THE PRESS

Ono, not again

BILL GRUNDY Those of you who are as well advanced into the sere and yellow as I am will need no reminding of the story of Miss `Gussie' Moran's knickers. But for those of you who were still sitting comfortably at the time and Listening with Mother, let me summarise it for you. Gorgeous Gussie was an American tennis player with a fine figure, lovely legs

and a skirt that was sensationally short for

twenty years ago. Her tennis outfit was designed by Mr Teddy Tinling. Little wotting what he was doing, he frilled her knickers with lace. The effect this had can fairly be described as sensational. Instantly, nearly every newspaper in the land went mad. For the whole of that long hot summer all we were given were frilly knickers for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Now, no young man in his right mind objects to a well-built young woman in he! knickers. In fact, every young man should have one. But enough is enough is enoug11. and can often be a bore. It was. One was driven irresistibly to the conclusion that in 1949 all the news, sports and picture editors in the country were either pimply. boys or dirty old men, and the sigh of relief that went up when Miss.Moran returned to the New World could have been heard all over the Old one.

That, as I say, was twenty years ago. Since then, we are constantly assured, the nation has become more educated, more sophisti cated, less interested in stunts, and nto interested in statistics and statements of fa This, we are told, is proved by the incre circulations of the qualities and the ap ance in the populars of features like `Mir

scope' and 'Money Mail'. I hope you don't mind if, on recent evidence. 1 take leave to doubt it.

For we now have Mr Rupert Murdoch. whom Mr Bernard Levin recently described

as a very efficient tit-and-bum merchant. The Sun has certainly given us a lot of the former lately, which. I suppose, is some sort of

advance on knicker fetishism, and certainly

can brighten a dull morning. The Sketch is running a 'Save the Mini' campaign which

has enabled us to look longingly at some of the loveliest legs in London and elsewhere. Both these campaigns are new and, for the time being, fun. But enough is enough . . .

Fine examples are available at the moment of what happens if things go on for too long. Although, as a disenchanted reader of papers. I normally react minimally to what they contain. I give you due warning that if !have to read much more about George Best or the Lennon-Ono antics. I will scream.

For some months now I have spoken to nobody who wasn't bored to death by Mr

and Mrs Lennon. Yet the papers go on

giving them space. Indeed on Monday of this week they very nearly surpassed themselves.

They showed us pictures of the pair in Hyde Park demonstrating against the hanging of Hanratty. At least, one assumes it was Mr Lennon and his wife, but since they had a large bag over their heads it was not really possible to be sure. I am not clear at what point a non-picture can be considered a picture, but I am clear about the point at which the story became a non-story; it was a very long time ago Much the same could be said about the coverige given to the apparently insatiable George Best. I admire Mr Best as a foot- baller very much indeed. But I do wish he (mild he allowed to keep his private life to mself (I suspect that from time to time Mr Best wishes this too). First it was his hair- wk. then his cars, and always and every- here his girls. To each new manifestation f his character, the newspapers have reacted Ike a reader of Peg's Paper—with squeals of rgasmic delight, and with an adoration °tally unrelated to the reality. The climax ir) came when his engagement was nnounced to that blonde Scandinavian bird. child of eleven could have guessed how t was going to end—I know one who did- ut the newspapers treated it as though it as the greatest love story since that unfor- nate liaison between two members of the nntq gu and Canulet clans.

When my editions of the Mail or Express plash the world-shattering news that Eva is mg George, when the Sunday Times sends .meone to interview young Besty about his frds. his boutiques, his bangles and his • ds—and prints it in the sports section to ot—the time has surely come to call a halt. Is nice to see things going from good to ter. I should hate to see them go from est to worse.