There they were, right there, staring at me and anyone else who walked in the door.

There was no getting away from them either, one’s eyes being inextricably drawn to them, their volume and sheer substance defying belief.

Their owner acted as if there was nothing unusual in her sitting right in front of the pub door, ready to greet every poor unfortunate punter who wandered in.

Because once you spotted them it was almost impossible to drag your eyes away, like a rabbit stuck in headlights, until the door opened again and the next unsuspecting punter leapt in pushing you towards the bar, where we all stood in awe, drinking hard liquor to get over the shock.

I’ll put you out of your misery. I’m talking about the biggest pair of fake boobs I’ve ever seen.

They were on a par, if not borrowed from, Lola Ferrari, and were a law unto themselves.

Each breast was the size of a football, enormous in capacity, stretched to the limit, with nothing remotely real or sexy about either of them.

But it was the clothing that made them such a s plendid spectacle, her red vest just covering her salient points, so that everything was revealed, nothing left to the imagination.

A bikini would have been more revealing.

I know I sound Victorian but they were really quite something, and it wasn’t just me, we were all fascinated.

What made the whole thing even more titillating (excuse the pun) was the way she and her husband were sat in the front seats facing the door for maximum exposure, without giving anything away.

It was as if they were sat at home on the sofa watching Coronation Street.

I couldn’t tell you her age, to be honest no one was really looking at her face, but I’d hazard a guess at late 50s, because once you’d gulped down your drink and disappeared out of the pub, unable to cope anymore, an enormous crowd of similarly astonished customers had gathered outside, all howling with laughter, some doubled up.

No one could believe it.

It was a universal experience.

As most of the people there were only grabbing a quick drink, they then all disappeared to their evening’s entertainment.

But we all knew in our minds that the real show had already happened and nothing was going to top the performance we had just witnessed.

As Mae West would have put it: “What a dame.”