Working in publishing is a little disconcerting. Having been employed by a magazine (not literally) for over three years now, most of the cosy conceptions I had about magazines, books, television and the rest of the media have been dashed. It's like that bit in the Wizard of Oz – one of the least kiddy-friendly kids films the word has ever seen – when you get to peek behind the screens and see the grand wizard for what he is: a small, timid man.

You see, part of us is disappointed; there's an in-built sub-routine in our minds that likes to be fooled and likes to be subservient to an authority figure which appears to be stronger, wiser and less doubting than us, be that a political leader or Cosmopolitan. My two-bit theory is that that's one of the reasons we still have a monarchy in this country; when we think of the Queen, our thoughts are less about the individual and more about the office.

Back to publishing, I fancy; all this political talk is unnerving here. My wider point about shibboleths as applies to publishing is that I'm saddened that I can now see the people and structures behind some of the titles I once held so dear. I know something of how magazines fill pages, and can glance at a spread in Empire and have an inkling of what was going through the mind of the editor, commissioning editor and writer as it was being put together. 'Oh dear, that actor wasn't very forthcoming in that interview, so we'll have to demote the interview and compile a half-page trivia box-out: it goes to press this afternoon.' Or 'Shit, we've sold more ads and have to cut what was a five-page feature down to three; let's try to cram it all in,' say.

My point is that I now think as much about the people behind the brand as the brand itself. Which is, of course, a nice, savvy position to be in, and one which makes me less susceptible to marketing spin. But, frankly, I enjoy being a little deluded. A comforting white lie can be more pleasant than a truth.

But my heart does go out to the poor bastard who fucked up with the release of the DVD pictured above. I forget now what film it is, but I can picture only too well the plummeting feeling in the stomach of one person when he or she suddenly realises that they've send a disc to duplication with a flaw. The stickers will, of course, help, and it's good that they caught it in time, but I feel for that sorry soul who ballsed up in the first place.

In other news, we've had a relaxing weekend, but I got less of the work done that I'd like. Up early tomorrow morning, I suspect. Also, the young lady has a week off work for the October holidays. She deserves every second.