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EDGE
the ISSUE NO: 296
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The Edge Editor’s Column ARMY & NAVY ROUNDABOUT On second thoughts, further to that which I wrote in last months editions, the two options offered us to supposedly solve the traffic chaos at our city’s major stumbling block are, of course, both doomed to failure; the hamburger and whatever the other one is. Because the fact is, the only way to solve matters is the burrowing of either an underpass or the erecting of a two-way (not one-way, like the last Mickey Mouse attempt) flyover, and that’s our lot. If you really are a city, Chelmsford, then act like one and stop just ‘playing’ at being one.
SHYSTER
CLARKSON’S FARM Absolutely loved it. I even shed a tear at the very end.
PALOMA I thought Ana de Armas, hand picked for her role by Daniel Craig himself, was absolutely first rate as the CIA operative assigned to assist Bond in Port Antonio (doubling as Cuba). “I’ve only had three weeks training,” my arse. Brilliantly refreshing. Which is more than can be said for Lashana Lynch. Oh and how the hell did Ana ‘stay’ in that dress? Magnificent advert for Sellotape.
BOWEL CANCEL SCREENING One of the joys of reaching the ripe old age of 60 is that the NHS send you a kit designed for the testing of bowel cancer via asking the recipient to send them a poo sample, which I was more than happy to share. The instructions on the kit they send out are somewhat refreshingly though; not stuffy (like you’d expect) at all. Such as:1. Do not let your poo touch the toilet water. 2. We only need a little poo to test - please do not send us any extra. 3. Put the poo stick in the bottle provided and then wash your hands. 4. Make sure you have written the sample collection date on the bottle. Fortunately my test came back negative.
NEWCASTLE UNITED Never mind about what’s going on at Newcastle United. More pertinently, what’s going on with Amanda Staveley’s face? My god, the last time I witnessed anything so alarmingly weird was when Renee Zellweger morphed into something completely plastic. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 077 646 7 97 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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I got as bloody parking ticket at 06:48am the other Thursday morning, while I was out and about delivering some October mags. I was parked on double yellow lines opposite the Tesco store at the bottom of Springfield Road, as I’ve done around about that time of the morning for the exact same reason for about
45 minutes, once every month, for around about the past five years without ever being seemingly close to getting a ticket before. So what’s going on there then, eh? What’s changed? Because something obviously has. And since when did Traffic Wardens start work at that godforsaken hour of the day? Former Hot House owner Jim Perry got a ticket as well. “The warden must have been hiding in the bushes,” said Jimbo, “as I was in and out inside of fifteen minutes.” What a diabolical liberty. In a letter I received from South Essex Parking Partnership after I’d queried the offense (but sent them a cheque anyway), they wrote: “We have decided not to cancel your PCN (Penalty Charge Notice) because the CEO (Civil Enforcement Officer - though there was nothing whatsoever ‘civil’ about the miserable twat so far as I can see) saw no loading or unloading of your vehicle taking place.” That’s because I’d already unloaded a box of mags and had set off into Bond Street to distribute them, you morons. It also stated that the warden concerned clocked my vehicle at the one and only time of 06:48am and immediately issued a ticket, so it wasn’t as if he’d even given me a chance (to return). So caught red handed, sure, because apparently you cannot park on double yellow lines at any time of the day or night whatsoever. But what I’d like to know is how come? How come it’s never happened in the past five years, only now it has? Perhaps they’re desperate for money to go towards our new two-way flyover or underpass, in which case you’re welcome.
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EDGEMOBILE
Polzeath, to be precise. On the north coast. Not too far from Padstow (or Padstein, as the locals are often want to call it these days, what with Rick’s ever growing influence). Due to Covid, we hadn’t had our tent out and pegged for at least 2 years, so we thought we’d risk a late season long-weekend, seeing as it’d been nigh on impossible to book anywhere during the summer, due to every man, woman, child and their dog/s taking staycations. Naturally we’d been keeping a keen eye on the weather down there, as Chelmsford had basked in an Indian Summer of blue skies and sunshine for pretty much the entire week preceding our early Saturday morning 25th September departure time of 05:00am precisely. Trouble was, pretty much 36 hours before we were due to depart, on the early evening news of that most memorable Thursday, we were suddenly told NOT TO PANIC, even though there was a shortage of lorry drivers being able to deliver petrol to the pumps. So I immediately raced up to Sainsbury’s to fill up (rather than leaving it ’til the Friday) and it was a bloody good job too, as it was ridiculous how many cars were on the forecourt, queuing up for fuel, at 7:00pm in the evening. We’d also heard that the weather down in Polzeath was looking particularly dodgy on the Sunday night in particular, which served to immediately fill us with dread. But we’d already paid up-front, so I drove pretty much like a pensioner all the way down there, and just look at the fuel consumption I managed to achieve over the course of our 308 mile trip.
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This is the front field at South Winds, where you cannot pre-book, so you just rock up and pay a tenner per night. But who needs to book out-of-season; just look how empty it was. Save for Adele, who was only 22, which got me to thinking that I’d not long left home when I was her age, and I certainly didn’t have my own campervan. So that’s quite an independent streak for a wee young lassie to have, yes? I asked her if her campervan was perhaps a hand-me-down. “Oh no,” said Adele. “I just saw it at the side of the road one day with a hand-written ‘For Sale’ sign in the window and I bought it on the spur of the moment.” Which completely and utterly baffled me, as that’s something I would never do. “So has it (I nearly wrote ‘she’ then, as it’s the sort of old campervan that looks as though it probably has a name, although definitely not Burt) ever let you down?” “Not yet,” smiled Adele, crossing her fingers. She then told me she’d been up as far as Scotland in it and though I didn’t doubt her, it does actually beggar belief, don’t you think? I mean, just look at it, readers. Cute, yes. But does the word ‘reliable’ readily spring to mind? And, sure enough, the following day, Adele had to call out a recovery van and fork out another tenner to stay overnight in the front field as the parts (over 200 quids worth of ’em) wouldn’t be arriving until the day after to hopefully get her fixed and back on the road. By which time we’d already left....but I’m coming to that. Meanwhile, Mrs Edge is still forever harping on about us getting a campervan, as they are flexible, you don’t have to pack and unpack (like you do the motor - see previous page) and you can stop for a right refreshing brew whenever the mood takes your fancy. But, and it’s a big BUT, everything’s going ELECTRIC, isn’t it? So it’s imperative we visit the East of England (Peterborough) Motorhomes Show next spring to see what developments have been made on that particular front, as last time we hired a campervan (for 100 sheets per day, I might add) it was diesel and I only managed to get 30mpg going at a steady 60mph from Chelmsford to Southwold, which was rubbish, so far as a right tight northerner like moi is concerned. I dunno. This campervan lark really has been on our minds for the past 5 years or so, but if we do take the plunge, we simply have to get it right, as we’ll be talking a fair few ‘bags of sand’.
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Okay, so as I’ve said, we left Chelmsford at 05:00am on the Saturday morning and I noticed that filling station - just where the A12 meets the M25 (where Mizu is situated - and it’s high time we ate there again, as it is excellent) - as you double-back into Brentwood was chocca with red tail lights, all queuing up mega-early for fuel. And it was the same at Clacket Lane. And Cobham. Which was making me nervous. You can imagine what was going through my mind, right? Because no way can you get to Polzeath and back on a single tank. Only I turned off onto the M3 and then the A303 (scenic route past Stonehenge) as it said detours on the M4, then pulled off at a services for a Costa and lo and behold, the pumps were nothing like the chaos back in Essex. How about that? So I filled up, even though I could only fit in £15. And thereafter I never had much of a problem. Other than perhaps a five minute wait behind some twat in an old LandRover who also filled up a jerry can and could have then driven forwards before going to pay as the pumps in front of him weren’t working, so there was an empty space. But no, he didn’t give it a thought, probably on account of him being Welsh, judging by his number plate. We eventually arrived at our campsite, after a slight detour to Rock to procure some sausages and kebabs from Watts Butchers for our BBQ that evening (oh and trust The Edge when it says that the fresh sandwiches and morning bacon & egg baps from Malcolm Barnecutt’s Bakery are the finest it has ever tasted) where we met the wife’s sister, who had driven over from St. Mellion, where she lives these days, to spend a couple of nights with us. Then we rigged the tent up and....opened some wine and chillaxed. (And I think we jolly well deserved it after a 7 hour trip, all told.) Next morning, after a lovely hot shower, we decided to walk along the Camel Estuary to Rock and catch the passenger ferry over to Padstow. (How much? Six quid per person return. Jeez, it’s gone up!) We always tend to make this trip whenever we’re staying in Polzeath as it’s such a lovely walk and we much prefer Padstow when it’s quieter, out-of-season. Walking back to Polzeath, no, the sky wasn’t like it had been in the morning (see below), while what it was saying on the weather apps on our phones also seemed at odds with what we were currently experiencing as we had all got ‘a bit of a sweat on’ that day. So that night we went to sleep totally oblivious as to what the elements had in store for us.
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W3 LSH
Which was rain. Plenty of it. Not to mention swirling gale force winds and 40mph gusts, which were horrendous. Particularly at 3 o’clock in the frigging morning. When people (non-campers) say: “Ooh, I wouldn’t like it!” it’s mainly ladies fretting about the toilets and showering facilities. But let me assure you, no-one in their right mind ‘likes’ having to get out of their tent in the middle of the night to bang pegs back in, after which the three of us had to stand against three of our eight ‘air stanchions’ for fully an hour until the wind had sufficiently subsided to stop them folding in on themselves, it was that strong. Honestly, the only other time we’d gotten ourselves into such an undesirable predicament was, as we often refer to it as, ‘One Night on Guernsey’. It’s just not what you want, nor what we needed. We eventually laid back down at 4am with sodden feet (as water had come in), plus a jar of honey (without a lid - why wasn’t the lid on?) had got knocked over during all of the commotion. Next day, not in the best of moods, we ambled about in Polzeath, cursing our luck, cursing the weather, until someone told us we’d be in for more of the same that Monday night. So that was it. We took the tent down, packed it away (fortunately in the dry, as there’s nothing worse than having a soggy tent you have to take home with you and then ‘air’ out in the garden) and went to stay at the wife’s sister’s place for the final 2 nights of our 4 night break.
