It's only words, for words are all I have.

There appears to be outrage amongst the young digerati at the suggestion by Rupert Murdoch that he is considering charging for the on-line versions of his newspapers and magazines. 

Ever since residing in the Middle East in the early 90's and reading, (via Netscape's beautiful dialled-up ship), my free uncensored news services, rather than paying the equivalent of £4 for the yellowed remains of a 2 days-old heavily censored copy of The Times, I have wondered at the economics behind the free service. 

What are we paying for in our newspapers and magazines? Printing, yes, distribution, certainly, but primarily words. Words, beautifully arranged, carefully crafted and usually correctly spelt on topics that are relevant and resonant. Good writing remains a balm to modern living and any number of blogs, as I am demonstrating, does not amount to what we like to refer to as 'content'.

Sure I can knock out 500 words like anyone else on any topic you wish me to fill up your server farm with. I can also probably attempt to re-paint the Mona Lisa, belt out a couple of sestina's and have a fair stab at designing a dress, a pair of shoes or a policeman's helmet.  All with equal ability and success. Would anyone pay for this 'service'? No, clearly not (though I remain hopeful re the sestina's). 

The fundamental question is do we value content to the extent we are prepared to pay for it, in exactly the same way we are prepared to pay for music or films?

My ex-employer and reason for my early Semitic sojourn, Lord Saatchi, goes further. In his reaction to the digital revolution he suggests that all brands can be distilled into words, or usually a single word (see www.onewordequity.com). Quite how this is achieved, presumably involves large TV ad campaigns and glossy magazine layouts. However, the point is words are still of primary importance and value. 

If you believe I am talking nonsense, I set you a challenge: I defy any of my webbed-up tech savvy blog-heads to publish an article of reasonable length in any national newspaper of merit. If successful I will eat my metaphorical hat.  

Reading matters

I have just picked up Required Writing by Philip Larkin. The writing gives you the feeling of running a warm bath in a 5-star hotel at the start of a month's holiday, armed with a cold glass of champagne. Ahhh and exhale. It is almost impossible not to feel inadequate writing in its aftermath. The same is of course true of all his great early 20th century contemporaries, Auden, Betjeman, Eliot, all who could master both poetry and prose with equal ability. Even his old mate Kingsley could knock out a few decent lines of verse when pushed. Larkin's Jill is one of my favourite novels. What is notable about them all is that all were avaricious readers, a not uncommon trait among literary types you would think. But what of today, are we feeding this English literary legacy? The average reading matter today is more likely to be written, much like this blog, by a complete unpaid amateur, without experience or training. Publishing is, as google is keen to point out, as easy as pushing a button. I can't quite decide if this is a good thing or not. Is it better to relax with Philip, or belt out 500 words on any subject you feel the world needs your view on? Indeed, am I guilty of taking your precious time that could otherwise be spent in Philip's warm bath? Which is better for our children? Perhaps you could let me know. Meanwhile, there is just enough time for a chapter or two.    

The random thoughts of a digital adman in a rapidly changing world....

There is a certain crassness about the Financial Times' supplement "How to Spend It" continuing to be supplied free every week. Surely there is no-one better placed to feel the weak pulse of the current financial times and revise their offering accordingly. Perhaps if it were re-titled "How to Earn it in the First Bloody Place" or "How to Cling on to What Little we all Have Left", I might feel more compassionate towards it. The pages are filled with impossibly expensive and unnecessary adornments; watches, yachts, jewellery, flying holidays in Kenya, handbags ("from £2,000") and other assorted bling usually associated with Russians and rap artists. The current edition features a front cover with a besuited rather smug looking banker up to her middle in a swimming pool. Que? What does the FT hope to achieve by persisting with this supplement? Are there perhaps significant on-going lucrative advertising contracts, the terms of which must be maintained? If so, why don't they charge an extra tenner for it? That would be telling them "How To Spend It".