Julie Hayward’s a drama queen

My drama group, performed – I use the word  ‘perform’  loosely – some of our work the other day and I have to say I’m disgusted at the lengths some people, (one of them my stepmother) will go to to get attention.  Three of the members of the group including my stepmother, tried to up the ante by revealing their cleavage – I don’t know how they could have stooped so low, but unfortunately one of the them did, when they ‘accidentally’  dropped a prop in front of the audience and bent to retrieve it. 

The audience, consisting of an elderly, frail-looking  gentleman and half a dozen women who belonged to the ‘blue rinse’ brigade didn’t know where to put their cups of tea and digestives, (included in the price of the tickets – we had to do something to entice people in). Let me tell you that the three gals, I use that word loosely too, have all been round the block a few times and the rule ‘less make-up and more material’, definitely applied to the lot of them.  They were behaving disgracefully for women of their age – more like teenage girls vying for attention.

I fear that I’m developing an unhealthy obession with cleavage, having been recruited to the cleavage police a few months ago by a friend of mine. Basically, for those who haven’t read my Cleavage Police blog, one of my life’s missions since being recruited to the Cleavage Police, is to persuade women of a certain age, to cover up their parchment-like decolletes to avoid eye ache for the poor unfortunates whose gaze falls upon them.

I’ve made an appointment to see a counsellor, partly due to my recent obsession with  women’s cleavages – I blame my friend – and partly because it’s a requirement of the counselling course I’ve just started.  I’m going to see a man counsellor as it’ll be the only chance to pour my heart out to a man and get his undivided attention for once, even if it means I have to pay for it! It’ll make a nice change to be able to reel off  myworries, concerns and all my neuroses without him  saying ‘yes, dear’ and burying his head in the sports pages of The Sun. Although, you never know, I have a friend who went to see a male counsellor and he proceeded to eat a steak & kidney pie, whilst she broke down sobbing in front of him.  At the end of the session he accused her of becoming hysterical because she’d cried throughout the session.  Needless to say, she never went back to him again.