I guess I'd be able to spot the standard responses.
The pappadudes would tell me that these photos equate to big bucks if you can pick up the right exclusive shot.
The magazine editors would tell me that these photos equate to a significant boost in sales if you splash a taster on the cover with a lurid headline and the prospect of Exclusive Celebrity Goss inside.
And the readers?
I guess they'd say the photos made them buy the magazine, or maybe I'd find I'm talking to a Celebrity Goss junkie who buys everything the genre produces, or someone whose limited financial resources restrict them to buying whatever promises the most salacious tawdry tidbits.
Or something.
One thing that I was sure of as I waited for sparrow fart on this particular morning was that it wasn't always this way.
Back around the time the music hall content of Richard Thompson's excellent Thousand Years of Popular Music was originally being performed, photography was in the black cloth over the photographer's head and watch the birdie stage.
The chick who sang Waiting At the Church would, I imagine, have been a saucy sheila of risque or ribald renown who was able to translate a certain stage presence into an ongoing career on the music hall circuit, by vamping outrageously, playing up to the audience as she regales them with the tale of woe from a wronged woman whose suitor has been unable to marry her today because (and I quote) My wife won't let me.