The Edge Magazine July 2019

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 273

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‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’

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JULY 2019

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RAIN

ONE IOTA

When people first feel some drops on their heads, why on earth do they bother to look up at the sky? Where the feck else do they imagine it’s coming from?

Someone called Paige from an unidentified number rang me up at 5.15pm on a recent Friday afternoon.

She said/garbled that she was from blah, blah, blah, only her company name didn’t register one iota. But what did was the fact she specifically said, “I’ve been told you’ve recently been involved in a vehicle collision.”

“Really?” I said, in a somewhat amazed yet highly condescending voice, no doubt. “When was that, Paige?”

She said nothing.

“Paige?” I said again.

Click, brrrrrrrrr.

Honestly, what was the point of that?

COTTON TRADERS Those newspaper adverts for flared tracksuit bottoms with elasticated waists by Cotton Traders. Who on earth gets their credit card out to order a pair of those wretched things?

FFS

The Edge Editor’s Column DIRECTIONS A chap was in a bit of a quandary in his car outside the Odeon on Can Bridge Way. “I’m trying to find Majestic Wine,” he said to me, “is it this way?” (pointing to further round into the car-park by Wilko).

“No, mate,” I said. Then promptly gave him some epic directions.

So good, in fact, that when he got to the end of Can Bridge Way, he turned left, instead of right.

The last I saw of his black BMW 3-series estate was it reversing at fully 30mph.

CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL Just a note about the final, ruined by the incredibly early penalty that I didn’t think was one in a month of Sundays.

No, the best thing about the final for me wasn’t the ultra dull match itself, or seeing Kinsey Wolanski invade the pitch, but BT Sport’s incredible music/footie combo at the end of the game to Interpol’s superb My Desire.

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Kim Kardashian has numerous virtues, but choosing the names of her children is clearly not one of them. To date we have North (bearing in mind their surname is West), Saint, Chicago, and most recently, Psalm.

PULLED IT OFF Yes! Top Gear’s got it’s mojo back.

The instant camaraderie between hosts Chris Harris, Paddy McGuinness and Andrew ‘Freddie’ Flintoff proper warmed the cockles of me ’eart and it was great to see them all pile on top of each other on the studio floor at the very end of episode 1 of the brand new series.

More of the same and Clarkson, Hammond and May will be but a distant, albeit forever cherished, memory.

SUMMER After the brilliant summer we enjoyed last year, it appears that we’re still very much waiting for it to happen this time around, which concerns me.

Maybe it’s got something to do with the extremely mild winter we had, which was nice.

Although personally I’d prefer it to be minus-3 with 2ft snowdrifts if only it’d guarantee us yet another glorious summer.

COMETH THE HOUR I recently spent ALL DAY in the garden one Saturday, beneath the full heat of the sun, doing one of those little jobs that involved a bit digging and the laying of some briquette stones and some cement.

Me and the missus thought that we’d have to, you know, get someone in to do it. Only I convinced myself, against all the odds (because I am shite at D.I.Y.), that I could actually do it.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man, type of thing.

Think Russell Crowe in Gladiator.

And do you know what? I only blinkin’ well pulled it off and it looks an absolute treat.

Wife beamed at me, “I honestly didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Me neither,” said I. Only remember, this was a job in the garden.

ALMOST AUGUST ALREADY? Where do the months go?

THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Great, aren’t they?

Your editor was well taken by them when he turned up at his local gym of choice, Training Space, and host Danny was sporting a pair.

“Where did you get those Bobby Dazzler’s?”

I immediately enquired.

Naturally he’d got them online.

But a couple of weeks later I happened to find myself camping for a week on Cornwall’s north coast in Polzeath, not too far from Padstow, and in a reet trendy surf shop I spotted a whole rack of ’em at £12 a pop (I’d noticed some pairs were priced at £14.99 online) and I was gagging to make a purchase.

Only Mrs Edge instantly put her foot down.

“Shaun!” she said. “How old are you?”

And my tail, which had been right up, kind of curled silently between my legs, chastened.

Because let’s face it, there’s nothing worse than old folk dressing young’n’trendy, is there?

But it’s a fine balance that you’ve just got to get right.

Trouble is, you start buying clothes for yourself when you’re in your teens, don’t you, and it’s liberating/ lubricating not having your mum choose them for you anymore.

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Only at what point do you get to an age when you decide to ‘play it safe’?

I still don’t think I’m there yet, and I’ll be 58 this month.

I even told Edge columnist and Zagger manager Jan/Yan about them and he was most complimentary/impressed by my enthusiasm.

“You’re learning,” he told me. “I’m seriously thinking of stocking them in t’shop.”

And I sincerely hope that he does as these are undoubtedly socks that make you smile - only your legs do need to be tanned, I reckon.

Danny clearly opted for the pair on the left (see below), but I’m kind of leaning towards the yellow barbed-wire trend-setters.

But hey, why stop at just one pair? www.stance.com

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WHAT THIS PICTURE SAYS TO THE EDGE...

STEPHEN ALEXANDER HAIRDRESSING 203 Moulsham Street, Chelmsford, CM2 0LG TEL: 01245 494194 www.stephenalexander.co.uk EMAIL: sayhair@sayhair.co.uk

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Look at this.

How totally amazing does it look, yet it’s only a car-park.

But The Edge’s point is, it’s a truly sexy looking car-park.

Now think about our very own multi-storey affair that stands above Chelmsford’s indoor market.

No, that doesn’t trigger our pheromones at all, does it?

The Edge’s point being, we want to see, whether we know it or we don’t, great architecture that lifts our soul and makes us feel like ‘Wow’ inside.

A bit like the all new Riverside Ice & Leisure Centre does, because it now truly has got a massive ‘Whoop Factor’ about it and makes you instantly curious; makes you want to go there and see inside and have a good old snoop around.

So pats on the back to all concerned on that one. But our multi-storey car-park opposite the Essex cricket ground is sheer dire; a bit like the car-park looks in Slough during the opening credits of The Office.

But hey, if there’s not enough funds available, then can’t we give ours a ‘foil wrap’ of some description, to hide its total current lack of appeal?

I was just completely blown away by the SSE Hydro (above) when I saw it in Glasgow recently.

Yes, yes, I know you’re supposed to be fascinated by all of the old architecture whenever you go on an open-top sightseeing tour bus of any major city, but that’s never really floated The Edge’s boat. Hence we probably won’t getting along with Prince Charles at a tea party either.

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I think it was Lurch (Lengthy-Boy), he who I have known for almost 20 years, who first introduced me to a bottle of Innis & Gunn ale (and that is a truly wonderful gift, let me tell you, for a friend to recommend you something so wonderfully, beautifully precious), only he only went and topped it by a country mile most recently, didn’t he just.

Yep, he went and wangled me a trip up to Glasgow that entailed a bit of his surveying work (Lurch is a partner in a company these days, and I had to hold his ‘staff’ and tamper with the ‘bubble’ for him - more of which later in this issue) followed by a delicious, pretty much perfect, totally memorable visit to the Innis & Gunn Beer Kitchen for honestly three of the best hours of my entire life.

Now some of you may think, upon occasion, that your editor can often be prone to exaggeration. But trust me, readers, where Innis & Gunn is concerned, because I am giving it to you 100% gospel.

He’d even kept it a secret from me, but when we arrived (we had to catch a bus there) I was in The Promised Land/Seventh Heaven etc.

To actually taste Innis & Gunn direct from a bourbon-aged-barrel, rather than in a bottle, well, it was the stuff of (wet) dreams.

And in no way did it disappoint. Nectar. Pure, unadulterated nectar.

And you know how memories often become better with age? Well, this one already has.

What’s more, Lurch has promised (he PROMISED, so you readers are my witnesses) to take me to Edinburgh next, as I’m seemingly so very astute at holding the big aluminum stick (that looks like a massive barcode) and waddaya know, they appear to have something called the Innis & Gunn Brewery Taproom in Lothian Road there too, so I canna blinkin’ wait the noo!

Tragic thing is, I know not of anywhere that serves the delicious stuff on draught right here in sunny Chelmsford, which is truly tragic, although you can purchase it bottled in Sainsbury’s.

I’m never too good at describing ales, but at a guess, I’d say it definitely tastes rich and possibly/hopefully/maybe malty???

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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I think one of the first times this came to light was very early on in the days of mobile phone use. I had been on the phone in my bedroom, door firmly closed, when my mum yelled from another room, demanding to know who I was talking to. Slightly perplexed, I responded that I’d been on the phone and I could assure her there was no-one else in my room.

