When my issue of The Economist does not arrive on Monday, I feel a bit confused. A good part of my day is shot. But when it fails to arrive on Tuesday, as well, I feel rather lost. According to my custom, the last day for my letters to the editor is Wednesday, which means that I will not have much time to digest the newspaper, let alone to put together a few missives worthy of anyone’s trouble. Of course, my issue may not arrive on Wednesday, either, but this comes to pass quite rarely. Say, once or twice a year. At any rate, the best I can do today is bitch about my predicament. And I have a feeling this lame piece will end up among my letters to the editor, too. Just so everyone in the editorial office knows my uncustomary silence is beyond my control.