She's a trim, delicious blonde called JAN NEWMAN, and she lives in Bournemouth and is absolutely scintillating around the kitchen. Her cooking is Continental and her outfit unconventional, but what or who could be more delightful than a scintillating culinary expert in white lingerie, especially when the end product is so gastronomically palatable?
Span No 178 - June 1969
Speaking about the Mediterranean, here's an enchanting blonde who got beautifully bronzed on the Italian Riviera. Her name is JAN NEWMAN. She's back at her office desk now and looking as if she's only just stepped off a hot beach.
You too can suffer from aching feet when overcrowded buses force you to walk home from the office.
JAN NEWMAN felt just that way the other day. So, when she got home, she put her feet up and had a quiet moment with a book. It was utter bliss. It would have been even more so if she could have got her shoes off, but for the first five minutes she couldn't. It's those hot Bournemouth pavements.
''Honestly,' said Jan, "you might not believe it, but my toes were giving off smoke.' Never mind, Jan, your shoes look very pretty.
Span No 167 - July 1968
Whenever we get into a car with JAN NEWMAN, she drives us wild. Jan always keeps her eyes on the road and never runs out of petrol. “What about stopping here to look at the view, dear girl?”
“Now, now, don’t be naughty, you know I’ve got a hairdressing appointment.”
“You change gears remarkably well, you lovely thing.”
“Don’t crowd me and don’t call me names or I’ll tell your wife.” “Oh, that was a jerky change - you put your elbow in my eye.” “Here’s the bus stop. You can get out now and finish your journey on a No. 27.”
That’s what we call really driving us wild.
It was night. Well, it was all dark, anyway, and Fred was in bed. And solidly immersed in a dream about fishing boats.
When Fred is solidly immersed his mind is totally unimaginative.
Far removed from boats and fish is our kind of dream. Her name is JAN NEWMAN. She lives on the South Coast and is a sun worshipper. If, when you are deep in sleep, you can dream about a dream like Jan, then you'll have a far more sublime period of floating sub-consciousness than silly old Fred.
Don't ask us how.
Perhaps it's just a matter of artistic concentration and the right kind of night-cap.
Jan is a secretary, a richly corn-coloured blonde with the loveliest legs. If you like elegance, you whistle. If you like dumplings, go home to mother.
Sometimes even elegance takes a tumble. Still, it was entirely involuntary. Jan thought there was a chair there. Never mind, it does prove our point, that she really does have the loveliest legs.