Whether she thought I was talking to myself, I have absolutely no idea, but she was adamant I hadn’t been on the phone as the phone was (according to her) in my brother’s room. So I go to see what she’s on about and, surprise surprise, she points to a calculator. Said calculator has also been mistaken for the TV remote on numerous occasions and reprimanded severely for its inability to change channels as requested.

Using actual remote controls has proven to be something of an enigma too. In the past, when mum babysat at my house, I’d have to put on the required channel before going out and this would remain on until I returned home. Whereas nowadays it’s not such an issue, as my 4 year old can help her out in such situations.

I’m probably going to find myself in a whole lot of hot water with my parents for writing this particular article. However, I don’t think even they could deny the truth in their struggle to keep up with technology.

I honestly don’t know where the problem comes from though. I could blame their age. However, this has been an issue for the past twenty odd years. There are also many people of the same age who have cracked it - even my Nan managed to set herself up on Facebook a few years ago!

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One day, several years ago, I thought things were changing, when my parents finally bought mobile phones (original Nokia 3310’s to be precise - and they still have them to this day!). But what I didn’t realise is that they’d never actually turn the damn things on. I’m sure they think they use up credit purely by switching them on.

For example, if we’re trying to arrange to meet in town, we’ll agree a time, but I always suggest I call a little while beforehand to doubly confirm, as I’ll have a better idea how I’m getting on by then. Their response to that is that the phone will be off, but they’ll turn it on at an agreed meeting time in case of any changes!

What the actual.......????? Why? Why do that?

Why not turn it on before (or don’t leave it turned off in the first place?). My mum’s argu-

ment is that she doesn’t want random people calling her all the time. I’ve tried a thousand times to explain firstly, the concept of caller identity and being able to see who’s calling and choose whether or not to answer the damn thing. And secondly, that as the only people who know her number are my dad and myself, it’s highly unlikely she will be receiving hundreds of calls a day anyway.

Moving away from phones and onto films, a little while ago, my mum and I took the kids to see the new Dumbo movie at the cinema. It was only afterwards that I discovered my mum hadn’t realised that CGI was a thing, or indeed that special effects had moved on since the 1960’s creature features.

When we came out, I asked if she’d enjoyed it.

The conversation went something like this...

“Yes, but I’m still wondering how they made Dumbo’s ears so big?”

“Mum, it’s computer-generated imagery.”

“Well, the elephant was real!”

“No, mum, it wasn’t. Nor were its ears.”

“Well, it looked real.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“Well, the other elephants were real.”

“No, mum, they weren’t. None of the elephants were real.”

“Well the ones at the end were, when Dumbo and his mum flew back to the wild.”

“Flew, mum? FLEW! Surely on the basis you thought all of the elephants were real, the initial question shouldn’t have been ‘how they made Dumbo’s ears so big’, but rather ‘how did they make a real elephant fly?’!”

I’m still not sure she entirely believes the elephants weren’t real, but I’m considering taking her to see Toy Story 4, purely for my own perverse amusement, to see what she makes of all the ‘real’ toys coming to life.

Until next month...

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THE VORLD OF YAN BOND “Bond. James Bond.”

Probably the most famous three word sentence ever spoken on the big screen and with the 25th outing due for release next year, it won't be long before everyone is discussing their favourite Bond film, actor, or Bond song ever.

For me, Daniel Craig has done a stellar job as the super spy with a license to thrill, but I am decidedly nervous that perhaps his time is about to end (especially with all the problems the current film certainly seems to be having on set) and maybe we should move on with another, younger version in order to continue the longest running movie franchise ever.

Craig’s stint has hardly been the smoothest, with fans calling for his head before his PPK was even out of its holster at the announcement of his augration. Yet much to the surprise of many, he’s pulled it out of the bag with a belting performance in Casino Royale in particular, only to then sadly suffer with a writer’s strike in the follow-up, Quantum of Solace. But thank god he was able to pull it back again with Skyfall, smashing all previous Bond records along the way.

Spectre was enjoyable, but felt like they’d tried to cram too many nudge’n’wink references from former movies in to give Craig his grand farewell, as it seemed at the time. But now, if the trend continues, in theory, this next one, probably Craig’s swansong, should be an absolute belter, if the pattern of great, average, great, average,

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great continues.

So maybe there is nothing to worry about after all and his fifth and final stint really will give him the send off he truly deserves.

Only what happens once Craig has hung up his sharp fitting suits?

Mr Edge (we both like films) asked about this a while ago and for my money, I’d definitely plump for Henry Cavill (pictured), as I still believe he could bring something quite different to the role, which Craig initially did, particularly in his Casino Royale performance.

Anyone who saw ’Enry in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and Mission Impossible 6 - Fallout knows for sure he can pull off the secret agent garb and bring back some of the flippant, roughish arrogance that makes Bond, well…Bond.

Certainly no one wants to see him fall in love again. We want to see him do what he does best, no matter what it takes to see the mission(ary) through and keep the British end up.

Yes, I appreciate 007 movies need to adapt with the times (to a certain degree), but enough already of trying to keep the PC brigade happy and all of the nonsense about "Ooh, let’s have a Jane Bond” next. And as much as I like Idris Elba (as Luther he’s brilliant), James Bond he ain't. When the press dubbed him ‘Black Bond’, that's already wrong in my book.

The character needs to be just Bond, plain and simple, regardless of the colour of his skin.

And the fact the character has emerged from a set of books, surely what you’re looking for is already there, with all the source material available you could ever need. I mean, you wouldn't have Chris Hemsworth playing John Shaft, would you? The black private dick who's a sex machine, as the song/story goes.

In fact, as it happens, if I'd rather have Chris Hemsworth play the British spy because at least there would be continuity (with a slight bit of blondness in his hair) and he can do quite a decent British accent, don’t you know.

Or maybe he could put his comedy acting chops to good use as the suave British agent Austin Powers in the potential rumoured reboot that’s on the cards?

Yeah, baby, yeah!

ONE LAST THING By the time you read this, I will have been out on a local bar/pub crawl with Mr Edge, where we shall finish up in Shwings for a chicken feast. So I’d like to apologise in advance in case of any bad wind the following day. Plus give an honest review and my thoughts of some of our great Chelmsford independent food and drink establishments in the very next issue.

Be safe.

Be lucky.

The Polak. xx Page 11

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Most important bit of any surveyor’s kit, the ‘staff’/stick-thingy that I had to hold, along with a digital level (the ‘bubble’), oh yeah

Monitor

Vauxhall dealership

Tripod

Bag for tripod that had to be checked in at Stansted

5pm-8pm

Lurch on blower to HQ

FRIDAY 19th JULY

Lurch’s YPL (yellow plastic lunchbox) that he puts the monitor in, as well as his sandwiches Empty Doritos packet - Lurch must’ve scoffed the lot

Jobs, I’m talking about.

They always say to walk a mile in another person’s shoes (not literally) before you’re fit to comment about their employment status, don’t they?

So I did.

Down an alleyway in Glasgee, as it goes.

Me old mucker Lurch was there to “see what sort of (distorted) shape” a particular building on his company’s books was in (Lurch & Co.), and he needed me to hold his ‘staff’/stickthingy for him.

Purchase/Lurch/Length undoubtedly has a few nicknames that I’ve christened him with over the years, but he told me that he ‘monitors’ about 150 premises every single month, and this was just one of ’em.

You’ve seen surveyors in action, haven’t you, readers?

There are often 2 of them, one looking through some binoculars (monitor) set on a tripod, and the other (the brain’s behind the operation) holding up a thin black and white stick (called a staff) often wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket (not provided, I hasten I’m not sure whether these are to add) so that no-one knocks the what they call tenements, but poor bugger over (me). this is where we were working Only it’s not quite as straight forward as that, as the bloke holding the staff also has a Leica instrument in order to make sure that his stick-thingy is perfectly straight and erect.

Well, there’s nothing to it. I took to the whole surveying malarkey like a pristine duck to water, and also ended up looking as drenched as one, as they’re not shy on a bit of rain so far oop north.

But not only was it the first time I’d ever been to Glasgow, it was the first time old Edgy had ever set foot in Bonnie Scotland.

And it’s true what they say, y’know. They really do talk a bit funny up there.

Only I couldn’t live in Glasgow. No way. Not in a month of Sundays. Not even if you paid me.

Although they do have the marvelous Innis & Gunn Beer Kitchen, y’ken!

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Nice!

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G

You instinctively know a good bakery when the punters are queuing out the door, both locals and holidaymakers alike, and that’s exactly what it’s like at Barnecutt’s Bakery on the road to Rock.

It’s just the nuts/bee’s-knees and makes me wonder why we don’t appear to have anything so similar in Chelmsford.