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I chose the most inconspicuous looking grey model and Dave informed me it would be delivered on a set date. When the water butt arrived I was on a work call, so I waved the installer through to the back garden and didn’t pay much attention. When Dave got home, he was not too impressed that the (rather large) water butt had been installed in the back garden, on the patio, partially blocking the washing line. Unbeknown to me, it was supposed to go out the front. As time went by we got used to the grey monstrosity and even cheered it up a bit by putting some pretty bedding plants in its ‘hat’.
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MELLY MOO BAILEY Those of you who have been reading my columns for a while will know that the ‘Legendary Dave’ and I live on Canvey Island. It’s certainly a unique place, and it should be noted that one always refers to living ‘on’ Canvey, and never ‘in’ it, due to its island status. It is also entirely below sea level, which has invariably made for an interesting relationship with the changing water levels of the surrounding River Thames throughout its life. Most people will have heard of (or maybe even remember) the great flood of 1953, when the whole island was evacuated and sadly 58 people lost their lives. Subsequently there has been significant investment in Canvey’s sea defences, and if you picture the island like a giant sink, over the years they have built up and reinforced the ‘edges’ in the form of our infamous (now partly muralled) sea wall. However, it would appear that the island is destined to be reclaimed by the sea, one way or another, as in 2014 more devastating flooding occurred, but this time, the water wasn’t coming over the side of the sink, but UP through the plughole. I remember having to abandon our car to wade down our street with the dog swimming beside me, thinking how surreal it all seemed, particularly when I saw my neighbour coming along in a canoe. Apparently, 100mm of rain fell during a 4 hour period which has a 0.3% chance of occurring in any one year and is considered an exceptionally severe event. However, it seemed that Canvey really was shit out of luck when the pumping stations also then ceased to work, due to a lightning strike and a power failure. One might say you couldn’t make it up.
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It was clear to everyone (not only those whose roads were underwater) that Canvey desperately needed flood defences for its plughole, not just its sink edges. Millions of pounds have since been spent on initiatives that span thousands of bureaucratic pages (if you have the impetus to read them), but Dave was most intrigued when we received a direct invitation from Anglian Water to have a FREE water butt installed at our home, as part of their initiative to reduce surface water. My dad always warned me that generally in life “nothing was free” which has proven accurate on many an occasion, but this actually was. Page 8
A month or so ago, Dave received an email from the water butt gods asking if Rebecca Harris, our local MP, could come and see ours. At first I thought he was winding me up, but for once he was serious. Later that evening, after a few glasses of wine, it seemed like a fabulous idea to invite the MP round to meet our water butt. We heard nothing further, so I presumed they had got a better offer, when suddenly we received a message to say she was coming the following day, with no less than a team of bigwigs all connected to Operation Plughole. The water butt, whose summer bedding plants had long since passed away, was now looking very sorry for itself, surrounded by an explosion of children’s summer carnage. An emergency trip to B&M to source some last minute autumnal bedding plants and a quick but ruthless sweep of the garden did the trick, and before I knew it, they were knocking on our door. My only other encounter with Rebecca Harris was some years previous at a church fete which she attended with a gorgeous lurcher dog. We also had a lurcher at this point and I smiled at her in passing and said, “Is it okay to stroke your dog?” My friend swears blind to this day that Rebecca must have misheard me as saying, “Is it okay to kill your dog?” as she shot me the most savage look and made a getaway so fast that even the dog struggled to keep up with her. So I was slightly curious to see if she would recognise me as the potential psychotic dog killer. Fortunately (for us both), she didn’t appear to remember me at all, and the dog wasn’t even mentioned, so I seemed to be in the clear. It was quite amusing, to be stood in my garden with five people who were all so excitable about water butts, and Rebecca Harris (who was possibly slightly less enthused). Ironically, at the time of writing this, we had another night of extremely heavy rainfall and yet again Canvey sadly experienced a wave of ‘plughole’ flooding. However, this time our road was safe, clearly all thanks to the magical powers of the water butt, so my neighbour’s canoe was nowhere to be seen, while I think I can hold off on building an ark....for now.
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Channels Bar & Brasserie has recently undergone a stunning upgrade and refurbishment during the course of the past year and they cannot wait for their first Christmas season in their brand new space. So if you are looking for a fantastic meal out with friends or family, private dining for up to 18 on special occasions, or simply for some ‘live’ music on a Friday night, why not consider Channels Bar & Brasserie for your very next outing (see also this month’s front cover). December always offers such a lovely atmosphere at Channels, and this year will be no exception whatsoever. Whether it’s set menu lunches or a la carte dinner options, Channels incredible seasonal menus are simply not to be missed. What’s more, they will also be hosting ‘live’ music each and every Friday evening before Christmas throughout December, starting at 7:30pm. What’s more, ‘Jazzy Sunday’ on 12th December is always a family favourite, with their beloved Jazzy Boys playing some upbeat tunes and Christmas music while you enjoy the best Sunday lunch in Essex. Boxing Day is always one of the favourite days of the year at Channels. This year they are running Boxing Day breakfasts between 9am-11:30am, followed by a Boxing Day lunch served between 12-4pm. Bookings are naturally essential and can be done via the Channels website for tables of 8 or less. For larger parties, please email brasserie@channelsestate.co.uk or telephone (01245) 440005. Only please don’t delay as they always sell out. So why not celebrate and let Channels take care of the washing up! Who can actually believe we are fast approaching the end of 2021? Whether you feel like this year has flown by, or you think it has dragged on, one thing’s for sure - New Year’s Eve is going to be a celebration like no other. So Channels cordially invite you to join them for ‘a drink upon arrival’, some ‘live’ music and a splendid 5-course menu, followed by a DJ with dancing to welcome in 2022. Head Chef Dan Pitts says this New Year’s Eve menu is: “A journey through my childhood food memories, where nothing is quite as it seems.” It is Dan’s particular favourite menu of the year and Channels can’t wait to show you why. And who doesn’t want to celebrate as the clock turns midnight with music, dancing and bubbles? More information can be found on the Channels website and bookings are absolutely essential.
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As a family owned and run business of nearly 50 years standing, Channels pride themselves in making every single customer who walks through their door feel like family. So join them and discover for yourselves why Channels cozy, rustic interior and its seasonal, fresh menu has something for everyone and is the talk of the town. They look forward to welcoming you and making sure you have a fantastic time from the very moment you arrive. Please visit their website for more information about what’s on at Channels and how to reserve your tables.
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RIGA Taking a trip to Latvia’s capital, designated as a UNESCO world heritage site (eh, eh, Scousers, remember that?) was something I’d been eager to do for some time, while the recent easing of restrictions made the excursion relatively stress-free. I’d previously visited Estonia and Lithuania, so this latest little adventure completed the Baltic trinity.
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’.
It being a short three-night trip, I chose to indulge myself and stayed in the comfort of the 5* Grand Poet Hotel overlooking the tranquil and immaculately maintained Bastejkaln Park. This is close to the Freedom Monument which acts as an anchor point when navigating the city.
It was but a short walk into the Old Town, with its cobbled streets, art nouveau architecture and historic churches. There is no shortage of appealing bars, cafes and restaurants and it was over a few local tumšais (dark beers) that I got chatting with a few of the locals. One of them, Kaspars, seemed quite a learned chap and he gave me a few of the insights into the city, the nation, and his alcohol inspired interpretation of its history. The hotel was very near to the Museum of Occupation where Latvia’s dark and complex 20th Century history is set out in an exhibition. In common with the neighbouring Baltic states, Latvia was occupied by the Soviets, the Nazis, and yet again by the Soviets either side of WW2. Unsurprisingly the Soviet period was accompanied by much oppression and deportations to Siberia, only for the Nazis to then invade, after which they persecuted and murdered most of the Jewish population. Soviet rule returned
in 1944 and the following decades witnessed Sovietisation of the country with large numbers of Russians forcibly migrated to Latvia. This is still evident today, particularly in Riga, where you hear many people speaking Russian and all road signs are written in Latvian and Cyrillic. Given its history, it’s not surprising that the Latvian people have a distinct mistrust of government. Kaspars explained to me that this is probably why the proportion of fully vaccinated Latvians is stubbornly low at about 45%; which is a bit surprising because all bars and restaurants strictly enforce the policy of only admitting those who can show the official EU vaccination certificate. Riga sits at about the same latitude as Aberdeen, so I was pleasantly surprised at just how warm it became in the early autumn sunshine. It was even comfortable enough to sip cocktails topside on the afternoon cruise boat on the Daugava River.
ABERDEEN The view from the Panorama Riga observation deck, at the top of the Latvia Academy of Sciences building, was well worth the €6 entry fee. The building itself is reminiscent of Moscow’s Stalin era skyscrapers (often referred to as the Seven Sisters). Looking out you can see the forests just a few kilometres away, which illustrates just how compact the city is. The other must visit site is the Central Market. Just outside the old town the market is housed in five huge hangars built in Neoclassical and Art Deco style by the Germans in the 1920s to accommodate Zeppelin airships. Each hangar is dedicated to a distinct type of food produce, but there are also loads of excellent bars and restaurants, while I particularly enjoyed filling up on the street food and local craft ale (alus).
EDGE
the
online
Riga, pre-pandemic, had a great reputation as a stag and hen party destination and I can certainly see the appeal. But surely countless thousands must have travelled there to party hard, only to find themselves seduced, like me, by the city’s cultural and historical charms. wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com
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The apartments above this parade of shops (including, apparently, the most profitable Spar in the entire UK) weren’t there until very recently. In fact, Polzeath was always a sleepy little Cornish village, or so it seemed to The Edge. Oh sure, those that could afford it had already been busy buying up old properties with sea views and installing lots of glass. But where Polzeath’s one and only street is concerned, by Christ, it never used to look like this.
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Just look at these 3 rental properties that have been created side by side (immediately opposite the Spar) with uninterrupted sea views to the rear (see below). Can you imagine what the land was bought for? And, more to the point, what they’re bringing in (in rental), particularly during the peak season? Further up the main drag, right next to these properties, remains a ‘shitty chippy’ (which we were not impressed with on our one and only visit there, but everything else was shut) and that’s what the entire thoroughfare used to look like, before these striking and immaculately swish looking pads appeared. Talk about ‘The Changing Face of Cornwall’. Having said that, The Edge has to admit to absolutely loving it, despite what the natives think (and I’m honestly not entirely sure what they make of it). Because if I could afford it, I’d have reserved one of these for a fortnight next summer already.
