At the Motor Show GILDA SHERWIN may show you the best points of the latest autos. But think about the wife waiting anxiously at home for news of what model has caught your eye this year, and whether you are going to trade the old one in.
Bristol fashion means tip-top and shipshape, which is easily interpreted by a sailor but might need clarifying for the benefit of landlubbers.
For the benefit of landlubbers, then, it means spanking.
First-class Shining bright. The tops.
Bristol girl CHRISTINE DOVEY is all of that.
She's a shorthand- typist, has fashion-conscious statistics of 36-23-35. with ambitions to work on the catwalk.
She loves pop and discotheques and fast cars.
There are lots of tip-top, shipshape girls like Christine in Bristol, which is why the fellers there always look so pleased with things.
There are dull days and bright days, there are days when idiots run into the back of your car and days when you bump into beautiful girls like DAWN GRAYSON. That’s a lucky day all right all right.
Going around the Continental countries and touring all over Britain, blonde CAROL HANS just makes for any cameraman's dream, carolling along in leggy style.
Well, she can sing a bit, you know. She sings as she walks. She's been all over everywhere, singing all the way.
She's so easy on the ear and she's magical on the eye. It comes from being a lovely baby and growing up into a lovely girl. There are people who can't find anything right with the world.
They're nutheads.
Winner of beauty contests is JOY HARRIS, and an unrivalled joy to behold in her bikini.
We'd have photographed her in it if she'd had it with her.
What happened to it, then?
Well, it was like this. Joy hung it out to dry and a wind blew up and carried it away, both top and bottom. It landed at the feet of a young man emerging from a chemist's shop with headache pills. He'd had a headache ever since his last disagreement with his girlfriend Rosie. Rosie had used a croquet mallet. He thought the bikini was a gift from the gods and that Rosie would be enchanted with it. But it was an itsy-bitsy bikini and Rosie was by no means an itsy-bitsy girl, and all the time she was in it she kept falling out of it. It was ever so embarrassing.
To stay in it and to look unrivalled, a girl needs the same vitalistics as Joy. 36-23-36.
So, said KIM FOSTER when her bubble car gave out adjacent to a secluded glade, because it could have happened halfway round Piccadilly Circus.
If a beautiful girl like Kim has to take an enforced rest, Piccadilly Circus is just not the place. But this is.
Kim’s a showgirl, and in the showgirl tradition has the longest and shapeliest legs, as well as beautiful blue eyes.
As soon as Kim settled down to get her knees brown, however, the glade suddenly wasn’t so secluded any more. An ice-cream man came up and tried to sell her a lolly, and a guy driving a furniture van stopped to ask her the time.
The seniors and prefects from the nearby college came out early from college and wouldn’t go home to tea. A young man on a bicycle offered her a meat sandwich and an old man on a horse offered her a lift. It’s fun being young and beautiful.
Everything was lovely and sunny and calm. LILI REUTER was lovely and sunny and calm herself.
Then the tide came in. Fast and sneaky.
Splash.
Talk about wet. Dress, stockings and legs. Lili muttered French words she never realised she knew, especially as she's a Bavarian. Still, it was a French tide somewhere near St. Malo and it made her so wet that Lili sat resignedly down in it. She turned into a lovely young soak, like. Wet all over she was in the end. French blokes ventured near, asking her if she needed a towel, and Lili threw wet sand at them.
Larky it was.
They can work themselves into frenzies trying to wrap the dollies in maxi-skirts, but they won’t get any help from us.
Nor from JACKI OWEN, except in the line of duty.
Jacki is a fashion model and all right, maybe she does have to glide down the catwalk all covered up in a maxi, but she hasn’t bought one for herself yet.
Perhaps, says Jacki, it’s all right for the skinny ones who look better with their legs covered up, but I’m not skinny and I think I’ve got rather nice legs, don’t you?
Divine is a better word.
Thank you. Well, then, says Jackie, what would you do?
We’d keep making life a lovely eyeful for our fellow-men.
Oh, go on, says Jackie, I’m not as inspiring as that.
You are to us, you gorgeous thing.
Okay, so you like your girlfriend to be quiet, dreamy and aesthetic, so that she can earn a mountain of lolly as a professor of philosophy. Then when you get married you can stay at home with your feet up. Sounds just like being dead.
