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6lb 14oz TOMATO
SOLAR PEST REPELLER
I was reading about some bloke who grew Britain’s biggest tomato with a circumference of almost 28 inches. Apparently it was so heavy he had to make a special sling out of an old pair of his wife’s tights in order to support it so that it didn’t break the stem it was growing from. And I got to thinking, ‘Why bloody bother, mate?’
Have any of you readers ever invested in one of these contraptions from a weekend newspapers’ Good Ideas booklet that tries to sell you all kinds of shit that you don’t know you need? Fact is, we HATE it when cats come into our garden, so we’ve been thinking about buying such a device that apparently omits a sonic BLAST (of ultrasound) that hopefully scares the furry, four-legged blighters away. Only my concern is that it’ll be a sheer and utter waste of £24.99, unless any of you readers can convince me otherwise?
CHEER UP
The Edge Editor’s Column ROOM 101 If I was ever a guest on Frank Skinner’s ‘Room 101’ (doubt it’ll ever happen though), the very first thing I’d consign would be overly positive/isn’t life just wonderful/gushing types. Sorry, but I cannot abide ’em. “Oh you miserable old bastard,” I often get called. Yeah? Well, it’s better than living in cloud cuckoo land and believing that positive thinking avoids the worst ever happening. Because if that’s the case, how come there’s right now?
LWE’s We’ve started buying large white BIG ‘N’ eggs from Tesco in boxes of 10 for £2.00 (so that’s 20p per egg if my maths is correct). Belting, they are. Super white shells with delicious orange yolks. Mrs Edge is partial to boiled eggs & soldiers of a Saturday morning, you see, so now we’ve found the perfic’ way to kick-start our weekends.
Cheer up, Edge bloke, for life really does (so ‘they’ say) get better with age (only it’s those damn scientists who’re saying it, which rather begs the question, are they to be believed?). It’s seemingly all to do with mindfulness, which is the ability to focus on the present (oh, so what they’re really saying is that people my age haven’t got all that long left to go, right?). It’s all about paying attention to the present, particularly ‘in an open and non-judgmental way’ (nope, not possible), which supposedly will help the likes of moi stop focusing on the past or worrying about the future. No chance.
CARDINAL Due to an utter abundance of repeats being shown on TV of late, we’ve turned to watching Canadian Crime drama Cardinal, one episode after another. Glad his wife croaked, as she sucked the air out, so it will be interesting to see how the detective’s relationship with his new partner/sidekick, Lise Delorme, blossoms. And whether his sore throat heals.
MANAGERS Managers ought to be bold enough to actually manage, rather than being merely puppets of the hierarchy above them (and no, managing is definitely not classified as licking plenty ass). Do your bloody jobs properly.
CLUB 18-30 When the Government come out with statistics such as there being a worrying Covid-19 spike in the 18-30 age-group, it isn’t their cloning that concerns me; it’s irresponsible people in general. Far too many seem to think that because they haven’t caught the virus, as haven’t any of their friends, they are either immune or that it simply doesn’t exist. Such folk need a very rude wake up call and unfortunately, over the next few months, I think they’re going to get one.
EMMA PEEL Sad news indeed, to all those of us of a certain age, who will forever remember actress Diana Rigg for her role as Emma Peel in The Avengers. Lots of people are classified as attractive and good looking, but Diana Rigg playing Emma Peel was all of that and then some. If you could bottle it, you’d be seriously minted. Clever lass too. Spoke Hindi as a second language and did lots of gigs on stage with The Royal Shakespeare Company. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Get your next boiler service for £50! By the time the October Edge editions hit-the-streets, all being well, your editor will have hopefully survived going over this bloody thing in a barge with the bro’-in-law at the helm, so literally anything could happen, and it looks an awful long way down. It is a navigable aqueduct that carries the Llangollen Canal over the River Dee in North East Wales, and get this, it is only 12ft wide (see below) and your barge goes right up to the very lip and all that is 126ft below. Honestly, the footpath and railing is far more than likely how I’ll be getting across the 300m expanse, as I’m not the best when it comes to heights, it has to be said. But doubtless dare devil Mrs Edge will be in the thick of things (she even wants to be strapped to one of those old double-winged aeroplanes for a burpday treat, the maniac), no doubt looking gleefully over the side and showing me up good’n’proper for the wuss that I clearly am. We’ve never done a barging holiday before, so this’ll be us for a week, and it’s all we’re getting so far as holidays go in 2020. What a bloody year, eh? Annus Horribilis, as dear old Queenie so succinctly once put it. This is the Still, I am very much looking forward to a well very edge. earnt pint or three of my favourite Welsh ale, Jesus! (the very) Reverend James.
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WHAT THIS PICTURE SAYS TO THE EDGE...
THE GREATEST LINE EVER, BAR NONE!
The Edge absolutely LOVES this photograph, probably because true brotherly LOVE shines right out of it, plain for all to see. And this (foreground) is actually Edge columnist Motty, younger bro’ of Stephen (behind him, obviously) after the couple met up for a grand reunion in Norfolk recently. So take it away, Motty. Tell us a little bit about yourselves, you couple of dashing damn ladykillers, you...
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“The question about us potentially being twins often gets asked, but I guess the look on my face must give the answer away, as we’re not. In fact, there is nearly six years between us, and so for one of us (i.e. me) that is not such good news. I generally make a joke about it along those lines in order to ease people’s embarrassment at having asked the question in the first place. “As for us being ladykillers, well we do refer to ourselves as ‘GLB1’ and ‘GLB2’ - as in ‘Good Looking Blokes’. Yes, of course, we enjoy the irony too! However, there is a pretender to the GLB throne and that is my son, although he has to settle for being a very lowly ‘GLB3’. “Between Stephen and I, we have the best part of 90 years’ service in the financial markets, both in the City of London and internationally. In later life, one of us became head of an international trading exchange in Dubai and one of us graduated from the Open University with a decent honours degree in Social Science & Psychology, whilst still working in banking. And, to add to the glamour, one of us is also a Guinness World Record holder - but which one and for what? “My big bro’ has recently returned to the UK, amidst much personal sadness, after living in Australia for 18 years. He arrived back at the very start of the Covid outbreak, and I collected him from a practically deserted Heathrow back in March, under the most eerie of conditions. So our weekend away was a chance for us to spend some quality ‘bloke time’ together in beautiful North Norfolk. All things considered, we haven’t done bad for a couple of lads who were the sons of a butcher and grew up on one of the more ‘interesting’ council estates just outside Romford.”
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To date, handbrakes (that lever between the two front seats) have been as familiar a part of the car as the steering wheel, only so far as new cars go, they already appear to be a thing of the past. Only 30% of new cars in showrooms have manual handbrakes these days as manufacturers switch to electronic devices (see image below - yes, it is a little switch to do all of that hard work, isn’t it?). Within the next few years, traditional horse’s handbrakes will be consigned to the history books, alongside chokes (remember those - where you throttle the wife in order to try to get the car started and flood the engine instead), cassette players and wind-up windows. Already Jaguar, Land Rover, Lexus, Mercedes and Porsche have stopped selling models with traditional handbrakes with their latest motors offering a switch or push-button engage preference. Most electronic handbrakes disengage automatically when the driver chooses to pull away and often include hill-start assist. They absolutely cannot be activated by accident whist the vehicle is in motion, spelling an end to the famous handbrake turn in empty supermarket car-parks during the winter months with a little snow on the ground. Just two manufacturers - Dacia and Suzuki (brands that don’t really count) - continue to have manual handbrakes across their entire range. The bottom-line seems to be that electronic parking assist offer preferential ease of use, reliability and better functionality.
“We have to trust the science,” laments an increasingly bedraggled Boris. Yes, the science according to Chris Whitty, that would be. When what we really needed to get us out of this damned mess was some proper blue sky thinking from that man Brains of Thunderbirds. The Edge very much doubts there’d have been a lockdown if Brains had been whispering into the PM’s ear (look at Sweden - they never had one and what about New Zealand?). When The Edge first clapped eyes on Chris Whitty, it just thought ‘nah’. But where Brains is concerned it’s entirely the opposite reaction as anyone who wears glasses that big has just got to be taken seriously (apart from Deirdre Barlow, gawd rest her soul, and Sue Pollard). The very least we deserved was a decent track record from those tasked with interpreting the science, and The Edge simply doesn’t believe we’ve had that, which is criminal. So we continue to bumble our way through this crisis, with many pubs being rammed at the weekends with minimal social distancing and not a face-mask in sight, whereas the likes of hairdressers and beauticians are truly being penalised the most through no fault of their own. And we’ve now got autumn and winter to look forward to (not).
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rollercoaster I was boarding, to somehow learning to keep 3 small people alive; rearranging my life, my mind and my entire existence around them, their wants and needs. It’s safe to say that 30s life has been much more caravan (or tent!) at the likes of Camber Sands, as opposed to 5 star all inclusive in Mexico, but in all honesty, I wouldn’t change a single second. My three babies have made me the person I now find myself to be (complete with grey hairs, pregnancy scars, and most days, grasping hold of sanity by a microscopic thread ).
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While I can’t deny that my life to date has been bountifully full in every sense, I honestly don’t feel ready for my 30s to end. One moment I was having my first baby; she was placed in my arms, and I was completely overwhelmed by the strength of my love for her. Then I blinked a few times, had two more babies, and suddenly, somehow, they are now 7, 5 and 3 (WTF)?!
