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SPERM CLINIC
CONSISTENCY
I went to the Chelmsford Sperm Clinic recently to see how my tadpoles are twiddling these days. A very nice lady promptly handed me a receptacle and asked me if I’d care to masturbate in the cup. I said to her, “Thanks awfully, but I’m not really sure I’m ready to compete in a tournament just yet, love.”
KEVIN Do yourself a favour and read Kingpin’s column on page 27 this month, because it’s all about people with exactly the same mindset as you.
COMMUNITY MAG MY ARSE
The Edge Editor’s Column JAFFA CAKES I was behind a construction and groundworks van in Chelmsford recently and instead of the obligatory ‘no tools’ sticker on the back, instead it said: ‘No Jaffa Cakes are left in this vehicle overnight’. OK, so it didn’t have me splitting my sides, or anything like that. Rather a brief nod of recognition at their attempt to lighten the mood.
BORG v McENROE I watched the highlights of the classic 1980 Wimbledon lawn tennis men’s championship final during lockdown and one of the things that struck me from fully 40 years ago was their sheer lack of time wasting. For instance, both magnificent players bounced the ball only twice in order to ‘set themselves’ before serving. Another thing was just how scraggily and lazily McEnroe shaped his sideburns. In fact, he didn’t ‘shape them’ at all. Which is a far cry from some of the ultra preened players who would follow in his wake (Agassi springs to mind).
The very last thing The Edge will ever be is a community magazine. You do understand that, don’t you, readers? Because The Edge was genuinely never for you. It was always for me. It was something I wanted to create. And if, by chance, you happened to like it, then great. Happy days. Welcome aboard, so to speak. But if you don’t, like Kevin doesn’t, then please don’t ever make the mistake of telling me what The Edge is supposed to be.
DAFT ENOUGH I’m concerned that an awful lot of you regular Edge readers never got the chance to see the August issues, which were the first to be published since April, because I organised for the vast majority of them to get put through letterboxes, as I was concerned that some of you might be daft enough to imagine you could catch ‘the virus’ if you picked one up from a dispenser. That said, you can view both the April, August and plenty other copies online by simply logging onto www.theedgemag.co.uk What’s more, once you’re on there, if you go to the subscribe section and register, you’ll be electronically sent a FREE copy every single month.
During the ‘Eat Out to Help Out’ campaign, we visited The Lion Inn for a couple of steaks last month and Miller & Carter for a couple of burgers. Apart from some notable differences between the two establishments, one thing stood out like a sore thumb. At the Lion Inn, despite the fact we were more than happy to be seated outside in their lovely courtyard, all of the waiting staff wore face masks, whereas at Miller & Carter, where outdoor tables weren’t even an option, there wasn’t a face mask in sight. So where’s the consistency in the rules? I think this is what a lot of us are finding more frustrating than anything. Mrs Edge is a hairdresser and at her salon they have taken matters to the extreme. Post lockdown, no-one is allowed to even set foot inside the salon without a prior appointment, each work station is anti-bacced after each client (inc. basin & chair), while scissors, combs and rollers are all sterilised, disposable gowns binned, and any other gowns and towels go straight into the washing machine which runs all day long. Only now, to further encumber my wife’s precision job (because that’s what it is), not only have Government forced her to wear a shield, but a face mask as well, along with all of the clients. In The Edge’s humble opinion, this is a ruling too far. Talk is cheap. They’re telling people to get back to work, but when they get there, they find that obstacles have been put in their way. How can anyone see to cut hair precisely through a shield which is constantly steaming up when you are breathing through a mask? And it’s even worse for spectacle wearers. Where’s the logic in it all, Borat (sorry, Boris)? THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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It’s a good question, isn’t it? And to be honest with you, The Edge doesn’t have an answer. Fact is though, a mobile phone is often with a person pretty much 24/7 and yes, even in the bathroom, whether you’re taking a shower or are otherwise engaged. So in the times in which we live, perhaps it’s worth taking note and, you know, cleaning it a couple of times each and every day, as well as its case (if you have one). Our very own hands are often the biggest culprit when it comes to spreading germs. And just think about the sheer number of times you check your phone each day. That’s an awful lot of opportunities for microorganisms to start up their very own colony of germs on your rag’n’bone, is that. In fact, your iPhone is probably riddled with the bleeders. A recent study discovered that the average school child’s phone contains up to 17,000 bacterial gremlins and are dirtier than most toilet seats (yet they are constantly putting them to their ears and mouths). However, there shouldn’t really be all that much to worry about, although some bacteria is worth taking note of, such as Streptococcus, MRSA and even E.coli. But back to the bathroom. People need to realise that when toilets flush, they spread germs all over the place (so always put the seat down before you flush in future), which is exactly how mobile phones end up with even fecal bacteria on them. So really, it’s back to the dratted hand washing that we’ve all been hearing about until we’re blue in the face. Make sure you do it, for at least 20 seconds with soap and hot water, and do not then be tempted to pick up your phone before you go to bed at night. To recap, the cleaner your hands, the cleaner your mobile phone ought to be. Never take your mobile phone into the bathroom, or use it in a public convenience. And never wipe your arse directly with your mobile phone, or loan it to a cow with the same intention (see page 3). Always be careful what surfaces you put your mobile phone down on. This was a government health warning with an ever so slight twist on it by The Edge.
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Clearly they drive on the same side of the road as us, but this photograph, kindly sent in by regular Edge reader Tony Brown, smacks as though it’s somewhere abroad, don’t you think? Because you certainly don’t get a couple of old codgers like these two, in their mismatched leisurewear, marking the roads back home in Blighty, that’s for sure. What’s more, the mind positively boggles as to why they’re painting it backwards, although The Edge doubts they could even spell the word ‘backwards’, as it’s a long one. I’d love to have been sat at a roadside taverna, watching these guys in action, particularly when the penny finally dropped, just to see the expressions on their faces and hear the wonderful tirade of expletives that would naturally have followed. So what do they do now? Ring up the folk who gave them the job and calmly explain the slight technical hitch? Or just bugger off home, have a couple of ice cold beers, and if anyone says anything, counter with: “Well, it was word perfect when we left it.” Who knows? Maybe they were due back the following day anyway, as that’s the shortest set of double yellow lines The Edge has ever seen, so what sort of a mess they could make of extending them back up the street is anyone’s guess.
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But a few minutes after the August Edge mags first hit-the-streets, I received a ’phone call from a lady of a certain a age, by the sounds of her. No introduction. No niceties. No ‘oh well done’ for getting the August issues out at all. Just straight into it with... “Oh, I can’t believe you’ve never heard of Bear Bile Farming, Shaun?” Me (after a bit of a pause): “Is that honestly what you rang me to tell me?” Her: “Yes.” Me: “Well, I hadn’t. Sorry.” Her: “Well.....what are you going to do about it then?” Sometimes even I am left floundering, hopelessly lost for words.
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The Edge will make no bones about it... it had never even heard of the term NIMBY. Own up, readers, had you?
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You’ll allow me a rant, won’t you, readers? Good, because I’m fed up to the back teeth of it all. It’s just ‘not living’, is it? Everything takes so poxy long these days. Yes, I know it’s for my own good. Yes, I know all of this extra caution is supposedly saving my life. But on that moot point, is it? Is it really? And if it is, then I’ll tell you this for nothing; I recently turned 59 (I know, you wouldn’t believe it could possibly be true), but if a genie suddenly appeared from a bottle I was rubbing and said it could make me 21 years old all over again, and all I had to do was say the word, without a shadow of a doubt, I would keep my trap firmly shut. I really feel so, so sorry for school-leavers, I really do. What a bloody world to have to try and make an honest living in these days. I needed to pop to a Builders Merchants recently, just to have a look at some patio cobbles (your know, the sort they have underfoot in Coronation Street, to offer me that real ‘feel of home’ experience in the comfort of my own back garden) and what a fuss and bloody palaver that turned out to be. Yet a few short months ago, you just drove there, parked up and had a bloody look for yourself, didn’t you? You didn’t need a chaperone, or have to poke up with queuing for 20 minutes and some of that one-in/one-out nonsense. Speaking of which, thirty minutes I had to queue, just to get into the tip to dump some shite off at the Boreham/Springfield interchange. It was the third time I’d visited, as on the previous two occasions I turned the car around and drove off out of pure frustration. But I was getting sick of having the debris cluttering up me motor, so I figured I’d better wait along with everyone else, but it’s the sheer and utter waste of valuable time. Trouble is, I absolutely hate it when I see other people getting frustrated, or other folks being in public places without wearing a mask (if I have to, you have to), so I’m just going to have to learn to keep a lid on it
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Recent figures show that the number of domestic violence killings has hit a five-year high. Oh what joy. That’s just what we needed. Data from 43 police forces across the UK has revealed that 173 people died in domestic violence-related homicides last year, up by 32 (deaths) on figures from 2017. What’s more, surprise-surprise (not), data from the Office for National Statistics shows that around 75% of the victims were women. These figures have emerged after Boris pledged to reintroduce domestic abuse legislation in the next Queen’s Speech. The Prime Minister tweeted (FFS): ‘Domestic abuse shatters lives and tears families apart. We are fully committed to tackling this horrific crime blah, blah, blah.’ The Domestic Abuse Bill, brought to Parliament by former PM Tezza May, had not become law before Bojo prorogued Parliament, which meant it was automatically ditched, leading the current PM to pledge he would reintroduce it. The bill would give better protection to those fleeing violence by placing a new legal duty on councils to provide secure homes for those and their children, whilst forcing abuse offenders to remain outside exclusion zones where their victims are concerned. It would also introduce the first legal Government definition of domestic abuse, which would include economic abuse and both controlling and manipulative non-physical behaviour. Tezza was criticised by domestic abuse charities over her decision to give a knighthood to her favourite cricketer, Geoffrey Boycott, in her resignation honours list, even though he was convicted in France, in 1998, of beating up his then girlfriend, Margaret Moore, in a riviera hotel.
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saying any of the following phrases: “Bring the sofa back inside”, “No pooing in the toilet”, “Don’t pop your bed”, “It’s far too windy to put up the windbreaker”. Moreover, camping really is the quintessential British experience, where kids can actually still be ‘kids’, as defined by our childhoods. They can run feral with lots of other random kids (also running feral), go exploring, play, get freaked out by random bugs, build dens and discover what it’s really like to have some true freedom in the great outdoors.
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At the end of July I was supposed to fly to Majorca for my first child-free, girly-break in over 8 years. Unfortunately, Coronageddon had other ideas and reared its ugly viral head once again just shy of 72 hours before our departure, which meant that Spain became a whole FCO no-go quarantine zone nightmare, so we were unable to travel. It’s true to say that my level of disappointment was way beyond expression, but I didn’t have a chance to wallow in my sorrows for long, because the time for our August family camping trip soon rolled around. After a brief foray into life under canvas last summer in a borrowed tent - and it’s safe to say, ‘no gear and absolutely no idea’ - we decided to commit and cross the threshold to become fullyfledged ‘campers’ ourselves. When you make such a decision, you basically have to choose between a military style unpacking/setting-up operation, which takes what feels like approximately half of your life, or spending your entire holiday sleeping and living on top of each other like a litter of puppies. We opted for the former and consequently our entourage included a fully loaded S-Max, top box, trailer, 2 adults, 3 kids (and most probably even a partridge in a pear tree buried deep within a footwell somewhere). My personal definition of camping is essentially choosing to leave your warm, spacious, comfortable home (for which you pay a small fortune for by way of a mortgage to live in each and every month) in order to load up the entire contents of your garage to live in a glorified sack in the middle of a (very often) wet/muddy field, where your neighbours are a pure gamble, whilst sleeping on a bag of air.
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Of course, we chose to camp during the hottest August week on record EVER, so our experience was enhanced by waking up every single morning on what felt like the surface of the sun, to a screeching seagull serenade, and being what may as well have been several miles away from the nearest water tap. Oh yes, there is nothing quite like billion degree heat in a tent to make you truly appreciate a nearby supply of fresh water. We were fortunate to be joined by my stepdad in his caravan, pitched opposite, which provided much entertainment for us in the form of him being constantly terrorised by our kids, and subsequently every other kid on the site, when word soon spread that he could stream YouTube on his TV, had a full biscuit tin, not to mention a proper toilet. Camping is very much considered to be ‘the budget option’ for family holidays. However, whilst you can save yourselves a few hundred quid by pitching and building your very own home for the week, as opposed to hiring a caravan, costs can easily escalate and spiral out of control. For instance, a celebratory dinner in the on site pub upon the day of arrival (to cherish the fact that the tent is now up and everyone is still alive), fish & chips on the beach one evening, a few pretty epic Morrisons shops (consisting of large quantities of wine and cider, obviously), a day out at a local zoo, not to mention being fleeced by our kids in the arcades, quickly amounted to an average spend per day higher than most European all inclusive deals (back in those halcyon days when you could actually get there). But it is, of course, far too tempting (and practical) to opt for a ‘quick fix’ pub dinner, or a local take-away pizza, when you are faced with three starving, whinging children (and in my husband’s case, also a ‘hangry’ tornado wife), rather than wait a few painful hours for the ‘grill chef’, which heralded such promise when you bought it, in order to cook a dozen sausages. On our last night, as we prepared to settle down and go to sleep with a deep sense of apprehension and dread, we actually debated whether it might be feasible to live in our tent FOREVER, rather than facing the hellish deconstruction of it all the following morning. However, the lure of a decent shower, our large fan, and a mattress that doesn’t require reinflation every day, was far too strong, and we managed to complete both trailer and car Jenga without melting and with the minimum of casualties.
BUT it’s also the only experience you’ll ever have where it’s perfectly acceptable to let your kids wear the same clothes continuously for days on end AND not even remember when they, or you, last had a wash (nobody cares), where a shower is literally a family excursion and it’s perfectly feasible for all technology to die at the exact point when your hair is full of shampoo, where you can then sit and drink your favourite tipple in a comfortable chair and feel not an ounce of guilt about not tidying, cleaning, washing or any other of the eleventy billion never ending menial household tasks that you would normally undertake before bedtime.
