The first thing that strikes you about Mrs Meaden isn’t necessarily her business nous. Nor her domestos-dunked highlights, or her grumpier-than-thou attitude. Admit it, it’s the breasts. The welcoming yet intimidating love cushions that scare you just a little bit. Seeing her storming purposefully down that East End back alley, swaggering and swaying, you find yourself questioning the very meaning of existence. Can they… what are… but they… is she… attractive?
The jury’s out on that one, but while it is, try deciding for yourself. Would you? You just might. Twenty years ago and you’d jump at the chance – especially considering she’s loaded. It wouldn’t be love, but it would be comfortable. “Deborah, I’m bored. Make me a robot chimp. Out of gold. Thanks dear.”
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