I had a dream the other night in which, amongst ever things, I appeared to be married to Joan Rhodes. Joan was a wrestler, actress, stunt woman and muscle lady, an 'iron girl in a velvet glove' who could tear telephone books in half, bend iron bars with her pearly whites and lift up two fat blokes without getting a single wrinkle in her foundation. The above picture was taken in 1958, and perhaps gives a flavour of what life with Joan might have been like. Tidy.
Just don't get on her nerves, that's all.
Here she is looking very glam and singing a song which will link into a short film about the correct way to lift and carry heavy objects. There are numerous shots of her pulsating inner thighs. I love the Doctor at the end, he's the most self-conscious man I've ever seen, he looks like a stunned carp.
I have written a poem to this great, late (she died in 2010) Amazonian lady.
O Joan -
now that you have taught me
that the heart is a muscle, too
please don't throw me over
I beg of you.
At least it was short.