Annette Ridgeway
/The Story Of My Life
It's been a series of demoralising misses, said Jack Boggletonk. To start with, as soon as I was ten, I knew there was something about girls that my parents hadn't told me about. Kind of hypnotic, they were, and the way they went tweet-tweet after Sunday School fascinated me.
I was dead gone on one called Rosie. But by the time I plucked up enough courage to ask her to my birthday party, she'd changed her religion.
Then when I was fifteen, I was mad on a cracking little blonde called Marie. Just as I was about to treat her to a seat in the cinema, up came a feller twice my size and she went home to tea with him.
And then take this stunning brunette you're looking at now. ANNETTE RIDGEWAY. Marvellous. Lovely figure, gorgeous legs and the nicest disposition. I saw her picture in a paper and after thinking about her for a month and not hardly having any sleep, I wrote her the most romantic letter I could think of.
The post office returned it, saying Miss Ridgeway had just gone to the South of France on her honeymoon, and that she was now a Mrs. Some fellers have all the luck, marrying girls like that. I don't have any luck at all.
I keep missing.
Beautiful Britons No 169 - December 1969