After a pleasantly surprising Indian Summer, Autumn is now upon us and brings with it an undeniable drop in temperature as the nights draw in, the leaves start to fall, and we find ourselves on an official countdown of festivities (Halloween, Guy Fawkes, Christmas) to the end of what has felt like the longest, weirdest year in history. For me, it also signifies the last few weeks of my 30s as I rapidly approach the big four-oh. Coronapocalypse may have stolen our toilet rolls, our holidays, our family gatherings, our liberty, and in some cases our sanity, but I feel increasingly disgruntled that it has also effectively stolen the last year of my 30s. A year I should have been savouring every moment of, overhauling my life, muttering to myself about getting ‘fit at 40’ and working through one of those infamously impractical ‘40 things to do before I’m 40’ lists. At the end of the year I am (apparently) transitioning into my next decade and if I really sit and think about that fact, it just does not seem possible. I am increasingly convinced there simply must have been a miscalculation somewhere along the line. My 20s were good. Undisputedly REALLY good. They were a crazy blur of living the student dream at university, working as a holiday rep in the Mediterranean, adventures, sunsets, late nights, and making and cementing some incredible friendships that would always go the distance. There were also lots of holidays; sometimes even up to seven a year. My friends often referred to me as ‘Judith Chalmers’ (as much as it pains me to say this, millennials might actually have to Google her), which is an accolade which certainly feels like a distant memory, or perhaps a parallel universe in the current Corona-dominated climate. Towards the end of my 20s, I also met my longsuffering husband to be (the legendary Dave). We bought our first home, acquired a dog and a tortoise, went on our first holiday, and he was brave enough to make an honest woman of me two months before my 30th birthday, ensuring that I exited my 20s with a flourish. By contrast, my 30s have been dominated by the crazy transition from my fun-packed life into motherhood. From seeing that first blue line on a pregnancy test and being blissfully unaware of the
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My 30s have been the ‘baby years’. The sleepless nights, the witching hours, the feeding and teething troubles, the temperatures, the endless nappies and wipes, the exhausting stage of physical need from 3 children born so close together. The baby groups and classes, car seats, prams, strollers, monitors, stair gates, child proofing, giggles, laughter, first milestones, and silly, silly games that can turn their frowns upside down in an instant. A decade of marvelling at their innocence and enjoying reliving so much of my own childhood; sharing stories, films, and songs that I myself loved, with them. Inevitably my 40s will bring far more parenting challenges; the sort that come as they get older, where it takes more than me singing a few verses from one of their favourite artists to solve their troubles. For this, I do not feel prepared (does anyone?), whilst I also don’t feel ready to say goodbye to those ‘Cbeebies years’. So whilst I continue to be perplexed about how I can possibly be turning 40, I am even more in denial about how the passing of time means my children are also entering the next phase of their lives. I can’t even imagine what the next 10 years will bring, or what any of us will be like, or how we will look when we get to the next decade threshold (I strongly suspect there will be a lot more grey hairs and worry lines by then). The children will be 17, 15 and 13 and that very notion seems insanely abstract. When I look back at just how fast the last decade (or two) has actually gone, it’s also a slightly terrifying reminder of how all of our time flies by. One positive to come out of this past year is how much it has forced us to refocus on what is really important. I miss unlimited gatherings of family and friends, unreserved hugs, actually making plans, going places, and looking forward to stuff. I hope when life finally returns to some kind of normality that I will take all of those things a little bit less for granted, and I will treasure our family memories that much more, because before I know it, in the whirlwind of a few more blinks and teenage dramas, another ten years will have passed and I’ll be looking back on my 40s wondering just where the hell did they go? If I can force myself to look beyond the trauma and trepidation of it all, I’m very aware that turning 40 also brings many reasons to celebrate (least of all that we are all still here). Even though Coronapocalypse has probably stolen any chance I have of a group celebration to appropriately (and riotously) mark the occasion, I’m holding firm to the hope that we might be able to celebrate at some point in 2021, which rather begs the question, does this mean I get to stay 39 until then?
Follow Mel on Instagram at @everyonefed_nobodydead and on Facecock at https://www.facebook.com/everyonefednobodydead/
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Here at The Edge magazine, we like to look after our readers, so in the interests of keeping that up, we decided to don our raincoats and trilby hats and do a little sleuthlike investigating into what’s going on at Shwings in Chelmsford right now. Chicken Wings being a particular weakness in our offices, we have been regular visitors to what is perhaps/probably the best Chicken shack in the UK (so drop us off some FREE wings pronto for that particular plug, please!). And after seeing their nifty little fleet of designer cars flying about town, we decided to test out their delivery service too. What??? Hot, fresh, crispy chicken wings delivered much faster than the standard delivery services we are used to, with that extra added bit of Shwing about them. Good heavens, whatever next? Personally, I usually go for the Buffalo Wings with a Blue Cheese sauce and a side of Bacon Loaded Fries, only I felt like a change, so instead ordered Honey & Chilli boneless thighs with a couple of sides of Krispy Kale and Asian Broccoli (well, you’ve got to look after yourself, haven’t you?). However, Shwings orders range from their Smoke House BBQ Burger to a Hoisin Chicken Wrap with a Lotus Biscuit Cheesecake to finish off with. (I blame their personalised, easy-to-use website ordering service for the cheesecake, because if I can successfully place an order, then anyone can - although I do like to keep my cheesecake fix quiet from the rest of the bods in the office). Premiership footballers, Eastenders crew, Love Island, Kiss FM, not to mention the cast of Towie are all regular Shwing orderers, so what’s stopping you from joining the crowd, readers? And for those of you out-of-range of delivery via Deliveroo and JustEat, don’t panic. By ordering directly from Shwings, you’ll find their delivery range is much larger, so you might find you are now ‘in the zone’, so to speak. Oooh, that tasty, soul satisfying, sticky Chicken Wing zone of loveliness is what we’re talking about. So finger-lickin’ good. (Whoa. Shoot whoever said that!) It’s easy to see why Shwings have won the Travellers Choice award from Trip Advisor and now, with their bespoke delivery service, it’s even easier to check out what you’ve been missing. (Insider Tip: There are regular updates and flash offers on Shwings Facebook page and insta @eatshwings)
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minutes’. Some can be elegant, whereas some are downright ugly. So what are the criteria for having the right POD?
Director Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight, Interstellar, Dunkirk) has made no secret of his love of James Bond. Dream within a dream sci-fi blockbuster Inception even paid homage to On Her Majesty's Secret Service snowbound action in its final scene, while his latest mind bending thriller is his closet work yet to the super spy saga. However, Tenet comes loaded with far more expectation than simply wowing audiences with his signature style of epic action and cerebral plotting. For this was the film that positioned itself to kick-start the hard hitting cinema going experience after worldwide lockdown.
spoil the almost endless amounts of twist and turns, although it has to be said, it does involve time travel, or inversion as it is called here, which opens up all kinds of intricate plot devices for the viewer to play with. There is also a subtly hinted at love triangle with Sator’s leggy wife Kat (Elizabeth Debicki), who at an impressive 6’3 amusingly towers above her vertically challenged male co-stars, who are literally punching way above their (weight) height where she is concerned. Christopher Nolan films are also often not easy to follow, and Tenet is seemingly more of a throwback to his early, low budget thriller Memento, which was narratively told in reverse. It is, however, a £200million summer blockbuster, so it takes balls to present a story that is almost impenetrable upon first viewing. As I was in London to see it, I stopped off for a few cold beers beforehand, which in hindsight was a gross mistake. Clocking in at two and a half hours (plus trailers), I
No pressure then. Christopher Nolan is a true advocate of cinema and the big screen, and has continued his trend of filming his movies on original film and in the Imax format with Tenet. Most modern movies are filmed on digital, but true cinephilles argue that pictures shot on film give audiences a far better viewing experience. Nolan films are also well known for being loud, and this is probably his most ear-shattering effort yet; so loud, in fact, it blew up the speakers in a cinema in China, allegedly. I watched Tenet on its opening night at Cineworld Leicester Square, along with an almost capacity auditorium, as much as current social distancing measures will allow, and it was truly great to once again feel that buzz of an audience anticipating a brand new and highly anticipated release. At its core, the story is simply one of a CIA agent, played by John David Washington (yes, son of one Denzel Washington) trying to foil dastardly Russian oligarch Sator (our very own Kenneth Branagh with an exceedingly thick accent) from destroying the world. Saying any more than that may
was in desperate need of a trip to the little boy’s room towards the end. Yet, in what I can only say was divine intervention, someone accidentally set of a fire alarm, and so the movie came to a sudden abrupt halt, all the lights came on, whilst staff scrambled to rectify matters as quickly as possible. Cue, without a word of a lie, a collective sigh that went all around the auditorium as people got up to go quickly ‘spend a penny’, with murmurings of ‘Do you understand what’s going on?’ being whispered, albeit in a supportive ‘we’re all in this together’ kind of way, so far as trying to figure out the plot. I had intended to see Tenet once again before writing this piece, but time defeated me. Therefore, I asked a college, who has seen it no less than six times (and fully intends to see it a seventh) for their opinion. And they said, “It eventually makes perfect sense,” followed up with, “kind of.” Tenet is still showing at cinemas across the country. So be sure to see it on the biggest screen you can if you do decide to give it a go. Just be prepared to be left scratching your head for a few days afterwards.
Many designers in the industry will always take style over substance, but there is a balance, each requiring compromise.
So, I think I’d be correct in saying that the new norm will see everyone working in smaller groups, right? Interestingly, over the last 5 years, furniture manufacturers have really pushed the concept of smaller individual PODs onto the design industry for placement into commercial space. On the flipside, as designers, we have spent 20 years working towards a more collaborative Open Plan environment. So are we now facing a backward step? The office environment is a simple one, but complicated by so many people having a different view, which is good, but can also be frustrating. Naturally, nobody ever wants to be told what to do or be dictated to, but imagine if we had spaces which were so disjointed that an eclectic felt dizzy! Office environments are certainly becoming more ‘homely’ and comfortable. The placement of elegant leather sofas, comfy armchairs and footstools help this along. However, the introduction of PODs will certainly work and adds further interest. If the whole community could see these as another space to enjoy when they want to ‘focus’, or take some time to work remotely (not that we have had much of that recently), it would be great. Last month, I wrote about having a place of work for everyone, not just the chosen few, and the introduction of PODs means that anyone could have their very own ‘15
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In 1995, I personally designed the offices for XeroxUK with a concerted shift away from cellular space. The change for this particular community was enormous. Once one of the most successful companies in the world and cash rich until the photocopier patent ran out (c1975), thereby allowing Cannon & Ricoh et al to clamber all over their market share. Many managers were losing their offices and were being allocated a desk in an open plan area with their teams. One of my most rebellious customers showed great creativity and built his very own pre-millennium POD using cardboard boxes. On the Monday morning, after the move into the new facility, there he was with 2m high cardboard walls surrounding his desk. He had even constructed a cardboard roof with a sliding cardboard door which he taped shut! I think if we’d had smartphones back then, it would have gone viral - it was amazing. Nowadays, we have the most incredible opportunities with our work spaces, as many firms try hard to create a great working environment for their staff. NB. it is never perfect for us all and it will never be easy, but with a little compromise, it can always be better than we were used to before and closer to our own individual ideal. For now, thank you for reading and stay safe... Design Dude Inspiration for the Population Please feel free to email: DesignDude.20@gmail.com
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THE WORLD OF YAN “I CAN’T DO THAT”
That is a sentence that really frustrates me. One thing I've learnt, as time goes by and yet another wrinkle gets added to this ginger Polak's face, is that we are, in fact, all capable of pretty much anything and everything. So when someone says: "I can't do that," I’m willing to bet that the majority of the time, they haven't even attempted it. So how would they know? Let's be honest about it, it’s really a case of either being too scared to do something, mainly because you don't want to fail at it, or you can't be bothered to do it in the first place. And we’ve all been guilty of that, myself included. Certainly during my younger years of childhood, right up into my teens. Hell, even during my twenties and thirties, come to think of it. But after a few situations have happened in life, I think you either go one way or the other. You either run away from things that scare you, or you face them head on and grow. Remember: ‘it's OK to lose to an opponent; but it's not OK to lose to fear.’ Wise words from Mr Miyagi, there. The way I see this quote now is slightly different to when I first heard it back in 1984. You see, back then, I assumed, like DanielSan in the Karate Kid, that Mr Miyagi was talking about Johnny Lawrence simply being the the ‘opponent’. But really, he means anything life throws at you. For example, if you are taking your exams as a student for the very first time, or like me, back in July, even retaking some in order to better yourself, these exams and learning itself are the opponent. When I knew I needed to get those results for a brand new job, I could' have quite easily said "I can't do that" and not even attempted it. And, in turn, I would not then have known what I was capable of, and on the back of that, not been accepted for the position I was after. So me not giving in to ‘fear’ was the right thing to do. www.theedgemag.co.uk
And now I'm going to say something very loudly: "IT REALLY IS OK TO TRY SOMETHING AND AND TOTALLY F@CK IT UP!" If you don't get something right the first time, then try, try and try again. And do you know what? If you still haven't got it, then you really are allowed to try some more. Don't get me wrong, we are all slightly better at some things than others, but that doesn't mean you cannot do something to a certain attained capacity. But the moment you tell yourself you CAN'T do something, your brain automatically believes it and shuts that project down. So at the very least tell yourself: ‘I'm not sure if I'll be any good at it, or even understand it, but I am willing to give it a go’. And on the flip side of that, if you know of someone trying to do something for the very first time or tenth time, get behind them so that they have no excuse of fear of failure. That way they might just surprise themselves, surprise you, and possibly even inspire the both of you. Just be the very best version of you that you can be and let other people be their best version, but never put your fears onto them.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
As they say, you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. So choose wisely! :-)
TENET
I can't quite say whether I liked this movie or I didn’t? Don't get me wrong, like all Nolan movies, the cinematography is superb, but there are a lot of parts I felt as though I’d seen before in his previous movies, such as Interstellar and Inception. Perhaps I need to watch it again to make up my mind, which is something the missus and I tried to do with Inception just the other day and we still have another halfan-hour of it to watch. However, we won't be rushing to do so.
