Fashion and photographic model NICKY WESTON has one ambition above all others, and that’s to travel all over the world in her work. Nicky is just twenty and like so many fashion models can be seen adding glamour to the motor racing circuits. She also looks cool on a gee-gee, being uncommonly addicted to hacking.
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?
Frustrated geography, what you miss being on the wrong side of the border.
All that lovely Scottish heather and all those bonny birds are not the daily delight of those whose eyes are bounded by Portobello Road. As you dally on the kerbside looking for a bargain in old Victoriana, how you must wish you were in a Scottish garden with ROSANNE STUART.
If you don’t wish that, then old Victoriana has got a neurotic hold on you and you'll only cure yourself by butting sandbags. Wait until it leaves off and then give yourself another twenty-four hours to clear your head of ringing noises.
You’re cured. You begin to think of a Scottish garden adorned by sweet Rosanne.
Soon you can think of nothing else. You’re all neurotic again.
You return to that heap of sandbags.
Life for people with complexes is all butt.
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.
It always does. Happily humming to herself, JO FOWLER set about finding a place for a picture in her husband's new residence in France, where he now works. You can see what happened. It always does.
When she's out in the sun CRYSTAL FARMER is a real shiner. Next to a romantic midnight-blue sky complete with silver moon, the sun is Crystal's favourite element.
Off to Europe soon, for a summer holiday wander. Crystal is taking a girlfriend in order to outnumber any Latin Romeo who tries to surround her.
Not that she objects to a holiday romance. Just that she likes to get to know a nice feller first and can't stand those who, fat and forty, think they're irresistible to Anglo-Saxon femmes.
And being surrounded by someone fat and forty isn't Crystal's idea of a light-hearted romance.
I'm LESLIE LANGHAM.
I live in North London, it’s rather super there and some of the boys are awfully good at Whistling. I suppose they’re training to be football referees. I have a most interesting job. I’m a demonstrator of office equipment. That’s where I find a mini-skirt has its problems. Whenever I’m demonstrating a desk with self-locking keyholes, I seem to be all legs. I’m always saying, “Oh, pardon me,’’ and adjusting my skirt, but everyone is awfully sweet and office managers never seem to mind a bit.
I have to be with it, of course. I can’t not wear a mini, it would be an unbearable drag to dress in trousers, but sometimes I’m not sure if office managers are paying proper attention to my demonstration of an electric typewriter.
It’s very flattering, I must say.
(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.
It was a long way from Manchester to London when salesgirl JACKIE ROSS set out for the big city. Well, it's a long way from anywhere when you have to walk. Passing the railway station Jackie thought she'd do it the easy way, so she bought a ticket and caught a train.
She met an awfully nice feller on the train. He shared a packet of biscuits with her. But when he said that his wife didn't understand him Jackie knew there was only one thing to tell him.
"I'm not surprised," she said, "you're all over biscuits crumbs."
Jackie came to London to find work as a model. She hardly needed to look because enterprising photographers found her first. Naturally, who could miss such a beautiful brunette with a figure of 38-24-37
There was once a feller called Buck Upp who tried to drink a quart of beer out of a Christmas balloon but it blew up in his unprepared kisser and squirted light ale all down the neck of his hunting shirt.
There was also the girl in the skirt and Hungarian petticoats who said “I bet I can squeeze through a small hoop feet first in five seconds.” And she did but it took a lot longer than five seconds and she didn’t half look pretty.
People like to try things the tricky way, it’s a bit of a gamble that we all enjoy. For instance, the trickiest place in which to change a pair of nylons is the driving seat of a car. West Berlin fraulein, IRENE OBERZIG, tried it and proved it.
She could have gone into her office and used the powder room and changed in comfort, but no, in the tradition of Buck Upp and the man who tried to lasso an elephant with his braces, Irene used the front seat of her car. Oh well, they will do it.
What made her fall down afterwards?
It was all that cramp.
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."
We’re so confused by JENNY PRICE, whose enchantment flows lyrically over us, that we can’t follow the lines of her car. Jenny, who has just about the nicest legs in Wales, can confuse the most clear-minded car fanatic.
We were just stepping off the kerb when German actress ANTONIE MERLY flipped her car door open and put out one shapely leg. Jupiter, don’t car doors hurt when you walk into them!
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."
