Alma Cogan (2010)
“Along with bathing-belle-with-beach-ball and pulchritudinous-package-with-provocatively-jacked-up-Continental-shelf, it was a formula snap of the day. (And, on the day, it was a formula for which I was genuinely grateful: it was something to hide behind; a reflex that was useful if you were taken unawares. When in doubt, pout.) The dog would invariably be decked out in the slinky, boudoir-coloured leads and junk gem-encrusted collars that were gifts from the fans and therefore compulsory in pub...lic. (Freshly boiled bricks of lights, sheep lungs and cow udder were also deposited at the stage door daily in certain towns in the north. They came wrapped in newspapers, occasionally with damp, smudgy pictures of me uppermost, and always with hearty messages – ‘Have a grand week!’ ‘Shall be in every night!’ – inscribed along the margins.) For fifties lensmen, the alignment of a small dog and a female bosom seemed to add up to the kind of dumb-bunny cheesecake with overtones of the forbidden that was their stock in trade.MoreLess
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