Up until last week I used to share my 5.15 wakeup call with another early bird. Unlike me, he’d be brighteyed though not quite bushy tailed and raring to go.

Scurrying about, busying himself with things to do and making sure everything was just right for when he’d finished his night shift

We’d natter to each other as i prepared to venture out to my other less glamorous job as a school cleaner and put the world to rights in our 45 minutes together.

That was until last Sunday when his hustle and bustle became silent and we shared our precious moments no more.

 There’s no need to send sympathy cards flooding through my front door this wasn’t a human bereavement but i suppose to us it was like losing a member of the family.

I speak of course of our late lamented dwarf Chinese hamster, Sam Squeak, he of spider hamster ability and sunflower seed stuffed cheeks.

Purchased along with his brother Lava after a plea from the children for a pet for their birthday back in September 2011, the two little rodent fella’s came to live with us and charmed us with their antics.

Making burrows under their sawdust to avoid being seen. That odd noise they used to make that sounded like they were using a tiny pneumatic drill, climbing the bars of their cage and giving it some right old welly on their wheel.

Like Noel and Liam Gallagher though these brothers didn’t always get along and eventually things became so acrimonious that they decided to split up and live in separate cages.

The single life suited the two very well and soon the sound of bitter fights were replaced with something more harmonious.

Then in the summer we noticed Lava wasn’t doing so well, while they were both getting on in hamster years Sam was still running about like a good un but Lava was beginning to slow down and seem not so nimble on his feet. An accidental knock of his cage onto the floor didn’t help matters much either and one day in June he struggled to the corner of his cage, lay down and quietly passed away.

Many tears were shed as we buried him in a small box behind the garden fence and the realisation that we’d have to go through it all again at some point was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sam seemed to be going from strength to strength though and showing no signs of giving into old age yet , still giving us the run around when we were trying  to clean his cage, concealing himself like the world hide and seek champion . Dying seemed to be the last thing on this fella’s mind.

That was until however 2 weeks ago when I spotted what looked like a lump on his chin, we dismissed it at first as a displaced bit of stored food but when he emerged a few days later looking like he could give Bruce Forsyth a run for his money  we knew something was wrong .

A visit to the vet confirmed that while he did have a growth he was still in good nick and that with the help of some antibiotics for the infection he’d picked up there was no reason to have him put down and should let him just do his best with it.

And do his best he did,he was still living it up , in particular giving it his all in a spectacular wheel display as i sat typing at the computer last Thursday.

Then on Sunday I noticed his favourite nuts hadn’t been touched for nearly 24 hours and an inspection of his cage confirmed our worst fears.

As he was buried watched by two sad faces from their bedroom window and two trying not to cry adults, we all swore off ever having any other pets.

After all they come into your life, make you love them, then rip your heart out when they die.

So that’s it we’re never letting anything furry , scaly or feathery steal our hearts again ...

Well, until the next time , that is .

 

Speak now or forever hold my peace

By Nina Page

WORDS don’t come easy to me so say the words of the song.

 Writing them down I can do but ask me to read them out loud, now that’s a different matter.

Let me explain, as a child I was painfully shy to the point that I didn’t speak in a register above a whisper for the first 2 years of primary school even getting to the point where I would rather wet myself than ask a teacher if I could go to the toilet.

So you can imagine the prospect of speaking aloud in a room full of people would have been enough to send that small girl hurtling into a nervous breakdown and having to go for a lie down in matron’s office for the rest of the day.

Yet here I am over 30 years later agreeing to do just that at my youngest brother’s forthcoming wedding. Even now at 38 the thought of speaking in front of lots of people leaves me feeling like that little girl standing in her wet knickers so why would I put myself through all that again?

The nerves alone have the power to turn my normal speaking voice from Chatham Grammar girl to bad Bruce Forsyth impersonation in just a matter of seconds. I might as well be back up on that podium in the school hall stuttering my way through another shambolic reading from a book of my own choice as everyone sniggers behind their hands.

But this time it’s different, I don’t feel like I’m being judged and about to get “sorry but it’s a no from me “it’s for two people I care about very much and I’d do anything to make them happy on their big day.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen. Granted I could make such a hash of reading it that I become an overnight YouTube sensation if someone catches it on their i phone .

But it’s not as if I’m a stranger to total humiliation.

After all aren’t i the one who took a tumble down the steps of the dj booth i was playing in, sprained my wrist but still got straight back up and finished the set because” the show must go on “.

So spare a thought at 2pm on 19th September as I prepare to take part in the most important performance of their lives and wish me luck. With all the love in the room I might not need it, but I’ll pack spare underwear just in case!

from girl from the neck down column - medway messenger

dodging the dog mess

A reworking of my original dog mess blog piece that became my first piece published in the medway messenger -

  Monday morning 8.30, I’m on the school run but what’s this, why is the person in front of me doing the ministry of silly walks?

Oh no, my mistake , the world hasn’t suddenly gone “pythonesque “ ,  it’s just that while they should be admiring the beautiful colours of summer they’ve fallen foul of a pavement that’s fifty shades of brown.

Time after time short walks to the shops/park/school involve me having  to shout ' look out ' to make sure my boys don't step in various piles of dog mess en route just because someone can’t be bothered to take responsibility for what their canine is leaving in its wake.  Sometimes the deposits are just mere yards apart as if the dog and owner are laying a trail to find their way back home in a bizarre ' Hansel and Gretel ' parody.

Then of course we also have the 'part time' responsible dog owner, yeah you know who I'm talking about. The ones who think they are being good because they've bagged it up but when there's no bin in sight chuck it on the ground or even worse up in a tree or bush like some twisted and macabre Christmas decoration.  

It’s not a difficult task to perform but it seems to be one littered (if you pardon the pun) with excuses. From the common “ i didn’t have a bag “ to  “ you don’t have to pick it up if it’s on grassland only when it’s on the pavement “ which a friend of mine got told recently , they all seem a bit lame when you consider the health risks involved .

