There’s nothing that decorates a window better than an indoor bloom of exotic colour. If you don’t go in for tropicana flora, however, but you do just happen to be having NICKI STEVENS to tea, you’ve got the perfect window dressing. A fascinating blue-eyed blonde, Nicki comes from Newcastle, lives in London and measures 37-23-37.
Only a few months ago CAROLE MARSDEN was a nurse, brisk, bright and beautiful.
It was always dreamy to have her ask, “How’s your temperature?’’
And it was always on the cards that the man with the broken leg would answer. “I think it’s gone over the top.’’
Alas, the patients woke up one day to find those sweet confrontations with Nurse Marsden were over, for Nurse Marsden had left to become a model.
Carole transferred from Yorkshire to London, where she now lives and works. For escapism, she turns to music, both pop and classical. She’s also very fond of animals and will often take a neighbour’s dog for a walk. One day when she’s rich and famous she’s going to buy a penthouse and keep the loveliest little doggie she can find.
Say a nice hello to a nice girl—AMANDA CHRISTIAN. Amanda is a honey blonde with big blue eyes and it doesn’t take her any time at all to make men goggle—she’s appeared in colour in BBC 2 documentaries. Ten seconds of Amanda in gorgeous colour and we’re all goggling. She's also a freelance showroom fashion model.
You might think this means LESLEY LOVELL is dead keen on watching heavyweights commit mayhem.
Not so. It only means that Lesley’s favourite pet is not Billy Walker but her large Boxer dog. How that Siamese cat crept into the picture we don't know. Where’s Bodger the Boxer?
Miserable truth though it is we have to confess Bodger is allergic to cats. They give him the heebie-jeebies. But it doesn’t affect Lesley’s fondness for his funny face. Lesley, by the way, does display work, lives in Middlesex, is a tall blonde with lovely legs and has trim, streamlined vitalistics of 35"-22"-36".
After a hard day at the office MARGARET CICEK likes to put her feet up. So, does Alfie Corkwright, he works in an iron foundry and he comes home absolutely beat-up by all those red-hot sparks.
Margaret comes home whacked out by the terrific tempo of electric typewriters.
It’s the same the whole world over.
Evenings are for putting your feet up, especially if you commute and the journey is a fight for survival.
No, please don't make me laugh, said SUSAN HOWARD, I get all giggly and it won't go away.
I'm learning Esperanto, you see, and you need to be terribly serious about it and concentrate like a girl sticking on her false eyelashes for her most important date.
And then my dad comes along and says something comical and I giggle all over my books and the pages blow apart. He says I ought to get a job as assistant to a TV funny man, he says I’d be just right for that.
I hope you don't mind girls who giggle a lot, do you? Oh, thank you. You're a very sweet photographer. Oh, no, don't start making funny faces or I'll get all hysterical.
I’m sorry, I just thought you were, I didn't realise your face was always like that.
This is a wild nature story
Well then, dead in the middle of the jungle was an Edwardian town house of three storeys. All around it was concrete. It was about half-a-mile from Chelsea and you couldn't see the rest of London for all the bricks. In the charming bedsit on the top floor was an exotic orchid., blooming away despite the jungle.
You could have swiped us semi-conscious with a gardenia window-box when we met the orchid. She was SALLY PETERS. She had never been in a jungle before, she had come from a quiet country town to work as a secretary in London. The hoots of the taxis were like the roars of lions, but Sally was blooming all the same. Well, she had coped with whistling wolves for years, so roaring lions were no problem.
"I could eat them for breakfast," she said.
The first lion-eating orchid of all time.
For a premium you’ll think is quite ridiculous (said the insurance man) you can be covered for any kind of personal accident. Every day people fall off ladders, cartwheel down fire escapes, walk into walls—
Yes, yes, that's all very well said HELEN DU BOIS but how ridiculous is quite ridiculous? I have quite a job to keep up with the cost of living as it is. Being a shorthand-typist does not exactly cover me for tripping off to Davos in the winter and Cannes in the summer, and I can't even buy all the clothes I'd like. So how I can afford more insurance, however ridiculous the premium is, I really don't know.
