As a child, I have to confess that I found visits to my Grandmother’s slightly unexciting. Also, slightly unfair. While my father and brother got waited on hand and foot, I was expected to run around after them – fetching them drinks and food while they sat back and put their feet up. My Grandmother had very old-fashioned notions of gender roles, you see…
But I could always seek solace in the bathroom. Titter ye not. Next to the loo was a stack of Reader’s Digest magazines. Locking myself away, I would curl up on the floor with my back to the radiator and devour them. We didn’t get them at home (too US-centric for my parents’ taste, or maybe just too naff. Private Eye was their magazine of choice). I particularly liked Laughter is the Best Medicine, but there were also numerous stories of hope against adversity that completely absorbed me.
My Grandmother died years ago, and since then the only chance I have to pick up a copy is when waiting to see the dentist or doctor. Not that I consciously seek it out. After all, I like to think I’m a more sophisticated reader these days. And okay, so it was a naff magazine, only moving with the times too little and too late. But it was an institution. Now the magazine is the latest publishing victim of the recession, but even just before folding it had a readership of 465,000. While this had dropped, it’s still nearly as much as The Times.
But the sad thing is, that dentist waiting room will never be the same again…
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