Thankfully, we all returned from our camping adventure in one piece, albeit a bit jaded and tired and with our personal hygiene levels at an all time low. We also discovered a newfound hatred of seagulls, not to mention what felt like everything we owned was covered in mud and/or sticky sand. What’s more, it’s fair to say that there is no part of me whatsoever that could ever refer to it as a holiday. Yet it was, most certainly, MEMORABLE!
It’s also the only time when you will find yourself
Mel & her family stayed at Parkdean Resort, Kessingland Beach Holiday Park, Suffolk. The Edge 01245 348256
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Looks like it could be the 10th issue of The Edge from way back in August 1997 Cor blimey, readers. Completely out of the blue, regular Edge reader Paul Reader (great surname) contacted to mag to say: “Look what I’ve just found while I was clearing out my loft.” Lo and behold, if it’s not a reet old edition from 23 years ago. So I informed Paul he ought to take it along to the Antiques Roadshow when next they’re in the grounds of a reet old manor house in Essex. “Oh, I couldn’t bear to part with it,” countered Paul. Actually, readers, he didn’t say that at all. But what he did say was, “My family want me to go on one of those hoarder programmes on TV.” By Christ, he’s as bad as your editor for saving my A4 desk diaries for the past 5 years, all piled up beneath my 2020 edition on the desk beside my computer that I compile The Edge on each and every month. That said, it’s all total bollocks, is hoarding stuff, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve honestly got a few pairs of trousers featuring a 32” waist that’re still in my wardrobe, which trust me, is never going to happen. So honestly, what’s the point? Why do we do it? Why do we keep on deluding ourselves? (Not to mention a few shirts that I cannot even fasten the buttons of.)
A global shortage of condoms is looming after Coronavirus lockdown forced the world’s largest latex sheath producer to shut down it’s ‘alternative party balloon’ operations. Malaysia’s Karex makes one in every five condoms produced worldwide, yet it has not produced a single rubber from any of its three Malaysian factories in far too long a period (guess what? The Edge is unaware of the precise number of weeks) in order to satisfy both supply and demand. Which means there has already been a shortfall of over 100million condoms over the past month, and when you multiply that figure with the extra spare time people now appear to have on their hands and divide it into the current population of the world (or something like that), things are starting to get a bit risky for the frisky. Condoms are supplied to healthcare systems, such as the NHS (do doctors and nurses get free johnnies as a perk of the job then?) and are also distributed by aid programmes within developing countries, as well as usually being readily available for a couple of quid in the likes of the gents at Asda and in the men’s loos at motorway service stations. Karex chief Goh Miah Kiat says: “We are going to see a global shortage of man’s best friend which may run into months.” Wily chaps such as Wayne Rooney and Justin Bieber have already been seen leaving supermarkets with trolley loads of the foil wrapped fingers.
EDGE
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be applauded on her skills. During my day job I design corporate space. Many companies talk about how they like to empower their staff, while also boasting that they are one of the coolest firm for employees. But is this the reality? They certainly ‘talk the talk’, but do they ‘walk the walk’? What actually makes a company cool? Does a fireman’s pole in the middle of a floor, or a slide down to the café make it a great place to work? Maybe, for some, it is ultra-cool and just what people want. But do they really? Hi guys. I’m the ‘Design Dude’. Many thanks to Shaun for having me in The Edge. I shall be talking to you about Furniture and Design - after all, that’s been my passion for the past 30+ years. I successfully run a number of design firms specialising, fundamentally, in ‘space’; what it contains and in what order it should be planned.
Over the years there has been a shift away from offices aligned along the windows for the privileged few, with poky desks set-up in the dark recesses and a central spine for the many. Yet the same offices often remain empty while managers take extended lunch breaks in order to entertain clients, while the real workers are made to spend 10 hours a day in the least pleasant parts of the office.
In the following months this column will pose an insight into my way of thinking and aid your decisions in regard to your home, garden, office or even ‘cave’.
As a young lad in the 70s, I remember my parents marvelling at the fake timber melamine surfaces in the cruddy plastic ‘sets’ of MFI in Isleworth. We even had what was known as a ‘beauty board’ cladding in the hallway. However, years later, as a young home owner myself, furniture was now Scandi in design and from IKEA, of course. At the time, I thought it was wonderful - that is until I realised that every other blighter owned the exact same sofa, dining table, plus a cupboard full of tea-lights. As we mature, we question whether we want to be the same, or do we want to be a little bit different. IKEA is a great commercial success, but for it to dominate the way it has is all a little worrying for me. Do we really want to be ‘followers’, or can we all be potential ‘leaders’? Well, perhaps not everyone, but there is so very much on offer these days and while sometimes it can be a little more expensive to be different or unique, I guarantee you, it is worth every penny, to my mind at least.
In recent months, things have changed for us all. The idea of WFH (working from home) was always something people desired - well, the flexibility sounded great at least. Get the kids to school, hang out the washing, go buy a new flea collar for the cat, and even have a couple of 15 minute coffee breaks in the garden. Yet how ironic is it that recently, we’ve had no choice? However, wherever we are, we all want the comfort of feeling good about our environment and hopefully being invigorated with energy from it. For me, furniture does this and despite many of my friends and family teasing me about how I turn a chair upside down in a bar or a restaurant to find the maker's mark, furniture genuinely makes me feel good. So how does fine furniture make you feel?
Why do we like Furniture? Over the past 20+ years furniture has become as important to us as the clothes we wear. I realise that the naturists amongst us probably just have the odd relic standing firm on a rug in their lounge, but for the rest of us it is an important choice of self-expression; an indication of our taste and an extension of our personality, all finely displayed in our own personal castle.
As a design firm, we install many residential style products into office space, making it feel more like a home. This is appreciated by the staff and has made employees feel far more comfortable at work. If you can relate to this change, I’d be interested to hear your thoughts? To have leather seats on the employees' side of reception is now becoming more desirable, as it should be. After all, added focus should be placed on the people doing the work, rather than to be a status symbol for high earners who spend less actual time in the office. As IKEA once said, 'Let’s remove the chintz'. So together, let’s remove all of the leather chairs that sit idly in corners of plush offices and place the same fine furniture pieces in areas where the 80% of those who actually earn money for the firm can have use of and enjoy them. Behold, a revolution is coming!
Then along came ‘Open Plan’, or as many refer to it these days, the ‘Call Centre’. Now, I could spend an entire article writing about the reasons behind such an arrangement, but the aim of Open Plan was always about interaction and teamwork (or collaboration, in today’s speak). There’s also certainly an element of space saving, but never a sardine factory - just imagine the smell. It was only for the fear of change that offices and high screened cubicles remained for so very long. Microsoft used to advertise for new staff with the offer of an office, saying: ‘Come and join Windows, you will have a door to close behind you.’ Thankfully, companies have moved on, becoming more collaborative and are finally reaching a point where office space is something to be shared by the employees. Not all firms come into this category, but slowly we are getting there.
If you’re in the office, WFH, in your garden, having a drink in a bar, or staying in a hotel, furniture is something that makes us feel a certain way, even if we don’t always realise it at the time. I hope this has set the scene regarding my intentions over the coming months. I look forward to presenting you some of my ideas about your space, whether it’s within your home, your office, or your office at home. For now, thank you and stay safe... Design Dude. Please feel free to email: DesignDude.20@gmail.com ‘Inspiration for the Population’
Kids today hardly blink when spending 120 quid on a new pair of trainers, but some of us still expect to get a dining table for that price. So let me ask you, do you think that is balance? A friend of mine makes truly amazing pieces from abandoned household items, such as cutdown water cylinders (who needs hot water when a snazzy coffee table is the grand alternative) or redundant light fixtures converted into fancy bottle openers. This process is called ‘upcycling’ and it is certainly unique and a fascinating eclectic approach. But personally, the clean lines in more contemporary pieces is what I always crave. However, the lady concerned is still making a statement and is most definitely to Page 10
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As mad as it is, people seem to be genuinely excited about this, particularly when you read comments on Facebook etc. But why? Because it's effectively the same bar of chocolate in a new (old) wrapper. NOSTALGIA is why. Some of us of ‘a certain age’ have incredibly fond memories of eating a Marathon bar, so we genuinely believe they’re going to taste even better in the future, now that they’re not called Snickers any more (“Guilty as charged, m 'lud). Discussing this with Mr Edge, we both started thinking about other food/drink we used to love, and miss, or have started getting into all over again.
NOSTALGIA
"And as I think back makes me wonder how the smell from a grill could spark up nostalgia." Lyrics from Will ‘Big Willy Style’ Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff's 1991 hit ‘Summertime’. The English dictionary defines nostalgia as ‘a sentimental longing, or wistful affection, for a period in the past’. We all, as human beings, at some point have, and will, continue to have such a feeling, which isn't a bad thing as it's normally associated with good periods in our lives. I've recently been guilty of looking back, in order to go forward, after watching loads of football revisited games and tournaments that were retelevised during lockdown. After watching Euro’96 all over again, I found myself hunting down retro shirts and football boots to wear whilst training for my new place of work's recently put together football team (@Springfieldroadfc - follow us on twitter). Gazza's England shirt from ’96 is still my favourite and after the reaction from the lads during training when I wore it, it seems to be a favourite with many other blokes too (apart from Mr Edge, who I found out after a boozy late night kit debate seems as though he hates it and much prefers England’s 1966 kits, the old fart). This has also led me to start listening to music from that period once again, although mainly Oasis and particularly their first two albums. Which, as a knock-on effect, has also got my teenage daughter getting into their music. The marketing people out there certainly know how important nostalgia is to us all, recently proven with the announcement of Snickers being re-named (back to) Marathon after 30 long years (of hurt). www.theedgemag.co.uk
Spaghetti or Alphabet Spaghetti on toast has become a recent lunchtime meal all over again in our household, after me and my wife started talking about how much we loved eating it as kids.
ENJOY YOUR
GARDEN
WITH ERNEST DOE POWER
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Does anyone remember the crisps from the 80s shaped like pigs and simply called Piglets? In my head, I have them as the best packet of crisps ever, although this might be because you can't get them for love nor money anymore. I miss Lucozade not being in the large glass bottles that for some reason had an orange net mesh around it. Back then it was something you had alongside any medication you were taking at the time to get you back to good health and seemed ridiculously expensive.
FYFIELD, ONGAR, CM5 0NS TEL: 01277 899464
And who remembers Corona? No, not the damn virus, or the damn beer. The Corona man who delivered pop in glass bottles from his wagon down streets and in avenues that you could get a whopping 5p off your next bottle once you returned your ‘empties’ of the week before. Wrigglers were another favourite of mine when I was a kid. They were basically chewy fruity sweets shaped like worms and were always available at the local family pub where my dad would always buy me 10p worth (and you got a lot of sweets back in the day for 10p) after watching him play footie. He would buy me sweets and a bottle of Coke in a glass bottle (it always tasted better in a glass bottle) and then I would sit on the old school jukebox watching the records shuffle out. It didn't take much to keep me happy in those days, that’s for sure. And do you know what? With so very much bad news in the media these days, what with the constant talk of death and illness, mental health issues and yet ANOTHER recession upon the horizon, maybe we should all focus on things that have made us feel happy in the past, and use it to make us all feel happy once again in the future. Page 11
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Do you have any scratches or dents on your mobile home from gateposts, walls, trees, or even other caravans that you may have accidentally brushed against? Damage like this can drive down the resale value of your caravan, plus make you look like a bit of a percy in they eyes of your neighbours when they see what you’ve gone and done (again).
WE ALSO REPAIR CARAVANS!
At RS Scuff’n’Buff, they use ‘SCT’ (specialist caravan technology) in order to create a precise match for your caravan’s colour, allowing them to devise a perfect finish each and every time. Their SMART (small/ medium area repair technique) paintwork regeneration process has been designed so that they can repair only the damaged area of your ‘van’ without having to have the entire panel painted, or even replaced, getting you back on the road usually within a day and put an instant stop to all of those wagging tongues in your cul de sac. At RS Scuff’n’Buff they can also offer you FREE advice on whether you would benefit from getting the damage repaired, therefore improving the resale value of your investment. Oh, and don’t be scared when you first clap eyes on ‘Big Rob’ either. He’s a puddy-tat really. And yes, this editorial has been ‘doctored’ by The Edge from that which was originally received, in order to ‘jazz it up a bit’.
Yes, readers, that is what the boffins would have us believe. Only let me tell you, the day I returned to Training Space after a 4 month absence, due to double-dratted lockdown, OMG, I felt like a totally different person, and not a good one at that. In fact, it felt as though I was wearing a Sumo Suit, only I wasn’t. It was me, but just a whole lot more of me. However, the experts say that if we kick-start a daily exercise regime - and that doesn’t have to be lifting weights within the confines of a gym - and stick to it, our life expectancy can increase by up to 3 years, perhaps even longer, depending upon the amount of exercise we take. So surely that’s an extension worth having, right? Trouble is, the older I get, I’ve personally found that my body is now starting to pack up on me in a myriad of different ways, many of which unfortunately don’t seem to be curable. That said, I think it’s well worth trying to discover a form of exercise that you truly enjoy, so that, you know, it doesn’t feel like so much of a chore. Power-walking is even half-decent for you, so long as you do genuinely get out of first gear and don’t simply meander out for a stroll. But for it to really work, I genuinely think everyone would benefit from altering their route on a semi-regular basis, otherwise we’re surely going to get sick and tired of the same old scenery, aren’t we? But I do reckon I should give it a go, particularly as I can no longer jog, not with the state of my lower back. Jeez, when I think back on the sheer amount of sport and fitness I used to do in my younger years, it really does make me feel like a reet old crock these days. But you can’t turn back the clock, can you, so you’ve just got to live with what you’ve got (i.e. work around your ailments, I guess). Be nice to burn the calories off while you’re sat on your arse, drinking red wine and watching TV though, wouldn’t it? But ‘NO PAIN, NO GAIN’ or so they say. The main thing has to be to ENJOY IT though. Page 12
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Pray, what do you do? Just what the hell do you do when you are not so much invited, but far more like summoned to lunch by ‘The Don’, and the violin case he always carries around with him, even though he can’t play a note? So up I turned, promptly, at the Ivy Hill Hotel, at 1:00pm sharp, and there he was, awaiting me, the very man himself. Old school, he reached out to press some flesh, until I reminded him that the thing in vogue was elbow bumping these days, sad to say. “Dear boy,” he mumbled, a bit like Brando with cotton wool packed in his cheeks, “let me escort you to my pods.” And there they are, behind him (see above and below), all three of them, for the very essence in socially distanced dining (up to a maximum of 6 patrons per igloo). “We’re going to turn these little babies into mini Santa’s Grottos at Christmas,” he confided to me, as though I was his consigliere, as if he didn’t know one end of a machine gun to the other (much). Robert’s just a lovely man who’s now 80 years young, yet he’s still very much the partner of Jackie (ketchup on chips, anyone?), a resident of Monaco (you heard The Edge) and now I’ve even got his address over there (“Pop in any time,” he told me, as though I’m often passing). After a lunch of ‘something fishy with spaghetti in a tomato sauce’ that Terence knocked up especially for us, we retreated to the smoking area where Robert ‘blew off’ not one, not two, but three John Player Super Kings in about ten minutes flat, before giving me a typical Mafiosi shrug, as if to say, ‘What can I do? I’m a smoker. So shoot me.’ Yet I refrained and kept my pistol in my pocket, as I figured there were bound to be snipers hidden in the herbaceous borders of the garden. It’s tranquility personified, is lunch (or dinner, for that matter) at Bartella’s, the restaurant that serves the Ivy Hill Hotel. So why not book yourselves a private dining pod now. Only in this instance, mum’s the word, so please don’t go mentioning The Edge!