Oh, my dear young lady, I can assure you it would scarcely raise a rattle in your purse. And what you must consider is not whether you can afford it but whether you can’t—
I've already considered that. What I’m considering now is how often I fall off ladders, tumble down fire escapes and walk into walls. Actually, it was very intriguing the other day. The most heavenly man suddenly appeared as I left the boutique and I was so invigorated by his obviously magnetic vitality that I walked straight into him. We parted the best of friends and he sent round a bunch of flowers. I don’t need to be insured against that. Goodbye, Mr. Pinecrust.
Ah, said FIFI MARTINE, Paris model, as she modelled the latest ensemble in lingerie a la femme, it is fine for the designers who wish to make the big impact, but what will Henri think?
Henri, of course, is the average Frenchman, of whom the average French girl is passingly fond. They speak the same language for a start.
The designers, said Fifi, say this is what every fashion-conscious Frenchwoman will be wearing at St. Tropez. Ah, it is a point of view most formidable, but it is as well such a fashion is not for the eye because it is so long and I do not think Henri will regard it with the same pleasure as he regards the bikini, no?
Well, you can't deprive any girl of her own opinion and call yourself a democrat. No doubt Fifi suspects the French designers are confused and a little frustrated at the moment, for temporarily they have lost the initiative in the matter of fashion. They don't know whether to ignore Mary Quant or catch up with her. So naturally models like Fifi are becoming confused too. It must be Henri's move.
Come here, faceache.
I beg your pardon'!
You heard. Listen, cocky, I saw you.
I daresay you did. I ain't the invisible man.
You will be if I catch you at it again. You been looking at my girl. Yeah, I was thinking what a nice bracelet she was wearing. I’d like to get one just like that for my mother. What's her name, by the way? I’d like to introduce myself.
Oh, you would, would you? Why?
Because I'm six feet one and you're only five feet four. Any other questions? No, none. Sorry I called you faceache. Now I know you better I can see I shouldn't have. If you’d really like to meet her then her name's ELIZABETH GALLACHER and she’s extremely nice to know. And see that guy who’s just bought her a drink? He’s six feet three, he’s her brother, and he’s nice to know too. Come on over.
Pardon me, I got a train to catch, I gotta be in the Isle of Man by midnight.
If you often have wistful dreams about someone tender, affectionate and absolutely ravishing who would make you blissfully happy without having to go off to a desert island, you're probably on an all-male expedition to the icy wastes of Greenland.
One girl you'll almost certainly dream about as soon as you see these pics of her is PENNY LEIGH.
She's ever so ravishing.
She likes riding, swimming and motorbikes. She can ride a motorbike like fun. Want to go pillion with her?
If so, hang on blissfully or you'll fall off.
Most of you know that adaptability and housewifery go hand-in-hand. Take the case of MAUREEN BEECH, for instance. Maureen not only runs a home, she is also a fashion model and the holder of the title " Miss Brighton and Hove Albion 1965.” Besides adaptability, how's that for getting around?
Year of origin 1945.
That was the year when we all stopped throwing hot lead and sizzling iron at each other and the sexy but militant girls in the Army, Navy and Air Force went happily back to civvy street to forget their militancy and rehabilitate their wriggles.
It was also the year when lovely LISA SCOTT was born. It was a vintage year for babies both beautiful and cuddly. When Charley Grapevine was born the top fell off a mountain somewhere and in the Falkland Islands it rained for six months solid. Charley’s year was non-vintage.
Latterly a secretary, Lisa’s current ambition is to be a successful model, and she’s got a yen for eating candy or washing whiter than white in TV commercials. Well, if we have to have all those soap flakes, let’s have them wrapped around Lisa.
Washing-machines and soap powders are purely utilitarian.
But washing-machines and soap powders and Lisa are delightful. “Mum, come and turn the telly off—dad's temperature’s gone up again.”
If you want to keep in touch with the fascinating world of the future, take a look at future-minded DEIRDRE VASCOE.
Deirdre reckons she's just masterminded the simplistic everyday outfit of the future. There'll be no such things as cold temperatures and wet rain to worry about, and girls will just wear boots, futuristic tights and what you might call half a pair of knickers.
Anyone for Mars?
Having fought her way home from the office, AMANDA CASE thought she'd take a bath instead of a shower, then sit down refreshed to chicken and asparagus pie.
She ran the bath and was quite unready for what happened next.
She fell in.
She wasn't at all undressed for it.
Just a few buttons undone. Then what?
“I was wet all over," said Amanda, and so was everything else.”
