Why would you read them? It is as simple as that. There are a series of magazines published in Britain, aimed entirely at woman, which do nothing but relish in other people’s misery and misfortune. Here are a few sample headlines from one such wallowy rag, “My husband was a secret paedophile,” (as if there is any other kind, it’s not exactly something you can bring up at a dinner party, “oh and what do you do?” “I bugger small boys”, see it wouldn’t happen. And if it did you would use code such as “Catholic Priest” to describe your activates, sorry cheap joke.), “Lover bit off my tongue” and “The baby in my tummy for 13 years.” What possible joy can you get from reading such scary crap? Oh and still don’t read those awful “Misery Memoirs”.