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EDGE
the ISSUE NO: 271
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‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’
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MAY 2019
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Le Benaix Orangery entrance
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The Edge Editor’s Column CAROLINE JEFFREYS The name probably doesn’t mean anything to the vast majority of you, but if I say I knew the girl, just a bit (and yes, at 42 and with two very beautiful young children, she still looked very much like a girl), yet sadly, tragically, she is no longer with us, all because of that murdering bastard C-word (the one that doesn’t contain four letters), then presumably you’ll all know where I’m coming from. Things like this are not supposed to happen to people like that, but indiscriminately it has, and it makes you realise what a lottery life truly is. We live it practically on a knife-edge and this mag would simply like to send its heartfelt condolences to all of Caroline’s family and friends, because I am damned sure she it going to be monumentally missed. It just doesn’t seem right that she was 15 years my junior and had so very much of her life still left to live, experience and enjoy. Shocked, saddened and gutted by such news.
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FEAR OF BOXES
DODGY EYESIGHT
It’s irrational, I know. Or maybe it isn’t? I’m not concerned with empty boxes. I’ve seen enough of those to last me a lifetime after all the boxes of Edge mags I’ve emptied over the past 22 years. No, it’s boxes with something in them that worry me. Primarily, those with something in them that needs putting together. For instance, I had to buy myself a new QE37 by Qualcast this week, after the one I’d had for the past 10 years or more finally gave up the ghost. Only when I spotted the display model in Homebase that I thought was right for me, considering the size of my patch of turf, and then I saw the size of the box it came in, my heart immediately sank and I thought, ‘Bugger’. Yep, it was clearly going to be one of those ‘put it together’ jobs, in order to get it looking just like the display model. Only please don’t say, “Surely it must have been simple enough, Edge bloke?” because I’ll counter that with, “Well, if it’s that simple, why was there a 24 page instruction booklet that came with it, eh?” I honestly left the box in the shed for a while, sealed up, hoping it might somehow magically put itself together. But when it didn’t, I lifted it out onto the lawn, sliced it open, took out the contents, threw the instruction manual to one side and manfully set about it, only to sheepishly have to carry the unfinished item back into the shed and leave it in its half-put-together state for the wife to finish off (she’s really good at all that sort of malarkey, whereas I’m just proper shite at it). “Well, it’s horses for courses, isn’t it?”, I always tell her. “After all, we can’t be good at everything, can we?” She said, “So what are you good at then?”
No sooner have I had new lenses put into a couple of pairs of my specs (one pair for computer work, the other pair for reading) than I have now realised that the TV screen is no longer as sharp as it used to be, whilst my coffee companions all tend to look a little blurred around the edges as they are sat opposite me. Getting older is sheer and utter bollocks.
SATISFYING The sound of a fine wine glass containing a full bodied red as it is carefully placed on a glass table as the light starts to fade on a beautiful spring day is so satisfying, don’t you think? Or is that just total bollocks too?
ASTON MARTIN Got an Aston Martin down our road now. Lovely. It’s definitely put a few grand on the value of our house, I reckon. And what a lovely rumbling alarm clock to awaken me from sweet slumber every morning. Electric cars are all well and good, but they hardly make your giblets shimmy when you start them up, do they?
READ THE TRAFFIC It drives me absolutely mad when the driver of the car in front simply cannot read the flow of the traffic at a roundabout. By that, I mean they’re seemingly waiting (and waiting and waiting) for a gap to appear the size of an articulated lorry, yet they’re driving a Nissan Micra. And when they eventually do pull out, you generally feel it in your water that if they hadn’t hesitated, I’d have also been able to pull out too. But no. There I am still sat. Quietly seething. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Did you hear the one (unfortunately, this is a true story) about the 24-year-old-mum who choked to death in a bid to fit as many Jaffa Cakes into her mouth as she possibly could? It was a party game, apparently. Some party. She’d have been better off playing Russian Roulette. She suffered both devastating brain damage and a heart attack, all because of some self inflicted prank, which is truly tragic. Her mum said, “She was like a little hamster with her cheeks bulging full of Jaffa Cakes. It did cross my mind that she was a little old to be playing such a ridiculous game.” After her daughter’s death, she has now spoken out about the dangers of right daft food challenges. “So many people try to get as many marshmallows into their mouths as they possibly can, or Maltesers. It’s just unfortunate my daughter tried it on with Jaffa Cakes. It makes you realise just how fragile we really are.” The Edge wonders whether such a tragedy will effect the sales of Jaffa Cakes in the future, although it’s hardly McVitie’s fault.
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Stopped reading a novel half-way through. On page 217 of 457 pages, to be precise. But you know when you get to the point where you read something that immediately doesn’t sit right, and you think to yourself, ‘No. That’s cobblers, is that. I’m not having it.’ (Presumably like you do whilst you’re reading The Edge every month.) Well, that’s exactly what happened to me. I’d been poking up with what I considered to be a bit of a far-fetched plot ever since page 1 of Peter James’ Dead Simple debut novel, but when you read on the back cover that the Independent on Sunday reckons it’s ‘destined to be a bestseller’ and that the Daily Telegraph says it’s ‘a terrific tale of greed, seduction and betrayal’, it encourages one to give it a go. Only now, quitting halfway through, I’ll never know the conclusion. But do you know what? I don’t give a shit. I admire anyone who has the patience and fortitude to stick with writing a novel, as has recently The Edge’s very own Kingmeister. In fact, part of me would maybe one day like to have a bash myself, as I’ve had a plot in my mind ever since it was 21, and so far as I know, no-one’s ever written anything remotely like it. But definitely not while I’m still doing The Edge. A busman’s holiday? No thank you. But it simply got to the point where I just couldn’t accept what I was reading any more, like when I eventually ditched the Beano at age 24-and-a-half. Which then makes me question how this Peter James chappy ever managed to get it published in the first place, when so many budding writers seem to try, yet fail.
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The Edge 271 new_The Edge 172.qxd 4/25/2019 10:23 AM Page 6
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Dead, particularly in the case of Jamal Ahmad Khashoggi (below right), ringers, the latter of whom was, of course, the Saudi Arabian dissident, author and columnist for the Washington Post, who was assassinated at the Saudi consulate in Istanbul in 2018. Meanwhile, Istanbul was also the scene of Rafa Benitez’s greatest triumph as Liverpool manager, famously winning the Champions League trophy in the Turkish capital this very month 14 years ago. Uncannily that is something Pep Guardiola still hasn’t yet managed to do at his current club, although don’t you think the Spaniard bears a passing resemblance to Uncle Fester, same as your editor does?
You don’t have to be a golf fan (I’m not) to see what winning the Masters at Augusta meant to Tiger Woods last month, to claim his 15th major in remarkable circumstances. My god, how I wish I had Tiger’s money to get my very own painful back fused if this is what you can then go on to achieve. Eleven years he had to endure since last winning a major tournament. For a sportsman at the very top of his game, that’s an incredibly long time. Yet the fact he was able to do it at all surely shows not just how incredibly talented he is, but boy oh boy, what amazing mental fortitude the guy must possess. Weren’t the celebrations around the 18th green simply a joy to behold. It was like a total outpouring of love, if not unequivocal respect (well, he has behaved as though he was a bit of a porn star in the past, hasn’t he? But when you are touched with greatness, surely we need to cut such folk a little bit of slack?). Tiger is now just one Masters victory behind the great Jack Nicklaus and three behind Nicklaus’ overall major tally of 18. Can he catch him and claim to be the greatest golfer of all time? This is a true fairy tale and The Edge sincerely hopes that he can.
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It was Edge Mum’s 80th burpday, so me and Mrs Edge met Edge mum and step-dad (S/D) in the fabled city. Tell you what, the Cambridge Park & Ride is magnificent. It’s signposted off the M11 and at the top of the slip-road, make sure you turn right, towards Cambridge (instead of left, like I did) and it’s pretty much immediately on your left. You can park free for up to 15 hours and it only costs £1.50 each way in and out of Cambridge city centre per person. We got off just outside the John Lewis store and immediately nipped straight into the Hilton Hotel, right next door, to nab a street map, as I haven’t the foggiest how to work Google Maps on my mobile phone (isn’t that tragic?). Laura, of The Stores in Great Waltham, had recommended we try the Hot Numbers Cafe in Gwdir Street. Bloody hell, after walking 400 yards down Mill Road and with the sun getting up, we decided to about turn and popped into good old Pret instead. Now then, I want to complain about the Greene King Anchor in Cambridge, which offers a stunning location in full basking view of the currant bun, right on the River Cam, next to a punting station (where the punts dock). Firstly, it’s tatty and badly in need of some TLC. Secondly, £22.95 for a bottle of Pinot Grigio that you can buy for not much more than a fiver in a supermarket? Thirdly, get some bloody staff in. I jest ye not, readers, they had a total of one person serving behind the bar. Yes, ONE. And the queue was inevitably always long. That is disgusting, is that. But because it’s in such a good position, Edge wife and Edge mum decided to share one of those baked camembert things, that always looks a bit like a milky cowpat to me, whilst adventurous eater that he most certainly isn’t, Edge S/D, had fish & chips. Me? Nowt. Not a sausage. I’m not supporting any establishment that provides heated up, sub-standard tosh. But I tell you readers where you do want to head for. King’s College, then I think Smokeworks (amazing place) is just opposite, down Benet Street, and it is right up The Edge’s street. Look them up at www.smokeworks.co.uk and make sure you pay them a visit when next you’re up there as it looked monstrously good, and the free sample they gave me (a mouthful of beef)...ooooooh my word, delish! We both had an hour-and-a-bit‘s drive back home, so we left the city centre not long after 5.00pm and it was just our luck that a P&R bus back to Trumpington was waiting as we rounded the corner. I say waiting. Threequarters of it’s length was still in it’s designated bus stop parking space, whilst the front quarter had nosed out into the traffic, which was all stationary due to the lights being red. So I waved our return-tickets at the driver to open the doors to let us jump on, only he wasn’t having any of it. What a twat. Do you reckon it’s a Health & Safety thing, or just sheer jobsworthyness?
