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EDGE
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26/03/2010
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festival knickers n. The undergarmentry effected by young ladies at open air pop concerts, ie. none.
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The Edge is now reaching people electronically (in a ‘shock therapeutic’ kind of way) all over the world with each monthly copy appearing directly on people’s computer screens whether they happen to live in Clacton, Cefelonia or California - isn’t technology wonderful? But hey, we still need more email addresses in order to build up our database. Which is where you lot come in, readers. Most of us own a computer and use email, yes? OK, so all The Edge is asking you to do is supply us with a list of your family and friend’s email addresses so that we can forward onto them a copy of The Edge every month. Once they receive it, if they don’t approve, fine, all they’ve got to do is unsubscribe. But at least let’s give ’em the option. And come on, who wouldn’t want to receive an electronic copy of The Edge? People who’ve got a ‘Chelmsford connection’ (maybe they once read an article about Chelmsford and were absolutely fascinated by the place?) live all over the world, and these days technology allows us the opportunity to reach them effortlessly.
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So readers, let’s be receiving your email contact lists sharpish (and you may as well include your own email address by chance you ever have a problem getting your hands on a hard copy). Send your lists to the editor directly: shaun@theedgemag.co.uk For instance, what about your Uncle Horace in Pontefract? He’d like a copy, wouldn’t he? And what about your old neighbours who’ve since moved to Austria? Then there’s The Chan’s who you used to see at origami classes who went back to live in China and who’re no doubt missing their monthly ‘drivel fix’, so you ought to include them on your list too. And for Christ’s sake, don’t forget the Scarborough Fat Lasses Choir who popped into Chelmsford Methodist Church for a bit of a sing-a-long back in 1982. Your lists should be possibly endless, readers, so don’t delay, send ’em in today. Yes, that’s right, readers, drop whatever it is you’re doing and send your lists in to The Edge right now......please!
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/electronic to comment.
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powerwank n. a brisk, efficient tug slotted into a busy work schedule. try it - it (apparently) works every time.) wasn’t feeling good about it. Something just wasn’t The wine tasting would then be followed by a trip to an right. (Ang would say: “Yeah, you not being in control area called St. Christopher’s Place in Marylebone that of any given situation is what you don’t like.”) I’d never even heard of, let alone been to. We arrived at an incredibly nondescript place set in a So, ALL OF A SUDDEN (if you’re keeping up), we’re row, much the same as a terraced house is up north, not doing what I’d suggested we do at all. Instead, our poncily called ‘The Providores’. What the **** is that jolly little day out has suddenly been railroaded and all about (and no, I can’t even be bothered to look it turned into a day ALL ABOUT ANG! up). Now I was definitely unsettled. So.......I made a note on a pad with one of those The bitches immediately began looking at the food IKEA-type pencils they gave us at Vinopolis that the menu whilst I went to the (separate) beverages menu tip of the tongue indicates sweet, the middle salt, and this is what pissed me off entirely: the cheapest acidity the sides, and bitterness the back. But did that bottle of wine was £22. Now I don’t care whether you stand me in good stead whilst I was quaffing back call me tight, a skinflint, whatever. Take your pick. But small thimblefuls of wine? Did it buggery. they buy their wine in, they take the lid off (and these I buy wine from Tesco and Sainsburys. I buy red wine days that’s often means merely unscrewing it) and OK, so I’ve got my very own colon/column back, and that’s either 14% or 14.5% (I always reckon I’ve had ‘a then they add, what, 400% / 500% MARK-UP? thank Christ for that. right result’ whenever I find a bottle of the latter). I pay I wasn’t very happy. Nor did I even look at the food What I want to write about this month is a trip up to between £4.99 and £5.99 a bottle. I buy wine from menu (thank God I’d had that banger-in-a-bap). London with ‘The Edge Bitches’ (they don’t have to South Africa and Australia (and sometimes New I just sat there, miserable, grumpy, with an overpriced answer to that, ’course they don’t, but they DO....so Zealand). And that’s it. That’s what I do. HALF of some bottled New Zealand ale costing £3.50. any of you who’ve got a problem with me referring to Do I have any knowledge of wine? None whatsoever. Oh, I detest places like ‘The Providores’. them as ‘bitches’ needs to take it up with them and not Do I like drinking wine? Yes, by the bottle (preferably Only then Ang had a right old go at me, after we’d left, me, OK?). without sharing a single drop). so’s not to create a scene in the poncy place. Now then, first of all, there’s probably a lot of blokes So it was somewhat frustrating, after visiting Vinopolis, “You’re bloody SELFISH, you are,” she said, and out there thinking, ‘What, just the three of you? Bloody to still not know anything about wine - but I guess I proper waded into me. “I love food like you love your heck-us-like, I wouldn’t let my wife/partner/sister/mothspent 12 years at school and have only two ‘O’ levels beer and your wine and your cider, yet you couldn’t er have a day out with a strange bloke like yourself.’ to show for it, so they can’t all have been crap even sit back and let me enjoy it, could you?” And that’s fair enough, because I’m not asking you to. teachers, can they? Jesus wept, the bitches ended up paying fifty-two quid Fact is, we three get along just fine, so we really don’t What I mean is, maybe it’s the student? Maybe it’s me for a shared snack and some poxy little carafe of red think anything of it. that’s at fault? wine that I’ve just this minute turned to page 35 to find Moving on - “If we’re going up to London,” said I, “I When we left Vinopolis, it was rather chilly out (I was out cost them £17.30 for half-a-bleedin’ bottle. only know Borough Market and Greenwich Market, fine, but then I’d dressed accordingly for the tail end of S’truth! followed by The Gipsy Moth at Greenwich.” February). The bitches, on the other hand, say n’more. Naturally, I apologised for my ‘northern behaviour’, but “Good enough,” said the bitches. But I knew we were then going to this ’ere St. Christwhat gets me is that Ang comes from even further Job done. Or so I thought. opher’s Place place, so I made sure I stuffed a special north than I do, yet she thought it was “reasonable”. Nearer the time, Ang emails me and Wends saying Borough Market hot sausage in a bap down my neck Naturally we’re all still mates, but the bottom line is: she received a couple of tickets to visit Vinopolis with onions just in case.... we should have stuck to what I wanted to do! (some wine tasting place at Borough Market) as a Marylebone is not too far off Oxford Street (I didn’t Isn’t it just GREAT to be in CONTROL? Christmas present and how about we go there know that either and was less than impressed to be THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD instead, seeing as how she’d already managed to blag vacating the tube at New bloody Bond Street, in the 01245 348256 another ticket for FREE out of them by saying she very heart of twatdom). We walked the rest of the way shaun@theedgemag.co.uk “worked for The Edge”. (Honest readers, you should (Ang definitely had ‘a destination’ in mind) and I just Page 4
The Edge Editor’s Column
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Heinz jacuzzi n. The luxurious, self-indulgent pleasure to be had in the bath after consuming a tin of Heinz Baked Beans.
Still Going Strong The Edge is just glad he hasn’t croaked! Why, if all you mums out there don’t know it, this is Glenn Campbell and he’s appearing at the Cliffs Pavilion in Southend on Sunday 2nd May. Oh come on, readers....you must remember him singing the all time classic Wichita Lineman? Let’s sing it together right now. Here we go... “I am a lineman for the county, and I drive the main road, searchin’ in the sun for another overload. I can hear you through the wires, I can hear you through the whine, and the Wichita Lineman is still on the line...” Oh, this is just great! It’s like you’re all in the room with me, belting it out. Come on, let’s carry on. I want to, and, after all, this publication is all G. Campbell Esq.
about me (see page 20), so here we go with the second and final verse... “I know I need a small vacation, but it don’t look like rain, and if it snows that stretch down south will never stand the strain. And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time, and the Wichita lineman....” Nostalgia, or what? And he seems to be wearing quite well too, so you mums might still want to throw your knickers at him when he’s up on that stage? And what about his other all time classic Right Strong Cowboy (Rhinestone Cowboy)... “I’ve been walkin’ these streets so long, singin’ the same old song, I know every crack in these dirty sidewalks of Broadway. Where hustle’s the name of the game, and nice guys get washed away like the snow and the rain...” Ahhhhh, they don’t write ’em like that any more. I’ve even got a tear in me eye at this end, readers. Hope you have too, sob!
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nightclub bouncers n. Pair of burly knockers exposed to the public on Friday and Saturday nights.
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Aren’t these ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT? The Edge’s sincere thanks go out to regular reader Alan Fisher for sharing these with us all because usually, when ‘something funny’ has just started ‘doing the rounds’, a few people end up sending me the very same thing. But not this time. Just you, Alan. Shucks!
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/deadflyart to comment.
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12:20
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Wallace rhym. slang. To vomit. From Wallace & Gromit. “Oh look, he’s Wallaced all over the new carpet.”
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y husband's rarely shocked by anything I do, except when I recently hid behind the bedroom door in the dark, knowing he was dead tired and about to hit the sack. When I leapt out and made him scream like a girl, he thought I was an immature cow, whereas I thought I was hysterically funny. Oh come on, I'd proved that there was nothing wrong with his middleaged heart, despite the stress he tells me it's under every day. My proof lay in the fact that I could still hear it thumping like a boy-racer's woofer an hour after I'd returned to the sofa and my glass of Merlot. "I could have had a heart attack and died!" he snapped the following day. I reassured him he hadn't and that if he'd gone into cardiac arrest, he'd be hand-signing insults at me from an NHS bed, rather than whining at me over a plate of bacon and potato waffles. In case you feel sorry for him, this is the same man who recently locked me out of the house, in subzero temperatures, when I'd popped out to the freezer (it’s in the garden), wearing nothing more than a dressing gown and a grimace. He'd also opened the back curtains so I could see him waving, as he lay in his boxers, cuddling the dog in front of a roaring fire. When I shouted that the News of the World would make a huge bestial story out of that cosy picture, he opened the door quicker than a jackpot Lottery winner spotting a Camelot rep. I unwittingly gave him a follow-up heart murmur later in the month when I asked him if he fancied a woodland burial plot next to mine, and if he would organise some bagpipes for me. "Do you have a particular date and tune in mind?" he asked nervously, "or is this all down to PMS?" The answer was yes. PMS was definitely to blame; as in Potential Morgue Syndrome. Like any middle-aged kid waiting to grow up, I blame my parents for everything. The only people who like to talk about illness and death are Daily Mail readers and anyone who gets discounted cinema tickets and free bus rides. The Grim Reaper's got an inexhaustible army of PR pensioners out there and you can't be fooled by their Barley Sugar breath, because this slip-on shoe brigade make Max Clifford look like an amateur. They carry around a press pack of permanently retired names and they're determined you get to know all of them. Until recently, I've always felt a bit smug
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regarding the 'depressing parent' front, because mine are divorced and have remained youthful in body and mind and never whiff of rising damp, which proves that divorce at the right time in life can have major long-term benefits. Sadly, I'm no longer cosseted against coffin conversations since my Dad rang me to tell me about a death in the distant family. This is unheard of behaviour and completely unforgivable. Usually, he only likes to talk about four legs that he can bet on or two legs that remind him of the stallion he once was. It turns out that this deceased in-law loved double malt by the barrel, so they'd bonded over a few (barrels, that is) on many occasions. "He certainly won't need embalming," my Dad chuckled with typical drinkers' respect, "and he made it to ninety-eight." Few men along my Dad's bloodline ever live beyond their mid-fifties, so the 'Death' word is never mentioned in our immediate family; the remaining menfolk have now reached their sixties, so it's completely taboo in case it prompts the arrival of a pale man waving a scythe. I knew though, as he told me news of Mr. Malt, that my independent, eccentric old man had joined the Reapers Rotary Club and things would never be the same again. Before he rang off, he casually slipped in that he'd been reading a book about reincarnation and as a result had decided to change his will and I wasn't getting anything. He was leaving it all to himself. I'm hoping it's the Bells bottle at work here, not the genes, or I'm royally screwed. Seeing as I found I was now a property down on the inheritance front, and I know my Mum's into reincarnation and ghosts, I gave her a quick call to keep in her financial good books. She wasn't interested in morose Mr. Malt stories because she's only interested in Pinot and Golf Club gossip. However, she did slip in that she was adamant that if I ever let her leave this world looking more like Enid Sharples than Sophia Loren, then I would need an exorcist on permanent speed dial. Given that nobody will 'see' her, apart from me, I told her that I could make her look like Coco the Clown and she'd be none the wiser. "Over my dead body you will..." Yep, that's where I’ll be, I reminded her, but I wouldn't abuse the privilege because she's always set high standards for herself and she has no intention of letting them slip. I love her for that, and for trusting me to see it through. So, for once in my life, I promised to do exactly as I've been told. I did admit that it was the least I could do, given that she's leaving me her house. That's when she threatened to be the longest living person in the history of mankind and seeing as she never trusts me to do anything right, I'm sure she'll make it happen. Anyway, I'm off to hide behind the bedroom door again to cheer myself up...
