All Good Things Must Come To An End.

In these days of recession and swift change as fast as the wind itself, all good things must come to an unfortunate, if not unavoidable , end. This is unfortunately the case with one of the free magazines I discovered only a few months back, +1.

I picked it up today from the usual over priced boutique selling tat on Bold Street, (Which one? My left lobe.) and was flicking through it amiably enough, soaking up the content into my extremely spongy frontal lobe when I came upon the last page, entitled, curiously, Obituary. The word obituary is an everyday buzz phrase when you're a morbid undertaker, or classifieds editor, but to this Monsieur it sends a signal so spine chilling I had just cause to take a sip of my double strength mocha post haste. Problem was, the obituary was of a selfish nature. You know people choose to die just at the wrong moment, like in the middle of sex, or whilst tied to a lamp post in Newcastle, well +1 has decide to die for , quote, adult reasons.

And, we're not talking auto erotic asphyxiation here, either. We're talking post economic heaving. That meaning, lack of revenue to maintain publication. You know what, fuck this fucking economy! What the hell am I supposed to read over my mocha now, huh? Tell you, if there's any reason to string a banker up to a lamp post and prod him with blunt metal objects, this is one. OK, I've still got Vice to furtively perv through, but that's the point. See, it's damn hard to find a nice publication, worthy of thine own intelligent eyes these days, and +1 was as close to that as is possible in the days of Big Brother, X Factor and other shows slowly sapping away the already depleted intelligence quotient of the nations bus stop fucking youth.

Mesieurs et Madames, I am saddened. But still the web version lives on, even if it's not half as satisfying as clutching the magazine and sniffing it's freshly printed smell in the summers breeze.

RIP +1 print edition. You will be missed.

Le Mnsr

THE EVER INCREASING MOUND OF LE MONSIEUR.

The ever increasing mound of free papers on my desk is threatening to either topple over and bury me like the rubble from an earthquake or bend desk irreparably into a weird shape. Solutions available? Well, as Confucius once said, he who tidies his desk will discover wisdom. (Very homocentric guy was Confucius...) But concerning the wisdom bit, he was right on the ball. See, there are wisdoms and wits just waiting to be stirred into brain stimulating activity in my gigantic pile, and despite my love for cleaning out, developed in small spaces in Tokyo where keeping tidy was de riguere, I haven't been able to bring my self to get rid of the legions of magazines in my apartment yet. In fact, I seem to be a bit of a prisoner to them!

My Stockholm syndrome like condition has me nodding in agreement as I read them, and occasionally laughing like a paralytic maniac at three am in Liverpool on Friday night on occasion! What kind of sweet trap have I let myself fall into so willingly? See, I'm a sucker for free things, and when I spotted a rather innocent looking magazine in Size the other day, giving me eyes like a desperate charity fund raiser, I just had to say "Yes! I will help the free magazine community by delving into the new issue of the new magazine Rader! Yay!" Well, I didn't really say that, I just picked it up, raised an eyebrow and slipped in into my bag to be read at a later minute. And, what a read it was. More of a look really, as it was big on imagery and somewhat more minimalistic with the actual words.

But any magazine that recommends you to visit Tokyo by virtue of the fact that there are many virgin otaku guys in Akihabara where fresh blood can be obtained by virtue of their, erm, virtue is definitely a class act! Heck, I'd rather have a blood donation from a mangafied virgin guy than some Shibuya backstreets girl who's had half the Crews in the area already, probably leaving them distinctly browner in the process! Of course, there are other reasons to visit Tokyo besides that, maybe there are some of you who prefer the Shibuya backstreets girls with more fake tan on than Jordan on a bad day to the otaku strewn wastelands of Akihabara. Personally, I'd prefer to go to Harajuku and try on some of the more bizarre items of couture, if I don't have to under go surgery to even be able to consider the putting on of these "kawaii" garments. But, that's just me. Le Monsieur is just of himself, after all.

But, in all seriousness, Rader has the snap, brightness and originality of concept that makes the best magazines what they are. Sure, they could have done with a translator with a bit less American in their brain, but that's forgivable for now. Afterall, it's not often one finds a Japanese free paper in a Liverpool boutique. Curiosity did indeed bite me in the right place, instead the orifice it usually nips into submission.

Le Monsieur