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THE STAYCATION Due to the arrival of my two children over the past six years, significant changes have had to be made. No longer am I able to look forward to a couple of weeks of blissful relaxation on a white sandy beach, drinking cocktails unlimited, as I gradually morph into a lobster. Instead, the staycation has come into effect. However, there are a few options, but due to the average cost of a long weekend away during the school holidays to Centre Parcs being equal to a round the world cruise, that is a non-starter for us. So, to avoid remortgaging the house to go away for a few days, we ended up booking one of those
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‘£9.50 holidays’ to a caravan park. Whilst such is a million miles away from my exotic aspirations, it’s all about the kids these days. Give them a caravan and a swimming pool and they’re as happy as pigs in the proverbial. However, the bargain holiday is never quite the bargain you’d like it to be. Once you’ve multiplied the £9.50 for each person, then added on the service charge, linen charge, entertainment passes, poll tax, fresh air consumed, and in this particular case the high season supplement (of which I am certain that absolutely nowhere in the United Kingdom can justify calling March ‘high season’), we are now well and truly into triple figures, as opposed to the advertised ‘£9.50 break’. Unfortunately, on this occasion, I chose not to pay for an upgrade (to guarantee having heating in the caravan) as everyone I know who’s ever been to one of these places has always had heating regardless. My flawed logic was that no-one would bother to fit out a three bedroomed static home, costing thousands, and not bother to install any heating. WRONG! It was so cold you could actually see your breath and I spent the nights huddled beneath two duvets, two blankets, and wearing the majority of the clothes I’d taken with me. For once I was grateful when my kids snuck into bed with me and we were all able to share each others body heat. Health & Safety went right out the window in the mornings too as I lit the grill, the oven and every conceivable hob ring, whilst also leaving the hairdryer running in my quest to thaw us all out. We decided to leave the arctic conditions behind us for a day of ‘family fun’. Whilst those who like to remind us daily on social media of their idyllic lives by using the cliched #makingmemories #familytime #fun #love, I am quietly thinking (whilst breaking up the sixth fight of the day already) that I could have a whole lot more fun parked in the bar with a bottle of Prosecco and no kids whatsoever. The special thing about these places is how they are designed, with kids in mind, whilst at the same time screwing the parents out of every last penny. Instead of tucking the arcades away in some secluded spot, they are placed at the very heart of
absolutely bloody everything, with no way whatsoever of avoiding them (at least not without incurring the public wrath of two kids with no concept of the value of money). So with a budget for each child set and with some trepidation, we advance into one of said arcades. Straight away they are drawn to the grabber machines, where there are only ever two possible outcomes. The first is that they win nothing and it’s the end of the world. The second is that one child wins and the other doesn’t and it’s still the end of the world, but with added gloating. So instead I direct them towards the 2p machines whilst trying to explain to deaf ears that they will literally never win the PS4 from the grabber, but at least on the 2p machines there’s a chance they’ll win something before they bankrupt me. We are now, however, faced with ‘the tickets’. In case you are unfamiliar, every now and then, the machine spews out a string of tickets which you can exchange for prizes. Great, in principle, except you need about 5,000 of them to get a simple pencil. So as the kids excitedly approach the prize stand, clutching a mere 500 tickets and hoping for the giant teddy bear, we will inevitably still be standing there half- an-hour later with me repeatedly asking them to hurry up and choose between a small bag of Haribo or a lolly. And so, finally, we have the disco, with some poor sod up on stage who once had aspirations of ‘making it’, but instead is jumping about in a dinosaur suit to Little Mix. This does, however, give me a chance to sit back with a glass of wine for at least five minutes, before the kids spot the strategically placed shop full of not-so-cheap light-up wands that will most likely break before they even get them back to the caravan, leading to yet another ‘end of the world’ performance. Having said all of this, you probably think I’ll never set foot in another of these places again. But you know what? The next one’s already booked. The kids love it, I had fun too, and despite all the added extras, it was exactly the cheap few days away from normality that we all wanted and needed (until I can afford that tropical beach somewhere way away from it all, of course).
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THE VORLD OF YAN HUMOUR In this day and age we all need to have a good sense of humour. What with the never ever ending shite that is Brexit, or the daily occurrence of yet another stabbing in our home county of Essex, let alone nationwide. Without humour we'd go mad. But the funny thing is, it seems like, same as with such a lot of things these days, we’re dictated to, even when it comes to what we can laugh at. Is it not already enough to tell us what we can eat, wear, think, talk about? Because we wouldn’t want to upset yet another religion from another country that happens to be practicing in our country, would we? No. Fact is, we’re all far too scared of upsetting someone these days. As an example, I'm not afraid to admit that I like, no, love, watching Ricky Gervais. When he’s in full flow, taking things incredibly close to the knuckle with his razor sharp observations about society, I’m in my element. I also love the fact that it offends ‘certain people’, which is the whole point of his humour. He’s aiming it specifically at those people who just DON’T GET IT. Everything he says is done with his tongue firmly in his cheek, simply to provoke a reaction. To hit the ‘naughty nerve’ that we all have inside us. Only it’s a nerve we really shouldn't feel guilty about if it simply makes us laugh. And that's exactly my point. It’s the people who are so called ‘offended’ that really get on my pip, because they say they feel guilty about wanting to laugh, but feel as though they shouldn't. What’s that all about? I look at it this way. If you don't like someone, don't watch them. But DON’T try to ruin other people's enjoyment. Laughter is so important. As I commented earlier, maybe it’s even more important these days than it ever was. In fact, some say it even has a healing power. I actually agree with that because there’s no better feeling than having a really good laugh with family or friends, but sadly, tragically, I think a few of us have forgotten how to even allow themselves such a guilty pleasure, including even myself at times.
