It’s a Woman’s World by Trevor Plumbly
I discovered the above quite by accident recently whilst visiting friends. Among their magazines was one of those ‘Woman’s’ shock and shudder numbers, not tucked under the mattress like an early ‘Playboy’ should be, or trimmed of its cover for reputation’s sake. Without compromising myself in any way, I admit that I’ve ‘done a few miles’, so to speak, and there’s not much shock value out there left with my name on it, but flicking through this little gem I realised, somewhat sadly, that much of life’s more titillating pathways didn’t show up on my map. I kid you not gentle reader, all human life is available here for just about 5 bucks. Adultery, Addiction, Desertion and Depression: every facet of the wrongdoings of the rich and famous is laid bare, plus a catalogue of common male failings and hints on how to deal with them. In the interest of research (truly), I decided to purchase a couple of these female bombshells on the way to the pub for later reference; I took the precaution of taking a couple of rubber bands along, feeling that if I rolled them up with the back cover showing they could well be mistaken for ‘Time’ or ‘The Economist’.
I Just Got Them for the Articles
Selection wasn’t really a problem: you don’t really need a lot of content perusal when you’re buying one of these gems; anything remotely salacious is splashed over the front cover. I picked one listing an article headed ‘I never wanted a baby I wanted a dog!’ feeling it might be a bit interesting (it wasn’t). Surely, if she’s old enough to know the difference, she should be intelligent enough to know the means of getting either. If not, she could call whatever turns up ‘Fido’, that way we’ll all be out of our misery. I couldn’t resist the next one: it claimed to contain a numerical formula for identifying individual sexual attitudes. I was glad of the rubber bands as my fellow drinkers, nice as they are, seem a bit too ‘blokey’ to take probing this stuff seriously.
Arriving home with these journalistic treasures, I began to realise that there’s a lot of dirt to go through to get to the diamonds. ‘Judi Dench is 80!’ So what, it’s called ageing Jude, lots of folk go through it; some don’t though, hey, maybe there’s another story there, ‘Judi Dench is still alive!’ Next up was ‘Dawn French is in love!’ This piece took pains to explain that Dawn was fat; we all knew that love but thanks for sharing. Unable to restrain myself any further, I skipped to the findings of the mathematician of the mattresses; I figured that anyone who could convert a calculator into a sexual indicator has got to be worth a read. Sadly, I can’t share the precise formula with you, but roughly it involves taking your birthdate and fiddling around numerically until you arrive at a single digit figure, you then apply that figure to the attached menu and bingo, you get a description of what you expect and should get from a spot of rumpy-pumpy. Ladies, take heed, don’t show him your birth certificate on the first date.
The Birth of ‘TBW’
The second magazine was a bit of a let-down really, just divorce, drugs and sex changes again but brushed over once-lightly, together with profound statements from obscure celebrities like ‘I Was Born to be a Dad!’ exclaimed Richard. I hate to underline the obvious Richard mate, but you HAVE to be born to be a dad. I am staggered that people get paid to write this tittle-tattle and that people pay to read it, including me, but that’s research and my research shows that there is a gender imbalance in this market. Once I’ve found suitable financial backing I plan to launch ‘The Bloke’s Weekly’. The first issue promises to be a blockbuster with ’94 year old Cyril’s Battle against Viagra Addiction’ as the lead story, backed up by ‘Rucked! The Diary of a Rugby Groupie’ and ‘The Glass Floor’, a chauvinist’s guide to the workplace, all good meaty stuff, packaged in an easily concealed format. Donations will be treated as anonymous if requested. TP ed. TBW.