I don’t want my kids to suffer nausea , headaches , stomach pains or serious eye disorders because they’ve ingested the parasite that causes Toxocariasis  through someone else’s sheer selfishness.

When caught out and shamed by someone as to why they aren’t picking up their dog litter offenders are often heard to utter “  the council will clear it up” but do they realise that the money the council have to spend on picking up their dog mess could actually pay to train up 700 N.H.S nurses or mend 300 potholes .They want to try remembering that when they are next in hospital complaining about the lack of staff or moaning about the state of our roads.

What people need to realise is that if they choose to have a dog then they choose to take on the responsibility it involves there’s no flouting the rules just because you can’t be bothered.

Where i live there is a man who walks his dog regularly even though he’s lost both his legs and is confined to a wheelchair.  Despite this he always makes sure he cleans up after his four legged friend regardless of how much of an operation it might entail. So if he can do it no other excuse is valid.

 

 

THE STONES DON’T GIVE JIM NO SATISFACTION .

By Nina Page

TO the adoring fans at the Rolling Stones recent Hyde Park performances the value of getting Mick Jaggers autograph would be priceless.

But back in 1963 there was one man who wasn’t so enamoured of the boy from Dartford.

That man was Jim Rider and he worked driving lorries for British Rail. After the war where he served in the Royal Artillery he’d enjoyed working for Rochester station. His big passion was for his beloved “steamies “  so when the electric diesel trains started to take over he decided to make the move to the open road and joined the British Rail delivery service.

 

                                                 JIM RIDER (in the middle in his vest )and his British Rail delivery pals

Driving his flat backed Bedford lorry all over Kent with his brother Steven and pals including Ron Cross, delivering things that had been sent by train to their final destinations he had a varied schedule everyday and saw many sights.

One day in November 1963 though he and his mates didn’t have to go quite so far to make their delivery.

For that night, 1^st November to be exact, the Rolling Stones having just started getting records into the hit parade had been booked to play at the Odeon theatre on Star Hill in Rochester. The lads had made their way to the venue and were now awaiting their equipments arrival by train. It was down to Jim and his mates when it arrived to make that delivery. Despite working for British rail they weren’t too worried about being late, the theatre was literally a minutes’ drive away from the station.

With a lot of man power the instruments and speakers were loaded onto the lorry and driven the short way to the venue. Once there they were taken into the theatre to be set up for that evening’s event .As the men were getting ready to leave a young lad approached Jim and his workmates.

“I suppose you’d like my autograph “he said.  Jim , a fan of the Ink Spots and other vocal groups from the 40s and 50s , turned and replied to the cocksure youth  “ why would I want that , I can’t stand your music “ and left the building.

It was only later that he realised all Mick Jagger had meant to do was sign the delivery form.....

- A "historical" piece for my journalism course earlier this year

MUM KNOWS BEST WHEN IT COMES TO THE TEST

Friday 4^thOctober, my twin sons, partner and I sit fingers poised over the refresh button of my email anticipating the receipt of their 11 plus results.

As the 4 o clock deadline ticks past and the tension in that small office room starts to require a shot of valium, my mind wanders to thoughts of “have I done enough for them “ and given them knowledge to get by.

You could never say my boys aren’t intelligent. Their maths skills are sensational, there’s been many a time when they’ve worked out the answer while I’m still carrying the one.

But as someone who frittered away their secondary education mooning over  whether she was going to marry  Phillip Schofield or the lead singer of a-ha it was foremost in my mind that i wanted my kids to have the best in education that money could buy.

So you can imagine the sharp intake of breath heard all round when i controversially announced that my children wouldn’t be having a tutor for the first big exam of their lives but instead learning time with me, myself and I.

Not having presented myself as the biggest in intellectual knowledge over the years I could almost see their point but pondered why don’t we just give it a try?

So as fellow student’s received visits or paid trips to experts trained in the subjects required my boys and I set to with a couple of books and an open mind.

While books do the job we also found other novel ways to help them revise. Word games like scrabble or puzzle books worked their brain while never giving away the educational aspect going on in their mind.

Finally one September sunny morning examination day dawned. Children gathered nervously in the hall as mums stood outside trying not to cry. Now all we could do was wish them well and let them know we were proud of them for having a go.

I won’t go into too many details of the outcome but suffice to say we visited their first grammar school this week and it just goes to show that you don’t have to pay out the big bucks to help them pass. Just a little encouragement in their own ability is all it needs to let those dreams fly.

So put down that mobile , switch off the social media and give them a little bit of your time it could be all you need to make a the difference to their life.

 

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

REMEMBER YOU'RE A WOMBLE

A carrier bag flits down the street like a lone spectre in search of his ghoulish friends.

Following him on his quest is the snaking cellophane wrapper from a packet of fags, joined later by its crumpled cardboard counterpart tossed unceremoniously from a moving vehicle like toys from a pram.

On their way they will encounter many friends, the half eaten takeaway scattered on the pavement when a love story with their paramours belly has died. The cigarette butt that shoots like a comet over your head.

The empty coke can that adorns the beautiful flower beds like a coronet and the milkshake bottle that lays forlorn in the shelter because it’s missed the bus.

But where are they headed and what is this paradise they are seeking?

A haven where bags of dog poo and dirty nappies swing elegantly from the branches of trees and bushes radiate with all the colours of the rainbow that a trip to the sweet shop can afford. A utopia where pizza boxes and crisp packets live in perfect harmony as they create their own commune on local grassland and let their offspring play to their hearts content in the public play-ground.

 Not for them the constraints of tidiness, the joy of pride in your area, the uniformity of residing in the bin and not cluttering up the system, they want to be free.

Free to do what they want to do, creating a film of filth all over the county because after all who’s got time these days to take that few seconds walk to the bin. In a nation of busy people with others to impress, they can’t have any litter cluttering up their cars and bags until they can find somewhere to put it; it needs to be released to the wild to fend for itself.