FOOTIE’S BACK
What an interesting season it's going to be, unless, like me, you are a West Ham fan, where only sadness and pain awaits. My Edge footie final league predictions have been handed in to ‘Edge Towers’ and I must say, it was the toughest one to call yet.
AND FINALLY
Talking of footie, our charity works team has a game on 16th October at Witham Town’s football ground, under the floodlights, at 8pm. Any local businesses that would kindly like to donate prizes for the raffle and any support from you good readers on the night would be fully appreciated. Food will be available and the bar is open ’til midnight. For health’n’safety reasons, only 400 spectators will be allowed in, so first come, first served. Stay safe. THE POLAK x Page 11
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WE ALSO REPAIR CARAVANS!
theEDGE
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IF ‘The Big One’ comes, it will probably be a typhoon to end all typhoons with a fatality rate of one-in-two; thus life or death would become little more than the flip of a coin. And it’s our close connection with animals that’s to blame; keeping them, killing them, eating them. It makes us vulnerable to the very worst kind of epidemic with the key being infections that pass from animals to humans. They cross over from them to us and literally overwhelm our natural immune systems with potentially fatal consequences on an unimaginable scale. Tuberculosis was acquired millennia ago through goats. Measles came from sheep (and goats). Smallpox from camels. Leprosy from water buffalo. Whooping cough from pigs. Typhoid fever from chickens. Civets (a small, mostly nocturnal mammal, native to tropical Asia and Africa) were the route for SARS to get from bats to humans; with MERS it was camels. Covid-19 may have originated in bats, but it probably got to us by way of an infected pangolin. The fact is, we may be just one meal away from the end of humanity as we know it, if we carry on the way we are. And the one that ‘can do for us’ the bridge, if you like - might well end up being the humble chicken. There are a mind blowing 24 billion of them spread around the globe, which is getting on for double the amount there were just 20 years ago. We consume their affordable meat and eggs by the ton, whilst turning a blind eye to the factory farming conditions in which they are reared, force-fed with chemicals, before being slaughtered. Influenza is scientists’ top pick for humanity’s next killer plague. It most famously turned deadly on a massive scale back in 1918-20, infecting at least 500million people - a third of the world’s population at that time killing 10% of them, possibly more. The World Health Organisation describes it as the ‘most deadly disease event in the history of humanity’. It killed more people in a single year than the Black Death - the bubonic plague of the Middle Ages - did in a century, and more people in 25 weeks than Aids killed in 25 years. Death was quick, but not gentle. ‘Spanish Flu’, as it misleadingly came to be known, began innocuously with a cough and aching muscles, followed by fever, before exploding into action, leaving many victims with blood squirting from their nose, ears and eye sockets. A pathologist who performed post mortem examinations spoke of lungs “six times their normal weight, they were so full of blood”. Normal flu - the type we experience every year - targets the old and infirm, but the 1918 variety wiped out those in the prime of their lives, with mortality peaking among 20-34 year olds. It stopped spreading after two years, only when everyone was either dead or immune and it ran out of people to infect. For decades the precise starting point of humanity’s greatest ever killer was an unsolved puzzle, though pigs were suspected. But not until 2005 was it scientifically established that the Spanish Flu was avian influenza. The source was birds. Which is precisely why it is the virus to fear, as it has the potential to be at least ten times more lethal than it was 100 years ago. As human contagious diseases go, only Ebola and untreated HIV infection are deadlier. And if such a virus went airborne as well as being passed on by touch... So what are we going to do about it to minimalise the threat? Well, we’d have to change our ways, it’s as simple as that. But there’d also have to be a mass culling of chickens, so you’d need to be prepared to kiss goodbye to your provencals and your chasseurs, your omelettes and your benedicts, because the only way to be sure of preventing future pandemics would be to kill every single chickens that inhabits the earth. At the very least we need to change entirely the way chickens are ‘farmed’. Overcrowded, large-scale factory farming, particularly prevalent in China and the US, needs to become a thing of the past, because the chances are, this is where diseases will both originate and flourish, as tens of thousands, possibly even hundreds of thousands of hosts, are crammed side by side, each with about as much space as an A4 sheet of paper. Until then, as long as there is poultry, there will always be pandemics. In the end, it could simply be us, or them. Because when you are almost embracing evolutionary competition with bacteria and viruses, there is no guarantee that we will be the ultimate survivors. None whatsoever.
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1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.
Oranges Kale Garlic Red Wine Dark Chocolate Sardines Lentils Almonds Pomegranates Blueberries Beetroot Salmon Turmeric Chia Seeds Apples
Turmeric is something that has been heartily recommended to The Edge. Apart from sprucing up a curry, the spice has been used for medicinal reasons for centuries in the Far East, though is latterly increasing in popularity in the west, due to its untold health benefits and mercurial nutritional value. Oh, and what a great colour too! Page 13
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YOU HAVE TO THINK TWICE BEFORE DOING THIS KIND OF THING NOWADAYS...
POLIT INCO ICALLY RREC T
Hi Shaun, Pleased to see The Edge is back. I hope 'Show us your Dimmock's' as my boyfriend calls her, doesn't read it though! A tad true, oops, I mean rude, (although nothing we haven't said privately at home). Anyway, I thought that as I am moving soon, having sold my house after four-and-a-half happy years in Chelmsford, I would send you some garden pics of it as it is now, after its transformation, although I still haven't finished it, but Dishy Rishi's property tax offer was simply far too good to refuse. My garden's 70ft long and 130ft wide and my boyfriend helped me take 9 trees out of it, 2 in the tiny front garden and the remainder from the back, not to mention getting rid of the equivalent of 13 x 1 ton sacks (the ones you get sand delivered in). It has been a long, hard slog digging so much rubble and roots out of the 2 borders etc. (thanks for your help, son), but we've been having lbs -sorry, kilos - of tomatoes and aubergines and radishes from it these days, plus the romanescos and celeriac are coming on nicely, not to mention basil, thyme, oregano, mint and lots and lots of spuds from a big container. It always tastes so much better straight from the ground, while the free manure I managed to procure makes everything grow so well. Positive proof that you don't need a lot of space to grow your own. But I'm off to a house with a much bigger garden soon with currently nothing much in it but grass and a couple of trees, so I’m getting a blank canvas to play with. So, I'm already thinking of a duck pond with a drawbridge to the duck house, some trees and shrubs for shade, and colour/ flower/scent. I have also been taking some cuttings of my salvias, choisyas and jasmines to take with me. Luckily, as it will definitely play second fiddle to the garden, the house is pretty much fully decorated, although I think the pink in what will be my son's bedroom will have to go! Anyway, keep up the good work. I'm sure Tesco will miss you. Hope you like the pics I’ve sent you. Now, should I have another G&T, that is the question? It's always a dilemma after the first couple of doubles. Bloom On! (Sorry, but I'm bored of the whole Stay Safe thing.) Una (aka sabine woman - peacekeepers) Many thanks for your email and great garden shots, Una - you’ve done a grand job and someone is lucky to inherit all of your hard work. Gardening has become so ‘on trend’ of late because it really does add so much more to the home. That said, The Edge is looking for a regular greenfingered columnist (no, don’t be stupid, of course you don’t get paid), so if anyone’s interested, kindly contact me at: shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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The Edge has never really been ‘up to speed’ with anything much, so it surprised itself of late by stumbling upon a brand new comedy series called Mandy (BBC2), starring Diane Morgan, whom you may remember as the character Philomena Cunk? Or what about Liz, the hatchet-faced single mum in Motherland? No? Well, she also played Kath in Ricky Gervais’ After Life, an elaborately coiffed advertising saleswoman.
As a trait, Mandy drinks pints, lies compulsively and has no discernable conscience. Her dream is to breed Doberman Pinchers. Oh, and own that elusive settee (as previously mentioned).
Hang on. Let me try and find another episode on Catch-Up before I write any more... Shit. It’s not funny. I’ve just watched the very first episode, I think entitled Jobseeker, and it’s not hitting the spot.
Anyway, the point is, you’ve just got to give new comedy a go, haven’t you, as they’re always on a hiding-to-nothing, due to the fact it’s just so damned hard to be original these days. So The Edge did just that and actually laughed out loud (but we never say LOL at The Edge, sorry) watching the very first episode (which wasn’t actually the first episode, it just happened to be on at the time I was channel-hopping). Only then, when I went into Catch-Up to watch another (about the settee that wouldn’t fit), that didn’t seem to hit the mark quite so well. But I’m not going to give up on Mandy. I will persist, because maybe, just maybe, she could be onto something....with that mouth. Let’s face it, she isn’t the sharpest tool in the box by any means. In fact, she’s just trying to stay afloat, like many of us these days. She totters around in skinny jeans, high heeled boots and a frankly disgusting pink puffa jacket (see photo), seemingly always with a fag on the go. In fact, she looks a lot like AbFab Patsy’s younger delinquent cousin.
The Edge is willing both it and her to succeed, especially having created that face (with that ever so strange looking mouth).
It’s wide of the mark and The Edge is gutted for her, really gutted, because when I did that LOL thing (even though we never say that at The Edge) it was a proper, you know, genuine LOL and a LOL that was willing Diane Morgan to prevail. Only, tragically, I don’t think she has. Whereas Diane Morgan, who plays Mandy, is 44, was born just down t’road from Peter Kay in Bolton, went to acting school, worked in a chippy, did a bit of telesales, before trying stand-up aged 30, which is something else The Edge will forever doff its cap to, each and every one of you who has ever dared to set foot on stage and tried to make people laugh. During this series, which The Edge hasn’t seen all of yet, Mandy goes on a health kick, as well as trying to rent out her small back bedroom on Airbnb, which is such a comic idea in itself. At a guess, I’m anticipating there isn’t sufficient room to swing a cat in it, which may offer opportunity for comedic effects. Fact is though, Ms Morgan has written this series, directed it, as well as starred in it, so
But where’s the crime in that, eh? Because if X marks the spot, then the area that is ‘wide of the mark’ lies all around it and is absolutely massive (i.e. far, far easier to hit). So it really is like trying to spot a rook’s cock in an oak tree. But I’m not giving up on Mandy. I’m going to give her one more go. Episode 2. The Line Dancing Competition. Oh, it’s shite. Which just goes to prove how very hard it is to write decent comedy, all those of you who sit there with your hands folded in your lap, idly waiting to be entertained. So it’s back to playing Philomena Cunk for Diane for now, as perhaps some folk are better suited to performing roles written and crafted by entirely other people.
