Housewife LAURA ST. JOHN was on the phone ordering some groceries when some burk managed to cross the line and Laura found herself talking to the grocer and the burk at the same time.
The burk was trying to sell insurance and Laura ended up with a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs covered against dying of heart failure while in the frying-pan.
The premium was a tin of mustard a month.
It's fun being married. JOANNE MARTIN says you needn't take too much notice of those odd people who tell you it's kaput, she says they don't know what it's all about, they're too busy going in and out of foggy hallucinations.
To be vitally interesting to your husband, says Joanne, you need first of all to look lovely to come home to, so that when he comes into the kitchen to see what's cooking he can't help thinking he'd like to eat you yourself.
Joanne, with her long, honey-blonde hair and her undeniable curves, is indeed a dish. She makes marriage lots and lots of fun, and sometimes in the evenings the television isn't an absolute social necessity at all.
Remember, says Joanne, that when hubby says, "Let's switch this rubbish off and play poker," you've proved you know how to be vitally interesting.
Then what?
"Then you need good cards, "says Joanne, "or you're in for a yell of a time "
In the days when the West was won, it used to be boots and saddles and the sound of the bugles as the U.S. Cavalry came charging up to save the pioneers from being skewered to their waggon wheels by flaming arrows of fire or something.
That's all gone now. The pioneers have all struck oil and the Red Indians are doing their own thing, which is watching Geronimo on the telly.
Today for boots and saddles you can read boots and minis.
SANDRA MORRELL, winner of beauty contests, is all for boots and minis.
We're all for Sandra, she can look scintillating just lounging about.
HELENE GIBBS, arrived in London some several months ago. She didn't expect to make her fortune overnight, but did hope she'd be able to earn enough lolly to pay the rent of her little flat in Camden Town and keep her in food and clothing.
A dancer, Helene thought London's theatres and night clubs wouldn't actually be short of scintillating exponents of this art, and it was with surprise and delight that she found her talents accepted.
Now she's dancing nightly in cabaret. The lolly is lovely, so are the audiences.
At five feet six, with measurements of 37-24-36, Helene is lovely too, especially when photographed in the environs of leafy Hampstead.
One of the leading lights of London at the moment is HELEN JONES. She's a genuine swinger. Wherever there's something going on that's at all worthwhile, you can bet your psychedelic pink shirt that Helen will be conspicuously ravishing.
She's a model with a big London agency and appeared in the film 'Love Variations'. That was a genuine swinger too.
Helen is twenty-one, lives in North London and is a music lover. She adores both classical and underground music.
Underground? You mean on a tube train?
"Great tombstones," said Helen "how long have you been dead?"
That, of course, proves that if you don't speak the language of the swingers you might as well spend your time in museums.
Ah well, you can always sort out a nice, sympathetic mummy to talk to.
There's a lot of it about. A lot of talk about the full emancipation of women and how it's their turn to wear the trousers for the next ten thousand years.
But never mind who wears the trousers, the fact is CATHY MEADOWS wears a lovely pair of boots. She could kick a lot of fellers around in these but wouldn't dream of it. She's deliciously feminine, as a matter of fact, and doesn't think trousers and braces would suit her.
Cathy is a Yorkshire girl, and has just left college to work in an office and study her prospects. In her spare time, she's taking a modelling course. There's always room for one more model as good-looking as Cathy.
The farmer's boy came whistling over the fields. He was carrying a haystack. He was a strong lad. Then he saw GAIL JOHNSON, an absolutely ravishing, blue-eyed blonde.
Gail thought she was all alone. She did wonder why a distant haystack looked as if it was moving about, but not being an agriculturalist she put it out of her mind.
It was a hot day and just right for gambolling about in undies. Then the haystack stopped moving and a face came out from under it. The face of the farmer's boy. Gail gave him one warning.
"Don't you dare look or I'll fire six rounds into you."
The farmer's boy couldn't help looking. Corks, what a peach, he thought. So, Gail fired six rounds. They thudded into the haystack. The farmer's boy was ever so relieved, any one of those rounds might have injured his appetite and he was looking forward to pork pie for supper.
"Missed me," he said.
Gail reloaded.
The farmer's boy knew when he was well off. He picked up the haystack and ran. He tripped over a furrow and the haystack fell on him.
"Serve him right," said Gail, "shouldn't have such goggle eyes."
Some husbands go off to football matches on Saturday afternoons, but Val's husband stays home to photo-graph her. What a way to make Saturday afternoons full of light and joy. Better than all that mud flying about and somebody bashing you over the head on the way out.
Some husbands have the oddest hobbies, like stripping wallpaper or collecting whizzbangs. (Whizzbangs are fiery blondes whom they hide in the garden shed hoping their wives won't notice).
Well, now, isn't it lovely that VALERIE HOOTON has a husband with the most ravishing hobby? His hobby is Valerie. What a smashing feller. What a hubby, what a hobby.
