Y'see, back in the day, when the young whippersnapper from Herdings Shops pushed the Satdi Star through our letterbox and me dad would go and get it in his vest and work trousers, on opening he wasn't knocked off his feet by a barrage of ads and apps bouncing off his bald melon. No. Inside was Keith Strong with the telly stuff, some news about a bin lorry which had mounted the kerb and clipped a bus stop in Southey, an article about Ena Prolapse who'd just retired from t'B&C after fifty years of work on t'knicker counter ("Ah selled some pants once to Tony Christie, thanose"), some little bastards had broke into a garage in Ecclesfield and stole a motorised lawnmower and left it on t'slip road of the southbound jct 33 and after the Births Marriages and Deaths ("Nahden, Elsie," me dad would say. "Norris from t'Baggy's deeyerd. He were only seventy one. Stroke. Funeral's next Tuesday. Ar.") we'd have six or seven pages of bowls, darts, dominoes, more darts, cricket and Tony Pritchett trying to stir up excitement at Mick Speight's cartledge niggle being passed as okay (pic of Mick and his 'tache with the 'club doctor' in his nuthouse white coat) and no adverts. It was a joy. The nearest we got was a quarter pager on page seven from Wigfalls telling us they were doing a special offer on rentals at 10/- a week on a 20" B/W Binatone with automatic channel changing (you still had to tune it in mind)
No 'have you seen what Ivy Tilsley looks like now she's dead?' or 'I lost ten stone in an afternoon with this weird Barnsley Trick' (its 'eat less, move about more, readers')
People still managed to get by. If I and many are not using the website because it's lumpen and bloated with 'advertisement opportunities' don't you think there will be a saturation point - a place where the lines cross on the graph, where it is time to give it a rest and try another strategy? It gets on my tits, so it does. It makes me not care if you pay your mortgage and not go on there (I am sorry to say) and rely on other means of info (like on here)
And its a piggy rag. Everyone knows it.
pommpey