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farty winks n. A flatulent and refreshing nap usually taken on Sunday afternoons in order to let ones guts settle after a heavy lunch.
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April Fool’s Day Totally pointless, All Fool’s Day is rumoured to have began in the sixteenth century in France (hmmmm, no doubt a bit like a supposed sixteenth century chest I once bought from a small antiques boutique in Camden Market, appropriately named We Saw You Coming) with the reform of the calender under Chas IX. Apparently, New Year’s Day was moved from 25th March - 1st April (New Year’s Week) to 1st January. Communications travelled slowly in those days (what, like they received their daily mail in the afternoons like ‘Edge Towers’ does today?) and some people were only informed of the change several years later (wow, that slow, huh?). Others, who were more rebellious, refused to acknowledge the change and continued to celebrate on the final day (1st April) of the former one week knees-up period. Naturally, these people were labelled ‘fools’ (as in: “This boy’s a fool!” Eric Morcombe) by the general populace, were subject to ridicule and sent on ‘fool errands’, sent invitations to nonexistent parties and had other practical jokes played upon them. The butts of these pranks became known as a ‘poisson d’avril’ or ‘April fish’, due to the fact that a young naive fish is easily caught (Christ, this is sounding as though it might all be true). In addition, one common practice was to hook a paper fish onto the back of someone as a joke, similar to the way in which schoolkids of today will often tape the word TWAT onto the back of one of their oblivious colleagues as a sign of comradeship and joviality. Such harassment evolved over time and a custom of prank-playing continued on 1st April thereafter. Such a tradition eventually spread to the likes of England and Scotland and was introduced to the American colonies by both the English and the Frogs. In Scotland, April Fool’s Day is devoted to spoofs involving the buttocks and as such is referred to as Taily Day, while in Rome it is recognised as the Festival of Hilaria (Roman Laughing Day). In Portugal, many people throw flour at their friends whilst in India (Huli Festival) people play jokes on each other and smear colours on one another to celebrate the arrival of Spring. Y’know, that Indian one/that last one The Edge can kinda go with.... celebrating the arrival of Spring and good riddance to surely the worst three months of the calender. So yes, we should celebrate 1st April and it should be one helluva party. However, that would surely put paid to the annual New Year’s Eve celebrations....the beginning of those dratted miserable three months.
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dipping a worm in a bucket of glue v. Engaging in unsatisfying sexual congress. The last hot dog in the tin.
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Sexual addiction - myth or plain old excuse? group of girls, and there she’d be, always dressed There has been so much in the press about up to the nines (or rather undressed to the nines) celebs having a sex addiction, but does such a and always with a man in tow. Abbie was/is really thing actually exist? So far, we seem to have had attractive, has a good figure, good job, and, more many high profile men waving their wands in importantly, is married with a couple of kids. distraction about having such a devastating When I asked her about her own set of circumproblem which has ‘ruined their lives’. Hmmmm? stances, she described her life as being completeMost recently, Tiger Woods has confessed to the ly out of control. She just didn't feel good about world, but there have been many others, including herself unless she was getting attention and then Michael Douglas pre-Catherine Zeta-Jones (and sex with a ‘new’ man. Her husband knew about why ever would you with her about the place?). At her addiction and tried to understand (God help the time, Douglas was playing numerous 'sexually him), but was getting sick of her constantly arrivdriven' characters in his movies, ing home in the early hours and but is that simply a blame thing for having her blame it all on ‘sexual him 'liking the ladies', or did he addiction’. really believe the roles he played On one occasion, he found her in fuelled a sex addiction? their car, in their driveway, totally I don't. Julie Andrews didn’t have a naked with a nameless nobody. sudden compulsion to be a nun She was devastated and her conand move to Austria after filming dition did eventually wreck her The Sound of Music, did she? marriage. Only then did she I have researched this subject and decide to get some professional there’s a list as long as your arm help to salvage what little dignity of celebs who’ve supposedly she had left. During her hedonistic suffered from this affliction. Most period she raked up huge debts, ‘addicts’ were accused by their lost most of her friends, and her wives after they’d put up with business began to collapse, simply writes Cheryl Green due to the fact that she was so pre years of their philandering. However, the most famous of all occupied with her very next ‘kill’. philanderers and named ‘Shagger of the Year,’ All of her spare time was spent either internet three years in a row by The Sun is undoubtedly stalking, going out looking for, or maintaining, a Russell Brand. current affair. She spent thousands of euros on According to the scriptures of his Bookie Wook, plastic surgery and her life began to spiral out of at the height of his addiction, Russell reckoned he control. had ten 'regular girlfriends' that he would rotate, Her (three times a week) therapist made up a on top of which he managed to fit in numerous 'Danger List' of what had seemingly triggered her one night stands. He then goes on to explain that shaggathons (her words), so in future there had to this was ‘normal for him’ and that he felt ‘out of be no more internet chatrooms or drinking after control’ whenever such wasn't his routine. 8pm. Of course, he eventually ended up in a re-hab I asked Abbie if she really thought she suffered centre to cure him of his demons. But what does from sexual addiction, or was she simply disillure-hab actually do? The idea is to cure the sioned with her life/her husband? Did she like the inmates of their constant feeling of men finding her attractive so much so sexual desires which are that she actually became addicted to it? rarely satisfied despite I said: "Abbie, you are the crop-top queen and the numerous sexual encounamount of plastic surgery you've put your poor ters, partners, and the use body through screams you need attention." To her of internet sex sites. credit, she immediately put her hands up and Apparently, said sexual admitted that the attention was the start of it, behaviour becomes danfollowed by the snogging outside of bars, then the gerous whenever the risks affairs, before the whole thing culminated in her are increased e.g. being need to find a man to simply get the sex over and married, having unprotectdone with and out of the way. ed sex, having sex in a Fortunately, today, my friend Abbie is debt free public place, dressing up and still married, although every day does seem provocatively. Well, I've as though it’s always a bit of a struggle not to seen a lot of these behavreturn to her bad old ways. iours around 2.00am on a Personally, I think addiction is an over-used word Friday night in most cities for an avoidance of bad feelings. The techie term I've visited, but does that is ‘desensitising feelings of low worth’, but the make everyone who’s out problem I have with that theory is I see very little 'on the pull' a sex addict? evidence of low self esteem/worth amongst the The so-called treatment celebrities claiming to be sex addicts. for such is intense psyMy humble opinion would be that certain chotherapy, followed by men/women crave sex and an awful lot of attengroup support, before tion. When they get found out, they are all too willyou’re finally allowed out ing to simply cry sex addiction. What’s more, there on your own again. There are lots of non-celebs who seriously believe they are numerous groups out have got an addiction to sex too. I trawled through there, such as the SAA, some on-line blogs and there was some seriously SLAA, and the 12 Steps pornographic and altogether sad stuff to read. group, but I still wasn’t I also found an on-line med doc quiz where the convinced, so I decided to questions were quite graphic and ranged from email a friend of mine in whether you masturbated every day, partook in Holland who once ’phone sex and/or extra-marital affairs, and felt the received treatment for need to rape. Barring that last one, the rest I have Sexual Addiction. What’s all heard from the unguarded lips of friends on more - shock, horror more than a few occasions after they’ve downed a she’s a woman! Well, I am few drinks. sick of reading about men And just in case anything in this article has struck having all the problems, a nerve with any of you, I also checked and there so I thought it’d be interisn't a specialist sex addiction clinic in Essex....yet! esting to hear what my The closest is seemingly Warwickshire. Unless, of friend Abbie had to say. course, you live in the USA where there are We used to all go out as a positively hundreds.
Go to theedgemag.co.uk/sexualaddiction to comment.
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feel like Andy Warhol looks, to v. To feel none too chipper the morning after.
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BRILLIANT!
You’ve heard about this Min-Kyu Choi (no, it is not a fish, or dish number 37 down at your local Chinese restaurant) bloke by now, surely, readers? He recently won the British Design Award 2010 for his interpretation of a British Standard 3-pin plug and The Edge thinks it’s absolutely outstanding. 1. It folds flat (ingenious, or what?) 2. Twist two pins 90 degrees to form lower two pins 3. Yoicks away - drop the plastic flaps 4. Hey Presto! Choi (30) became frustrated every time he packed away his ‘Mac Book Air’ (the world’s thinnest (‘supermodel’?) laptop) because the plug attached to its lead was the bulkiest part about it....whereas his new creation is but 0.4” thick, as compared to the 4.6” bulk of a British Standard plug. The Edge thinks that for stuff you’re continually plugging and unplugging and shifting and carrying it’s an absolute bloody revelation. The modest young designer now plans to launch his range later on this year, so it’s going to be interesting to see just how widely available and how widely used his plugs become - although this publication confidently predicts massive. “Thought-through, responsive and modest, the folding plug shows just how intelligent, elegant and inventive design can make a difference to everyone’s life,” says judging panel chairman Antony Gormley. “Thanks, Choi. You can sit back and put your feet up now,” says The Edge.
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Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/brilliantplug to comment.
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badger the witness v. To wank during a recess in court.
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David Sherman’s
ALL NEW BEVERAGE REPORT
Pick the best ... Pontlands Park
Sunday Carvery r
From F rom now now un until til th thee eend nd of A April pril ...
