Vanda Vane-Dotson

Whose Side Are You On?

If you must know (said tall, willowy VANDA VANE-DOTSON who prefers riding a country horse to taking a town taxi) I’m on the wrong side and trying hard to ge* to the right side before it’s too late.

In some circumstances (said Vanda, who is our idea of a rural-loving debutante) either side can be the right side. It just so happens that the circumstances on this occasion were all bound up with the fact that there was a rather hefty-looking quadruped on my side and he had all the characteristics of a belligerent bull.

Therefore (said Vanda, who drives a whizz of a sports car with verve and application) I knew there was only one side of the fence I wanted to be and that was the other side. I didn’t actually fall flat on my face but I can’t say these tight mini-dresses give a girl maximum composure when she’s in the kind of hurry I was.

Vanda Vane-Dotson

It’s Never Like This With a Horse

Tall, bi-lingual, pro-debutante VANDA VANE-DOTSON is not among those photogenic girls who can’t resist the lure of becoming all willowy and glossy in the London fashion world.

For Vanda a flat in London is not to be compared with a Georgian house in the Sussex countryside. Let those who have to launch themselves into the traffic do so. Vanda opts for an open-air environment, where she’s got all the room she needs for horse-riding and whizzing around in her sports car. Speaking of cars, it isn’t every girl who can alight from a friend’s model and get a tight skirt caught in a tight door.

As Vanda said at the time, “It’s never like this with a horse. You can fall off a horse, certainly, and you can even rip your jodhpur’s, but nothing like this can happen to you.’’

Perhaps she’s right. But there’s a first time for everything, you know.

Vanda Vane-Dotson

Tremendously busy, said VANDA VANE-DOTSON.

She was up from the country and typing manuscripts for an enthusiastic author, who, if the truth must be known, felt that his cloak-and-dagger thriller about detergent sabotage in London and New York paled by comparison with the thrilling incandescence of Miss Vane-Dotson.

Vanda, often seen at Hunt Balls where they like the atmosphere to be glowingly incandescent, was insistent on helping the author reach page 327, which was the end of the novel, but it wasn’t half a slog and by the time she had tapped the last full stop she was ready for a cheese sandwich and two glasses of champagne.