The Squoob

Fashion is a brainless bird which flies around in ever decreasing circles but as seasonal hemlines rise and fall we are at last truly gladdened to meet again with our dear old historical friend, The Squoob. 

A welcome reappearance indeed from the squashed boob effect so beloved in romantic period dramas as sported by lovelorn heroines with flowing locks, heaving bosoms and palpitating hearts.

With the help of a handmaiden's knee in the back, the corset strings are drawn suffocatingly tight and The Squoob is duly formed as the bursting bustline is restrained almost beyond belief until it becomes a quite breathtaking feat of civil engineering.

Even the most modestly endowed young lady can squash and squeeze herself half to death and proudly boast an eye-catching cleavage to instill passionate desire into the hearts of those who behold her.    

When a pretty maiden parades The Squoob to perfection, she may rest assured that she commands the male attention wherever she goes with the veiled promise that so much as the most innocuous sneeze will bring the whole lot tumbling out before our very eyes like a heavenly avalanche.

Which is perhaps why, in bygone days, gentlemen and scoundrels alike carried little boxes of snuff around with them at all times.

Full Figure Fayre

A woman needn't always worry too much whenever she over indulges and gains that extra couple of pounds, in fact it can often be a cause of great delight as her former allure doubles and her aspect becomes pleasingly comely.

Where previously she may have registered as quite easy on the eye, those extra curves can make all the difference, quietly transforming her from a girl worthy of a second glance into a shapely woman demanding prolonged admiration and respect.

As she attains her fuller figure, those womanly curves progress into the wondrous realms of the voluptuous and men genuinely appreciative of the gorgeous rubenesque form begin to see her with eyes anew.

Soft, sweet and irresistibly inviting, she has the body of a true woman, the flesh of a goddess.

In private moments she may look in the mirror and lament her widened hips and  rounded belly with a sorry sigh that she no longer has the body of a teenager but she should know that a youthful physique is merely a work in progress that doesn't find its crowning moment of triumph until reaching full maturity and a fuller figure.

Making Scents

The air surrounding the ladies perfume counter is thick and hostile to all life forms, making the atmosphere on Venus quite refreshing by comparison, yet i am led to believe that this is all in the blessed name of ritual attraction.

Mother Nature had it all worked out perfectly well on her own and women down the ages seemed to attract their mates quite happily without the intervention of noxious fumes or a chemical cloud menacingly shimmering around them like a spiteful aura.

Vision is our primary sense so i have to say that it doesn't matter how wonderful a woman might smell if her looks and personality are insufficient means of attraction alone and it is probably a touch of feminine subtlety that goes largely unnoticed by the primitive male nostril.

Well, there was this girl once who smelt like a brewery and i found this effect far more appealing than any expensive perfume but i was very young and foolish in those days and the gorgeous earthiness of her intoxicating beer-breath was far from her only attraction.

It does make me wonder though why a woman wishing to attract her man should dowse herself in all sorts of flowery scents when the good, honest aroma of beer would not only be far cheaper but would also provide a more pleasing sensation in the mind of her potential admirer.

The Hole Of Glory

How well i recall the time that no lesser personage than Lady Cameltoe herself graciously requested my presence down at Cameltoe Hall for the grand inauguration of her newly-installed and sumptously luxurious gothic Glory Hole.

The village had been awash with rumours about it for weeks thanks to some of her looser-lipped servants but here was the opportunity to actually witness the much whispered about installation with my very own eyes.

The original 16th century Glory Hole had been the pride of the good Lady's family for generations but had latterly fallen somewhat into disrepair and neglect, hence her bold commissioning of the magnificent new model.

Lady C would perform the discretionary honours from her comfortable place of concealment safe from the hungry eyes of the private viewing gallery but who could be the highly honoured gentleman to proudly take his place and personally benefit from this greatly trumpeted and historic opening ceremony?

Word had it that he might be some bristling and bewhiskered Arch-Duke from the continent but nobody knew the truth except the Lady herself, as is only right and proper on these momentous, stately occasions.

The entire event proved a resounding success greatly to the utmost satisfaction of all concerned and no higher honour could have been awarded me than being asked to bat second whereupon i, although of lowly origin, pride myself that i performed with just as much glory as any blue-blooded nobleman.  

The Pheasant Plucker's Daughter

Whenever i took a sunday afternoon stroll through the tangle of thorny bushes and gnarly old trees that made up her little woodland domain, i could always feel the inquisitive eyes of the pheasant plucker's beautiful daughter watching me.

Although very seldom did she actually reveal herself, on those rare occasions when i was fortunate enough to come face-to-face with her, she took a faltering step closer, looked deep into my soul then darted off into the undergrowth like a startled rabbit.

It was all very curious indeed but sometimes we made it so far as to exchange smiles before she disappeared again.

I took to walking the woodlands at every opportunity and pining for her in a desperate, hopelessly romantic kind of way, reliving those precious smiles of hers a thousand times over in my mind.

Gathering only the most colourful wildflowers as i walked, i would assemble a bouquet and gently place it upon the sacred spot where we had first met, always aware that she was observing my humble ritual of devotion from the shadows, hopefully with satisfaction and delight.

And one day, after torturing myself in this way for so long, i intuitively became aware that her presence no longer graced the scene and that i would never again set eyes upon her timid beauty; it felt like the summer had suddenly become winter and having briefly discovered this magical girl, she had left my life cold and bleak forever.

Calender Girl

One wonders what became of the bygone calender girl, the breathtaking pin-up of yesteryear who once beamed out at the world from her allocated month with a toothpaste smile, glowing skin and defiantly firm bust.