Dear old Percy Barnecutt apparently founded the dynasty in 1930 and The Edge bets they haven’t put a foot wrong since.

You can pretty much get anything there from fresh, healthy salads to cakes, pasties (well, Cornwall wouldn’t be Cornwall without its delicious pasties), sandwiches/rolls, cakes, coffee etc.

And their rolls are so light, deliciously seeded and taste absolutely fantastic with a fried egg and 3 rashers of thick bacon (they don’t skimp and nor is the bacon the stuff that’s been pumped full of water) stuffed in the middle for I think about three quid.

And then you just sit there, at an outside table, with your breakfast coffee and your bap, bathed in early morning sunshine (or early morning mist in our particular case), watching the world go by for about 20 minutes.

And hey, it’s only a 700 mile round trip from Chelmsford, so what’s stopping you popping down there this very weekend?

G

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That’s what The Edge thought when it walked into The Stores recently and immediately spotted Helen Girling’s work on the wall. “Losing yourself in the moment, or simply clearing your brain from ‘The List’ - that’s what painting does for me,” says the very girl herself.

“Each time I draw, I learn something new. Every time I listen and respond to what I see, that’s when the magic happens. When I’m drawing, it’s the most lovely form of decision making. Not those gut-wrenching, disabling ‘life’ decisions that you play out in your mind. For me, decisions made when I’m drawing and creating feel the right side of ‘edgy’, technical but emotional. Intensely observing the model and connecting every shape with your eyes, hand and thought. Searching for what feels just right, the pleasure of making the first mark, and then that ‘step back’ moment...

The Stores Coffee, brunch & lunch

“My busy family life and work as a primary school teacher did take over for a few years. But I missed painting and drawing so much that I decided to make a commitment to carve out the time to do what I truly love. My background in fashion design remains strong in my new body of work, where I draw and paint from live models. Every Wednesday, I meet with a group of artists at a life drawing class. We encourage, share, challenge, develop and laugh with each other. I capture the models in a shared moment in time where a ‘feeling’ of intimacy and energy connects us.

Sometimes the sheer complexity of drawing is totally inside out.”

Helen’s work is now on display until Saturday 27th July at The Stores (for great coffee, brunch, lunch etc.) in Great Waltham. You can see and buy her original artworks there, or by contacting Helen directly (please see below). Prices start from £25 for a limited edition print, or from £40 to £300 for original artworks. Discover more of Helen’s art on Instagram @helengirling or by emailing her at: helengirling@hotmail.com Find out more about art classes like the one Helen attends at www.susankeeble-artist.com

Opening Times

Tuesday- Friday 8.30am-5pm Saturday 9am-5pm Main Road, Great Waltham, Chelmsford, Essex, CM3 1DE Tel ǻ 01245 362649 Email- thestorescafe@icloud.com

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If you've ever been to Meadow Croft Garden Centre’s German Christmas Market, you'll know they just love to put on an event, especially if there’s food and drink involved.

Michael Smith, Director of Meadow Croft, says: “We've been brewing the idea (pun intended!) of a summer food festival for some time and owing to the creation of our new events ground, we proudly bring you something brand new for 2019 - the Meadow Croft Food and Drink Festival.”

This event will host a selection of some of the very finest artisan and craft food and drink suppliers and traders, many of which are based locally. There will also be ‘live’ music and a chance to kick back, relax and enjoy yourself among the straw bales, whilst tasting some of the fine food and drink on offer.

Music & Munch You can enjoy a great range of eat-in and take-away foods, including locally produced wines from New Hall Vineyard, craft beers from Maldon Brewing Co., handmade chutneys, pickles and jams, paella, churros, organic olives, game BBQ, hog roast, Illy coffee, handmade ice-cream, hand-crafted gins and much, much more besides.

The ‘live’ music stage will entertain from 11am on both days, while Saturday 10th August promises to be a lively affair, with sets from Mariachi band ‘Mariachi el Mexicano’, upcoming local singer-songwriter Josh Brough, plus the Retrobates - a 70’s/80’s pop hits band with a 1950’s rockabilly style.

On Sunday 11th August, the music will be a bit more laid back with sets from 3 Mile Hill (a 3-piece covers band with a folky-twist), Beards & Braces with their acoustic sets and Josh Brough.

Kids Corner Meadow Croft Potting Bench - there will be FREE children's gardening sessions throughout the day, so help us help them to dig up the dirt!

Meanwhile, Bumblebee Events will be getting creative and crafty on their children's craft stall.

Meanwhile, Meadow Croft’s Mini-Meadows Mini-Golf course and the garden centre play area will be open during both fun days.

The garden centre and restaurant will also be open as usual on both days.

And, of course, there’s plenty of FREE PARKING (see also page 10).

Visit http://www.meadow-croft.co.uk/meadow-croft-food-and-drink-festival for more information, or follow the event on Facebook. @MeadowCroftGardenCentre Tickets are £3 on the gate for adults and children under 12 go free

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So what’s the answer?

I happen to think it’s doing something different or going somewhere that is unfamiliar.

Life can be all same, same, same.

God knows, I spend enough time staring at the two computer screens in my orifice compiling The Edge. But no doubt my same is completely different to your same, and maybe it’s simply a matter of ‘changing the same’ from time to time?

I once remember taking myself off to Portobello Road one mild Friday morning, perhaps a couple of winter’s ago. I can’t remember why, other than the fact I’d never ever been there before.

It was somewhere different, which was good. Out of my comfort zone.

So I had a mooch about for a bit (it’s a fairly long road) until eventually I fancied a beer (as you do) and I stumbled upon a pub that I think was called The Duke of Wellington. And do you know what? As luck would have it, they only had the most amazing winter ale on draught in there.

So it ended up being a very pleasant afternoon.

Simples.

Plus doing stuff on your own from time to time is truly liberating!

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Well, we were there for a week after all, readers.

S’truth, anyone would think we had a drink problem.

But I tell you, the only problem Polzeath has, apart from any free parking, is the local Spar charging like an angry rhino. Plus it’s a bit of a bind hiking there from Southwinds Campsite, particularly on the way back up tut blinkin’ hill.

Mrs Edge read somewhere that the Polzeath Spar, comparatively little though it is, is the most profitable Spar in the entire country. In fact, to such an extent that we took the vast majority of our booze for the week down to Polzeath with us.

But hey, surely you Edge readers do things like that when you’re going away for a weekend/long-weekend/week, don’t you? Surely it cannot just be The Edge that suffers from thriftyitus?

Another thing we’ll be taking on our next four-and-a-half day camping trip to Dorset (at the end of last month, it actually was) is a couple of electric mountain bikes, which has just cost me £350 in order to get a poxy towbar attached to the rear of me motor, as they’re far too heavy to go up on tut roof. But I really can’t wait, though. I truly canna wait!

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The Edge 077 646 797 44

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It took your editor ages to get this shot, as I was practically sitting right opposite her and needed to be discreet.

But I was simply fascinated by what she was wearing, with clearly the full intention of catching a flight.

Not sure why I was so surprised, as I’ve seen girls turn up at Gatwick with their hair in curlers in the past, which appears to be quite a trendy thing nowadays, isn’t it?

But there were two things about this lady that caught your editor’s eye.

Firstly, and quite obviously, her chosen mode of footwear.

I mean, sure, we all want to dress comfortably when we fly, for obvious reasons. But house slippers, albeit really rather startling ones?

Secondly, her jeans.

Now I know ‘ripped jeans’ have been de rigueur for quite some time and they do look good on certain female forms, only hers have taken the ripped look to a whole new level entirely, surely?

So, whatever next, eh?

For instance, has anyone ever seen anyone turn up in their PJ’s, save for all those idiots who’re dressed specifically for a stag or a hen doo?

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At least that’s what local author, Owen Pitt, would have us believe.

Chelmsford Library will soon play host to book signing events by local author, Owen Pitt, to celebrate the publication of his debut novel, ‘Six Inch Nail’.

Published earlier on this year, the book is already racking up favourable reviews from readers, book clubs and other authors alike.

‘Six Inch Nail’ is a visceral thriller based in the heart of Essex and readers will be pleased to recognise many of the local landmarks (although the names of some of the less salubrious pubs and streets may have been changed for obvious reasons).

The story delves deep into the troubled psyche of a self-confessed sociopath, Owen Thomson, who, after losing first his wife and then his only son, falls off the rails in spectacular fashion. Left without a reason to carry on living, he quickly descends into an alcoholic pit of despair and depression.

For some, healthy living or a religious conversion can be the only way to get their lives back on track. But for Owen, it’s sheer, bloody murder.