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WE ALSO REPAIR CARAVANS!
theEDGE
Because I don’t want to stay here forever, that’s for sure. Melton Mowbray, in Leicestershire, is but a 2hr 10min drive away from Chelmsford and we went up to check it out and visit their annual Food Festival (see page 19), although due to persistent heavy rain, we ended up spending all of the Saturday afternoon in the pub (see facing page)! Famous for its Pork Pies and Stilton Cheese, the town itself both looked and felt a ‘little bit tired’ (fair comment?). I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but I’m confident I’ll know it when I see it. But what I will say is that it was Matt/The Oracle (the bloke at the bar) who advised us to take a drive out to Belvoir Castle on the Monday before we left to head back down the A1, and by god, the countryside out that way was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Truly, it was different. It rolled oh so much more than Essex does. But it was also somehow much redder too. Earthier. It was amazing. I absolutely adored it. So yes, we will most certainly return to Melton Mowbray for another weekend in the not too distant, although quite frankly that will mainly be for another session in The Boat. If they’ll have us, of course.
Well, we’re curious about both Somerset (doesn’t Somerset simply sound adorable?) and Wiltshire, as Dorset, which we love, seems particularly pricey. So check out Catherine Hill (at dawn), in Frome (I used to regularly drink a cider from down there, so it’ll definitely do for me), in Somerset (below). Isn’t it simply staggering? Not to be confused with Gold Hill in Shaftsbury, Dorset, mind you; scene of the famous Hovis bread advert (“Me mam bought me some liquorice.”) I am so liking it already, even though I’ve never even been there. But I also need to get Drinkstone and Woolpit in North Suffolk out of the way and off my mind first, only I know what Mrs Edge means when she says “it never feels right” driving up the A12, as opposed to down it. It’s a proper bugger having to move. You spend time, money, effort and inconvenience on your home, not to mention the garden, only to find you don’t want to live there any more. Well, we do. I mean, if we could pick it up and move it to somewhere different. But life’s not like that, is it? Almost 40 years I’ve been living in Chelmsford, but it still doesn’t feel like home. At the end of the day, it’s as commuter town (it will never be a city to my mind), full of transient people, here for as long as is necessary. The place is simply lacking a soul.
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The Boat Inn
I honestly wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t experienced it, because I’ve been down in Chelmsford way too bloody long. Friendly people. Smiling faces. Only 8 in the pub when me and Mrs Edge walked in (including the landlord and his ‘Scottish beau’), yet inside of 5 minutes flat we were all talking together. Yet there was me, thinking it must be a ‘quiet pub’, for locals, then WHOOSH, all of a sudden it was full to the rafters. Brilliant pub. BRILLIANT! Full of warm, genuine people. And I am missing it like crazy, because I know for a fact that I’d be in there every single Friday night if I lived up in Melton Mowbray, makers of pork pies, smelly cheese and suchlike. If they’d have me!
Are you calling my wife UGLY?
‘Conehead Corner’
I loved ‘Big Bloke’. Every time I went to the toilet he’d be in there. “I just like pissing,” he said! www.theedgemag.co.uk
There’s even a fan for when dogs fart.
But, like all pubs, the more the ale flows, someone will always speak out of turn! Page 13
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And boy, was the wait worth it. Any fans of the original film will honestly not feel let down one bit. The sets, the music, and the time travelling car had all the hairs on the back of our necks standing up and most certainly put permanent smiles on our faces throughout the two hour performance.
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If you're not standing up clapping, cheering and even singing along with the cast by the finale, then you, my friend, need to let some happiness into your wooden heart.
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It is only on for a year before hitting 88mph and going to pastures new, so book this show while you can. I promise you won't be disappointed.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! That's right folks, since last month's issue I have now reached the grand old age of 45, but there’s still no mid-life crisis. Yet. Lucky enough, mine and the better half's birthdays are only two days apart, so we always try to book the week off to celebrate together and fit in a few days out. This normally includes a trip to London and a visit to the theatre to take in a show. And this year it was my turn to choose. After about ten minutes flicking through What's On, much to my delight, I came across ‘Back to the Future - The Musical’. This was due to open earlier in the year, but like most things it was postponed, due to Covid. So I quickly went to the productions website and thankfully I was able to secure two tickets at a reasonable rate for what turned out to be a ‘sell out’ performance, which wasn't half bad for a Monday night and showed that people are desperate for a slice of normality again.
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As we went into the Adelphi theatre foyer we were hit with some of the 80's movies soundtrack and some very friendly staff looking super happy to see so many people coming through their doors again.
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And then, when we walked up the stairs, I was honestly like a kid in a sweet shop with all the show’s merchandise, retro props and posters from the movie. After which our next stop was, of course, the bar, where the wife kindly treated me to a rather nice pale ale and a packet of peanut M&M's. Fully loaded, we took to our seats and waited patiently in grand anticipation for the show to begin.
Something else we weren't disappointed with during our week off was ‘No Time To Die’. In fact, by the time you good people read this, we will have seen it three times already! I've read some comments left on social media since watching the latest 007 installment and there seems to be some mixed emotions. Yet unlike some of those comments I'm not going to spoil it for those of you who are still yet to see it (by revealing the ending). All I will say is that the 2hrs 45 mins literally flew by and the movie also got better each time we watched it. Daniel Craig has stated many times that he really wanted to get a monologue Bond into a modern digital world and over his five film story arc he really has tried to make Bond more believable and show a more vulnerable side to the Commander that maybe hasn't been seen since ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ and that's where you can see a lot of his influence in this, his final stint as 007. For me there was just enough balance of nods to the past films in the character’s 50 years plus history, whilst also trying to bring something new, fresh and include elements that have never been seen before. As always it says: "James Bond will return" at the end of the final credits as you're getting up to leave. But who will carry it on? I already know the answer. A brave man, for it will take a very brave man to pack his Walther PPK next as they will have an exceedingly big holster to fill, as Daniel Craig really has left his mark on the franchise. So well done 007 for once again keeping the British end up! Until next time. The G.P. x
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served personally to your table! Chelmsford - sorry - London is the cocaine capital of Europe. Our capital had the highest concentration of ‘snow’ in its waste water (what’s it doing in there - are Londoners using it instead of bath salts?) for the second year running, according to samples from 60 cities. Boffins of the DMA (drugs monitoring agency) tested sewage (whoa.... and what’s it doing in there?) for traces of the ‘class A’ narcotic which enters the network in the urine of users (ah). Only Amsterdam has ever tested higher than London and we all know how they like an ‘illegal high’ over there. The analysis, which took population into account, also discovered that Londoners were among the heaviest users of the party drug ecstasy, which like slightly wider lapels is said to be making a bit of a comeback. Researchers said it was no longer a ‘niche’ drug and had moved into mainstream social settings, a bit like dogging on Galleywood Common. The report also revealed how the UK accounted for 2,332 of Europe’s 6,800 reported drug-related deaths, which is about a third.
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It’s true, readers, they do. And there’s definitely far more to a pig’s oink than meets the untrained ear. They’re not just all about gravy and a liberal dollop of apple sauce, you know. Happy piggies make more noise than grumpy ones and that’s a trotting fact. It has also emerged that pigs with curious temperaments are more likely to grunt and squeal than their less inquisitive pink pals. ‘SPS’ (special pig scientists) studied 72 male and female juvenile pigs in a ‘PS’ (pig study). Half were placed in spacious, ‘enriched’ pens with comfy straw bedding, whilst the others were placed in compact ‘barren’ pens with partially slatted concrete floors (in accordance with British welfare standards). In order to test each pig’s personality, they were individually placed in a pen for five minutes with a couple of unfamiliar objects - namely a large white bucket and an orange and white traffic cone (obviously). Their grunts and behavior were then logged, as you do, while the test was repeated a fortnight later to see if they acted in the same manner. Pigs with more ‘proactive’ personalities - i.e. those keener to explore their immediate environment - grunted more than purely ‘reactive’ pigs. The study also revealed that the boars that were kept in lower-quality conditions made far fewer grunts and oinks. Of course, The Edge already knew all of this due to its friendship with former local pig farmer, but now happily retired Bernard the Butcher, who has spent so very long with oinkers throughout his career that he is now starting to develop hairy lug’oles and enjoys rolling around in shit. www.theedgemag.co.uk
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Hello Readers. I think I have written about 25 columns for The Edge and I always feel like I have got so much to share with you, ranging from my life lived to stuff I am doing and my musings on current affairs to anything else that comes into my head. This month, however, I put off writing my column until just 2 days before our editor started screaming at me for my latest offering. Simply because, as I sit myself down and set about writing it, I have absolutely no ideas in my head about what to write about whatsoever. I am sure the more esteemed and long standing writers of this fine publication will tell me such is writer’s block. But at this point it did cross my mind to leave my page blank, just for a laugh. Although I figured ‘our ed’ might have an aversion to blank pages in his magazine.
DEAKS
I shall be travelling to Krakow, Poland, between 17th-29th October, so by the time you are reading this, I shall have been there and come back again, so I shall save such adventures for the December edition. However, whilst I was booking my flights, it occurred to me how old I feel when I enter my date of birth online these days and you have to scroll that wheel from 2021 all the way back to, in my case, 1960. Am I the only one that tries to give it as hard a spin as I possibly can, to do it in the least number of rotations? I’ve tried, but I honestly I can’t do it in less than 3 spins, no matter how hard I whip my finger down the dial. What else? I went on a train a couple of days ago. I’m sure there won’t be too many gasps of astonishment amongst you readers as a result of such breaking news, but due to Covid, it’s fair to say it’s something of a rare occurrence for me these days. I have previously travelled into London 5 days a week for 40 years, up until a few years ago, so it’s not like I’m not
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Are you really that lazy?
