Bob Shields UPFRONT AND OFF THE LEASH; The cleavage by any other name.
Yes, we're talking cleavage here. And as National Cleavage Day becomes a distant mammary, surely we can come up with a better nom-de-plunge before it comes around next year?
From the verb cleave - to split or cause to split - it's a dreadful description of something many men, and I'm one of them, find hormone-crankingly sensuous.
Cleavage sounds as if it's got more to do with brassicas than brassieres: "Waiter, I'll have the roast beef with cabbage, cauliflower and cleavage, please."
I began to wonder what other countries called this peculiarly feminine phenomenon.
According to my German dictionary, the equivalent is spaltung. But then again, the German language is as sensuous as a smack on the coupon with a bratwurst.
In Spain, the senoritas would show off their escote - if only they could get past all the Germans already on the beach getting their spaltungs out for the boys.
The French have their decollete. Ooh la la, now that's a lot sexier than cleavage, isn't it?
But a Dutch girl in the office said they don't have a word for cleavage at all.
Then again, Holland isn't exactly renowned for its humps and bumps, is it? And another of Italian descent claimed more or less the same thing, saying: "Italian men see it all the time - they don't make such a fuss of it."
Now hang on a wee minuto here. If anybody makes a real fuss over cleavage, it certainly is not us lads.
Yes, we all like to look. And, with a bit of luck, some of us get to touch.
But don't tell me women don't give a Liz Hurley what their cleavage looks like.
They know the scientific formula better than anyone: a man's rate of interest increases in direct proportion to the rate a woman's neckline decreases.
Albert Einstein worked that one out. In between discovering the theory of relativity, the old cove liked nothing better than a young girl with a fair-sized chemistry set of her own.
I just wish someone would work out the correct formula for male behaviour when a decent cleavage gets within eye-popping, conversation range.
I've tried the nose-staring technique. You pick a point on the lady's neb and demand that your eyes don't drop any lower.
Of course, you are so busy concentrating you lose track of the conversation and the lady departs, convinced she's met an utter dimwit.
Drop your gaze for a millisecond and she knows exactly what you were doing. And you know she knows.
You're so embarrassed, you lose concentration and the lady departs convinced she's met ... etc, etc.
I'm telling you, it's tough being a bloke at a dinner-dance these days. Or am I just a boy at a bad age?
Despite the awful name, C-Day was still a success. A model called Jordan wins my star prize.
Girls, this is what a real cleavage should look like.
And talking of Jordan - as in deep and wide - my cleavage booby prize goes to GMTV's Lorraine Kelly.
On C-Day, the one day when she should have been pulling out the stops, there was nothing to stop Lorraine's from pulling ... er ... downwards.
Decollete, Lorraine, decollete.
Unless someone out there can think of a better word ...
Murray's mint is Ayr's loss
A FORMER milk boy from Glasgow's Castlemilk has pounds 20million to invest in Rangers. For "fun".
Tom Hunter, who started selling trainers from the back of a van, wants to give David Murray some of his pounds 275million. And Trever Hemmings, who used to be a brickie, has an equally large wad to send to Govan.
I love a good rags to riches story. I'm just upset that all the rich men seem to be Rangers supporters.
I know a wee football club a lot nearer to Tom Hunter's Troon home who could use a few million. And I don't mean Killie.
But that's life. Ayr United once had milkboys, pedlars and brickies in their support. But I can think of only one boyhood fan who has gone on to make millions. His name is ... er ... David Murray.
Stop this device in its tracks
THE Japanese have invented a satellite system for tracking down wayward grannies. If the old dearies start to wander, a tiny transmitter will tell worried families where they are.
"There's a market out there," says a spokesman for makers Mitsui.
Too right, pal.
And the market is wives and girlfriends putting a bug on their blokes to find out what they're up to.
This can't be allowed to happen. So please, let's keep the shoving of grannies off buses to a minimum until this threat to our freedom has passed.
Time to grin and bear it
FARMERS in the Pyrenees are getting upset.Slovenian bears, released to help preserve their local cousins, have been munching their lambs and goats.
Now animal experts are looking for a new home for them.
One said: "They need mountains, a cool climate, plenty of wildlife and friendship of a similar species."
Send them to Aviemore.
It's got the mountains, the climate and a similar species.
I watched last Sunday's Old Firm game in the Cairngorm Hotel and the lounge was hoaching with happy bears.
Breast news of the year
HONEST, I won't mention breasts again for months. But I have to tell you about a report in the New England Journal of Medicine.
After lengthy research, it has at last been proved that looking at women's breasts is good for your health.
We knew that already lads, didn't we?
Dr Karen Weatherby, who spent five years on the project, said: "Just 10 minutes of staring at the charms of a well-endowed female, such as Pamela Anderson, is the equivalent to 30 minutes of aerobics."
So I'm going to spend all weekend looking at Pamela Anderson.
By Monday, I should look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Brits we win, Scots we lose
MY thanks to BBC1 news for telling me England's ladies hockey team had qualified for the Olympics.
Is it worth pointing out, at this early stage, that England do not have a team at Sydney 2000?
Probably not. I hate to be xenophobic, but I fear the sports broadcasting status quo yet again. Winning English athletes will be English, winning Scottish athletes will be . . . British. What a surprise.
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|Publication:||Daily Record (Glasgow, Scotland)|
|Date:||Apr 1, 2000|
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