1DeadCert

There are a few things in life you can rely on.

For me, there are a couple of dead certs.

One is that without fail no matter how sunny or fine a day is the minute i hang out my washing to dry the sky will almost immediately cloud over and pour down with rain.

Secondly, you can guarantee that if I’m trying to watch the dramatic conclusion to a programme my other half or kids will come in and talk over the end of it.

And of course, you can always bank on the minute you’ve applied hair dye or stepped into the shower or bath that the phone or doorbell will ring.

 But the prize for textbook dead cert you can rely on goes to 1D and Zayn Malik

For in my experience whenever a band is so adamant to tell you one of their members isn’t leaving, you can guarantee they’ll be gone within the week.

APRIL FOOLISH

Ring, ring goes her mobile as she returns from her walk after bidding farewell to her boys on their way to school.

“I’ve forgotten something important “says the voice on the end of the line “can you bring it in for me, please “.

Knowing it will mean a walk back the way she’s just come in order to catch a bus, she umm’s and aah’s trying to think of another way round it but he sounds so fretful that she gives in and agrees that she will be there as soon as she possibly can.

After retrieving said piece of vital equipment she makes her way back up the alley to the stop on the main road where the bus she needs to catch departs from.

Grabbing a handful of change from her purse as the bus pulls into the stop she asks for a return and mind elsewhere pulls off her ticket, collects the change she’s been given and sits down in one of the seats.

Hopping swiftly off the bus when it reaches her destination, she takes the parents walk of shame past the class having their P.E lesson on the field and deposits the item at the office with a smile and the jolly quip “I wouldn’t mind but it’s the last thing i told him not to forget this morning “.

“Now, where’s that return ticket? “She mutters to herself rifling through the contents of her purse as she leaves the school grounds and makes her way back to the stop for her return journey.

And it’s at this point she realises she’s only been issued with a single.

“Oh for goodness sake, I quite clearly said return” she grumbles as she scrapes together what coins she has left to see if she can afford another ticket.

As she boards the public transport she wonders jokily to herself  “ Maybe I’m  the unwitting star of some kind of wacky wind up show that the late Jeremy Beadle would’ve been proud of  “ and hopes the rest of her day goes more smoothly .

Which it does and the following day she triple checks everything with her kids to make sure there are no forgotten items and the morning passes by with no technical hitches .

Housework done by 1.00pm having had a quiet morning with no disruptions she decides to pamper herself and gets out the hair dye she’s been itching to try for weeks .

Slathering it all over her hair, she decides to catch up with a bit of paperwork while the dye does its thing.

But wouldn’t you just believe it after an interruption free morning now suddenly everyone must see, hear or speak to her within this particular 35 minutes.

 Vastly embarrassed at having to answer the door to take in a delivery looking like the creature from the black lagoon and with a mobile covered in dark brown hair dye from the urgent phone calls she’s had to take she ponders again if maybe she’s being filmed secretly by some kind of prankster, feeling less “game for a laugh “as her week progresses.

When the next day culminates in a carbon copy replay of Monday due to one of them leaving his homework on top of the computer modem and finding on the way back that she’s been issued with completely the wrong  bus ticket  again she admits defeat , goes home to hide  and pledges to “ try again next week”

So is this someone’s idea of an elaborate April fool’s joke, up there with Panorama and the spaghetti tree being played on this stories heroine?

No, it’s just a week in the life of your Medway messenger columnist.

POLITE PASSER BY

Arms laden with shopping bags, I struggle up the road on my way home with the days groceries.

First i must attempt to cross at the bottom of swallow rise and from thereafter begins the trek on wards and upwards of its steep incline.

Having realised I’m not the only one on this mission to reach its highest peak i do try my best to be courteous to others who might feel the need to manoeuvre their way past me, tucking myself into a convenient passing place or condensing the surface area I’m taking up so that they can carry on with their journey.

And most other path dwelling pedestrians are the same, so it’s a bit disappointing when your politeness is not acknowledged especially if you’ve put yourself out in the path of danger in order give them a safer passage through.

So remember next time someone goes to the trouble of letting you pass that politeness costs nothing. 

 It only takes two little words.

 Thank you

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN - MEDWAY MESSENGER - 16/04/2015

DO YOU TALK TO YOUR OWN MOTHER WITH THAT MOUTH ?

All those years of hard work have paid off, giving up her days and nights studying everything she needed to know to get to the top of her chosen profession have been worth it and now here she is fulfilling her dream as a pitch side medic at one of the country’s biggest football clubs.

She’s there to see to any accidents and emergencies that might befall these highly paid sportsmen and she’ll deal with them quickly and efficiently ensuring they get the best treatment should they fall victim to any injury.

She should command the utmost respect from any supporter for being there and ready to spring into action to the best of her ability.

However  unfortunately from the moment she appears by the side of the pitch she is subject to comments not about how well she does her job but taunting her about her body and appearance .

For while through sheer hard graft and a determination to succeed in her career have got her to where she is today, a small minority will not be able to see beyond their own blinkered views that because she is of a different gender to them that she’s just there for their enjoyment which gives them the right to shout obscenities about various parts of her like she’s nothing more than a chart on gynaecological anatomy.

But she should expect that sort of thing if she’s going to work in a male dominated environment they will say, professing that “after all, it’s only banter isn’t it “but if, pardon the football pun, the boot were on the other foot and they were subjected to all that abuse, would they dismiss it all as a bit of fun quite so quickly?