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Gwrych Castle, Abergele, North Wales, the show’s being filmed at this year, thanks to Covid-19, as opposed to the Australian jungle. But it’s still very much must-watch, trash-tele, right? However, it’s some of the proposed contestants that The Edge cannot get its head around. For instance, World Snooker Champion Ronnie O’Sullivan. Really? Maya Jama. Oh yes, The Edge loves her from her time on that Saturday evening Peter Crouch show during the summer. Clearly she’s gorgeous, but she also appears to have a cracking sense of humour and does-
inevitably be required, we are all really excited to see how we can adapt things and make the castle our new home for a very special 20th series.” The Edge reckons it will be like a breath of fresh air that attracts even more viewers this time around. The show has been broadcast on ITV since 2002, when Tony Blackburn was crowned the first ever King of the Jungle, while last year’s launch show was the most-watched programme of the year, seen by more than 13 million people, which last year made it Britain’s most popular reality show,
n’t act as though she takes herself too seriously, which is always appreciated. Jeremy Clarkson? Oh come on, surely he wouldn’t. Would he? Others being touted to appear include Vernon Kay (can’t stand him), Vinnie Jones, Jenny Ryan (Vixen on The Chase), Tamzin Outhwaite, Matt Baker (of The One Show and Countryfile fame, but he wouldn’t contemplate such malarkey, would he?), Eric Cantona (you what?), Beverley Callard (Liz McDonald, former barmaid of The Rovers Return) and Susanna Reid. Gwrych Castle itself is nestled in a tree lined hillside overlooking the Irish Sea. It’s a ruined castle with a sprawling design of turrets spread across 250 acres and is even reckoned to be haunted (perhaps/possibly). The Director of Entertainment at ITV Studios says: “The Australian jungle has always been such an integral part of the I’m a Celebrity show, so it was a really big challenge to find a UK location where we could continue to deliver what viewers love. But Gwrych will definitely do that. It is a truly atmospheric setting and while plenty of changes to the show’s format will
ahead of Strictly, BGT and Bake Off. I don’t know about you, readers, but The Edge likes it when all of the celebrities get on, like they did last year. Contestants constantly bickering with each other simply doesn’t make for relaxing viewing, which is definitely what we need these days, all things considered. Remember that ‘bromance’ between Joe Swash and Star Trek’s Mr Sulu (George Takei)? Wasn’t that just brilliant. Far better than all that slushy nonsense between Katie Price and Peter Andre. Hey, why don’t they try to lure Louis Theroux on there? As a further point of interest, Gwrych Castle featured in the 1973 movie Holiday On The Buses, starring Reg Varney and Bob Grant as Stan (double-decker bus driver) and Jack (conductor), not to mention the inimitable Blakey (Bus Inspector Cyril Blake, played by Stephen Lewis), who surely deserves an Edge feature all of his own, don’t you think? Yessss, maybe even next month.
EDGE
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The Edge 285A new_The Edge 172.qxd 23/09/2020 11:02 Page 18
HERE COME THE GIRLS
A Beaulieu Park Wife’s Diary in which names have been tweaked to spare blushes and exposed breaches to Pre-Nup Agreements. Whoop, whoop! School’s back and after what feels like an age, my little beauty is now safely re-installed within the confines of her stupendously expensive, private education ‘bubble’. I cannot begin to tell you the joy of that early morning drop-off at the school gates, the resumption of collecting a little dairy-free caffeine fix courtesy of Centenary Way Costa on the way home, and the remainder of the day positively unfolding into a whole new world of opportunities for housework (for our cleaner), work-outs with my personal-trainer, and housebound-husband-free fun.
That’s right, whilst my Nathan is “bored in the house” (yes, the reference to that bloody annoying TikTok lockdown theme tune is truly intentional) working remotely, I’m once again “swanning around” (his words) with my fellow B.P. gals. Oh, the irony that us wives are now once again ‘out-out’, leaving our menfolk locked away at home as they graft from makeshift mini-trading-floors. Life can be such a bitch. So, you might ask, just what has been filling the days of us busy-doing-nothing ladies? Well, it’s not all just spending time perfecting what I think is now fondly referred to as a ‘rich girl face’ - the oh so natural puffed and plumped signature look of us solvent Beaulieu-dwellers, what with our perfectly-raised brows nestling boldly on our botox-gleaming foreheads and our hornet-stung lips (nope, ‘beestung’ just doesn’t cut it these days) pouting proudly from below our pillowy, succulent cheeks. Don’t get me wrong, now that the beauty businesses are all back and booming, B.P. is no doubt single-handedly providing the cash injection the industry needs. In short, I see it as the aesthetic-cosmetic version of ‘Eat Out to Help Out’, but without the calories or subsidy from ‘Dishi Rishi’! A LOT of time has been spent with our ‘honorary girls’, Matt and Ryan. Our gay BFFs are suitably loaded, so they don’t actually need to work, although Matt continues to oversee his highly successful recruitment empire from afar. This has fortuitously given us the opportunity to spend time at their sumptuous pad and I now have some seriously heavy house envy going on. Let me paint you a picture. It’s as white as their fabulous veneers, and I mean EVERY room. White sofas, glossy white kitchen, white marble floors, shutters, soft-furnishings, sideboards and floral spectaculars - somewhat resplendent with the iconic gay man must-have flowers in
white vases (lilies, of course). Achingly modern, achingly cool, there are certain selected flashes of black, ironically the things that you and I would expect to be white, or possibly silver: Such as the boiler, the radiators (of which there are only a very few on display, thanks to underfloor heating), the taps and even the cutlery are stylishly ‘noir’.
The walls are adorned with the mandatory ‘classy’ monochrome photos of nude and exceptionally well hung men, which continues to cause a stir and send the lustful Leanne into a frenzy whenever we’re there, knocking back the Prosecco oh the unprintable conversations we have had as she has upped her knowledge of what goes on in Matt and Ryan’s boudoir under the watchful eye of those prints. The house is definitely not for ANYONE who has a child - hence why none of our broods are allowed to visit. Photo’s aside (imagine the questions from our little cherubs as to why there are so many men with their ‘bits’ on display?), all of those gleaming surfaces are just crying out for infantile fingers to contaminate them, though I’d be mortified if mini-me rocked up and besmirched even one of their Amara cushions at almost £200 a pop with a grubby after-school-chocolate-coated mitt. And I must say, the reason why I think I am always totally smashed whenever I leave is that I am trying to keep my OCD in check. Whilst I am there, I find that I spend a lot of my time pondering how the Colgate-y chaise stays so pristine, despite the presence of two gorgeous and perfectly co-ordinated (but snuffly) pooches, whilst also marvelling at how Ryan manages to keep his bronzer off The White Company bedding? He must clearly have an extremely disciplined night time cleansing routine with the Eve Lom! I have been trying to get my ‘darling’ Nat/Nathan/Hotrod (whichever term of endearment I use to try to convince him that he should let me contact Matt’s interior stylist for an initial consultation) to agree that we should think about another round of house renovations. I call it ‘having been inspired’ by the neighbours’ Conde Nast-worthy home, but he simply says I’m being overly competitive. However, I’m sure I’ll get my own way eventually; I always do. It might take a few extra ‘night-shifts’, if you know what I mean, but it’ll be worth it. In the meantime, I’m off to Google ‘How to remove Amanda Harrington Illuminating Facial Bronzing Mist’ that I may have accidently smeared onto my neighbour’s sofa and hidden with an extremely expensive cushion. Oooops!
BEAULIEU PARK HOUSEWIVES
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NTWICM Mystified by the acronym? Well, would you believe that ‘Now That’s What I Call Music’ (often shortened to just ‘Now!’) has reached the grand old number of 106? It was first released in the UK & Ireland in November 1983, but it feels to me as though it’s been around forever, yet it originally surfaced even before smashing Brit actress Emily Blunt, North Korean coochie-faced Kim Jong-Un, drop-dead Aussie sexpot Chris Hemsworth and ‘Superman’ Henry Cavill were just arriving in the world. In 1983 the Austin Metro was Britain’s bestselling car, the one pound coin was introduced in England and Wales, and Terry Pratchett's first Discworld novel ‘The Colour of Magic’ was published. Amazing, right? That very first double album included tracks ‘Karma Chameleon’ by Culture Club, ‘Baby Jane’ by Rod Stewart and ‘Shy’ by Kajagoogoo. These days ‘Now!’ has gone way beyond both vinyl and cassettes, which many homes had back in the day, and offers a large range of products, not to mention their Dance and Christmas editions. And long may it rock, to my mind at least.
SAY ‘CHEESE’ There’s something that’s always bothered me about saying ‘cheese’ that I’d like to put out there. That is, where the heck do witness photo’s
that appear in all the TV crime dramas come from? I’m assuming that it’s something they do in ‘real’ time too, although I can’t, of course, confirm this, as I’m a law abiding citizen who hasn’t spent much (if any) time in police stations (“No, officher, that shertainly washn’t me laying in the street last Shaturday night outshide the Rose & Crown (wink, wink).” I’m not referring to the SOCO photographs (that’s ‘Scene-ofCrime Officers’ to those of you not in the know), but others that get shown being neatly pinned to notice boards. I mean, who takes them, where, and when? I would really like to know? The police photographers must be pretty practiced as the head-shots are never missing the tops of heads like some of my own selfies are. So do they have to wait patiently while those used to taking a thousand selfies a day try out their best ‘trout pouts’, or make the photographer wait while they reapply their lippy? There’s never a cat-scratched sofa in the background either, or that huge wall canvas (oh no, we always wear our whitest t-shirts, matching jeans and pose in twee positions when we’re all at home together. Oh and how much did you have to bribe the kids to look away from their phones for long enough to force a smile and look nonmardy?). Or what about that awful wedding-present figurine of a couple standing together holding a
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solution’. And I came up with utilising a coat hanger (as you do). So along I trotted on my very next shopping trip with my perfectly standard coathanger stashed away amongst my bags, and yes, it did work successfully, up to a point, followed by looks of admiration at my ingenuity from other shoppers. (Well, I’d like to think that’s what they were. Or maybe the wide berth I was given was indicative of their fear of a crazy lady when I triumphantly raised my arm aloft with my precious item clutched in my hand and placed it lovingly in my trolley, cackling happily to myself.) However, after receiving my third official warning from the store, I’ve now bought myself a pukka grabbing arm. So try complaining at that, you buggers.
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Back by popular demand! Hello readers. Well, here we are again, and I had to laugh at just how many people emailed me last month to say they were alive and well, after I requested confirmation in my September column, for fear of me talking to myself. Oh what lovely, thoughtful people read The Edge. Let’s talk colonoscopies. No, really, let’s do this. Oh my God, at this point I need to put my pen down, mop my brow and calm my shaking hands, because 48 hours later I can still see every detail of the day that led up to this and the morning I spent on my left side, wearing a pair of black plastic knickers, with a conveniently positioned slot at the rear. And breathe, Deaks, breathe.
