World's tallest model: 6' 8"

The blog that brings you les plus belles.

Not sure if her parents actually christened her 'Amazon Eve' - how could they know, gazing down at the crib? - or if her manager decided that 'Amazon Eve' was an obvious nik, but she's hot.

"6 feet 8 inches in her bare feet ... completely dwarfs all other models."

What matters is that her bod and booty are in good proportion.

Phwoah!

Speaking of which, I once woke in my Seattle pad to hear NPR discussing the new entry in the OU Dictionary ~

Phwoah. Registering admiration of a lady's charms, or some such.

"Per Wo-ah?" puzzled the gormless announcer, "Per woah? How does that work? I see a hot chick and I go, like, 'p'woah'?"

I was so angry I got on the line and told the receptionist, "It's not 'per woah', you idiots!"

I heard her tell someone, 'I got someone with a fake English accent saying we got something wrong'

'OK, I'll take it, I'll spot if he's faking it. Hello, can I help you?'

It's not a fake English accent, you berk! It's the best my parents' money could buy ... and it's pronounced 'Phworr!' Bloody hell! You'd think NPR could get that right!'

Yeh, sorry about that. Could you say it again?'

PHWOARR! With bags of lust to it

'You're funny. OK, turn down your radio and listen to the show and we'll have you on to pronounce it right. Thanks'

Which I did, and my fan club quintupled.

[I have the feeling I've told you this before ... if so, sorry.]

I think the tallest I 'dated' was 6' 2". Marvelous statuesque creature, also perfectly proportioned and with the cutest button nose atop all her curvy charms.

Bars and restaurants would fall silent when she entered so I didnt have to do that nervous blokey thing of constantly watching the door.

It was more I'd be chatting to the barman and he'd suddenly look over my shoulder.

"Blimey!"

Cue my ego trip. I'd slowly fold my copy of the Evening Standard and turn ever so nonchalantly - 'Over here, sweetie'.

Never a problem acting the gent: I had to stand up to be tall enough to peck her hello.

When she tried to surprise me by sneaking up and putting her hands over my eyes, I'd go

"Miranda - darling! Lovely surprise!"

Pout.

'You always know it's me. No fun'

"Yes, well, you see, with 'normal' people, their hands are sort of 90 degrees to my face. Yours clamp round me at 45 degs as if from a great height, like I've been crept up on by Frankensteina."

'You're so rude to me. [Appealing to the rest of the room] He's so rude to me.'

Every red-blooded male in hearing distance [thinks, bubble bubble]

'Yeh, well, I could be 'rude' to you, darlin', half the chance.'

Lovely lovely lady. I didn't pay enough attention to her - career path, vaulting ambition - so we said tatty-bye and next time I saw her she'd been knocked up by some pipsqueak asshole, married the twit and disappeared. Pearl before swine.

Alors, just to show I'm not completely obsessed by beauty ~ and take a strong drink before clicking on this link - appalling almost obscene tale of anorexic model dead at 28.

On 2nd thoughts, click not.

Miranda: she'd never seen the innards of a true blue English public school so I hired Avis's hottest bird puller, or in this case 'transporter', and whizzed us down to the old Colditz alma mater.

Leggy babes have a way of exiting vehicles - I think they're hard wired from t'cradle - it's like legs at an angle and sloow glide out.

Everyone's watching for a glimpse of pantie or, better, flash of the old Sharon Stone.

Dead funny it was, all the pompous pricks suddenly sauntering over as if we were mates.

Same thing happened when American Alex and I went down with some simpering Playmate who had the hots for him.

I mean, good for Mother Nature getting the measurements right. You'd think that with all the slide-rule stuff on the height, the jutty bits would fall by the wayside - no boobs, is what I really mean, or the legs would be on the skinny side.(Not a bit.)

Psst! Nothing wrong with that, all you slender-limbed lassies out there.

Perwoah, what?