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The reason I mention all of this is because our editor chappy very kindly invited me out the other Friday night as his ‘plus one’ for a visit to Chelmsford’s Back In Time restaurant, and it was a comment he made at the end of the evening that really brought it home to me just how important having a laugh with a friend truly is. Our evening started at The Courtyard, right next door to Zagger in Baddow Road, where we had a lovely couple of pints of the delicious Maltsmiths (one kindly bought for us by Darren, the owner). Even at this early stage of the evening, I could sense old Edgy was feeling a bit low, but I simply put it down to it being a bit chilly, even though he was adamant he wanted us to sit outside in the courtyard, which must have been bordering on minus 3. But once the gas heaters had been put on, our evening, and thankfully old Edgy, really started to warm up. And with a few stories and some banter going back and forth, it was soon time to move on to Back Inn Time for our table reservation at 7.30pm sharp. I hadn't been to B.I.T. for about 10 to 15 years, only I really wasn’t sure why, as I clearly remembered enjoying my previous visit. As soon as we walked in, we were met by a smiley-smiley barman who promptly served us a couple of cold Doom Bar ales whilst we took up our positions at the bar. Next up to greet us was Debbie (well, that’s what I called her all night, as Edgy completely forgot her real name far too many times to mention and was forever calling Kerry Vicki). Anyway, after about an hour of us talking complete and utter shite and having a laugh with the staff (we assumed) and also after a lot of me shazam’ing loads of the music that leaked out of the speakers and us playing ‘Guess the Artist?’ which we got progressively worse at the more Doom we consumed, we were eventually shown to our table. our starters (Edgy had a nice After rack of ribs while I opted for the loaded potato skins, as I’m of Polish descent) we moved onto our mains of fillet steak and chips, naturally, as we’re men, which we both agreed was proper top drawer. And the Doom continued to flow, as did our jokes and banter, and as our evening came to an end, it was only THEN that Edgy admitted that he’d really ‘needed’ the laugh we’d had throughout our evening, as he’d had a really tough month and had allowed life to get on top of him a bit too much, so he was grateful for the time we’d spent together. As I'm always reminded by my wife, as she looks back at old photos of us when we were younger, that had it not been for my humour and my ability to make her laugh, then maybe, just maybe, she might have looked elsewhere. I think she's joking when she says that, but it’s as I always tell her, “Looks fade, but humour never dies“. Remember that. Keep smiling. The Polak x
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I need you to bear with me here, because The Edge is going to try and make a point about what’s missing. Missing from some of us? Missing from all of us? Clearly The Edge chooses to steer well clear about subjects such as Brexit (well, that’s not strictly true, as Kingpin, Wardo and Hinkleberry often stray there in their very own columns), acid attacks, knife crime etc. as they’re.... Well, lets face it, they’re all big, fat, sodding negatives, aren’t they. I don’t know about you readers, but right at this precise moment, if feels as though I’m living my life with a horrible big black cloud hovering just above my head, as it’s seemingly bad news after bad news. Only why we have to turn on each other and make matters even worse I really don’t know. After all, I’m just a frail old fanzine editor. What the hell do I know? I’m not qualified to solve the multitude of problems that are facing us these days. But have you ever noticed how everyone - and I do mean every last single one of us - are struck by sheer, delicious, unadulterated awe and wonder by some of the things that only nature appears to offer us? I think we’d all agree that the ‘Blue Planet’ series has been absolutely fascinating. But did you happen to see a programme recently in which that good old stick (and he truly is, The Edge really likes him) Chris Packham actually touched a whale? Bless him, he was like a kid in a sweet shop. He was awestruck. So mesmerised by what he’d just done that it made you, the viewer, smile, simply watching his emotion and the effect it had on him. While The Edge cannot claim to have ever touched a whale, it does know what it feels like to have one go past the relatively small boat you’re watching them in, not much more than arm’s length away from you, and frankly, it was honestly one of the best moments of my entire life. To see something so very huge, right up so close, and to know that it could have breached and wrecked our entire craft if it had wanted to, because I was in no doubt it was entirely capable of such. But the fact was, it didn’t want to do that at all. They actually appear to be attracted by noise and the organisers on the whale watching trip The Edge once experienced in Hawaii certainly insisted we made enough of it. What’s more, the whales seemingly crave human interaction. How wonderful is that? How incredibly special is that? Honestly, when I got off that boat, I was floating. Buzzing. On Cloud-9. I had goosebumps all over my body. So my point is, we all need to feel what something like that feels like, because when we do, we honestly don’t give a shit about Brexit, and we certainly don’t want to throw acid in anyone’s face, or stab someone. Okay, okay, so I know it’s a bit rich to suggest everyone needs to go touch a whale, as I figure that’s somewhat impractical. But it’s the whole nature thing that I feel as though we all need to make an extra effort to get back in touch with, and perhaps even something so simple as seeing things like baby frogs (I loved that as a kid) or maybe observing a calf or a foal being born. Because whatever it is, we need - yes, need - to discover and reconnect with both the joy and the wonder of what being alive is truly all about. Otherwise we really are f@cked, and that’s a catastrophic fact.
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The Splendid Star Collection
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The Edge thinks this is a pretty good shout as their likeness is uncanny, don’t you think? Surely they could be brother and sister? Bake Off’s Sandi Toksvig (yes, it is an unusual surname, isn’t it?) and Clive Anderson we’re talking about, the latter of whom we haven’t seen or heard very much about recently, unless he’s been flying well below The Edge’s radar.
SUPERBOY SAYS...
However, what this little segment wants to highlight is the phenomenal staying power of Bake Off, because it was all over and done with, as good as dead and buried, when it moved from the Beeb to C4, wasn’t it? But how wrong could people have been. And perhaps, just perhaps, former presenters Mary Berry (though she was well past her sell-by date, if you really want the uncomfortable truth of the matter), Sue Perkins and Mel Giedroyc (which is an even more unusual surname than Toksvig) wish they hadn’t been so loyal to Auntie and toddled off with Hollywood to C4.
“MY FARTS SMELL OF KRYPTONITE!”
The Stores Coffee, brunch & lunch
Which simply goes to prove that a winning formula will always remain a winning formula no matter what channel it’s on (because these days people surely record it and watch it 15 minutes later than usual and fast-forward through the ads, don’t they?). But what gets The Edge is who on earth came up with the bright idea of approaching Sandi and Noel (Fielding) to replace Mel and Sue, because that is indeed pure casting genius. In fact, the biggest compliment The Edge can pay C4 is that it didn’t even like Noel Fielding until he started appearing on Bake Off. Prue Leith The Edge couldn’t give two hoots about, same as it couldn’t Mary Berry (why all the fuss about Mary ‘bloody’ Berry?). Surely she’s just there to keep Paul company and serve him some cake. But the little hamster that is Sandi and the surprisingly infectious Noel are always right in amongst it all when the flour is sent flying and the bakers are up to their armpits in whisked egg whites, and The Edge is amazed to say that it thinks Bake Off is even better now than it was before. Finally, what can you say about the ‘Pillsbury Doughboy’ that is Paul Hollywood? My god, it’s amazing what you can get away with when you’ve got a pair of twinkling ice-blue eyes, an Aston Martin and a fair few quid in the bank. The Edge honestly thought that his legion of female fans would have turned on him in their droves when he cheated on his now, alas, former wife, not once, but twice. What a Scouse Scally! But no, apparently he can do no wrong. Which is shocking, really. Shame on you, all you ladies the length and breadth of our once great country.
Opening Times
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Summer is just around the corner and with it the return of the most curious festival around. Yes, that’s right, the Fling festival will return to Hylands Park, Chelmsford, on Saturday 6 July. Created purely for adults, the Fling is like no other. It’s a day where festivalgoers’ curiosity is encouraged and diversity in entertainment is celebrated with a bespoke mix of music, comedy, cabaret, adult crafting, dance workshops, sideshows, street food and much, much more.
This year’s musical treats include one of the most talked about acts on the festival circuit, Oh My God: It’s The Church; purveyors of the UK reggae, ska, and roots scene, Trojan Sound System; and local Braintree boy turned folk cult figure, Beans on Toast. Other highlights include purveyors of house and disco, Crazy P DJs; plus Steve Rodgers, The Kubricks, Winston and The Lads, Hannah Paris and plenty more.
Good Show, but he has completed five ‘sell out’ tours to date, plus a host of appearances on Live at the Apollo. Also joining the comedy lineup is the fantastic Tony Law, who has sold out all of his Edinburgh Fringe shows 2011-2018 and makes regular appearances on Have I Got News For You, 8 Out Of 10 Cats and Never Mind The Buzzcocks. Also bringing her warm, witty and thought-provoking comedy to the stage is the fantastic Lucy Porter, who can regularly be seen on QI, Room 101 and Live at the Apollo. On top of the return of all your Fling favourites, such as Silent Disco, Bollywood Bling Tent, Claynation and Space Hopper Racing (see above), this year sees exciting new additions added to the offering, including Live Art, Spoken Word and Circus Raj. Tier 1 tickets have already sold out. Tier 2 tickets are priced from £28.50 and are available from www.eventbrite.co.uk
Performances and attractions provide endless opportunities to tap into your creative side, get involved and release your inner child.
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Headlining the Comedy Stage is the hugely popular Lee Nelson. Not only is he the star of hit TV shows Well Funny People and the Well
To stay-up-to date with festival announcements, please visit www.FlingFestival.com and follow on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter @flingfestival
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Have to say, I was forced - yes, forced - to watch Gaga and Bradders in yet another remake of ‘A Star is Born’ (no doubt you remember the Barbara Streisand / Kris Kristofferson 1976 version, in which Streisand desperately wanted Elvis to play opposite her), but I’m so glad that I did, because after his amazing - yes, truly, truly amazing - performance as the grizzled, drink and drug addicted country-rocker Jackson Maine, The Edge now has a huge, massive, Man-Crush on the legend that is Bradley Cooper. Remember, the guy couldn’t sing a note before making this picture and it was also his directorial debut. Pulled it off? Damn right he did. Coops 100% looked and sounded the part. But where the hell did that voice come from? No, not necessarily when he was singing, but even when he was merely talking? Did he gargle with 1” nails for six months before filming began, or what? It seems to the Edge that it’s been Lady Gaga who’s received most of the plaudits and accolades for her debut acting role and sure, she’s good, no doubt about it. But come on. Get real. Bradley’s the real star. The highlight of the movie is the incredible scene where Jackson (great name) almost drags (“Well, I’m gonna sing it anyway”) Ally (which is Gaga’s character, only it should have been Alex, as Ally simply isn’t gutsy enough) onto the stage at one of his concerts in order to duet (“Tell me something, girl...”) one of the songs that Ally has written, that he whispers he’s done an arrangement to, which is naturally ‘Shallow’. Personally, I’ve never crushed any drugs with the heel of my cowboy boots before adding to hard liquor, but maybe, just maybe it’s because I like (more than) a few drinks (every now and then) to see ‘where it takes me’ that I loved Bradley’s portrayal of Jackson so much, because when you feel sad for someone, simply because of the way they are, albeit in a movie, or any emotion whatsoever, come to that, then you know it’s because you’re watching a job that’s been incredibly well done. Appreciate Rami Malek was decent as Freddie, but so far as The Edge is concerned, Bradley’s performance is on an entirely different level.