And fend for itself it will , the discarded tickets ,cans ,bottles and wrappers  injuring and choking wildlife and creating eyesores for all to see as lazy adults teach their broods their slovenly ways.

But I for one will not be to blame, for I had these words of wisdom drummed into me from a young age and have passed them in turn onto my own spawn...

Remember you’re a Womble.

The best advice a 60s/70s childhood could buy.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

Encouragement breeds success

You moron, you idiot, are you stupid or what, I shouldn’t bother if I were you, you’ll be rubbish at that, why can’t you be more like him/her?

Little things that slip out of mouths in the heat of the moment, be it in the playground, the pub or the safety of your own home. Throwaway phrases we think nothing more of, but that can instil themselves in others for years after the conversation is forgotten.

Comments that really get under the skin and niggle away as you try to achieve something that’ll make you feel better. While the chattering monkey of self doubt and his clanging cymbals of failure sit there in your ear heralding in yet another opportunity for you to humiliate yourself in front of a baying crowd.

So you give up on what you’re trying to achieve, I mean, why bother? If no-one else believes in your capabilities then why should you?

You spend your life doing the lowliest of jobs because you don’t think you can achieve any better.  Letting people walk all over you and trample any self worth you had left under their self absorbed feet. Settling for second best, you sink into the background to become anonymous because whose going to take any notice of an invisible person like you anyway.

But then one day, just when you think you’ve camouflaged yourself so well that you’ll never be seen again, somebody recognises that little spark of passion that still lays dormant in your heart. They fan the fire, nurture it and encourage it to burn until it’s a roaring inferno of desire and pretty soon you’re a burning beacon dragging yourself out of anonymity and into the light.

Take it from one who knows, a little compliment can ignite the biggest flame and stoke the dying embers of your self confidence back into life once more.

Encouragement breeds success and starts a chain reaction so tend your fires carefully and watch them grow.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

BOOBS OF THE WORLD

as part of my journalism course this year we were given the task of writing a letter to the editor of a publication , this was mine -

Boobs of the world

I love reading The Sun I really do. In fact I spoke up for you in my journalism class when everyone else was running you down.

But I feel I need to ask a question;

We know you like to celebrate the female form in all its glory, however, how come on your website some of the extra boobs in the paper (i.e. not page 3 ) are pixelated out and some are not . Similarly if you feel they need to be scrambled on your digital copy, why are they visible in your printed edition?

If it’s to do with impressionable youngsters being able to access the images surely its more likely that they will see them in a newspaper left lying around rather than having to make the effort to search them out on line. And if you are so worried about what kids are seeing maybe you should think about covering them up anyway.

You do such good work to help out the families whose lives are torn apart by pornography and sexual images but then contradict yourself by having women in states of undress paraded throughout the pages of your family paper. As a mum to 2 ten year old boys I didn’t think my choice of reading had any effect on them till recently when they asked me to turn over  from page 3 because “ We don’t want to be looking at that “.

 So my Sun don’t be coy ,surely if young boys on the cusp of puberty don’t want to see a half naked woman in the paper perhaps it’s time to re- think about what you really want to be achieving and decide once and for all whether  boobs are news .



this is the letter I received in reply -

Dear Nina Page

Thank you for your letter to The Sun. We welcome all comments of praise or complaint.

I will pass your letter on to the Editor for his consideration.

Thank you for getting in touch to let us know what you think.

Yours sincerely

Amanda Greenley
Letters Editor

It didn't get printed and obviously there are still boobs on page 3 but a couple of days after I sent this indominic mohan quit as editor , coincidence or not ? .....yeah maybe not but I can but dream !

DRIVING MISS CRAZY

The traffic has slowed to a deathly crawl, should we doff our hats as a mark of respect?

Wait a minute though, no it’s not a funeral procession at all, it’s just this columnist on a driving lesson holding you up and stopping you getting to the place you need to go.

But before you start tutting and making rude gestures at me in the rear view mirror, please just bear in mind I do have my uses too.

For while I may be delaying you when I stall at the traffic lights for the umpteenth time and possess driving skills so questionable that they made someone watching fall off their mobility scooter in disbelief, remember that there is nothing quite like me to ruin the day of those nuisance boy racers on their mopeds racing round your estates by making them trundle down the highway at regulation speed.

And that alone should be worth your waiting in pure comedy gold.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN -  MEDWAY MESSENGER

THE SCHOOL RUN ......

Ladies and gentlemen of the school run, I know Louis Armstrong once sang we have all the time in the world.

So why are you so intent on wasting yours on getting that perfect parking space?

 School doesn’t start till 8.45 but come 8.15 every weekday morning there they all are. Those hallowed vehicle bays nearest the school occupied already before the cleaners have even finished putting their Hoovers away.

Parents are stood in the bus shelter by the school gates chuffing on fags like fifth formers behind the bike sheds. Gossiping and moaning as their bored kids fiddle with the car till they get annoyed and bellow at the troublesome youngster to get out and stand with them for the next half hour.

You’d think there would be a reason for this early arrival at school to bag that first class parking slot, a quick getaway to work or another sibling’s school drop off maybe. However quite often the clique marking this prime territory in a cloud of smoke are still there  for at least half an hour after I’ve passed them on my return from doing the morning shop.

This reluctance to go home in the morning is then completely juxtaposed in the afternoon by the same crowd for whom now the need to be the first away when school finishes is so great that come 2pm there they’ll all be again. Sitting in their motors , idly flicking through newspapers , magazines or playing with their mobiles a full hour and twenty minutes before the pips go just  so junior doesn’t have to trudge too far at the end of his/her tiring day.

Have these people really got nothing better to do, I may not have the most whirlwind social life in the world but I’d rather be elsewhere getting something done in that expanse of time than sitting in an automobile updating my social media for the sake of parking a little further away.