Adult Main Adult Main nC Course ourse only onlly £9.5 £9.50 50 FREE RE EE aand nd C Child’s hild’s M Main ain C Course ourse iiss FR Every E ver y S Sunday unday P Pontlands on ntlands P Park ark offe offers rs a w wide ide ch choice oiice of quality with thee tr trimmings qua lityy roast roast jjoints ointss sserved er ved w ith aall ll th immings aand nd a selection selection of seasonal season nall vegetables, vegetables, all all freshly freshly cooked cooked aand nd prepared prep pared on the the premises. premises. Available noon until Available ffrom rom 12 n oon un til 2.30 2 30 pm West W est H Hanningfield anningfield R Road, oad, G Gtt B Baddow, addow, C Chelmsford, helmsford, C CM2 M 8H M2 8HR R Telephone: T eleephone: 01245 476444 Em ail: sa lees@pontlandsparkhotel.co.uk Email: sales@pontlandsparkhotel.co.uk www.heritageleisure.co.uk w ww.heritageleisure.co.uk Terms T erms & Conditions Conditions apply apply
Knight Meats Ltd. Knight Meats are local suppliers of high quality meat, poultry, game and delicatessen products to the trade. Years of experience, together with well trained, highly motivated staff working in an excellent environment means that you get exactly what you want: consistency.....time after time after time.
Suppliers to: BARDA, BARN BRASSERIE (Great Tey), THE BLUE BRIDGE (Writtle), BLUE STRAWBERRY (Hatfield Peverel), BISTROTHEQUE (London), FLASH (Royal Academy of Arts, Burlington Gardens), GRAHAMS ON THE GREEN (Writtle), IVORY ROOMS (Billericay), THE LION (Boreham), MASONS RESTAURANTS etc. “Knight Meats play an integral part in the success of the restaurant and banqueting facilities within our hotel chain.” David Hart (Group Executive Head Chef, Elizabeth Hotels)
Unit 1, 29a Robjohns Road, Widford Industrial Estate, Chelmsford, CM1 3AG. Telephone: 01245 354167 Fax: 01245 354123 Email: knightmeatsltd@tiscali.co.uk www.knightmeats.com The Edge 01245 348256
OK, so it's not exactly in Brentwood, but it definitely is a brewery, so anyone who's more interested in their Satnav than their pint is probably called Billy No-Mates. Hidden away up a farm track out the back of North Weald and Coxtie Green, BBC was established in 2006 and has gone from strength to strength ever since. Dave Holmes and Roland Kannor were neighbours and drinking buddies back then (particularly in the White Horse, Coxtie Green) and decided that they could probably do as well as, if not better than, the efforts of several micro-breweries whose fares they had sampled. Sourcing equipment from Brendan Moore at Norfolk's Iceni Brewery, and subsequently having additional vessels made to order, our enterprising enthusiasts engaged in basic research for a few months before starting commercial production on 4th July 2006 (quite appropriate for an independent brewery). Dave and Roland's familiarity with a number of local publicans helped them establish a fledgling trade and a move to their current, larger remises in 2008 was followed by the engagement of head brewer Sophie de Ronde, followed by brewing consultant Nigel Sadler (whose book 'Notes on Brewing' is well worth a read for anyone interested in the science behind the drink). On the day of my visit, Nigel had been 'mashing' (that is, heating grain in water) for a brew of Spooky Moon, a brown session bitter with a sweet, malty balance, which in this case was destined for the Wetherspoon's estate. This has proved a lucrative market for BBC, as the chain takes nearly 500 gallons of their beer each week for distribution in London and the South-East. Another currently popular beer in 'Spoons and in the trade generally is Brentwood Gold, which successfully bridges the gap between golden ales and traditional pale ales. Heavily hopped with Cascade it may be, but there's the distinct malt character that's sadly lacking form far too many small-brewery products these days, which tend to be overly dried-out. Although very much based in the picturesque Essex countryside, BBC benefits from its position on the fringes of London. Rather than being a direct rival to the over-crowded East Anglian market, they have their own audience in the less-well supplied city fringes, where there are fewer local breweries. They are also in a better position to carry out cask-swapping and distribution deals with breweries on the South coast, such as Dark Star, who arrived for precisely this purpose during my interview with Nigel. As their reputation has grown, Brentwood have found themselves winning some notable awards, including a Gold and a Silver in the SIBA East Anglian competition, and nominations in CAMRA's awards for the same area. Particularly popular with SIBA judges were the strong bitter Lumberjack and Chockwork Orange, a powerful dark ale whose sweetness is lightened by the genuine presence of orange zest; not a session beer, perhaps, but a good finisher that will last the journey home. Brentwood have recently branched out into bottled beer, with packaging carried out at Wolf Brewery in Attleborough. Brentwood Gold, Hope and Glory and Clockwork Orange are the first examples of this, with Spooky Moon and Lumberjack to follow. The popular light-bodied golden ale Summer Virgin will also be bottled when it is next brewed. For the more adventurous home drinker, draught beer is available directly from the brewery, should you have a gathering in mind. The Gray & Sons estate is also supplied by the brewery, as are many local free houses. ELECTION UPDATE - Citizens of Chelmsford! Your general election candidate for Reduce Tax on Beer will be Ben Sherman (yes, we are!). Please support the British Beer and Brewing industry by giving him your vote.
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/shermanator to comment.
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humdinger n. A fart prodigious enough to make wallpaper peel.
Sheer Laziness
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If you recall, the weekend of 6th/7th March was the first truly glorious weekend we’ve had in 2010. Cold, yes, but such wonderful clear blue skies and so lovely and sunny to boot. We certainly weren’t going to look such a gift horse in the mouth and after ‘pottering’ in the garden on the Saturday (yep, I’ve reached the age where I now ‘potter’ - or in other words, ‘do whatever it is the good lady wife tells me to’), we wrapped up warm and saddled-up on the Sunday for our very first cycle of the year (destination: a country pub). To say it was a bit parky is an understatement, as cycling creates a lot more wind than merely walking does, but after spending so many successive weekends stuck indoors, it felt absolutely invigorating to be out, with the body tingling and our cheeks and toes bordering on numbness. However, what wasn’t so good was our chosen destination, which shall remain nameless, but obviously it’s a pub within an hour or so’s cycling distance from Chelmsford (and, like I say, in the country). For a start, the previous day had been equally as beautiful, yet the tables out the front of the pub, which were bathed in sunshine, were both covered in a thick layer of dust with an obscenity written on one of them. To be honest, I thought that was pretty damn poor to say the least. Secondly, it said on their menu that they did ‘hand-cut chips’. Somewhat excitedly, I enquired to make sure these were genuine home-cooked potatoes and not something they’d bought-in out of a freezer bag. No sooner had my spirits been lifted with a ‘thumbs-up’ sign from the barmaid and the dirty tables forgotten, my hopes were dashed when she informed me that they’d actually “run out of potatoes” (even though they were still serving jacket spuds). The Edge asks you, readers, is that any way to run a pub? Have they not heard of the 6 P’s? Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance. To The Edge’s eyes, it is absolutely inexcusable to have filthy tables, and these were either side of the front door (what the hell kind of a first impression is that?). And to not have sufficient ingredients so that they were unable to satisfy the menu they promote....Christ, the supermarkets are open from 10:00am on a Sunday, aren’t they? So what’s their bloody excuse? Whilst I’m on the subject of jacket spuds, a couple of them were priced near the eight quid mark. Are you sure? For a ‘stuffed potato’? Some things in life are down to sheer laziness and The Edge cannot abide it. If you’re going to run a pub and maintain the standards of how it once used to be, then get your bloody fingers out and book your frigging ideas up.
moreton • hutton • writtle
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/sheerlaziness to comment.
The Edge 077 646 797 44
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hot water bottle n. An unattractive woman taken into a bloke’s bed purely to keep it warm.
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THE BIG CHEESE Our neighbours have two cats which both seem lovely and cute, but one of them has taken to using our front garden as its own personal toilet, and nothing I do seems to stop it.
I realise I'm going to sound like a female version of So I set up this grumpy Victor contraption before Meldrew here, and sitting eagerly in there are plenty of wait of next door’s more pressing and cat’s arrival so that serious problems in I could witness the the world right now, effect first hand. although I swear to However, as is God, I've just about always the case, reached the end of their cat seems too my tether with this shy or too sly to damn cat. After ever approach weeks of stepping when we're out of my front door around. So for the to the incredibly next few weeks, I unpleasant smell of was under the illupoo, I've made it my sion that ‘The Big own personal misCheese’ seemed sion to do someto be working and I Cheryl Barry thing about it. felt my blood pressure slowly start to return to norI've tried cleaning up after the mal and even found myself able to pesky thing, but it just seems to stop ranting and foaming at the appreciate that all the more. I mouth and once again hold normal swear it grinned up at me as I conversations with people. caught it prowling around out there However, the problem with ‘The after one particular dumping Big Cheese’ is that it picks up on session. It infuriates me that it's all movement outside our front not my cat that's fouling all over door, be it the postman, the dustmy garden, so why should I be man, or even people walking past cleaning up after its mess? I've our house, so it was only a matter seriously considered the risk of of time before the batteries died looking like a complete mad and normal feline toilet habits once woman and approaching my again resumed. I honestly don't neighbours to ask them to deal think I have the patience, or the with it, but apparently cats are funds, to keep buying those big technically classed as wild batteries every couple of weeks. animals, so their owners cannot be held responsible for their ‘doings’. In the past, I've grown up with cats How (in)convenient. in the family and have never previously understood other people Of course, if this were a problem who have had such antagonistic with a dog, I would have the law view towards them, until now. And 100% on my side and could even it's not just me that this subject take legal action. But because seems to provoke such strength of there is no legislation for cats, we feelings in. Many people seem to (apparently) have to put up with it. either love cats, or hate them. Someone mentioned to me that cats don't like smelly or spicy foods, so my next step was to make up a special brew of chillies and lemon juice to sprinkle all over the place, but that, along with my liberal dusting of bleach, only proved effective until the very next downpour.
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lets off a high pitched noise which can only be heard by animals whenever it detects movement and sends the cat scuttling off for cover. And before you start writing in about animal cruelty, ‘The Big Cheese’ is perfectly harmless!
Searching for other remedies online brought me to Amazon who sell a wide range of cat deterrents that are way too weird for me to list here, but I must mention my favourite - Lion Poo. Apparently this scares the stupid cat into thinking that a lion is living on the premises and it will then (so it says on the tin) avoid the area like the plague. But after reading through various other reviews, I settled on ‘The Big Cheese’, a device that
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/lionpoo to comment.
A quick look around the internet shows a whole range of reasons for people not liking cats, whether it’s due to them killing off wildlife in the garden to them not having the same degree of affection and loyalty for us humans that dogs have. There's even a site dedicated to selling t-shirts with various logos and messages proclaiming how much people hate cats. But I'm not going to go that far. I already feel like I've gone half crazy just by choosing to devote my entire column to the subject. So instead, I'm going to have one last ditch attempt and go back to Amazon to try out the Lion Poo... and if that fails, I'll be concreting over the entire front garden. (Unless, of course, any of you readers have any tips?)
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away win n. An adulterous episode that happily goes undetected.