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With all the development that’s been happening both in and around Chelmsford over the past few years, sometimes you forget what’s seemingly been here forever. That’s stretching the truth somewhat, but step-
ping back into Back Inn Time one recent Friday evening, with me hairy-faced mucker Jan, was like....? Well, it was like pulling on an old, yet favoured pair of undercrackers, in so far as we immediately felt all snug, comfortable and supported. And, strangely enough, nostalgic. “How long is it since we’ve been in here?” we kept murmuring, whilst we were sat at the bar with a couple of ice cold bottles of Doom. Everything was so familiar it only felt like yesterday. The hands on the clock still turned reassuringly backwards and we’d only been in there 10 minutes when the lights were turned down low and the staff gathered around a table to belt out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YA”, along with Stevie Wonder, of course. Top lass Kerry drew the short straw and was looking after us throughout the evening and she did well to keep her cool as I couldn’t stop calling her Vicki (totally unintentionally), but as if to rub salt into the wound and add insult to injury, Yan
(it’s pronounced ‘Yan’, not Jan, so bugger it, that’s how I’m going to spell it) also chipped in by calling her Debbie (totally intentionally). We were eventually, somewhat reluctantly (well, it was a Friday, wasn’t it, and we’d already had a couple at the bar and were perfectly happy to stay there) escorted to our red and white checkered-clothed table (yet more comfortable underpants) while Jon Secada crooned ‘Just Another Day’ (priceless) and everything felt fine and dandy with the world. I ordered a Baby Rack of Spare Ribs (£5.95) for my starters, while The Polak opted for Loaded Potato Skins (20p cheaper) and said, “We can do a bit of swapsies, can’t we?” To which I countered, “You’re not out with your missus tonight, love!” (Meaning: No, you bloody well won’t be having any of my ribs). Well, they barely touched the sides as I was famished (I honestly hadn’t eaten a thing all day up until then, which is not supposed to be good for you, is it? Ooops, apart from a slice of pizza while we had a couple of Maltsmiths in The Courtyard before arriving at B.I.T., which I’d almost forgotten about - thanks very much for those, Darren.)
By now, Aretha was knocking out ‘Who’s Zoom-in’ Who’ and the party had well and truly started at our table (arf arf). But I honestly hadn’t bargained for what came next. We’d both ordered Fillet Steak for our mains at £21.95 a pop, mine medium-rare with fat boy chips, Yan opting for medium-to-well-done (scandalous) with skinny, curly fries. Now I know, I know, there’s F2M (far too much) ketchup on me chips (so shoot me), but if I say that my steak was MAGNIFICENT, then trust your good old Uncle Edge, readers, because it truly was ‘the dog’s....’
We had one blob of ice-cream apiece to finish off on, while Londonbeat serenaded us with ‘Thinking About You’, before Vicki/Debbie kicked us out the door and back onto the street. But what a brilliant, brilliant evening. If only we’d realised there was a Gin Festival on at the Cathedral as well, as it sounded epic with the doors wide open as we walked past. Page 18
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This month sees the introduction of a brand new column entitled Fogey’s Corner . . . specifically to appeal to The Edge’s seemingly growing number of senior citizen readers! washing line with wishes and requests from local care home residents, many of which were for music, a visit from a choir, and a good old knees-up and sing-along. Local choir, The Sound Collective Chorus, embarked on a very special CHT (care homes tour) of Maldon and Dengie recently, bringing sunshine and smiles to the residents and inmates alike. After seeing a request on a local community Facecock page, TSCC rose to the challenge by creating their very own ‘Bring Me Sunshine’ tour, visiting 8 care homes in just one Saturday afternoon. Singing ‘feel good songs’ such as Daydream Believer, The Sunny Side of the Street, Here Comes the Sun and Twisted Firestarter, the choir encouraged the residents to join in and sing along.
Theresa Kelly, activities coordinator at Firstlings, commented, “The residents at Firstlings interacted so well with The Sound Collective Chorus. We would love to have them back in our home because of the feel-good factor and the joy they brought.” Meanwhile, Staff at Hailey House said, “Absolutely stunning! There are no other words to describe it. It was a pleasure to hear them. Terrific!” Choir singer Gosia Edwards remembers, “It was a wonderful experience. Very emotional and humbling. To see faces change and hands start moving really makes you choke. It was such a lovely thing to be a part of.”
Choir Director Emma Durrant explains, “We’ve sung for the BBC, ITV, corporate clients and huge audiences in the past and, more recently, on a Channel 4 Christmas Special. But for the 50 singers that came on this particular tour, nothing has been quite as good as this.”
TSCC are based in Maldon, Chelmsford and Danbury and encourage men and women of all ages to come together on a weekly basis to sing a variety of different songs, genres and styles.
The idea came from Maldon High Street outlet, Suzie’s Gift & Tea Room. Owner Susie Pugh has a
To join the choir, you do not need to have any singing experience, be able to read sheet music or audition. Editor’s Note: Yes, you seemingly read that right, readers.
CRITICAL ILLNESS
LIMITED COMPANY
Give it some, Molly!
Editor’s second note: TSCC’s motto is ‘A choir which takes singing seriously, but not ourselves’. So let’s just see whether that’s true, shall we?
What goes on tour stays on tour, right, ladies and gents?
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On a gloomy Monday morning, a group of 10 staff from Chelmsford’s Rustic Pub Company (think the Fox & Goose on the A414 and The Folly at East Hanningfield) set off on a Geneva bound flight from Heathrow Airport's Terminal 5, reports Peter Ankin (note: no ‘silent W) for The Edge. Upon arrival at Courchevel 1850 (the highest bit) in the French Alps, we immediately set off to the racing luge, where our precious Sophie sadly suffered a minor injury on the way down, which put paid to any further participation in winter sports for the immediate duration. But much fun and malarkey was had by rest of us on this tricky 3 kilometre track, with apres aplenty in Angela Hartnett's hotel, complete with log fires and FREE pizza. We found Courchevel to be both extremely user and family friendly, with plenty of gentle green and blue runs. There was also a child friendly ski area with good connections, which was all a bit different to the hardcore resorts such as Tignes and Chamonix The chefs amongst us prepared our evening meals on the first 2 evenings, so we couldn't really go wrong there. In fact, the one thing that did go wrong was yours truly and Rich (separately) getting lost in our apartment building, stumbling in and out of lifts, pushing through numerous doors and treading many a different corridor. In the end, for my sins, I ended up in the reception area twice, the second time conceding defeat (well, I am 61) and asking to be escorted back to our rooms. It’s a funny old thing, is age, and it catches
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up with the very best of us in the end. On the piste, which was in EXCELLENT condition, Dom was showing the rest of us the way, closely followed by Danielle, Chris, Lucy, Rob and Andrea. Meanwhile, Maria had a strenuous workout on the beginners slope and very shortly afterwards called it a day, while Rich had a spectacular wipeout during a steep red which put paid to all of his further skiing activities for the duration. The climax of our trip was to a club way up in the mountains called La Folie Douce, which was pretty much a rave in the snow (and sunshine) in the middle of the afternoon. Much carousing, moving and shaking to VERY LOUD contemporary beats was the order of the day. And now for the butcher’s bill; Chris's knees will never be the same again and Dom's hair style failed to win him any female admirers. On the other hand, Andrea's did! Rob has an audition for The Inbetweeners tribute dance group and Danielle has ambitious plans to open a restaurant at much higher altitude (hope we can all be exported there for the winter season). We ended our stay with a meal at La Fromagerie, a haven full of said cheese and damn good beef. Cotes de Bouef for all with accompaniments of creamy truffle mash, amazing (and I do mean amazing) pomme frites, which you can see being made, and a seriously good bearnaise sauce. Followed by a weary return to Blighty and straight back to work the following day!
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MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS WEEK Make a note in your diaries for Mental Health Week, which runs from Monday 13th May through to Sunday 19th May 2019 and the theme for this year will be Body Image – how we think and feel about our bodies. Some people call mental health ‘emotional health’ or ‘well-being’ and it’s just as important as physical health. If you are in good shape mentally, you can make the most of your potential, cope with life and play a full part in your family, workplace, community and amongst friends. Most of us have times when we feel down, stressed or frightened; most of the time these feelings pass, but sometimes they develop into a more serious problem and it could happen to any of us. Sadly, there is still a stigma attached to mental health problems and this often means that people don’t feel comfortable talking about them. Shockingly there were 5,821 suicides in 2017 and of that number 75% were men. It has become such an issue that suicide has now become the biggest killer of men between the ages of 20-49. It is also thought that 1-in-6 of us have encountered a common mental health problem over the past week.
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Which is why I am such a fervent supporter of the Mental Health Foundation and why I will be wearing my green ribbon of support from now on. I want those who are suffering to know that help is available. You are not alone; talk to someone you trust.
period drama, even though I was immediately hooked on the storyline. It wasn’t until the end of the first season that the first dragon appeared and although I felt betrayed that I had been lured into a fantasy tale, by then there was no turning back.
Sharing a problem is often the first step to recovery. For further information or for ideas on ways you can support, please visit www.mentalhealth.org.uk
The show has got better and better with each passing series and it must surely be judged as easily being in the all time top 3 shows in its category. I for one cannot wait to see who is victorious in their pursuit of the Iron Throne. One thing’s for sure, its not going to be predictable and I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up being someone the audience least suspects.
