Glum Ulrika was operation breast surgery. she was 51 year old biggest operation was a £6,000 procedure to reduce the size of her breasts, which had ballooned to during her last pregnancy. She said of the surgery: 'I just wanted to repair what Mother Nature had inflicted on me during years of childbearing and rearing.’ It has taken me 41 years to feel this good - this really has changed my life.'

As well as her one-year-old son with Mr. Monet, Miss Jonson has 13-year-old Cameron, by first husband John Turnbull, a daughter, Bo, seven, by German hotelier Markus Kempen and three-year-old Martha from her marriage to Lance Gerrard-Wright.you may be surprised to learn that I was, in fact, a late developer in every aspect of puberty. In my early teens, my breasts were already a big disappointment.

While my school friends were all donning bras and showing signs that womanhood was, indeed, just around the corner, my chest remained as flat as a pancake. My bust hadn't even graduated to a couple of paracetamols on an ironing board, and the brassiere my parents bought me for my 13th birthday sat pretty redundant on my barren chest plate for longer than I care to remember. As with most awkward physical developments, at secondary school my lack of breasts made me the target of a bullying campaign headed by a rather short boy called Martin-something.

No doubt these were early signs of short-man-syndrome, as he took out his frustration on me by labeling me 'frigid'. This later became 'frigid tart' which, I was wise enough to spot, was a contradiction in terms, and to that end he went down in my estimation as a bully. It is little wonder, then, that paranoia about my body set in early on. This was compounded by the fact that Tracy Salter grew a fine pair and Sally Smith appeared to have got my share.

It was blindingly disappointing and I prayed nightly that I might be granted just a cupful. Alas, eventually my prayers were answered. Out of nowhere, it seemed, in 1981 I became a C-cup, which was more than I could have hoped for. But as if to confirm that one is never happy with one's lot, I grew increasingly displeased with my nipples which weren't as pert as Marie Berntson's.