So I was out shopping with Mrs Pigfender at the weekend, and as is the norm we eventually found ourselves in the magazine section of a bookshop browsing the titles for interesting things to read. Magazines are great: They’re like the internet in that they are full of little articles and snippets of information to help fill those little pockets of time (whether because that’s all you have, or because of attention span issues). Plus, they’re better than the internet because (if you’ve chosen wisely) everything is on a topic you like and it’s all been put together by, you know, professionals.
But, unlike the internet, you have to pay for them – well, unless you just read them in the store of course. This cash element has finely tuned the art of the magazine cover into peacocking of the highest order, as each one competes with its brethren for your attention and your hard-earned change. This has led to the kind of sloppy cover lines that have become one of my biggest pet hates in journalism. Three things in particular bother me: Continue reading