GAME OF THRONES It appears that Game of Thrones is TV’s equivalent of Marmite, in so far as you either love it or hate it. All I would say is that if you haven’t seen it yet, then I highly recommend that you do so and make your own mind up about it. We are now in the final season and I have been gripped since the very first episode. I think it’s fair to say that it probably takes an open mind to fully appreciate it, and if you’re not one for violence and/or nudity, then it’s probably not for you. However, what I would say is don’t let the idea of dragons put you off. I stumbled across GoT when flicking through Sky at the very beginning and immediately presumed it was some kind of
BREXIT SHAMBLES I’m sure that, like me, you are all fed up to the back teeth of reading and hearing about Brexit. It has been a complete and utter shambles from the very beginning, but recent events have really taken the biscuit. How can 17.4m people vote to leave the European Union, only for a largely Remain Parliament do everything in their power to stop it from happening. Politicians like Anna Soubry, MP for Broxtowe, have voted against
Brexit, despite their constituents voting for it. Apparently it seems she doesn’t think that the Great British public are intelligent enough, or well informed enough, to have an opinion on such matters and it surely shows just how ill-informed and out of touch she, for one, truly is. Thankfully, I think she will shortly understand the consequences of her actions during the next general election, as she is likely to find herself out of a job. Also thankfully, here in Danbury, we have an MP called John Whittingdale who wholeheartedly respects the vote of the people he represents.
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ONLY JOKING! LITERALLY
Therapist: “So what brought you two here?” Her: “I just hate it how he always takes things so literally these days.” Therapist: “And what about you?” Him: “Our Audi 2-litre Avant.”
WADDLES A woman took her very limp pet duck called Waddles to her local veterinary surgeon. She gently laid it on his examination table. The vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened intently to the duck's chest. After a moment or two, he shook his head and gave a finger motion across his throat. “What?” shrieked the highly distressed woman. "Are you positive?" she wailed. "Yes, I am sure, madam,” confirmed the vet. “Your duck is dead. Nada. A l’orange." "But how can you be so sure?" she protested. "You haven’t tested him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something like that?" The vet rolled his eyes, excused himself, and left the room. A few minutes later re returned with a black Labrador Retriever from out back. As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put both of its front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck slowly from top to bottom. He then looked up at the vet with big sad eyes and shook its head. The vet patted the dog on the head, gave it a biscuit and led it out of the room. A few minutes later he returned with a moggy. The cat jumped up on the examination table, placed one of its paws gently on the duck, shook it a little, then sat back on its haunches, shook its head from side to side, meowed softly, then started licking its arse. The vet looked at the woman and says, "I'm
sorry, but as I already said, your duck is certifiably brown bread." The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed directly to the tearful woman.. The duck's owner, still in a state of shock, read the bill. "Five hundred pounds!" she cried. “That’s what it says,” said the vet. "A monkey? Just to tell me my duck is dead? That’s unbelievable!" The vet tutted and shrugged. "I'm sorry, madam,” he said, “but if you’d simply taken my initial word for it, the bill would have only been £25. But hey, with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, that don’t come cheap."
a banker when I was in my twenties. Then I married a circus ringmaster when I was in my forties, followed by a preacher when I was in my sixties. And now, in my eighties, I’m going to wed a funeral director.” The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers. She smiled and explained, "I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four to go."
CONFUSUS SAY Sex is same as bank account. You put it in, you take it out....you lose interest.
LARRY’S BAR
THE BALLERINA
A man goes to see a shrink and says, "My wife’s being unfaithful to me. Twice a week she goes to Larry's Bar and picks up random men. In fact, she pretty much sleeps with any guy who ever asks her. Honestly, it’s driving me crazy. What do you think I should do?" "Relax," says the quack, "relax. Take a deep breath and calm yourself down. Now, exactly where is this Larry's Bar and which nights?"
A large woman, wearing a sleeveless sun dress, walked into a bar in Dublin. She raised her right arm, revealing a huge, hairy armpit, pointed it to the ceiling and asked, "What man here will buy a little lady a drink?" The bar went silent as all the patrons tried to ignore her. But down at the end of the bar, an owl-eyed drunk slammed some money down on the counter and bellowed, "Give the ballerina a drink on me." So the bartender poured the woman a drink and she chugged it down in one. Then she turned to the patrons once again, pointed to the ceiling and said, "What man here will buy a little lady another drink?" Once again, the same drunk slapped his money down on the counter and said, "Give the ballerina another drink." The bartender approached the drunk and whispered, "Tell me, Paddy, it's your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep calling her the ballerina?" The drunk slurred, "Any woman who can lift her leg that high has gotta be a ballerina."
LAST REQUEST John was on his deathbed and gasping pitifully. "Grant me one last request, my dear," he said. "Of course, darling," his wife said softly. "Soon after I die," he said, "I want you to marry Bob." Confused, she replied, "But I thought you absolutely hated Bob?" With his last breath, her husband said, "I do."
POISON A man goes to see the Rabbi. "Rabbi, something terrible is happening and I have to talk to you about it," he says. The Rabbi asks, "Whatever's wrong?" The man replies, "It’s my wife. She’s poisoning me." The Rabbi looks very surprised and asks, "How can that be?" The man pleads, "I'm telling you, I'm certain she's poisoning me. What should I do?" The Rabbi offers, "Tell you what, let me talk to her. I'll see what I can find out and I'll report back to you directly." A few days later, the Rabbi calls the man and says, "You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve spoken to your wife. In fact, I was on the phone to her for two whole hours.” The man said, “Yes, and what should I do?" The Rabbi replied, "Take the poison."
BEER BELLY
LET IT GO A well-respected doctor had sex with one of his female patients and felt guilty about it all day long. No matter how much he tried to forget about the incident, he just couldn't. The sheer guilt and sense of betrayal of his patient were overwhelming. But every once in a while, he'd hear an internal, reassuring voice in his head that said: "Don't worry about it. You aren't the first medical practitioner to have sex with one of his patients and you certainly won't be the last. And hey, you're single. Live a little. Just let it go." But, invariably, another voice in his head would bring him back to reality, by whispering: "You're a veterinarian, you sick bastard.”
A woman poked my beer belly in the pub last night and said, "Is that Stella or Guinness?" I said, "There's a tap underneath. Why don’t you taste it and find out?"
ONE LAST MARRIAGE The local newspaper was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time. The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband's occupation. "He's a funeral director," she said. ‘Interesting,’ thought the newsman. So he then asked her if she wouldn't mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living. She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years, and a smile came to her face. She answered proudly, “First time out I married
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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DYSON needs repairing? Kenwood Chef in need of attention? Dualit toaster broken? GHD Straighteners faulty? Don’t throw them away, or stow them away in a cupboard. Cowans well may be able to repair them and it could be cheaper than you think. Cowans Electrical is a family run business, established over 70 years ago (in the Southend area) and has established an excellent reputation over the years. They have now relocated back to Chelmsford, after an absence of 15 years from their Moulsham Street store, and look forward to offering you an exceptional service once again. Nowadays people are becoming more and more aware of the detrimental effect various waste products are having on our environment. It is a fact that 70% of the toxic waste we produce is electrical waste, which contaminates both soil and water if it ends up in landfill. Cowans Electrical are trying to encourage people to get their appliances repaired, rather than consigning them to the ‘rubbish tip’ where they may well eventually end up in landfill. The company specialises in a variety of vacuum cleaner, small domestic appliances and bespoke lighting repairs. Cowans always strive to offer a professional, personal and speedy repair service for many types and makes of small domestic appliances and light fittings. All repair work carried out is fully guaranteed. They offer a ‘no obligation’ FREE ESTIMATE on all repairs inspected before any work is carried out. Presently Cowans repair in excess of 1,000 products a year, as many people have family heirlooms, valued gifts, and miscellaneous items that cannot be replaced if they are not repaired. Cowans also hold a comprehensive range of electric shaver spares in stock e.g. foils, cutters and heads for Braun, Panasonic, Remington and Philips. A mail order or collection service is also available. So why bin your old shaver when it may only need a new foil and cutter to make it as good as new again? Cowans pride themselves on being able to offer expert advice gained from all their considerable years of experience and are appointed service agents for Bissell, Magimix and Philips. They have over 22 years experience servicing and repairing Dimplex, Unidaire, Creda, Berry Magicol and Glen Storage Heaters and Electric Fires in your home or at their premises. Cowans Electrical’s policy is to treat customers as they would like to be treated themselves.
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Anyway, that’s all by way of giving us Brits a little something to feel smug about as we contemplate the world laughing its collective socks off at the circus act that the UK has become. A circus where most politicians of all stripes have been shown up as ridiculous, ignorant or incompetent (or all three) at best, and repulsively self serving at worst. A circus that has proved beyond doubt that the UK is nowhere near as exceptional as it thinks it is.
