The commuter's pleasures are few. Occasionally an interesting conversation with a stranger. Occasionally an orange sunset sneaking through the trackside trees on the journey home. But mostly it is a study in the layers of dullness. It's no wonder then that whole carriages of grey men stare into their Blackberries the entire length of the workward journey to avoid, one suspects, having to look up and face a sea of unwanted reflections in the mirror.
So, thank heavens for the Evening Standard. For generations a familiar source of end-of-day news and b-grade gossip. Unlike all the other London dailies (some newsier, some gossipier) the Standard has a genuine point of difference beyond its editorial slant; it prints during the day, not over night. It is precisely this difference in timing which allows it to so regularly scoop the next morning's dailies and provide commuters with a first crack at the big story of the day.
Above and beyond, it has decent sports writers, a readable TV guide for that night and a small crossword puzzle which perfectly strikes the balance between too easy and can't-be-arsed.
Recently, however, the Evening Standard became the 'Free'vening Standard, joining the ranks of Metro, the London Paper and various other forms of waste paper jamming up the city's rubbish bins.
The thinking behind the shift in business model is not hard to understand. Free equals more readers. More readers equals higher circulation. Higher circulation equals more expensive advertising rates. Which equals more profit.
Considering the Standard was well on its way to bankruptcy one can't really blame the new owners for trying something fairly radical. However, in their efforts to fatten the goose I wonder if they aren't sewing the seeds of its arterial clogging and inevitable (and now far less honourable) death.
The first change I noticed in a post paid-for Evening Standard world was that they're not where they used to be. In the case of Marylebone Station, the newsagent's. Why? Because the newsagent was getting tired of the entrance to his shop being jammed up by the hordes of people drawn to 'free stuff'. The second was you can never get one anymore! If you take the train home any time past 7pm the vendors are all packed up and gone. Sold out - or whatever the free equivalent of sold out is. Never mind the late-working long time customer.
In truth, that last point is a lie. You can get them past 7pm...you must just be willing to pick one up off the floor or out of a bin because that's where so many of them wind up.
Which brings us to the bigger, more serious consideration in all this...what role does paying for something have in raising it's perceived value?
To my mind it plays a very big role. When something is free it is, by definition, of no value. I don't ever remember garbage-picking Evening Standards when they cost 50p. No, you read it, you held onto it, you finished it at home. And beyond just a very evident willingness to toss Evening Standards aside, has this perceived lack of value not also carried over to the ideas and opinions contained within? I suspect it has. Who dreams of writing for a paper that gives it opinions away free of charge? Who trusts or values the content of a paper that is trying to appeal to everyone? Are its notions balanced and fair or are they of whichever sort will attract the most readers, however fleeting those readers may be?
In a period of seemingly constant change one comes to depend on the comfort of small, familiar things. A friendly pub, a local market and, for me, an Evening Standard...that I pay for.
Oh...and one with a glossy magazine on Friday, too. My wife will never forgive them that one.
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