~an archive~

Until yesterday afternoon, it must have been absolute donkeys years since i went anywhere by bus but i found the meandering journey home at the start of my fortnights holiday an unexpectedly pleasant surprise...you can see all sorts of sights from the top of a bus on a hot summers day...

I'd taken my seat amongst a hoarde of sour-faced old codgers and grumpy-faced mums besieged by their irritatingly noisy kids but none of it mattered to me, i had no work for two entire weeks and the weather was gloriously summery, so summery in fact, that everyone still wore their sunglasses inside the bus.

As we made our way along, we passed an almost endless array of seasonally displayed cleavage which is bouncingly distracting at the best of times but becomes an even nicer treat when viewed from the top of a double-decker looking downwards...

As they always do, the bus lurched and jolted on its way with the engine vibrating doggedly and i became fearful of suffering that old travelling condition of mine -the unwanted erection- which usually strikes about two minutes before you have to stand-up and get off the bus; however, this time i was thankfully spared and the anticipated embarrassment avoided.

Being a mere man can be a difficult existence at times and never more so than when a magnificently compulsive cleavage is close at hand to send a poor fellow into a fit of utter distraction, causing all thoughts to become an unintelligible jumble and words a meaningless babble.

Look her in the eye for God's sake! a feeble voice deep inside says while the sumptuous and overpowering breasts in question seem to scream, Look at me! Look at me!

All of a dither and growing deeply ashamed of his roguish scrutiny, the eyes are briefly raised to meet the woman's gaze by sheer determination of will but, as if by natural law such as force of gravity, the magnetic pull of the cleavage once again compels his stare of awe and open admiration downward to chest level...

Afterwards, he may perhaps vaguely recall such trifling details as her hair or eye colour, general looks or possibly what attire she wore but these impressions would be like wisps of smoke that disappear within moments leaving only the vivid image of those gorgeously shaped and weighted globes.

Perhaps womankind could find it in their hearts to be a little more forgiving of their weak-willed male companions for whilst we were all born with the same instincts and needs, the humble man never loses the perfectly natural and quite overwhelming urge to suckle.

I always sensed something deliciously sinful and downright dirty in Chrissie Watts, the strutting Walford poodle with the pitbull bite, never failing to get the impression that this particular lady would do anything -anything at all- to satisfy her own desires and was in fact really no lady at all.

From the wild, tumbling Moll Flanders curls to the knee-length FM boots, Chrissie emanated an aura of sensuality and sin...she just had that look in her eye and that magnetic way of attracting my own.

Tracy-Ann Oberman, who gave life to the character of Dirty Den's even dirtier wife, played her part to perfection in my opinion and always insisted i stayed on the edge of my seat even though i would've much preferred to occupy the hottest spot in her boudoir.

The lesson of todays soap babe choice is that a little dirtiness can go a long, long way with me and that one needs rather more in the sexual armoury than simply prettiness or pert, shapely body...you need a certain dirtiness of spirit too.

I admit that i once had the hots
For a woman they called Chrissie Watts,
I wished to ravish her curls
Give a necklace of pearls
Is it clear that i fancied her lots?

Although it only seems like yesterday to me, it is now precisely three years to the day since my wife said I Do and finally made an honest man of me having previously endured living with me for the best part of a decade.

So soon has our third anniversary arrived that i wonder where the intervening time went...

On our wedding day itself, not one fleeting moment of doubt entered my heart and i can happily tell you that our tying the knot has since caused me not a single minute of regret or sorrow.

Such feelings and emotions might be expressed in flowers or chocolates but may best be said in the silent touch of a hand, a meaningful look in the eye and an embracing sense of togetherness from shared times past along with the prospect of many happy years to come.

People may come and go but while it is easy to envisage my life without many of them, i could never imagine a life spent without my adorable wife by my side.

Just as i was dozing off the other night i became aware of soft steps on the stairs followed by rummaging from the kitchen, my immediate thought being not that we had an intruder but that somebody was raiding the fridge and was possibly about to thieve all my favourite treats.

I crept from my room to investigate and there she stood, bold as brass, the young wench was at the fridge with my scotch eggs, gently weighing them in the palm of her hand, licking her lips and gazing at their succulent splendour in a hungry and almost lustful manner.

Oh no you don't, young lady!

My stern words startled the girl and almost caused her to drop them but she quickly regained herself enough to place them back where they belong with a trembling hand and a weak apologetic smile.

She stood there not knowing what to do next while my eyes took in both her look of shame and semi-attired body, suddenly noticing how cold the kitchen was at this late hour and beginning to feel a little sorry for her after all.

What a naughty girl you are! You know very well that you are forbidden to touch my scotch eggs...whatever am i to do with you?

She lowered her eyes and made no reply, clasping her hands before her modestly, no doubt wondering what her punishment might be.

A long silence ensued between us while i looked her over and she stood meekly avoiding my gaze until at last i smiled, stretching forth a hand and gently grasping cool flesh...

Here you go, my dear, have a cold sausage instead.