If only, right? On a relatively recent trip back there it was noticeable just how far the UK has advanced in terms of finding ever more easy ways to separate a sucker from their cash. But it’s that word ‘cash’ which is the real point here, because proper folding money is becoming ever more endangered. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, just a sign that the world changes - it always has and it always will, of which more later. Contactless payment points are now pretty ubiquitous in the UK, which alleviates one of life’s greater frustrations. Warning - grumpy old git syndrome about to surface. You know, the one when some utter bastard insisted on paying for a £2 cup of coffee with a credit card. A whole minute of your day wasted because, well… Contactless does away with that in a wonderfully simple way, you don’t even need to wait for the guy behind the till to count our your 27p change. For those even more advanced technically, things like Apple Pay provide ever more creative ways for merchants to relieve you of your hard earned. Anyway, all that was of note because out here in the US things are nowhere near as advanced. Contactless is still in its very early stages and very few shops have the facility. In fact, even chip and pin is still not universally accepted. Some places, especially gas stations, still utilise the extremely old machines that require you to swipe a card. It’s the same at the retail bank level where some of the functions that you take for granted are either not available or have to be paid for. So, because of the Link infrastructure, you can go to any ATM belonging to any bank and get
some cash and it costs you not a penny. Out here, if you don’t use an ATM belonging to your bank, then that cash costs you $3 a pop. So why is that then? You thought that the US, with all those clever people in Silicon Valley, would be way ahead of the game? Well yes, that’s a logical thought trail, but the practicalities are somewhat more prohibitive. The US has over 7,000 banks. Everyone knows the big ones like Citi, Chase and Wells Fargo, but there are thousands of much smaller institutions offering similar services. Here in San Diego there are even a few local ones. Ever heard of the Torrey Pines Bank? Or maybe the San Diego County Credit Union? No, thought not. But those two examples are the reason that banking services are not so advanced. These thousands of small institutions just don’t have the resources, financially or in manpower, to participate in the huge investments needed to make something like the Link network. Additionally, banks are run by humans who have vastly different ideas. Getting seven thousand CEOs to agree on something is akin to herding cats when compared to the slightly lesser problem of getting the 50 or so bank chiefs in the UK in line. Herding sheep - still difficult, but achievable.
Which brings us back to the ever changing world. There are a great many underlying causes that have contributed to the national crisis that is Brexit and the danger to democracy that is Trumpism. Some things they have in common, some are specific to each. However, in both instances the emotional pull of the past has been used by wily politicians to their advantage. Trump is always going on about making America great again, by which he means going back to the 50s, when men were in factories, women in kitchens, gays in closets and black and brown people subservient. Brexiteers also use the images of the UK’s supposedly glorious past as symbols. Why do they need to bang on about the Empire and use WW2 metaphors all the time? Sadly, it is us old gits (no matter what age you are, you can be an old git in character) that are most prone to this hankering for the past. But the fact is that the world will always evolve and it’s so much easier on your psyche if you accept that fact and go with the flow. There’s nothing to be afraid of, honestly. Here in California, white people are already a minority - it all works just fine. It’s the future, y’all, get used to it. And on that somewhat delusional hope, we’ll sign off with the universal American parting. Have a good one.
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An eagle-eyed Edge reader took the trouble to break off from their afternoon stroll in Central Park to take this fascinating photograph. I won’t tell you what they said it reminded them of, as I think you can probably guess. Page 24
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It’s all been happening in our back garden at ‘Edge Towers’, readers. We had a hedge hibernate in our mk. 1 hedgehog house (see below) over the cold winter months. Bundled itself up in straw and leaves, it did, bless it. Due to this startling success, Mrs Edge started looking into matters a bit more closely and discovered Tracy Island, which has a wooden floor, a lift-up lid (viewing gallery) and, once a hedge
has toddled off down the hallway/entrance door that you can see (far right), it turns left into an open-plan living/sleeping-quarters, which would be ideal for a pregnant mum hedge to safely rear her babies. How about that, eh? Wouldn’t it be something if, this time next year, The Edge could report a brood of hoglets (that’s the correct technical term, I think you’ll find)? Mrs Edge would go loopy if that happened. Due to the mild winter we enjoyed, we first
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noticed a ‘meat and two veg’ (hedge) stool on our patio towards the latter part of March, so we figured it was time to start leaving a bowl of water, a little cat food and some ickle hedgehog biscuit nibbles out, once it turned dark. And, sure enough, even before we got to April, we had an ickle prickly visitor come to dine with us. Hedgehogs cover a fair amount of miles of an evening, so ours clearly won’t be the only garden they will visit. So if you are going to give it a go, readers, then set their placemats up near your house where you can turn your garden lights on and watch ’em munch, as the light doesn’t seem to bother them. Mrs Edge can often never resist going out there with her selfie-stick. I tell her to leave ’em be, but you know what women are like. Sometimes, when she does go out, they completely ignore her and carry on troughing like there’s no tomorrow, but at other times they’ll literally freeze. They don’t roll into a ball or anything. They just stand stock still and this is generally followed with them scuttling off for cover into our herbaceous border. However, give it ten minutes of so and hunger generally gets the better of them and they’re usually back for more. Last night we had not one, but two hedgehogs come visit us. Whilst it can be hard to tell them apart, and they don’t answer to names such as Spike or Prickles when you call ’em, the second one was noticeably bigger than the first one, and not nearly half as cute. We have also seen two hedgehogs have a nose-to-nose stand-off in our garden, where lots of hissing was to be heard, so you can bet they was two males at odds with each other. It’s also good to have a couple of access points in your garden, one on either side, and you’ll be surprised at what tiny holes hedgehogs can seemingly get through, once their prickles have
all been flattened back against their bodies. They clearly have tics and stuff as they often shake their legs in a funny, animated way from time to time, as if trying to get rid of them, so we’ve never actually handled any of our hogs, not even with gloves. Oooerrr, I’ve just this minute read that if disturbed, a mother will sometimes eat her babies, so I’d better tell Mrs Edge not go lifting the lid on Tracy Island too often.
But if you kind of like the idea of having a pet, but you cannot really be arsed with the commitment of looking after them, then wild garden hedgehogs might just be the thing for you. Footnote: When we returned from a fortnight’s break to India at the beginning of February, we never saw our other ‘pet’, Badwing the starling, ever again. Which was jolly sad for us as all the other starlings who continue to visit us all look pretty much the same.
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U
nfortunately, this isn’t a whimsical article about the classic family fantasy film released in 1984 featuring some weird, elongated flying dog thing. This is yet another article about Brexit, the dystopian saga released in 2016 featuring weird oily weasel things, or politicians as they’re often better known.
The Kingmeister reports
THE NEVERENDING STORY
I believe in my first article I posited that the Brexit process would be a mess, while my second article confirmed that it was indeed a national balls-up. This third article finds not only Brexit, but Parliament and the entire country in an even more parlous state, and it has now achieved that odd status of being something vitally important that affects us all, while at the same time being monumentally boring.
Hopefully we now have ample evidence that the political landscape, dominated by a two-party system, isn’t cutting the mustard anymore, if it ever did. We’ve seen both Labour and the Conservatives putting party before people and using the biggest political and societal change in a generation to snipe at each other in the aim of scoring points. So perhaps we’ll now have some meaningful debate about just how fit for purpose our political parties are. Perhaps we might even see a real paradigm shift and stop see-sawing between the left and right and finding out that absolutely nothing is really changing at all?
If nothing else comes of Brexit, then I’m certainly glad it has shown people like Rees-Mogg and Boris Johnson for the vile, lying, self-serving cowards that they are. I’ve spent a lot of time dipping in Hopefully enough people have and out of the comment threads been given a wake-up call that Wot? No ‘PANTS ON FIRE’ placard. Really? of the various news outlets and I their political ‘heroes’ not only voted to leave. With a current population of can’t ever remember seeing a time when the don’t care about them, but will actively strive to 66.85 million, that’s around 26%. We also know UK public seemed so very divided, or seeing this hurt them if they can make money out of it. that around 25% voted to stay, whilst we have level of vitriol being hurled around, either by absolutely no idea what the other 49% wanted Leavers towards Remainers, Remainers towards If you don’t believe that, then it’s worth rememthen, or what they want now. Forgive my canLeavers, or everyone towards politicians in bering that the Conservatives tried to block every dour, but anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to general. It must also be said that I’ve seen hithdirective to increase workers’ rights and proteccompletely change the course of this country for erto undreamed of levels of idiocy being proudly tions that came out of the EU. Rules on not decades based on what 26% of the population displayed, again from all sides. working obscene amounts of hours, paid materwanted 3 years ago is a %*^&ing idiot. nity leave, holiday entitlements and rules against “TRAITORS!” is something I keep seeing a lot of, usually posted by someone on the Leave side, usually followed by some ill-conceived or ignorant nonsense that makes it easy to imagine their big fat gammon heads with steam coming out of their ears, sat in a local Wetherspoons. To be fair, the ‘traitors’ accusation has come from the Remain side too (though usually not all in caps and with less exclamation marks) and while pointing fingers and hurling insults at politicians is something I can easily get behind, is it really true?