 Those hour and 20 minutes if you add them up over a week comes to 6 hours 40minutes by the way.

So yes please be smug about your quick getaway but remember it’s completely pointless when you realise that the time you wasted sitting in your motor comes in at just over a school day!

 GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

 

POPPY PERILS

It’s that time of year again when we wear our poppies in remembrance of those who have fought to give us the freedom of speech and protected us when we were under attack.

My partner was proud to hand over his donation for that small paper flower that means so much to so many. He picked it out of the box from which they were being sold in his office and asked the gent selling them for a pin.

Sorry we’re not allowed to give them out anymore because of health and safety regulations came the reply.

So he had to make do with wearing it in his buttonhole, or else the sticker option that has no staying power and litters your workplace in a fine tribute to Flanders.

The poppy, a symbol that represents those who have battled against bayonets bombs and bullets and we can’t have a pin to fasten one to our lapel because we might prick our fingers on it.

Those old soldiers must be rolling in their graves.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

KIDS NEED BODY CONFIDENCE NOT BODY CON DRESSES

Tottering on vertiginous heels like a newborn giraffe. Skirts short and skin tight restricting any attempt at normal movement.

Fake tan in several shades ranging from lightly sun kissed to Satsuma and acrylic nails that sparkle with glittering jewels.

Top this off with a crowning glory of luxurious tresses that clip out at the end of the night and enough make up to make a pantomime dame jealous and what do you have a perfect recipe for ?

A  Friday night out on the Medway towns?

A hen night perhaps, or just a group of ladies celebrating the weekend with drunken fun and japes.

No, this wild night out is much closer to home and these glamour queens are barely into their double digits.

Now I’m no Mary Whitehouse but even I can’t hide my sharp intake of breath as I see some of the outfits that pass for preteen wear these days and it’s none so more apparent than on junior school disco night.

 When I was a youngster back in the 80s this was the night where you got hyper on as much fizzy pop and confectionary as the money in your pocket could buy whilst bodypopping and jumping “ legs akimbo “  from the wall mounted P.E apparatus to “Fame” .

Now it seems to involve girls who haven’t reached puberty yet wearing clothes my father would have had 40 fits about in my late teens let alone my tweenage years, twerking for boys who let’s be frank ,are more interested in the x box than anything x rated.

There’s body con dresses on bodies that don’t have any curves to be conscious about, hot pants with  bum cheeks hanging out and racy sloganned t-shirts that project messages that I’m pretty sure they probably don’t understand.

My generation was lucky, the role models we girls grew up with in the 90s were feisty Britpop or rock girls, ladies in t shirts and jeans who would kick your butt if you so much as trod on her addidas shell toes. However somewhere towards the end of the 90s we lost those fantastic females to the pre packaged manufactured pop pinup and they and their “ basically just a vest and drawers “ outfits have been leading our kids further down the  slowly bordering on soft porn pop path ever since .

Parents it’s our duty to educate our kids, girls as well as boys that this is a fantasy and the real world is where they should exist.

Let your children know they need natural beauty not layers of make up

Body confidence not body con dresses.

Fun not fake tan.

 And that acting your age sure beats acres of airbrushing.

And if still they don’t believe you point out that if Miley is so keen to be thought of as an adult artiste why did she appear on the m.t.v awards dancing with  teddies wearing something that was little more than a baby gro !
GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

STARS OF THE SMALL SILVER SCREEN

Being  lucky enough to live with my own harshest critic when his latest review hinted that sometimes my column makes me sound “a bit dictatorial....like Hitler “ I’ve got to be honest it stung . So I decided for a change I’d let you all see that the girl from the neck down is not just the hardnosed harridan she is possibly perceived to be.

Contrary to what my column and blog persona might lead people to think, I’m not a moaning Minnie ice queen but a sentimental squishy old sort and none more so than when I’m presented with anything that makes me reminisce about my childhood.

And so it was that this weekend after a clear out of the last few things at my grandparents former home, my brother dropped off a bag of stuff that had been destined for the tip had I not intervened.

This bag sat for years in a storage cupboard unopened and forgotten but what was inside is like treasure to me.

For like Bagpuss’ shop this bag contains memories that were once lost and with the aid of technology can now be found. The bounty that has been hidden away for so long, my granddad Sid’s cine films of our family.

There we all are in jerky Technicolor silent film glory, christenings, weddings and holidays from days gone by documented in time on reels of 8mm film.

Day trips to the seaside, Whitstable to visit Uncle Dan and Auntie Doris, the highlight of the day being to roll down their massive sloping garden . Herne bay to go roller-skating at the Pavilion and Margate for the amusement arcades and beach.

Excursions to Knole and Mote Park in the wine coloured Austin Maxi. My brother Glenn’s special day as a Gills mascot, a silver jubilee party at the house where i was born and best of all the annual family caravan holiday to Swalecliffe. Two weeks of the summer holidays spent whiling the time away learning to swim at the beach and ‘sailing’ in a brown and yellow blow up dinghy.

And in amongst this cornucopia of memories, a film of all four grandparents before old age and other ailments made you realise they weren’t quite as invincible as you always thought they would be.

Granddad Jim, the war hero who would do anything for you , Nanna Lan and her no nonsense attitude to what life threw at her , Nanna Joyce from whom i inherited my love of a bargain and who was recycling her rubbish long before the council gave you a special bin to do it in.

And Granddad Sid, the great big bear hug of a man who’s unwavering belief in me inspired me to change my life once he lost his.

 Gone now, these stars of the small silver projector screen but they’ll always live on in moving pictures and my heart.

 

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

NURSING FOR A NEW OUTFIT

Nurse for a new outfit, put baby to your breast to bag a bargain so sounds the scheme to incentivise more women to feed their kids the way nature intended by offering them £200of shopping vouchers.

Maybe I was just lazy but in the first stages of my twin’s life it was a major achievement for us all to be dressed by lunch time let alone find the time to plan the major expedition that was a shopping trip.