Val's ambitions, apart from maintaining her position as hubby's hobby, are to travel extensively and to learn to ski. Imagine all that lovely snow and sun, and Val as well.
Val has a hobby of her own. Frank Sinatra. Only on records, of course. And she likes eating out. That's not a hobby, however, that's a way of life.
Housewives have stopped being mere wielders of brooms. Now they're sexy and glamorous, like Val. Before she was married Val used to be a secretary. Now she's a housewife, a mother and an absolute doll. Naturally, you'd all like to have a hobby just like Val, but you need to be tall, dark and handsome, of course.
Young Hampshire housewife JENNY PIPER lives in a fascinatingly rural village, where a stream chuckles its way around the cottages.
But Jenny is quite with it as far as eye-catching gear is concerned. With her long legs, Jenny fits into a mini as if the fashion was made just for her. Bewitchingly, she believes a mini is a mini and you can't compromise.
This is Jenny in her mini that's a mini.
Hence the expression, "Ah, knickers."
"Well, yes, I know they show," said Jenny, "but you don't have to look if you don't want to."
She's joking, of course.
Irish from top to toe is BRIDGET McKENNA. Bridget is from Dublin, and there aren't any dollies more Irish than those from that city.
However, there's a great big world always waiting to put out the carpet for green-eyed Irish shapes, so for the time being Bridget is taking a look at London.
London is taking a look at her in return. It's a fair exchange, except that a lot of old buildings and bridges can't always be equated with a curvy Irish shape of 37-24-36. But Bridget is settling for that.
Fashions aren't going to make any difference. The 1970's are still going to be remembered for the impact made on life by the dolly girls. The reason for this, Hutchinson, is that by 1951 girls had awakened to the realisation that the bikini had masterminded them into superiority.
After the advent of the bikini, boys no longer wanted to grow up and be engine- drivers. They just wanted to grow up so that they could have a bikini girl all their own. From the bikini girl there graduated the dolly girl who dominated the 1960 s. And she came to stay.
We know a gorgeous one called JUDY RUSSELL, who lives in London and is going to remain brilliantly im- pactive whether she's in a mini or a midi. We're not too sure ourselves. If all that lovely dolly girl disappears under a heap of clothes that reach to her calves, where's the impact?
"It's in the way we'll keep you guessing," said Judy, a short hand- typist in the City of London.
Girl who gets around is model CHRISTINE FRANCES. Her professional assignments take her here, there and everywhere. It's a jet age made for jet-setters, and Christine spends a lot of her time flying high.
She's got a gorgeous shape, one you can't miss on those glamorous telly commercials, and she makes two of those beanpole fashion models we're glad to say.
Well, with vitalistics of 37-24-36 Christine makes curves count, not angles. Line up two fashion models and you'd hardly know they were there. Put Christine in a bikini and you've got a picture you can't miss.
Don't let's get into any unnecessary arguments about this. Unnecessary arguments always make us come out in hot flushes and either we have to go and see a doctor or punch our way out of it.
The fact is, statistics prove that the women of all nations have equally good legs but the legs of American women are more equal, like. For many years a pair of American legs in a pair of American nylons made men fall off bridges all over the world. It was what came of not looking where they were going because they didn't care where they were going.
Miss CANDY NORSE of San Jose, California, typifies Miss American Legs and is an eye-shattering example of why those men fall off those bridges.
These, if you'll excuse the emphasis on limbs alone, are Miss Norse's legs. Lovely, aren't they?
She's a secretary in an advertising agency and is the Californian man's idea of how to make an office look like the best years of his working life.
Two peaches make an adorable pair. Especially two peaches like NICOLA TAYLOR and JOANNA YOUNG, happy housewives of Bournemouth who still believe in the mini. From left to right, Nicola is the first peach, Joanna the second.
First Peach: "I don't know what I'm going to do if the midi does take over. It'll cost me a fortune."
Second Peach: "Me too. And the bus conductors are going to be ever so gloomy."
First Peach: "Especially the one on the No. 42. He hasn't looked at my face for ages."
Second Peach: "Nor mine. When I came down the stairs.”
First Peach: Yesterday he said he liked me best in the frilly pink ones I was wearing the day before." "Well, when Mary Pipkin came down the stairs last week he rang the bell six times and fell off the bus."
Second Peach: "Isn't he a giggle?"
First Peach: "You mean goggle, darling."
Second Peach: "Don't look now but here comes the park-keeper wearing his binoculars."
Up in places like Braemer they have all those Highland Games each year, and lovely Scottish girls like JANE PAUL are seen around. They make a svelte contrast with all the muscle men. The latter may be able to toss a mighty caber, but Jane can throw a husky six-footer with a mere twinkle of her kneecaps.
"Lassie, would ye no, mind standing farther back?" panted one brawny caber competitor.
"Must I?" said Jane.
"Aye, ye must, lassie, or I'll lose my dynamics and do masel' an injury."
"Oh, dear, everyone's so tense," said Jane, and went away.
Well, you can't mess about with cabers. You've got to be tense.