A barbeque is for life...not just the summer. Where is this year disappearing to? The days are already getting shorter and before you know it, people will be counting down the days to Christmas. Now that’s a depressing thought! Summer never seems long enough, but with the unprecedented events of 2020 coupled with some crazily hot British weather, I expect many of you have burnt endless bags of instant light charcoal, or annoyingly ran out of gas right at that crucial moment? So rather than resigning yourself to the fact that summer is sadly slipping away and pushing the charcoal to the back of the shed, perhaps now is an ideal time to rethink your outdoor cooking habits. Yes, sunny Hawaiian shirt weather is perfect for getting your grill on and impressing friends and family alike, but barbecuing doesn’t have to be left for those ‘Phew, what a scorcher!’ days. A few years ago, we checked out Maldon’s Smoke & Fire Festival (sadly not to be seen at that venue again). Having never really pushed the boundaries of BBQing, we were amazed by the passion of the pitmasters and the sheer variety of grills and accessories available. These guys take outdoor cooking seriously; it is a skill they are rightly proud of and practice all year round. What’s more, they couldn’t wait to share their cooking tips with us or tempt us with delicious samples of pulled pork and slow braised brisket. Their love and excitement of food and grilling was contagious and we definitely caught the bug. If you already cook outdoors, or are thinking about it, you’ve probably experienced, and perhaps even agonised over the ‘Is gas better than charcoal?’ question. But there is another way. The stand that really drew our attention that day was that of Traeger, manufacturers of wood-fired pellet grills. Traeger Invented the original wood-fired pellet grill over 30 years ago in Angel, Oregon. Wood-fired smoking is massive in the USA and is gradually increasing in popularity over here too. Using a woodfired pellet grill transforms the way you cook and creates consistently amazing results every single time. We are big fans of keeping cooking both simple and enjoyable, and using a pellet smoker is a perfect way to do this. They are incredibly easy to use and a reliably precise way of cooking. Forget blackened bangers with raw insides; instead, welcome to a world of next level food. So how does it work? All-natural hardwood pellets of different flavours, (applewood for pork, pecan for beef, chicken, plus many, many more) are poured into a ‘hopper’ where they are moved by an auger to the fire pit. Here they are ignited by the HotRod creating smoke and flames that add the delicious wood-fired flavour to your food. A fan circulates heat and smoke for even, consistent cooking, and a drip tray keeps flames off your food to prevent any flare-ups. It’s all operated by an electronic controller that maintains precise temperature, so you can spend more time with the people who matter most and less time watching the grill. Inspired, we invested in the baby of the Traeger family, the Bronson 20, just to give it a go. However, we quickly realised that cooking this way gave such amazing results and was not going to be a momentary fad, as we even used it on Christmas Day for our pigs-in-blankets! So this year we upgraded to the much bigger, all singing, all dancing, Timberline series with full Wi-Fi controlability, and we seriously haven’t looked back. Please see our awesome recipe (below) for something you may have never thought possible on a BBQ and catch up with us on Instagram and Facebook for more of our recipes and to see just how versatile a smoker can be. For more recipes and food inspiration: Instagram: follow us @worldspantry Like us on Facebook Worlds Pantry As always any questions/comments regarding this or any of our recipes and articles, please contact us at team@worldspantry.com We would genuinely love to hear from you!
www.theedgemag.co.uk
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During lockdown, The Edge heard about one of the most ridiculous stories it thinks it has ever been privy to. Can you spot the difference between the above and the below, readers? Minimal, isn’t it? But apparently, it’s been well worth £1m of Cadbury’s money to do away with their former logo (below) in favour of their brand new logo (above). What a load of scrotum. The designers have reportedly claimed (yes, come on, let’s hear it) that the new logo is bolder (no it isn’t) and that the lettering “puts the
The Stores Coffee, brunch & lunch
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Tuesday- Friday 8.30am-5pm Saturday 9am-5pm Main Road, Great Waltham, Chelmsford, Essex, CM3 1DE Tel ǻ 01245 362649 Email- thestorescafe@icloud.com
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humanity back” into the label seen on their chocolate bars. OMG. What a load of cobblers. During times like these, stories like this simply beggar belief. Can you imagine going to a design studio with a million smackers in a briefcase, handing over your existing logo and telling them, in no uncertain terms, you want a new one. Then a wee bit later (how long must if have took ’em? An hour? Two hours?) you receive a call to go back for ‘the great unveiling’ of the all NEW logo. Cadbury execs jaws must have hit the floor when they saw it. Talk about taking the piss.
Surely by now you’ve come to realise just how much The Edge loves it there, what with Laura’s beaming smile, Adrian’s dulcet tones, and Luke’s, well, Luke’s brand new hair do. And everything’s the same (well, their delicious tucker is), but, like all things these days, sadly different? For instance, you now have to wait at the door before you can enter and be seated (it’s best to book), there’s a perspex screen at the counter where the vast majority of transactions are card payments these days, and the layout’s all different (the window seats have gone, which we always used to grab if we could). But for all of that, it remains The Stores, and we just hope to hell that will always be the case, as it is a pure gem, situated just outside of Chelmsford in Great Waltham, with plenty of free parking space either in South Street, or in the blue bays of the car-park behind the venue. Being creatures of habit, to a certain degree, we always start off with a pot of green tea (trust me, the green tea The Stores serve is just the best, with not a hint of bitterness about it) while we peruse their menu. On this particular visit, Mrs Edge decided upon the Vegetarian Breakfast (£9.00) with an ‘extra’ of some Smoked Bacon (£1.50). Yes, I know. Tell me about it. How contradictory is that? (Only I let her off as she gave me one of her bubble & squeak ‘patties’ which are yumtastic!) Meanwhile, I had what I often have; a lightly toasted (on their delicious granary bread) Smoked Bacon & Egg sandwich (£6.45) with a liberal dollop of HP sauce (nothing but the best at The Stores) and, oh, I always pull the fat off and take it home and cut it up for the hedgehogs that visit us during the dead of night, as they seem to love it in equal measures. Then we generally finish with a couple of creamy soya lattes. Have to say though, if you really want to treat yourselves, then do go for their Full English Breakfast option (£9.95) which includes two rashers of smoked bacon, two sausages, a choice of eggs, grilled tomato, mushrooms, baked beans, toast and butter. Handsome. Or what about a Club Sandwich (£9.25)? Or maybe Smashed Avocado on Rye (£6.95)? Or even Eggs Benedict (£8.50)? And wait ’til you see the size of their homemade Sausage Rolls (£7.10). Not forgetting that ‘Friday Night is (always) Pizza Night’ at The Stores, serving their wood fired frizbees from 5:00pm - 8:00pm. Of course, the real beauty is, everything’s always perfect every single time. And gawd bless ’em for that! The Edge 077 646 797 44
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WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE BAR, READERS? WORD HAS IT that the Snickers bar, formerly known as Marathon, let us not forget, is the UKs favourite chocolate bar - and The Edge reckons that’s not a bad call, as it’s definitely our favourite bar of choice to put in our bedroom’s mini-fridge whenever we’re abroad on holiday (not sure when that’ll next be tho’?) for a pre-bedtime nibble with a nice hot cup of cocoa. But the humble bar of Dairy Milk to be voted runner-up? Do give over. You have got to be pulling The Edge’s plonker. Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut, which came in at a lowly 16th, fair enough. But not a bar minus those two all important ingredients. Tut. Some folk clearly have no taste. The bronze medal goes to Galaxy, and so far as a bar of chocci goes we nowt added, then yep, okay, because it has got a particularly distinctive taste. 4th Bounty. You what? Well, it’d better be the one with plain chocolate around it then, as my mate ‘Bernard the Butcher’ swears they taste miles better than the milk variety, and he’s a Bounty connoisseur.
5th KitKat. Get lost. That’s a biscuit, is that, not a bloody chocolate bar. Who invented the voting rules? 6th Twix. If you say so. But if any of you remember Mackintosh’s Mint Cracknel, then I’m certain you’ll side with The Edge when it say it blows a Twix bar right out of the tin. 7th Twirl. No chance. On the grounds that The Edge has never even tasted one. 8th Wispa. Rubbish. Humbug. Fix! FIX! 9th Mars. Far too much chocolate and caramel. Good slogan though: ‘A Mars a day turns thee into a reet fat b st rd’. (P.S. If * * Mars is 9th, how comes a Milky Way is only 28th, as they’re almost identical. Sort of. But not quite. Well, they’re totally different really, come to think of it.) 10th Flake. Their TV adverts were good, but the crumbs used to get all over Edge mum’s carpet, apparently. How on this earth there’s no place for a Curly Wurly and particularly a Topic, with all of that delicious nougat and ‘a hazelnut in every bite’, if you recall, in the ‘Top 30’ is completely Jimmy Clitheroe (look ’im up).
Another Edge favourite that ought to be right up there, pushing for an European place (so to speak) is the Picnic bar, which came in 25th position. Surely if true chocoholics had been voting, as opposed to Dewsbury Whippet Club members, then it’d have made the Eufa Cup qualifying rounds minimum. There now follows some of the bars of my youth that didn’t even make it into the so called ‘Top 30’. Caramac - what a tasty treat that was. Old Jamaica - surely an all time classic that ought to be available to this day? Pink Panther - sweet, pink, strawberry flavoured chocolate. Oh yeah. Aztec - I think it tasted a bit like Old Jamaica, but with more of a marshmallowy texture. Golden Cup - ooooooh, they were delicious. So the question begs, how can ANY of us EVER give up chocolate, eh? Come hell or high water, surely it just canna be done. P.S. Crunchie came 11th, Toblerone 14th, Milky Bar 17th, Fry’s Turkish Delight 20th, (a finger of) Fudge 24th, Aero (gotta be peppermint) 29th and the Yorkie bar 30th.
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www.theedgemag.co.uk
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ings and I found myself completely captivated by the inspirational journey that the owners have been through in order to achieve their ultimate vision. They have certainly opened my eyes to the devastating damage that intensive agricultural farming has done, and continues to do, to our landscape, our environment, and the very quality of the food we eat. I was therefore extremely excited to learn that you can visit the project and stay at their purpose built campsite. I chose to go the glamping route, staying in one of their large bell tents, which comes complete with a king-size bed, sofa, wood burning stove and various other bits of ‘essential furniture’ if you don’t like roughing it, like me, along with a large fire pit to cook on. You can also stay in quirky huts, large domed yurts, and even several giant tree houses.
Anyone who knows me well will be well aware that I have somewhat of an addiction to purchasing books in my local Waterstones, writes Andrew Eley.
Social distancing measures had also been put into place and it was all very well run, super clean, with staff both present and observant. There is a large open kitchen that guests can share, several clean and well stocked outdoor loos and two very stylish outdoor showers.
There are plenty worse addictions to have, I guess, yet I always get drawn in, especially if I fancy a strong cup of Joe and an almond croissant from their coffee shop, which is often. In fact, I now have so many books I could probably open my own independent bookstore. The problem is having the time to read them all, so I had a good pile building up that I desperately needed to work my way through. (Maybe The Edge will allow me to start up my very own book review section? You never know!) Lockdown afforded me the ideal opportunity and with stores being closed, I thankfully had no real temptation to add to my collection. One of those books was called Wilding, a fascinating read about a pioneering ‘rewilding project’ in West Sussex. Knepp Farm has moved away from intensive faming into a wild landscape with free grazing animals in a bid to restore rare and endangered species back into England’s natural habitat. Pigs, deer, cattle and ponies all roam free in their natural surround-
There is also a shop on site where you can purchase local organic beers and ciders, along with sausages, steaks, burgers and more, all from their own free roaming, pasture fed Old English long horn cattle, Tamworth pigs and both red and fallow deer. As somewhat of a self-proclaimed burger connoisseur, I can confirm that those from the Old English long horn cattle where the best I have ever tasted and far, far superior than the often seen Aberdeen Angus burgers, or anything from Patty & Bun. It’s also worth noting that genuine pasture fed meat is extremely hard to get hold of. Even if you can (sometimes) get it in M&S, the animal has often been fed a mixture of pasture and grain, which apparently nullifies the taste and health benefits of pure pasture fed meat. (You can even order Knepp Farm meats online as well.) You can choose to stay for 2 nights or 7 nights. I chose the 2 night option and arrived at 3pm to sign in. The site is easy to get to and after quickly unpacking I immediately headed off for a short walk to get my bearings. The estate offers a range of walking paths ranging form 2.5km to
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8.5km, each one taking you through beautiful parts of natural, wild landscape. You can also pay to have a guided safari which would take you into the areas not open to the general public, but you need to book these well in advance. Nevertheless, on my walks I encountered free roaming cows, ponies and even a rather large sow that was being suckled on by a single piglet. I don’t know where all her other piglets were, but I was desperately hoping they wouldn’t be making their way into my organic bacon roll the following morning. There are also a couple of pubs on the routes, should you wish to stop for a refresher, and on the longer Castle Walk I went slightly ‘off path’ to enjoy a couple of pints at a wonderful old village pub appropriately called The Countryman. They also sold fresh organic vegetables of which I stocked up on before heading back for a well-earned night’s sleep. The campsite has no lighting in order to help reduce light pollution, but the night sky was absolutely stunning. If you want to make the most of the sky at night, you may want to stay in one of the accommodations that are outside of the woodland, although the flipside is that there seemed little respite from the baking sun, should you choose to locate yourselves in an open field. Due to staycations being somewhat forced upon many of us right now, Knepp Farm was fully booked for months ahead, so I was very lucky to get the days I wanted (which happened to my birthday). However, if I went again (and I fully intend to), I would definitely like to take advantage of their 7 night option and fully embrace the entire wilderness experience. It is also only a 30 minute drive from Brighton, so you could have a day trip there before driving on to Knepp Farm. I cannot really fault the place and highly recommend you Edge readers check it out for yourselves ASAP - or at the very least purchase some of their wonderful meat online. The price to pitch your own tent is just £20 per night for up to 4 people sharing. Meanwhile the glamping options start from £190 for 2 nights (during the week), £300 for a long-weekend (Friday - Monday) and £590 for 7 days. Top end prices for the tree house option is £385 for 2 nights, £570 for a long-weekend and £1,140 for 7 days. I stayed in one of their bell-tents between Monday - Wednesday in July (peak season) at a cost of £225. Knepp Wildland, New Barn Farm, Dial Post, Nr. Horsham, West Sussex, RH13 8NN. Website Address https://knepp.co.uk The Edge 077 646 797 44
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Built in the 17th century, this is Pentillie Castle on the Cornish banks of the River Tamar, set on an estate that spans almost 2,000 acres. Me and the missus drive right past it whenever we go to visit my wife’s sister and hubby at their rented cottage on the private Pentillie estate where they’ve lived for the past 15 years. But so far as The Edge is aware, you can actually club together with a few of your ‘bubble friends’ and hire the castle itself, complete with solar-heated outdoor swimming pool (pool available April - September) for a snip at just...