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THE GREEN M MAN AN HOWE STREET
EASTER BEER FESTIV FESTIVAL VA AL FAMILIES WELCOME WELCOME GOOD FRID FRIDAY: DAY: FOOD SER SERVED VED ALL D DAY, AY, BBAND AND BERLIN RITZ AATT 8.30PM SATURDAY: SERVED DAY, FROM 1PM EASTER SA ATURD T DAY: FOOD SER VED D ALL D AY, LIVE FOLK MUSIC FR OM 1P PM EASTER SUNDAY: 12-6PM, SUND DAY: CCARVERY ARVERY 12-6PM 12 6PM M BOOKING ESSENTIAL M, EASTER SUND SUNDAY: DAY: “FROM “FROM THE BASSMENT” BASSSMENT” & “STEALING SIGNS” AATT 7.30PM 7.30PM MOND DAY: HOG ROAST ROAST & LIVE L FOLK MUSIC FR OM 1PM EASTER MONDAY: FROM
Hannah's Big Heart for Little Havens Hannah Liddell, a sixth form student from Billericay, is putting her heart and soul into organising a fundraising ball for Little Havens which promises to be a night to remember. Hannah says, “I chose to raise funds for Little Havens because I am the eldest of 6 children and can't imagine what life would be like if anything happened to any of my brothers and sisters.” The event, which takes place at Stock Brook Country Club on Saturday 29th May, already has an exciting line up of magicians, comedians, live music and a spectacular auction. Danielle Kiss from Little Havens adds, “When Hannah approached us to say she wanted to organise an event, we were absolutely delighted. What we didn't realise was just how ambitious and totally dedicated to succeeding she is. Already she is well on her way to achieving, if not exceeding, her target of raising £10,000 for our charity.” Little Havens needs £2.3million every single year to continue offering respite and end-of-life care to children with life-limiting illnesses throughout Essex. Tickets are on sale now and available by contacting Hannah directly on 07977 613465 or Danielle on 07791 432752, priced at £60 each or £550 for a table of ten. (See overleaf)
FREE ENTRY ALL WEEKEN WEEKEND ND T: T: W: E:
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Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/elittlehavens to comment.
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The Edge 162:The Edge 162.qxd
Page 18 s with the long tradition of Irish jokes, some gags about the North exploit the notion that we're all a bit stupid. Take the following examples of some typical wisecracks at our expense:
A
Q. Why wasn't Jesus born in Yorkshire? A. Because God couldn't find three wise men and a virgin in Leeds. Q. How does a Geordie lass turn on the light after sex? A. She opens the car door. Q. How do you define 'confusion?' A. Father' Day in Liverpool Q. What do you call a 26-year-old lass in Blackpool? A. Grandma. Q. What do you say to a Northerner who holds down a job? A. Can I have fries with that, please. Q. What do you call a Scouser in a suit? A. The Accused.
The Greatest Northerners in History If you think Kerry Katona and the bloke who does the voiceover for Big Brother have been the North's biggest contributions to the world as we know it, then familiarise
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warthog whammies n. Fantastic chudleighs on a right ugly lass. Hefferlumps.
The Angst of Ang
yourself with these great Northern Monkeys John Lennon, Stan Laurel, The Venerable Bede, Guy Fawkes, Captain James Cook and L.S. Lowry to name but a few.
North v South Music Divide For over 5 decades the North has been producing the best music in the world - fact. But to help you Southerners decide once and for all whether the North really is better at music, here’s a completely fair and impartial comparison of musical highlights by the decade:SIXTIES - (North) The Beatles, Gerry and The Pacemakers, The Hollies, Herman's Hermits. (South) Des O'Connor, Cliff Richard, Adam Faith, Pinky & Perky. SEVENTIES - (North) Joy Division, Magazine, The Buzzcocks, Teardrop Explodes, Echo & The Bunnymen. (South) David Essex, The Wombles, The Wurzels, Benny Hill, Clive Dunn. EIGHTIES - The Smith's, Happy Mondays, Stone Roses, Human
League, New Order, ABC. (South) Chas & Dave, Anita Dobson, The Grange Hill Cast, Nick Berry. NINETIES - Oasis, Badly Drawn Boy, Doves, Shack, Pulp, The Verve. (South) Geri Halliwell, Mr. Blobby, Bob The Builder, Dane Bowers, Victoria Beckham, Mr C from The Shamen.
NOUGHTIES - (North) The Zutons, The Coral, Arctic Monkeys, Elbow, Kaiser Chiefs. (South) ‘H’ from Steps, Vanilla, Steve Brookstein, The Fast Food Rockers. Due to space restrictions, the following northern acts could not be included in the comparison: Simply Red, PJ and Duncan, Gareth Gates, Chris Waddle, Atomic Kitten, Robson Green, Rick Astley, Sonia, Mel B (and C), Black Lace, Ken Dodd, Cilla Black, Pete Waterman and St. Winifred's School Choir.
The Northern Telly Hall of Fame In the early days of television, the only way to see a Northerner on the TV was to turn it off and look at
your reflection. So here are a few Northern telly landmarks: Brookside, Coronation Street, Emmerdale, Z Cars, Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Life On Mars, Hollyoaks, Byker Grove, Auf Wiedersehen Pet, Ant & Dec, The Chuckle Brothers, Morecombe & Wise, Jimmy Saville, Daniel Craig, Peter Kay, Cilla Black, George Formby, The League of Gentlemen, The Wheeltappers & Shunters Social Club…
Northern Ginger Monkeys This is a subject close to the heart of our editor, because not only is he a ginga, but he's northern too! Thanks to the region's Viking ancestry, the North has a large G.P. (ginger population) and many of them, including Stan Laurel, Rick Astley, Chris Evans and the one and only ‘Northern Monkey’ of all time, ‘Cuddles’ from The Keith Harris Show, have managed successful showbiz careers. But the most notorious Northern ‘copper top’ is surely Simply Red singer Mick Hucknall, who didn't let his Manchester accent, hair colour, or resemblance to Charles Drake stop him from dating posh women. Yes, ‘Our Mick’ remains an inspiration to all unattractive northern men, including our very own editor! I AM NOT BLOODY GINGER & I take back EVERYTHING I said about you last month, bitch! E.E.
Do the Positive Thing...Recycle Your Batteries Chelmsford Borough Council is pleased to offer residents a new recycling service to collect used household batteries at a number of location points across the borough, reports Mark Smith of the Chelmsford Borough Council Recycling Team. Sharp eyed shoppers will have already spotted used battery collection boxes in Chelmsford High Street stores and locations where additional rolls of plastic collection sacks can be picked up. Please see www.chelmsford.gov.uk/batteryrecycling for a full list of locations in your parish.
Recycling batteries is important for a number of reasons. Batteries can contain chemicals such as lead, mercury or cadmium. When you dispose of them with your normal rubbish, most will end up in landfill where the chemicals they contain may leak into the ground. This can pollute the soil and water which causes harm to human and animal health. Recycling also recovers some of the materials used to make batteries and these can be used again to make other products and potentially to make new batteries. Recycling can also save some of the earth's natural resources and save on CO2 emissions by reducing the need to mine new materials. By introducing a household battery recycling service, the Council can help to address this problem. According to figures from Waste Online, the average household uses 21 batteries per year. Less than 2 per cent of these are currently recycled, which means 34 tonnes of general household batteries are sent to landfill every year in Chelmsford - the equivalent weight of about 5 double decker buses! Did you know... The top five items people use single-use batteries for are alarm clocks, remote controls, smoke alarms, torches and calculators. All of these batteries can be recycled in the battery collection boxes. If you do need to use batteries, why not use rechargeable batteries? They help to minimise the amount of waste created and is certainly the environmentally friendly way to go. New rechargeable batteries can be recharged hundreds of times to save you money and battery chargers have also improved; some can charge up to four AA batteries in under an hour! For further information on Chelmsford Borough Council's recycling service, please visit...
www.chelmsford.gov.uk/recycling, email recycling@chelmsford.gov.uk or call 01245 615800 The Edge 077 646 797 44
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/northernmonkey to comment.
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craptivating adj. Descriptive of something completely shit, yet strangely fascinating (eg. TV’s Naughtiest Blunders)
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It’s alright...it’s not how it looks.
CHELMSFORD’S ‘premier security solutions provider’
The World’s Greatest Steeplechase Once again it’s The Grand National on Saturday 10th April, a time of year when women get all tarted up....hang on a minute, that’s Ladies Day at Royal Ascott, isn’t it? Ah yes, the National, a time of year when idiot punters (people who don’t normally bet) part with a couple of quid in an office sweepstakes, just to keep from being labelled ‘tight’, ‘boring’ and ‘you make me sick, you do’. The gruelling Aintree course is almost two-and-a-quarter miles in length and has 16 unique fences, including the famous (shit yer pants) Bechers Brook. What’s more, Aintree’s famous ‘drop fences’ are lower on the landing side than they are on the take-off side, meaning approaching gee-gees are unaware of the drop until they are half-way over the fence (yikes). However, at The Chair (jumped only once, along with the water jump), the reverse occurs. The Chair is the biggest fence on the course with the landing side horribly being higher than the take-off side. During the National, horses have to complete almost two circuits of the famous Aintree course and jump over 30 fences before completing a 495 yard dash to the ‘Finnish line’, there to be greeted by a load of albinolooking Finns dressed in national costume (a most disturbing sight for horses and jockeys alike). N.B. Hauska tavata means Pleased to meet you in Finnish, if you ever go there, which you probably won’t. The BBC showed the National ‘live’ for the very first time back in 1960 (even before The Edge Editor was born) when Merryman II won the race. The biggest price winner was in 1967; Foinavon won after he was the only horse to jump a titchy (very small) fence at which there was a massive pile-up (did that coincide with the year of the very first female jockey*, by any chance?) before going on to score at odds of 100/1. The fence was later named after the horse.
Red Rum The late sixties and early seventies saw a number of very good horses win, including Red Alligator, Gay Trip (to Brighton?) and Well To Do. But it was in 1973 that the greatest National story began. All the talk that year had been about one of the greatest steeplechase horses ever, the great Crisp. He was to carry the top weight of 12st., but he seemed to do it with consummate ease. Crisp was way out in front by a long way before being caught close to home by a horse carrying almost 2st. less. But history was to show that this horse was no young pretender and Red Rum went on to become the most famous Grand National horse of all time, winning on two further occasions (Red Rum won in 1973, 1974 and 1977) and coming second in both 1975 (to L’escargot) and 1976 (to Rag Trade). What a horse. What a **** ing horse! The 1981 National saw a previously crocked horse make its big race entry. Aldaniti was ridden by Bob Champion, a jockey who had recently recovered from cancer. Naturally there were tears of joy when they crossed the winning post first (and I have got to get me Champion’s book from Chelmsford library as I just adored reading Seabiscuit). In 1993 a horse called Esha Ness won the National that never was - the race was declared void after a second false start, only half the jockeys didn’t know it and went on to complete a full circuit of the famous track, the daft ickle midgets! Favourites to win this year seem to be Tricky Trickster, Big Fella Thanks and Niche Market, but surely the vast majority of us will be picking a name out of a hat (perhaps the likes of Gone To Lunch?) and putting a couple of quid on it to win at most. *Incidentally, Charlotte Brew (sounds like a cup of bloody tea) was the first female jockey ever to ride (f’narr) in the National in 1977, so she couldn’t have caused that famous pile-up back in 1967. Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/grandnational to comment.