One can only surmise that whoever came up with this idea has never seen the vastly empty social diary of a tired new mother for whom the height of excitement is a full night’s sleep.

They need new outfits about as much as they need to be bullied into thinking that they are not doing the best for their baby.

So how about instead of bribing them to do something we give them the chance to make a decision that is right for them.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN -MEDWAY MESSENGER

WE CAN BE ALL BE HEROES JUST FOR ONE DAY -

MY FIRST COLUMN FOR THE MEDWAY MESSENGER !

HOW did this happen?

I don’t do running it’s a well known fact.

With short stumpy legs and a figure that says I like runny sauces rather than running races I was never going to be a vehicle built for speed.

So how did I come to be here, standing on the starting line outside Rochester Castle Gardens preparing to take part in this year’s Medway Mile?

The answer stands either side of me in their blue commemorative t shirts.

After missing out on 2012’s Olympic special due to miss clumsy clogs here having an altercation with someone’s outstretched leg and a hard laminated floor this year we swore we’d be back with a vengeance.

So here we are. The clocks ticking down and we’re raring to go , like I say running is not my thing but for one day of the year I’m more than happy to forgo that rule to spend an afternoon with my sons .

Due to work and school commitments ,we don’t always get to spend a lot of time together and I daresay in the next couple of  years the last person they’ll want to spend time with is their mum so I’m willing to suffer the annual ritual humiliation for the memory of a blooming good laugh.

And it’s not just us; all around there are generations of families and friends willing one another on and encouraging them towards the finishing line. It’s not about physical ability, it’s about taking part. There really is something quite heart-warming about a complete stranger congratulating you on how well you’re doing as you plod along Rochester high street in the wake of two energetic 10 year olds.

Medway doesn’t always get the best press with its reputation but it just goes to show that with a lovely friendly atmosphere we can all be heroes just for one day....

(Especially you, the lady who managed to prise my “scared of heights “son from the top of the massive bouncy slide!)

 

ladies love your (front) garden

Look I'm not going to beat about the bush but I have something  a little delicate to admit to;
while my crowning glory owes more than a little gratitude to the invention of peroxide there's one place I'm more than happy to go au natural .

its not always been the case but girls I've learned to love my lady bits just the way  they are . now I'm not just a lover of vintage dresses but of vintage under dresses too.
call me controversial but in these days of Brazilians /Hollywood's where most women I know are content to have a bikini line that's balder than the Mitchell brothers  I've found I prefer the bohemian way to go, that's right I have a down below 'fro.

Some may say its untidy but with a careful bit of pruning now and again it can still look perfectly groomed. A bit of down there hair care is much more preferable to that excruciatingly itchy rash you get a couple of weeks in from regrowth.
I could be wrong but scratching like a flea ridden dog doesn't seem like the sexy look you were really aiming for.

I'm not saying you have to go for the full on pant moustache experience , I get that its not attractive for your lover to suspect your trying to smuggle Noddy Holder into your boudoir via your underwear but in the event of being waxed so you're left with a landing strip I wonder, is it that alluring to find your undercarriage is doing a fairly convincing impersonation of  Adolf Hitler either!


And as for the completely bald look who wants to look silky smooth  its all just a little bit creepy don't you think? That hair was there to remind you that you were growing up why would  you want to revert to how you looked as a child . Can you honestly say that between waxes when it looks like the lead skinhead in the ska club and your undies are velcro-ing themselves to your particulars you feel that irresistible .

 I know its not for everyone but for me its preferable to having my nether regions vandalised like the blue peter garden .

So I say give natural a go and let your secret garden reap what you sow.


oh and vajazzles , don't even go there , if you want cheap and nasty diamante get yourself a  sparkly top from a dodgy market stall

GRANDAD  DID  NOT DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THAT

 By Nina Page

 

George Alfred James Rider; A soldier who fought for his country and lived to tell the tale.

 Married his beloved Eileen and treated her like a princess, serenading her with songs everyday and doted on his daughter Christine for whom he’d do anything in the world to protect from harm.

A proud grandfather of four whose moustache bristled against their faces and who let them tickle his feet to wake him up when they slept over at 40 Warren Wood Road.

A hard worker who adored his job on the railway after the war, he moved on later in life to work at All Saints’ hospital Chatham.  Eager to help others out he and his co workers were more than happy to dispose of the waste materials they were asked to clear one day.

Breaking up and throwing  it into the skip he thought no more of it until he became unwell some years later. Which was when he found out that once asbestos fibres are broken they become fatal.

The caring man that he was, his only concern as he deteriorated was not for his own fading health. Remembering it had been a warm summer and many windows were open he worried that he had condemned mothers and babies in the hospital that day to the same fate.

A brave fighter who fought till the end, leaving behind a wife who died a fragile baby bird of person that never really quite got over losing the man she adored that cold February night.

A daughter who endured trips to court for compensation but for whom the only reward would be her dad back.

Grandchildren he didn’t get to see grow up and achieve goals.

And missed out on seeing great grandchildren who he would have adored and that never got to know just what a great man Jim Rider was.

Asbestos might have been a living for some but for others it didn’t give them a life to live.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER

SOMETIMES ITS THE THINGS THAT ARE SAID THAT CUT DEEP INSIDE ......

WITH Nigella and husband splashed all over the front pages its hard to avoid the subject of domestic abuse .We all gasped in horror at the sight of him clutching her by the throat and derided him when he dismissed it as " just a playful tiff ". He may now have accepted the charge of assaulting her but has this taught him that it is not an acceptable way to treat the one you love.
They alone only know what happened that day in the restaurant but so often what we do see can be just a hint of what we don't see.
Sometimes that which is visible isn't the main problem. It's not always the broken limbs and bruises that cause the pain but the things that are said that cut deep inside.

Domestic abuse isn't always something you can see.