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the
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used to train travel. That said, I don’t mind admitting that it felt very strange to me indeed. It was surprisingly busy and had I known, I honestly think I might have avoided it. I’m still wary of being in a crowded place and I am beginning to wonder whether Covid has had a long term effect on me. I hope not, as I’ve always loved a bit of a crowd, particular in pubs. My resolve is going to be tested with the winter fast approaching, as the days of sitting outside the likes of The White Hart are drastically receding. Talking of trains, do any of you remember those trains that had carriages containing separate compartments? You got into the compartment from either end and the passengers sat perhaps six either side looking at one another. The doors were simple latch operated locks with no automatic locking facility. I think they were taken out of service due to the danger of a lone traveller, particularly women, of course. When I first got married to my now ex-wife, we lived in Braintree and the train travelled on a single track off the mainline back and forth. Anyhow, this particular late evening, there was just me and a friend on one side and a guy on the other side at the opposite end. We pulled into Braintree and this guy got up quickly and immediately opened the door beside him and stepped out the opposite side to where the platform was. My friend and I just stood there in utter amazement as the guy’s head appeared in the dark at the door as he pulled himself up and into the carriage again. After dusting himself down, he said: “I’m always doing that.” For me, it wasn’t that he’d done it. We all do silly things after all. No, it was the fact that it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Do you ever look at people and wonder how they even made it out of the birth canal? You can’t help the helpless, can you? Ahhh, my writing is flowing again now. So I think I’ll tell you a story about one of my closest friends when she was travelling back to Chelmsford from London. She got into one of those carriages I’ve mentioned and with just 10 minutes before the train was due to depart, and after a fair few cocktails I might add, and with the entire carriage to herself, she thought, ‘What the hell. I’ll lay on the seat and have a little shut eye.’ Forty five minutes later, she senses the train is pulling into Chelmsford, as you do, and when she opens her eyes the seats opposite her are all taken and there are half-a-dozen passengers looking down on her. I couldn’t possibly name her, but she has just retired after working 40 long years up in London. Good luck in your retirement, Loo. (Doh!) I honestly have so many more train journey stories to share with you another day. I’ve had to get taxis home from the likes of Clacton, Colchester, Witham and probably every station in between in my time after falling asleep on the way home. I’ve woken up at 3am in a siding in Walton-on-the-Naze and I’ve even done a whole lap of the Central Line with a box of KFC on my lap. But they’ll keep for another time/edition. Change of subject, does anyone else enjoy a joke circulated around on social media, usually via WhatsApp, amongst friends? It’s something I unashamedly enjoy sharing with a group of pals. I suppose there are 30 of us that share appropriate and inappropriate jokes. Some contribute a lot, others only choose to receive them, but I think it’s a nice way to stay in touch on a regular basis. I have friends who I know I can share the lowest, crudest, most offensive humour with, and others who, by reprimanding me in the past, have made it clear their level of decency is somewhat higher than mine (not hard, to be fair). It seems to me that this form of humour has filled a void where comedians can no longer tread for fear of causing offense. I regularly receive jokes that give me a proper good belly laugh, sent by a pal who enjoys the same warped humour as me. I suppose, at some stage, Big Brother will be able to censor what my mates and I find so funny. But until then, I will enjoy and share what I receive. Well, I’ve made it to the end of yet another column. I hope it doesn’t read too badly. I began writing in The Edge because I wanted to leave a few of my stories for my sons. I always share The Edge with them in the hope that they read my pieces and when I’m long gone from this world they will treasure the magazines and pass them onto my grandchildren. So here comes the fun bit - I’ll let you know if my sons comment on this particular paragraph next month! My guess is that they don’t read it and the magazine goes straight in the bin. But I do hope that some of you are reading my stories and enjoying them. Anyone? Anyone at all? And on that family-in-crisis cliffhanger, I hope you enjoy November, folks. Brace yourselves for December, and I’m already looking forward to Christmas with a beautiful set of gleaming white teeth, courtesy of Index Medical in Krakow - which is the reason why I am travelling to Poland. Take care and be nice to one another. TTFN, Deaks. Email: gmdeakin@gmail.com Instagram: gmdeakin The Edge 077 646 797 44
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CASH ON THE TYNE I have always had a bit of a soft spot for Newcastle United, which probably stems from the Keegan era and the exciting brand of football they played back then. That and the fact that Newcastle is by far the best night out in the entire UK. Both the club and the fans have suffered for a number of years under the ownership of Mike Ashley and I certainly do not begrudge them having new owners, although I do wonder if this is the best move for English football. They will certainly shake things up in the transfer market and now have the financial resources to blow pretty much anyone else out of the water, but this is a different era to when the billionaires rocked up at the likes of Chelsea and Manchester City. Almost all Premier League clubs have billionaire owners these days and there is an abundance of talent available throughout the world of football to ensure that the league remains competitive regardless of how much money is chucked at it. The days of taking an average club, throwing lots of cash into a bottomless pot and delivering almost instant success (a la Blackburn Rovers) appear to be gone. This will certainly drive up transfer fees and weekly wages even
more and will probably lead to an abundance of young talent joining after just one good season, only to play in the reserves and swap decent playing careers for bags full of swag. The gap between the Premier League and the rest of the football league will widen further and games will be moved to times that are more suitable for audiences in the Far East. We have already seen one attempt at a breakaway league and I think this is almost inevitable in the near future. More concerning to me is that I could see the beautiful game becoming a franchise with Premier or European games played all over the world.
night concerned) and set an alarm to get up and watch the fight for 04:30am. And I am so pleased that I choose that option, because I got to witness one of the greatest pugilistic contests of my generation, whereas my poor mate...
Which would be a sad end to the game I have loved since I was a child. Whilst the standard of football may have increased significantly, the cost will ultimately be not being able to go to a game and enjoy a pint and a burger with your dad or your mates, simply because it won’t kick-off until midnight for TV, or even perhaps played in Saudi Arabia.
Fury had Wilder in trouble, but then walked onto a short-right as Wilder knocked him to the canvas. Wilder then piled on the pressure and knocked Fury down for a second time and at that point he was in with a real chance of causing an upset.
FISTS OF FURY A friend of mine ordered the recent heavyweight boxing match between Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder, only to fall asleep during the build-up, whereas I was far more sensible. I went to bed at a reasonable time (on the Saturday
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Fury is incredible and will rightly be regarded as one of the all-time greats. I just hope that the politics involved in boxing doesn’t prevent him from being able to unify the division. Whilst he may be deserving, no one wants to see Fury fight Whyte, nor do they want to see Joshua fight Usyk again. Everyone wants to see a fight where all of the belts are on the line and that is Fury v Usyk.
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However, Fury really is something special and seems to be made out of whatever the old Nokia 3210’s were made out of, because he appears almost indestructible. Wilder is arguably the biggest puncher in the history of boxing, but even his power couldn’t keep Fury at bay. In fact, I think it just motivated Tyson all the more.
4 rounds can only be described as a ‘right beating’. Fury is a proper fighter and completely out-boxed Wilder. On the TV, in real time, it all looks a bit slow and heavy, but when you see the shots from the ringside footage, you appreciate just how much power these guys have and just how much punishment Wilder took.
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It was a thrilling fight with both Fury and Wilder showing tremendous heart. Wilder seemed to have a plan in this third and final meeting between the two men, coming out and jabbing well to the body. But then, as Mike Tyson once famously said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face” and that is exactly what happened.
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ONLY JOKING! HORSE SHIT
How come it’s acceptable for horses to shit in the street and not me? After all, I pay my Council Tax. Horses don’t.
THE GIRLFRIEND The girlfriend accused me of cheating. I remonstrated, "Jesus Christ, woman, you’re beginning to sound like my wife.”
SLEEP I generally sleep with my arm hanging out of bed and the wardrobe door slightly ajar, but the monsters still won’t come out to play with me.
THE SOLDIER It was late, he could tell, because it was dark outside. The soldier had finally regained consciousness. He appeared to be in a hospital, in a serious amount of pain. He looked about. He was probably in an ICU. He had tubes in his mouth and looking down he could see needles and IV drips in both of his arms, wires stuck on his body all over the place, running to a whole host of machines, whirring and bleeping close by. But he could remember nothing of how he had come to be there. A gorgeous nurse hovering over him, fussing with his dressings. He realised that he must be in quite a serious situation. The nurse gave him a worried look, penetrating his eyes with her own, then spoke very slowly and clearly, enunciating each word and every syllable... "You may not feel anything from the waist down.” The words came extremely hard to the soldier, but he managed to croak, "Just your tits then?”
DEFINITION OF A MUSICIAN Someone who puts £5grands worth of kit into a £500 van to drive 100 miles for a fifty quid gig.
SING-A-LONG “If you’re happy and you know it, it’s your meds.”
TWO MINDS I’m in two minds about genetically modified food. I mean, this leg of salmon tastes absolutely wonderful
LOAF OF BREAD I was in Tesco the other day when the wife suddenly braked the trolley and said somewhat delightedly, “Oh look, they’ve named a loaf of bread after you.” Only when I read it, it said: ‘Thick Cut’. Then again, she is dyslexic.
DOGGING Now that the police have started handing out fines to those they catch during nocturnal al fresco activities, I’ve put all of my dogging gear up for grabs on eBay. I’ve not had any firm bids yet, but 12 people are watching.
ABRACADABRA! My wife used to work as a magician’s assistant and she picked up a few tricks. For instance, I came home from work early the other day and as I walked into the bedroom, she said: "Abracadabra!" With that, my best mate walked out of the wardrobe stark bollock naked. It’s really amazing what she can do, though I have to say, Dave looked a bit confused.
INTEGRITY “No. No way. One thing I will never compromise upon is my integrity. [Pause] Having said that, just out of interest, how much exactly are we talking about?”
DON’T WORRY If you see me talking to myself, don’t worry. I’m self employed, so I’ll probably be having a staff meeting.
TRY Try? Nah. You can forget all about ‘try’. Just get someone else to do it.
PARANOIA So I rang the Paranoia hot-line and the woman who answered sounded really flustered and demanded: "How the f ck did you get this * number?”
OUT OF MY WAY Some people think I go out of my way to p ss * them off. But trust me, it isn’t out of my way.
PREDATOR So I had a word with the Predator (yes, that’s him, the one in the movie) and he says he’s sorry.
Q&A
DRUGS Cop: "Step out of the car, please, sir.” Me: "Oki doki.” Cop: "You got any drugs on you?” Me: "What? No. No way.” Cop: "Well how about the car?” Me: "Well, it honestly wouldn’t surprise me, as it has been acting kinda weird lately.”