Despite the fact that they share the same christian name, the author assures The Edge that this is purely a work of fiction. In fact, he describes his main character as an Essex version of Jack Reacher on crack; full of booze, bile and vitriol.

A quick look at the author’s biography tells us that he’s had a career that may be just as interesting. A former French Foreign Legionnaire and soldier in the British Army, Owen has had a diverse range of jobs, from picking tomatoes in the Negev Desert to international money broking, whilst today he works as a Financial Controller.

More information on Owen Pitt and his new book, ‘Six Inch Nail’, can be found on the author’s website www.owenpitt.co.uk The Book Signings are scheduled to take place on Thursday 11th July and Saturday 13th July between 10am-1pm at Chelmsford Library on Market Road.

Limited first edition copies will also be available to purchase at discounted prices.

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The wife and I were driving out of our campsite at Polzeath just before 9:00am one morning, all fresh and shiny as two new pins after a lovely hot shower, when we happened to see these two hardy souls. So I pulled on the handbrake, leaned out the window and said, “You know, an awful lot of people just don’t get the whole camping malarkey?”

“Can’t see why not,” they chortled back cheerily enough, while being half blown to bits by a more than chilly cross-wind as they sheltered as best they could beneath the tailgate of their people-carrier.

And that’s pretty much it in a nutshell, isn’t it. Because many people say, ‘What’s the point in travelling 300 miles to an entirely different county to make a cuppa on uneven ground from a dodgy gas stove when you can stay at home and simply put the kettle on in your very own kitchen?’

I do have to admit that thought crossed my mind a time or two during our very first camping trip of 2019, which was a week spent in Cornwall during the last week of May, in our brand new, sooper-dooper air-tent, with sturdy fold-up beds, so that we were sleeping off the floor for the very first time in our potted camping history, which pretty much the highlight of the week.

Yet just twelve months prior, we’d experienced some absolutely cracking weather in both St.David’s, Polzeath and Swanage when we’d hired a campervan for 7 days (yes, we did cover some miles, didn’t we?). In fact, so much so that I was particularly resistant to leaving Polzeath, I was loving the place that much.

I remember thinking to myself, ‘I could live here’.

But could I? Could I really? Could I arse. Not if they get sea mist and cloud and rain the likes we experienced at the end of May, I couldn’t.

Christ, imagine just what their winters must be like. Sod that.

Because the weather is everything, isn’t it?

Well, it certainly is for me and has always been, if I’m honest.

Particularly when you’re camping, that’s for sure. Because it’s all about sitting out in the porch of your tent with a brew of a morning, watching the sun come up. Then sitting watching the sun go down again after another glorious day, in a massive pink sky, fortified by copious amounts of wine and some bangers on the barbie.

That’s what camping’s all about. So in our country in particular, you definitely need the weather.

But did yet another inclement episode put us off?

No, did it buggery.

We’ll have been in Dorset for 4 nights just before these July editions hitthe-streets, celebrating both our birthdays (we’re both Cancarians) and our 18th wedding anniversary. So there y’go.

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VIETNAM

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Ours was a self-planned tour from North to South Vietnam as a special treat, as Lauren and I have two large birthdays coming up this year, reports Oliver Worthington. We travelled from Hanoi, in the north, to Ho Chi Minh City, in the south, over a period of 3 weeks which included 7 stops along the way, taking in all of the major historic landmarks which focus mainly around Vietnam’s French Colonial past, inc. the Vietnam War and the uprising of Communism, through the teachings and leadership of Ho Chi Minh - known affectionately to the Vietnamese as ‘Uncle Ho’.

Vietnam is one of 5 communist countries left in the world and you can definitely sense a more socialist approach in the north, around the old large political city of Hanoi. We travelled mainly via internal flights to save time, plus one overnight sleeper train which was a great experience, waking up at 6am and pulling back the curtains to see the sunrise over the sea while rattling along the coastline. We stayed in a variety of accommodation, varying from homestays (which are where local people share their home with you) to a bit of luxury, but even the latter was very reasonable in terms of cost.

Hoi An, in central Vietnam, was our favourite place of all. It is a beautiful, old Japanese colonial town, set on a river which is completely covered in multi-coloured lanterns offering a most entertaining night market. As we got further south, there appear to be more and more references to the war. In fact, I would actually recommend anyone travelling to Vietnam to watch the Netflix series ‘The War’ by Ken Burns, which is pretty much 20 hours of insight into this magnificent country and a true educational background to all that happened over a remarkable 30 year period. Such knowledge can only further enhance your trip if you are thinking of visiting Vietnam, as it makes you appreciate everything you are seeing and why people are the way they are.

Ho Chi Minh City (re-named from Saigon in honour of good old ‘Uncle Ho’ when Vietnam won the war) is incredibly busy, but very cosmopolitan in terms of a Far East Asian city, with a heavy French influence from pre-war times and some truly interesting places to visit, especially the Cu Chi Tunnels. These offer such an amazing story, yet it is one which really brings home the true horrors of war. Overall, Ho Chi Minh is a fascinating place and well worth a visit, if only for its endless World Heritage sites, not to mention some breath-taking scenery.

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CHERNOBYL If you haven’t seen the historical drama Chernobyl yet, then I highly recommend you do.

The 5-part mini-series, created by Craig Mazin, depicts the Chernobyl nuclear disaster of April 1986 and the unprecedented clean up process that followed.

At the time of writing, the TV series remains the highest rated show on IMDB of all time. Critics have praised it for its accuracy and I was gripped to the edge of my seat from start to finish.

TO THE RESCUE? As I have said previously on these pages, don’t be surprised to see Boris Johnson handed the keys to Number 10. In fact, it seems almost inevitable that he will be Theresa May’s successor.

Do I think he’s the right man for the job of PM, or to lead the

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country through our Brexit negotiations? No, probably not.

Although I certainly won’t be responding in hysterical fashion like we will inevitably see from those on the left.

Boris is an enigma, but I certainly think he has the personality to unite the nation following what has been one of the most divisive periods in our history.

Some people will be fooled by Boris, but don’t let his antics hide what an incredibly intelligent and well educated man he is.

I think his record as Mayor of London was pretty good and I think he will actually make a success of his Premiership.

JIMMY’S If you are looking for a day out with the kids this summer, then I can heartily recommend Jimmy’s Farm in Ipswich.

The farm is owned by Jamie Oliver’s TV mate, Jimmy Doherty, and has plenty of things to keep the little one’s busy.

There are a host of animals from rabbits to cows and activity centres including play area’s, bouncy castles and den building.

It’s a decent price too, at about twenty quid for a family of 4.

The facilities are excellent, the grounds and animals are well looked after and the food was delicious (albeit slightly on the expensive side).

Best of all, it’s only 40 odd minutes from Chelmsford, so why not check it out soon.

GARDENING I truly thought that my robotic lawnmower was the best invention ever for the garden. But not any more.

Recently I stumbled upon a selfwatering gardening system on Amazon. Basically, the kit contains a timer, various connectors and about 50 metres of tiny hosepipe. You run the hosepipe around the garden, add in the connectors for watering, and then simply plug that and the timer into the water supply.

Hey Presto, I now have a garden that waters itself twice a day and, if I felt so inclined, I can also ask Alexa to do it for me.

Mind you, it has rained every day since I installed it.

BREXIT NEGOTIATIONS I tell you what, if the European Union want us to remain as a member, then I think our first negotiating point should be that they have to share some of their good weather with us. If they want our £39bn, then I think the least they can do is let us have a few weeks a year of, say, Benidorm sunshine.

In mid- June, as I am writing this, I am still walking around London in a Barbour jacket. If they say

that global warming is causing a hike in temperatures, then I am calling it nonsense!

WOMEN’S WORLD CUP I am not writing this to be controversial, but the standard of women’s football is really poor from what I’ve seen. I appreciate that the men have had quite a head start, but to generate the types of income that will be needed to attract the best coaches will require fans to attend games in order to facilitate it.

The problem is that it’s not much of a spectacle compared to the men’s game, so it’s a bit of a vicious circle. But the starting point for any income they do get should go towards training the goalkeepers (or at the very least making the goals smaller).

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ONLY JOKING! EMPTY

The barman in the pub looked over at me and said, "I see your glass is empty. Fancy another one?"

To which I pertinently replied, "Why the feck would I want TWO empty glasses?"

DEVASTATED My best friend's wife and I were both devastated when he died in a car crash. But we helped each other through our grief and, in time, fell madly and deeply in love, got married and went on honeymoon. Sadly, that meant we missed his funeral, although we hear it went off without a hitch.

