I HAVE never been a massive fan of those thick, glossy women's magazines but every now and again I must admit I do pick the odd one up.

Now, OK, I'm not saying I actually go and fork out £2.50 or whatever price they are these days, but I do usually get to peruse something or other at the hairdressers or at one of my pals houses or if the latest edition of a glossy gets accidentally sent to work.

But I must say that each time I do, I really don't know why. All I get out of it is a smug feeling of immense self satisfaction that I was right not to bother in the first place.

I mean, how many times does any right minded, semi intelligent person need to be told how to put on a perfect coat of mascara a la Kate Moss? And how many different ways are there to that flatter stomach? Really? And as for those ridiculous quizzes with stupid names like "Is your mum a potential psychopath? Try our fun quiz and hide all the axes quick!" Well, no, sorry, surely there are more pressing things in life?

At a pinch I can raise a glimmer of interest in having a quick flick through the fashion pages because at least they alternate between minis and maxis every 10 years.

Then again, on closer inspection it seems most of the minuscule items cost about the same as a three bed terrace in Colne anyway, so there's not much point eyeing anything up. And that's before you add another £1,000 to the pricetag for the plane ride to Milan, because God forbid you might get any of this gear within 20,000 miles of Rossendale. But, anyway, whatever, my point is that 90 per cent of these hefty national mags are irrelevant to me and my life -- and they only ever end up strewn around my coffee table as designer mats.

For example, I have just read an article offering advice on how to escape if you are attacked.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for a bit of girl power and anything that puts a potential rapist in his place gets my vote every time, but I'm afraid this particular piece doesn't tell me anything I don't already know.

Do you need to be told to administer a swift kick right where it hurts when confronted by a sex fiend? Real ground-breaking stuff. Not.

After that they suggest reasoning with your attacker before my favourite gem of information reminding victims to breathe out. They say you should try not to let anyone take you to a second location too.

Like, 'scuse me mate, I can tell by the knife you're waving so ferociously under my chin that you're fairly determined and obviously dead keen on that dark alleyway, but really, can't we just do it here?

And don't think twice about hitching up your skirt, flinging your designer heels into the nearest bush and legging it like Flo Jo in the 100 metre dash either when you're trying to get away. Really? No! I can't believe it.

And I'm sorry to sound flippant about something so horrific but are they for real?

Answers on a postcard please to the These Magazines Have Killed My Braincells competition. If you don't know the answer I think you need serious help and should contact a doctor immediately.