Does anyone remember when it was a pleasure to spend a few hours
with your nose in a magazine?
These days I find that practically every periodical I pick up has to be
held at arm’s length. This is not because I’ve passed the 40-year-old
mark and my eyesight is not what it used to be. No, my sense of smell is
as sharp and easily offended as it was all those years ago when it was
just the visual and copy content of perfume ads that stank.
Does the obnoxious stench of several so-called ’perfume’ impregnated
pages, mixed with printing ink and glue, do anything for either the
advertiser or the magazine involved? Or does it just get up the punter’s
Surely, if such sensory bombardment added anything to our reading
pleasure, we’d have seen everyone on the 8.30 to Waterloo hiding behind
their magazines with toilet-rim freshener blocks wedged up their
nostrils long ago.
Like piped Muzak in shops and restaurants, and car alarms screeching
outside your bedroom window, magazines that stink are yet another form
of pollution that helps ruin what was once a pleasurable pastime.
And another thing - I never thought I’d say this but these repugnant
pages are actually more annoying than those wasteful and pointless
inserts that dance the conga along the pavement behind you as you leave
Let’s banish this comfortless cocktail of chemicals from our reading
matter before the people at Pot Noodle latch on to the idea and life
becomes an eternal elevator ride with a terminally flatulent attendant.