In a rare example of my knowing what actually *is* good taste I have never bought the Sun. My mum used to buy it and I wouldn’t even read it. This was many years before Hillsborough and phone hacking but when those events happened I was coloured… unsurprised.

I could never get on with the Guardian in my youth, all a bit shouty socialist in my (then) very fucking far from humble opinion. Weirdly (or not) I am more comfortable with it these days. Maybe I’m just happier that it is editing out the spelling mistakes more effectively.

So, my paper of choice was the Independent. Brought about with Andreas Whittam-Smith at the helm, it was a great read. It had a balance of opinions, not all of them ones I agreed with by a very long chalk but ones that I could read and get an understanding of the other point of view. It challenged the establishment in a proper way, it held people and itself to account. Plus, it had a terrific sports section. Martin Johnson on cricket (and on checking I see he’s back there again! Well that’s cool…) until he buggered off to the Telegraph. Then Derek Pringle who spoke from experience and wrote really well. Anyway, I liked that it educated me and broadened my outlook on subjects old and new.

Then, in the early naughties, like all newsprint with a shrinking readership, it felt compelled to try new stuff out in a desperate attempt to please everybody. By this time AW-S was long gone, the marketeers were let loose and a distinctly London-centric air was beginning to permeate the paper. Similarly, my outlook on life was changing in fairly dramatic ways. I had been homeless, I was developing a very focused (for me!) social conscience. I would read the Indy when I had a chance and so much of what they were writing about, as well as *how* they were writing about it, was getting further and further away from the reality of life as I saw it. It struck me that the paper had become an echo chamber for the privileged class of any stripe. Old money, new money, old establishment, new… You were guaranteed a platform in the paper if you added cachet to the paper because of your background.

Bono was regally appointed visiting editor to add a certain edginess to the social voice of the paper. The effect was to inspire nausea in me for one and I am pretty sure I wasn’t alone.

So it’s safe to say I fell out of love with the paper. Like all spurned friends I would see it occasionally and take a look to see if things had changed and, with a sad shake of my head, realise that, if anything, it had worsened.

To confirm this I present today’s article by Grace Dent that should be called My Posh Mates. This is precisely why I don’t buy it anymore…

Having said that, as I write this here blog a bit more I shall refer to examples from the Indy (good and bad) as I go. (And before you ask, I’ll be looking online!)