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