A car crash can be on view to the world before the wheels have stopped spinning. A terrorist attack can terrorise the nation before the dust settles.

The news is so available and so visible, that the most vicious and horrible happenings are so common, they are almost taken for granted.

In the days before social media, bad news was old news before we knew about it. The newspaper editor could be accused of being a censor but he had the power to prevent bullying from being a spectator sport.

During my lifetime, the local paper has worn many hats and told many a tale. Titles have come and gone, owners and editors have lived their dreams and fought their crusades and column writers have vanished without trace.

I have been sharing my thoughts with the readers of the Manx Independent for almost six years. 750 words every week for some six years is a long time and a lot of work, but it has been a pleasure.

The many kind comments from readers who I meet wherever I go have made it all worthwhile.

The whole rollercoaster that became Pullyman was inspired and created as my response to the nightmare called Parkinson’s Disease. Parkinson’s came to me some 10 years ago.

I am not alone. On our island, there are many other victims. We all share a common bond. There is no cure, but we can support each other in many ways.

The Independent makes my crusade possible.

It excuses my limited skills and encourages my enthusiasm and inspiration. I thank you all for the privilege of letting me share my journey.

Thank you.

A decade ago Pullyman - aka Michael Cowin - was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, a condition that affects people in different ways. Michael discovered writing and Island Life is featuring some of his musings. Sometimes topical, sometimes nostalgic, read about life as seen through the eyes of Pullyman