ON THE BUSES I saw a woman on the bus today, with her tits out, feeding her baby. "Stop staring!” my wife said to me. “It’s perfectly normal.” Normal? She was feeding it crisps.
KELP TABLETS So I’ve been on the kelp tablets for a while now and I woke up this morning and honestly, I felt like a 21 year old. Shame the wife’s pushing 50, but there we go.
UGLY WIFE I entered t’missus in an ‘Ugly Wife’ competition and duly sent her mugshot in. But they swiftly wrote back saying, “No professionals. This competition is only open to budding amateurs.”
STOP Stop being bothered when people unfollow you on the likes of Facecock and Twatter. It simply means you are a terrible human being.
SELF DEFENCE I had my first French Self Defence class yesterday. Jeez, I’ve never had to run so hard in all my life.
CUTLERY DRAWER Me: "I think I’ll get a spoon from the cutlery drawer.” Potato Masher: "The hell you will.”
EYESIGHT So I asked the Doc, "Does masturbation really affect your eyesight?” He said, "You’re in Halfords, mate.”
ANGRY WOMAN Behind every angry woman there’s a bloke who hasn’t the faintest clue what he’s done wrong.
MY CHINESE MATE My Chinese mate said, "I’ve just opened a crows shop.” I said, "John, you know I love your accent, mate. But it’s clothes shop.” "No, stoopid,” he says. "Come in and have a rook.”
US v LIFE Me: "Yay, I’m finally happy with life.” Life: "Whoa. Hang on a minute...”
Q. Favourite sexual position? A. I’m just happy to be there.
SHY I’ll admit it, I was shy. We were on holiday and it was the first time me and my new girlfriend had ever showered together. She coyly smiled and said, "Relax. Just do what you normally do in the shower.” So I had a p ss.
*
MISTAKES Told t’missus she should embrace her mistakes. So she came over and gave me a hug.
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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of the first two classic movies), just so the script writers can make way for a more capable female lead. Added to this, there now seems to be a trend to really stick it to the so called patriarchy. By hitting them where it hurts; right between the knackers. In the Disney Plus Marvel spin off series Loki, the once powerful god of mischief, who took on the Avengers almost single handedly, is reduced to second fiddle by stronger and more capable female Loki. And to learn his place, in one scene, weaker male Loki continually receives a knee in the nutsack by a strong female until he understands the error of his ways. In the Amazon Prime action film Jolt, strong female with anger management issues Lindy, played by Kate Beckinsale, punches and kicks her way past hordes of nefarious men, mostly by delivering a swift kick in the family jewels to put those pesky males in their place. To ram the point home, she even ties one guy up and electrocutes his testicles. In current comic book blockbuster Shang-Chi, our titular hero, who it is established early on has received martial arts training from two of the greatest martial artists in the world, ends up fighting his sister, who in her own words “was not allowed to train and so just watched from the side-lines, willing herself to become a better fighter”. Well, I think you can guess who wins that one, and yes, the hero in the title of his own film is on the receiving end of yet another whack to the gonads before he becomes background to the much ‘more capable’ woman around him. You may think that, as a man, I have no right to comment on this. After all, am I not part of the problem, part of the so-called patriarchy that must be torn down and ‘educated’? A man who fears ‘strong women’ and feels intimidated by this new wave of female empowerment? Well, you can think that, but Hollywood needs to stop vilifying men and turning women into impossibly powerful figures of perfection that neither girls nor boys can relate to. In the real world, we cannot go through life and achieve great things just because a script says we can. We all have to learn, have to train and have to face adversity. And men don’t need to be kicked in the nuts, put down, deconstructed and vilified. They are, after all, our fathers, our partners and our sons. Would you want to see them the way Hollywood currently portrays them? My hope is that at some point this madness will end and we can go back to having inspiring female leads in action films that aren’t preaching overly zealous intersectional feminism, whilst also having our male heroes back too, please. He-Man is dead. Luke Skywalker is dead. John Connor is dead. And now (spoiler alert) James Bond is dead. As a recent father to a son, I wonder what examples of male heroes he will have left to aspire to?
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He-Man is dead, writes Andrew Eley. Yes, that most manly of 80’s action figure heroes has finally shuffled off its mortal coil. In the recently released Netflix animated series, a direct follow on from the now 36 year old cartoon based on the massively poplar Hasbro toy line, He-Man was killed off in the first episode to make way for Teela, his long time female friend, to step into the hero’s role. However, this isn’t the Teela from the 80’s version, all curves and revealing outfit (giving young 80’s boys one of their first crushes along with She-Ra). No, this Teela is built like He-Man, with muscles bigger than Dolph Lund-gren. So make way for the new breed of hero. The impossibly strong and independent woman, who needs no training, no trial through adversity and certainly no man to show her how to be a ‘hashtag’ girl boss. Boys, it seems, are no longer allowed to have male heroes. Blame the metoo/times up movement, but this has been the upward trend for several years and it seems it is only going to get worse. As a long time movie fan, I have enjoyed many great films with strong female leads. Warriors who overcame insurmountable odds, taking charge to be the hero. Classic examples would be Ripley from the Aliens films, Sarah Connor from the Terminator franchise, Beatrix Kiddo taking on the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill, Nancy besting Freddy Krueger. And more recently, that most iconic of female heroes, Wonder Woman, powering her way through the front line of World War One. All these women have the same hero’s journey. They have to train. They have to fight through adversity. Sometimes they lose, getting hurt, but learning. And importantly they don’t see their male counterparts as people to put-down, ridicule or ignore. They work alongside them, bringing them into their adventure, and standing by them when they need to. But now, in this new wave, not only must our female heroes be better, stronger and more capable then men in every way; the old male heroes from the past must be de-constructed and replaced. Preferably killed. Take, for example, the most recent Star Wars trilogy. In the original films, Luke Skywalker had to train to become a Jedi and tasted defeat several times on the way. Not so his replacement, Rey Skywalker. No training needed here. She never loses a fight and can easily beat absolutely anyone put in front of her. Luke Skywalker is then reduced to being a cranky old recluse, drinking alien titty milk on an isolated planet, before being, well, killed off. In the most recent Terminator film, Terminator: Dark Fate, John Connor, who would grow up to become the leader of the resistance against Skynet, is killed off in the opening few minutes (completely undermining the whole
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Last month the breaking news was that men’s suits were no longer going to be sold at many of Marks and Spencer’s stores and the underlying message was that the demise of the men’s suit was now complete. Which is a shame really, as the M&S men’s evening suit has long been seen as one of the most accessible and smartest forms of nocturnal attire for men - not chosen simply by the ordinary guy, but also by many fashion influencers, such as GQ magazine. However, let’s all remember that the suit, as a fashion staple for men, has only been around for approximately one hundred years. Originally denoted as a lounge suit, it was only considered suitable apparel for men to wear at the weekends, in the country, or on holiday. Whereas the more formal morning coat and striped trousers were the order of the day for men who had to wear smart formal clothing at work. The lounge suit morphed into the everyday suit, as we know it, sometime after the end of the First World War and over successive years, the suit has become an essential item in every man’s wardrobe, so much so that ‘when in doubt, wear a suit’ is the order of the day. But look what’s happened to it over the years? Firstly it was deemed too informal for business wear, then it became a formal piece of attire. Waistcoats were added, then dropped. Suits could be single or double-breasted, depending on the fashion or the availability of cloth. The beauty of the suit is that every man looks good in one. It can be formal, with a waistcoat, shirt and tie, or informal, with an appropriate open neck shirt, or totally intimidating with a crisp white shirt. You can further dress up a suit with a pocket handkerchief and highly polished shoes, or dress down by going sockless with loafers and a t-shirt. A well-tailored suit gives the wearer confidence and a sense of both purpose and power, with the underlying message being ‘you can take on the world in a good suit’! That last bastion of sharply suited money makers in the city have gradually moved on to informality, firstly with the introduction of ‘Dress Down Friday’ and more latterly as a result of the pandemic forcing ‘working from home’, with the emphasis on comfort over style. Who, nowadays, goes to see a formally dressed bank manager? You don’t. They’re all ‘advisors’ these days. Long gone are the days when bank managers dressed in a morning coat like Captain Mainwaring - oh yes, they really used to. What’s more, it really wasn’t all that long ago. The disappearance of the suit, as a form of professional dress, has similarly been seen in the medical profession with the introduction of the ‘bare
below the elbows policy’ and the Covid 19 pandemic resulting in the universal use of scrubs by medical staff. A suit itself is merely an item of clothing in which the jacket and trousers are made from an identical piece of material, so nowadays does it really matter if the two items of clothing differ in colour and material, as long as they’re comfortable and smart? So is the suit dead, or has it merely evolved?
Some of you may have noticed, but globally, things are unravelling on a massive scale since the fall of Afghanistan. Old alliances, such as NATO, are showing significant fractures and many people have been questioning the role of NATO itself, ever since the breakup of the Warsaw Pact Alliance in 1991. NATO did not cover itself in glory during the Balkan Wars in the 1990’s and certainly failed in the 20-year Afghan conflict. Whilst NATO is not part of the EU, the European Union would like to subsume NATO into a ‘European Defence Force’, but this will not happen whilst the UK, US, Canada and Turkey remain significant partners. Now it looks as if this 70-year-old alliance may start to fall apart. Firstly, the UK, US and Canada have shifted their intelligence gathering focus away from Europe, having formed the ‘Five Eyes’ together with Australia and New Zealand - with Japan about to join to counter the growing threat from Russia and China. More recently, these nations announced the AUKUS defence pact (which, like NATO, I’m sure will grow in size) with the specific aim of yes countering Chinese and Russian military growth (isn’t it always?). Old alliances will always change and shift, but as we continue to distance ourselves from our neighbours in Europe and refocus our partnerships, the likelihood is that it will all cost us lots of money and no doubt take our politician’s eyes off what is more important - such as rebuilding the economy, supporting our health and social care services, and even more pressing, coping with the effects of climate change.
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Felicitations once more from the west coast. Then, to make things even worse for the UK, we went and elected Johnson at more or less the same time that the US said it had had enough of incompetent populists and would quite like an adult in charge, please.
