A fresh copy of Grazia lasts me exactly one hour: from the time I get onto the train at Waterloo until we arrive at Winchester Station. A letter on this week Grazia letter's page declared that the reader had found enough in Grazia to last her two days of commuting, at 4 hours per day. I can only assume she reads v e r y s l o w l y, but I can't imagine why she'd want to proclaim that to the world.
After four weeks of being able to buy Grazia whenever I want to, it's starting to pale. Yes, it's considerably classier than Heat, better value for money than the monthlies, and doesn't stain your fingers like National Enquirer, but it's fairly limited in scope. Take some tenuous gossip about Jen/Posh/Angelina/Kate, add in "information" about the latest cosmetic surgery treatments, fill a couple of pages with a story about babies -- why I want them/can't have them/gave them away/am infertile/have them but work/have them but don't work/don't work and don't want them/killed them/got them from a foreign country -- and then devote pages and pages to clothes. Perhaps that's the problem. I have no wardrobe space, no credit card, no need for more clothes -- no need, dare I say it, for Grazia.
Back to The Economist, I guess
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