Some days it's all go for CAROLINE FORD. She's a busy secretary for an energetic boss. She often has to work like a beaver on Saturdays as well.
But there's always a good day. Sunday. Then Caroline can relax. Her idea of how to unwind is to play tennis all day or go sailing. We'd get all beat up at tennis or soaked stupid at yachting, but not Caroline.
She is rejuvenated, she says.
That sounds like something that would put us in hospital.
It's neither amazing nor sensational now.
The topless look.
Girls are revelling in freedom from bras and corsets. Bosoms are out, like. But honestly, you don't know where to look at a party, do you? Be terrifying if the craze took on a blase, everyday phase. You know how one gets crammed up in a tube train. What on earth could you say to CAROLINE FORD if you found she had suddenly become your bosom friend on the rush hour Inner Circle line?
"What lovely weather. Miss Er—Um."
"I'm not Miss Er—Um, and would you mind not hanging your umbrella on me?"
"Oh, dreadfully sorry—"
"Now you've dropped something, you silly man."
"Oh, just my eyeballs."
Simply revelling in all that freedom is Caroline.
