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This week’s ±±¾©Èü³µpk10 Letters page has a plaintive missive from Lionel

Knight of Court Burkitt asking if he is the only person being bombarded

with free copies of Punch. Or maybe he’s complaining, I’m not sure

which.

He can relax. He is not alone. I too have found myself on the receiving

end of several free copies, courtesy, I believe, of NatWest Access. But

now, according to my wife, who has ruthlessly disposed of the mailshots,

Access is turning tough and insisting that I subscribe without delay. I

dare say that this is the sort of tactic that will have Knight up in

arms, which is a bit harsh since it’s no more than any red-blooded

agency new-business director would be prepared to do in pursuit of a

client.

As far as I can see it is a perfectly sensible launch tactic, and when

you add on the free use of the Harrods card members list, a benefit (the

only one, some would say) of being owned by the Al Fayeds, it gives the

magazine a pretty solid base from which to start. Indeed, if you looked

at it just in terms of an ad sales pitch, the ability to deliver the

Harrods shoppers on its own would be a pretty compelling reason to buy

into the magazine. Now it is obviously grossly oversimplifying matters

to describe Punch as Harrods’ house magazine, but in this sense there is

a sort of parallel between Punch and Sainsbury’s the Magazine, and no

doubt some of Harrods’ suppliers, such as Daks in the last issue but

one, will see it so.

Obviously, the ability to deliver an audience (however valuable) is not

the only criterion on which to judge a magazine and, at the end of the

day, it is the content that makes the difference.

In this respect, Punch’s biggest problem is its history. The new version

isn’t, as Cilla Black would say, ‘ a lorra lorra laffs’, and nor ought

it to be, even though its heritage (and the launch advertising campaign)

point it in that direction. In fact, as far as I can see, it’s much more

like the Spectator than the old-style Punch, except with less politics

and more colour (literally, not figuratively). And just as the Spectator

has eventually flourished as a millionaire’s hobby, so Punch may be

better off with the Al Fayeds than with, let’s put it this way, a more

conventional publishing company. Similarly, in tone, feel and its

evocation of an era - the late 70s, I think - there are other parallels

with the Spectator, a magazine I greatly admire. The writing isn’t as

good yet, a point the critics have highlighted, but it’s getting better.

The danger is that there isn’t room for two such weekly magazines

(three, if you add the revived New Statesman) in the so-called quality

writing sector. I’m not so sure. The sports and men’s magazine sectors

have thrived as new titles enter, so why not this one too?

By the way, in case you are wondering, I’ve never stayed in the Ritz in

Paris, I don’t know Ian Greer, and my financial dealings with the Al

Fayeds are strictly one-sided (I pay them). But I wouldn’t mind a free

sub.