SEXY LITTLE SMILE His newly married showstopper of a missus, who was half his age, said to her ancient husband very seductively one evening, “Have you ever seen a ten pound note all crumpled up?”

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

So she gave him a sexy little smile, proceeded to undo the top three buttons of her blouse and ever so slowly reached between her cleavage and pulled out a crumpled £10 note.

So her hubby took the tenner and smiled at his beloved approvingly.

She then asked him if he had I ever seen a twenty pound note all crumpled up.

“Er, no. Come to think of it, I haven’t,” he said, feeling slightly aroused inside his corduroys.

So she gave him another sultry smile, slid her manicured hand up her skirt, reached into her panties and pulled out a crumpled £20 note, which she promptly tossed his way.

“Now,” she said, somewhat triumphantly, “have you ever seen what fifty grand looks like all crumpled up?”

Hardly able to contain himself, her hubby stammered, “N-n-n-n-no,” all of a fluster.

To which she finally blurted, “Then go take a look in the garage.”

GLADIATOR “A cannibal popped round to see my sister, armed with a bunch of flowers and a Russell Crowe DVD.” “Gladiator?”

“No. I really miss her, if truth be told.”

OUT AT SEA A man joins the navy and is shipped out immediately to an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The captain is showing the new recruit around the ship, when the young man suddenly and brazenly asks what the sailors do to satisfy their carnal urges when they're out at sea for so very long.

"Let me show you," says the captain, and takes the young recruit down to the rear of the ship where there's a solitary barrel with a hole in one side.

“Go ahead and try it,” urges the captain, before wandering off with his hands behind his back to give the new recruit a little privacy.

Some time later, the new recruit catches up with the captain and says, "Wow! That was fantastic, sir. I could do with some of that every single day."

"Every day except Thursdays," corrects the captain.

"But why not on Thursdays?" enquires the recruit.

The captain says, "Because that's your day in the barrel."

MOVED “I love how music has the ability to take you to another place. For example, Ed Sheeran came on the Jukebox in the pub I was in. So I swiftly downed my pint, folded up my newspaper and now here I am, in an entirely different pub.”

POTENTIAL ASSASSIN The CIA has three candidates, two men and a woman, for one assassin position. On the final day of testing, the CIA proctor leads the first male candidate to a large steel door and hands him a gun. "We must know that you will follow our instructions, regardless of the circumstances," he explains. "Inside this room you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Take this gun and kill her."

The man is totally horrified, "You surely can’t be serious? I could never shoot my wife!"

"Well," says the proctor, "you’re definitely not the right man for the job then," and indicates to the candidate that he should go sling his hook.

The CIA proctor then leads the second male candidate to another large steel door and hands him the same gun. "We must know that you will follow instructions, no matter what the circumstances," the proctor explains. "Inside this room you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Take this gun and kill her with it." The second man steadies himself, accepts the gun and enters the room. But after three very quiet minutes, the man exits the room with tears in his eyes.

"I wanted to do it, I really did,” he sobbed. “But when it came to the crunch, I just couldn’t pull the trigger. Shucks, I guess I’m not the right man for the job either."

Finally, the CIA proctor lead the female candidate to yet another large steel door and hands her the gun. "We must be sure that you will follow instructions, no matter what the circumstances,” he explains to her. “Inside this room you will find your husband sitting in a chair. Take this gun and kill him with it."

So the woman takes the gun, enters the room, and before the door has even completely closed behind her immediately fires off six shots. Then all hell seems to breaks loose behind the door, with plenty of cursing, screaming and crashing.

Suddenly, all goes quiet and the door opens slowly. The woman exits, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from her brow, blood spattered across her face. "You put fecking blanks in the gun, didn’t you, you sons of bitches?” she says. “I had to batter the bastard to death with the chair."

ADDICTION My gambling addiction is getting worse. In fact, I bet you £2,041.72 you can’t guess how much I owe my bookie?

PRECISION A secretary received an expensive fountain pen from her boss as a birthday present.

She sent him a ‘Thank You’ note by email.

The boss's wife intercepted the email and immediately filed for divorce.

The e-mail read: ‘Your penis wonderful. I just so enjoyed using it last night.

It has an extraordinary smooth flow and a lovely stroke and I adore its perfect size and grip.

It felt like I was in heaven when using it.

Thank you so very much.’

You see, precision counts.

GIVE IT A TRY An old man is walking in Amsterdam and passes a hooker leaning back against a wall. She says, "Hey grandad, why don't we give it a try?”

He smiles and replies, "Oh no, girl. That sort of malarkey is no longer possible for me.” The hooker says, "Ahh come on. What have we got to lose? We can at least give it a try!” And with that they both go up to the room she uses for such purposes and undress. Then he immediately starts acting as though he’s a young man all over again and gives it to her FIVE TIMES in a row. “Oh, my goodness”, pants the hooker, completely breathless. "And you said to me that it was no longer possible for you?”

The old man says, “Oh, that part’s still working fine. It's the paying part that is unfortunately no longer possible.”

BOX OF WINE I’m taking the box of wine I bought back to the supermarket I bought it from to complain. It said on the side: ‘Once opened will last for up to six weeks’. But it only lasted me and the missus a single, solitary night.

CIGARETTE I was standing at the bus stop, just finishing my cigarette, when suddenly it left without me.

"Bastard!" I shouted after it.

I could've sworn I’d put the handbrake on...

CONFESSIONAL An old man walked into the confessional at the cathedral and said to the priest, "Father, I'm 80 years old, married, I have four kids and 10 grandchildren, but last night I made love to not one, but two 19 year old girls. Both of them.

Twice apiece."

The priest replied, "Well, my son, when was the last time you were in confession?"

"Never, Father,” said the old man. “I'm Jewish."

The priest paused, before asking, "So why are you telling me?"

The old man said, "It’s not just you, Father. Hell, I'm telling everyone."

SURPRISE A woman goes to a tattooist and tells him, "I'm getting married next week and I want to surprise my husband with a tattoo of a butterfly on each of my bum cheeks."

But the tattooist shakes his head and says, "Sorry, I don't do butterflies. They're incredibly difficult to draw and they never look right. How about a bee on each of your cheeks instead?

I'm good at bees and it'll look just fine.”

So the woman goes ahead and has a bee tattooed on each of her butt cheeks.

On her wedding night, she peels off her knickers, bends over on the bed and says, "Hey, what do you think?"

Her husband says, "Who the hell’s Bob?"

BLIND DATE I went for my first blind date at the weekend.

I wouldn’t say he was ugly, but when we went for a walk in the woods, he started digging up truffles with his nose.

DOG’S LIFE I was sat on the edge of my bed the other night, pulling off my boxers, when one of them bit me.

All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Although to be fair, you may well have gathered from last month’s issue that he has pretty much been running the show, albeit in a totally unpaid capacity, for the past few months anyway.

Only you know what these ’ere ‘Landlord (Franco) Tenant (Uncle Sam)‘ relationships are often like, don’t you? So I’ll leave it to you to read between the lines.

But hey, do you remember the TV advertisement where that American chappy Victor Kyam said of Remington electric razors: “I liked the company so much, I bought it!”

Well, there are definitely hints of that story here, as Italian Franco (The Edge has already told him he’s going to have to change his accent), a keen chef himself, just couldn’t believe some of the health-conscious ingredients that the Thai chefs were putting into Sugar Palm dishes, not to mention the outstanding taste (and believe you me, readers, the food is soooo very tasty, even though I say so myself).

“I’ve been blown away by it all,” admits Franco. “It’s certainly opened my eyes and taught me a lot in such a short space of time. Only now I’m so very happy that I am running things my way, although this certainly wasn’t what I set out to do!”

But he’s loving it. Loving it! And thriving on it too. He’s just so enthusiastic about what he’s doing that it’s positively infectious.

Oh and by the way, readers, he’s also gone RVB (root vegetable bonkers), due to what he’s gleaned from his new chefs. But he absolutely swears by what he’s now ingesting on a daily basis and I have to say, he’s looking very well on it indeed. The old twinkle is most definitely back in his eye. So do try Sugar Palm soon, particularly if it’s the taste you’re after....not to mention long life too!

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Seenager knows exactly what to do with it. Start to live the life they’d have loved as a teenager, but didn’t have the money, the permission, or the know how to do so.

Greetings once again from the Californian coast.

Where, at last, the bloody rain has stopped and we’ve got something approaching normal weather again. It’s been a spectacularly wet winter and spring, but as the reservoirs badly needed it, nobody complained too much. At least not for the first month. But three? Jeez, it was like being back in Chelmsford. Still, at least it was warm rain.

Anyway, compulsory chit-chat about the weather over, let’s look elsewhere. And for once we’ll leave the politics aside and examine a phenomenon that has come to the fore over here recently.

