Diana Rigg. As for many an adolescent boy of the sixties, the girl of my dreams, and no prizes for guessing what
kind of dreams either! (My mum must have noticed the state of my pajamas as she collected them for the wash, usually without
warning while I was out of the way in school - didn't you just hate that! - but she never reproached me for it, despite
the fact that most such episodes by this time were 'hand assisted', and not the earlier nocturnal 'accidents'. There
are certain things between mothers and sons that are better left unsaid!)
I remember my brother and I conducting in our bedroom at the time a little bit of DIY practical 'human biology', using a
microscope I'd bought a couple of years earlier as a special offer on a 'Weetabix' packet - well, we'd got bored
looking at human hairs and fly's heads by then.
Very interesting. They were like tadpoles. And so many of them, too. (And please don't ask where we got the
I pulled this photo off a film archive site. It wasn't scanned at a high density, so I can't enlarge it further as it
ends up 'pixilated'.
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