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driving range n. The perineum. Where one hits one’s balls when practising with one’s wood.
Page 20
YOUR letters
&
e-m@ils
Mozambique
Council Tax
Hiya, I was wondering if it would be possible to have copies of the photo’s of the sea-front at Heybridge Basin as shown in your February issue? I would like to send them to my friend who lives in Mozambique who is always letting me know just how HOT it is over there, so that she can understand what we have had to put up with this year! Kind regards, Rose-Anne Preston. P.S. I forgot to say, my Mozambique friend is originally from Heybridge. Erm, hellooooo. Those photo’s weren’t actually taken in Heybridge Basin, Rose-Anne. Yes, The Edge strongly suggested that they were, but DON’T GO BELIEVING EVERYTHING WE PRINT! E.E.
Dear Edge, A new council tax-evaluation policy wants to charge us more if we live in a nice area. So surely that ought to mean discounts for those of us who live in rough areas? There’s a huge council house in our street. The extended family is run by a grumpy old woman with a pack of fierce dogs. Her car isn't taxed or insured and doesn't even have a number plate, but the police still do nothing about it. Her bad tempered husband is notorious for his racist comments whilst all their kids have broken marriages except the youngest, who everyone thought was gay to begin with. Two of their grandsons are meant to be in the Army, but are always caught out partying in nightclubs. To be honest, they are totally out of
walk the cons through the High Street, but why don’t they drop them off and go and park their vast monstrosities somewhere legal before returning to pick them up again? Or is it just as I fear: one rule for us and a completely different one for them? Terry (but not Terry King), Chelmsford. Erm, dunno, Terrence......and I don’t care either. Sorry, lad. E.E.
Embarrassing Dear Edge, This was an embarrassing moment as my Mum had just come round to look after the kids.
This month’s STAR EMAIL!
to theedge! ***
Fortunately her eyesight’s not all it was and I genuinely think she thought it was one of the dog’s toys, as opposed to my own. Name withheld. Was it you who sent this email in, to The Edge, Maureen??? E.E.
CHELMSFORD, CM2 6XD. shaun@theedgemag.co.uk “All About You” ’Ere Shaun, I’ve just finished reading the March Edge and it’s all about you, isn’t it? Terry King Adult Discount Store Moulsham Street To be fair, Tel, I did warn you and the good readers (on page 5 last month) that I did only have twoand-a-half-weeks to put the March edition together (never again or it’ll be the death of me) and to please “excuse me” for bombarding you all with ‘Tales of Thailand’ etc. What you on about? It’s all about you every month from what I can see! Yeah, but Tel, that’s the nature of the beast! Joking aside, bloke, in reality, no, The Edge isn’t all about me. I mean, fair doo’s, like Nike, I ‘do it’, so there’s bound to be a certain amount of cross-over from my life and limited experiences into the mag. But the intention is hardly a narcissistic one. Only you try getting the great general public to provide details of their own experiences with photo’s to match and they run a bloody mile. They say stuff like, “’Ere, this’d be a good idea for the mag. Get pictures of X, Y and Z and do a write up....” And I say, “Great! Let’s feature you!” But they always go, “Oh no, I don’t want to be in there. Do it on someone else.” E.E. The Edge 01245 348256
Dear Edge, Just bought a new boat and decided to take her for her maiden voyage. This is my first boat and I wasn't quite sure of the exact S.O.P. (Standard Operating Procedure) for launching it off a ramp, but I figured it couldn't be too difficult. I consulted my local boat dealer for advice, but they just said, "Don't let the trailer get too deep." Well, I don't know what they meant by that as I barely got the trailer wet at all. Anyhow, here's a photo. What d’you reckon I’m doing wrong? Freddy F witt, Maldon. * By the looks of it, you were probably ‘born wrong’, Freddy. E.E.
Dead Flies Hi Shaun, Congrats on yet another sparkling edition of The Edge (March). I particularly enjoyed the ‘Angst of Ang’ column this month. Tell me, is she for real, or is she yet another one of your noms-de-plumes? I'm glad that you liked the ‘Dead Flies’ article (see page 6). However, I think that you ought to have included the line "No flies were harmed in the production of this article", otherwise you might get the R.S.P.C.F. on your back! Keep up the good work. Alan Fisher. Oh yes indeed, sir, ‘Our Ang’ is ‘for real’ alright, more’s the pity (I often wish she were stuffed as I’d get far less of an ear bashing). And many thanks once again for those dead fly pics; they’re right up The Edge’s street! E.E.
Charity Cycle Ride Little Havens Dear Team Edge, I hear you’re cycling for charity on Sunday 2nd May and I’m not doing anything that day, so wondered whether I could be your pacemaker, or something? Regards, Claudia x
control. I hate living near Windsor Castle. Rob Tomlin.
Old Chestnut Dear Edge, A couple of Saturdays ago, I spied a PC putting a ticket on a car parked on double yellow lines near the Magistrates Court. No problem there. You know the risks when you chance your arm. However, as usual, there were two prison vans also parked outside the Court with their wheels up on the pavement so that nobody could walk through, and these vehicles were also on double yellow lines. So can any of you learned Edge readers tell me where it says prison vans have an exemption from the Road Traffic Act? Of course I’ve heard the old chestnut about the screws not wanting to
Go to www.theedgemag.co.uk/letterspageto comment.
Oh, by Christ, Claudia, you’re on! I’ll have to get the OK from Kingpin, mind, but I don’t (somehow) think it’ll be a problem. E.E.
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earthing cable n. An elongated copper bolt that touches down safely in the chod bin water before it has fully exited the nipsy.
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Clearly, whoever it is that’s responsible for their radio and TV advertising commercials ought to be shot at dawn. Through the head. Or up their arse. You generally get H.I.A. (highly irritating ad’s) on local radio, usually by double-glazing companies to some poxy ex-chart tune or other, with the final line of the verse being “and get your back done free” or somesuch. But this one is the most irritating I have ever, ever heard and always has me immediately reaching to the volume knob (in the car) or the remote control (if on Edge couch) because otherwise it’s like Chinese bloody torture in that you end up uncontrollably singing it to yourself like some idiotic mantra all frigging day long.
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yachting n. The stirring sight of a dog in full sail, tacking its way across the living-room carpet.
ONLY JOKING! Uncle Morris
At school one day, the teacher asked the class whether any members of their family weren’t any good at stuff. Little Johnny immediately put his hand up and said, “My Uncle Morris was a shit ventriloquist. He used to stick his fingers up my arse and tell me not to say anything.”
Bob & Joe Bob: "So, how's it going with the ladies?" Joe: "Ah, woman to me are just sex objects." Bob: "Really?" Joe: "Yeah. When I mention sex, they object."
Heart Attack A blonde gets home from work early and hears noises coming from the bedroom. So she rushes upstairs, only to find her husband lying naked on the bed, sweating and panting heavily. "What's going on?" she cries. "I think...I think...I think I'm having a heart attack," rasps her husband. So the blonde rushes downstairs to ’phone for an ambulance, but just as she's dialling, her four year old son comes up to her and says, "Auntie Shirley’s hiding in the wardrobe with no clothes on." So the blonde slams down the ’phone, storms back upstairs, goes into the bedroom, walks straight past her husband and almost rips the wardrobe door off their hinges. And, sure enough, there is her sister, wearing not a stitch, cowering in a corner. "You rotten bitch," the blonde screams at her. "My husband's having a heart attack, yet you're running about the house stark bollock naked playing hide and seek with our Tommy.”
Mugged Got mugged on the way home the other night. Four big bastards kicked the shit out of me. I was in a proper state. Mind you, against all the odds, I did manage to knock one out. Probably not the best time to have a wank, but hey...
Gold A husband says to his wife, "My Olympic condoms have arrived via mail order at last. Hmmm, I think I'll wear gold tonight, my love." His wife says, "Why not wear silver and come second for a change?"
A&E A man dashes into the A&E department of a hospital and yells, “Somebody do something! My wife's about to have our baby in the back seat of a taxi'. So a young doctor immediately grabs his kit, rushes outside out to the taxi, lifts up the lady's dress who’s sat in the back seat and hurriedly begins to peel off her panties. Suddenly she whacks him around the head and starts shrieking and hollering. It was only then that the doctor noticed there were two taxis parked outside.
Quite Normal I went to the doctor's to get my aching testicles checked out. While the GP was cupping my balls, he said to me, "Don't worry. It's quite normal to get an erection during this kind of examination." I said, "But I haven't got an erection." He replied. "Maybe not, but I have."
Crate of Stella Three scaffolders are working on a high rise when one of them, Dave, fell to his death. The other two were shocked, but quickly needed to decide which one of them was going to break the news to Dave’s wife. “You do it, Mick,” said Pete. “You’re good with all that caring, soppy stuff.” So off Mick trotted. Three hours later, he returned with a crate of Stella underneath his arm. “Where’d you get that?” asked Pete. “(Dead) Dave’s missus gave it to us,” said Mick. “What?” says Pete. “Like, you told her Dave’s just died and she gives you a crate of Stella?” “No, stupid,” says Pete. “She answered the door and I said: Hello, love. You must be Dave’s widow? She said that she wasn’t a widow. So I said: I bet you a crate of Stella you are.”
Caught by Surprise Into a Belfast pub staggered Paddy Murphy, looking for all the world like he'd just been run over by a tram. His arm was in a sling, his nose had been broken, his face was cut, he was bruised all over, and he was walking with a limp. “‘B’jesus, whatever happened to you?' asked Shamus, the bartender. “Oh, Micheal O'Connor and me had a fight,” says Paddy. “What, that little twat?” says Shamus. “There’s no way he could make a mess out of such a big lump like yourself. He must have caught you by surprise and had something in his hand?” “That he did,” said Paddy. “A shovel, in actual fact, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it.” “Tut. You probably needed something to defended yourself with in your hands,” said Shamus. “That I did,” agreed Paddy. “Only they were both a bit full on account of the fact that they were holding Mrs. O'Connor's breasts at the time.”
Captain & Co-Pilot A ’plane leaves Los Angeles airport under the control of a Jewish captain. His co-pilot is Chinese. It's the first time they have flown together and an awkward silence between them seems to indicate a mutual dislike. Once they reach cruising altitude, the Jewish captain activates the auto-pilot, leans back in his seat and mutters, "I don't like Chinese." "No rike Chinese?" says the co-pilot. "Why you no rike Chinese?" "Because you bombed Pearl Harbour, that's why!" said the captain. "No, no, no," the co-pilot protests. "Chinese no bomb Peahl Hahbah. That Japanese. No Chinese." "Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese....doesn't matter. You're all the bloody same," says the captain. There then follows a few moments of silence before the co-pilot blurts out, "I no rike Jews!" "Oh yeah?” asks the captain. “Why not?” "Jews sink Titanic," says the co-pilot. "What? That's insane,” says the captain. “The Jews didn't sink the Titanic. It was an iceberg." "Iceberg. Goldberg. Greenberg. Rosenberg. No mattah. You Jews all same to me.”