DEAKS
So, let me take you back a week or so. When you reach a certain age, an age that I have obviously reached, the NHS send to you in the post a little package that invites you to deposit a little bit of your poo onto a stick (poo-on-a-stick, nice!) and deposit it in a little tiny jar and send it back to them. So far so good. I’m not squeamish, so I handled that bit pretty well. I then received contact from the hospital telling me they need to take a closer look and that this would involve me attending the hospital for a procedure that involves a camera being put up my jacksie. My words, not theirs, of course. At this point I remained calm, until I learnt that I had to fast for 48 hours prior to the procedure and that on the day before I had to drink four very large packets of ‘Klean Prep’ (it does exactly what it’s says on the box)
diluted in 6 litres of water to ‘clear me out’, so to speak. Oh my word, this stuff is so effective. From the very first mouthful at 6.00am to the very last mouthful at 6.00pm you really do not want to stray any further from a toilet than 8ft. No, make that 6ft. Oh man, I could write so much more about this day, but I shall spare you the details. I went to sleep that night absolutely exhausted, not to mention empty, obviously, and I woke up the next morning seriously fearful of the 30 minute drive to the hospital. Fortunately I made it, although the merest sight of roadworks on the A12 resulted in a wave of fear sweeping over my entire body on more than one occasion. And then my day very quickly got worse. How can I describe this procedure so that you can picture my discomfort? Okay, imagine someone driving a bus up your backside and spending about 45 minutes trying to manoeuvre it into a very tight parking space and then, having failed to do so, reversing out again. And imagine that throughout this open top bus sight seeing tour around your intestines you are able to watch it all on a monitor just a few inches from your face. Yeah, that’s about the size of it. I do believe I’ve painted an accurate picture of my morning from sheer and utter hell. In hindsight, electing not to have any anesthetic and relying only on the occasional gulp of gas (due to the fact I wanted to drive home afterwards) was a gross mistake, but there’s no point dwelling on that now, is there? However, I would like to turn this message into an informative public service announcement. Therefore, if you are invited to have this procedure undertaken, then do not hesitate; go along and have it done. On their travels around my insides they found a non cancerous 20mm polyp, which is quite large by all accounts, and which will need to be removed, because it is these little blighters that can turn cancerous, given the opportunity. But I cannot end this story without saying just how wonderful the NHS were. Doctor Shenoy (sounds like one of The Starship Enterprise crew, doesn’t he?) who drove the bus. Kate, who sat with her face but 30cms from mine, talking to me and stroking my hand throughout and administering the gas whenever I begun to whimper. And Lovely (yes, that really was her name) who prepared me. And finally Stephanie, who was with me from start to finish and has actually just phoned me to see if I slept okay last night. Such amazing, special people. Word of the Day: Exhaustipated (adj) too tired to give a shit.
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What else can I tell you? I took my grandson to the pub for the very first time over the weekend. I bought him a pint of Fosters, but he didn’t like it, so I drunk it instead. Next up I bought him a pint of Carlsberg, but he didn’t like that either, so I drunk that too. And it was the same with the Guinness and the cider, and by the time we got onto the double Scotch’s I was far too pissed to push his pram home. I jest, because he is but six months old, but growing fast every day. If you haven’t got grandchildren yet, then you really must put some pressure on your children to start knocking them out, as I’m not content with one, if I’m honest. However, I still haven’t been brave enough to mention it to Gary & Samantha just yet, given all the sleepless nights they are currently experiencing. But there is definitely a certain satisfaction from seeing your children suffer from sleepless nights with their new borns, isn’t there? Naturally the temptation to say, “Now you know how your mum and I felt” is never far from your lips, is it? Actually, I should say, before the ex-wife writes in, I never used get up during the night for my kids, if I’m being honest. I left that to her. Modern man? Nah, not me! Talking of children, I had another one turn up at my house this month! I kid you not, a son, that I had never met, turned up on my doorstep aged 24 years. But I don’t think I can do this story justice in the short amount of space I have left, so I’m going to give you this little appetiser and keep you on tenterhooks until November. However, his name is Jack and he has spent the past 6 years trying to find me, whereas all along I thought he had all the details required to do just that. Then again, I’m also conscious that I should check with him first as regards what I can and can’t divulge on this page, so please be a little patient, dear readers. So on that bombshell, I shall love you and leave you hanging until the very next edition of this mighty little organ. TTFN, Deaks. Email: gmdeakin@gmail.com Instagram: gmdeakin The Edge 077 646 797 44
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WHEN WILL IT END? Well, 2020 has been an incredibly strange year to say the least. I don’t think any of us making our New Year’s resolutions at the start of the year could have ever predicted what has happened. On the plus side at least, I know now that by bulging waistline is because I eat too much and don’t exercise enough, rather than not being able to make the time to go to the gym. Despite everything that has been going on over the last 6 months or so, I think what has caused me the most despair is just how fractured this country has become. Clearly, Brexit has had a large role to play in that, but the result of the referendum has seemingly created a ginormous chasm between even those with the most mildly different political views. Today you are either a massive snowflake or a big red headed gammon and nothing in between.
I have explained previously that I voted for both Brexit and the Conservative party, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t disagree with the
way things have been handled. Similarly, it also doesn’t mean that I instantly disagree with everything that other political parties have to say. I am a big believer that there needs be a strong opposition party to hold the government to account, but sadly the last general election showed that Labour had become a party that the British public could not vote for. In fact, even the most staunch Labour voters turned their back on the party and did the relatively unthinkable and voted for the Conservatives. Putting the pandemic to one side, I would be the first person to say that the government could have done so much more, and that Boris has surprisingly lacked the leadership skills required of a Prime Minister. One thing I do look at slightly differently, however, is the governments ability to U-Turn. Perhaps it is a bit embarrassing for them to change their mind on key issues, but it does show to me that that they are willing to listen, reflect and instigate change wherever required. Covid-19 and its impact, I think, is an unfair yardstick to judge any government by. These are unprecedented times in the face of something where there is no ready-made solution. The government need to follow the advice of their advisors and it is clear that they will not get everything right. Of course, the cost is significant with so many lives at risk, but they really are damned if they
do and damned if they don’t. I don’t think we can move forward as a country until we all start pulling in the same direction once again and I think to achieve that we need to start to adapt a degree of critical thinking and see things from other perspectives. Brexit was voted for; we have left the European Union and we need to move forward. Not everyone voted for it, but that shouldn’t mean that they should want it to fail; we unfortunately seem to have a large percentage of people who seem to want to cut their nose off to spite their face. Equally, we have a population of people who don’t want to be locked up at home, but by the same token can’t act responsibly when going out. We need to stop looking to blame anyone or anything for absolutely everything.
FOOTBALL Could the current ban on supporters signal the beginning of the end of our love affair with the beautiful game? Don’t get me wrong, as a West Ham fan I don’t have a great deal to look forward to, but I really have lost a bit of interest in the game. The break, due to Covid-19, offered some time to reflect and sadly for me it has all become too commercially driven and more about what the Premier League can sell, rather than the fans. This season the games are being played behind closed doors, but they are not all
Billy Hinken being shown on TV. That must surely be because the exclusivity allows Sky et al to maintain interest (and subscription fees) by retaining its exclusivity. I would love to hear from anyone out there who has a different theory, but why couldn’t they show all games on a Saturday at 3.00pm? The excuses in the past that have been used just don’t wash (i.e. people wouldn’t go to the games if they were shown ‘live’ on TV) so why not show them all now, due to the circumstances, so that us fans can follow our teams?
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ONLY JOKING! HONESTY
I went for a job interview today. The employer asked me, “What’s your biggest fault?” I said, “Probably my honesty.” He said, “Well, I wouldn’t really say that was a fault.” I said, “I couldn’t give two fecks what you think, you fat, ugly .”
****
THE CONFESSION An elderly Italian man who lived on the outskirts of Rimini went to his local church for confession in 1960. When the priest slid open the panel in the confessional, the man said, “Father, during World War II a beautiful Jewish woman from our neighborhood asked me to hide her from the Nazis. So I hid her up in the attic.” The priest replied, “That was a wonderful thing you did and you have no need to confess that at all, at all, at all.” “But there’s more to tell, Father. She started to repay me with sexual favors. This happened several times a week and sometimes twice on Sundays.” The priest said, “That was all a long time ago and by doing what you did, you placed the two of you in great danger. But two people under such circumstances can easily succumb to the weaknesses of the flesh. However, if you are truly sorry for your actions, you are indeed forgiven.” “Thank you, Father,” said the man. “That is a great weight off my mind. However, I do have one more question to ask of you.” ”And what is that?” said the priest. “Should I tell her the war is over?”
ROBIN’S LAST ACT Why up there, I hear you ask? Well, with his last breath, Robin said, “Maid Marion, hand me my bow and bury me wherever my arrow should fall.” But sadly Robin missed the patch of earth bathed in sunlight that he was aiming for and his arrow went through a window and landed on top of a wardrobe.
SEX APPEAL She crossed the room with a fluid grace, her body oozing sex pheromones. I ain’t much of a romantic, but she was sheer poetry in motion. She came in close, ran a finger seductively through my beard and huskily whispered in my ear, "Tell me what you want?” I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath, but I quickly drew in another and said, "A pick-up truck that can give me genuine fuel efficiency without sacrificing performance or comfort would be nice.”
ZOMBIE No, of course I’m not saying you’re stupid. It’s just I have to wonder why that zombie yelling "BRAINS” just this minute ambled right past you?
TAKE TWO MOOSES Two female mooses walk out of a bar and one says to the other, "Connie, I simply cannot believe how we blew forty bucks in there?”
INCY WINCY SPIDER A spider just ran across my keyboard and went under one of the keys. I think it’s now hiding somewhere underneath the 8 key. Yes, it is. It is! 8888888888888888888 There! Take that, you leggy bastard.
MENSTRUAL CYCLE According to a recent scientific study, women will find different males attractive depending on where they are in their menstrual cycle. For instance, when a woman is ovulating she will prefer a man with rugged, masculine features. However, just before she is menstruating, she will prefer a man doused in petrol and set alight with scissors stuck in his eyes and a cricket bat shoved up his arse.
ANNUAL REVIEW "OMG,” I splutter, pulling up my trousers. "I completely misheard your ‘annual’ review. Anyways, how did I do?”
HIM & HER Him: "Where did I go wrong?” Her: "Here. Here. Here. Oh yeah, and here. In fact, to be fair, the list is practically endless.”
DEAD PARROT SKETCH Little Johnny came home from school to see the family’s pet parrot dead in its cage. Rigor mortis had already set in and it was flat on its back with its feet up in the air. When his dad came home, Johnny asked, "Dad, our old rooster has died. But why are its feet sticking up in the air?” Dad, thinking on his feet, said, "Son, that’s so God can reach down from the clouds and lift it straight up into heaven.” Johnny processed this information for a few moments, then said, "I guess that makes sense. Thanks, Dad.” A couple of days later, Johnny’s dad returned home from work and Johnny was clearly quite agitated. "What’s up, son?” he asked. Trying hard to hold back his tears, Johnny said, "Dad, we almost lost Mum today.” "Whoa! Calm down, son. Calm down. What are you talking about?” said his dad. Little Johnny took a deep breath and said, "Well, I got home from school early today and went up to my room. But as I went past your room, there was Mum, flat on her back with her legs in the air, screaming ‘Jesus, I’m coming, I’m coming’.