So how’s Brexit going then? Have we taken back control and arrived at the Sunlit Uplands yet? Are all these petrol queues, empty supermarket shelves, unharvested vegetables, sacrificed porkers and lack of NHS nurses worth it? There’s a strong argument that the need to call in the army to do commercial jobs is the very definition of having lost control.
There’s a personal aspect to this too. The contempt that Biden and Harris have for Johnson himself is no secret. The phrase ‘shape shifting creep’ gets a regular airing.
OK, that was just a dig, because this column was a fierce proponent of Remain back in 2016 and the temptation to say ‘told you so’ is huge. To compound it, having decided we were leaving, putting the complicated implementation of the Brexit vote in the charge of an unqualified incompetent liar was never going to end well. He’s good at vacuous three word slogans and a bit of ra-ra jingoism, but actually getting stuff done?
When Johnson was in Washington last month, he wasn’t even afforded the usual courtesy of a press conference with the President. In the small scale photo op they did sitting in the White House, one man looked a proper grown up statesman, the other slumped in his chair like a naughty schoolboy that had just been caught in the toilets with a well used copy of Tits‘n’Bums. Biden sent Johnson home with a resounding “Free Trade Agreement? In your dreams, Fatso” ringing in his ears. If that wasn’t the final nail in the coffin of any remaining British ideas about a Special Relationship, it’s hard to figure what would be.
But, as they say, we are where we are. We’ll resist the temptation to expand beyond those few sentences and instead this month focus on something that comes up from time to time and is as specious as rocking horse shit, Spurs’ domination of the Premier League and the Donald Trump Diet. It’s kinda linked though. We’re going to look at the so called Special Relationship between the UK and the US. Now, this phrase was first uttered by Winston Churchill and Harry Truman 75 years ago. But it’s been untrue for at least the last 60 of those years, which means most, if not all, of our lifetimes. There are various reasons and as this column stands astride the Atlantic with a foot in both countries, let’s explore without prejudice. The Special Relationship started when the US helped the UK financially during and after WW2. And of course, when the US did deign to join the party, their million odd military men didn’t do any harm to the war effort either. In addition there was a shared commitment to democratic government in a time when authoritarianism seemed to be popular. Then came Vietnam. To his everlasting credit, Harold Wilson would not allow the UK to be dragged into that disaster and from then on special wasn’t very special at all. Lukewarm would be a better description. And even that is flattering to the UK. Sure, prime ministers have always tried to maintain the myth, and some US presidents have also played the game at a superficial level. But be under no illusions - the UK likes to think of itself as the US’s best buddy, but that’s not how it looks on this side of the ocean. Here there are only two national lobbies that have serious clout. The Irish and the Israeli. British? Not so much. Yes, there’s an audience for the Royal Family, but only as a kind of Disneyland attraction. Here in California there are more people of Hispanic origin than any other ethnicity. Do they have a long and storied history with the UK? Of course not. So why
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
The NY Times and Washington Post barely acknowledged the British Prime Minister had been here. Global Britain? More like Irrelevant Britain, sadly. So a couple of questions arise. Where does all this leave the Special Relationship? Extinct, would be the appropriate word. would they care more about the UK than France, Spain or a hundred other countries? The Special Relationship card is only a thing that various US presidents have used over the years whenever they want something. Give us some cover to invade Iraq/Afghanistan/Iraq again - sure, the UK is happy to do what it’s told and follow. If things are the other way round take the Falklands for example - well, the US says we’ll hold your beer, but otherwise the fight’s all yours. A kind of abusive one way relationship, no? And just to reinforce the decline in this marriage of convenience, the last five years has seen the dregs of the Special Relationship wither away to such an extent the phrase itself is meaningless, bordering on ridiculous. Two things have happened to finally bury it six feet under. Firstly, until 2016 the US saw the UK as a useful pipeline into the powerhouse of the EU. We spoke the same language, had many cultural similarities and the UK was a big fish in the EU pond. But like many other things that were just about working OK, the Brexit vote screwed all that. Look at it from the US point of view. The EU is 445 million people, the UK just 60m. Where does all the influence reside? Here’s a clue - it ain’t London any more.
And what does that mean for the UK? Well, let’s try to put a positive spin on the fall from grace. If, and it’s a very big if, all this humiliation, turmoil and general crapness does at last filter through to the general population, maybe, just maybe, the country can finally get to reconcile its place in the world. In the 21st century, along with many other countries, Britain is a perfectly fine mid-table team. And this isn’t ‘talking the country down’ or that other trope ‘hating the country’, it’s a simple statement of fact. The UK is no longer a military power. Neither is it a manufacturing power. We’ve even surrendered the City of London’s dominance over the financial markets in Europe. So mid-table is where we are and will remain. We are Spurs and Arsenal. Delusions of greatness, but actually just another team with a good history, but not much to brag about these days. And as any fan of those two clubs will tell you, life becomes a lot more tolerable, happy even, when you allow yourself to accept it. Support the team/country, but understand there’s no Champions League win on the horizon. And on that….. Anon, Chelmsford.
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S
o how do you feel now that the traffic light system has been scrapped? Well, as someone who runs a travel company, it feels like Christmas has come early this year. Things in the travel industry are by no means back to normal just yet, but at least it is something we can work with, whether you, our customers, have been vaccinated or not. So now that travel is back on the cards, let’s start thinking about where to go in 2022. For instance, when I think of the Greek Islands, it makes me think of the past and all of those Greek Gods and Goddesses, and how enchanting the beaches and towns always are. Corfu, Mykonos, Zante and Crete have so very many resort options with charming characteristics to suit all tastes, as well as Santorini for those who want to simply indulge. Oh, and do I need to mention just how incredibly delicious the food is out there? The fresh bread, succulent grilled meats, olives, not to mention freshly caught seabass. Bodrum is an up-and-coming destination in Turkey, but I’d say it is definitely up to the task. The Lux resort is an absolute dream. Everything is white and sleek and simply beautiful in a tucked away cove. But of course, there are so many places to visit, such as Fethiye, Oludeniz and Dalaman, which are all family friendly. The thing about Turkey is that you know you can truly enjoy the atmosphere, food, music, and company of the friendly local people. There is so very much to do in Thailand. The best way to start off is in Bangkok, which is such a vibrant city where you can enjoy a street food tour on a Vespa, pretty much like the locals. You could then perhaps head over to Elephant Hills and their luxury tented lodge, set amongst the elephants, which of course you get to interact with and feed. Or, for the more adventurous traveller, how about a canoe trip up Khao Sok river, or maybe take a jungle trek. And your last stop would no doubt be a beach, with Thailand offering such a wonderful selection of beachfront hotels. If you’d rather be jammin’ you can head over to the Caribbean islands where there is so much to do, or so little to do, whatever your preference. You can catch the island vibe by visiting Jamaica, Antigua, Barbados and The Bahamas, which are the firm favourites, although let us not forget the famous pitons in St Lucia. And right now could not be more of a perfect time to head out there, whilst the weather is lush right up until May, so it’s definitely somewhere to consider for 2022. Here’s what to expect. Millions of people can now travel, so prices will inevitably go up, while availability will be low, due to travel being in such high demand. That said, I really would recommend that you book early so you can pay the most favourable prices. Get your hands on all the amazing offers out there as destinations are all competing against each other. And if you are seriously thinking about booking a holiday, I will be kicking off Black Friday early this month with some fantastic deals for 2022/23. What’s more, I can make the booking process incredibly easy for you by using the TC app where you can instantly view and interact with me during the quoting stage. Once you are totally happy with the option, we can then discuss a deposit and flexible payment plan, and you can then click onto the accept button to book. After an initial payment has been made you will then receive your itinerary, ATOL certificate and other necessary travel documents. And here’s some exciting news for all of you honeymooners. I will be exhibiting at the biggest Wedding Show in Essex at the Chelmsford Racecourse Stadium on the weekend of 13th-14th November. So why not come meet your personal local travel agent to discuss some ideas on destinations and some tailor-made experiences for your honeymoon in order to make it picture perfect. I love to build up close relationships that can give a much more individualised touch, such as hand delivered tickets, holiday gift baskets and simply those little extra touches that make all the difference. Planning a holiday can be stressful, so I make myself flexible and am available on chat, email, video call, or even in person for a coffee, whichever you are most comfortable with. So if you are looking for a hassle-free, personalised travel service, simply contact Tola at your convenience.
ANDREW ELEY
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While most people were glad to see the back of last year, 2021 has, so far, most definitely been my personal ‘annus horribilis’. So going to the cinema and having that time away from reality has definitely helped me get though a particularly challenging few months. And what better escapism than to see the latest Bond film? The days of Plenty 0’Toole, Pussy Galore and Holly Goodhead may be long behind us; but fast cars, over the top action, beautiful woman, classic Bond quips and a globe trotting adventure is still what we expect. After a near two year delay, I was both exited and apprehensive about seeing Daniel Craig’s final outing as Bond play out on the big screen. So with a couple of friends (one who was also struggling with his own personal circumstances) we headed off to the local multiplex to lose ourselves for over two hours in the world of the British super spy. I think it would be fair to say that the Daniel Craig era of Bond films exists as it’s own quintology. Previous 007 films have only had the most tenuous of connections, but these films are the first to have an overarching story across multiple movies. Which means if you haven’t seen them all, some plot points will be lost on you. I really enjoyed the first in this series, Casino Royale, but, like most people, pretty much hated Quantum of Solace. Skyfall was good, yet Spectre was a bit of a slog. So where does that leave the final installment? I’ll admit I had my doubts before stepping into the darkness. The film had already suffered delays even before the pandemic due to creative differences on set, with director Danny Boyle abandoning ship early on. Re-shoots took place and Phoebe Waller-Bridge was hired to help adjust the script for ‘modern audiences’. So the trailer landed and once again it looked as though another popular male character was going to be upstaged by his ‘stronger’ female counterparts, particular by a new 007. But thankfully, this final film alleviated all of my fears (until the ending, but we’ll get to that) with some of the most eye-rolling scenes from the trailer thankfully dropped during editing, the film-makers perhaps realising they weren’t being very
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well received. So what we thankfully get is a fitting tribute to the end of Daniel Craig's tenure in the role, a loving homage to ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’, and a complete mess of a film all at the same time. ‘No Time To Die’ is truly a movie you need to see on the big screen. It has some of the best action scenes in not just Bond films, but of any released in years. The film looks beautiful, with wonderful cinematography and confident direction, while the action scene in a forest is a true sight to behold. The score by Hans Zimmer is one of the best of any Bond movies, paying homage to films of the past whilst adding a layer of his trademark intensity to the proceedings. Daniel Craig’s Bond is the most humanised version of the spy we have ever had, being both efficiently ruthless and showing vulnerability. I said this was a tribute to ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’, the first film to really show Bond feeling loss after the death of his wife, and so too we feel Bond's struggle in this one, as he contemplates what he has lost and given up on during his service to queen and county. It’s just a shame then that despite all the good wok, it nearly unravels due to such a poor story that, at almost 3 hours long, is overly convoluted and often makes very little sense. What’s more, it doesn’t help that the villain, played by Oscar winner Rami Malek, is one of the weakest of any Bond movie to date, with little back story or motivation behind his actions. Taken as a whole though, ‘No Time To Die’ is a fun ride and probably worth the delay. However, talking of endings, I do take issue with the finale of this one. So if you haven’t seen it, and don’t want to know what happens, stop reading now! To bring a close to the Daniel Craig era, the producers decide to kill Bond off. Yes, 007 is ‘brown bread’, with no room for a switch-a-roo escape to take place. To me, this is completely unnecessary. As I said earlier, there has only been the most tenuous link between films, and Bond has been re-booted several times before. But he has never been killed off. Retired, yes. His license to kill revoked, yes. But killed? I fail to see what this gains because inevitably Bond will be back in some form or other. I just hope that this wasn’t a statement to sacrifice yet another male action icon upon the altar of modernity to make way for…well...I guess only time will tell. Auric Goldfinger may have famously said, “I expect you to die, Mr Bond”. But we, the audience, certainly do not.