Mental abuse is a silent stalker , a ninja that creeps up on you when you least expect it and plants itself so carefully in your psyche that often you don't notice its happening until its too late.

Take a friend of mine ,for instance , she'd been seeing someone for a couple of weeks that she really liked, others had warned her off him because there was quite an age gap but she ignored that because he made her feel special. He'd tell her how lovely she was, compliment her on how she looked and generally revel in the fact his missus was young and beautiful.

Gifts were lavished on her and no expense was spared for his favourite girl as he wined and dined her to show how much he loved her

Except one day she wasn't his favourite girl anymore. A couple of months into the relationship the good food and drink had started to take its inevitable toll on her waistline and being chauffeured everywhere by her own personal driver didn't help either.
What had been compliments of " you look sexy in that " started to become " eurgh , you look gross " and much worse. The comments that had once lifted her spirits high in the air were now sending her on a crash course with the ground. The more she heard of how awful she was , the more she started to believe that it was true ,that she truly was so disgusting that she was lucky to have found him because no-one else would want her. And it wasn't just her body image he started to destroy , soon he found that  chipping away at her mind had an equally pleasing effect and he wasn't going to stop until she knew where she belonged.in other words , rock bottom

She couldn't do anything right as far as he was concerned and if it wasn't done to his high standards there was no point in bothering at all. At every opportunity he would criticize how she did things and compare her to others saying that she'd never make anything of herself because she was so pathetic. Her hair colour or style ( "if you loved me you'd wear your hair long , curly and blonde" )were never right for him and as for her clothes he'd seen homeless people dressed better.
He had cunningly seen off the few friends and pleasures she did have by branding them ridiculous and stupid and he would have soon started on her family if she hadn't have found the back bone one day to warn him off .
Tired of being branded a clown and useless she got her own back as he sat typing a letter of complaint one afternoon  to someone about something stupid she had caused , she quietly left the house and started walking ....

She walked for miles and miles until she came across a phone box and called the only person she knew could help and her dad drove and picked her up and took her back to the bosom of the family she knew would protect her no matter what.

Now we'd all like to think that happy ending finishes there but things don't always go the way we plan.

The former Mr Wonderful being the great charmer that he was soon managed to weedle his way back into her life, he promised to change ( surprise , surprise ) and pretty soon she was back under his spell. She joined a slimming club and they were back as they had been before.

The icing on the cake was when she found out she was expecting after struggling to conceive for two years ( her fault obviously because as he liked to point out he already had a child from a previous relationship) and they set about getting ready for the new arrival. The odd comment had been made about her burgeoning weight gain but she brushed it aside not wishing to dwell on it.

A difficult birth when the time came meant a lot of bed rest and steroids left her looking like Geoff capes twin sister but soon she was home trying to settle into motherhood with differing levels of success.
And all too soon the same old things started to raise their ugly heads again and this time there were new criticisms  " you shouldn't have had kids if you cant look after them " , " don't do it like that " , you're doing it wrong ". Six weeks after the birth she was handed herbal slimming tablets by him as a "present " because she needed to start thinking about getting back  in shape now if she wanted him to still find her attractive (before conceiving she had been told that she was only allowed to get pregnant if she didn't " become grotesque again " afterwards) she took one and was so scared by the spaced out feeling she experienced she promptly chucked the rest away.
The child's restlessness at bedtime didn't help matters as she tried in vain to get him to sleep in his own bed and not howl all night. as her man had to work she was up most of the night and the tiredness made for tears and rows constantly. one particular night junior could not be settled and his father stormed into the room and shouted " I'll give him something to cry about" and reached out to smack the baby across the legs .
Mothering instinct kicking in she saw red and lashed out to protect her child , her small frame compared to his towering bulk was no contest but she reigned the blows onto his weak spots as only someone trying to protect you could. He traded some blows back but she could see he was shocked at the change in her .
No more did she burst into tears when he backed her into corners when they fought , no more did she cower away from him in fights , she had found her strength and no pocket full of kryptonite was going to take the powers away from her again .

The comments still kept coming of how awful she was but now she swept them aside and believed in herself not in what he had to say , she started to achieve stuff and he suddenly became aware that he was the weak one who didn't have the upper hand anymore.

Her life isn't perfect and occasionally she still has a little wobble on the self confidence front with regards to what she's doing or how she looks but she's getting better at believing in herself and how brilliant she is. Its taken a long time but she finally knows she is capable of anything and no-ones going to tell her what to do with her life anymore. and if they do she shouts them down like a foghorn !

So look out for those who you think aren't being treated right by those who claim to love them , yours might be the helping hand they need .

Daddy's girl

Dear Dad ,

               Up on one of  my shelves at home is a book . I don't intend on reading again anytime soon but despite this it stays there on that shelf and never gets contemplated as something to go in the sack destined for the charity shop.

A biography of snooker player Stephen Hendry , its a subject I have no interest in anymore like I did when I had a passing fancy for him at about the age of 13 but I'll never throw away for simply one reason  , you bought it for me.

There it was one Christmas years ago , something you'd gone out and bought just for me because you knew I'd like it . It wasn't a regular occurrence in our house usually mum was the sole xmas present buyer and you were glad to let her get on with it but here it was a special present labelled up " To Nina love from dad " . You'd even taken me to see the man himself play an exhibition match a couple of months earlier at the Woodville halls in Gravesend , it might not seem like much to others reading this now but at the time I was delighted ( he was actually really friendly and charming at the meet and greet afterwards despite his media image that portrayed him as a bit grumpy )and the book took pride of place in my bedroom bookcase.

As the years passed by the fancy for him faded just like the one I'd had for Phillip Schofield and Morten from A-ha  previously ( although I have to admit pip is a bit of a silver fox these days , sorry pre menopausal hormones kicking in there and don't get me started on chris packham, cor i'd still go " really wild" for him  now ! ) and the reality of real boyfriends not imaginary ones started to kick the teenage hormones raging around my body into gear.

