The Saturday Guardian

(Newpaper)



JAMES says:

The best newspaper in the world. The Sydney Morning Herald is quite good on a Saturday, but has too much stuff about Australia for my liking. The Saturday Guardian has it all, magazines for the ladies, a little guide so you can know what’s on TV wherever you are, a big intellectual book review bit, jobs and nicely left wing news. However, I never actually buy it anymore, and I’ll tell you why. It’s too blummin’ big! Now, I’m not a guy who can just dip into things. There’s only one James way of doing things, and that’s beginning to end. So working my way through the paper, even ignoring crappy bits like sport and travel, just takes too long. I’m still reading the book reviews come Friday, and I have no time to read books or watch TV hardly at all. It takes a couple of hours just to work my way through the news bit. So I’ve had to cut it out, right out. It’s still good though.

8.9/10

NEILL says:

I hate to say it, but he's right. I’m sorry, Saturday Guardian, but… well, it’s over. It’s not you… you’re wonderful… clever, funny, atttactive… it’s just, you take a week to read and I just don’t think I can deal with that kind of commitment. What's that? No, there's no one else. Your friends said what? They've seen me around town reading the tabloid-sized Independent? That's crazy. No, it's not because it's more compact than you, don't be stupid. I like my newspapers big, you know that. It's me, I'm just… I’m not in a newspaper-reading place right now. What? Is it because Julie Burchill left?

My God, how can you even ask me that?

8.4/10

Julie Burchill

(Opinionated Media Canker)



NEILL says:

The Saturday Guardian is a wonderful thing, offering not only TV listings and soap gossip but a wide selection of impressive-looking broadsheet supplements to leave lying around the house and intend to read well into the next week. There is, however, one singularly rancid turd in this punchbowl of weekend morning newspapery magnificence, and that turd's name is Julie Burchill. The continued publication of her weekly column with its absurdly well-worn formula of calculated outrage and devastatingly 'ironic' provocation, is one of the great mysteries of modern life. She's been peddling the exact same 'irritate the wimpy liberals' crap in column after column for years now, and the only reason she's able to get away with it is that the Guardian is, clearly, run by a bunch of self-loathing wimpy liberals. She is dull, self-obsessed to a terrifying degree and almost comically predictable. She is also very fat, and quite likely smells. There are only two things to be said in Ms. Burchill's defense. Firstly, she was once named the 'worst mother in Britain' by the Daily Mail, and as such clearly must have something going for her. And secondly, if you ever see her talk, she has a bizarre squeaky cartoon-mouse voice that's actually really funny. These are scant rewards, clearly. Make the break. Change your life. Spare yourself the pain. Stop reading Julie Burchill.

3/10