Sadly, tragically, as I do love my (usually) annual visits to Polzeath, this was the first time we’d ever been to Cornwall and not visited the coast. But we mulled it over and decided that, all things considered, it was probably safer not to. So instead we simply sat in the shade around their rented gaff and tried our best to keep cool, sipping on humongous amounts of G&T (well, we were on a long-weekend jolly, so it’d have been incredibly rude not to).
TBH, I don’t know the pricing structure. But if you’re interested, I’m sure you can go online and find out. You can also hire rooms, just like you can in a hotel or a guest house (availability permitting), as opposed to hiring the entire caboodle, which certainly makes sense in these socially-distancing times, don’t you think? From Chelmsford you can get there in approx. 4hrs 30mins via the M25, M4 and M5. It’s just over the Tamar Bridge, one of I.K. Brunel’s finest. Oh and it’s also available as a wedding venue too. How very grand would that be, with fresh Cornish pasties served for your wedding day lunch.
In fact, our only trips out were to their local Waitrose store and to the Tamar View Nursery, which were both just down the road, the latter offering a cracking breakfast, brunch or lunch with fully 50% off, thanks to damn Covid-19. Plus once into Callington on the Sunday evening to pick up a Chinese take-away, which was absolutely sublime. On the subject of nurseries, when I was a wee nipper, every now and then my parents would surprise me (and not in a good way) with news that we were going to visit a garden centre - yes, right at that very moment - which I could never see the point of and always found to be pants. But these days, some 50 years on, you can’t keep Olde Edgy out of such places. Me and the missus just love them, particularly as we’re hankering to set up some sort of mini water feature down the bottom of our garden, in our tranquil ‘ZBZ’ (zen buddha zone). In order to get to Cornwall, we left Chelmsford at 03:00am on a recent Saturday morning in order to (a) try and keep cool (b) miss the traffic, which we succeeded in doing on both counts. However, returning home on Tuesday 11th August, we didn’t leave until 09:00am and OMG, talk about extreme heat. Thank god we never got into a traffic jam as I doubt the air con in my little Citroen Cactus would have coped. As it was, my back was wet through and my undercrackers were soaked with sweat. How do salesmen, out on the road, cope in such conditions as the ones we had to endure during the middle of last month, wearing a suit and tie? I overtook a lorry driver at one point who was clearly naked from the waist up (hey, and maybe even from the waist down, who knows?) and no wonder, as my in-car temperature gauge touched 36 degrees at one point. We eventually reached ‘Edge Towers’ a little before 2:00pm, sadly to discover that our lawn was now 100% beige. Who honestly needs to go abroad for a holiday with temperatures reaching boiling point back home in Blighty? Not that it’s very pleasant. Personally, I’m an April, May and June kind of guy, with a little September thrown in for good measure. But you can keep the rest of the months in the year, other than those rare, crisp winter days that have a gorgeous blue sky.
www.theedgemag.co.uk
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The Edge used to run this footie foresight competition years ago, whereby each entrant would put a fiver into the pot, along with their predictions for the forthcoming Premier League football season, and the cash would be shared between the overall winner, the runner-up and whoever finished third. But when it started attracting over 100 entrants, I bonked it on the head, simply because it took too long to work it all out. So this past season, 24 of us took part, up from 15 the season before, simply for fun. Basically, before a ball (inc. the Charity Shield ball) had been kicked, we had to predict all of the final placings of the 2019-20 season, plus the top Premiership goalscorer and the first Premier League manager to get the sack (or move clubs). It’s interesting to see both how close and just how far out you can sometimes be. Scoring: 5 points for a prediction that’s bang-on, 4 points if you’re one place out (either way), 3 for two positions out etc. And it’s the same where the manager and top Premiership goalscorer are concerned. The reigning ‘chumpion’ was HIs Lordship, Timothy D’Arcy of Springfield, while last season’s Wooden Spoonist (always worth a mention) was hairdressing guru Norman Ellis.
The first thing to point out is that when Tim D’Arcy won this competition in 2018-19, his total points haul was 65 pwa. In fact, 6 entrants managed to collect 60 points or more. So what does that say? That we were all shite this time around? Or rather that for some reason, the final league table this term was much harder to predict? Certainly not a single one of us gained a single point from the numerous sacked managers, which has never happened before, with the vast majority opting for either Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Steve Bruce or Roy Hodgson, all of whom prevailed. I remember the day when I received Ozzie’s predictions because I had to get back in touch with him as he was one team short. The team he’d seemingly forgotten all about was Newcastle United. “Stick ’em in at 13th,” he told me. I should have known the writing was on the wall as that’s exactly where the Barcodes finished. In fact, the only clubs ‘Ozzie the Mod’ failed to collect any points whatsoever on were Everton (he had them for 7th), Watford (10th) Burnley (16th) and Sheffield United (19th). On that latter point, only Jan the Polak and Deaks didn’t predict Sheffield United to be relegated, while most of us had them to finish rock bottom, so more fool us. A lifelong Arsenal fan, Ozzie also collected 4 points for predicting Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang for the Golden Boot (he was second only to Jamie Vardy, and not one of us saw that coming. In fact, not many of us saw Leicester City doing so well, though a former competition winner (back in the day, when money exchanged hands) did predict them to finish 6th, so collected 4 points for being just one place out). While Ozzie only predicted two teams in the positions they ultimately ended up in, he was only one place out where Liverpool, Manchester City, Chelsea, Wolves, Southampton and Aston Villa were concerned (plus Aubameyang). But make no mistake, final placings are never easy to predict. If you think they are, try it yourself this season....before a ball has been kicked, don’t forget.
Norman, formerly head honcho of Options hairdressing salon for many, many moons, entered for the very first time in 2018-19 and promptly came rock bottom (i.e. no-one was worse), so what a staggering turn around this past season has been in his fortunes. In fact, the only teams he received zero pwa for were West Ham, Watford (everyone was way out on Watford, apart from one person, but we’ll come to that...) and Sheffield United, plus just 1 pwa for Harry Kane as joint-fifth highest goalscorer.
But an absolute belter of a prediction from Norman was the 5 points he collected for Bournemouth finishing 18th, particularly judging by their past performance in the Premier League, despite becoming the first club to concede over 60 goals in 5 consecutive seasons (a PL record). Yet not one other Edge pundit had Bournemouth to be relegated. So that’s what The Edge calls a prediction, is that! Jolly well done, Norman. You have well and truly redeemed yourself.
When I mentioned “but we’ll come to that...” (above), I am talking about one of the best footie predictions I have ever made. I had Watford to finish rock bottom (so 4 points, as they finished 19th, and good riddance to them) when the majority of pundits predicted them mid-table. Now personally, I think that’s equally as good as Norman’s Bournemouth effort, if not (dare I say) even better. I was also just one position out where Liverpool, Manchester City, Wolves, Burnley, Southampton, Newcastle and Brighton were concerned (plus 3 points for Raheem as third highest goalscorer). Verdict: Top Bombing!
Last years winner Lord D’Arcy, James Clark and Neil Richardson of Westminster Outdoor Living (little plug there, opposite Tesco on Springfield Road for proper quality outdoor garden furniture, readers). D’Arcy actually predicted 5 teams in the positions they ended up in (25%), while both James and Neil managed 4, which is bloody good going, guys. Better luck next season. You are genuine contenders.
Henry Lewi, Darren Booty and The Home Partnership’s Scott Mason. All I’ll say is: “Brighton bottom, Henry? Southampton 16th, Darren? Norwich City 13th, Scott?” But these were all decent entries and although Scott managed 5 more points last season, he actually finished higher up the league table this season. Also that was an excellent shout for West Ham finishing 16th, Mase (5 points in the onion bag for that one)!
‘The Great Raymondo’ (Ray Marshall) finished 10th on 48 points (Watford 8th, Villa 11th, Burnley 16th and Brendan Rogers to be the first sacked manager though, Ray?). Then came Edge columnist Jan the Polak, who managed to pool 60 points last season, but only 46 pwa this time around. But what were you thinking having the mighty Southampton to be relegated? Hasenhuttl’s a top coach and the club have a great academy, although well done for sticking your neck out and having Sheffield United not to be relegated (you had them 16th). Oliver ‘Funbus’ Worthington, ardent Wolves fan, you also collected 46 points, but your only bang-on was Southampton (11th), so clearly you need to brush up on your footballing knowledge outside of Wulver’ampton (arf, arf). Andrew Crocker, a previous winner when there was ‘money at stake’, scored 45 points. Great shout for Leicester 6th (4 pwa) - nobody had them that high - but a bit off the pace this time around. The Edge’s San Diego foreign correspondent Steve Ward finished 14th with 44 points, yet won it back in 2017-18, if memory serves me correctly, and he’s usually ‘there or thereabouts’. But Tottenham to finish runners-up, Wardo no points for guessing he’s a Tottenham fan - and Wolves a lowly 12th? Fifteenth was newbie Peter Ankin with 43 points, who thought Arsenal might finish 3rd, West Ham 8th, Villa 9th, Watford 10th, Leicester City 15th, Burnley 16th and Newcastle United relegated. Jesus, Peter, I’m surprised you finished as high as 15/24. Doesn’t say much for the rest of the entrants, does it? Starting with Edge columnist Deaks in 16th position (42 pts). A lifelong Iron, he had The Hammers 3rd, Bournemouth 11th, Watford 12th, Burnley 15th and Newcastle 18th. So that’s 0/25 points for starters! And on 40 points, The Edge’s ‘token female’ entrant, Anita Banerjee-Nag, Arsenal fan and my wife’s bestie. What can I say? Must do better!
Seriously, WTH? 18th Neil Manley (39pts). 19th Billy Hinken (38pts). 20th Matt Delaney (38pts). 21st Darren Moss (37pts). 22nd Kevin Page (36pts). 23rd Jason Lowther (35pts). What a set of BIG GIRL’S BLOUSES the six of you undoubtedly are. Although there’s one even worse...
Absolutely shocking, particularly as he was joint-runner-up last season with a whopping 64 points. Page 18
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FACE MASKS As I write, a Government edict to wear face coverings in shops etc. has recently come into being, just as most restrictions are being eased (to be honest, I’m amazed that it’s happened so late, but we have to believe that what we’re being instructed to do by the Government is done at the optimum time and comply accordingly). This wasn’t a particularly novel or traumatic experience for me as I’ve been wearing a face mask since the get-go. Therefore, please may I offer a couple of pieces of wisdom for other mask wearers (in my long experience of five months)? Firstly, I’ve found that sucking a mint (sugar free, of course) before I don a mask helps stop my mouth from drying out. Secondly, purchase a cheap back-to-school pencil case. I found just the very one for me in Sainsbury’s for but £1, it’s seethrough and just the right length for my spare paper masks and gloves, in order to keep them clean. By the way, there’s no charge for these two little pearls of wisdom! I’m also rather amused that several new words and idioms have seemingly entered our language, due to the pandemic. Such as ‘Covidiot’ and ‘Maskhole’ (pretty obvious), ‘Blursday’ (when all the days blur into one another and you’re not sure if it’s Tuesday or Friday), ‘Zumped’ (being dumped by a partner on Zoom) and ‘Spendemic’ (the increase in online shopping whilst confined during the virus).
I’d like to add a new one of my own to the list. ‘Mazed’ (an inability to follow the newly laid floor direction arrows in shops).
DUMP THE JUNK? So, the latest Government decree to reach us is the fight against obesity, as it appears that those of us who are carrying a little more weight than is deemed healthy (hey, in Botswana I’d be called ‘traditionally built’) are likely to be harder hit by Coronavirus. This isn’t the first time that initiatives have been tried, but they do keep trying, gawd bless ‘em. The current Fix Your Bike Voucher Scheme allows members of the public to receive a voucher worth up to £50 towards the cost of repairing a bicycle (although I doubt I’ll be bothering to try and fix my cobweb festooned mountain bike, currently residing in my garage. In fact, it would probably perform better as an art installation). Now I know that a few tweaks to a chain or a new saddle seems like an easy solution, but to me that money would be far better spent on ensuring cycling is a pleasure for all, rather than a battle with other road users, pot holes and sunken drains. I can well understand why some cyclists choose to ride on footpaths for their own safety, but they’re meant for pedestrians, so I’m afraid that is illegal. And surely people who choose to cycle will continue to do so anyway, even without a £50 freebie incentive?