Ghosts A professor at a University was giving a lecture on the supernatural. To get a feel for his audience, he asked, “How many people here believe in ghosts?” About 30 students raised their hands. “That's a good start,” said the professor. “And out of you people with your hands raised, how many of you believe you have seen a ghost?” Ten students kept their hands raised. “Hmmm. That's really good,” said the professor. “I'm really glad you are taking this subject so seriously. OK, so has anyone here ever talked to, or touched, a ghost?” Just 3 students kept their hands aloft. “Fantastic!” said the professor, enthusiastically. “Now, just one further question; have any of you ever made love to a ghost?” At the back of the class, only Ewan from Tenby’s hand remained raised. The professor slowly took off his glasses and said, “Son, in all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever claimed to have made love to a ghost. So please, come up here and tell us about the experience.” Ewan began to make his way to the podium. Once there, the professor asked him, “So, young man, tell us what it is like to have sex with a ghost?” Ewan replied, "Ghost? Did you say ghost? Sorry. From where I was sitting back there, I could have sworn you said goat."
Dead Cat A kindergarten child told his teacher he'd found a dead cat on his way in to school with his mum that morning. "Are you certain it was dead?" she asked. "Yes miss,” said the child, “because I pissed in it's ear and it didn't move.” "You did WHAT?!" said the teacher in both surprise and disgust. "You know," said the little boy, "I leaned over and went 'Pssst' in its ear, but it didn't move a muscle." Keep those jokes coming in, folks. I particularly like the ‘MUGGED’ joke this month, so let’s be having some more of that standard and calibre!
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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genitalman n. A chap who lets his hanging brain do his thinking for him.
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Envy Productions by arrangement with Nettwerk Management & The Agency Group presents
GE theED crew
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www.justgiving.com/TeamEdge The Edge watched the likes of Davina McCall, Patrick Kielty and David Walliams cycle from John O’Groats to Land’s End in sub-zero conditions in aid of Sports Relief recently, and thought, “Wow! If they can do that, I’m certain The Edge Crew can raise at least a couple of quid for Little Havens by cycling 25 and/or 60 miles on Sunday 2nd May in an official ride organised by Bike Events. So will you sponsor us, please, readers? Will you? Go on, cos we don’t want to be outdone by that Hannah Liddell (see pages 15 and 16)....just who does she think she is, eh? A mere sixth form student attempting to steal The Edge’s thunder. In all honestly, I used to do Bike Events’ 60 mile rides for fun in years gone by (London-Brighton, London-Cambridge etc.) and one year, me and my mate Keith ‘Buck’ Rogers even did London-Cambridge-Chelmsford (130 miles) on mountain bikes with nobbly tyres....no mean feat, that. However, I’m a bit older, a bit heavier, and a bit slower these days, but I’ll still definitely give the 60 miler a bash, along with ‘Geordie Ang’ and the good lady wife, whilst Kingpin’s up for doing 25 miles and 40 Silk Cut. So like I say, if you can log on to www.justgiving.com/TeamEdge and give Little Havens whatever you can, that’d be absolutely dandy. ’Ere, and I also reckon The F *** wits’ll do it on their tandem too, so if you see us cycling anywhere between Chelmsford, Maldon, Layer de la Haye, Tiptree and Great Leighs, then give us a wave, or throw some rotten fruit our way, or something. It’s been a good few years since I’ve done one of these organised events and the comradeship and camaraderie is usually second-to-none....not to mention the taste of a few well earnt beers afterwards!
IN CONCERT
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let the dog out v. To nip home at lunchtime to feed the ducks after a frustrating morning spent surrounded by office beaver.
Kid Dresses Up For School
JAI HO
Surely this incredibly uplifting Slumdog song is going to.... Look, forget your musical prejudices (musical anality gets right up The Edge’s pet goat’s arse, sideways). What I’m trying to say is that this song, in years to come, you’ll hear it when you maybe haven’t heard it for a good long while, and you’ll get that wonderful tingling sensation. DON’T LAUGH! The Edge swears this lovely ickle tune will go down in FOLKLORE, along with (wait for it) Night Fever! Piss off! The Edge is telling it to you straight. OK, it’s a gorgeous sunny morning (definitely in summer and not at any other time of the year) and you know it’s going to be a scorcher and you suddenly hear the opening bars of Night Fever and imagine an incredibly young John Travolta walking down a New York street with a tin of paint in his hand. THAT’S BRILLIANT, THAT IS! Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it, because it immediately takes me right back to when Saturday Night Fever was first released and this crazy feeling of sheer elation swept over me (I don’t know why, it just did)! And Slumdog’s exactly the same: triumph over adversity. So The Edge is telling you....when you hear Jai Ho, STOP WHATEVER IT IS YOU’RE DOING AND DANCE....even just a shitty impression of an Indian dance.....only do take a couple of minutes out to celebrate those minuscule feelings of happiness that you’ve sometimes, seldom, felt in life.
And??? Come on, Della, of D&A hairdressing salon in Springfield Road..... then what? That’s just it, isn’t it? There is nothing else! You’re a ‘proud mum’ (and believe you me, The Edge has had run-in’s with a fair few of them in its time) and there really is nothing else, save for your little Timothy (Harrison Keeble, actually) being dressed up like a Roman soldier on his way to school. “Yes, but you know Dee, the lollipop lady, don’t you?” says Della, as if to make a point. “I know her to say ‘hello’ to, yes. And?” “Well, I thought it would make a good photograph for The Edge, her leading all these little Romans across a zebracrossing. Is 8:30am alright? Can you make that time on Monday?” ‘No I bloody well can’t, woman!’ I thought. But instead, I very politely said, “Tell you what, Della, you take a photograph and let me have it, alright? Seeing as though you’ll be there ‘as the action happens’, like.” “Okey-dokey, you’re on.” Only she then goes and delegates that particular task to partner Andrew, he of ‘wonky cupboard erection fame’. Oh dear. Wrong move, Della. Wrong bloody move. OK, so now that ‘the event’ has happened, would you be so kind as to explain to The Edge, and its readers, where all the little legions of Roman soldiers are - all supposedly crossing the road, a bit like The Beatles once did on a record sleeve?
Andrew: “Is that what she promised you? Bugger. I just took a photograph of our lad.” AND THERE WE HAVE IT, READERS! Undisputable, conclusive proof that 99% of parents think that their kid/s are all that bloody matter in the whole
Some kid and a lollipop lady pigging UNIVERSE, and that ‘them dressing up’ somehow constitutes ‘an angle’ for ’em to appear in The Edge. Della: “Well, my little soldier’s in the mag now, isn’t he?. So what’s your point, eh?” Sweet Jesus, Joseph, Mary and a stick of celery. I BLAME YOU for this, Andrew! Read this carefully, old son: YOU NEED TO KEEP A TIGHTER REIGN ON WHAT IS ACTUALLY GOING ON IN YOUR WIFE’S HEAD. Does The Edge make itself quite clear, old boy?
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minge benefits n. The snatch-related rewards received by a gentleman as a result of a selfless act performed.
TV GOLD GOLD -- STARSKY THE PERSUADERS TV & HUTCH
‘GOLD! Always believe in your (David) Soul, you’ve got the power to know, you’re....’
Starsky & Hutch (callsign: Zebra 3) was a worldwide smash of seventies cool, gloss and gun blazing action from surely our two favourite LAPD cops of all time. Thing is, both actors were pretty much unheard of pre-S&H and the search to find them was both a long and arduous process. Eventually, David Solberg was cast as the fairhaired, softly spoken, sensitive, well-read, yogaloving Ken ‘Hutch’ Hutchinson, whilst his boggleeyed, street-wise, junk-food loving partner was, erm, the other one ‘in the cardigan’. (Oh yeah, and Antonio Fargas played the jive-talkin’ Huggy ‘the grass/snitch’ Bear.) When the series first broke in the UK, it wasn’t long before actual police chief Kenneth Oxford complained that the example set by S&H was responsible for his own police officers “driving like bloody maniacs.” Personally speaking (and this mag’s all about
me, so I may as well have my say), I used to love their leather jackets in particular - and I do mean love ’em - although I was never that fussed about their bright red Ford Gran Torino which fast became ‘the coolest TV car’ since the Batmobile. But I certainly got excited about Starsky & Hutch coming on the box on a Saturday night and I only wish I felt the same about any TV shows today. The on-screen chemistry between Soul & Glaser was outstanding, every bit as good/believable as it is today between Ant & Dec. OK, so they bent the rules a bit in order to catch criminals, but don’t talk to them about paperwork. Pagh! On the street is where it ‘all went down’, so out on the street’s where this duo would be, undercover (yep, even in a car like that). As the series continued to prosper, however, the question inevitably arose: Are Starsky & Hutch gay? The words ‘homoerotic undertones’ raised their ugly head, but since when can’t two blokes be really good mates, eh (wink, wink)? Looking back, it seems daft it S&H became the outstanding success that it was, simply because every episode was exactly the same; S&H get called to the scene of a crime, look for clues, go see Huggy Bear for a tip-off, Captain Dobey shouts at them a bit, case solved. But hey, why knock a simple formula if it works? I think before S&H there was shite like McCloud, that fat bastard Frank Cannon, and Raymond Burke as Ironside, but S&H came along and just blew the lot of them right out the water (Beatles for detectives, if you like). Once again, a complete re-run of the original series would be most welcome. P.S. Unfortunately (for him), Captain Dobey (Bernie Hamilton) has since kicked the bucket.
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uncork the brown champagne v. The morning after a night spent downing strong ale.
his month I have mainly been delving into the shadowy, labyrinthine mind of a killer.
T
Well, actually, that's not strictly true, but it's a pretty good first line, hey? What I’ve been doing is researching psychopaths and finding out just how brilliant these people are. When you think of a psychopath, a few names probably spring immediately to mind; names such as Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Peter Sutcliffe or Fred West. However, I bet many of you are actually thinking of Hannibal Lecter, aren't you? "Yes, I'll have your daughter home by 10pm sharp. Oops, sorry. I meant I'd be wearing her tits as a hat." The interesting thing about all these famous psychopaths are that they're classified as the unsuccessful ones. Sure, they're the toast of the FBI and CID, plus being the inspiration for dozens of shitty horror films, but in medical terms, these guys are the dunces of the psychopathic scene. The successful psychopath is the one you don't even know is a psychopath how chilling a thought is that? - and, apparently, there are a lot of them about. Experts in the head shrinking field believe that in certain developed countries (yeah, I'm looking directly at you, America) the number of psychopathic individuals is around 4% of the population. Seeing as we ‘ape’ Americaland in pretty much everything else, I'd be surprised if Great Britain weren’t far behind either. Four per cent might not seem a lot, but just consider the big hoo-haa we hear about issues such as, I don’t know .... bulimia. Whilst I'm not saying bulimia isn't an important issue, put it into context with the fact that it's been said in the very same sentence as ‘epidemic’ and is considered an issue we should all know about and do lots of media-friendly hand-wringing over, whilst simultaneously looking distressed and pretending we actually give a toss as we’re standing there in our size zero outfits, sneakily vomiting into our Prada handbags. Actually, Googling ‘puke in handbag’ has scarred me for life.... so here's a cute kitten instead.
THIS MONTH I HAVE MAINLY BEEN...
an ‘epidemic’, then what the hell do we class the rise of the psychopath as? (Apart from brilliant, of course!)