Quite luckily for you I was a bit of a late starter on the boys front , I didn't have my first proper boyfriend till I was in my late teens and when I did bring my first one home I saw you take stock of his long Goth rocker curly hair and I'm pretty sure the fact he wore more make up than me and nail varnish wasn't lost on you but you were still polite to him because he was with me . He did turn out to be a total wally in the end but you never said I told you so just let me do what I thought I needed to do to try and find my way along in life . I was aware that you called him " the yeti " in true dad from citizen smith style behind his back but looking back he did deserve it , he was a truly pretentious bad poetry writing twat !As if to show your appreciation that  I'd finally come to my senses every other person who I went out with after that was gifted with the observation " are you sure he's here for you he's a bit ......normal looking ".

We never really fell out over boys , so what did we fall out over , oh yes lets start with my clothing , a major headache that was between us but unlike other father/ daughters ours was never of the " youre not going out dressed like that " variety . no , ours were of the " are you really going to wear that out " kind . I'd always been your little girly girl as a youngster but as I grew up into a moody teenager in the early 90s the advent of grunge fashion and a desire to cut my hair short had you going mad that I wasn't making the best of myself and that I was never going to get a man dressed like that . My grandma , your mum even hinted one day after I'd had a particularly short haircut that maybe I batted for the other team , which while I did indeed have a massive girl crush on drew Barrymore was totally not who I was (I would totally still do drew though ). I still remember one Christmas day you refused to take me round to see the grandparents if I insisted on wearing my biker jacket and jeans.....

Which leads me into that common misconception lots of people have about you , my dad through other peoples eyes is the most easy going man ever , doesn't let anyone get him down , its the same with a lot of  dads I reckon but lets face it kids there's always that one moment when you know its all going to kick off and its best to get as far away as possible  . In our house it was called " throwing a wobbler " and you were famous for yours . You would go from nice amiable chap to the incredible hulk within a matter of seconds , this wouldn't be just a normal paddy this would be a full on freak out with special effects. these were sometimes brought on by you having bottled something bothering you up and then letting of steam but more often than not the common cause would be something to do with d.i.y. The story of how you lost your rag trying to get something level and knocked down the bannister with a hammer in your rage became the stuff of legend in our house and lets of course not for get the time you got a bit cross with us not putting our shoes away and kicked mums WOODEN clogs straight through the glass of the front door ( which got repaired after a couple of months only for you to do it again a few weeks later !).  I can now see where my total lack of patience with anything vaguely difficult or intricate comes from , in fact I know that my threatening the computer with a bunch of fives when it wont do what I want it to is my page family inheritance right there .

I know there are some people who don't get on with their fathers and believe me I know we haven't always  got on at times .

Be it the time I fell all the way down the stairs and instead of asking if I was ok you told me off for swearing loudly as I landed in a heap at the bottom or those times when you really didn't get why there wasn't time for you to take a shower before I had to be somewhere in the next 20 minutes. but underneath all the little niggles and foibles we have there has always been a lot of love there.

What person would have got up and driven to pick his kids up from a nightclub at 2 in the morning cos they couldn't get a cab or picked them up from that disastrous date where your beau had drunk so much he'd passed out snoring in a packed pub.

What other man would come out and pick his daughter up as she rang to say she'd walked out on her other  half after he'd flown into a massive rage over something trivial and called her pathetic yet again to the point where she was starting to believe it.

what man would then tell her that if he doesn't like the way that other man speaks to you and will knock his block off if he does it in front of him ever again

and what man will tell the girl who thinks she's made an almighty cock up of being a parent that actually she's one of the best mums ever.

 

as Frenchie says in Grease

 

 

and in my family I guess that's true

 

Happy fathers day dad

 

love Nina xxx

 

HEAT – It ain’t half rot ,mum

 

I can’t deny that Heat magazine is a popular publication with readership stats that at its peak have topped 700,000 but having bought a copy for the first time this week it’s not difficult to see why its average weekly sale has started to lose steam  (Weekly sales are reported to have fallen to 261,715).

From beginning to end it has a tendency to come across like that bitchy group of girls we all knew at school. You know the ones, slagging you off behind the bike sheds as they have a fag because you’ve put on a bit of weight and your clothes aren’t right. The next minute they’re your best mate giving you a makeover and saying how fabulous you look because you’ve embarked on a fitness regime that’s slimmed you down into “ one of them”. And all the while they are bitching about you behind your back hoping you’re not about to run off with their boyfriend.

Editor in chief Lucie Cave was quoted in the Guardian as saying that the magazine is supposed to be “ cheeky and fun not mean “ but in my opinion it all just comes across as a bit vacuous and vacant. Something it has in common with some of the celebs featured inside its hallowed pages.

In short it’s the print equivalent of the cast of The Only Way is Essex.

MUMS-NOT

Dear Mums of Mumsnet ,

                         I don't know if you've read the aim on the about us  page of your favourite website but just to refresh your memories or for those of you who are too busy puréeing mung beans and alfalfa up for little merlin as he sleeps in his fully biodegradable non toxic cot I'll help you out .
       