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I Just Can’t Help Myself
KiNGPiN
So, one thing I’ve learned over the past few weeks is that unless I start living like the Unabomber in a little shack, avoiding the news is virtually impossible. Even if I didn’t catch a glimpse of a headline banner somewhere, or hear a snippet on the radio, I’d hear second-hand information from friends and colleagues, and what I was hearing made me think that now probably isn’t the best time to play the ostrich. First up is, of course, the energy crisis. Yes, Covid is obviously a factor, but it’s not the only reason this is happening, particularly in the case of the UK. Indeed, the UK have known and were repeatedly warned 15 years ago that we were heading towards an energy crisis, and in the best tradition of the feckless wastrels we continually vote in to ‘lead’ us, they did absolutely bugger all about it. The plan was to scale back on coal and ramp up renewables and nuclear. OK, so we did ramp up renewables, which is great, but they’re simply not reliable enough to power the entire country, so whether you like it or not, if we want selfsufficiency for our power and want that power to be relatively ‘clean’, we need nuclear. So, what did we do? Our government, at the time, decided that any new nuclear power stations would have to finance themselves and receive no government assistance or subsidies. Which might sound reasonable at first glance. After all, why should the tax-payer help fund these plants just to pay more money to buy the electricity they produce, right?
The problem is that asking private companies to finance a nuclear power station has never been done in the history of ever, because anyone with a working brain knows that it’s so ruinously expensive to build the things that it will never get done, which is precisely what has happened. To make matters worse, in the next two years Britain’s last two coal plants and more than half of our existing reactors will be shut down. Even as the government bray about making our cars and public transport all electric we’re about to lose another 15% of our current power generating capabilities. So, where does that leave us? It leaves us a country merrily irritating our closest neighbours and allies needing to import even more power. It leaves us even more reliant on Russian gas, so it’s a good job Vladimir Putin is a generous and reasonable man and not a power-hungry megalomaniac, isn’t it? Then again, most of the current government are on Uncle Vlad’s payroll anyway, so maybe it’ll all work out.
The Tip Of A Nasty Iceberg While we’re having fun panic buying fuel and making shocked faces at our latest gas bills, it’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. Our economies and our entire way of life is predicated on energy being both always available and affordable, which for the foreseeable future at least just won’t be the case. When everything you do requires energy and when everything you do is interlinked, then you no longer have the luxury of a single problem in a single place, and a single problem or delay quickly snowballs into an avalanche of headaches. Over the last few decades everything has
The Kingmeister reports
been cut back to the bone in the name of efficiency and increased profits for rich people. ‘Just in time’ manufacturing methods are unarguably efficient, but now we’re seeing how fragile they are. We’ve removed any redundancy and resilience in our economic systems and now we’re reaping that whirlwind of efficiency. At some point this was always going to happen, and getting back to ‘normal’, if we ever do, is
going to take a long time. So don’t expect any of these problems to be ironed out any time soon. Both the capitalist oligarchies, sorry, ‘democracies’ of the West and the People’s Republic of China have spent decades building an enormously profitable house of cards, and Covid came along and started knocking it down. In the context of the UK, it would be remiss of me not to mention Brexit, and by remiss I mean I can’t pass up on yet another chance to illustrate how monumentally stupid it is, and how monumentally stupid anyone who voted for it is too. The UK has gone full ‘Spinal Tap’ and any shortages and issues being felt in other parts of the world have been dialled up to 11 over here. I almost feel a sense of pity for the lackwits who still think Brexit was a good idea. The mental gymnastics you people have to go through must be exhausting. Let me see if I can make the current Brexit situation a little easier to understand. The shortage crisis isn’t happening, but at the same time it is and it’s exactly what we wanted from Brexit. But don’t forget, Brexit isn’t causing us any issues. Any issues we do have are being caused by businesses who were told to stop fear mongering because things like this would never happen, but they are happening and that’s what we wanted, even though they’re not happening and
it’s all part of the plan, the plan we didn’t need because nothing bad would happen, and it definitely isn’t, even though it is. Oh, and remember: we were always at war with Eastasia. So there you go. That’s Brexit explained. Next month I’ll sort the Good Friday agreement and Northern Ireland Protocol out.
So, What’s The Good News? I guess that depends on your perspective and your own situation. The labour crisis is fantastic in as much as we’ve paid too many people a pittance to do shitty jobs for far too long, and it turns out that furloughing these people has given them time to reflect and decide that they don’t want to do those shitty jobs for a pittance anymore. Of course, while it’s great that employers are finally being forced to increase the rate of pay for some of these jobs, the flipside of that coin is that we’ll be paying for it, as those costs will get passed on to us. God forbid the almighty profit margin is affected in any way. As well as shortages of labour and energy, we’re seeing more reports coming out of shortages of raw materials as well. So, we don’t have the materials, the people, or enough energy to build half as much of the useless crap as we usually do, and that’s got to be a good thing. The bottom line is that we absolutely have to reshape our economies and our way of life. Capitalism and consumerism is built on infinite growth, which is impossible with finite resources. We all know it, but we’ve happily ignored it, because buying stuff we don’t need was far too much fun, and if you don’t own enough stuff, you’re just not a success and nobody will let you do the sex thing with them. Maybe these interlinked crises will force us into simplifying our lives a bit? Maybe being forced not to consume as much will open our eyes to the fact that we just don’t need so much stuff? And I don’t want to hear: “But the economy!” Of course, any fundamental change is going to be destructive, but it absolutely, positively has to happen sooner rather than later and, let’s be honest, it’s going to crash again anyway. The economy never recovered from 2008, we just printed enough money to keep it lurching along. It’s a can we’ve kicked down the road for decades and we all know that road is running out. I’m not saying the world is going to go full on Mad Max in the next couple of decades, but I do think we’re going to see more problems, that a lot of people’s lives are going to get incrementally harder from a mixture of economic and climate issues. If we do see societal or ecological collapse, it won’t be big budget Hollywood drama, it will be a thing of degrees, of waking up in 20 years time and wondering when everything turned into a shithouse, then arguing about whose fault it was. At this point I honestly don’t think it can be avoided any more and the best we can do is prepare for it as best we can. Maybe admitting it’s inevitable and shifting the narrative from avoidance to mitigation and preparation is what we need? We all knew the party had to end sometime, so maybe we need to admit that focusing our efforts on ensuring our grandchildren don’t have to clean up too much of the metaphorical puke and used johnnies for us is really the best we can do?
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
PARROT CAN’T STOP TELLING OWNER TO F@CK OFF IN A NORTHERN ACCENT
The Edge November(1427) 2021/11/08 17:43:09
A northern parrot is winning a legion of fans who can’t get enough of its foul-mouthed tirades. Scooby, the lippy African Grey, loves nothing better than telling its owner, Lorraine Gregory, to ‘f@ck right off’. It even does it when she gets home from her gruelling shifts at the hospital she works at in Middlesborough. So Lorraine (58) decided to put Scooby’s antics to far greater use by cheering up her frontline NHS colleagues during the pandemic. She said: “Scooby’s a lot like a human. As soon as I put my coat on to go out, he says, ‘Bye, Lorraine’. “I acquired him six months ago after his previous owner died. But at first he would only say ‘hello’ and cough, as though he had a chest infection.” Despite her parrot’s often borderline choice of words, Lorraine says she wouldn’t change him for the world. “He spends a lot of time with my mum, due to me working long hours, so when I get home, he’s often swearing away and chatting to her. “He’s obviously picked up the ‘F’ word from somewhere, but it definitely wasn’t from me! “Sure, he’s foul-mouthed. But he’s also very intelligent. He’s such an amazing boy and we love him very much indeed, despite the fact he’s always telling us to go ‘f@ck ourselves’, the little rascal.” Lorraine has also filmed Scooby hilariously shouting: ‘Let me f@cking out!’ in his dulcet northern twang. And when Lorraine asks him if he is going to be a ‘good boy’, you can no doubt guess what his reply is. He even looks at the floor of his cage and complains: ‘Look at the f@cking mess in here!’ But when all’s said and done, Scooby and Lorraine are like two peas in a pod and her NHS colleagues love her parrot too. Scooby does have his sweeter side though, upon occasion. “He sometimes tells me he ‘loves me’,” says Lorraine, “and he often says ‘give us a kiss’.” Lorraine adds: “I have worked at the James Cook Hospital in Middlesborough throughout the pandemic and it’s been tough. Really tough. “Our ward was a Covid ward and I often shared my videos of Scooby with my colleagues and it really cheered them up at the end of a bad day. “When I get home from a shift at 5:00am, Scooby never fails to make me smile. And despite our constant arguments about him being let out of his cage, I wouldn’t be without him. Nor him me, I don’t think. “He’s so rude, but really, I wouldn’t have Scooby any other way.”
