Our Letters Pages are a forum for discussion of just about every topic under the sun.

Politics, the economy and war in the Middle East often take centre stage, though lately we have also been talking about lighter issues: annoying ScotRail Tannoy announcements, what constitutes a fair restaurant tip, and tales of the legendary minster Rev James Currie have all been given an airing over the past week.

Today one of our correspondents leads us down another rabbit hole when he pens a lament about a disappearing pleasure: “a quiet pint in a quiet pub, having a quiet read of a good printed newspaper”.

(Image: Newsquest) Gordon Fisher of Stewarton writes:

“I have just returned from a few days in London. The plan was to enjoy myself: see a show, eat some nice food, take in some sights. So, why do I feel as if I have just come home from a funeral?

"Amongst all those 'fun' things, I really wanted to indulge in my favourite pastime: a quiet pint in a quiet pub, having a quiet read of a good printed newspaper.

"A chance to hold hands with the world and those who are on it.

"A chance to be handfasted to journalists committed to reporting the good, the bad and the ugly of humanity.

"A chance to feel relaxed and liberated from the clutches of a pernicious algorithm.

"Yet, in London's west end, a funeral wreath's throw from Fleet Street (ironically still a metonym for 'The Press'), I read in several shops the death notices of printed newspapers. Blazoned above each of these shops was a word which is not just becoming archaic, but a misnomer: 'newsagent'. None of these shops sold newspapers.

"Before processing any further bearing the bier of printed news, I admit that I do have a digital subscription to The Herald. However, I regularly buy the printed version.

"Now, I know that I would be unlikely to find my favourite newspaper in London (although I remember when I could), but I would have settled for anything, something I could clasp in my hands, stretch out in my arms. Something that would thrill me with planned and polished articles, experiences and opinions.

"Now, I know that mobiles, apps and all those other thingummyjigs can give me news instantly, but for me something is missing: the emotional bond with a newspaper that yon portable contraptions cannot give.

"As I drafted this letter in a pub waiting to head home, I looked up from my notebook and two things struck me.

"First, some folk had stopped looking at their phones to gawp suspiciously at me (What's that guy doing? Why isn't he scrolling? What's that plastic stick in his hand?).

"Secondly, the pub's walls were adorned with newspaper front pages marking historic moments. This made me wonder if there will be framed screenshots on the walls of the pubs of the future (don't get me started on that).

"After another fruitless visit to the station's 'newsagent', another five-and-a-half-hour journey beckoned and I mourned, reflecting on Hegel's words: 'The newspaper is the realist's morning prayer.' Perhaps, if he were alive today, he would look upon it as the nostalgist's performance of the last rites.

"Oh well, I could always catch up with my emails.

"What's this in my inbox? Editor's pick? By Catherine Salmond? Let's get scrolling!

"The newspaper may be dying, but long live the newspaper.”

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Letters should not exceed 500 words. We reserve the right to edit submissions.