The Economist usually reaches me on Monday, but it almost never arrives later than Wednesday. All my letters to the editor, up to three or four a week the last year or so, are written and sent by electronic mail by Wednesday evening at the latest. Last Monday I got no mail. None whatsoever. Christmas, I thought. The newspaper did not come on Tuesday. Christmas, I thought again. By Wednesday I got a bit miffed. Damned Christmas, I growled. My favorite read failed to appear through the end of the week, either. Chances are it will never reach me. If my memory is not playing tricks on me, this is the second or perhaps third time this has happened in roughly five years. Be that as it may, a strange thought flashed through my mind just now: will I ever write another letter to the editor of the mighty newspaper? After all, habits are only habits. They can be forsaken as easily as they can be acquired. Or is this yet another sign that I am becoming a grumpy old man?