WE are such creatures of habit. I mean, I'm all for spur-of-the-moment spontaneity, but there's something uniquely reassuring about routine - why else would we work all our lives if there wasn't?

Tomorrow morning I'll visit the same newsagent/ tobacconist in Westbourne Arcade I visit every Friday morning.

I'll buy the same two tobaccos loose from the jar, three packets of cigarette papers and a packet of filters.

It'll come to a round £9.80. The conversation always starts the same, as well "Oh, is it Friday, already?"

"Looks that way."

"So what can I get for you, young man?"

Ignoring the obvious flattery of being called "young" again, I like the way this particular custom is shaping up.

Unlike many similarly regular activities it doesn't make me feel like I'm a hamster on a wheel.

Instead, it makes me feel content, relaxed and ready to face the final day of the working week.

There's a wonderful familiarity about the traditional Friday trip to the baccy shop, especially at this time of the year.

It feels like the olden days - not only is the tobacco sold by weight from a jar, but the warmth of the welcome and the chat about the weather are straight out of yesteryear too.

There's no need to understand it, but maybe it has something to do with the time it takes to weigh and wrap the goods; or maybe it's the naturally cheery countenances of the particular shopkeeper and customer.

Or maybe it's just because it's Friday