Kevin Henning says you can keep your Scarlett Johanssons and Kelly Brooks. Adopting the Hitler stance to Vorderman is where it’s really at as he drools over nine overlooked fantasy figures.
Beverly Callard aka Liz McDonald
The bustiest of soapland barmaids who I hadn’t realised was as popular as she is until I ran the inaugural Coronation Street Babes Contest on the Bluemoon forum back in 2011. A smattering of men who should know better became a cult following who voted the flamed haired cougar all the way to the semi final. It had to be the tight skirts, revealing blouses and huge mammaries that caught the eye.
Away from the Granada studios, Beverly Callard brought her screen character into the real world over a decade ago when she took over one of my old haunts. Regulars at The White Horse in Salford were said to have been outraged when she barred local lunatic Flat Cap Al from her boozer. A hastily arranged boycott was called and Al was soon back at the bar, dribbling away at the sight of Bev’s cleavage.
The Dundee United supporting, early morning glory inducing strumpet brings a smile to students, benefit scroungers and lazy, skiving blokes who have phoned in sick on a daily basis.
The glint in her eye tells me that she enjoys life. The stirring in my nether regions tells me I’d better act quickly before the “King of the Gypsies” ruins my moment by bringing his army of warring chavs in front of the camera to discuss lie detector test results.
Possibly the most confusing of the entrants on this list. Fern is more attractive when she displays what I’ll refer to as a “fuller figure”.
I’m no chubby chaser but some women just have it no matter what dress size they wear. She comes across as a right handful and sets an example to ladies who enjoy a kebab or two throughout the land.
A controversial choice but one I’m going to stick by.
No matter how appalling her behaviour becomes, no matter how talentless she is, no matter how much you assure yourself that she’ll end up skint in a bedsit, Katona can take a couple of months out of the public eye and come back looking like the filthy good-time girl from the local whenever the mood takes her and not even a missing septum can take that away from her.
“Delia, I’d like to feel yer, hands upon my chopping board tonight.” So went the lyrics of the track ‘Song For Delia’ written for his own debut album by one Aiden Smith. It’s difficult to disagree with the Salford born singer. There’s something incredibly naughty about the Norwich City director. We’ve all seen her sherry induced rallying call during half time at Carrow Road. Despite being a supporter of that night’s opponents Manchester City, I love to imagine what would have happened in the home changing room had the Canaries made a comeback and won the game. Full of alcohol, the Norfolk based mistress of fine food might have visited the players to show how grateful she was and full of spirits…….
Praying at the alter of this particular Church is seen as a bad thing by some but I call “sacrilege” at the doubters.
We were always aware of the youngster whose voice of an angel resulted in her being one of the youngest mlilionairesses in Britain but she literally burst into our collective conciousness during her gravity defying, pop video debut which resulted in me suffering horrendous whiplash. Marvellous stuff.
Lesley Joseph aka Dorian Green
Please, I can’t really explain this one. The only thing I can say is that her character in ‘Birds of a Feather’ offered light relief from the gruesome twosome next door.
Dorian was a predator and always seemed to have a young man on her arm. As a teenage boy, she conjured up images of stockings, suspenders, punishment and…..
“Nurse! For the love of Jebus, bring my medication.”
It is said that you should try to do one thing every day that scares you. Taking on this tennis superstar in the bedroom would terrify and thrill you in equal measure.
She’d more than likely annihilate any man brave enough within minutes but I like a challenge. I’d like to think that the click of the door handle as she enters the room would signal a sexual moment that would leave me needing to see a therapist.
I honestly thought that any man with a pulse would be only too happy to have a crack at this conundrum but apparently not.
The nay sayers point to a couple of pictures of the lovely Prestatyn pearl looking a bit “Plain Jane” and whine about the work that may or may not have been carried out on Vorderman. To any man who claims they wouldn’t, I challenge thee to ponder the rear of 2011 whilst in the shower. If it doesn’t result in you adopting the Nazi stance against a tiled wall and making the sounds of the Countdown clock as you approach the vinegar strokes, then there must be something severly wrong with me.