Waxxx is Liverpool’s chronicle of debauchery. From a distance it may look like a respectable broadsheet, but appearances can be deceiving — the magazine is a no-holds-barred tour through the city’s shindigs, tearing through the Red Stripe and picking up a honey of a hangover. Expect to see the faces of revellers you recognise on its photo spreads, and perhaps feel a little hollow at the parties you missed out on. Besides the Bacchanalian element, however, there’s also detailed arts/music coverage and interviews, as well as more personal written pieces, such as a veteran account of living in a rat-infested hovel off Smithdown. But one thing I particularly enjoy about Waxxx is its cover art. When floating through the city’s cafés and bars you really can’t fail to spot the magazine’s arresting presence. Issue One, for instance, featured a man clasping a tape deck to his naked flesh. He didn’t look like he was going to play nice.