Having been many times on the receiving end of a braying squad of “ men “ shouting the delightful rhyme that refers to getting ones best assets out for the assorted male clientele and on one particular occasion it ruining a birthday night out when it reduced me to tears  , i can vouch for just how intimidating that can be and i wonder if they would be quite so keen to pass it off as just  laugh a minute jollity if they had their night out ruined by a large group of women bellowing loudly on a loop all evening for them to kindly let them peruse their meat and two veg before passing muster on whether it measures up to their expectations .

Not to mention having their sexuality questioned just because they don’t appear to want to fall madly in love with the charmer who has just humiliated or violated them.

So in international women’s month and in a week where one of the Delhi gang rape accused’s comments proved that while dapper laughs is supposed to be just a character there are still people in the world who think like that about women i ask the gentlemen of the world to consider this .

Would you speak to your own wife / sister/daughter / mother like that?

And if the answer is no, then i suggest you think first before you open your mouth and let the banter flow because every woman deserves some respect, no matter who she is to you .

MEDWAY MESSENGER -GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN -16/03/15

 

AN ODE TO MOTHERS DAY

NOT ALL MUMS ARE THE SAME BY SPAM FLARES

Some like fake tan, some like tattoos,

Some they have piercings or hair of a brightly coloured hue .

Some they are young and some they are older.

Being mum makes some calm down and others much bolder.

Some they like trainers and outdoor pursuits; others are glamorous, wearing high heels and suits.

Some they are bare faced without a scrap of cosmetic, others wield their makeup brushes so very artistic.

They are all very different I know you’ll agree but there is just one thing that really bugs me .

For while perusing the selection of gifts for mother’s day on hand, why do they think once you’ve had children, your music taste becomes really quite bland?

I know plenty of mums ,some are Mods and some punks, some like hip hop and some they like funk.

Some like to rock and some like to rave , some like to goth out and others shoegaze . 

So why every " for mum " compilation seems to think at the end of the day, we have an obsession with X factor winners , love songs and Michael Buble?

 

WELCOME TO THE JUMBLE ...

Like a dense, dark black hole your mission lays out before you.

Many have gone before with varying degrees of success.

Some ventures within have garnered rewarding discoveries whilst other expeditions yield devastating failure.

As intrepid adventurers wend their merry way through the haphazard and jumbled place from whence their assignment will begin, a pungent and musty aroma fills the air and unidentified objects tumble from black sack like growths and scatter at their feet.

Lacy tendrils hang forlornly from long discarded equipment bags and lifeless limbs drape and crumple over any available space as they manoeuvre further into this Aladdin’s cave which could hold joy or pain depending on how its roulette wheel decides to spin.

If you’re lucky you will find what you’ve been searching for but it could all so easily go against you and prove fruitless as that which you seek seems to disappear into thin air. 

So if you dare come one, come all and try your luck within.

Welcome to the world of the school lost property room.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER 02/03/15

I can't stand up for falling down.....

I can’t stand up for falling down sings Elvis Costello and as friends would testify, never has there been a more apt title to soundtrack my life with.

If there’s something to trip over, slide on or fall into you can bet I’ll be the first one to find it and if Elvis isn’t available to provide the background music, you can be sure that the Benny hill theme tune will be ready to step in.

I’m not one of life’s most graceful women, put most females in high heels and they look poised and elegant, but stick anything higher than a kitten heel on me and I’ll be staggering round like a newborn baby animal.

Walking to meet my other half in our local pub in a pair of amazing red snakeskin wedges one evening, I was doing quite well at staying upright whilst scaling the steep sloping of the pavements in our area until my intense concentration was broken momentarily by someone saying hello to me and down I went like the blocks after one wrong move in a game of Jenga.

So it would be all too easy to say, well Nina you know the solution to your clumsiness problem, stop wearing vertiginous footwear.

However, they aren’t the core problem here.

For while anything over 3 inches will most certainly carry a heightened increase of accident probability, I’m quite capable of being just as likely to take a tumble in flat shoes as well.

For instance a coach trip to London quite a few years back had to be delayed as a nurse friend attended to the two skinned knees I’d managed to obtain after stacking it onto the gravelly pavement in my favourite cowboy boots on our way to the meeting point.

And of course my kids still wet themselves with laughter about the day I dropped them off at their nursery school , advised them as we dashed through the gate “don’t step in the mud, you’ll fall over “ then proceeded to slide down into the squidgy brown mess on my backside, dignity bruised and a large skid mark up the back of my parka.

But the piece de resistance in my freestyle pratfall career can only belong to one particular incident that occurred during my tenure as one half of female dj duo thee trashettes at the manor club one Friday evening.

Playing our favourite tunes whilst partaking in the finest free alcoholic beverages, we prided ourselves on injecting a bit of glamour and fun into our slot in the musical proceedings.

Looking fabulous was our thing and tonight was no different, there I was in my finest vintage dress, a beehive backcombed to within an inch of its life and my favourite pair of knee-high boots.

The trouble with all that d.j privilege booze though was that drinking quite a few of them in quick succession would leave you in dire need of using the loo halfway through a 2 hour set.

So making sure my partner had everything in hand, I excused myself for a moment, opened the door to the booth and prepared to make my way to the ladies.

However in my rush to get down the stairs, I had failed to notice that i had caught the heel of my boot on the edge of the top step resulting in me taking a stunning slow motion nosedive through the air, climaxing with a crash landing in a crumpled heap on the dance floor.

 Embarrassed , legs flailing like an upturned beetle , I did contemplate just staying there on the ground, hoping it would swallow me up and that no-one would’ve noticed but then I got up brushed myself off and carried on my way to the toilets, returning minutes later to finish our d.j set despite the swollen hand from the sprained wrist I’d picked up in the fall.

A true professional to the end.

So Madonna, please take comfort in this story for you’re not alone in the mastering of the fine art of unscheduled stage diving.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER 2/03/15