Clearly it’s obvious, by now, that I was, and am, of the opinion that Brexit is unnecessary, ill-conceived and poorly implemented, born of an ailing Tory party throwing a bone to its more right-wing members to stave off the rise of people like the odious Farage, presented in a flawed and binary ‘yes/no’ format that’s utterly unsuitable to answer a question involving decades worth of complex laws and legislation. A referendum that, lest we
unfair dismissal, all of those things that make our working lives a little more secure and a little less crap, Rees-Mogg and his ilk tried to stop us having. Every. Single. One. And if that’s not enough, then Rees-Mogg, that human skidmark, is already crowing about being able to strip away workers’ rights and environmental protections once we leave the EU, while at the same time admitting that any economic benefits (at least for those of us without hedge funds in tax havens) might not be felt for another 50 years, if at all.
Yes, we are a democracy, and yes, the In direct costs, Brexit has already result of the advisory referendum in burned through £900 million of taxpay2016 was to leave the EU. But if politiers’ money (that’s almost 3 Brexit cians are indeed trying to cancel Brexit buses worth that would have gone to by the backdoor, does it make them the NHS. Oh, hang on…!) and estitraitors? We may live in a democracy, mates are that the UK has already lost but it’s important to remember it’s a over £300 billion of investment. It has representative democracy. We vote thrown our country into chaos and these people in to make decisions on divided us like we haven’t seen since our behalf that should benefit us all. If, Cromwell started making a fuss, for example, 17.4 million people voted together with making us a laughing for something that’s almost certainly stock around the world. Anyone who going to be an economic disaster and voted for Brexit wanting to put the This is exactly how interested Boris is in our problems affect the lives of the entire 66.85 mil‘Great’ back into Britain, I’m sorry to lion residents of the UK, as well as their tell you, has done the complete oppoforget, was publicly and repeatedly censured for children, is it treacherous to try to avert that? site. At least, so far. breaking a slew of campaign laws to the effect that, had the referendum been legally binding, it Granted, I’d much prefer a politician to do the Whatever else happens with Brexit, I hope it will has now been ruled that it would have been unthinkable and actually be upfront and say: end in some meaningful changes to our current overturned in the courts. Perhaps it would have “This is a bloody stupid idea and both I and my political landscape, even if that is seeing an saved a lot of bother if it had been legally bindparty will be actively working to stop it happeninflux of slack-jawed bigots flocking to UKIP or ing after all? ing”, but such an event is as likely as all these Farage’s new party. That way, at least we’ll be mythical trade deals suddenly galloping over the horizon on unicorns and showering us with chlorinated chickens. Mention a second referendum on those message boards and it’s like chucking a hand grenade into a fireworks factory, and I really can’t understand why people are so against it. Yes, I’m well aware we had a referendum almost 3 years ago and that 17.4 million voted to leave the EU. But what does that mean now? All we know is that 3 years ago, 17.4 million people
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getting all of the idiots in one place.
Is there an upside to Brexit? As staunchly anti-Brexit as I am, I’m still willing, even eager, to be proven wrong. If we do leave the EU completely and the UK becomes a land of milk and honey, with trade deals falling out of its over-stuffed bloomer, then I’ll be deliriously happy to have been proved wrong, but you have to admit that it’s hard to see that happening at the moment. So has anything good come out of the entire fiasco so far?
I hope people remember that we got here due to a mixture of wishful thinking, ignorance and in some cases, outright lies. And I hope we also remember that we owe it to ourselves to make sure that in future, we’re fully informed before we make any big decisions. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, remember who the liars and the fantasists were the next time they try and hoodwink us all to make themselves even richer at our expense.
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Do any of you readers out there ever watch Botched?
The Edge is not even sure what channel it’s on, only when I’m trying to read in bed at night, Mrs Edge will often have it on and it is awfully, awfully distracting. There’s these two doctor buddies whose skill is seemingly they remedy extreme plastic surgeries that have gone badly wrong.
BOTCHED As a guy, I haven’t a clue what it’s like to carry a large pair of breasts around on my chest, but at a guess, The Edge would say that they’re probably a hindrance when running to catch a bus in the rain.
who accompany their partners or wives into the examination room of Dubrow & Nassif in order to stand idly by as the two expert quacks prod, squeeze and poke their good lady’s breasts right in front of them.
Perhaps you ladies might cuttingly counter, “Well, you know how it feels to carry a beer belly around, so use your imagination.”
Tell a lie. The Edge does remember one particular chappy who appeared on Botched and here he is (below).
But the point of the matter is that no guy has ever gone to see a plastic surgeon saying, “Give me a beer belly. Come on, guys, please. I’m begging you. Just give me a beer belly.”
Of course, some women appear on the show because they’re sick and tired of the strain on their back that having big breasts is causing them, but the majority of their customers do seem to lean completely the opposite way.
Anyway, do give it a look if you’ve never seen this show before as it certainly passes an hour. Thing is though, LADIES OF CHELMSFORD, would you be prepared to go under the knife for a bigger set of boobs? (And hey, if already have, kindly forward your BEFORE and AFTER evidence to the editor post haste!)
In fact, you don’t see many men on the show at all, other than the ones
But one thing that has struck The Edge is the sheer amount of women who seemingly want not only bigger boobs, but, fundamentally, BIG BOOBS.
But most of the time it’s just norks, norks, norks and both Dubrow and Nassif are making a packet out of ‘correctly’ augmenting them for ladies (the latter drives a Ferrari which his mucker never ceases to rib him about - i.e. ‘old man in a fast car).
The fact is, Botched is mainly a boobfest, which is why your editor finds it so very distracting. However, it hasn’t slipped The Edge’s attention that bee-stung lips are also de rigueur for many an attractive girl-about-town these days, although many do unfortunately seem to go a bit OTT.
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
LET’S BE HAVING SOME MORE KIDS READING
THE EDGE PHOTO’S!
OH BLESS A Doberman puppy needed emergency treatment after getting into a tight spot with a plastic watering can. Three-month-old Cassius had watched his owner, Pepper Potts (get it?), tend to her house plants, then went to investigate the green watering can when she had put it down. Ms Potts, from Pedigree Chum in Essex, suddenly heard a whimpering sound and saw her puppy’s head wedged inside said implement. “Cassius needed to be sedated by vets from the PDSA animal charity because he was in such distress,” admitted Ms Potts. “I’d tried to remove it myself, but couldn’t. Luckily, my daughter Mercedez (ha-ha) was home from university, so we jumped in the car and took him straight to the PDSA.” Once there, staff at the Pet Hospital soon noticed that Cassius was somewhat distressed (well, who wouldn’t be with a watering can stuck on their bonce?) and was producing lots of saliva. The head nurse said, “The can was really stuck fast, so we weren’t able to release it while Cassius was so anxious. But once we’d administered some drugs, we were then able to remove it relatively easily and he was ready to go home again after a nice bowl of lukewarm tea and some doggy biccies.” Well, you knew it would all end happily enough, surely, readers?
UPPER REGISTER
Simply send to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Page 28
If the legend that is Barry Davies insists that men find female football commentators “tough to listen to, because their voices are far too squeaky and high pitched”, then it must be true, right? Bazza said he fully understood why former Chelsea player Jason Cundy got pilloried for stating that Vicki Sparks’ voice set his teeth on edge whilst commentating at the 2018 World Cup, but also went on to say that he agreed wholeheartedly with Cundy’s comments. Davies said, “Women have to be mindful of the upper register of their voice during crucial moments of a match, such as goalscoring opportunities, near misses, and actual goals flying in.” However, Davies also acknowledges that there are now an awful lot of women around who know an awful lot about the beautiful game. “It’s quite frightening,” he says.