I'm aware that she may not be the most obvious Soap Babe but i would never be able to hold my head up again if i were untrue to myself and omitted not only one of my all-time secret soap crushes but also a favourite and much missed Eastenders character.

Beautifully portrayed by Lindsay Coulson, feisty Carol Jackson graced my telly with a flash of fire and a heart of gold, lurching through a succession of doomed relationships with men who simply didn't deserve her whilst battling to bring-up a motley brood of graceless, misfit kids.

For me, she embodied the indefatigable spirit of womanhood, leading a downtrodden struggle of a life but never looking anything less than eminently fanciable to me, always having to fight her corner but seldom allowing me to avert my gaze from her sleek, denim-clad form while fortune dealt her one bad card after another.

I cursed all of those wretched men who passed through her turbulent life because not a single one of them was anywhere near good enough nor loving enough, her compulsively fiery charms merited so much more and i dreamt of whisking her away to a happier, better world one day.

Something about sassy Carol Jackson not only attracted and interested me but touched me too and though you may say i committed a folly in placing her on a slightly rickety pedestal, Carol herself knew that she was always welcome on my pedestal anytime she liked.

I heard a snippet on the radio today in which they asked: What advice would you give if you were able to meet yourself aged 18?

Our lives are like books and how sweet it might be if we were, just for a few moments, permitted to revisit our former selves adding a footnote here, crossing-out entire paragraphs there and fast-forwarding through the mediocre ploddings to the more enjoyable chapters.

Personally, my immediate answer was to name certain people to avoid like the plague when i met them, to cut them dead before any introduction or aquaintance were ever made.

My next thought was to say that life is for living and one should concentrate on the things and people which bring you pleasure and happiness instead of working too hard; bosses never appreciate a hard worker, they merely take them for granted and abuse their good will.

Then i decided that one ought to contemplate lifes little setbacks in a philosophical manner instead of worrying about what may or may not come to pass...often the problems that caused so much stress and anxiety at the time eventually didn't matter at all.

Finally, the real answer to my life being a happier and more fulfilled one over the years, would be to tell my 18-year old self the name of my wife and where she lived so that i could have met her so much sooner than i did...as i'm always saying, if only i'd met her in my youth instead of my mid-thirties, still, better late than never.

Having cast my mind back through many years of avid soap watching, the agonising and indecision is now all over and i've selected my all-time top 20 Soap Babes which i shall reveal in my own time, beginning today with #20...

How the devil, you may wonder, can such a pretty and angelic-looking girl as Katy Sugden from Emmerdale appear so low down in any list like this?

The truth of the matter is, however, that it is almost by virtue of her sweet looks alone that she appears here at all because there are women above her in my rankings not blessed with such beauty but who attain superior status due to their feistiness, bitchiness or sheer wickedness, as is my personal preference in these things.

It all goes to show that force of character does in the end count for much more than mere dreamgirl looks and although Katy (played by the lovely Sammy Winward) has at times threatened -or promised- to become a fallen angel, she has remained sweetness itself with an image as pure as the driven snow despite the odd ill-judged tempestuous fling.

If only she had a mean-streak...

If only those angelic features concealed a heart of ice...

If only they'd turn Katy bad one day...

Poor old Jimmy King has been struggling to meet darling Nicola's latest demands, by which i mean she decrees that he promptly provides an expression of his love in lyrical form...a love poem. As i say, he is struggling with the task so i thought i'd help soothe Mistress Blackstock's furrowed brow by offering my own humble testament to her, written with not a little adoration and fondness on my part. What a selfish, self-centred cow

She wants it all and she wants it now,
And if she's thwarted
She throws a strop,
But how i'd love life with her on top.
Wicked woman, my Cruella DeVille
Such seductive icy sex-appeal,
Let other girls be soft and sweet
Your moods and tantrums
Inflame my heat.
Nicola Blackstock so mean and cruel
For your affections i'd face a duel,
You're cold and heartless
Conniving too,
But my jeans are all aflame for you.

She bathed her face with the morning dew and delicately skipped across the lush grass to ensure that all was well within the garden, beckoning the sun to shine, the seedlings to sprout and the pot-plants to flourish before bidding a hearty good morning to the birds and retiring for another day beneath her secret dwelling within the circle of toadstools which was concealed behind the thick knots of ivy along the garden wall.

I'm sure this is the case, at least, because while i was pottering in the sunshine yesterday i gleefully discovered the tiny toadstools as described at the bottom of my garden and if they're possibly not the residence of an enchanting fairy or two then they are nevertheless very welcome within my little domain.

I actually seem to be on top of things in the garden this year with flowers aplenty and high hopes of my parsnips, potatoes and red onions...even the grass is looking like a proper lawn for once and free of the usual crisp packets which eternally seem blown into our garden from all corners of the globe.

Within the boundaries of my humble garden, now graced by those magical little toadstools, i can find just a little much-needed peace from the world where i am at leisure to potter to my hearts content, embrace the illusion that i know what i'm doing and where my fancy is free to roam...i may even sit in the sun a soak up a book and dream that life can always be this simple and carefree as the soft breeze rustles through the leaves of my palm tree.