She now lies forlorn and forgotten, dusty and dated like everything else from her time, a happy reminder of the innocence and simplicity of life when she was a pretty young princess for an entire sunshine month back in the day.

No doubt the years have long since overtaken the girl herself, possibly even ravaging her almost beyond recognition but nobody can deny her the comforting memory that she was formerly the focus of many an ardent and admiring gaze.

Time and memories are strange things, however, so even now when i return to that fading image of decades ago i yet view her through the eyes of that feverishly admiring and deeply devoted young man.    

The thoughts and feelings originally evoked within my breast by that captivating image remain just as they were, so deep and lasting was the impression made and so surely did she capture my tender heart in those dim and distant days.

Turkey Twizzler

I received a visit from a slightly dubious but very striking official recently, a statuesque woman who quickly informed me that she was the newly-appointed village Turkey Twizzler and that the purpose of her impromptu appearance upon my doorstep was to personally twizzle my turkey.

I believe her very words were I can make your flesh sizzle by giving your turkey a twizzle.

I didn't like to ask what twizzling my turkey entailed although i did inform her that no poultry of any variety whatsoever resided within my walls, which seemed to little avail as she was either speaking in tongues or communicating in absolute gobbleygook, like the mythical turkeys themselves.

And so, my dear little butterball, she cooed softly with eyes full of mischief and hands craftily insinuating themselves within the onfines of my dressing-gown, Have you got a nice, plump surprise for me or are you the last turkey left dangling in the shop window?

This downright impertinence really was the last straw so i demanded that her fingers cease their uninvited explorations immediately and that she leave my premises forthwith, rather unkindly suggesting that she Get Stuffed into the bargain.

Which upon reflection was perhaps not such a good idea as she swiftly seized my personage and dragged me upstairs in no uncertain terms; the upshot being that feathers flew, chickens came home to roost and giblets flew everywhere before i could resist, my poor old turkey ending up more twizzled than it has been for many a moon.

Dating Tips For Young Ladies IX

In the savage wilds of the dating jungle you are naturally wary against being taken for granted, fooled or hurt by the predatory men in your life but another danger lurks in these turbulent waters: your own friend, or rather, your so-called friend.

A girls treacherous friend is the one who says all the right things, happily listens to your troubles then uses it all to further her own ambition; she observes the happiness you share with your man and thinks to herself I'll have some of that! 

She is the friend who will ask question after question about the man in your life, wanting to know everything about him in intimate detail not borne out of interest for your personal welfare but to enable her to weigh-up whether he might be worth stealing from you one day.

Little by little, she will drop the odd word of poison to inspire your self-doubt or mistrust, possibly without you even noticing, secretly hoping that you might take your eye off the ball long enough to allow the opportunity for her to snatch him away.

She's ready to pounce the minute your back is turned.

Some are happy to live off the crumbs that fall from the table of others and some merely wait until distraction enables the seizing of the whole dish for themselves; it is therefore wise when dating that you keep those cards very close to your chest indeed.

A Cocktail Of Kisses

If truth be told, i remember very little of last nights New Years Eve celebrations down at The Mound Of Venus, thanks in no small part to the tempting tipples thrust in my face throughout the evening by the ever accommodating and pertinently perky barmaid, Chlamydia.

I vaguely recall a kind of bizarre duel fought between herself and her arch-enemy, local school ma'm Miss Strangely-Horny, the object of which seemed to revolve around who could flaunt their cleavage most effectively and so win my undivided attention for the night.

The lively revelry continued as they jostled to outdo each other; the buxom barmaid casually leaning forwards to take the deepest of breaths imaginable, thus inflating her already sumptuous assets to magnificent proportions until i hardly knew where to look.

Meanwhile, her prime antagonist loosened another button, accidentally dropped a peanut down her blouse and rummaged away whilst affording myself a grandstand view of proceedings, awkwardly pondering whether my personal assistance ought to be gallantly volunteered or otherwise.

Endless rounds of the demon drink combined with boisterous music and provocative cleavages proved too heady a cocktail for a simple man such as i and everything became something of a blur to me beyond a certain point, with only the midnight chimes reawakening my senses.

Closing my eyes in anticipation, i waited with puckered lips to see which of the dainty duellists would claim the first kiss of New Year but was crestfallen to discover that they had by now quite overcome their differences and had their lips locked together in a sizzling embrace of their own which was most pointedly to the exclusion of myself.

Watching awestruck for several minutes, i concluded that the next best thing to kissing a pretty girl or two is to leisurely witness them kissing each other so i went on my way quite happily after all.

Woman Of The Year: Tulisa

As 2011 draws to a close i'm proud to name my Woman of the Year as feisty X-Factor judge and talented N-Dubz singer/songwriter Tulisa Contostavlos, otherwise known as The Female Boss.

I have to admit that i was only vaguely aware of Tulisa's existence prior to this year but have been more than impressed with her commitment, charisma and forceful personality to say nothing of her personal beauty, obvious passion and wonderful singing voice.

A particularly pretty brunette, she has frequently been likened to a young Elizabeth Taylor not without good reason and even though i'm not a legs man by trade, i do have to say that Tulisa's shapely pins are especially attractive.

While some eyebrows were raised over her glamorous elevation in the public eye, i have nodded in agreement with others who not only see something very special in her but also sense a warmth of personality which revealed itself in her protective championing of girl band Little Mix.

Her Little muffins, as she fondly refers to them, were fortunate enough to find Tulisa constantly fighting their corner and supporting them every step of the way en route to an unprecedented but much deserved victory.


The appointment of Tulisa for X-Factor was an absolute masterstroke and i applaud the woman herself for all that she's achieved thus far and all that she will undoubtedly achieve in future because she is a burning star still very much on the rise who will dazzle and entertain us for many a year to come.