If you want to keep in touch with the fascinating world of the future, take a look at future-minded DEIRDRE VASCOE.
Deirdre reckons she's just masterminded the simplistic everyday outfit of the future. There'll be no such things as cold temperatures and wet rain to worry about, and girls will just wear boots, futuristic tights and what you might call half a pair of knickers.
Anyone for Mars?
Having fought her way home from the office, AMANDA CASE thought she'd take a bath instead of a shower, then sit down refreshed to chicken and asparagus pie.
She ran the bath and was quite unready for what happened next.
She fell in.
She wasn't at all undressed for it.
Just a few buttons undone. Then what?
“I was wet all over," said Amanda, and so was everything else.”
What was needed by her parents' fireplace, thought LOUISE CRAWFORD, was a nice rocking-chair. Grandpa had had one and gave Louise rides on his knees when she was a little girl.
Louise still has a yen for a rocker, and for want off one by the fireplace she has to sit on that fur rug. All we can say is that if any decoration goes really excitingly with a fireside fur rug, it's Louise.
She looks good whatever she's doing. She plays a smashing game of tennis and a shapely game of basketball. She's not the best of footballers, however, but she looks gorgeous in her short soccer shorts.
Oh, come up to our sports shop sometime, Louise.
"Not unless I'm wearing my shin-pads," said Louise, "I know you”.
The day was fine, PATRICIA McGREGOR was looking beautiful, and everything seemed set fair for a walk in the park.
But first, of course, Pat had to make sure that her seams were straight and her nails were polished.
Not to mention her shoes. A fashion model like Pat just couldn’t be seen in public without a shoeshine.
A final check on those seams—a last suspender adjustment, and we’re all set.
Apart from—no, not just the hat, Pat. What about the skirt? Well, you might get away with it if you keep your coat buttoned up, but suppose you get asked into tea somewhere?
“Hallo! Hallo-Sally? Sally, did I leave my skirt at your place yesterday? I did? Well, good heavens, what did I come home in, then? I did? Gosh, no wonder I thought it was draughty on my bike!”
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.
It's all right for some. Some have au pair girls to use a broom for them.
But SALLY DIXON, university student, has to do ail her own chores in her London fiat and one place she likes to keep spotless is her kitchen, she being a girl who spends a lot of time in it. She's a marvel at making up exotic dishes out of homely ingredients bought at the nearby Street market.
She's also a marvel at modelling in her spare leisure hours, so that she can occasionally buy her-self a luscious steak and cook it Chinese style. You eat it with Chinese crackers.
No, come on. Tearaway (said the panting jockey), get weaving or you’ll have me in dead trouble with Lady Sylvia. I tipped her you’d win by five lengths and here you are not even trying—swelp me if I don’t nobble you myself next time out. You couldn’t blame the gee-gee, really. The jockey just lost all sense of proportion when he gazed into the green eyes of SYLVIA MARTIN, 20-year-old bachelor-girl-about-town, who loves a flutter on the horses and believes anything a jockey tells her about the nags. Sylvia has lost the equivalent of a shirt more times than she cares to remember.
In case any of you think the height of bliss is only experienced by those riding a rocking-horse on the top of the Eiffel Tower, then there are those among you who haven’t seen Sylvia waving her horse home at Epsom. She dances, jigs, cavorts, yells, shrieks, and generally lets her enthusiasm take such hold of her that she becomes the most entrancing spectacle of the day.
Sorry we couldn’t show you her cheering her last flutter home, but we did catch her looking extremely entrancing in the domestic setting of a London flat.
Sylvia’s ambition, as distinct from her hobby, is the theatre—she wants desperately to break into the real, live genuine circuit—but she won’t put her shirt on it, she couldn’t bear to lose on that one.
She took a course of social psychology last winter and she’s got eyes the colour of the deep green sea, and what with that and the fact that she doesn’t half know how to make the most of a crepe suzette, she’s naturally the girl we’d most like to be psychological with.
Her name, as if that mattered, is TERI ALEXANDER and we’ve fallen down four flights of stairs for girls only half as good-looking. It’s all part of the process of living. If you’re not susceptible to the witchery of women you shouldn’t be here. It hurts, of course, but the dreams are delightful.
Before she joined a fashion, house Teri worked as a secretary. She used to live in Manchester. Now she lives in London.
Swingy, isn’t she?
Who wants to join the Bengal Lancers these days?
For all the X-minus fellers who don't have a housewife of their own, our sympathy is unqualified.
They're missing all that is loveliest in life.