And if it hadn’t of been for Uncle George laying on top of her, holding her down, then I’m certain we’d have lost her to God, for sure.”
PINATA I dunno. Some people have no sense of fun. It was a brilliant idea to secrete a wasps nest into the piñata. It certainly livened up the kid’s party, that’s for sure.
DRINKING ALL NIGHT After a damn good night out on the town, me and my mate were staggering home when I looked up to the heavens and said, "Thas a bootiful moon.” My mate looked at me all weird, like, and said, "We been drinking all night. Surely that’s gotta be the sun?” "Moon.” "Sun.” Well, we got very close to fisticuffs when another man came staggering by, so I said to him, "Hey pal, ish that the sun or the moon, eh?” He looked up, wrinkled his eyes, then said, "Feck knows. I ain’t from around ’ere.”
SMART Once I accidentally said something smart to a group of guys and they all just stared at me, open mouthed. "What are you,” they said, “some kind of nerd?” For a second, I panicked. Then I pointed at my chest and said, “Boobs.” They all relaxed then.
TOOTH FAIRY My son wants to know why the Tooth Fairy doesn’t just dig up dead people, if teeth really are that important to her?
Q&A Q. What’s the difference between a dog and a fox? A. About eight pints.
CATCHING A FEW RAYS So, I’m out in the garden, catching a few rays, cold beer in hand, listening to the test match on the radio, while the missus is on the manual mower, struggling a bit because it hasn’t been done for a couple of weeks, and she’s trying to get the stripes right. Then the neighbour glances over the fence, takes in the scene and sneers, "You fecking, pathetic excuse of a man. You sit there, all high and mighty, Lord of all you survey, while your gorgeous wife sweats her lovely butt off just to keep up appearances. You should be bloody well hung.” “Aye,” says I. "That’s why I’m sat here.”
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Has this year got you thinking ‘what if?’ What if there’s more to a job than endless online meetings? What if you made the move to somewhere new? What if you started the journey of a lifetime and worked somewhere that appreciated the things that make you different? Essex Police value difference, and THEY WANT YOU to join their policing family. If you want to do more to help your local communities, catch criminals, and keep people safe, then being a police officer, or even a detective, could be the job for you. Everyone has a different story, different life experiences, and different strengths that you could bring to the Essex Police workforce in order to help protect and serve the people of Essex.
The Edge was absentmindedly watching the breakfast weather with a cuppa the other morning, when suddenly it dawned that if, say, you were a permanent resident on a Nudist Camp (because a lot of people live on caravan parks pretty much permanently, don’t they, although what that’s got to do with it the question remains), then you’d expect your breakfast newsreaders and weather girls/guys to also be naked, wouldn’t you? On the grounds that that’s the way you live/that’s the way you are/that’s the way you roll/that’s the way you expect things to be. From a blokes point of view, The Edge gets the feeling you need to ‘have a third leg’, as it were, if ever you’re going to show yourself off to all and sundry in a nudist colony. But whenever it has watched TV programmes about them, the guests all seem to go to the on-site supermarket stark bollock naked, and if the memory correctly recalls, the people on the check-outs and those slicing the bread and carving the meat (employed staff) are also totally naked too. Personally speaking, I’ve never even done any naked sunbathing on a beach, as the thought of getting sand in me Jap’s Eye is simply not an appealing one. However, I have hidden in some sand dunes near Studland Beach in Dorset upon a couple of occasions, complete with a set of high-powered binoculars, a packed lunch, Thermos flask and the requisite box of tissues. What? ‘They say’ (them, you know, nudist people) that it’s the total freedom of not having to wear any clothes that it’s all about, don’t they, as opposed to being a bit of a ‘Peeping Tom’ in hog heaven. But I dunno. I do watch TV in just me pants in the privacy of my own home every now and again though (as does another long established Edge columnist), but that’s about as much of a risk as I’ve been willing to take to date.
You might be able to communicate with communities in their mother tongue, be a champion hurdler who can take on fences in a footchase, or maybe you’ve got a love of statistics and procedures to put to good use? Whatever your background, if you have the right values - the need to keep people safe, catch criminals, and a desire to protect and serve your county - you can most certainly be an asset to Essex Police. Today they are busy dispelling the myths that you have to be a certain ‘type’ of person to be a police officer. Because at Essex Police, they know the best way to maintain an effective, forward-thinking workforce is to continue to represent our county, and country, including the differences this can make. Assistant Chief Constable Tracey Harman said: “Essex is such a diverse county, from beautiful countryside villages to the buzz of urban towns and cities, some enviable coastline and the pull of bordering London. There’s no telling what any day will bring in the life of an Essex Police officer, or that of a detective. “As well as working on behalf of the community, the police force are also very much a part of the community. Therefore Essex Police want their officers, staff and volunteers to be as diverse as Essex itself and represent the very best of us all. With the right values and whatever differences you may think you can offer, Essex Police could be the place for you to challenge yourself and make a real difference to peoples lives across the county. “Whether you’re interested in different specialisms - from detectives, to firearms, or the Marine Unit - or your passion is responding to realtime crime, or making connections with local community groups, there’s something for everyone at Essex Police. “If you want to deliver justice to victims of crime, save lives, and be visible and accessible to the communities served, then Essex Police want you on their team. So don’t wait for this opportunity to pass you by. If you Fit the Bill, make sure you submit your application today.” Still not sure whether a career with Essex Police is for you? Then why not read some case studies from serving officers - like jigsaw puzzle enthusiast Anokhi and Romanian-born Gabriel - on the Essex Police website. A full list of the eligibility criteria and details of how to apply can also be found at www.essex.police.uk/fitthebill #FitTheBill
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Am I the only person in the UK who doesn’t get DAB radio? Sure, it provides a wider range of stations, and when it is tuned the quality of the sound is really good, as opposed to the fade and crackle you get with FM, and the interference you can get with AM bands, although at least with the latter two you get a signal. DAB is OK if you’ve a static receiver at home, but as soon as you get in a car, it seems the problems start.
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If you’re driving around Chelmsford the DAB signal constantly disappears, you’re unable to pick up various stations, and the signal disappearance always seems to happen at critical points in the various news broadcasts; such as when BBC Radio 5 Live says, “We’ve got some breaking news for you” …. silence .… Or when TalkSPORT announces, “We’ve got an exclusive on…… silence... “with a fouryear contract” …. more silence …. And don’t even mention trying to tune into the new Times Radio! If I tune into BBC Radio 4 (which is a rarity) there seems to be a clunking sound on the station which I first put down to a problem with my car. (It actually took a Mercedes engineer to solve that one!) So, DAB may be okay at home, but not in the car, which is surely where most of us listen to the radio, so why do they put it in all our cars? The reply is always, “It’s modern” (well, it’s not - Internet radio is much, much, more modern). “It has a broader range of stations” (true). “They’re getting rid of FM and AM radio” (not true). Here’s a quote from Autotrader from 2017: “It’s still not perfect and you may find there are some more remote areas where you struggle to find the DAB signal, yet can still pick up FM frequencies. And in some cases the sound quality may not be great, but it’s still better than FM and AM.” Remote Areas? Is Chelmsford really that remote? You can even lose the signal on Westway, Chelmer Valley Road, Essex Regiment Way, White Hart Lane, the A130 and parts of the A12. In other words, all the major roads into and across the only city in Essex with a population of over 170,000. Not sure that really sounds like a remote region, are you? Oh yeah, and we’re only 30 miles from London.
Audio Broadcasting. WorldDAB claims that the UK coverage is greater than 97% of the population, with DAB in Norway covering 99.7%, Denmark 98%, whilst in Spain and France it only covers 25% or less of the population. Guess what? Denmark has abandoned a DAB changeover, as have Sweden and Italy, as well as a number of other European countries. Why? Because their DAB coverage and reception is so poor. Thankfully the BBC have now shelved the idea of getting rid of their FM and AM stations. I guess that the 3% of failed coverage in the UK is focused mainly on Essex, which contains 2.5% of the UK population. I suppose there is perfect coverage on the Highlands, West Wales and Cornwall, although somehow, I think not. So, if DAB is so poor, then why put it in all our cars? Answer: We have no choice, as the convoluted process of European legislation allowed the European Telecommunications Standards Institute to propose and formulate a European DAB Standard now known as ETSI TS 103 46. This European DAB Standard was supported by the European Broadcasting Union and it became legally binding with the statement: “The European DAB standard requires radio receivers to support DAB+, DAB and FM. It sets out minimum requirements, including receiver sensitivity, to ensure that receivers can pick up all available broadcast DAB radio stations.” So, DAB, with all its failings, poor reception and intermittent loss of signal, is seemingly here to stay. Though personally, I still prefer TalkSPORT on 1089 AM.
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L
ast month this column started with ‘greetings from the world’s biggest petri dish’. Well, one month on, if the virus was all we had to worry about in San Diego, life would be just tickety-boo. If only… Now, not only is the US dealing with a still rampant Covid but there are a few other things going on. Here in California we have wild fires of huge size destroying homes, livelihoods and lives. As this is being written in mid-September we’re still a month away from peak fire season what’s it going to be like in October and November? Last week a fire just 30 miles east of San Diego left a pall of brown/grey smoke over the city and turned the sun a gorgeous, yet ominous, red colour. Every year it gets just a little worse as global warming buggers up the weather systems and weird once-a-century stuff keeps happening every other year. Here on the west coast it’s unfathomable amounts of dry lightening that start fires in the bone dry mountain regions. Over on the east coast every storm season July to November - brings more and bigger hurricanes to devastate low lying coastal areas. And everywhere in the country heatwaves get hotter, longer and more frequent. This last weekend San Diego was sweltering in 42 degrees C temperatures. It never gets that hot on the coast. Except, now it does. But climate change is a hoax, right? It’s just lefty liberal snowflakes moaning because they aren’t man enough to handle a bit of bad weather. Going back to the virus, it’s not under control because of federal government incompetence (sound familiar?), but it’s worse than that because a huge number of people now believe there’s no such thing as Covid-19. It’s just a dose of ‘flu and the death numbers are made up by, yes, you guessed it, lefty liberal snowflakes. OK, so we’ve got a virus and extreme weather, there can’t be anything else to depress the citizenry, can there? Well, sadly, yes there can. We have an election looming. Everyone votes and the winner becomes president, right? Well, up to a point. There is a stupid system here that means the guy with the most votes doesn’t necessarily win, but that’s in the constitution so, stupid or not, it’s how things are done. But there’s a contemporary and novel threat. Fearing he’s going to lose, Trump is now putting forward a conspiracy theory that there is likely to be a huge amount of voter fraud to keep him from his
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
So instead of real news you get half truths and minor incidents blown up to incite as much anger as possible in the viewer. People spraying graffiti on a building at a Black Lives Matter demo is exaggerated with footage from an entirely different place and time to say there was a full blown riot going on. Result? Very angry Fox viewers are all in for armed vigilantes. Which make things worse.
