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!)