I got these two magazines from a junk shop, because that’s what I do. I haven’t looked through them yet, and I need a way to procrastinate, so I figured now was a good time to crack them open.

In the blue corner we have the December 1970 issue of Hers, which looks to be about cleaning and periods and shit, although they do promise me I can sew my own ‘glamorous party tunic’.

In the red corner we have the August 1991 issue of Inside Wrestling. I don’t know much about wrestling, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve one guy riding the other guy round like a horse.

Which of these seminal publications will turn out to be the least shit? I have no idea at the time of writing, so you guys get to experience the joy of ‘save-money features’ and ‘Rick Steamboat’s burning desire’ with me. Reading that last sentence back, I think we have an early front-runner.

Let’s begin!

Hers begins with the letters page. Highlights include: “I got back together with some guy I used to go out with”, “I once won a doll in a raffle”, and this –

Mabel won £30 to spend as she wished in British Home Stores! This is so fucking exciting I think I’m starting to need a wee. But wait, what’s this? Mabel bought slacks? There should be a health warning on this magazine – ‘may cause overexcitement and an attack of the vapours’.

Meanwhile, we have the ‘names makin’ news’ in the world of wrestling. I’ve switched magazines. Hers might have some wrestling articles later on, but they need to give the readers a chance to calm down after the Mabel revelation.

Makin’ news this month are:

A working men’s club compare

A lady that doesn’t deserve a surname

And a man taking part in a ‘hold your breath’ competition

It’s ok, but it’s no Mabel.

Next in Hers we have a story called WE MADE OUR OWN RULES!

Quote of note:

What was the answer? How did it shock her? I can’t be arsed to read the whole story, so I’m going to go with he asked her to show him her ankle.

This picture in Inside Wrestling got my attention –

At first I thought the guy was swinging the other guy round by his leg, like they do in cartoons. But he’s not even holding onto his leg. He just has the guy’s shoe stuck to his hand. That’s some upper body strength right there.

We also have a ‘Where are they now?’ page:

Nick Bockwinkel left to find his trousers, Brother Love left to be in Penn and Teller, Angelo Savoldi presumably left to replace Val Doonican on TV, and Boris Zukhov went to Eternia and teamed up with He-Man.

I think I’ve recovered enough to have another look at Hers. Oh holy fuck, now you can knit his ‘n’ hers matching jumpers! Goddamnit Hers, are you trying to give me a heart attack?

Plan:

1. Knit these jumpers for me and the mister

2. Nag him into putting his on

3. Laugh at him

Next we have one of the worst crosswords I’ve ever seen, attempted by the previous owner, who is shit at crosswords:

All the clues are supposed to be based on Christmas. What has rope got to do with Christmas? That’s a tenuous link at best. 7 across is supposed to be ‘ebbs’, as there’s no such fucking word as ‘ebbe’. What has ‘ebbs’ got to do with Christmas?

Let’s have a break from the insanity, and get back to wrestling.

Free poster! Of this guy:

I’m sure he’s related to Derek Acorah. I might put this up, it would go well in our hallway (don’t ask) –

Next up we have Rick Steamboat’s desire to change his wimpy image.

I really wouldn’t worry, the dude can fly.

Want to knit this, then send your androgynous children out wearing nothing else?

If knitting’s not your thing, how about making this load of weird food? Why does all food in the 70s look so shit? We have a 1970s cookbook and all the pictures are like this – like everything’s been cooked by someone who hasn’t quite washed their hands properly, and then been sitting out for three days. It probably has. Are those… eggs with ginger biscuits?

Wrestling is much safer.

These guys. I think I know these guys. I think one of them sold me a washing machine, and the other one stands outside Home Bargains on a Saturday.

I don’t know what these guys are looking at. They look simultaneously surprised and disgusted, so I’m going to go with BBC regional newsreader Peter Levy smacking the arse of a tramp.

There’s just time for a thinly veiled specialist porn ad:

And we’ll close with Hers, and this advert for instant curtains.

I think we know who the winner is here. It certainly isn’t me.