This column has mentioned before its admiration for the songwriting abilities of the much lamented Ian Dury.

He might not have had the elegant wordsmithery of Shakespeare, but by heck ID often got to the heart of human foibles just as well as the Bard.

Indeed one of his songs, the masterpiece called ‘There ain’t ’alf been some clever bastards’ could well have included a verse about Shakespeare. The title is a pithy yet true observation, you must agree. Especially the added thought that each of those clever bastards probably got help from their mum.

Having shoehorned Willy Boy into the conversation, let’s take a look at one of his observations. He said it much more eloquently than this, but in summary he noted that no matter where you fit on the social or economic scales, every man’s life follows the same seven stages. Those are - infant, whining schoolboy, lover, fighter, calm middleager, pipe and slippers older man and finally a reversion to childlike as death awaits.

So you can’t be arsed to do the cleaning? Well, it’s your home and even if someone notices, do you care what they think? Hell no, you do not.

That classic car you’ve wanted forever? Now’s the time, laddie.

All of which you recognise and yet again you think, “Yes, that dude knew what he was talking about”. Or words to that effect. Yeah but…

Shakespeare hadn’t had any experience of the modern way of retirement. In fact, back then there really wasn’t such a thing as retirement - you worked until you dropped. So, and with due reverence and acknowledgement to his genius, we should expand his seven ages and add an eighth. It goes straight into the charts at number six, and we’ll call it what it’s become known as out here. The Seenager.

Now, the Seenager is an obvious joining of the words senior and teenager, and what it means is that for a lucky few, straight after retirement and before decrepitude sets in, a whole new phase exists. The lucky person has paid off the mortgage, the kids have flown and are not their responsibility any more and the career doesn’t matter because there is no next step. Lastly, and arguably most importantly, by now you know who you are and are entirely comfortable in your own skin.

You have all that extra time, and hopefully enough to live on plus a bit. What to do with it? Well, the

Always fancied yourself as a guitar wizard? Nothing stopping you now, sunshine. Plenty of old gits are playing Brown Sugar in a band for the first time in their lives and loving every second of it.

Pale green hair and a tattoo? Yes Ma’am, go do it. You too, sir, if that’s what floats your pedallo.

You get the picture? It’s pretty wonderful that humanity has reached the stage whereby Seenagers are to be admired and envied, rather than burnt at the stake.

Progress.

But, and it is a big but, the scale on which anyone can be a Seenager depends on two things. Firstly, having the money to do it, and secondly, the bottle to not give a hoot what others think. Not everyone can meet both criterion. But if you do, boy, is life good. Plenty of surveys have shown people are at their happiest in their 60s and it has to be assumed the Seenager is adding significant weight to the findings. People used to boast about growing old disgracefully, but now there’s a nice concise name for it. The Seenager. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Sign up here.

And on that extremely positive note….

EDGE

the

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I used to run this years ago, where each entrant puts in a fiver, along with their predictions, and the cash was shared between the overall winner, runner-up and the third placed pundit. But when it started attracting over 100 peeps I bonked it on the head, so these days, 15 of us just did it for fun.

Basically, before a ball (or even the Charity Shield ball) had been kicked, we predicted the final placings of how the 2018-19 season was going to shape up, plus the top Premiership goalscorer and the first Premier League manager to get the sack (or move clubs). It’s interesting to see both how close and how far out you can be. Scoring: 5 points for a prediction that’s bang-on, 4 if you’re one place out (either way), 3 for two positions out etc. Same where the manager and top goalscorer is concerned. Reigning ‘chumpion’ was The Edge columnist, now retired in the San Diego sunshine, Steve Ward.

His Lordship, a season ticket holder at the Emirates, was naturally hugely optimistic in having The Gunners to finish runners-up to Manchester City, but scored an impressive 65 pwa (points) and also managed to predict Watford’s final place of eleventh bang-on, which was no mean feat. Indeed, the only teams he failed to collect any points on whatsoever were Fulham, who he thought might finish 9th, and Wolves, who he strangely figured would get relegated. Shame on you, D’Arcy.

Also picked up maximum points for PierreEmerick Aubameyang finishing the season as joint top Premiership goalscorer and a further 3 pwa for Jose Mourinho being the third top flight manager to receive the old tic-tac.

All in all, a very fine debut, as our Timothy had never entered this competition before and to get one over on his North London rival and reigning champion Wardo was no mean feat.

Also managed just one point apiece on where Brighton and Burnley eventually finished.

As The Edge has already alluded to, columnist Wardo is an absolute master at this little game. Predicted City and Liverpool as the ‘top 2’ and was only one place out on each of the clubs finishing third-fifth. Was also just one position out where Everton, West Ham and Southampton were concerned, clubs who are notoriously tricky to predict. Missed out completely where both Burnley and Wolves were concerned, but picked up 4 points on Mark Hughes (will he ever manage again?) and 2 pwa for Sergio Aguero in the sharp-shooter stakes.

Meanwhile, what can be said about first time entrant Luke Butcher, other than jolly well done, young man. The only pundit to predict the ‘top 3’ in the correct order, place for place, and also predicted Bournemouth bangon, which can be a well tricky task. Was also just one place out where Everton, Leicester City, Watford and Southampton were concerned, but sadly only managed to pick up a solitary point for Claude Puel getting belatedly sacked by Leicester and nil pwa for Romelu Lukaku where the old onion bag was in contention.

A valiant attempt by young James who was the only entrant to collect maximum points on Burnley’s final placing (15th). Getting another 5 pwa on Newcastle United finishing 13th was also pretty impressive stuff, particularly after the poor start The Toon had to the campaign, but failed to record any pwa whatsoever where both Fulham and Watford were concerned, along with choosing Rafa Benitez as the first manager to get the ole ‘chip-shop’.

You can see how tight it was. Only 5 points separated the top 9 pundits. I’d say my best predictions were 4 points for Manchester United, Leicester City, Bournemouth, Newcastle, Burnley and Southampton, and my worst was nil pwa for Fulham, Chelsea, Brighton and Watford, and also nowt for predicting Javi Garcia to be the first boss to get shown the door. Sole female entrant ABN made an impressive debut and scored a cracking 9/10 on Mo Salah as joint top goalscorer and Mark Hughes to be the second boss with the rug pulled beneath his plates. But once again, no pwa for Burnley, Fulham and Watford (who she had bottom) and just 1 pwa for Wolves. And it was pretty much the same where Austin Burrows was concerned, who picked up an impressive 5 points where Crystal Palace were concerned, but was way off in choosing Neil Warnock to the first ‘condemned man’. And despite earning 5 points on Brighton, 4 points apiece on Leicester City, Everton and Mark Hughes, city (of London) boy and Edge columnist Billy Hinken only managed a solitary point where both Fulham, Wolves, Watford and Harry Kane were concerned. Plus he hates Spurs. And Arsenal. And anyone but The ’Ammers.

The Edge has some sympathy for ardent Wolves fan (see also page 20) and friendly Chelmsford High Street Nationwide Building Society manager Ollie, as he was the only one to predict Wolves amazing seventh placed finish, as well as getting a cracking 5 points on Southampton. But once again, Fulham and Watford proved to be the bogey teams, while Oliver also collected nil pwa for Harry Kane and Javi Garcia.

Meanwhile, ‘Our Jan’ only failed to score any points on just two clubs Watford and Bournemouth - who he both picked to be relegated. Crucially managed to gain a precious point apiece on both Burnley and Fulham, and also picked up decent pwa on Everton, Wolves, Leicester City, Newcastle, Palace, BHA and Huddersfield Town - but none for Rafa.

Finishing 4 points behind ‘The Mexican Butcher’ must smart a bit though?

Red scouse fanatic Neil Richardson of our town’s Westminster Outdoor Leisure (opposite Tesco on Springfield Road), you managed 57 points, sir, but got nowt for Burnley, Wolves, Watford, Lukaku or Rafa Benitez.

Andrew Crocker, a former ‘top 3’ finisher in the very early days of this competition, you also managed 57 points and failed to get any points whatsoever on Burnley, Fulham, Wolves, Bournemouth, Watford, Javi Garcia and Harry Kane.

Scott Mason of Duke Street’s The Home Partnership, quite possibly the greatest estate agents in Chelmsford, managed 56 points, but collected but one solitary point where Burnley, Southampton, Fulham, Watford, Wolves and Bournemouth were concerned (out of a possible 30 points that were up for grabs with those 6 clubs).

Semi-retired Neil Manley, 54 points, predicted the mighty Wolves to be relegated, whilst seemingly Manchester City’s Jesus would finish as the Golden Boot winner. Eh? Just what was your thinking there, southern bloke? You finished next to last, lad. Must do better next season.

