At least it's only from the waist up.

will have to stay face down so it doesn't scare the children.

Well?

Sorry, finger slipped on the keys.

It's really not attractive is it? Are you thinking it will fly off the shelves?

It's just popped onto the doormat. Scary...

.

Haven't seen it yet, but the line about age and that life suggests it won't be Andrea Corr.

That cover pic is going to scare the shit out of my three-year-old.

Or the Edge sans tifter?

Like the back end of a bus!

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/ubiquitous

The one who’s on tour here and number one in the albums chart. It would make commercial sense no matter how gruesome the photograph.

I feel a bit ill and my postman now thinks I'm a gerontophile. Thanks Word!

at Tesco doesn't file it in the Motoring section by mistake.

At least your copies have turned up.....

ps gerontophile, hmmmm? Phwoar. Ahem

in full-on wind-machine, howling feedback, Crazy Horse mode, surely?

I came downstairs to find the dog standing on the doormat growling at the magazine cover.
I kinda like it tho.

?

The Word on the wire is that the new issue was in the mailbox this morning chez Stimpy.

I think I've guessed who the cover star is (idiot? motoring section? dog?) and it's hardly tempting me to rush home tonight, I can tell you

Feeling a bit of a stooge to take so long guessing.

a new insurance policy before seeing the latest issue?

-

must iron the creases out of my leather duvet...

And talking of scaring the children, there's an article on Chrissie Hynde.

...yikes!

That's horrible.

Wife and Daughter home first and not impressed to see that looking back at them on the doormat.

It's like Dot Cotton in high-def

“Daddy, daddy can I run a head and open up”
“Course you can son”
And off goes my first born skipping down the path but what’s there’s an unearthly scream. I rush up and there he is on the front hall floor thrashing about screaming “my eyes, my eyes”.

I scoop him up fearing the worst and take him into the living room and with some effort prize his fists from his face.
There seems to be no obvious trauma and after several minutes he’s calmed down enough to tell what happened. Slowly he points towards the corner of the room where a plastic bagged magazine lies thrown.

Gingerly I walk over and turn it over and for terrifying second I too am almost struck down. “Has the man gone daddy?” my eldest pleads. I carefully pick the magazine up with the coal tongues and place it in the pantry under the lead weight we use for pressing boiled tongue, where gently fizzles and pops for some time.

To cheer the lad up with had rounds of toasts and nesquik and soon he’s his old self again. To further drive away his trauma we go into garden and throw stones at keane cd (which we keep for precisely for this purpose) this always cheers us right up and after an episode of Dr Who and tea the little one goes to bed seemingly unharmed. Telling my other half about all this, she did only say’s “I did warn you to stick with Carp news but you wouldn’t listen.”

The next day Posty won’t catch my eye and just mutters "it’s just not right it’s bad enough that big bag and all the dogs without having to see that at work..."

after encountering "that" on the mat when she came home.

I've no idea what the organisers of Camp Bestival paid for the ad on the back cover but if it's anything less than twice the normal rate they'll consider it a good day the office given the extra exposure they're going to get.

Dido eat your heart out.

I think it's strangely beautiful.

...to find The Word lying, face down on the doormat. I picked it up and carried it (face down still) into the kitchen; I then put it on the table (face down) while switching on the kettle. I went upstairs and got changed and thought, "It's a lovely evening. I'll have a cup of tea in the garden and flick through the new copy of The Word."

I went back downstairs, made a pot of tea, picked up my magazine (which was, you will recall, lying face down on the table) and went into the beautiful, sun-dappled garden. I placed the magazine (face down) on the table and poured myself a cup of Taylor's finest Assam. I picked up my mug, turned the mag over, and promptly spilled my beverage into my lap in sheer fright.

What the hell were you guys thinking? Christ, it's horrible.

My 86-year-old neighbour in the flat next door usually takes in any large items of mail left outside our door. Last night she delivered my copy of The Word in a visible state of confusion and distress. I noticed it had been left face-down on her hall table…

isn't the "Stephen Patrick relaxes at home in his lovely garden" just as disconcerting, if not more so? The Ig shot could have been soooo much worse, plastic see-thru pvc trousers and all. And whither Filter magazine anyway? Terms of the judicial instruction? I couldn't possibly the editorial to comment, clearly.......

You could have ironed him first.

It's truly awful. What were you thinking? We've had enough of the wrinkly old git's annoying adverts whilst trying to watch BSG and you decide we need to see more of him? Yeuch.

I did do a double take on catching sight of that cover - at first startled, wondering momentarily if there'd been some sort of mix-up with a dodgy periodical that indulges a somewhat acquired gentlemanly taste for unclothed female bodybuilders, until I realised it was only Iggy.

No beard.