We know the most attractive Leicester housewife. She's not only glamorous, she can't half cook too. Her name is MARIA LYNLEY and the man in her life is so appreciative of his good luck he sends her picture postcards when they're on holiday together.
Some men prefer to have model train sets. Mr. Lynley prefers to have Maria. What an acquisition.
(or - Don’t Shoot The Cook, She’s Too Beautiful)
When Mr. Burley, a keen amateur photographer, who hails from Brixton, London, sent us some photographs of his lovely wife, we were so impressed by the discrimination he showed in picking a girl like this to wed, that we sent our own photographer along to provide additional evidence.
We didn’t arrive at the best time. Well, it wasn’t the best time for blonde and beautiful Mrs. Burley, who was choring in the kitchen—no girl likes to be caught in her apron— but it didn’t take us long to realise that there’s no time like the present, and could the lady have looked any lovelier without her apron, anyway? A moot point, that, and one on which we will not linger.
Mrs. Burley, do you always dress in this cute outfit when you’re working in the kitchen—or is it that we just caught you on the wrong day?
Well, no-well, yes—well, I like to look glamorous in my kitchen, particularly on Wednesdays, which are half days, of course.
But today is Thursday—
Is it? Oh, well excuse me a moment while I lift Mrs. Beeton off the biscuit tin.
No, but really, Mrs. Burley — hold that a moment — you really are the cutest kitchen maid we’ve seen in years.
Well, thanks. For that you can stay and have some coffee, if you like.
Would you like to sit on your kitchen table, Mrs. Burley? With pleasure—but may I ask what for?
Because it's always been a crazy idea of ours that there are so many things which photograph better on a kitchen table than cups, saucers and toast-racks, and now we see you there we know it wasn’t such a crazy idea at that.
Well, we finally went away with the feeling that we’d shot off a lot of very attractive photographs, and it wasn’t until we’d gone about five miles in the trolley-bus that we realised we'd left Mrs. Burley to do the washing-up by herself. Never mind. She did it all with such a sweet smile.
There's a modern Helen waiting for the Trojans to carry her off.
She's HELEN JONES.
She made a revelationary impact at the last motor show. Helen of Troy herself couldn't have been more revelationary.
A London model with her eyes on a film career, Helen was delighted when they gave her a part in the film 'Love Variations'. She made an impact in that too. She lives in North London, she's twenty-one and unlike other swinging birds who like fast sports cars, Helen likes walking.
Walking is safer. Accompanying boyfriends can't run out of petrol on a ramble.
"But you can run out of steam," said one feller, "crikey, she can walk your legs right off."
22-year-old ADRIENNE HOUSTON is a beautician and fills the first requisite of her job by being beautiful herself. If you feel your girlfriend isn’t making the most of her charm, send her along to Adrienne and she will emerge from the salon so ravishing that you’ll think she’s really much too good for you. Then where do you go from there?
Adrienne’s own charm lies not in her countenance alone, for she has beautiful legs and a trim figure that measures 35-22-35.
A very curvaceous secretary is KITTY ARMSTRONG of Oxford, and if you think she gets whistled at by the students on her way to work each day, then you think dead right.
Knowing her name, some of them call, "Kitty, Kitty," and make purring noises. Kitty doesn't mind that. As long as they don't spring, she says, they can purr all they like. She's delightfully vivacious and oh what a shape. It adds up to 38-24-37, and every inch goes so well with her height of five feet seven.
No wonder the students purr.
And having seen Kitty for ourselves we had to tell her we thought one of them is bound to spring eventually. Then what?
"Oh, I scratch him to pieces and bite his head off," said Kitty, "because when I get sprang at I'm a proper little tigress."
Irish model JILL SUMMERS has a lovely negligee and a beautiful perm, but currently she’s concentrating on the effect of her new black nylons. Jill thinks they make quite a contrast to her white frills—but how do they look to you? No postcards, please—just whistles.
We didn't know how lucky we were the day we lost our train. We had to take a bus instead and who should drop a box of preserved fruits at our feet just as we were about to board the platform was a striking example of photogenic sex appeal from Newcastle.
As well as our train, we lost our bus. Still, we did get offered a preserved fruit. It took our appetite away a bit as we don't eat between meals.
Her name was NINA BARRETT. She moved to London three years ago to work as a secretary and is now doing modelling. She has fascinating green eyes, a fluent flow of scintillating conversation and a way of convincing one that there are other things in life besides money.
When we've got plenty, we'll go and get convinced all over again.
For your records, Nina is 5ft 2”, dynamically blonde and measure 36"-22"-35".
