Way back in the early 1990s, before the birth of the internet, people would be forced to get their "visual stimulation" from WH Smiths or some other reputable establishment. The shy among us would slip the magazine of choice into an AutoTrader or The Beano and check to make sure that neither mum nor her friends from the Bridge club were in the vicinity before making the transaction.

I would spend a good 30 minutes outside the newsagent's noting customer frequencies and footfall figures before making my move. I would feel pressured during this "hunter/gatherer" escapade, and an empty shop doesn't remain empty for long. One time, in haste, I grabbed a copy of a "Reader's wives" special, not my magazine of choice, but in the circumstances choice didn't enter the equation.

Having paid the cashier the £2.15, I slipped the copy into my parka and headed home and to my bedroom for a little "me" time.

Now, the "Reader's wives" summer special was a 112-page bonanza that compared the professional photo shoots with photos that photography enthusiasts and hobbyists had taken at home with their polaroid cameras. I had a sneaky suspicion that the photo shoots involved professional models modelling how undergarments looked whilst being worn, and whilst not being worn.

The "at home/amateur" photos were usually roughly shot and rarely involved the subject wearing anything through photo 1 to photo 4. Maggie from Aberdeen would be walking casually in some woodlands on page 42 with Sam from Essex on Page 43 doing her laundry. What intrigued me most was the thought that these were ordinary women, doing ordinary things, but being prepared to "put themselves" out there.

I was quite pleased at having managed to get to page 52 in one sitting, helped on my way by a few stinkers, when I saw something that would not only question the integrity of such publications, but would put me off reading such things for a good couple of days.

At first, it didn't register. But, I actually knew Stephanie from Shropshire. Not only did I know her, but I knew her as Sarah and she was from Pontypridd. How could they lie to their readers? "Stephanie" was an older sister of a school-friend of mine and so I knew her fairly well. In the question of morality, I decided to skip to page 54 and attempt to erase the images I had seen from my memory which, unknown to me at the time, had photographic qualities itself - particularly in darkened rooms.

Of course, I saw Sarah a few times since that episode, and I remained calm and professional throughout. I haven't seen her for a long time, despite my best efforts.