He discussed Angela’s breakthrough moment with her husband, Ken, a former Sun photographer.
A girl was on page three. Yesterday marked the end of Angela Jay’s brief battle with lung cancer.
She was always inside The Sun in the early 1980s.
She also starred in advertisements for boxer Henry Cooper’s Brut Aftershave and Gossard lingerie.
Beside her husband Ken, she passed away in an Eastbourne, East Sussex, hospital. Her age was seventy-one.
He described her as “the perfect girl next door” and described her as a “dared to dream miner’s daughter from the northern pits.”
After moving to Manchester, Angela was noticed by a modeling agency, according to Ken, a 79-year-old former photographer for The Sun. Her birthplace was Sunderland.
“She knew she couldn’t stay there and marry a miner,” he added.
“After she relocated to Manchester, a modeling agency noticed her.”
She was really skilled at it from the start. Very youthful-looking.
Angela was almost prepared to leave. Many of the models require two hours to prepare.
“She looked beautiful even though she was wearing jeans and a dirty t-shirt when I first saw her.”
“I knew she was the one at that point.”
Neighbor Wouldn’t Turn Off His Bright Floodlights at Night, I Deftly Managed the Situation and Maintained Harmony
When my neighbor wouldn’t turn off his bright floodlights at night, my husband and I needed a clever solution to keep the peace.
When the Thompsons moved in next door, they seemed friendly. My wife, Gia, and Susan, the neighbor, quickly bonded while chatting over unpacked boxes. We thought we finally had some neighbors our age to socialize with. Mark, the husband, was often away for work, while Susan stayed home and had a long list of phobias, including fear of the dark, thunderstorms, snakes, clowns, and spiders.
As time passed, Susan’s fear of the dark created an issue that affected Gia and me. Their floodlights, installed soon after they moved in, were excessively bright, like those outside prisons. Gia joked that they could probably be seen from space.
Despite our attempts to address the issue, Susan insisted she needed the lights on for safety when Mark was away. We tried thick curtains and rearranging our bedroom, but nothing helped. After a week of sleepless nights, I approached Susan, asking her to turn off the floodlights after midnight, as they shined directly into our bedroom. She explained her need for safety and refused my suggestion to install a timer.
After several attempts to reason with her and Mark, who felt similarly protective of Susan, we continued to lose sleep. Frustrated, I considered drastic measures, like unscrewing the bulbs or using a pellet gun, but Gia reminded me to stay calm. Instead, she suggested a harmless plan while she and Susan went out for nails.
The next day, I climbed a ladder and slightly unscrewed each bulb to disrupt the connection. That night, when Susan turned on the lights, they flickered and went out. Gia and I finally enjoyed peaceful sleep. Surprisingly, days turned into weeks, and the lights stayed off.
However, one day, I saw Mark fixing the bulbs again. The floodlights blazed back to life that night, and I knew I had to repeat my trick. This cycle continued for months—every time Mark tightened the bulbs, I loosened them.
Then one Saturday, as I trimmed the hedges, Mark approached me. He mentioned his floodlights kept going out, and I managed to keep a straight face while agreeing it might be due to vibrations from the street. I suggested he could leave them off, and he seemed to consider it. After that conversation, Gia and I enjoyed our peaceful, dark evenings once again.
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