FAUX NEWS rightful position as Kleptocrat in Chief. And, just as a portion of the population has been conditioned to disbelieve that climate change and Covid are actual things, those same people have been convinced about the voter fraud bollocks. As a result, if Trump loses (still a big if) they are likely to take their guns to the streets. So where do these people get their information? Fox News. It’s immensely popular, but the real problem is that word ‘News’. Because it doesn’t deal in verifiable facts and reality - you know, news. Instead it puts out a steady stream of misinformation, downright lies and conspiracy theories building an alternative reality in which Trump is a dedicated Christian, has never cheated on his wife or taxes, knows more about war than the generals, built a wall along the border that Mexico paid for. Et bloody cetera. OK, so what’s that got to do with you living over there in the somewhat calmer waters of Chelmsford? Here’s what. There are two competing companies trying to set up a copy of Fox News in the UK. You have been warned, this will not end well. That’s not because a right leaning news station shouldn’t exist, but because Fox News is not that, and one suspects, the UK version won’t be either. You might think that a conservatively biased station would want to put forward views on fiscal responsibility, reducing the size of government, cutting regulations, trickle down economics and all that other stuff we used to be able to discuss in a civil manner. That’s not what you get on Fox News though. What you do get is anything that will wind people up. Make them angry, fearful and full of hate. Because, and here’s the kicker, sadly it’s anger, fear and hate that sells. Reasoned debate and reportage don’t.
Or maybe a death in some obscure town that was subject to an innocent mistake and recorded as a Covid death when the guy was actually killed in a car accident. On Fox News this becomes a national scandal. In their telling that one mistake is proof that some deep state plot is afoot and actually there have only been 20 deaths from Covid in the US, not hundreds of thousands. Result? Fox viewers think Covid isn’t a thing at all, so precautions are not required. Which makes things worse. Maybe it snowed today. Global warming? Fox viewers are told to ignore what anyone with an education might say. It’s snowing, who are you going to believe, experts or your own eyes? Result? Fox viewers don’t believe climate change is a thing so aren’t interested in mitigation. Which makes things worse. Do you notice a pattern emerging? And none of this anger and hatred is for legitimate political purposes, it’s to make the station owner, Rupert Murdoch, more money. He doesn’t care if it all goes tits-up and he has a big hand in starting a civil war because he can bugger off somewhere else. He’s got at least three passports, what’s the problem? All this misinformation is sold in a slick and very convincing style - it’s not surprising that those without the time or inclination to check the propaganda can get swallowed by the machine. Then there are those who just like being angry. And, sadly, a good number who are just too lacking in intellect to have any defence against the simplistic messaging. If you think the UK is/was divided by Brexit, just wait until Fox News UK has stirred things up for a year. As someone once said, you ain’t seen nothing yet. So, Covid, fires, civil unrest. Life in paradise isn’t quite so paradisical right now. And it’s coming your way, Chelmsford. Well, maybe not the mountain fires. Anon.
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also proudly don their traditional garb. Gents of all ages in wellworn lederhosen drinking shorts, long socks, waistcoats and hats; ladies in figure enhancing (with an unashamedly lift and thrust look) long frocks.
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’d always wanted to visit Munich. Not sure why, but I reckon some of it had to do with beer. Beer and tradition. I cannot deny that I do like drinking. And with the right ambience, drinking beer can be really, really fun. On a sunny Friday afternoon in Munich, surrounded by throngs of tourists of countless nationalities and lots of locals too, I found that perfect backdrop in abundance. Beer kellers, beer halls and beer gartens. Yes, Bavarians unashamedly have spaces dedicated to the business of downing beer in industrial quantities. On a Friday afternoon, maybe on every summer afternoon (for all I know), they
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By mid-afternoon, after a thirst enhancing stroll in the Englischer Garten and an aperitif in the Hofbrauhaus, the Viktualienmarkt in the Old Town is an incredibly happy place to be. Beer is inescapable. Long trestle tables and benches are full, cheek to cheek, of locals in traditional costume, joined by smiling tourists, drinking-in the atmosphere and foam-topped glasses of the cooling local brauhaus output. Tradition is clearly important here. Maybe history too, but the beer hall happenings of nearly a century ago are best forgotten. Dress code and Reinheitsgebot are strictly adhered to, but that doesn’t constrain the fun. Numerous bands strike up to supply the foot-stomp inducing oompah sound and local couples dance and twirl in the marketplace, bathed in afternoon sun. I just love it. It’s cultured. And upon reflection, I think I have a passion for places that couple drinking and culture. Standing drinking at the table-topped barrels outside of bars in old Spanish towns, or sipping strong complex Belgian beers from brewery-specific stemmed glasses are comparable experiences. A million miles away from a Friday afternoon session at your local ’Spoons. wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com
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Out Of My Comfort Zone
KiNGPiN
So, this month our esteemed editor asked me to try writing in the style of his own column to deliver a series of short, snappy paragraphs on different issues. Well, I’m always up for a challenge and to try writing in a different style, and as regular readers of my column will know, I do like to go on a bit (and on and on), so this is definitely putting me out of my comfort zone. So let’s just see how I fair, shall we, and if I can do a passable ‘Mini-Me’ to Shaun’s ‘Dr Evil’.
On The Move Due to the ongoing uncertainty with the pandemic, my fiancé and I have decided to postpone our wedding until 2022. We didn’t want to get to summer 2021 and find out we couldn’t have the wedding we wanted, or more importantly have all of our elderly relatives in the same room together when it might still be dangerous to do so. Our plan was to get married next year and then move home in 2022, but after postponing the wedding (and also because of the stampduty freeze) until next March, we decided to bring our move forward. Our estate agent told us the market had gone crazy since the freeze and that we wouldn’t have any problem selling, but we didn’t expect to put our house on the market on a Thursday, have a viewing on the Friday, and then accept an offer on the Saturday! So now there’s just the little issue of finding somewhere else to live…
The Kingmeister reports It’s A Dog’s Life
You may have seen the photograph of me and the newest addition to our family, in the shape of Daffy, our Dalmatian/Staffy cross that we rescued a couple of months ago. One silver lining of the pandemic is shifting to a more permanent, flexible and remote working policy, which meant that Lou and I were finally able to ‘rescue a dog’, something that we’d both wanted to do for a very long time. Daffy became a part of our family very quickly and she’s had such a positive impact on us all, despite the chewed wood and holes in my garden that make it look like Steptoe & Son’s back yard. Being half-Dalmatian, she needs a fair amount of exercise, so on average I’m racking up around 20 miles a week with our thrice daily walks, which is also doing me the world of good, it has to be said. Our evenings now consist of an hour or so over the local park, where we meet up with all the other dog owners and have a bit of a chin-wag while the dogs all play, so not only do I finally have my own dog, but I get to play with loads of other dogs on a daily basis as well. As of now though, I expect we’ll have to keep an eye out for Priti Patel lurking in the bushes to grass us up for ‘mingling’. I assume it’s not dissimilar to having a baby, in as much as I’m skint, tired and forever cleaning up an awful lot of crap, but loving every minute of it at the same time.
Breaking The Law No, not the classic song by Judas Priest (though the Tory party will be missing a trick if they don’t use that as their theme song at the next general election). I’m talking about our government, ‘the party of law and order’, getting the first clearance of their latest Brexit bill through the commons. This is the one that the Northern Ireland minister has confirmed would ‘break the law in a specific and limited way’. An argument could be made that, as an insurance policy, certain aspects of the bill make sense, but it kind of falls apart when you remember what it’s an insurance policy against, namely, the very withdrawal agreement that Boris told us was absolutely brilliant as he prorogued parliament to shove it through without due proper scrutiny. So, Boris’s WA is so good he now has to propose a new bill to allow us to renege on the agreement that he signed (because it was so good and he had an ‘oven ready’ deal) and break international law into the bargain. Now I really don’t want to say “I told you so”, but bloody hell, I told you so. So well done to all you muppets who elected an amoral chancer to run our country. What do you know, it turns out that electing a serial liar whose sole concern is what’s good for him might not be so good for the UK after all. Have a quick Google and see what the prevailing international opinion of the UK is at the moment. It certainly doesn’t look like the world will be biting our hands off to sign any of those trade deals Boris has alluded to, now that they know how very little we think of keeping our word. Hopefully the banks will start accepting the ‘Sovereignty & Control’ bonds, rather than cash, when you’re trying to repay your mortgage next year. shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
one in a face-shield who asked us to sign-in before being led to a table. A drinks list was duly provided and they asked that only one of our group ever go to the bar to order. It was organised, orderly and clearly a lot of thought had been put into making the whole experience as safe as humanly possible. However, in pub B, we walked in, sat wherever we wanted and ordered our drinks. The only concession to the pandemic were a few signs asking people not to stand at the bar. Having said that, you could literally stand approximately 8 inches away from the bar in the main thoroughfare of the pub if you wanted to, so people naturally had to push past you; and plenty were doing just that. I’m actually not overly concerned about catching Covid-19. At worst, I’d expect to feel like hammered crap for a few weeks and then get better. But if I do catch it and then end up spreading it to other people, I’d feel absolutely mortified, so I really don’t think I’ll be putting myself in situations to increase that risk again any time soon. One thing I’m certain of though, is that no matter how safe a pub is, we shouldn’t be expecting people to adhere to guidelines, or even common sense, after a few drinks. Did I care that people were elbowing past me in the pub after pint number 6? No. Did I remember to wear my mask on the train home? No, I was too busy thinking about whether it would be greedy to stop off and grab a 24” pizza. The arguments for and against a more draconian lockdown both have merit, and I certainly don’t know what the right answer might be, but I’m fairly certain that letting people go out on the sauce pretty much as normal really isn’t going to help matters.
