This is the question prompted by what has come an annual event in our village. The newsagent shuts down for a week, which would mean a walk of almost a mile to buy The Telegraph from the village's minimarket - except that last year they didn't seem to stock it. So it needed a short drive to the neighbouring town.
This year, though, ours is seemingly the only local road still iced and treacherous. Christmas visitors had carefree drives to us except for the last few yards, which they travelled with caution and some trepidation. It goes without saying that we will not be gritted or salted, the County's supplies being very low.
(During the summer, Hertfordshire ordered 12,000 tonnes of salt for use across the county. On Monday, there was enough salt for 13 heavy gritting runs with the next delivery expected around 5 January – almost two weeks. We must await the thaw.)
So whereas last year it wasn't much of a decision whether to drive into town for a paper, this year it's one you think about. Somehow the lure of The Sunday Telegraph wasn't sufficient to run the risk of the car proving disobedient on the slippery road.
The absinence didn't turn out to be painful at all. Today we scarcely considered going out for a paper. And it still didn't hurt.
For what does The Telegraph give me? Booker, Ambrose, and Liam Halligan. Occasionally Boris smuggles some meat into his serving, but usually it's slightly flavoured and instantly forgettable.
But most of the content is annoying - news coverage that is shallow, bulked out with girlie chitchat which is beyond shallow, making Boris seem a paragon of Roman gravitas.
So why am I paying so much to be so irritated by so little worth? It's not as if The Telegraph is a serious newspaper any more. It's surprisingly pleasant to stop banging my head against the kitchen table in frustration.
Could it be that newspapers are bad for you? And that the web communities offer better scrutiny of politicians than do the press?
Whoever would have thought it? And we get to set our own agenda.