So, just what is a psychopath? The actual condition has been recognised for centuries, going by more poetic monikers as ‘madness without delirium’ and ‘social insanity’ before the term ‘psychopath’ was coined in the 1800's.
Dr. Hare describes them as someone who "can learn the words, but never the music". They can observe the rest of us and mimic the emotions that we feel at all the right times, but they'll never be able to feel them for themselves.
writes Kingpin
‘Psychopath’ was still a pretty broad term though, and even by the 70's almost 80% of all violent criminals were still being labelled as psychopaths. It wasn't until 1980 that Dr. Robert Hare, after years of studying the condition, devised a 40-point test - a psychopathic checklist - that could accurately determine if a person was actually a psychopath. The ‘Hare Test’, as it is commonly known, uses a series of questions that each hold a numerical weight of zero to two. Depending on how the subject answers a set of questions based around statements, such as: "Does the subject have difficulty empathising with others?" a score is then given to each question, zero meaning the subject is nothing like the question suggests, 1 meaning partially like it, and 2 meaning very much like it. Most people apparently score between 5 and 10, whereas 30 and above is, in medical terminology ‘brown trousers time’ for the interviewer. It's easily available online (if you're interested), but it's not particularly accurate as it's just the bare bones questions and you'll effectively be testing yourself. (Yes, of course I had a go, and I got 24, so I apparently have criminal tendencies) So, to ask the question again, what is a psychopath? Basically, a psychopath is someone who cannot feel, or even understand, the normal emotions that the rest of us can. They cannot empathise with the feelings of others and see people more as objects to be used and discarded at will. They have no conscience, remorse or fear, yet they often have very charming and magnetic personalities.
Apparently, around 3.4% of the population is bulimic, so if that's classed as
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It's these subclinical psychopaths that are apparently becoming more and more common, and the scary thing is that if they're good enough, you'll never even know. Any one of us could have met, or actually know/known someone who fits the clinical description of a psychopath.
The successful psychopath, what Dr. Hare calls the ‘subclinical’ psychopath, is adept at mimicking the feelings of others; at blending in with society and being considered ‘normal’, yet still fully capable of leaving a trail of grief behind them without so much as a second thought.
The face of reason It could be your boss, a work colleague, or your boyfriend for all you know. (I didn't say girlfriend as we all know that, by default, women are psychotic anyway.) It may sound strange to think that a psychopath could get into a position of authority, such as being the manager of a company, but that's mainly because when you think ‘psychopath’ you're still thinking of someone with a machete and a hockey mask. "It was the pension plan and attractive bonus package that convinced me to go for the role of regional sales manager." The truth is that psychopaths exhibit much of the behaviour that we come to expect, and even admire, in our ‘leaders’. They're forceful, dynamic, charismatic and confident. Apparently, the often fast moving and chaotic nature of a large organisation fits the psychopath's character down to the ground. Indeed, Dr. Hare himself said that if he couldn't study psychopaths inside the prison system, the stock exchange would be the next best place to do so.
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Decades of study has also led Dr. Hare, and many others in the medical community, to agree that psychopaths aren't a product of poor upbringing, or their environment, but that these people are simply wired differently to the rest of us. The idea that everyone is intrinsically good, and that all people really need is a cuddle and a puppy, is gradually being shown for the fallacy that it is. Another interesting thing about this hypothesis is that if it's true that the psychopath is just built differently to the rest of us, can they even be classed as ‘sick’? Certainly they're a detriment to society, and a possible danger to those around them, both mentally and emotionally, if not physically. But being ‘sick’ implies that you can be cured, and the general consensus is that there's no effective treatment for psychopathy. To begin with, someone who is in treatment first has to believe they are ill, and a psychopath believes he's as normal as you and me (whatever the hell ‘normal’ means). In fact, the traditional methods of treating psychopaths have been shown to make them even more likely to re-offend when released. Dr. Hare has now started appealing to the psychopath's own sense of self preservation in order to ‘treat’ them. Basically, he makes them see that the more extreme expressions of their behaviour is having a detrimental effect on them more than anyone else, and that they need to learn more self control or they'll end up in jail again. While this may seem a strange way of trying to deal with the problem, it's likely to be one of the only things that will work. It's pointless trying to convince them that they're wrong in anything they do, or try to make them understand the pain they're causing, as such will never work. A real psychopath would see no difference emotionally between having a sandwich and killing you; all they're interested in is what affects them. One of my favourite, more out of left-field theories, is that the rising number of these subclinical psychopaths is a response to the pressures of modern life; almost an adaptation of the psyche to better deal with the world the way it is today. That theory certainly hasn't gained much ground in the medical world yet, but I can certainly see the attraction. How much easier would it be to deal with things without the anchors of conscience, fear and doubt hanging around your neck? Whether we like to admit it, or not, we all display psychopathic tendencies to a certain degree. We're all the centre of our own little world. When all is said and done, maybe the psychopaths are just more honest than the rest of us?
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lesbianage n. The furtive act of watching a couple of carpet munchers munch each others, er, carpets.
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Be Prepared! So you've booked a holiday and you’re raring to go....so be prepared!
Prior to any trip, you probably spend more time packing and planning your itinerary than preparing for any health issues you may encounter. But getting sick on holiday can totally ruin your trip, so why take chances? Believe it or not, you DO have a certain degree of control over your exposure to illness, so why not get the odds stacked in your favour. Unfortunately, the vast majority of travellers do not receive the pre-travel care and immunisations they need. Ignorance is bliss and many people are simply not aware of the protection they need when flying to foreign climes. The better prepared you are, the safer and more enjoyable your trip will be. Exciting destinations, exotic foods, engaging customs (especially to developing countries) can expose you to infectious diseases that are not commonly seen in this country.
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take one in the company’s time v. Getting paid the full hourly rate for taking a dump at work.
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Some people just can't get enough. Enough of what, you may ask? The answer is: enough of anything and everything. There are individuals who have some sort of gene malfunction that means they have addictive personalities, so they develop into alcoholics, inveterate gamblers, or junkies. There's something in their make-up that just doesn't allow them to do moderate and insists that everything has to be consumed to the max. This came to mind a few months back when the Tiger Woods scandal broke. Heaven only knows what he was on. Did he really think that he could dally with a whole string of waitresses, dancers and suchlike without one of them spilling the beans? These were all looky-likey blonde bimbos and the common thread, apart from their somewhat ubiquitous appearance, seemed to be the fact that none of them earned very much. No matter how loved-up they thought they were, sooner or later one of them was going to cash in on his fame. And eventually, they all did. The fact that Tiger couldn't figure that out doesn't speak very highly of his intelligence, or that of his advisors, come to that. But it is possible to imagine they knew exactly what was going to happen, yet didn't have the power to come between a man and what's in his trousers. Anyway, the rights and wrongs of his extra marital escapades are not of much interest, especially at this distance. What is interesting is the defence employed by the Tiger's spin machine. He, like many a sleb before him, claimed he had a sex addiction. Isn't it a bit odd that it's only people in the public eye that seem to have a sex addiction? That bloke up the road who has a never ending string of women doesn't have an addiction to sex; he's just a lucky bugger. Or the woman at work who always seems to have a different man in tow doesn't have a sex addiction. No, she's just a slut. At which point we can divert from the main theme to ask the age old question as to why promiscuous men are
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treated differently to women of a similar persuasion. Doubtless the roots of this attitude are in a far distant century when it genuinely was a man's world and women were supposed to lie back and think of England. But in the third millennium, and after decades of the women's liberation movement, not forgetting what seems like centuries of Harriet Harman haranguing us, shouldn't we be just a little more even handed about making such observations? In fact, there's a high probability that Harriet Harman is drafting a law to make it illegal to use the word slut this very minute. It's tempting to call her a dreadful old harridan, but that's a bit sexist itself, so let's just say she's a not very bright person with an inflated sense of her own importance, and a perception of her usefulness that goes way beyond her capabilities. In fact, a typical New Labour nanny - dictatorial, yet totally incompetent. Anyway, back to the Tiger and all the others who have used the sex addiction wheeze as a get out of jail free card. What they're all banking on is that the likes of us - ordinary people - will change our opinion of the sleb concerned. Instead of being unlikeable bastards who use their fame and fortune to take advantage of gullible women, they're hoping we will buy the fact that they have an addiction problem. So our poor old Mr Sleb (and it's always a him) is not a sleazy git at all. No, he's a victim. A slave to a medical problem that demands treatment at a very expensive clinic. Luckily there will be photographers on hand to witness the goings in and comings out. So what do you think they do in a sex addiction clinic to cure them of their ills? Probably there will be some well phrased psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo that appears very lucid and logical, but if boiled down would be nothing more than a flowery worded statement of the bleedin' obvious. Perhaps there's a class in image transposition. The patient has electrodes attached to some soft body bits and images of naked women are shown to him. He gets an electric shock for each one that isn't Nora Batty. That'd calm his ardour somewhat. The suspicion is that none of that happens - the Sleb concerned just sits around drinking, eating and chilling for a few weeks, only to emerge in triumph saying he's been cured of his addiction and he'll be a good boy ever after. He can then be rehabilitated into polite society with a subservient wife and kids in tow. He's one of the good guys once more. Until he gets caught again, naturally.
steveward2000@hotmail.com
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spent fuel rod 1. n. A bar of depleted uranium following its removal from a nuclear reactor. 2. Flaccid giggle-stick. Subaru Impreza WRX STi
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Imprezzive! The Edge has noticed (how often do you genuinely say that?) this car on the road and thinks it looks like a proper belter! It just doesn’t look like those ‘obvious’ Subaru’s of old - in this publication’s humble opinion. There’s a distinct subtlety to this particular model and The Edge absolutely loves it; is smitten. Just over £27,000 one of these will cost you, mind, with its “2.5litre Boxer DOHC 16-valve turbo power plant” which sounds almost nuclear. Its acceleration at low to medium speeds is reckoned to be “jaw-dropping”.
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4.5 seconds Meanwhile, there’s something called the 330S that’s the most powerful STi version Subaru has ever developed (the mind truly boggles). It has a top speed of 155mph and does (get this) 0-60mph in just 4.5 seconds. ’Course, all of this is no bloody good to The Edge as it is diesel through and through (there’s really nothing to be gained in tear-arsing around all over the place), so when does the diesel version of this particular baby come out.....that is the question? What, never? Tut, tut, you’re missing a trick there, Subaru. Meanwhile, back on the ‘real life’ car searching front, Chelmsford Car Auctions did ring me up advising me of a 2.5litre 3-series BMW diesel estate they had coming in, only the wife’s got her heart set on an extension now!
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fanny paddy n. A muff huff, blob strop etc.