Well what do you expect - he’s a bloody hairdresser! shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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M

y last two articles appear to have struck a chord (or a nerve) and I’ve had a few interesting discussions with both friends and strangers alike regarding my views on both the state of ‘Great’ Britain and our current societal and economic status quo. I’ve had some very positive feedback, plus a few people tell me I am “full of s ** t”, which is nothing new.

Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with our economy, we’ve never had it so good, people just need to knuckle down, stop moaning and Britain really can be ‘great’ once again, if we only give us a chance.

Now, that last one I actually agree with, but not for the same reasons my detractors do. I don’t mind being challenged and if the evidence agrees with you and I’ve got it all wrong, I’ll admit it. Eventually.

KiNGPiN The Kingmeister reports

‘GREAT’ BRITAIN?

the time you retire, with the kids having flown the nest, so then you can downsize and use all of that sweet, sweet equity you’ve built up to fund your golden years? Right on, bro’. Good luck with that.

Because these days it’s projected it will take millennials around 19 years to save even enough for a deposit, so if you’ve actually got anything left to save after putting your pension money aside, paying your student loans and living day-to-day, you’ll be getting your first house just before you’re 40, and unless the runaway train that is the UK housing market is derailed, you’ll be paying a quarter of a million quid for a tiny little 2-bed, so you won’t be doing much downsizing.

So with stagnant wages, working hours that have started increasing for the first time since the 19th cenSo, I wanted to do some further tury (did I forget to mention that research to see if Britain really is working hours have steadily great, and it’s just me that can’t see decreased in the past 200 years?

“How are those reports coming along, Dave?” it, and perhaps I simply need to Well, until now they had), little job comfort in the fact that if we’re employed by a knuckle down and stop my moaning. So I decided security, rising living costs, almost a quarter of the large corporation, our CEO will have earned our to start with something that has possibly the greatpopulation in poverty, while 10% hoard half of the annual salary by Wednesday of the working week. est effect on our lives and something that’s a percountries’ wealth, public services and state assisWhat’s not to like about that? sonal bugbear of mine: work. It’s no secret that I tance programmes decimated year after year, Still, it’s not like we’ll have to work forever, is it? think we all work too much, that it’s physically and together with a generation that, for the first time in One day we’ll all be able to retire and put our feet mentally damaging, and a radical rethink into the decades, are doing worse than their parents, how up, right? tired old ‘9-5, 5 days a week’ mantra is urgently ‘great’ do I think Britain really is?

Or will we? required. But am I right, or am I just lazy and “full of s ** t”?

All things taken into consideration, is it honestly any wonder that I believe the whole system needs, Pension pot or chamber pot?

Data over the last 10 years suggests a UK averat the very least, a radical re-think? Most of our Let’s say you’re 20 years old and you’re just startage of 37 hours per week and a commute of 1 social and economic systems were put in place ing your first job on an average salary of £28k a hour, which is roughly 9.5 hours per day all told. decades ago and while times have undoubtedly year (you poor, poor soul). We know the retireThat’s with an unhindered commute and no unpaid changed, they haven’t. I certainly don’t have all of ment age for the state pension is set to keep on overtime, yet we all know how rare the ‘perfect the answers, but I know we can’t just keep on rising, so it’s unlikely you’ll be able to get your commute’ is these days. UK workers did £21billion doing what we’ve been doing as it simply doesn’t hands on that risible £670 a month until you’re at of unpaid overtime last year, whilst the culture of work anymore, at least for the significant majority. least 68 (if there’s any money left in the state penregularly working over your hours appears to be Because “I’m alright, Jack” shouldn’t be good sion pot by then), meaning your private pension is thoroughly ingrained in most of us. enough anymore, never should have been, and it even more important. But how much should you should never be a reason to prop up a status quo be saving?

I’ll use myself as an example, as I’m a that is pretty much designed to enrich fairly typical specimen. On paper, my and empower the few at the expense of commute is 45 minutes, yet actually the many. takes me over an hour. I also work between 30 minutes to an hour extra N.B. I’ve just re-read what I’ve just writevery day, so taking me as the average ten and, good grief, it’s thoroughly, thorJoe, our working days are now typically oughly depressing, isn’t it? around 12 hours. Working and travelling for 12 hours means you need your But hopefully it has also thoroughly sleep, so that’s 7 to 8 hours of your depressed some of you reading this as remaining 12 hours gone at a stroke, well. Or, even better, made you angry. leaving lots of us with a paltry 4 to 5 Because I think that we all need to be hours of ‘free time’ per working day. getting a little bit angry right about now, and we all need to start admitting that So what are we getting for it? Not much, the ‘system’ just isn’t good enough anyas it turns out. The average UK salary is more, if not actually broken, and we £28k, a figure that has been stagnant for need to start demanding real change most of us for the past 10 years. Indeed, and stop propping up an unfair, unequal Well at least they’re homeless somewhere posh in real terms, we’re earning less than we status quo, simply because just enough were 10 years ago. It’s true that employment is of us are managing to get by and don’t want to booming, at least on paper, but if you pull those rock the boat.

Long term forecasts suggest that the cost of living figures apart, you’ll see the boom is mainly lowin retirement will rise to around £3k per month by wage work with little to no job security. Meanwhile Yes, we definitely need to start getting angry 2050, meaning a pension pot of over £600k by the the cost of living is forever rising, so we’re earning because the amount of people sleeping rough on time you retire. Therefore our intrepid 20-year-old less money while things are getting more expenour streets in so called ‘Great’ Britain has doubled is going to need to be saving £900 of his salary sive and a lot of us are doing all of this standing in the the past 10 years, whilst over half a million every single month in order to achieve that figure, on an employment rug that can be pulled out from people in the UK are now relying on food banks, and while that £28k a year will hopefully increase beneath us at a moment’s notice. simply because the people who teach our children over his working life, that’s pretty much half of his and care for our sick are paid an insulting pittance take-home pay gone in a flash. Then factor in the Perhaps it’s not surprising that 22% of the populato do an amazingly important job, and also increasing cost of living and they really won’t be tion are classed as being in ‘poverty’, with many of because the only people our society really deems seeing much of a return for all of those hours them being the ‘working poor’. Just think about important are those that can make money for peospent in the office. that. We’re a 1st world nation with the seventh ple that already have more than they can spend in largest economy in the world, yet almost a quarter their lifetime.

Okay, so saving half of your salary each month is of us live in poverty, while almost half of the UK’s a bit pie in the sky, but you can always save a bit wealth is owned by a mere 10% of the population.

So, ‘Great’ Britain? less towards your pension so you can get on the Every single one of us should bloody well be housing ladder, right? And be mortgage free by ashamed by that. But ah well, we can all take Not bloody likely.

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SILVER SURFER When The Edge said they wanted a retired ‘Silver Surfer’ to write a regular column, I thought, ‘Hey I could do that!’ Because I’m sort of retired and I’ll be sodding 60 next year. And while I prefer to call it ‘salt’n’pepper, I guess my nut is now bordering on silver. Okay, okay, it is bloody silver, alright?

That said, I’m hardly living the stereotypical ‘OCL’ (old codger lifestyle). Not yet, anyway.

So I’ve suggested they continue to look for a bona fide ‘Silver Surfer’ and in the meantime, I’ll fill a few column inches of this mighty little organ until someone more appropriate toddles along.

I thought my first column should be by way of an introduction to myself, whilst any subsequent columns can build up to a crescendo of irrelevance and meaninglessness. I’m just trying to whet your appetite, okay?

So me. I’m a Chignall Estate lad, the “posh end” of Avon Road, so my Mum says (that’s the lower numbers, in case you are wondering). Sorry if you live up beyond the Trent Road roundabout, but you know this to be true, don’t you? Mum still lives in the house my brother and I were born in, which is nice.

I secured a place in the much sought after Rainsford Grammar School, sorry, I mean Comprehensive School. Think Kegs, but without the education or discipline and, more days than not, pupils. It’s closed down now, but heaven knows why! But good things did come out of there. Not me, but that chap Mark Dixon, who can claim to have invented serviced office suites (Regus). He was in my year and he didn’t do too badly, did he?

Anyhow, I left school in 1977 and with my

The Edge 077 646 797 44

single CSE Grade 1 in woodwork, I was certain this would lead me to, ahem, great things and magnificent adventures. And so it proved, as I will explain in future columns.

MOANING So what’s been bothering me of late? Well, that Victoria Derbyshire on the BBC got my goat. Did anyone see her (probably all of you) refer to Jeremy Hunt as Jeremy something that sounds similar on ‘live’ morning TV? Talk about saying what’s on your mind.

