A cynical friend pointed out that this might have more to do with the English propensity to constipation than our love of words, but I am not convinced. It is often said that the English are obsessed with their bowels, and judging by the contents of people's bathroom cabinets (yes, I always snoop - don't you?) and of chemists' shelves, we do indeed seem to use more than our fair share of constipation and diarrhoea remedies, suggesting a constant struggle to maintain some elusive ideal state of regularity and solidity. But are we more obsessed than the Germans? We do not, as they do, construct our lavatory-bowls with a little shelf for the anxious inspection or smug contemplation of our faeces (at least I assume that's what those shelves are for: they seem to have no other discernible purpose). In fact, our bogside-reading customs indicate a degree of embarrassment about the whole process: we would rather distract ourselves with words than focus too intently (Germanically? anally?) on the products of our bowels. But maybe this is just more English hypocrisy.
The unwritten rules of bogside reading state that the books and magazines in question should be of a relatively unserious nature - humour, books of quotations, collections of letters or diaries, odd or obscure reference books, old magazines; anything that can be dipped into casually, rather than heavy tomes requiring sustained concentration.
Bogside reading, like pretty much everything else in an English home, is a useful class-indicator:
* Working-class bogside reading tends to be mostly humorous, light entertainment or sports-related - books of jokes, cartoons, maybe the occasional puzzle-book or quiz-book, and perhaps a few glossy-gossip or sports magazines. You will also sometimes find magazines about hobbies and interests, such as motorcycles, music or skateboarding.
* Lower-middles and middle-middles are not so keen on bogside reading: they may well take a book or newspaper into the loo with them, but do not like to advertise this habit by having a permanent bogside collection, which they think might look vulgar. Females of these classes may be reluctant to admit to reading on the loo at all.
* Upper-middles are generally much less prudish about such things, and often have mini-libraries in their loos. Some upper-middle bogside collections are a bit pretentious, with books and magazines that appear to have been selected to impress, rather than to entertain,51 but many are genuinely eclectic, and so amusing that guests often get engrossed in them and have to be shouted at to come to the dinner table.
* Upper-class bogside reading is usually closer to working-class tastes, consisting mainly of sport and humour, although the sporting magazines are more likely to be of the hunting/shooting/ fishing sort than, say, football. Some upper-class bogside libraries include fascinating old children's books, and ancient, crumbling copies of Horse and Hound or Country Life, in which you might come across the 1950s engagement-portrait of the lady of the house.
Newspaper Rules
When I say, in support of my claims about the English love of words, that over 80 per cent of us read a national daily newspaper52, some of those unfamiliar with English culture may mistakenly imagine a nation of super-literate highbrows, engrossed in the solemn analyses of politics and current affairs in the pages of The Times, the Guardian or another big, serious-looking paper. In fact, although we have four of them to choose from, only about 16 per cent of us read the so-called 'quality' national daily papers.
These are also known as 'broadsheets', because of their large format. I could never understand why these papers were such an awkward, unwieldy size, until I started watching English commuters reading them on trains, and realized that readability and manoeuvrability were not the point: the point is clearly to have a newspaper large enough to hide behind. The English broadsheet is a formidable example of what psychologists call a 'barrier signal' - in this case more like a 'fortress signal'. Not only can one conceal oneself completely behind its outsize, outstretched pages - effectively prohibiting any form of interaction with other humans, and successfully maintaining the comforting illusion that they do not exist - but one is enclosed, cocooned, in a solid wall of words. How very English.
Broadsheets also serve, to some extent, as signals of political affiliation. Both The Times and the Daily Telegraph are somewhat to the right of centre - although the Telegraph, also known as the Torygraph, is regarded as more right-wing than The Times. The Independent and the Guardian balance things out neatly by being somewhat to the left of centre - again with one, the Guardian, being seen as slightly more left-wing than the other. The term 'Guardian-reader' is often used as shorthand for a woolly, lefty, politically correct, knit-your-own-tofu sort of person. This is England, though, so none of these political positions is in any way extreme; indeed, the differences may be hard to discern unless you are English and familiar with all the subtle nuances. The English do not like extremism, in politics or any other sphere: apart from anything else, political extremists and fanatics, whether on the right or the left, invariably break the all-important English humour rules, particularly the Importance of Not Being Earnest rule. Among their many other sins, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini and Franco were not noted for their use of the understatement. No such totalitarian leaders would ever stand a chance in England - even leaving aside their ethical shortcomings, they would be rejected immediately for taking themselves too seriously. George Orwell, for once, was wrong: 1984 would be unlikely to happen in England; our response to Big Brother (the original, not the television programme) would be 'Oh, come off it!'
Tabloids, otherwise known as the 'popular' press, are smaller (although still large enough to conceal one's head and shoulders) and somewhat less challenging, both intellectually and physically. The people who read the broadsheets occasionally lower their printed barrier-signals to look down their noses at those who read the tabloids. When broadsheet readers complain about the awfulness of 'the press', which they do constantly, they usually mean the tabloids.
A MORI survey found that more people are 'dissatisfied' than 'satisfied' with our national press, but the margin was quite small, and, as the researchers pointed out, 'filled with an irony'. The balance against the press was tipped by broadsheet readers (the minority), who are much more likely to say they are 'dissatisfied' with our national press than tabloid readers (the majority). Broadsheet readers are unlikely to be dissatisfied with the papers they actually buy themselves, say the MORI researchers, so they are presumably expressing dissatisfaction with newspapers they do not read. The press as a whole is condemned by 'people who don't actually read what they take exception to!' Fair point. The English love to complain, and the English educated classes do have a tendency to complain noisily about matters of which they have little or no knowledge. But I would hazard a guess that the broadsheet readers are in fact quite likely to be expressing dissatisfaction with the papers they do read, as well as the ones they don't. Just because the English buy something, it doesn't follow that we actually like it, or are even 'satisfied' with it, and it certainly doesn't mean we won't moan and complain about it. Given an opportunity for a pointless whinge - such as a clipboard-toting MORI researcher showing interest in our opinions - we will complain about pretty much anything.
As a paid-up member of the broadsheet-reading classes, I will probably be regarded as a traitor for saying anything nice about the tabloids, but I think that in some respects they are unfairly maligned. Yes, I get fed up with their sensationalism and scare-mongering, but the so-called 'quality' Press is often just as guilty of these sins. We have no less than eight main national daily papers - four tabloids, four broadsheets - in cut-throat competition for a relatively small market, and all of them sometimes feel obliged to mislead or exaggerate in their efforts to attract our attention. But leaving the moral issues to one side, the quality of the writing on both broadsheets and tabloids is generally excellent. There is a difference in style between the 'popular' and the 'quality' press, but the skill of the writers is equally outstanding. This is not surprising, as they are often the same writers: journalists move back and forth between tabloids and broadsheets, or even write regularly for both.