An A-Z of magazine life: V…

V is for:  Vicars.  For years, a very popular vicar wrote a weekly column for us.  I can’t even remember what he wrote about, though I’m sure it must have been very religious, but what I do remember is the times he came into the office and his wonderful laugh – one of the fruitiest I have ever heard.

V is also for: Vats of Pimm’s. For reasons lost in an alcoholic haze, one dept seemed to take responsibility for the drinks side of things whenever there was a celebratory magazine get-together in the office. Quite often there would be an enormous vat of Pimm’s balanced on a spare desk, fermenting nicely over several hours, and someone would obligingly chop up the fruit and whatever else to mix in with it. Someone (me) tried to justify it as liquid fruit salad but nobody was fooled.  It was pretty lethal stuff.  We lost count of how many assorted bottles went into the mix but by then we were all far too cheerful to care.

V is also for:  Vintage. Down in the basement of our building were archived copies of all the magazines our company had produced to date and, having been around since 1911, our magazine was in the perfect position to capitalise on the huge trend for anything and everything vintage. It was a labyrinth of windowless rooms down there and people from outside the company often asked if they could research our magazine and others for various projects.  We would ask if they were quite sure, then, when they insisted they knew what they were doing, we would arm them with a special Woman’s Weekly map, torch and compass kit and tell them to follow the cake crumb trails if they were truly stuck.  I think they all came through. I think…


Author: Hampton Caught

The rants and ramblings of an ex Deputy Fiction Editor of Woman's Weekly magazine.

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