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that it will fade away gradually for most, who will revert to buying their cakes and cookies, once they’ve used up that 16kg bag of flour. I’m fully expecting a black market in chocolate digestives and Curly Wurlys to spring up, with Dad’s Army Pvt. Walker-like spivs hanging about on street corners offering passers-by samples of Liquorice Allsorts and Bourbon biscuits out of a tatty suitcase. But please don’t think I’m being sniffy about this. I do understand and accept that work, shopping and lifestyle habits will always continue to change. Personally, I can perform basic maintenance tasks and cook from scratch, when the mood takes me. But ‘ready meals’ and the like are simply all too tempting and easily accessible these days.
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So, until I can ensure that a cycling experience won’t result in me ending up as roadkill, I’m afraid that you’ll still only find me behind the wheel of my car. But on the subject of the proposed Government crackdowns, there’s also talk of a ban on ‘junk food’ being advertised on TV prior to the 9pm watershed, presumably in order to protect our youngsters and hopefully save them from health problems in later life. They’re not dumb, any more than their parents are, but anyone with a brain cell cannot be unconscious of the fact that with each generation the ‘style’ of housekeeping changes. Skills and experience learned from our parents have diminished. In many households, through necessity or choice, either partner may be responsible for shopping and cooking, which is as it should be. Even back in 2016 The Guardian reported that a former Chief Executive of the Waste & Resources Programme (Wrap) quoted in part, when talking about food waste, “We’ve probably got a couple of generations who went through school without really getting taught how to do things (cooking skills and home economics lessons) so now they’re terrified by use-by dates: one minute it’s OK, a minute after midnight it’s not.” The pandemic may have caused a boom in baking through necessity, or boredom, and the pleasure of ‘making from scratch’ may well last in some homes, but I kind of expect
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Back by popular demand! Hello readers. Welcome to my transeuropean column, which I began writing in Italy this month and concluded in the UK, whilst the middle bit was compiled somewhere over the Italian Alps. I was fortunate enough to be invited over there to join a pal of mine called Andrew, who owns a truly amazing home perched on a mountain in Crispiero, which is about 3 hours drive from Rome, which just happens to be my favourite city in the whole wide world. I myself am lucky enough to own a home in Portugal which, needless to say, has always been my favourite foreign country. But the more I visit Italy, the more it rivals Portugal, as it is truly breathtaking. So if you feel compelled to view my daily adventures out there, then checkout my profile on Instagram #gmdeakin.
DEAKS
One of the (many) things we did, whilst sitting beneath clear night skies, drinking the local vino, was to track the International Space Station (ISS) which travels at 17,227mph around Planet Earth. Well, we only did this once. After all, I don’t want you thinking we’re a pair of geeks or anything. However, what I will add, in a slightly geeky fashion, is that the space station completes 15 orbits of the Earth every single day, which means the crew members on board experience a sunrise, or a sunset, every 90 minutes. How weird and wonderful is that? We tracked it on the ISS Tracker App which tells you the exact moment it passes over you and its precise location in the sky. I guess we were lucky to enjoy such clear skies out there, but either way, I do recommend you download the app as it is very clever indeed. Now I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking: I wonder
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where Deaks is writing his column from at this precise moment? Well, I can confirm that I am now strapped safely into a Ryanair seat, with my knees either side of my ears, wearing a face mask (and a fart absorber between my bum cheeks, naturally), flying at 42,000 feet over the snow capped Alps. What’s more, I have no idea how people manage to get so drunk on these short haul trips. I’ve had a large G&T sat in front of me on my foldaway table for the past 40 minutes, only I cannot reach it, due to the close proximity of my knees to my chin, whilst my arms are literally linked to the passengers sat either side of me (no social distancing here). But fortunately there are only another couple of hours to go before they herd us all off with their cattle prods at Stansted. Apologies, I digress. This month I want to tell you about a couple of my adventures whilst employed by Coughdrop Bollock & Bellend, just to move matters along to the crescendo of excitement that our dear editor is urging me to get to at some point before we all die. One of the great things about working up in the smoke as a director of a big international firm is that you get invited to lots of corporate jollies, which naturally it would be rude practice to turn down. I’ve been to all the big horse racing events, football finals and cricket test matches. In fact, we were in the posh members enclosure at Lords Cricket Ground when one of the chaps in our group went to the toilet during the lunchbreak and happened to mention to the guy standing beside him (at the urinals - although personally I never speak to people at the urinals, do you?) what a great day he was having and added that he was sat right at the front of the members stand offering a great view of the match. He then asked the chap whereabouts he was in the ground, to which he replied, “I’m out in the middle, mate. My name’s Kevin Pieterson.” Those days were always so much fun with (free) alcohol flowing all day long that it’s a wonder we ever got home from such far flung locations as Ascot, Lords and Twickenham, to name but a few. Many a time I have woken up on the train having missed my stop. I once woke up in Clacton at 3.00am and had to wait for the first train back to London which left at 4.45am. So I simply bought a new shirt once I got into London and went straight into the office. Mind you, I didn’t last much after midday before I was making my excuses and heading home to Chelmsford. Funnily enough, one of the lads in my team had a very similar experience, so bought himself a waistcoat to disguise his 2 day old shirt. This seemed a very odd thing to do, but when we challenged him about it, he said he had lots of shirts at home, but not a decent waistcoat. That was his logic and his excuse for smelling like a brewery all day long. Good Lord, the stuff we used to get up to in those days. I’d love to be 18 again. I could ruin my life all over again as I’ve got some new ideas how! However, I’m firmly back in the UK now, just in case you were wondering, and I clearly brought the sunshine back with me as it’s been baking. But I am already planning my next trip away, which I predict will be to Portugal early in September - Mr Covid dependent, of course. Talking of sport, I’m reminded of a story from my teenage years. A group of us often used to start a Saturday evening off at The Romford Snooker Hall which was owned by Barry Hearn. All the big names in snooker came through that club, including Steve Davis and Jimmy White to name but two. We used to get tanked up on cheap(ish) beer and play a few frames before heading off to a nightclub, often ‘Room at the Top’ in Ilford. Anyhow, one particular night, we were queuing up outside the club and one of the lads in our group, who shall remain nameless, had clearly had a little too much beer and it was obvious to the rest of us that he wouldn’t be allowed in. Sure enough, the bouncers refused him entry and when he got aggressive, they picked him up and chucked him on the pavement. But we thought no more about it and boogied the night away. When we left, the bouncers told us that our mate had come back at them, having nipped to the snooker hall to get a couple of balls which he had put into his sock and which he was merrily swinging around his head whilst warning the bouncers they had picked on the wrong guy. However, just as he was making his move towards them, the snooker balls popped out of a hole in his sock and the bouncers said our mate was attacking them with nothing more than an empty sock whilst the snookers balls bounced down Ilford High Street. And on that image, dear readers, I shall love you and leave you for yet another month. Stay safe y’all. TTFN Deaks gmdeakin@googlemail.com Instagram: gmdeakin The Edge 077 646 797 44
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COVERING UP I’ll be honest with you, I am not entirely sure how I feel about wearing a face mask (although I am always obliging if told to do so). One of the issues I have is that there have been so many different opinions from so called ‘experts’ as to their efficacy, yet no one really seems to be crystal clear one way or the other. On balance, it appears wearing a mask may help me from passing the virus on to someone else, but is unlikely to stop me from catching it. That is a good enough reason for me to wear one, but I do wonder if there is another way? I never thought it would be so hard, wearing a bit of cloth over my face, but the fact is I feel disorientated whenever I wear one and a little short of breath. Then my glasses steam up, no one can here me properly when I try to communicate with them, and I always struggle to use Apple Pay because my phone doesn’t recognise my face. But it will certainly stop me from spreading the virus, because at this rate I am going to stop going out and start shopping online. But I can, of course, still go to a pub, or to a restaurant, without wearing a mask and, as a result of the ‘Eat Out to Help Out’ initiative, all of such establishments are seemingly packed. Don’t get me wrong, I will carry on wearing my mask, if it helps others. But I just think I’m far more likely to pass on the virus in a busy restau-
rant than ever I am a quick trip to the Post Office.
SEASON TICKETS The football season is set to return on 12th September and recent Government comments suggest that we may start to see the reintroduction of fans into stadiums. I’ve been wondering how this works out for fans who have season tickets? At my club, West Ham, it seems they want you to pay full price for your ticket, but then be entered into a ballot to see if you can actually go or not, given the limited availability of seats. It’s also been suggested that no singing will be allowed. Naturally I am pleased that life is starting to slowly get back to normal, but in the case of football, I have to ask, why bother, until they can let more fans in? They are intimating they will give pro-rata refunds for all games you cannot attend, but knowing my luck, I’ll get tickets for W.B.A. and Burnley (at home), but miss out on Tottenham and Chelsea; the prorata refund doesn’t seem to factor in the category of the game. Also, in the case of us Irons, at 20% you will have around 10,000 fans trying to get to the ground through the busy shopping centre at Westfield, which is hardly an ideal way of trying to stop the spread of the virus, is it? Premier League clubs are hardly short of a few quid (despite West
Ham constantly pleading poverty), so why don’t they simply carry on showing all Premiership games on TV until we get closer to ‘normal service being resumed’?
MEGXIT I am confused. Earlier this year, in January, Harry & Meghan said that they were quitting as frontline working members of the Royal Family. It seems things had been a bit difficult with ‘The Family’ following their wedding and rumours suggested that Meghan had gone down like the proverbial turd in a swimming pool, certainly with her sister and brother-in-law at least. It also seems that they have a bit of a troubled relationship with the press, with Harry saying something like they had suffered a constant wave of abuse and harassment. Given the circumstances, I could understand their desire to leave the UK and instead lead a quiet family life away from all the paps in America. But if that’s the case, why do we continue to hear so very much from them? If they dislike the press so much, then why are they always talking to them? If anything happens in the world, it appears they think we care what they think. Worse still, they seem to think they have a platform to tell us how we should lead our lives. They simply come across as entitled, hypocritical, and are tonedeaf to the world we live in today. The problem is, their lifestyle and
Billy Hinken protection is expensive and somehow they have to pay for it. Sadly, I think that will mean we will be hearing far more from them, not less, and therefore they will continue to try to be controversial in the hope that they might stay relevant. I wonder if they will look back in a year or two and consider whether being a Royal was such a bad gig after all. Ah, here we are
SyrupsR-US
THRUSH Who needs an irritating yeast infection on top of everything else we’ve got to contend with these days?
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ONLY JOKING! LOCKDOWN
Lockdown is Spanish for ‘I eat for four’.
TESCO I was shopping in Tesco the other day and there was a weird looking child running around the place like a lunatic. So I said to the bloke standing next to me, "Whoa. That is one ugly kid running around." He looked at me and snarled, "That is my son." I baulked and said, "Sorry, mate. I didn't realise you were his dad." He said, "I'm not. I'm his mother."
HOT PEOPLE Coronavirus is a great leveller, because these days, even hot people know what it’s like not to get laid.
UNLUCKY Me? Unlucky? I’ll say. Even my pet jellyfish set.
COURAGE It takes a lot of courage to admit it when your wife is wrong.
THE WAY THINGS ARE Staying inside? Avoiding others? Washing yourself all the time? What are you, a pussy?
CAREFUL Be careful out there. Me and the missus donned our masks and went out grocery shopping the other day. Then when we got back home an hour or so later and were busy unpacking, I took off my mask and realised I was in the wrong house with a total stranger.
TAKING OFFENCE The world is getting worse by the day. At this rate, I won’t be able to take the piss out of myself for very much longer without offending someone.
TEAM PLAYER Want to become a team player? Then learn to say "OK, great” a bit more, instead of always "F@ck you.”
HOLY SHIT Seventeen year old: "Whoa! Holy shit! Like, this game is just so realistic, man.” Driving instructor: "Pull over immediately, sir.”
QUARANTINE
FROG CONDOM SALES MEETING
This quarantine malarkey is really messing with my sleeping habits. For instance, just yesterday I got caught ‘sleeping’ with my neighbour.
Boss Frog: "Our numbers are down. How can we make our condoms more enjoyable for our customers?” Design Team Leader Frog: "Ribbit.” Boss Frog: "Stuart, you are a goddamn genius.”
BARBIE DOLL Barbie sure has a lot of nice stuff for a lass that can’t even bend her knees.
INJECTION Shaun: “The doctor’s just given me a steroid injection in my arm.” Yan: "Anabolic?” Shaun: "No, mate. Just in my arm.”
DAILY EXERCISE Patient to doctor: “Just to clarify, this hour a day business, once a day, of outdoor exercise isn’t compulsory, is it?”
TWO SIDES Of course there are two sides to every story. But f@ck your version.
HONESTLY Honestly, I’ve tried to give up swearing, really I . have. But I just c
***
SIGN I was in a jewellers the other day when I saw a sign that said ‘Watch Batteries Fitted’. S’truth, talk about the dullest five minutes of my entire life.
FIRST DATE I took her to a Chinese restaurant. Over the prawn crackers I asked her, "Are you a cat or a dog person?” She said, "Sweet & Sour Chicken for me every time, if you don’t mind.”
NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS The young couple next door to us made a sex tape last night. Of course, they don’t know about it yet.
MERCEDES BENZ I walked into a Mercedes dealership and said to the salesman, "I’d like to talk to you about the Volkswagen in your showroom window.” He said, "We don’t have a Volkswagen in our window.” I said, "You will have in a minute. The wife’s just reversing our car.”
A BIT OF ROUGH
BEE STING My hubby’s in A&E at the moment. His face is all swollen and bruised after he got stung by a bee while we were gardening. Luckily I was right beside him and managed to hit the little beastie with a shovel.
FARTING It’s what the Irish call the horizon.
ANTS My missus: "Did you leave some food out? There’s aunts all over our kitchen.” Me: "Sorry, it was just picnic food. Wait...did you say ants, or aunts?” Auntie Mary and Auntie Jean talking loudly together in the kitchen: "This potato salad’s shite.”
VOICES I hate it when the voices inside my head go all silent, because it always means the buggers are plotting something awful for me to do.
COUNSELOR I was talking to my counselor, Dave the barman. I said to him: "I’m thinking of divorcing my missus. She hasn’t spoken to me for two months.” He sagely advised: "Consider it very carefully, as women like that are hard to find.”
