Glamour puss
She's blonde. She's curvy. She's Joanne Guest, the girl who makes tabloid readers cough out their cornflakes and go "Crikey!"
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window to returnSo far as pool goes, I'm no Fast Eddie Felson, no Maltese Joe, no Minnesota Fats. To be honest, I don't even know what the chalk does. But none of that matters in this pool hall tonight, because all the good players are performing like total duds. They're missing easy straight shots, snookering themselves by mistake, and sending the white in-off with monotonous regularity. These are guys who have their own cues and make an extra �200 a week hustling people, but to judge by their current form it's only a matter of time before somebody rips the baize.
The reason why? Well, that's simple. My partner on Table Five is Joanne Guest, the blonde Page Three girl, stark naked star of men's magazines, and living embodiment of the words 'firm' and 'pert'. As she is a petite 5ft 5in, her pool technique involves an awful lot of leaning over the table, stretching her body across the cloth to reach the cue ball, one leg precariously raised in the air, her much-lusted-after rump riding up... hell, no wonder these guys are having difficulty concentrating on their game.
But what I find really surprising, as I watch her wrap up another four-ball clearance, is that she herself is capable of playing. After all, we've been in this King's Road pool hall for less than two hours, and in that time she has sunk six bottles of strong lager, and is doing well on her seventh. Given her trim figure - touching the scales around the 8 stone mark, and carrying none of the silicone excess baggage common among other glamour models - it's the sort of alcohol-to-body weight ratio that could drop an elephant.
Whether it's the booze or her natural sociability, I'm also finding her great fun to be with. She's incredibly friendly and rather sweetly shy. If it's true that a person's face reflects their personality, then hers is just right: pretty, smiling, almost angelic, certainly a million miles from the hard-bitten mien of other women jaded by the porn business. Her life, too, is nothing like you'd expect. Not for her the late nights in clubland, the flash cars, the 'favours' for rich businessmen and visiting oil sheiks. In fact, she's only had one sexual relationship in the last three years, and that was a short-lived liaison with Phil Babb, the Liverpool stopper and noted 'Irishman'. Her fellow Page Three stunnas may have been caught with their nose in the Bolivian or their tongues in each other's mouths (and all points south), but for Joanne, life in front of the camera and life away from it are two very different things.
Take it from me. I've seen the beaver shots and the cock-teasing blurbs in the jazz mags, but after an hour in her company, lulled by her good humour and soft Derbyshire accent, I'm convinced. Honest: this is the sort of girl you could bring home to meet your parents. So long as they don't read the Sun, of course.
How did you get into nude modelling?
When I was 17 I had a friend who wanted some erotic pictures taken of her as a birthday present for her boyfriend - to keep in his wallet, you know - so she phoned up this local photographer. His voice sounded really dodgy over the phone, so she asked me to come with her as security.Was he dodgy?
No, it turned out he was deaf, so that was why he sounded like a bit of a weirdo. He asked me if I fancied having some snaps done while I was there: I only had a school vest and knickers with me, so they weren't too gorgeous. But because of those pictures, I got a lot of work with the amateur photographers' club, and I was soon earning enough money to leave college.What sort of pictures did you do?
Topless stuff at first. I used to get hired for company day trips - like, say, a supermarket would give their staff a day out taking glamour pictures. And then I did some more adult snaps. Nudes. It was a bit nerve-wracking, but a girl I knew said, "Try it, I'll come with you, if you don't like it you can stop." And they said they'd give me 300 quid, which seemed like a fortune. I didn't feel proud, but I was happy to have the money...So are you rolling in it now?
Not really. In the early days, I spent a lot of money commuting to London, so a big slice went on hotels and train fares. Actually, some clients said they'd put me up at their flat, but I didn't think that was sensible, so I paid my way instead. And I had to buy loads of lingerie: red underwear, black underwear, white underwear, you name it, I bought it... Even now, I only live in a little rented flat in Golders Green.What's your bedroom like?
Haha. If you must know, I've got a big bed and white sheets with blue flowers. A crispy, clean bed.
No gonks, I trust?
Well, I've got three whips. And a ball and chain. I bought them as props for photos, but I thought they looked quite arty, so I hung them on the wall. I don't use them.No wonder you haven't scored recently. Any guy seeing those would run a mile.
Hey, if a man gets as far as my bedroom, then believe me, I've pulled.Any other weird ornaments?
I tried a bit of decorating the other day. I did like four or five brushstrokes and I thought, 'I can't reach the ceiling.' So I gave up. But I can cover the mess with a poster I've got of a male stripper called Rough Stuff. I got it when I did a video called Girls' Night Out, which was a hen party affair - lots of sex-crazed women going mad with bananas and massage oil. I got pretty drunk, so I can't really remember what went on, but I ended up with a signed poster so it can't have been too bad.Click on an image for a screen size version - close new window to return
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Interview by Grub Smith, photography by Alan Strutt
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