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 !