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