  Make parents' lives easier by pooling knowledge, advice and support

you see that do you that word at the end that means so much to lots of parents who might struggle a bit from time to time with what junior and siblings might throw at them. you  know that parenthood isn't always a rosy hued Cath Kidston existence all the time do you. you are aware that even though some of us try our best with to keep our adult relationships on track , sometimes the arrival of third , fourth or even fifth member of your gang might be the thing that breaks you for good. 
         you do , ok then maybe you should stop putting down those that don't quite always fit into your happy middle class image of mummies and daddies mould because regardless of whether that person is a Hollywood star or not , they are still a mum/dad who loves their child just as much as you do . is it really so " appalling " that someone might want to have kids with the person she really believes is the right one this time. is your life so wipe clean and perfect that any hint of imperfection is eradicated with multi surface sanitizer spray and bleach.
                                           support is one of the greatest things you can give a woman from the day she starts carrying but all too often some of us leave behind the school bullies only to find ourselves caught in the clutch of the mummy mafia.
              The bullying starts from day one, you must have a natural birth or you have failed the mummy test without passing go . well a massive fit brought on preeclampsia , trying to walk through a bed cos my brain was so addled with toxins my body was slowly poisoning my body with and being technically dead for two minutes on the operating table put paid to my natural birth so I suppose I should have got the doctor to write needs to try harder on my medical report before I went home.
               rule number two of mummy mafia is of course BREAST IS BEST , you must breast feed to not do it means you are the lowest of the low and you're depriving your child of growing up into a future president/brain surgeon in fact it should be classed as child abuse if you don't do it - granted yes breast milk is the best stuff (ask Myleene Klass , she serves it up at dinner parties to her guest apparently ) but please take into account that some mums quite simply cant do it because of illness and other factors , they aren't being lazy they are just doing what is best for them. in my own case I wasn't producing enough for two pesky little blighters and the stress of that including the realisation that i'd given my life over into being what was technically a milking machine for the next however months 24 hours /7 days a week kind of swung it towards using formula for me in the end .
baby bullies aren't always  mums either. I had my other half lecturing me every time the boys caught a cold or got the sniffles that " we" should have breast fed for longer . yes that's right love cos its your massive man boobs they are chomping the hell out of isn't it as you get to leave the house to go out and have that social life I could only dream about now !
 my boys are 10 now , for that terrible sin I committed of not having them naturally and not breast feeding them with all those good things a mothers body can give they haven't done too badly.
they're polite , loving , they are in all the top classes at school and about to take an 11 plus exam that their teachers' expect them to fly through . I've even been told by complete strangers that my kids are a credit to me for being so well behaved so have that all you smug yummy mummies who let me believe I did it all wrong , I gave them the one thing that's really important in a child's life.
                                 love and if a child is loved does it matter who its mum or dad is ?
                                                                             P.S- Rod Stewart has 8 children by 5 women so go hassle him about being an appalling parent because Kate Winslet is small fry compared to him

Tescos remains stationery in THE SEX FACTOR.....

CHANCES  are if you're a twitter or facebook follower you can't have failed to  miss the uproar over this choice bit of greeting card hilarity.

The subject manner has angered some people so much that a petition has been set up asking the supermarket to withdraw the offending item from their shelves.

And as always we have people arguing in its defence that anyone who disagrees with it are, in the words of that great philosopher Steve Brookstein  first winner of The X Factor , a commie who wants to ban any kind of fun . A puritan straight from the days of Oliver Cromwell who thinks everything is sinful and that no-one is allowed to let their guard down and have a laugh.

But au contraire Mr Brookstein , I'm not against a bit of  fun it's just that I think maybe you and others should take a moment and realise that ' against all odds ' (X Factor fans, you see what i did there ) , some people do have a really good reason for being opposed to something .

So sexual harrasment is funny is it . Oh yes of course it is , in fact I bet its a laugh a minute for anyone who's experienced it .

When you dread going into work for fear of whats going to happen today I expect that it has you rolling on the floor with mirth . When the stress of  someone elses actions makes you ill you're creasing up in hysterical laughter . When the action of actually telling someone its going on might mark you out as the bad guy , the spoilsport who doesnt realise it's " just a bit of fun " that's blinkin' hilarious.

Try telling to the shy young girl in the bus queue with a man standing a little too close for comfort and who moves even closer every time she tries to move away.  You tell her it's just a bit of fun when rather than getting on his normal bus he gets onto the same one as her and she has to sit there in sheer terror, hoping he gets off before she does.

Say that to the girl fresh from her youth training scheme in her new job as stockroom assistant at a popular shoe shop of the time being given the responsibility of  bringing in the firms delivery from the company van. Say that to her when the others are all laughing and joking about " old bill " who doesn't let you have your stock unless you give him a kiss first and that she imagines that will just be a peck on the cheek so that its all just a bit harmless.

Then try telling her when she finds out that a kiss from him is a full on one on lips , a bit of a shock to the naïve  teenager who hasn't had that much experience of boys let alone kissing . Let her know shes just being a party pooper when over the coming months the peck on the lips from a man of over 60 then starts becomes a bit more than just that when he starts trying to put his tongue in her mouth but she doesnt want to make a fuss because ' hey its just bill, he's just being friendly'.

Yes tell her all this, but then let me tell her that after months of listening to funny grunting ' sex ' noises and having to squeeze past cages deliberately placed so she has slide past him , a fellow female member of staff notices she's trying to avoid going down to the basement alone on delivery days and asks " is it just me or is bill getting a bit too much ".

 The relief that she isn't the only one who isn't finding it funny anymore , that shes not the spoilsport  and silly ,frigid, virginal girl making a fuss about nothing is wiped away with those few words.

 

An older female member of staff will be told about how they feel and next delivery day she will go and speak to him and explain that they don't feel comfortable being around him anymore with the things he does . He will be apparently full of remorse and apologise profusely saying he hadn't meant to offend anyone he just thought that as everyone had gone along with it , it was ok .

He will send flowers and  letters to the girls in the following weeks explaining how sorry he is and hope that they can forgive him. He does retire a couple of months later and with any deliveries before then he will behave like a proper gentleman .

 Now I like to think Bill was just an old man who just didn't realise his actions were making people feel uncomfortable and that he learned a valuable lesson from that incident. But there are plenty of people ( and I don't just mean men here ) who wouldn't and anything that makes light of it just doesn't help to dispel the fact that its not right.

The girl wasn't too emotionally scarred by what happened but she does think the fact she is sometimes seen to visibly flinch if anyone she doesn't know very well tries to hug or kiss her may be down to that time in her life.

 

So please don't treat sexual harassment as some big joke Tesco's ,because for some people its just not funny anymore .