Our Net Page

AP52 to AP62

As the original listing in Contents had it, "We're told this is the first of a new series."

A straightforward publisher-imposed plug for the company's then-emerging online arm (which pioneered the dotcom form by hoovering up vast quantities of money, time and people-y limbs to enduring financial effect) and associated site-review mag Net Directory, we nevertheless blew it YET AGAIN with Our Net Page by expending tons of precious effort trying to make it decent.

The novelty of THNTRNTeiee hadn't yet worn off (AP was connected to the MagicGlitterDome of DoorToDoorEncyclopaediae by a single wire attached to JD's (Bang! Cam's) office Mac) so we spent LITERALLY HOURS finding pages we liked, usually about dead people or cartoons, no matter HOW WOEBEGONELY Jonathan (Bang! Cam) asked for his computer back. Then, rather than endorse the tie-in book as ordered we insisted on READING THE ENTIRE EDITION before presenting an opinion (eg, "Some of it's quite good, some of it's okay and some of it's revoltingly miserable - just like the real thing!"). Then, COMPOUNDING OUR ERROR, we revolved the aceness valve of our worthwhileness hydrant and wrote up the page as a bunch of guest-presented jokes instead of a list then designed it with attractive shades.

Correctly punishing our idiocy, the company's online arm instituted an AMIGA POWER section which was NOTHING WHATEVER TO DO WITH US in ANY TINIEST WAY, reprinting some old reviews (awkwardly split up over several pages in order to inflate the readership figures for advertising purposes, obv), adding some hideous transitional text with lots of exclamation marks and generally presenting us to the world as a bunch of porridgey dimwits.*

Our Net Page became Our Half a Net Page with AP58 because of pressing non-space, then was dropped after AP62 when we noticed the AMIGA POWER section of the company's online arm had disappeared, almost certainly because of a printer-related mishap. Strictly speaking the page was never officially cancelled, but we guessed the publishers were too busy running around and holding up accountants' reports and screaming in each other's whitened faces to despatch a formal notification.