Pamela Green
The View From HereThe death of iconic pin-up Pamela Green (aka Mrs Pamela Webb) has attracted much attention, with major obituaries in several national papers.
Having lived on the Island since the late 1960s, she also made it into the County Press, where we politely guessed her age as being 76, on account of her claim that she was born in the same year as Brigitte Bardot.
That was a bit of a fib. She was actually born on March 28, 1929. Still, who cares? In other areas, Pamela was a model of transparency, to such an extent that she eventually became famous for dispensing with any form of cover-up. She was once charged in court with corrupting a schoolboy. He sounded a right prig. "I am a ruined boy forever" he said after seeing her naked delights on screen.
No such qualms over here. "She was an improbable stalwart of the Women's Institute," wrote one obituarist of Pamela's life on the Isle of Wight. I don't know why he should have been surprised. She belonged to Yarmouth WI, which has always led the field as a beacon of gorgeousness and glamour.
Although she was in the original Yarmouth WI, which then lapsed before being revived four years ago, her spirit lives on in the current membership. They're up for anything. Their guests have included gynaecologists and divorce lawyers and they once even got me to join them for the evening by telling me the speaker was to be a sex therapist. They lied. She turned out to be a venereal disease expert, but it was still fun, and a world away from those WI competitions where you have to knit dolls' clothes.
Amy Willcock, whose pizzazz was instrumental in Yarmouth WI's rise to stardom, is already musing about a summer competition in Pamela Green's memory. I'm sure it won't be difficult. When she wasn't totally starkers, Pamela favoured schoolboy-ruining accessories. I see it all. Prizes for the whirliest tassel, the laciest garter, the thongiest thong. Go for it, girls. Do it for Pamela.
How about Cows Parade or Nelly at Newport?
Having had my little rant about teardrop flags last week, I was much calmed on a visit to London by the sight of some of the charming painted elephants that are currently being displayed around the capital. There are 250 of these animals, each one individually decorated and utterly beguiling. You just have to smile at them.
Animal sculptures are much in vogue in our cities. Bath has had pigs and is currently displaying lions, while the "Cow Parade" has been a global event, raising more than £14m for charity.
There's nothing wrong with modern artefacts, if you get it right. It would be nice if we could be as imaginative as London and display some really appealing artwork around the Island. Perhaps we could have our own animal parade instead of those hideous flags.
And I'd much rather see a pretty painted menagerie on display in our streets than the real thing stuck behind bars in a totally unsuitable environment.
Dis Heaven jus right, man
Ann Widdecombe is, predictably, making a fuss about a new Jamaican patois version of the Bible. She describes it as "utterly ridiculous."
Well, let her beef away, if that's what she enjoys. I don't know what eternity holds for us, but I'm guessing (and hoping) it won't be the hidebound traditionalism Miss Widdecombe is so keen on.
The patois Bible sounds great. It promises to be as diverting as my copy of The New Testament in Scots, which was published in 1983.
Here's a taste of the Scottish Jesus, haeing a few wuds wi his brithers. "The watter at I gie him will become a poppling spring in his hairt, a funtain o eternal life."
Who could resist that poppling spring or the funtain? And wouldn't it be jolly if Ann Widdecombe reached heaven and found not only poppling funtains but everyone speaking in patois?