N95 MASK My employers measured me for my protective eyewear and N95 mask. During the measuring process, they put a bag over my head, which was confusing, because no sex followed.
FOSTER’S It’s true, you know. Foster’s lager really does taste like piss. At least, the half-full can I found in the park did.
THERAPIST Therapist: "Describe this picture?” Me: "That’s my father yelling at me.” Therapist: "And this one?” Me: "You having sex with my wife.” Therapist: "And this one?” Me: "Aren’t these supposed to be ink blots?”
I told him I liked it rough. So he suggested we move to Springfield.
BIRD SHIT I was out in the garden the other day when a bird shat on my head as it flew over. When she’d finished laughing, my missus offered to go and get some toilet paper. I said to her, "It’ll be miles away by now.”
WOMEN For the life of me, I’ll honestly never understand women. The girlfriend’s been nagging and nagging at me about coming back to my place to meet the family. Yet when I eventually let her, she immediately got into a huge dust-up with my missus.
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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There’s a couple of things The Edge absolutely adores about Kelly Brook and you’ll find them both not too far south of her chin. What? Politically incorrect? WTF - I’m honestly past caring. Fact is though, she really does appear to have a genuinely lovely personality to go with it, doesn’t take herself too seriously, seems as though she’s totally happy in her own skin and is pretty much in love with life. So hey, what’s not to like? KB also appears to be a bit of an all-rounder, but if they ever do get around to releasing a brand new Carry On film, then Ms Brook has surely got to be the bookies favourite to play whatever roll is normally reserved for Barbara Windsor. I always go all of a quiver whenever she appears on our TV screen at ‘Edge Towers’. She popped up, out of the blue, on some sort of antiquey drive-around show thing not too long ago and my knees immediately started knocking, while Mrs Edge just smiled (like you’d do at a small child that probably isn’t the full quid) and looked at our ceiling. But why live in denial, eh? The Edge loves Kelly Brook. Always has, always will. And surely that’s a relatively healthy obsession.
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In the last year, Essex Police Town Centre Teams have made more than 1,000 arrests and led more than 2,000 investigations - bolstering their ability to catch criminals and keep us all safe. The teams have worked hard to make our towns safer by catching drug dealers, shoplifters, those carrying weapons, as well as dealing with antisocial behaviour. Recent successes include the execution of a warrant at a ‘chop shop’ in which several stolen vehicles were recovered. This investigation is still ongoing and was the result of intelligence gathered by the Town Centre Team in Loughton. By working with local communities, these teams have increased the information and intelligence they receive, which ultimately helps catch more criminals and prevents and detects crime. The Basildon team have solved 180 crimes in their first year including shop lifting offences, drugs-related crimes and possession of offensive weapons. Town Centre Teams have also built close relationships with residents, businesses, community groups, councils and other organisations over the past 12 months to get to the root of ongoing local issues and tensions. The team in Southend have seen a number of successes, including working with the local council to combat illegal shellfish harvesting. They carried out a week-long operation which saw 29 pickers spoken to and the seizure of £11,000 worth of illegally harvested shellfish. The Braintree and Witham teams have been working with schools to identify those at risk and use effective partnership work to prevent antisocial behaviour among young people. This is linked to strenuous efforts to educate and prevent young people from becoming involved in knife and violent crime under Operation Sceptre. Across the county the teams have been carrying out targeted searches in parks and other open areas which has resulted in a number of weapons being recovered and removed from our streets. Venues across Essex have worked with Essex Police to accommodate the use of knife arches to detect weapons and to raise awareness of the dangers of carrying knives. In another example of the Town Centre Teams’ success, Costa Coffee in Waltham Abbey were having issues with teenagers intimidating customers. The Town Centre Team managed to secure a Criminal Behaviour Order and excluded all those responsible from the area. They are also carrying out regular patrols to make sure the area remains a safe place. Assistant Chief Constable Rachel Nolan said: “We want to thank you for welcoming our officers into your communities. We have become part of them as we all come together to fight crime and anti-social behaviour, making our town centres safer for all those who live, work or visit Essex. “By working together, we can keep the tide turning and put a stop to antisocial behaviour, drug dealing and other insidious crimes which cause irreparable harm to families, friends and communities.” Meanwhile, the Essex Police force has continued to grow, seeing 58 new officers passing out last month alone. Furthermore, this year they will be investing in even more officers dedicated to local policing, including 20 new Community Safety Engagement Officers (CSEOs) who will support their local policing teams, who are now starting to move into their posts. ACC Nolan continued: “We are increasing the number of new officers who will be bolstering our work to protect and serve our communities and make sure we catch the bad guys. “Our new CSEOs will be looking at solving longer term problems which really do affect people’s quality of life, such as addressing issues that are priorities for communities and telling you all about what we are doing, so that you know more about what’s happening within your locality.” Since the start of the Covid-19 lockdown in March, Town Centre Teams have carried out extra patrols to help protect closed businesses. Since June much work has been carried out in partnership with local councils as businesses reopened. As we all know, it is now compulsory to wear face coverings in shops. So once again, Town Centre Teams worked tirelessly with local businesses to support them through this change and make shopping both an enjoyable and safer experience for all. For further information, please see Essex Police on Facebook - each district has its very own Essex Police page. You’ll also find details of how to get in touch with them, including ‘Coffee with Cops’ events and local community meetings. You can also find out more about the crime in your area and what Essex Police are doing by visiting the ‘Your Area’ section at https://www.essex.police.uk/a/your-area Are you interested in doing a job that puts you at the very heart of your community? Or perhaps you may know someone you think might fit the bill? View the opportunities Essex Police have on offer at www.essex.police.uk/fitthebill #FitTheBill
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The Powder Keg
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Imagine, if you will, that we all wake up on 4th November to find the nightmare scenario that Donald Trump has been re-elected as US President - and don’t be fooled, it is a strong possibility. The question begs, can the world possibly become an even more dangerous place? Add to that a volatile mixture, which includes the flat-lining of the European economies, the weakness of NATO (Trump is likely to pull the US out of the organisation), the increasing hawkishness of both Russia and China, a world confronting a pandemic and major problems throughout the Sahel and sub Sahel Africa. Not forgetting the Spratly Island dispute, of course. We’ll all be sitting on a powder keg with a very short fuse. The Sahel is a band of African nations stretching from Senegal and Mauritania on the west coast across to the east coast of Sudan, Eritrea and Somalia. Yes folks, a band of nations which include many of the most unstable countries in the world, where democracy is unknown, corruption is rife, drought and starvation are prevalent, and Al-Qaeda is gaining a daily foothold and growing ever stronger. The average age is around 20 years and the UN has calculated that in the next 30 years 24% of the world’s population growth will occur in this region alone.
The Spratly Islands dispute is even more of a powder keg. These islands sit in the eastern part of the South China Sea and they’re variously claimed by China, The Philippines (a US ally), Taiwan (always in dispute with China and supported by the US), Vietnam and Malaysia. The islands are of huge strategic and economic importance because of the huge oil and gas reserves, fishing, and sit astride numerous commercial shipping lanes. China views them as an important strategic bulwark against encroachment of the US into the South China Sea, so are building military bases and airfields on many of the uninhabited islands and atolls, which are opposed by both Taiwan and The Philippines. Once again, another potential powder keg. With the US economy tanking and China growing ever stronger by the day, who do you think is likely to come out on top?
We’re already seeing attempted mass migration (through North Africa) to Europe and deployment of British, French and other UN troops to directly confront the threat from the Al-Qaeda militants. The outlook is very, very worrying. And remember, the Canary Islands are only 67 miles from the west coast of the Sahel.
Meanwhile, in Europe, what can we do? Very little, or so it would seem. Look at our response to the election results in Byelorussia, which is in our own backyard, or our failure to oppose the annexation of the Crimea by Russia, not to mention our inability to solve the Russia-Ukrainian conflict that’s been ongoing for the past 6 years.
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G
reetings once again from the world’s biggest petri dish. The country where Covid comes on holiday because it can have unrestricted access to humans without even trying very hard. Sure, the UK government has been spectacularly inept when compared to the rest of Europe and is genuinely world beating in deaths per capita (the only thing it is world beating in). But even PM Cummings, his stumbling, stammering, lazy and dithering glove puppet Johnson and the cabinet of incompetent nobodies have to bow to the Orange Ignoramus when it comes to (not) handling the virus. Yet despite the disaster he’s responsible for, still 35% - 40% of the US population worship the ground he walks on. It’s unfathomable to those capable of rational thought and a preference for facts, but there it is. Similarly, somehow or other, half the UK’s citizens seem to consider Cummings is doing OK. Did we say unfathomable already? Why isn’t everyone in the UK as angry as heck at being taken for mugs? Right, so having got the obligatory political point out of the way, let’s focus on the subject of this month’s missive from California. Moms. What? Moms? It’s another instance of the two countries being divided by a common language. Everyone over here has a mom, whereas you have a mum. Similarly moms are married to pops, whereas mums hitch themselves to dads. Confusing, isn’t it? No it’s not, really. And what’s any of that got to do with anything? Well, read on - all will become clear. To set the scene. The Black Lives Matter protests that proliferated in June of this year have not, as you would expect, petered out. Instead they have taken on a different momentum depending on geography and demography. In the rural states, small towns have been witnessing marches in solidarity with the idea that all Americans are born equal. Those marches have been multi-racial, peaceful and small
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
HERE COME THE MOMS scale. In response there have been counter protests by the MAGA people - beered up, toting guns and generally exuding a sense of menace. The BLM people have ignored the provocation, made their point and dispersed. However, in a few, and it is less than a handful, of bigger cities a slightly less modest form of protest has evolved. There the BLM people have done some superficial damage to public buildings graffiti in the main - which has given Trump the opportunity to show what a big, hard he-man he is. The main focus was Portland, Oregon. Now, Portland is a somewhat enigmatic city, unlike any other in the US, and maybe a future column will expand. Anyway, sensing a chance to act like a real man instead of the inadequate he really is, Trump sent in a military-like force. It wasn’t the actual military, just some random men pulled from various government agencies who were given an unidentifiable uniform, helmet, body armour and heavy weaponry. It was a total overreaction to low scale vandalism that could have been handled by the local police if they hadn’t been swamped by the Trump Militia. Instead, there were squads of military looking agents in riot gear with tear gas and rubber bullets taking on their fellow citizens. It’s just not right in a democracy, and for a while, all it did was increase the tension. But, and can we have a fanfare here please, here come the moms. And as it happens, some
pops too, of which more in a minute. Faced with this insult to the free, rule of law and democratic (small ‘d’) America they live in, the moms put on a yellow T-shirt, linked arms and formed a barrier - a wall of moms - between the militarised mob and the BLM people. You could see on the TV images that the military like hoodlums were a bit perplexed by this. What were they supposed to do? Even though the sort of people that like dressing up in military garb are not usually, how to say this, blessed with towering intellect, even they could figure it wasn’t going to be a good look for them to be violent against the moms. So some bright spark had the idea to tear-gas them. At least, the thinking probably went, the moms would then disperse and the job would have been done without the bully boys actually looking like bully boys on the nightly news. It probably seemed a sound idea at the time. But hang on, behind the moms was a second line of defence. The pops. The pops had, rather brilliantly, predicted that Trump’s Army of thugs would use the tear gas tactic and had brought along some leaf blowers. Now, if you’ve ever used a leaf blower you’ll know they are powerful beasts that kick out a storm. Enough to blow all your garden crap over the fence into your neighbour’s place at least. Sure enough, the leaf blowers turned the gas back at the bully boys. Fantastic. A few days later, Trump’s boys made an undignified exit from Portland, knowing in their heart of hearts that despite their manly posturing and the very best macho gear money can buy, they’d been beaten by a wall of moms wearing nothing but yellow T-shirts. These are dark times, but there are little green shoots of hope appearing all over the place. The Portland moms can take their rightful place in the Democracy Hall of Fame. And, let’s hope, provide inspiration to the rest of us. And on that… Anon.
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Day Two - An epic 370km drive passing through El-Kelaâ M’Gouna and the Vallée des Roses where we briefly stopped to observe preparations for the annual festival, which celebrates the abundance of Persian roses that grow in this part of the Dades Valley. Morocco is investing heavily here in concentrated solar power (CSP). Through a system of parabolic mirrors and chemical reaction, heat is generated from the sunshine (which is rather abundant) and stored, but ultimately used, to super-heat water to drive huge steam turbines to generate electricity. We passed one such German manufactured turbine being transported at a snail's pace along the roads towards its installation site. The ancient landscape hosting such cutting-edge technology presented a startling juxtaposition.
Edge of the World travel correspondent. Embarks on assignments in a futile effort to preserve his sense of youth, always acknowledging that he ‘Won’t pass this way again’. I’ve visited Marrakech numerous times, but on my latest visit I incorporated a five-day trip south over the Atlas Mountains and down into southern Morocco. I anticipated a vast desert landscape and a sparse population confined to a few small remote settlements. How wrong I was. So many surprises were revealed during my adventure in this richly historic, scenically stunning and culturally fascinating tract of the Maghreb. Day One - A 258km drive up through the Tichka Pass (2606m) and through the surprisingly large, bustling and seemingly affluent town of Ouarzazate. Perhaps there's been some genuine wealth generated here by the local film studios that used the surrounding landscape as the backdrop for countless famous movies and TV series (Lawrence of Arabia, The Mummy, Gladiator, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, Game of Thrones etc.). After a brief stop to consume an obligatory tagine for lunch, it was onward to the ancient oasis settlement of Skoura and my lodgings in the Kasbah Ait Ben Moro - a 17th century mud and straw castle on the northern fringe of the Sahara. Perhaps not the most luxurious place to stay, but it claims to evoke the days of the caravanserai and Berber warriors. It had been restored using traditional building methods and materials by local workmen over a threeyear period in the late 90s and a real sense of history has been recreated below the snow-capped Atlas Mountains. The front of house assistant, Aziz, provided some fascinating facts about the Kasbah and the 45 local families who share the land and water of the adjacent palmerie where they grow olives, almonds, carrots, beans and maize.
