Check the date on the screengrab below, good people. Look at the time. It is a snapshot of the exact moment when The Age died.

True, the corpse may not get gooey for some while yet. But in years to come it will be said with sadness, yes, but also certainty: the afternoon of October 26, 2016, was when what had been the best newspaper in the country one short generation before ceased to be.

Take a look at the website landing page:

• The main story is lifted from Crikey and concerns a hair do.
• It features a podcast pitched at renters (also known as “losers”).
• And it’s underwritten by an ad for a spiv finance firm pitching to idiot children yet to discover that there’s a link between income and purchasing power (let alone realise just why they are stuck in the rental market and, given their credit histories, finding it tough).

In short, it’s moronic — and aimed at morons.

Not that long ago the very same paper featured the insights and scents for a story of the likes of Michelle Grattan, Shaun Carney, Paul Austin and Mark Baker. The wit of John Spooner. Lawrence Money. All gone.

And in their place? Well, look above. Look above and note the date. Note the time. The moment The Age died.

Requiescat in pace.