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shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus THE RETURN
Fast forward some 44 years later. The Autumn of 2021. Like many, I have been working from home for over one-and-a-half years. I have been into London just five times during that period. But the call has finally come. I have been summoned back to the office. I am on first name terms with the various Hermes and Amazon delivery drivers that seemingly call to our house on a daily basis. My daughters have assisted in edging the various vampire squid owners of online shopping empires onto their next vanity project, sending Captain Kirk into orbit for real, or finding the Lost City of Atlantis, as is their zillionaire want this particular week. Sadly, I have also been on first name terms with the fridges and elastic waisted tracksuit bottoms. I get up at the last possible minute in order to get to Chelmsford station to catch the last possible train to get me into London just in time, and not a moment sooner. I didn’t wash my hair, that’s for damn sure. Nor was I served a cooked breakfast at home before my arduous journey. Furthermore, there was no suit (sadly, I might add). Instead there was a jacket and - horror of horrors - a pair of jeans. Back in 1977, the only jeans seen in the city would be hanging off the backside of somebody digging up the road. The train arrived at Liverpool Street and I strolled down the platform listening to some music on my wireless headphones. That once dirty concourse is now a car-free covered shopping experience. I can even pick up an organic bacon sandwich, or a ‘non-bacon’ bacon sandwich from a veggie place. And, for good measure, an organic cotton t-shirt, if I want to. All before work. I made my way over to Moorgate to arrive at the office via the coffee shop at an exceedingly appropriately close to starting time. It almost felt like my very first day all over again. I look old. Varifocal glasses required. I am bald. I am fat. I am tired. The real connection over those four decades-plus is this. Just like that excited young man on his very first day, this tired old man happened to share some of that real anxiety about walking through those office doors all over again. Of course, it was fine, after the first uncomfortably strange hour. And just like that first day of 44 years ago, there was always a very high chance the day would end in an ale house of some description, with colleagues. Although I’m definitely going to need a tad more cash this time around. Yours aye,
The Edge November(1427) 2021/11/08 17:43:09
It is July 1977. The sun is shining and it’s 7.30am. I am a 16-year-old lad, fresh out of school just a few months earlier, and I’m getting ready for my very first day at work. Aside from a ton of attitude and chutzpah, I am also fully loaded with a couple of average CSE’s. Of course, at that point, I am totally unaware that I would be 50 years of age before completing my education with a BSC Hons from the OU. But back to that morning. The start time for my new job in the Commodity Markets was 9.30am, otherwise known as ‘Gentleman’s Hours’ way back then. To err on the side of caution, Mum had me up at 7.00am sharp and fed me a full fried breakfast. Then came the prep. Shower and shave yes, there is a third one, but I’ll leave that unmentioned. Of course, the shave was mainly for show at that tender stage of my life, but it made me feel as though I was ‘going to work’ like a proper man. However, the real task was my hair. Twitter ye not, as oh yes indeed, it was still a major factor in my life at that point. Unfortunately, I started losing it very early on, but not that early. Not at 16! My pre-joining letter informed me there were strict dress codes and that included hair length. It was even mentioned during my interview, as the interviewer eyed my flowing, luxurious mane. Of course, the trick to getting longish hair cut to the regulation collar length was based on the footballer and the 70’s glam pop star curl-under. This meant arduous work with Mum’s roller brush and the hair dryer, or even having rollers in the bottom for a while. This curled the hair under and took a couple of inches ‘off’ if you were lucky and did it properly. It also got your hair to touch your collar. Only do remember that standard collars back in 1977 were what you would call the ‘Harry Hill type’ these days. Thus judicious amounts of hair lacquer were required to fix one’s barnet into place. Then came the suit. Ah yes, the bottle green suit with the wide lapels, and I do mean wide, with flares to match. In fact, when I got to work on my very first day, one of the old established brokers nicknamed Pickwick, due to his enormous mutton chop sideburns, looked at my lapels with disdain and announced: “He looks like a talent spotter for the London Palladium”. Not forgetting the shirt and tie. Now my tie had a knot in it so big that it meant that the remainder of the tie was only about 4 inches long. Good job we all wore waistcoats, so as to hide such a fashion disaster. I leave home and walk round the corner to catch the 246a from Harold Hill to Harold Wood station. Butterflies are now waking up and the attitude is being overtaken by a certain amount of naked fear. The bus duly arrives that gets me on the train for just after 8am. The journey took a mere 22minutes on a semi-fast train, and yes, that did happen back in the day, on dear old fashioned British Rail. The train stops outside Liverpool Street station for what seemed like an eternity. Panic immediately set in at the merest thought of being late on my very first day. So I re-read the Daily Mirror in order to try and calm my nerves, only doubling the amount of ink on my sweaty fingers, which increased the possibility of smearing some of it onto my face. Oh yes, younger readers, magazines and ’papers back then were truly messy affairs, what with black ink all over your hands. It wasn’t uncommon to see people with big black smudges on their faces in the morning as everybody used to read a ’paper on the train. Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street and I rush off the platform, only to realise that it is still only 8.35ish. Now there is ‘being keen’ and there is ‘turning up an hour early’ and I certainly didn’t want to do the
latter. So I opted to sit on a bench and watch the world scurry by in the morass that is a central London train station during rush hour. I seem to recall Liverpool Street also had taxis running straight through the middle of it back then, for extra added excitement. I eventually made my way over to Mark Lane to arrive at an appropriately early time to start my first day at work. I look good. No glasses required. I am hairy. I am slim. But most of all, I am keen.
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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month, along with with the electric car owners, laughing ourselves silly.
TOTALLY TRACIE Is anyone still out there? Has this not been the craziest month ever? First we had the petrol fiasco where the UK completely lost the plot, then food shortages where the supermarkets filled the shelves with cans of Lynx Africa in the hope that someone would at last buy that rubbish. Then Cadbury’s announced a shortage of Quality Street for Christmas. And oh, that little important thing that got lost in the news....aliens have at last made contact with us. Yep, they left us a ‘voicemail’. I once saw a UFO. Oh yes I did, I kid you not, hand on heart. I was 15 years old and I can still picture it today. It hovered around, darting back and forth. I was on Hackney Marshes late at night with a boy called Barry Lake, in his orange Capri Ghia, complete with a furry steering wheel cover. It also had wind down windows in the front, while the back ones sort of popped out, but only by an inch or so. Oh the kids of today don’t know the struggles we all went through. Anyway, Barry, bless him, did have an electric aerial which made him the ‘top boy’ to date. Because until the invention of the electric aerial you literally had to put your own car aerial up, but woe betide if you forgot to put it back down again, because some Herbert would always snap it off and you’d be forced to drive around forever more with a metal coat hanger poking out the hole in an effort to get any music at all on the crackly radio, along with the brown envelope scrawled with “tax in the post” sellotaped on the inside of the windscreen. We also lost our minds last month when Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp went down for a few hours. I had businesses calling me up screaming to get them put back online. So there’s me, being a renowned social media whiz and all that. I felt so smug because I have been talking up the merits of TikTok for the past 20 months - that is where the smart money is. Businesses are making a fortune on that particular platform. The ‘side hustle’, as they call it. The smart set have already left the Zuckerberg building. Meanwhile, us TikTokers were out there last
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So back to the story of sweaty Barry and I on Hackney Marshes being buzzed by aliens. I guess you would kind of call it ‘Alien Dogging’. I think they were trying to discover what we were doing in a tango colored car late at night in almost freezing temperatures. The windows were all steamed up as he had taken out the thermostat/heater to stop the car overheating, as everyone did back then. I got so scared about having a ‘Close Encounter’ that I jumped out and ran all the way home. So looking back, I have the Alien’s to thank for me not getting into trouble that night and my modesty being preserved. I saw Barry on Facebook a few years ago and all I can say is I owe those aliens so very much! I have always kind of believed in aliens though, and I do have a soft spot for them. Scientists have this week discovered a ‘Mystery Repeating Signal’ suddenly coming from outer space aimed at us. They are frantically trying to decode it, but it is unlike any kind of sound wave we have on earth. Who put it there and what is it trying to say to us? What would it be like if we made contact with aliens? Would they be friendly, or would they take one look at us fighting for loo roll, queuing for petrol, and worrying frantically about a shortage of turkeys and think ‘sod being twinned with them - they’re all stark raving bonkers’.
Something like that, at any rate. It’s weird, innit, how Leeds United supremo Marcelo Bielsa has a penchant for squatting (as well as always addressing the floor during his translated interviews). The Edge has never seen anything quite like him before. Ever.
When we used to talk of scientists, we thought of mad men in white coats, yet all of a sudden it is sexy to be a scientist. Neil Ferguson of Sage has a calm approach, whereas Chris Whitty (who is far from witty) looks like he actually is an alien. And then there’s Boris with his mad hair and Michael Gove, who looks like Joe 90. I wonder what the aliens will think when they ask to meet our ‘leaders’? Meanwhile, we’ve got young Greta flying all over the place in a Jumbo Jet, preaching climate change. I do believe she will give up all of this nonsense once she discovers boys. Oh and not forgetting Richard Branson joyriding into space for a bit of a jolly up, dumping more fuel on the planet than all of us put together. He's the reason there was a shortage last month - he bloody used the lot. Goodness knows how that man finds time to run a business. If he’s not riding trains, he’s jumping out of hot air balloons. And what about poor old 90 year old William Shatner going up into space. It’s like an episode of ‘Cocoon’. I think one look at us and the aliens will cut off all communication pretty damn quickly. We’ve got absolutely nothing to offer them but a hoard of left over Orange Creams festering at the bottom of the sweet tin that no one will ever eat, even if they’re starving. So there you have it - a mad month in a totally mad, mad world.
tracie123@aol.com
No wonder they call him Thomas ‘Dumbo’ Frank. Great start by Brentford though. The Edge is chuffed they’re finally in the top flight, after coming so close to promotion in 2020, unfortunately pipped by Fulham.
Sorry, would you mind repeating that for me again, Daniel? Slowly. The Edge 01245 348256
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shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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The Edge November(1427) 2021/11/08 17:43:09
Why not refurb your existing conservatory?