OK, so I bought Word magazine no.3, despite the fact that there was nothing I wanted to read about in it and despite the promise I made to myself not to buy it if this were the case. So sue me, I wanted something to read.

Word makes a big deal about being “Something to read” (their italics), presumably because otherwise we thirtysomethings who are the intended audience might otherwise become confused and attempt to eat it or use it to wipe up baby sick. Fortunately, it’s a cracking read - which is just as well because there has yet to be anyone in the magazine that I’d want to read about (my italics).

Issue 2 was a hopeless disaster, but if I were to enumerate all it’s faults I’d only sound picky and negative. But hang on, dammit, I am like that! Issue 2 came with a cover-mounted booklet called “21st Century Classics” - things so Great that apparently we daren’t hang on another 97 years to see if anything better comes along. Amongst these Classics: Google (I shit you not - something to do with this whole “INTERNET” thing apparently); The Office - twice (because crippling embarrassment is so enjoyable and we don’t have enough in our lives); the iPod (gotta offload that spare cash); Schott’s Original Miscellany (it was a xmas top seller, but there might be some people who haven’t heard of it yet).

That and Elvis Costello doing his “I am an Arrrrrtist” routine and slagging off those witless TV talent show pop stars. Because it’s unacceptable to only have two decent singles and pander to your audience - oh, unless your audience consists entirely of critics, right El? BB might be normally be tempted into wholehearted agreement with Costello but not when he sounds like your dad going off on the whole “But you can’t hear the words!” moan.

Also a letter praising the magazine for not being “focus-grouped” and marketed to death - obviously someone who never saw the original press pack, wherein their target demographic was so precisely defined that I thought it was a magazine purely for me. But hey, I don’t think my tastes are this dull.

The target Word reader buys one of whatever the broadsheets tell him is hip and recommended this month. Despite this, he only has real passion for his sodding Beatles albums.