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Him Indoors whisked me away for a break to Guernsey the other week. Now all would have been well had I not got caught up in some toilet trauma that seemed to ruin my entire break. In the bathroom was a huge memo on the choice of loo rolls on offer, which I only noticed when I felt for the loo roll - a bit too late. The hotel we were staying in had carried out a customer satisfaction survey and guests had apparently requested a greater choice of ‘loo roll on demand’. I ask you, who are these people who go away and all they seem to worry about is what to wipe their bottoms on and go out of their way to make hotel staff aware of such? I once knew a chambermaid who worked at The Ritz who told me it was quite usual for guests to wipe their bums on the curtains. I suppose at the price they were paying to stay there per night, whatever turns you on. So there I was, on the loo, presented with a huge loo roll menu to choose from; a selection of Cashmere, Silk, Aloe Vera, Quilted, Soothing Caring & Satisfying, or even Nurturing bog roll. Can’t you just picture the scene: me in a compromising situation, yet expected to call down to reception and request the loo roll of my choice for the duration of my stay. Well, call me old fashioned, but I felt a bit weird calling up someone on reception and telling them what I preferred to wipe my bum on. Is there no dignity left in this world? I even hate it when those Dulco Ease adverts come on the tele - you just don't know where to look, do you? I always hit the mute button or say something stupid to disguise my embarrassment. But those three women promoting Dulco Ease - don't you just want to slap them on the grounds that any women who meet for coffee to discuss the consistency of their stools surely deserve a good slap! What if any one of us were sat at the next table? Do they honestly think we’d want to be hearing about their stools? Is that why we've come to Starbucks today? However, Him Indoors had no qualms about such things and promptly called reception and said, “The wife's on the loo. She’s a bit indecisive, so can she request one of everything, please.” Which then (naturally) prompted a row between us - about why, when he wants to cancel something, he always says the wife has an upset stomach (why does he lie about my ablutions?). Well, this then developed into a full scale screaming match about Him Indoors talking big bites out of the cheese and putting it back in the ’fridge and us not talking for
the next 6 hours. Married life, hey?! So up came the ‘basket of loo rolls’ complete with photocopies of write-ups and reviews of the loo paper available. According to the Guernsey News: “Cashmere Loo Roll is the invention of the century.” Ummm. Try telling that to all the heart transplant patients, or the doctor next time you want a course of antibiotics. I don’t know about you, but I'd far rather have a brand new motor car or the internet any day than a roll of blinkin’ bog paper. (Cashmere, incidentally, comes from the Hair of the Cashmere goat. Poor goat is all I can say. Fancy being kept alive for the purposes of having someone wiping their arse all over your hair. Yuk!) I spent the whole weekend being huffy with Him Indoors, and avoiding everyone's eye-contact - well, whoever orders one of everything? I can remember my Nan saving the newspapers each week and cutting them into squares to use in their outside loo. Apparently, by the end of the week, you could read the whole paper off the cheeks of my granddad’s arse, bum-bum. Goodness knows what they would have made of ‘quilted toilet paper’ in those days. Thinking back, I used to hate school, partly because my worst nightmare used to be that Izal bog paper stuff that used to hurt like hell. Worse still, it made you smear your poo all over the place. The only good thing about it was that it made excellent tracing paper, so we used to nick it to use at home (as tracing paper, not bog roll). But oh what a pampered lot we have become. But this prompted me to do some research and there’s a whole market out there in loo roll, don’t you know. Apparently ten quid for a roll of designer loo paper is cheap because it goes up to literally hundreds. S’trewth! What’s more, you can even get your initials embossed on each sheet, or your company logo. So now I'm thinking about getting Him Indoors mugshot printed on some. But Cashmere Loo Roll - isn't that taking things a little too far? Thing is though, my life is ruled by the loo. You see, one of the most annoying things in our house is the amount of time Him Indoors and the Sulky Teenager spend in the bathroom. Just what on earth do men/boys find to do in there? They’re certainly don't cleaning the bath or the toilet, that's for sure. It drives me mad. We’ll just be about to go out of the house when Him Indoors suddenly has to “nip to the loo” and I’ll then be left standing around for half-an-hour waiting, before he comes back out and gives me a blow-by-blow account of the experience. Or we’ll be waiting for a delivery and lo-and-behold, the bell sounds, yet at that precise moment, Him Indoors can't hold on a second longer and off he rushes to the loo, leaving me to struggle up the stairs carrying boxes with the delivery man. And my son’s no better. He comes home from school, goes into the kitchen, grabs a packet of Jaffa Cakes, a bumper bag of crisps, a six pack of Pepsi, his iPod, Gameboy and mobile ’phone and then promptly locks himself in the bathroom ’til tea time. Whereas yours truly is in and out of the loo in one minute flat (only I have to sneak in there cos the moment nature calls, I can guarantee you Him Indoors will be shouting out, “Are you going to be long, only I need you to type me a letter/make me a cup of tea etc.” There’s just never any peace.
Tracie123@aol.com
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Your editor and ‘Edge bitches’ Angie & Wends went on a wine tasting tour of discovery recently to Borough Market’s Vinopolis, followed by ‘an early evening snack’ at The Providores in Marylebone High St. Here’s what ‘the girls’ have to say about the experience... Ang says: “When it comes to wine, I would never profess to be a connoisseur. However, I do know what I like, and, more to the point, what I don't like. But I would definitely like to understand wine tasting in far greater depth and my interest recently found me with tickets to spare for a wine tasting experience not too far from home. I have to admit that my idea of learning more about wine would probably have been centred around a selective wine school in Bordeaux, as opposed to Vinopolis in Borough Market, London. Needless to say, my expectations weren’t very high. The tour included a 15 minute 'how to taste wine' session which was informative, though basic, before we went on to taste a variety of champagnes and wines. Overall it was a pleasant enough introduction to wine tasting, and for some, definitely worth doing if you're looking for something different to do for an afternoon up town. For those of you who are a little more serious about the subject, I think you’d probably find the experience a little on the amateurish side, although there were one or two staff on hand who did appear to know exactly what they were talking about, if you're the sort of person to ask and make the most of your experience, as am I. We paid £32 per ticket and whatever you're reasoning for going on the tour, I thought that was a reasonable price for a ‘pastime’ in London. However, personally speaking, it did get to a point where I could no longer taste as my ‘buds’ were completely exhausted! So, after about 3 hours or so, we left, even without using up all of our tasting vouchers (including those for the rum section which were also included). After the wine tour, we moved on to The Providores in Marylebone High Street for eats. Just to give you a little background to my choice of eatery, I had come across this restaurant on my weekly Saturday morning trips up to London. With time to spare (whilst my children were involved at drama school in the area), I always like to take advantage of different eateries for breakfast. Initially, I passed on The Providores, being put off by the queue waiting outside for it to open. Although the menu did sound quite different, it was a little pricey and I was afraid it would ultimately turn out to be one of those 'hip/want to be seen at’ places that didn't ultimately deliver on your expectations. However, always wanting to try somewhere different in the fear that I might be missing out, I decided to take the plunge and I for one certainly wasn't disappointed. The atmosphere was buzzy, the staff friendly and attentive, and the food was delicious in both quality of produce and combination of flavours. So upon leaving, I picked up their sample menus for both lunch, tapas and dinner. Keen to return, after our wine tasting session, I hesitantly suggested the venue for some quick tapas before moving on for the evening. I say hesitantly, as not everyone (there's always one amongst us) appreciates food in the same way that I do! The menus are creative and innovative, but they do live up to every word, unlike some restaurants who think that if they give fancy descriptions on their menus it allows them to charge 'fancy prices’, yet often leave you feeling both ripped off and disappointed. There we were, 3 of us, yet only 2 eating as the other had already stuffed a sausage sandwich down his throat, purchased from some stall at Borough Market. So Wendy and I ordered 3 dishes between the 2 of us - spring rolls of confit duck, five spices, guindilla chillies and feta with chipotle yoghurt; hot pork spare rib in charsui bun with chilli jam; grilled Elwy Valley lamb on pita bread with babaganoush, sumac, greens and miso mustard dressing, accompanied by half a carafe of red wine. The food and service were faultless and I was more than happy to hand over my £26 share of the bill. If you're passionate and appreciative of good food, or keen to try something different and ultimately 'taste the difference', check out both Vinopolis and The Providores on the net.” Wendy says: “I'm someone who seldom drinks wine at home, but will happily drink it ‘socially’ when I’m out. Ridiculous as it may sound, I have very little idea about what I like and what I don’t like where wine is concerned, so when the offer of a free trip to Vinopolis arose, I thought it would be a great opportunity to learn something, as well as hopefully being a bit of fun. We spent the first fifteen minutes on the receiving end of a quick lesson in how to taste wine. That was interesting enough, but sadly I doubt my sense of taste and smell is refined enough for me to ever be any good at it. However, before any wine passed our lips, our first port of call turned out to be the champagne bar. As someone who is rather partial to ‘the fizzy stuff’ I particularly enjoyed this tasting session and being able to ask a few questions. Next we moved into the wine zone where we were free to choose whatever we wanted to taste. I have to confess that this is where I started to lose interest and probably this was down to no longer being ‘led by the hand’. Although there wasn't an overwhelming level of choice available, I still left without having a good enough sense of what it is I like and dislike. Finally, we finished our afternoon in the Bombay Sapphire ‘Blue Room’. Having never drank gin before (yes, really!) I was very keen to try. I chose the sweetest cocktail, which was a mixture of gin and coconut. Lovely! However, Ang's citrus cocktail was even better, although unfortunately I didn’t get to taste Shaun’s as he’s tight like that! Our tickets also offered us a rum tasting opportunity too, but we decided to give that a miss (as we had also done the offer of an ‘audio tour guide’ at the start of our visit). So what did I think of it? I enjoyed it and did learn a few things. However, I hadn't bargained on being there as long as we were and must confess to becoming a bit bored at times throughout our three hour visit. I also found myself trying to use up tokens for the sake of it, rather than having a genuine interest in what I was tasting, which is probably not what you want to be doing if you've actually paid for them. So was it worth £32.50? I think if you go there wanting to learn about wine and are fully prepared to spend half-a-day there, then you'd probably get a lot out of it in terms of knowledge, alcohol consumption (I'm perhaps a bit of a lightweight) and the opportunity to try wines different to those you’d normally buy at your local supermarket. So yes, I guess it's worth the money. But if you're simply looking to have a few drinks and a bit of a laugh with your mates (as one member of our group in particular was after), then you're probably better off in a pub! After leaving Vinopolis, we were in desperate need of sustenance, so we headed all the way to The Providores. Ang and I decided to order a few dishes to share and went for the braised spare rib char-sui pork bun with chilli jam (£6.20), spring rolls of confit duck, five spices, guindilla chillies and feta with chipotle yoghurt (£7.90) and the grilled Elwy Valley lamb on pita bread with babaganoush, sumac, greens and miso mustard dressing (£15.20). All three were identifiable dishes but were made even more interesting with the addition of unusual twists and flavours. Furthermore, all three were absolutely delicious with the 'spare rib bun' being my own particular favourite. Although I didn't feel our surroundings were that special, the food was well worth the price paid. However, we did wash it down with a 'controversial' 400 ml carafe of Malbec (£17.30) and as someone who still doesn't know enough about wine, I’ll have to pass judgement on it! Vinopolis package prices range from £19.50 - £32.50. The £32.50 'Celebration Tour' buys a wine tasting session, an audio guide, three champagne tastings, five wine tastings, two premium wine tastings, two rum tastings and one Bombay Sapphire cocktail. The £19.50 'Grapevine Tour' buys a wine tasting session, five wine tastings and a Bombay Sapphire cocktail. Tokens allowing additional tastings can be purchased throughout your tour.”
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