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus
The M&S and MasterChef Paradox The big title is neither an attempt to lift the intellectual bar on this column, nor a ruse to surreptitiously use up word count. Whilst these are lofty ideals in any journalistic endeavour (I’ve told you before, Motty. Stop using the J-word, you old hack. EE), this is not the premise. Now some of you long-term readers are sensing a high verbiage count here and may be guessing where this is going (Me too. Get to the bloody point, man. EE)? It’s about description and unnecessary wordage, something me and the EE often chat about, frankly after several pints of delicious, lightly malted, but hoppy air-cooled ale. That last sentence gives us a big steer into the territory we are headed. It all started with not just another bloody TV advert, but one of those infamous M&S adverts that created a whole new phrase; ‘food porn’. Yes, those soft focus, warmly lit, cosy adverts that show us lovely custard being slowly and evocatively poured over a mound of steaming pudding. (Er, Mott. I think you must be writing this story for another type of magazine? EE). But here is the selling point; two of life’s deep joys are food and carnality (notice how I got around the legendary Edge censorship office by avoiding use of the S-word there?) and what better way is there than to combine them. But wait. Let’s add a third for good measure and slip some alcohol in there too. And behold, the holy trinity is in place. What took such a visual feast to steamy new heights was, of course, the breathless and sultry commentary. A deep, sexy voice slowly telling us, “She took off the layers, one by one, eyes streaming in anticipation, the soft juicy milky white flesh, glistening, plump, and calling to be touched”. It’s a bloody ONION! Ha, got you going there. But, of course, it was not just any onion, but an M&S onion. Yup, those ol’ advertising boys and girls led us on with that one, just as this part-time hack and occasional banker has just done. This built upon and then further encouraged what was already happening in MasterChef. I’m not sure who was buttering up who, but the whole genre really gained momentum. MasterChef has also become one of those big multifaceted events now, with MasterChef professional, ex-winners, junior, MasterChef tweed et al. There is the usual drama in the run up to the judging/eating and pithy or congratulatory comments. But just before all that is the commentary, which is very M&S in that it is not just any commentary, but a
long, breathless piece about three items on a plate. Egg, bacon and tomatoes suddenly becomes “thinly sliced, heavily marbled strips of organic Gloucester old spot pig with lightly fried poultry drop-outs drizzled with left over oil and Italian red fruits, accompanied by a tomato jus”. Get off! We all know what it is, no matter how you dress it up. Only now this whole thing has spilled over into daily parlance. In a casual work conversation just a few weeks back, there was the usual stuff about last night’s dinner, or for our Northern readers, tea! My colleague says, “Yeah, got some pork steaks, tenderised and pan fried them, added some garlic and herbs, cut a few seasonal Jersey Royals into quartiles and sprinkle-dusted them with paprika, added some chunks of chorittthhhhoo sausage (must get the pronunciation right), lightly drizzled it all with extra virgin olive oil, put it into a hot oven to preserve the firmness, before caressing some spinach leaves with organic steam”. Hmmm. So, to recap then, Stanley (name changed to protect the guilty, let alone the innocent), you knocked up some bashed flat pork with oven wedges and greens. Job done, mate. Where does it end? Well, regular readers know how this column ends each and every month; by the pulling together of the previous 725 words with a cheap one liner to tie it all in nicely. It’s been the same since 2014, when Mott was kidnapped coming out of a Tweed house, held hostage and pressed into writing a monthly column, or the family would be told of his true tweed usage! But in the new world, maybe not. Because this isn’t just any column. No, this is Mott & Co. For May, Mott has taken some thinly veiled truths, lightly dusted them in sarcasm, drizzled over some organic irony and subjected all to fifteen minutes worth of minor mocking. Accompanied by a side dish of sweetened loathing with slithers of thinly shaved forest rummaged smugness and a coulis of sour hubris. This column is now available with a buttery biscuit base and no soggy bottoms. (Wrong show. You’re fired once again, EE.)
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What’s going on ’ere then? I tell you, readers, give these pensioners an inch and they take a feckin’ yard. Not giving you lot so much space every month tho’! Tickets £5 by Entry Programme available on the day from a booth on The Green. Accompanied children under-16 free of charge. (Sorry, no dogs allowed.) • Official opening at 12-noon on Writtle Green. • 18 Writtle Village Gardens open until 6.00pm • Traditional Dancing by the Blackmore Morris Men. • Children’s Scarecrow entries. These will remain on display until 5.00 pm. • Children’s Garden ‘Bug Hunt’ with prizes available. • Church Bells rung by the All Saints Writtle Bell Ringers. • Plant Sales, Ice-Cream and take-away food on The Green. • Floral Displays in the Church by students from Writtle University College. • Art Exhibition and picture sales by Writtle Art Group in the Village Hall. • Art, Design & Floristry Display by Writtle University College in Village Hall. • Ploughman’s Lunches available in the Christian Centre (next to the church) from 12-noon, followed by afternoon teas served until 4.30 pm. • Afternoon teas also served in the rear of the Village Hall from 2pm-4.30 pm. shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
The bi-annual Writtle Gardens Open Day is all set for another successful event on Sunday 9th June. At our last Open Day in 2017 more than a 1,200 visitors attended and helped raise £8,500 to support the upkeep of the local church. As well as the regular favourites, a further 6 new gardens will be on show this year. Visitors are encouraged to make an early start in order to see everything. As well as the open gardens there will be a Floral Display inside All Saints Church by students from Writtle University College’s floristry department and an exhibition by the Writtle Art Group in the Village Hall. Afternoon refreshments will be available around the village, including a Ploughman’s Lunch in the Christian Centre, with afternoon teas in the Village Hall. Please note that Writtle has limited parking, so any disabled visitors are advised to arrive early. In addition to the central village car park, additional parking is avail-
able at Writtle University College’s Lordship Road car-park and at the entrance to Brewhouse Hoppit, behind the Co-Op in Bridge Street. For further information contact: Jean Pinkney 01245 421503 Peter Pegg 01245 420200 Writtle Gardens Open Day is organised by The Friends of Writtle Parish Church, a charity that raises funds to help maintain the fabric of All Saints Church (Charity Number 1130967)
Edge Editor’s Note: Now that The Edge has published this for you, how about you good Writtle folk now doing something for The Edge, which is to put a little pressure on a guy called Kevin Bennett at the main Quadrant store in Chelmsford, as he is apparently the only person stopping The Edge from being made available to you local villagers from the Co-Op store in Writtle. How comes he gets to decide what’s good for you to read and what’s not? That’s not right! Who says he’s fit to decide? That’s not his job! Page 29
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TOILET TRAINING
TOTALLY TRACIE VIKING TEA PARTY
“That’s right, Henry. Close the lid on it, lad, afore the monster escapes.”
EDGE
the
From ‘Tales from around the U-bend’ by Abraham Plumber-Shart
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SURREPTITIOUSLY young man!
For me, winter months are all about comfort food and lots of warm cappuccinos with a cake (or two) besides a roaring fire. So on one of the weekends when the sun popped its head up from behind the clouds recently, I said to Him Indoors, “Let’s go out for a walk.” He looked at me as though I’d gone mad, as though to say: “A walk? What's wrong with the car, or have you pranged it again?” So I started telling him about a latest study published by the London School of Economics that ‘walking can be better than intense activity’. He looked at me with a face bordering on contempt and asked if I was having a dig at his ‘intense inactivity’ by any chance? (I thought it best not go there.) Walking, apparently, can promote rapid weight loss in the older (cough, cough) generation, as well as slimming the waistline and toning the legs. “Let’s go for a walk in Maldon,” I said. After a lot of cajoling and promises and nagging and my sulking, he reluctantly agreed to accompany me. It'd been years since I visited Maldon Promenade Park, the last time being when my son was a small boy and he’s 23 now. We parked up and despite it being a bit windy, we were soon strolling along the Prom. The Promenade was originally opened in 1895 by the Edwardians to provide Maldon residents with a ‘Green Open Spaces’. The views are spectacular on a clear day. We walked up to the statue of the Great Earl Byrhtnoth, who stands proud, guarding the River Blackwater. So the story goes, Earl Byrhtnoth led the Anglo Saxons in the ‘Battle of Maldon’ in 991AD against the Vikings.
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The Vikings would frequently attack around the River Blackwater for the oysters. By all accounts, Earl Byrhtnoth was a very brave man, standing over 6ft tall and lived to be well over 60, which was a great age back then. Although he had very few men and was pitted against a vast raiding Viking party, he fought bravely. It is said that it took three Vikings to kill him and they only defeated him by severing his arm, rendering him unable to fight on.
From there we walked back along the promenade, watching the children crabbing, casting their lines and squealing in delight after pulling out some unfortunate crab that was cajoled to munch onto a bit of tasty bacon, whist their parents stood shivering in the cold with pained fixed smiles on their faces. Ah, the joys of being a parent. But don't knock it for they grow up all too quickly and fly the nest, only to return and wake you up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning, on their way home after a night out on the lash, desperate for a fried egg sandwich! The kids water theme park was new, certainly since I’d last visited, and although shut for the winter, it looked really good. We stopped at the tea hut for a cup of coffee and was treated to a bit of friendly banter by the owner. Then we walked on for a bit and stopped to look in an art gallery, then at the boating lake, which once used to be an outdoor swimming pool, I seem to recall. Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood, greeting each other as they walked past with a cheery “Good Morning”. I mentioned to Him Indoors about us stopping at the Quayside for a drink after our stroll and he took off like a bat out of hell. We had a couple of rounds in the Queen's Head before setting off to look at the vintage sailing boats and barges moored outside. So much history in one small place. We then rounded our day off with afternoon tea on board the Sailing Barge Tearooms and the cakes were to die for. It was a brilliant day out, offering something for everyone, with lots of different food stalls dotted all over the Prom selling everything from noodles to hot dogs and a lot more in between. There are even boat trips and a museum. I think we’ll go back in the summer and pack a picnic. But before we left, I insisted we stop off for a Rossi's ice cream at their stand, as you simply cannot beat a Rossi's! All that walking and fresh air sure built up an appetite. Thing is, I’m not sure when they said walking was supposed to slim your waistline that they factored in all of the eating and drinking along the way. Still, the whole day out cost less than £30 and it was fun. I really loved it. Got back home and Him Indoors slouched back on the sofa in his usual spot and said, “Where shall we walk to next week then?” I gave him one of my looks and went in the kitchen to make us a pot of tea. Then I heard him on the phone telling everyone what an idea ‘he’ had had about taking me out for a walk and lunch along Maldon Promenade and how he had persuaded me to get fit! They say a pot of tea soothes everything, don’t they? Well, I had to bite down on a tea towel to stop myself whacking him over the head with the tea pot. But it was still a good day all round. Definitely recommended.
Tracie123@aol.com
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