New Wheels
Pandemic Pub Crawl Well, it wasn’t a pub crawl as such, but during a recent weekend, I returned to Chelmsford to have a few beers with a few friends to celebrate one of their birthdays. We started with lunch at Turtle Bay, and if you’ve never been there, I would definitely recommend it. The food was excellent, the service fantastic and all very reasonably priced too. And if the Flupocalypse doesn’t kill me, I’ll certainly be going back again for more. After a good meal and a few Red Stripes, we then visited some of the local hostelries. I hadn’t been out to the pub (not out-out) since lockdown began back in March and I was curious to see what pubs during a pandemic were like. Now I won’t name any names, but the differences between some of the pubs we visited were like night and day. In pub A, we were greeted at the door by some-
One disadvantage to getting a dog is that my pick-up is no longer fit for purpose. I love my Hilux and I’m gutted to be thinking about getting rid of it, but I simply can’t fit 2 kids and a dog in the back, so we’re having to use my fiance’s car all the time, which is slowly becoming covered in dog hair and pieces of chewed toys. So, the hunt is now on for a new, more practical vehicle. Despite my misgivings about selling the truck, I do enjoy the research process and I’ve already spent many a happy hour on YouTube looking at reviews, test-drive reports and such like. But I really don’t like car-type-cars, if you know what I mean, probably because I’ve only ever really driven big 4x4’s, so sitting in a normal car makes me feel like I’m in a go-kart. I briefly toyed with the idea of an estate (as I’m a middle-aged man with 2 kids and a dog these days, so an estate is perfectly acceptable now), but despite the siren song of such impressive boot space, they still feel like go-karts to me too. Because what I’m after is that elevated driving position, so it’s looking like an SUV is the only way to go. After much research, I was sure I’d made my decision to go for one of the new RAV4’s. Everyone knows Toyota are the best. It has plenty of room, looks good and has all the mod-cons (for reference, the most modern con my Hilux has is a tape-deck). Only then I remembered the Hilux Surf from Japan. It’s still a Hilux, but with an SUV style body and approximately £15k cheaper than the RAV4. Granted it’s a (much) older vehicle, but the Hilux Surf is the pinnacle of automotive engineering, as far as I’m concerned, and if I look hard enough, I’m sure I can find one with a really good tape-deck in it. Page 27
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
GENERATION ‘Z’ KNOBHEADS
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Full-stops apparently 'intimidate young people' in text messages as they are far too 'abrupt’ (or pray, even ‘angry') for the little preciouses to be able to mentally handle. Experts (pagh. Experts? Headroom thought Boris was listening to the science experts as regards Coronavirus, and look what a mess that’s got us all into. So don’t talk to Max about so called experts) have found that the correct use of full-stops in text messages make young people feel uneasy and even agitated, as it symbolises that the recipient is annoyed at them, rather than simply concluding a message. How? How does a full-stop signify annoyance? It’s just a bloody dot FFS. Teens tend to send short, snappy messages without punctuation (as they are badly taught, stroppy, illiterate, ungrateful twats). A recent study claims that young people feel threatened (threatened? A big, bad man with an axe is threatening, not bloody punctuation) by fullstops used in social media communication as they're interpreted as a sign of anger (says who???). Teenagers and those in their early twenties are known as ‘Generation Z’ because they have grown up with phones and technology - tend to send shorter messages with very little punctuation (but surely that’s to do with their thickness?). So when full-stops are used in text, younger people often perceive it to be passive aggressive, or a sign of irritation. OMG. So how do these fragile little bleeders deal with CAPITAL LETTERS then, eh? Here you go, HAVE SOME OF THAT! According to a well known broadsheet newspaper (that contains lots and lots of full-stops), some university or other has Tweeted (bloody Tweeted? It’s a real sad day when a university gets a bloody fluffy avian to speak (‘tweet tweet’) on its behalf): "If you send a text message without a full stop, it’s already obvious that you’ve concluded the message” (What? Where’s the logic in that? You’ll be telling us next that the following sentence doesn’t need to begin with a capital letter, won’t you? This is all bollocks. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. It’s because your average teenager is TOO DAMN LAZY to be bothered, is what it is.) “So when they receive a message with a full-stop, they're concerned (concerned?) that the person texting them is annoyed at them.” Can anyone truly believe this hocus-pocus? "So if you add an additional marker for completion, they will read something into it, which tends to be a falling intonation or a negative tone." A recent study by yet another university involving 126 undergraduates found that texts ending with a full-stop were perceived as insincere (HA!), whereas messages ending with exclamation points were considered far more heartfelt.” Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Exclamation marks are the most overused, naffest form of punctuation ever invented!!! A research leader (who ought to have had far better things to do) explained that when talking in person, it's much easier to convey emotion by using facial expressions, changing your tone of voice and eye-contact. But these mechanisms can't be used when texting. No shit, Sherlock? How much is your annual salary did you say again? Therefore it makes sense that young people use emojis, slang and punctuation to put across how they're feeling. How? HOW does any of this make any bloody sense? The world’s gone mad. Why are we seemingly pandering to the lowest common denominator? The Edge 01245 348256
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus DOGS
Like Deaks last month, I am writing this draft whilst on the road, though nothing as glamorous location wise. Having eventually left Torquay, I am now in Swansea seeing family, but print deadlines always seem to be looming, so needs must. And it was on the journey from Devon to South Wales that confirmation of the ever increasing supremacy of dogs, yes dogs, firmly hit home. We are a nation of animal lovers, we all recognise that. You will not be surprised to know that cruelty to animals was illegal before cruelty to children, way back in history. I grew up with dogs, and 1960’s/1970’s council house dogs at that. But these were completely different beasts to the modern day, pampered, shampooed and set house hounds of the millennia. But first, in the spirit of balanced journalism (note from EE: Stop it, Motty, you are not a journalist. You are merely a part-time hack at best.), I live in a cat house, where two very ageing, bottom-licking moggies rule the Mott roost. However, back to the matter at hand; dogs. In the last few years, the amount of holiday accommodation, hotel rentals and restaurants now advertising themselves as ‘dog friendly’ is somewhat substantial. I never really engaged with this idea much, until trying to book a UK holiday for the very first time in a considerable while. This, in itself, was a monumental task, given the staycation frenzy of the past few months, hence our three days in Torquay. And it was while visiting a motorway service station in Somerset, on the long trek to Swansea, that it hit me. You see, there was a specific dog walking area, within a small copse of trees on lovely verdant grass, which would have no doubt once been an area used for casually smoking fags, I would assume. But not now, perish the thought. In fact, the dog services on offer certainly made it far easier to get them fed and watered than the contrasting human contingent, given the abominable queues we had to suffer. But it was the sheer amount of people travelling with their hounds that really hit home, so far as I was concerned. Almost every car seemed as though it had a pooch on board. Sitting on LLnagennith beach on the Gower coast (go if you can), a family favourite for many a year, the amount of dogs was quite literally staggering. But it was the ‘support’ these doggies had that struck a note. One guy had three dogs and was puffing while hauling a little trailer with water and grub in a cool bag. I was fascinated as he unpacked and gave his hounds their picnic. People also had a variety of toys for the pooches to play with, although it has to be said that the dogs seemed far more content simply to run free than chase some neon
coloured item provided by their loving owners. However, the full set of doggy accessories carried by their masters certainly comes to a tidy sum in terms of hard cash. Which brings me to my next point. Cost. Dogs have become fashion items for some, as well as family members, as opposed to merely being pets for the majority. Acquiring a dog these days is big money if you get into the new, fashionable, crossbreeds, plus all the kit one is now required to attain. Numbers vary, but the UK is estimated to have spent an estimated 6.9 BILLION pounds on dogs and their paraphernalia in 2019, up from 3.3 billion in 2007. How mad is that? What’s even madder is that dog ownership has actually fallen in recent years, so it’s the per household spending that’s been on the up. Oh you lucky, lucky doggies. What with toys, bathing parlours, grooming parlours, walking services, to name but a few of the cash relieving services available to devoted owners. As you know, I grew up on an ‘interesting’ council estate and dog ownership was a little bit different. There were certainly no pedigree breeds. Pedigree might have been mentioned on the leading brand of dog food, but that was as close as it got. When the dog barked, somebody had to let it out. It went out onto the street, where it terrorised a few neighbours, before doing its business. Then the barking would recommence before a shout went up indoors to ‘let that effing dog back in’ again. Meanwhile, its deposit was naturally left out in the street and would certainly not be collected in a small scented bag for disposal, but would doubtless be returned by one of us youngsters whilst playing football the very next day, followed by much telling off by parents as you entered the house stinking of the stuff. Oh how things have changed. For the better, I might add - as your dog looks up at you clearing up after it with disdain and a certain smugness etched on its features. Of course, a dog is obviously not just for Christmas; its for your disposable income, overdraft and credit cards as well these days. And given this information, I think it’s high time to think about the reincarnation issue. Do I choose to be cat, or dog? Yours aye,
WHO SAYS PRINT IS DEAD?
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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So next time you’re out doing the weekly shop, you know what to look out for, right, Mums? Available in brown, brown, brown or brown. Brings shoes back to a high shine, ideal for spreading on toast and dried, unseasoned logs, can also be used as a hair gel, gives mahogany furniture that extra added veneer, looks great on the back of a white pair of slacks. ‘Looks like chocolate, tastes like turd.’ Buy some. You know it makes sense.
THERE’S A RAT IN MY KITCHEN Hi, and welcome to my October’s column, written once again from my kitchen table, rather than my office with a particularly sunny window that overlooks Chelmsford High Street. I loved that little office which, for three days every week for the past 8 years I sat and looked out on all the hustle and bustle going on below. As I type, we have just gone back into a semi-lockdown with no more than 6 people being allowed to meet and with the Covid-19 figures steadily climbing and the ‘R’ number escalating, so surely it’s only a matter of time before we go into a second full-on lockdown. At least back in April we had some very early sunshine and I rather think we’ve been spoilt by the weather this year, but it’s not going to be any fun queuing up outside supermarkets in the freezing cold with the rain beating down, that’s for sure. Halloween has always been a fun time in my house. I know all the ‘grumpy humbug brigade’ moan about it, but having lived in the USA, where Halloween is such a big event, it’s super fun as the whole neighbourhood celebrates together. In Washington they even dress up the White House and shut off all the traffic for a day and have the best street parties. Costumes are planned and made months in advance. Cookies are baked and front gardens are dressed up ghoulishly. Trust me, it is one hell of a night. I have celebrated Halloween in Florida, Atlanta, New York, Washington, Chicago and Boston over the years and each time I have enjoyed the very best of nights, bar none. But we just don’t seem to ‘get it’ over here at all. It should be a street party event that brings everyone together, from young to old. Everyone puts a lot of effort in, even dads who set up barbeques in their gardens and serve hot food. Then everyone stops by each others house to eat something and chat and get to know each other. And that’s what I love about it, so it’s a real, real shame that we have never embraced it fully over here. However, I am guessing this year that it won’t even happen, due to the potential of spreading the virus. There is not one single event which Covid-19 has not touched and put an
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end to this year, which is so sad. Therefore it’s important we start planning now for those dark, dreary long nights ahead by doing things to keep us healthy and active. I’ve even started making lists, which is something I have never done before. I usually just fly by the seat of my pants, hoping I get things done on time, yet making lists has meant I’ve achieved so much more. I’ve also resolved to put down my phone and read a book for an hour every single night and not pick it back up again until the hour is up. I’ve found it really calming and I sleep so much better these days, because I’m sure that constantly phone gazing keeps the brain in a state of ‘high alert’. While there’s little we can do about Covid but try to control it spreading, we have to learn to live with it and adapt our ways and find new ways of living our lives, yet still finding happiness in our everyday tasks. I was speaking to a Russian friend who told me that Russian people dip their masks in vodka every time they go out. Well, I guess inhaling the fumes cheers them up. You may laugh, but I was listening to an aromatherapist recently who was advising spraying masks with lavender and peppermint to aid both breathing and calm. In fact, I think I might dip mine in gin and see if I notice any benefits. I guess we all have to find ways of adapting and being resourceful. Which reminds me of a funny story. Some years back I had to attend a team building exercise with work and we had to undergo psychometric testing. At the end of the 4 days they got all 75 of us altogether and announced the results (i.e. who resembled what ‘animal personality’ etc). Right at the very end, they announced: “We have a very rare personality here, which we rarely see, and it belongs to Tracie, who identifies as a rat.” Of course, everyone fell about laughing at my expense, while I was mortified. leapt out of my seat, threw a tantrum and stomped off to my room and began packing. Then my line manager came along with the people who did the test and I duly told them to bugger off through the locked door with my mind set on quitting the company, I felt so humiliated. But eventually they talked me into opening the door and explained what it actually meant to be a rat. Rats are resourceful, they explained. They always have an exit strategy and a back-up plan. They rarely fail. They know how to lead others and they always know when to jump ship. They can swim through all waters and will gnaw their own leg off to survive if they have to, because they never quit on living life to the full. They adapt through adversity and make things work. We may not see them do this, but they are always working and planning. Which hey, is me all over! I was pleased as punch and went back and took the highest award with pride and I now have a very healthy respect for rats. Because no matter what life throws at me, I will always find a way of adapting and making the most of things. And together we can beat this virus.
tracie123@aol.com
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