You know her as the Oscar-nominated actress from Educating Rita and Billy Elliot.
But I know her as the lady who spills about her vajayjay in her memoir, That’s Another Story, which I’m currently devouring as if it were a piping-hot chili dog made from scraps of shepherd’s pie.
In the book, Julie remembers bagging her first proper boyfriend when she was a nurse.
“It was a sublime period,” she writes, “in which I staggered about … completely knackered after nights of unbridled shagging.
“I had discovered sex, in a big way, but it wasn’t all smooth going; it took me at least several days to lose my virginity because I was so tense; clamped shut, I suppose.
“At one point, I seriously questioned whether I had a vagina at all and began to reason that perhaps this was how the vagina actually took shape; from the continual hammering at the door by the penis.
“However, after those three days, there was no stopping me.”
Can anyone relate to this intimate tale of libidinal initiation?
Ever feel “clamped shut” yet still have wanton sex for days and nights on end?
Ever wonder if your anatomy was caused by Mr. Penis a-knocking at your VIP entrance?