The scale of the population and the settlements in these parts came as a total surprise. The presence of water and the surprisingly good roads has established, and supports, a large population. This is spread along the length of valleys made vivid green by the agricultural endeavours which are based on irrigated plots of land allocated to families and shaded by date palms. Then onto the spectacular Todgha Gorge where the canyon walls close in to a mere 10 meters from each other and the sheer and smooth rock walls rise up to 160 meters on each side of the river. I visited the Oasis Museum in the Ksar El Khorbat with 22 halls, each one dedicated to a separate aspect of the traditional Southern Moroccan oasis life and Berber culture. Oh, and I had tagine for lunch in the Ksar's restaurant. Wind speeds increased alarmingly as the afternoon progressed and by the time I arrived at the Riad Madu I was in the midst of a full-on sandstorm reminiscent of all the classic cowboy movies. I had planned to do a camel ride and then spend the night in a tented encampment, but the appeal was being rapidly eroded, along with my flesh, by the relentless sandblasting. With a last-minute change of plan I found a room at the Las Vegas sounding Nomad Palace, which was more like ‘One Mad Palace’. This desert hotel was odd enough, but the sandstorm and posse of Spanish bikers holed up in the lobby, complete with their support vehicle's portable beer fridge full of Cruzcampo, made for a very interesting evening. The surreal experience seemed to extend to dinner too. I was apparently the only one brave enough to test the cuisine. The customary olives and bread were both fine, but the chicken tagine was as desperate as the weather conditions, while desert dessert, when I enquired, prompted the arrival of a tired looking apple and an over ripened banana. Day Three - The storm had blown itself out overnight and a feeling of restored sanity appeared to have settled in the lobby, along with a thick layer of Sahara dust and empty beer cans. Early morning entertainment was provided by the Spanish bikers who roared off through the hotel's gateway, only to be thrown off embarrassingly when their front wheels ploughed into the sand drift that had accumulated overnight. ‘Maybe a few too many Cruzcampos last night, eh, amigos?’
Edge correspondent visits a nomad camp Page 26
some great photos against the backdrop of the dunes. By early afternoon I was back on the road for a 311km drive to Zagora, stopping briefly to stroll around the local market in Rissini. Determined to fully embrace tagine life, I purchased a bag of the local 45 spice blend. The journey south to Zagora took me through some great landscapes with mountains in all directions displaying vivid sedimentary strata that took me back to school 'O' level geology lessons. I stopped for a quick (you guessed it) tagine lunch at a small village cafe where I chatted the international language and global religion of football to the locals, who were transfixed by the Real Madrid vs Valencia game on TV. Pressing on south to Zagora felt like the remotest part of the trip, with little or no sign of human activity or commerce, until eventually I started to see fields of water melon, a crop which is now emerging as big business in those parts. The convoys of melon-laden trucks climbing the mountainous hairpins had me pondering whether such a sight had inspired ‘you’re twisting my melon man’! After finally reaching Zagora I set out for a pre-dinner stroll around the extensive palmerie before sitting down for yet more tagine, this time a lemon chicken variety. Day Four - A short journey south to visit Tamegroute, close to the Algerian border. A fascinating ancient town boasting a famous historic library and merdersa (Quranic school) dating back to the 11th century. The school's aged professor/curator sitting in his wheelchair gave his visitors a guided tour of the library where he pointed out the numerous ancient manuscripts, some of which date back to the 13th Century. I ambled around the Ksar, much of which is built underground, so the warren of passages afford some protection from the intense summer heat. In the afternoon I headed 200km north, along the Draa Valley (Morocco’s longest river at 1,100km), towards my final overnight stop in Aït Benhaddou. The journey provided spectacular views across the valley’s expanse of date palms. The Ksar of Aït Benhaddou has featured in numerous films, including Gladiator, The Mummy and TV's Game of Thrones. A UNESCO World Heritage site since 1987, it has been heavily restored to its former glory and is a massive tourist pull, containing half a dozen Kasbahs or merchants houses and other individual dwellings. Day Five - The return to Marrakech took me along the Ounila Valley, which has always been part of the main caravan trade route or Salt Road between Marrakech and sub-Saharan Africa. It being the national Labour Day holiday, every child along the road obliged us with a wave and a smile, clearly delighted at having no school lessons. Finally arriving back in Marrakech after a fascinating adventure, I settled for some R&R and yearned for a menu devoid of tagine. wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com
Boumalne Dades
I started the day with a 10km camel ride out to a small nomad camp. In my imagination, this is what I had come to the Sahara to experience. Yeah, it felt a bit touristy and staged, but at least I got up close to the desert (sandstorm included) and got
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T
KiNGPiN
his is going to be a tricky article to write as I’m still digging into the whole politics of offence and cancel culture, and I’m not confident I know enough or can appreciate all the nuances enough to decide on my position just yet. As an aside, though I think an important one, it really is OK to answer a question with: “I don’t know”. Nobody knows everything and it behoves us to remember that even the stupidest person we’ve ever met knows something we don’t. It’s perfectly fine to admit ignorance, or to not have a firm opinion if you don’t feel like you know enough about a subject yet, but it’s the ‘yet’ that’s the important part here. Personally, I think all of us should treat every day as a school day, as an opportunity to learn, and most importantly to get things wrong, because that’s when you learn the most.
The Kingmeister reports
WEAPONISING OFFENCE
But back to the matter at hand. My gut reaction is that cancel culture is a dangerously toxic brew, and the politicisation or weaponisation of the term: “I’m offended by that” is equally dangerous, but at the same time I’m trying to remind myself that that’s an overly simplistic stance and not to let my initial feelings of disdain for the permanently offended run away with me. Like many things in life, far too many in my opinion, cancel culture is just another notch on the bedpost of good ideas gone bad. Like I’ve said a number of times, humanity seems to have a blind spot when it comes to finding a balance. Political correctness, the #metoo movement, cancel culture and the blunt instrument that is “I’m offended!” are all perfectly normal, predictable and even necessary reactions to decades of almost unfettered racism, misogyny and homophobia. People of a certain persuasion could unfortunately say what they liked about who they liked with impunity for far too long. The obvious and lamentable product of that is that saying what they liked often turned into acting as they liked, leading to decades of physical, mental and sexual abuse. It is entirely right that the scales should swing away from such vileness, but as usual, we don’t seem to be interested in balancing things out, and instead we let the scales swing wildly in the other direction. The result of that is only ever going to be new forms of vile behaviour, eventually leading to a sadly inevitable backlash against something that really was a good idea in the first place. After a few decades of being an amateur student of human nature, it seems to me that far too many of us are more interested in revenge than in justice, and you can’t have both. As with a lot of issues in the 21st century we can thank social media for a lot of this. Platforms like Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, with their concepts of ‘followers’ and ‘influencers’, have given a form of power to the previously powerless. If a celebrity or corporation has said something they don’t like, they can mobilise thousands, sometimes even millions, of their ‘followers’ into taking some sort of punitive action, literally within seconds. But is this a good thing? Is it good that the powerless suddenly find themselves with power? The only answer I can think of is: Yes, but also no. Any Spider-Man fan worth their salt will have known that “With great power comes shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
great responsibility” before they were 10 years old, but I think we’re seeing far too much power and far too little responsibility at the moment. So, where does that leave us? Let’s take the case of James Gunn, director of the wonderful ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ films, who was removed (though since reinstated) as director of the third film in the franchise after someone dug up some offensive tweets he’d made 10 years ago. While it’s easy to see why his comments making light of paedophilia and 9/11 were offensive to some, it was 10 bloody years ago. Everyone, even the most righteous, po-faced social justice warrior has made an off-colour remark in their time. Equally, I’m sure most of us have called people out for doing it, which is fine. Discuss, apologise if warranted, and move on. But to dig up something someone said a decade ago and then get him fired for it? Are you the same person you were 10 years ago? I’m not. So I’m confident in saying that most of us aren’t. I can even look at some of my articles from my early days of being an Edge columnist and feel a sense of deep embarrassment at what I wrote, and I’ll admit that sometimes I was being offensive simply for the sake of it. While I’m sure some people still take umbrage to what I write, I know my writing and my personality have evolved over the last few years, hopefully for the better. So the thought of someone being able to say: “You can’t do this anymore because you said X, Y and Z a few years ago and I find that deeply offensive” is a troubling one, and I think it should trouble us all. That’s one of my main problems with the whole cancel culture mess. It denies the concept of personal change and growth. It doesn’t seem to be interested in discussion, in the opportunity for both sides to learn, just to punish. And while that can be momentarily satisfying, it’s ultimately pointless, and thankfully self-defeating. The other big issue I have, as a ‘creative’ type, is that the politics of offence are creatively stifling. The recent open letter by over 150 literary heavyweights, including people like JK Rowling, Salman Rushdie and Margaret Atwood, saying precisely the same thing tells me I’m far from alone. Art, in whatever form, should always be allowed to be offensive. Some of the best art is the really polarising stuff, and some of my favourite pieces of art, literature, film or music are those that I’ve initially hated, those that have, dare I say it, offended me in some way. But rather than try and wipe those things from existence, or to ignore them, I tried to look at them a little deeper, or while standing in a different person’s shoes, and I think I’m all the better for it. Because it’s fine to be offended by something, it is. But it’s not fine to expect that to be enough to warrant that action should be taken. None of us can go through life without being offended. It’s something you learn to deal with and, hopefully, move on and forget. I dislike the term
‘snowflake’, not in the least because the people that seem to enjoy throwing it around are the same people who seem to get offended left, right and centre. If you are one of these people, perhaps stop and consider that maybe you’re a bigger snowflake than you realise?
I really don’t understand the perverse pleasure some people seem to find in being almost permanently offended and angry, and they must find some pleasure in it, or why do it? As I’ve gotten older I like to think I’ve become a little more discerning in deciding what is actually worth being offended about, and I think I’m getting better at realising what hills are actually worth dying on. I don’t think we live in a world of ‘snowflakes’ quite yet, but if enough of us insist on a ridiculous, Quixotic crusade to remove everything offensive, to immediately shut down any conversation we don’t like or feel comfortable with, then we might well end up that way. I also struggle with the bizarre rationale we sometimes use to decide what is offensive. I had a night in on my own last week, so naturally I decided to use that time wisely by watching the 1986 classic ‘Aliens’, which as all rightthinking people know is one of the all-time cinematic masterpieces. What struck me, as I clicked onto the film, was the preface or warning that read: “This film has outdated attitudes, language and cultural depictions which may cause offence today.” Really? That’s what we need to worry about? It would probably be better to say: “In the first 30 minutes of this film, you’ll see an innocent woman’s stomach explode like a blood-filled pinata, closely followed by almost every character suffering a painful and gruesome death. Your TV is about to become a butcher’s collage of entrails and your house filled with the agonised screams of the dying.” I think that’s far more worthy of ‘offence’ than someone saying the F-word a few times, but so many people seem to be more offended by swearing or seeing a pair of boobs than they are a decapitation that maybe I’m missing something? It’s not so much that we have to have disclaimers and warnings all over the place, although that’s bad enough when taken too far, but I just can’t get my head around people that are, apparently, fine with seeing grisly murders, but not, say, a penis. You, me, all of us are well within our rights to be offended by something, but the rest of the world is under no obligation to care or act on that. We all get offended and upset and that will never change. Like many things in life, it’s something we have to learn to deal with, and if we continue to weaponise offence, then all we’re going to do is de-skill each other and chip away at our mental and emotional resilience. Be offended, by all means, but don’t think that makes you special. I’ll leave you with the words of the incomparable Stephen Fry, who as usual says it far better than I ever could: “It's now very common to hear people say, 'I'm rather offended by that’. As if that gives them certain rights. It's actually nothing more than a whine. 'I find that offensive.' It has no meaning; it has no purpose; it has no reason to be respected as a phrase. 'I am offended by that.' Well, so f ***** g what?" Page 27
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
WEDDING INVITATIONS
Hey, whatever happened to Kid’s Reading The Edge? Nope, they don’t have to be on the potty at the time, but simply email your entries to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Oh and the lady I was chatting to during lockdown who sent me a photo of her son via Facecock... please email it to me instead!
