Brissie broad

I was on the gentlemen's flight this morning, the 0715. Which is late, but not late enough to be classed as a Chairman's flight (there's a whole language around this stuff). The young woman sitting next to me had chemically-blonde and straightened hair, very tight designer jeans and (as I saw to my horror when she got up) pink flowery stiletto shoes. She was reading the Daily Telegraph and very carefully tore the horoscope page out, then from the horoscope page neatly tore out the forecast for two star signs. I had to restrain myself from grabbing her arm and saying "Love, you know you're going to Melbourne, right...?"