Ever thought about clueing up with a swinger, have you? The difference it can make to your life is staggering. Suddenly you're living, you've got a go-go girl and all is joyful music and cool discotheques.
JOY BAMFORTH of Yorkshire is a go-go girl. At seventeen life never stops, it's a whizz, a caper and a delight. Mini-skirts are made for legs and boots for dancing. A go-go girl like Joy is an inspiration but you'll never keep up with her if you're over thirty.
If you're over thirty you get headaches.
Gamesmanship, as all you sporty fiends know, is the art of making sure the other feller keeps to the rules while you elasticate them. If you still lose it’s something to do with the fact that you’re a dead loss at games anyway, and it would be advisable to go round the world on a pogo-stick and not get mixed up with sport of any kind.
This is the way gamesmanship was applied when JANE RENNIE, brunette, met CHERIE SCOTT, blonde, in a local version of talkative Hide-and-Seek.
“Oh look, I can’t see.”
“Ah, ma Cherie, you’re not supposed to. You find out where I am by concentrating on the direction of my voice. How do you like my striped shorts?”
“Oh, they’re sweet. I think you’re over there by the dish-washer. What do you think of my Carnaby-street hoopla trousers?”
“Divine. Missed me. Were they terribly expensive?”
“I’ll have to forego seventeen lunches. Look, I wish you wouldn’t keep dodging in and out of the pantry. Am I warm yet?”
“You’ll catch me soon.”
“Oh, excuse me, I seem to be suddenly handicapped.”
“I’m afraid, Cherie dear, that your Carnaby-street hooplas are more of a handicap than a decoration.”
“Did you—?”
“No, honestly, Cherie, they just fell down.”
It doesn't matter all that much where they are, if they aren’t with us now they will be any moment. They've got a habit of not leaving us alone for too long, and since SUSAN DOUGLAS is well aware of this, she’s gotten herself self well equipped to cope with them.
Apropos the wind and the rain, of course. Susan is just the girl we wouldn’t mind being cast adrift with in a boat to the fair isles of sunshine and coconuts and nobody else.
Housewives don't have much time to spare, especially those who, like JOYCE MATLOCK, hold down an office job as well.
But if you're as efficient as Joyce, there's always time to spare, time to wander around the Worcestershire countryside and take in all the relaxing quiet of undisturbed rurality.
And time, too, to pose for her photographer, who's never too busy himself to miss capturing her image for posterity.
Joyce is twenty-four, loves dancing and thinks we could do away with national crises if we sent all the politicians on package tours.
On some package tours these days it's difficult to get back.
You probably think as you take a shuftie at MARIE AUGE that she doesn't really look as corking as this. You probably think she’s been specially dolled-up to give the cameraman lovely hallucinations.
You may rest assured that Marie really is as luscious as she looks, and she has by no means been specially dolled-up in order to project a sex appeal she doesn’t normally possess.
On the contrary. She is a real Parisian whizzbang of a girl, who raises hoarse cries of “Mother, I want to leave home,” from all kinds of maternally-afflicted bachelors whenever she passes by.
Marie is studying Oriental languages in Paris and helping to pay for her studies by modelling and doing other well-paid jobs in her spare time. Other well-paid jobs include writing letters home to China for Chinese exiles who can hardly write at all.
An incidental fact is that men irreconcilably smitten by Marie feel as if they’ve galloped into a brick wall. It really does hurt as much as that.
If you like shopping with your girlfriend, particularly when she’s after a bargain in a boutique, you can get very good service in the boutique run by MARILYN WARD.
Ask for the manageress and Marilyn will appear. You’ll be so captivated that five minutes later your girlfriend will slosh you and say, “In case you’ve forgotten, Romeo, you’re with me.”
Plymouth is where SUSAN WHIDDON resides, so Plymouth is the place for any feller who wants to play the part of a devoted fan and pop flowers into her letterbox once a week.
Susan and her hubby came down from the North to live in Plymouth, and the place perked up no end when she arrived. It’s a fair and attractive city in any case. It's even better looking now.
Susan likes reading, dancing and sunning herself in her bikini. Her husband likes Susan. What a sound and sensible feller.