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A couple who sorted their wedding guests into categories A, B or C in order of priority chose to tell their family and friends which group they were in by invitation. These days it's increasingly difficult for couples wanting to tie the knot as they try to piece together their very special day within the restrictions of a global pandemic. Indeed, this particular couple also needed to keep their guest list decidedly trim. Naturally they faced the tough choice as to who would witness their nuptials and celebrate with them afterwards, bearing in mind the strict limitations on the number of guests allowed in the venue. So this particular soon-to-be bride and groom decided the best way to deal with the tricky conundrum would be to send out their invites, placing the recipients into three separate categories of priority. Guests who were first choice were placed in group A, with others told they were in group B and would only be able to attend if people from group A weren't able to make it. A note on the bottom of each invite also charmingly informed the guests as to which particular group they were in. What’s more, they even sent out invites to potential guests they had told had been placed in group C - which were the back-ups to the back-ups. Invites clearly stated which group guests had been placed in and read: "Dear friends and family, please understand that our venue is limited in the number of guests we will be able to accommodate on our special day. As much as we would love to have each and every single one of you join us, we are forced to split our guests into groups to ensure we do not surpass our capacity restrictions." Group A were instructed to RSVP as soon as possible so their spaces could be filled if they were unable to attend, while groups B and C were told to keep an eye on their website for updated information. Some guests intimated they would not be attending if they discovered they were merely a back-up choice, or even back-up to the back-ups. The invitations added: "If possible, we encourage our guests to hire a babysitter for the night and leave your children at home. As much as we love kids, we are doing our utmost to make space for as many of you as possible. Furthermore, we also ask our single guests to forego their plus ones if possible. We appreciate your kind understanding in this matter." The system seemed to leave many would be guests baffled, with many questioning why the couple didn't simply wait for their first choice guests to respond, rather than telling other guests they hadn't made the first cut. One said: "Covid-19 or not, being put into prioritised groups for a wedding and then telling everyone which group they are in is plain rude. I won’t be attending a wedding that I'm only going to be invited to because someone else can't make it. Sod that for a game of soldiers." But others saw no problem with the idea whatseoever, arguing: "This seems to be a completely acceptable practice, particularly due to Coronavirus restrictions. I most certainly would not be offended to find myself in either group B or C," said a couple in group A. So what do we think to all of this malarkey, eh, readers? Certainly when I married Mrs Edge we didn’t have two beans to rub together and even though there were only 9 guests, I made it clear on the invites that everyone would be expected to pay for their own dinner. Whatever do you mean, tight? The Edge 01245 348256
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus RISK
I have just returned from three days in North Norfolk, my first venture over the county line since March. Mine and Mrs M’s long, long-awaited tour of the Southern states, including Memphis and Graceland, fell victim to the current situation. We have deferred it ’til next April, but even that is looking highly optimistic at the moment. Since lockdown started, my world has been blood tests in Braintree and, more lately, exciting visits to B&Q and Morrisons. So it was high time to get brave and visit my brother, who was ‘up there’ for a few days for a much-needed break. (N.B. EE seems to suffer from an unhealthy dose of scepticism whenever I mention the fact, “I’ve been doing a full day’s work from home since March.” But it sure was nice to walk along those big beaches of that particular part of the world, far, far away from corporate life, and think, yes, think about nothing at all, really. The first day was a scorcher; there were lots of happy people there. Later that day came the news about the France lockdown. It unleashed the usual angry interviews with people who were in danger of being quarantined. The news programmes seem to have these people on standby for any given item these days. Well, a calculated risk was taken by all those who ventured overseas and hey-ho, it blew up in their faces. But that won’t be the first risk they’ll have taken and nor will it be their last. When a risk goes right, there’ll inevitably be toasts at the bar/kindergarten/school gates, while ‘boasting rights’ over the crisp chardonnay will be loud. I come from a money market trading background, where taking calculated (mostly) risks is part and parcel of each and every day. Some go well, some not so. But you dust yourself down and off you go again. And yes, I acknowledge that sometimes my industry gets it badly wrong, but that’s best left for another column. The thing is, in the brave new world, taking risk is going to be a new norm for everyone. Yup, each and every one of us will be having to take calculated risks in future. Of course, people take risk every single day. Let me give you an example. Eight of you go to a party, two drive, two go by taxi, two walk and two cycle. If it’s late, the drivers will put on their lights to see, as it’s way too risky not to. The cyclists will also put their lights on and reflective gear for safety. Ditto the walkers, or at least they will walk where they can be seen, while the taxi passengers will simply get in a taxi. Oh, there will be signs everywhere in the cab instructing them that it is the law to wear a seat belt. But, in my experience, many will
ignore this and take a calculated risk by not doing so, taking the view and making a judgement that a ‘professional driver is in charge of the vehicle’. That last statement is, of course, definitely worth a bigger discussion on its own, as I have survived many assassination attempts by UK and overseas taxi drivers to date. But the key to the matter is this; you have acknowledged and accepted the risk despite the warning. Let’s go forward. We have witnessed the lockdowns in Spain, Italy et al. Things are loosening up, but there are still local lockdowns occurring in the UK, so it is acknowledged we are not out of the woods just yet. That said, it is just three weeks before your precious ones return to school after the lay-off, which is both a relief and a concern in equal measure, according to the parents I know. However, despite some el scorchio temperatures right here in Blighty, it is felt that two weeks in France could be fitted in just before the new school term begins. I can just imagine the conversations; we have even had them ourselves over the years, so I am as guilty as any of you. “Come on. Let’s go for it. We can do this. After all, it should be okay.” If it goes bottom-up, it is of no use complaining that the Government have dropped you in it. Yes, their handling of some issues would certainly generate yet another column (a few articles are building up here), but admit it, you knew the odds, yet you still chose to get on the horse. We have to accept that this is the way things are going to be for some time to come, so we have to change too. Indeed, I took a risk today, by writing away from my usual light-hearted style. Risk is the new kid on the block. So by all means, take calculated risks, but also accept the situation if things have to change for the right reasons after you have placed your bet. It was a big risk telling Mrs M that obesity is a major Covid-19 risk factor after seeing it on the news as I am trying to lose weight, but it just keeps on finding me! Mistake made. Diet starting. Tomorrow!
Beaulieu Park Housewives
A Beaulieu Park Wife’s Diary in which names have been tweaked to spare blushes and exposed breaches to Pre-Nup Agreements.
So, we managed to do it in August - we actually found availability for a little getaway in somewhere that didn’t resemble a hole from ‘Four in a Bed’. Okay, I’ll admit, it was no 7-star Dubai condo, but it was perfectly adequate for a discerning and fussy cow like moi. We headed off to a splendidly, cutesy cottage in Norfolk, overlooking a stately home, complete with roaming deer in the grounds and the obligatory overpriced liquid soap in the en-suite; you know you’re in a classy joint when Penhaligons’ Quercus Body and Handwash comes as standard. I’m much more a ‘fry by the pool’ type, but I was happy to don the Hunters and go for a trek around in the countryside for a few days - it helped keep the step-count up, while the promise of an awaiting bottle of red and a soak in the hot-tub when we got back kept me from whining like an annoying brat. I was even able to find some non-tacky holiday ‘souvenirs’ to bring back home with us. After all, is it even a Staycay unless you can say you have returned with a £70+ candle scented with some unheard-of concoction of ‘English Botanicals’ (although sage now seems to be the on-trend olfactory sensation)? I bought several to rival old Jo Malone and some ‘finest French linen’ table runners that will probably never see the light of day. Still, it was an opportunity to splash the cash, chat to the well-heeled and equally glamourous boutique owner (obviously letting her know that we’d typically be somewhere far more exotic at this time of year ordinarily) whilst Nat got in a few rounds of golf on a nearby course. Mini-me was surprisingly happy to go walking too. Had to bribe her on a few occasions by adding ‘top-ups’ of cash to her Go-Henry card with inspiring little deposit messages such as ‘Reward for not kicking off whilst Mummy chatted about Dermaplanning to the nice lady in the interior design shop’ - that sort of thing. All in all though, she was pretty relaxed about taking a break from Tik-Tok whilst Nat, on the other hand, seems to be having a mid-life crisis and even talks about setting up an account! It would appear that the platform is full of 40-someshaun@theedgemag.co.uk
thing Dads poncing about on there, supposedly just nonchalantly videoing themselves throwing the kids in the paddling pool, when really they’re sucking in their lockdown-expanded beer bellies, looking for the most flattering filters and totting up how many new followers they gain day-on-day. I’m starting to wonder if this is the online equivalent of attracting 18 year old girls by driving a sports car? Anyway, we’re back home now and are excitedly awaiting the start of the new school term. Uniform is bought, homework is mostly done and I cannot wait to pack my little darling off after months of being stuck in the house with her. I’d like to say the same is true of my dear husband, but unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be any return to the City for him until at least early next year. So instead I’ll have to continue listening to him shouting away on the phone in the home office at some poor soul who still hasn’t quite worked out how to join a Zoom call in time for the start of a meeting. I swear, if he says, “I don’t know what you do all day at home to fill your time” once more, I may just contribute to the Covid related mortality rate. The start of ‘real’ schooling should lend itself to a bit more freedom pour moi. I’m already beginning to put the plans together for a few girlie lunches, while a little trip to the spa is definitely on the cards. Also, nothing beats actually stepping inside a proper gym - it’s just not the same on the cross-trainer in the garage when there’s no-one to compare waist sizes with and no-one to pretend that they’re not listening in when you’re talking to one of your gals on the phone about how your new Balenciaga trainers make running so much easier on the treadmill. I’m looking forward to a few coffee mornings with Matt and Ryan too, our resident gay BFFs. They’ve promised to show us ladies how to contour like pros once the kids are off our hands. They haven’t done so before as only small dogs, as opposed to small children, are allowed into their beautiful home. Hope you’ve all had an amazing summer. Here’s to a sage-scented, home-schooling free September. Page 29
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always find someone to pass the time of day with and life never seemed so bad afterwards. Certainly, back then, people never suffered from depression as much as they seem to today.
WAITROSE ARE SUPERMARKET CHAMPS WAITROSE recently topped a supermarket satisfaction survey for the second year running. The upmarket chain beat discount rivals Aldi and Lidl (well, of course they did, sniff) to be crowned ‘the absolute bollocks’ by Which? magazine. In fact, Waitrose scored a maximum 5 stars in almost every category, including ease of finding products, to fast moving queues and friendly staff. It’s only failing was to be the collecting of but 2 stars for value, but that’s the price you pay for keeping the riff-raff out. Oh come on, readers. Sometimes you have to call a spade a spade, don’t you, and recognise that, for instance, Naomi Campbell would never set foot in, say, Asda. Because she wouldn’t find any of her own kind in there, would she? In fact, the only supermarket Naomi would probably send any of her ‘little helpers’ to would be Waitrose, because it’s a cut above, as is she (she thinks). In the survey of more than 14,000 Which? members, Asda was rated the worst supermarket (What? Didn’t it even score a gratuity star for they’re amazing in-house Asda FM radio station?). Although shoppers liked their range of in-store goods, they wanted a greater availability of products with recyclable packaging. (Blimey. Whoever would have though Asda customers would be so discerning?)
In the 1980s there was a housing explosion and everyone suddenly had to work harder to buy their own home and keep on ‘trading up’. Mothers used to mainly stay at home whilst their children were young, but then things changed and they were suddenly rushing back to work within weeks of having a baby, tired, exhausted, and life became one long slog of paying bills and high mortgages and parents became permanently short tempered.
LOCKDOWN THE REWARDS Thank you for all the lovely comments received for my August column. Writing from my kitchen table this month, although lockdown has eased off a lot of late, life is clearly still not quite back to how we once knew it. If anyone had told me we would be queuing up outside shops while wearing a mask this time last year, I would have laughed in their face. But it’s no laughing matter as here we are, queuing up outside shops, either in the blazing sunshine or the pouring rain, trying to buy a bunch of bananas or a packet of headache pills. It is all reminiscent of those old BBC clips we used to watch of Russian women queuing up for hours on end to buy a cabbage or a loaf of bread.
The survey also revealed that neither does poor old Asda provide a noteworthy ‘in-store vibe’ (well granted, it’s hardly a night out at The Ritz, but can you get a packet of Hobnobs at the latter?) like that of Waitrose or Marks & Spencer, or the value of Aldi or Lidl. Furthermore, Asda only scored deux pwa for the quality of its ownlabel products (talk about kicking a supermarket when it’s down). Meanwhile M&S lived up to its own reputation for quality when it comes to food and drink, scoring 5 stars for both its own-brand and fresh produce. In fact, its overall customer rating of 73% placed it just below Waitrose’s 76%, with only a failure to match its rivals in-store experience and product range. Discount stores Aldi and Lidl were rated best for value, with both receiving maximum points. Those two supermarkets are seen to be ideal for those shoppers wanting to save money, without all of the glitz and glam, as rock-bottom prices seemingly make customers a little more forgiving of their less impressive traits, such as long queues and unhelpful staff. One Aldi customer explained to Which?: “It’s not a particularly pleasant place to shop, but you can’t half get a bargain or two.” Morrisons and Sainsbury’s ranked mid-table (the Everton and Newcastle Utd. of the supermarket world), with Tesco sliding in just below, a bit like one of Lewis Dunk’s tackles, while Iceland strolled in at second-to-bottom. Shoppers liked Iceland’s value, but the supermarket failed to impress with it’s frosty aura. The survey also found that shoppers became most peeved when waiting for help at self-service checkouts (36%) and lack of staffed checkouts (25%). Ocado, the UK’s only purely online supermarket, scored highly in the Which? analysis of online grocers (only do bear in mind that it’s in a league of its own). Conclusion: The quality of fresh products is the single most important factor when it comes to supermarket shopping and more customers rate Waitrose than any other store. Apart from Chelmsford shoppers, of course, as we haven’t even got one. So when, eh? When? Page 30
But what I have discovered as a result of lockdown is some really good humour and politeness in most of the queues. We seem to have all started talking to one another again. The other day I passed the time with an old man queuing up at the chemist. He told me all about his wife, who passed away last year, and then we had a laugh about his homemade mask. As he came out, he said to me: "Thank you for making me smile. You have been a tonic." So I guess that’s what it’s all about, because loneliness really is the worst disease of all. I also had a very large man eating a sandwich through his mask in fits of laughter. He kept saying to me, “Stop it, or I’ll choke to death.” I told him, “They’ll put Covid Related Death on your certificate if you’re not careful!” For so long we all went around in our own little bubbles, simply popping in and out of shops and getting what we needed, with no time for anyone else. But now we are all queuing together. Everyone is equal and we find ourselves chatting to strangers once again. I think we also forgot how to laugh at ourselves. Years ago, in times gone by, people used to talk at bus stops and in shops, but somewhere along the line we lost the art of doing that. Trips to the shops used to be a really good cure for depression, because you'd
So maybe, just maybe, amongst all of the chaos of lockdown, the world really has changed. People have had a chance to do all of the jobs that had been mounting up over the years, yet they’d never managed to get round to. I decluttered my entire house and really got stuck into all of those tasks that had been pending for an eternity. And then I went and sat in Hylands Park with my friends. Oh yes, the rain came down, but we sat there laughing. Before lockdown, we’d no doubt have met in some coffee bar somewhere, spending a small fortune. Yet here we were, all enjoying a wonderful picnic, giggling away, and it was practically costing us nothing, yet we all had such an amazing time. We have also found the time to reconnect with our neighbours. Families have had time to go to the park and then sit and eat dinner together and watch TV. People have started to relax a bit more. Life became a little simpler, maybe because we had to find things to amuse ourselves with because nothing was open. People started doing puzzles and painting and playing games such as Monopoly and Snakes & Ladders. People began sitting down together, reconnecting and really listening to one another. And, possibly due to wearing masks, do you know of a single person who has caught a cold of late? Of course there has been chaos and sadness and there’s one of the worst recessions looming on the horizon. But we should all be proud of ourselves for getting through it (so far). So maybe, just maybe, it’s taught us a lesson from having had the time to reflect and become mentally stronger. I used my spare time to work on me and do all of those jobs that I’d been putting off. I also started working out in my ‘home gym’ every single day, together with going on long walks (with weights strapped on) and I lost a stone and toned up completely. I got into a whole new regime of taking care of me and having the time to slap some moisturiser on after a shower and keeping up with my vitamin pills has been wonderful. So perhaps lockdown has had an upside as well?
tracie123@aol.com
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