Have women’s magazines got worse? Once, I would only get depressed by them if I read every page. Now, I only need scan the front cover at a supermarket checkout, and I’m feeling ill. Extreme weight-loss sagas, incest, murder, self-harm, near-death experiences. Oh, and the inevitable calorific recipes, offered perhaps as ammo for the weight battles. Very scary. Perhaps it’s time to get to grips with self-checkout.