Brilliant! And of course, it went viral and it gave us all a bit of a laugh as she apologised profusely for what she says was a mere slip of the tongue (yeah, righto, Vicky love). But it was what she added next that got my back up. She said, “I’m sorry. I’ve never used that word before. It’s normally men that say that.” Eh? Can she get away with that? Because if Paxman made a comment about ironing and then added, “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t normally comment about ironing as it’s a woman’s thing,” there would be absolute uproar. And rightly so, ladies (after all, I don’t want to piss off half the audience on day one, now do I?).

But I’m not through with moaning just yet.

Far from it. I’m a West Ham supporter, after all. Probably along with 98% of Chelmsford, right? Chelmsford being a city of Essex and West Ham being our ‘local’ Premiership club. There are no Liverpool or Man U. supporters in Chelmsford, of course. Surely not.

Anyhow, I digress. The fixture list for the forthcoming 2019-20 season has already been announced and West Ham kick-off at The London Stadium with a visit from the free spending, Arabian oil backed, Premiership champions Manchester City.

Bloody brilliant! Last season our first fixture was Liverpool, the season before that Chelsea, the season before that Arsenal

and the season before that Spurs. Who would’ve thought it? I’m not making this up.

The football gods truly hate West Ham. Did you know that West Ham were actually an Essex club less than 50 years ago, before the authorities changed the London boundaries to form The London Borough of Newham. I’m full of interesting facts, me.

LADIES WORLD CUP What about the Ladies World Cup tournament over in France. Anybody watch it? I’ve always been a bit meh about the ladies game. I mean seriously, how can it compare to the men’s? Well, of course, it can’t. But that’s the mistake that critics make, in my humble opinion. Because to my mind, the ladies game should stand alone. I do like that it’s actually very pure, with no diving, no arguing with the ref, families in the crowd, no spitting etc. Plus tea and cake at half time too, no doubt.

Sorry!

But it’s difficult to pinpoint where the main differences are because I think the skill level is also very high where the women are concerned. Clearly they don’t have the strength of men, but then players like George Best and Messi were/are both slight of build, yet they relied on their balance and skills to prosper, which is something the woman seem to have in abundance.

I wonder if a woman could ever play in the men’s game? Quite honestly, I think they could. Ha, that surprised you, didn’t it?

But not as a goalkeeper, mind, as they are seriously, seriously, rubbish! Do you know why that is? It’s because women have poorer spatial awareness than men. And that’s true, is that, as it happens.

Not many people know that.

JULY I’m looking forward to the month of July. I shall be moving back into my house in Little Waltham, having spent the past 18 months living between Chelmsford, London and Portugal. Trust me, I have so much to tell you!

Well, I’ve enjoyed writing for you this month.

Assuming contract negotiations with The Edge go well, I’ll be back again in the very near future.

Oh, and it’s not just about the money!

TTFN. DEAKS.

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Max Headroom’s

BIZARRE NEWS EDGE BLOKE BUMPS INTO JONATHAN PEARCE!

What were the chances of that happening?

There our man was, seemingly dressed for the Arctic at the end of May, just about to leave The Oystercatcher in Polzeath, to trudge back to his tent, when he says it was “something about the eyebrows”.

“Oh aye,” says our editor, “I’d recognize Pearcey’s eyebrows anywhere.

Not that I’m a big fan of his style of commentating, mind. It’s far too shouty for me. As is John Motson’s, who’s far too excitable. I’m more of a Barry Davies kind of bloke, I am. Quieter. Cultured. More reserved.”

Well, thanks for the insight, boss. You can go back up to your big office and your big desk on the fifth floor now and leave the rest of us minions to try to make The Edge even remotely funny, you old, bearded tosser.

KiDS reading

£13,000 INFLATABLE NORKS

EDGE

the

A transgender woman called Ivana Vladislave (27) has become one of the first people in the world to get inflatable boobs fitted (to her chest) that are capable of reaching a massive P-cup in size.

She underwent the procedure after dedicating her life to looking ‘as feminine as possible’ (eh, you what?).

Ivana even started taking female hormone tablets at just 11-years-old.

More recently she started investigating ‘hot air balloons’ after suffering an infection in her previous right G-cup implant.

After having to live with just one breast for a period of 12-months, Ivana, from Berlin, was able to have her remaining implant replaced, plus adding another absolute whopper, and now she is able to inflate her breasts by filling them with a saline solution up to truly gigantic proportions.

Ivana says: “I wanted my boobs to be as big as absolutely possible.

However, after surgery, my right breast opened up and I could see the implant coming out of my skin. It was leaking and bleeding. It was horrible and scary. Just 4 months later I was rushed to hospital due to blood poisoning where they found a deadly bacteria, so one of my implants had to be removed. In the meantime, I started getting called Cyclops, which wasn’t very nice. But now, with my all new inflatable implants, I’m so very happy. I have to pump them up every 3 months, but that is no hardship.

However, women really must learn from what I have been through.”

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MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus CASINO

A room full of beautifully dressed people, an atmosphere of sophistication hangs deeply in the air. The camera pans across a roulette table, a man draws deeply on a pipe full of Old Tweed Shag before uttering the immortal line through the ensuing cloud of smoke: “The name’s Tweedstrangler. Motson Tweedstrangler.” The camera pans back to showcase a handsome, well groomed, suave and debonair man in a tweed dinner suit, an unusual but strangely practical choice of cloth for such an event. Certainly a more practical garment for secret agent activities than a standard black tuxedo. All around are people in evening dress sipping cocktails. The atmosphere is convivial. A huge class divide is in evidence. The players are always upper class and the flunkeys are always some kind of gawd bless you, guvnor servile stereotypes, grateful just to be there.

That is, of course, the scenario of a casino that is perpetuated by the film industry to this day. Whereas the reality is very different. As a UK casino user, I can report from a position of experience. We have a thriving casino industry in the UK. There are 152 physical casinos here. I say ‘physical’ because there are also the plethora of online casinos to choose from, advertised on satellite and cable tv services. You can buy a software casino package all ready to go from a computer company probably easier than you can speak to an internet help desk. I was disappointed to find out recently that our very own promised casino at Chelmsford Racecourse is still several years away, so it always means a trek down to Sarfend where we have two to choose from. We always go to the one at Westcliff. It’s posher down that end of town and it looks out over the estuary. I grant you looking at the twinkling lights of the Isle of Grain is not the same as the twinkling lights of super yachts in Monaco harbour. But it is, however, generally better than the windowless, clockless, time neutral dens that casinos generally are.

Onto the clientele. I have been to casinos in the west end of London and I have seen people in evening dress, myself being one of them. It is still the exception, rather than the rule. Locally, the only people I have ever seen in a dinner suit is some bloke on stage doing a ‘turn’ as an added extra. There is a dress code, but it is very flexible on the ‘smart casual’ tone.

I also expect there is a high degree of flexibility which is fully dependent on

Oh get over yourselves.

And yes, I know it looks like a deceased Bumble Bee, so surely you can imagine just how very deaf it was making me, before it was suddenly water-blasted out of me lug ’ole while I was having my left ear syringed by a very nice nurse at the quacks?

Such a relief to be able to hear (properly) again, because it won’t shift itself, will it? Not once it’s gotten compacted, it won’t.

But that was on a Tuesday afternoon, after which she told me my right ear was also blocked (although it hadn’t been impairing my hearing, I didn’t think), only there was no shifting it. So she told be to keep putting oil in it (olive oil is just as good as buying ear-drops from tut chemist) for a 48hr period and return to see her on the Thursday - a most successful appointment I’ve only just this minute returned from, although there wasn’t half as much of a build up of wax in my right ear, thankfully.

I think you’re either (naturally) prone to this sort of malarkey, or you’re not, and unfortunately I seemingly am. Thing is though, all of my previous syringing visits over the course of the past 10-15 years have always been after returning to Blighty after swimming in the sea or a swimming pool whilst on holiday, abroad. Whereas on this occasion, I’d done neither.

Just so you readers know though, we are not supposed to ‘puggle’ our ears (i.e. stick the end of our little finger in there), whilst it’s good to ‘oil ’em’ once a week, just to keep the wax nice and supple, like. shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

one’s gambling habits. I say this because last year, I walked in and a guy was in there in a pair of rigger boots and building site clobber with a big wad of notes in his hand. He was placing some decent bets on several tables at once. Meanwhile, I started to have a few wins on my £1 bets (I do the same number combos all the time) and he started following me with fifty pound bets to cash in on my ‘beginner’s luck’. So you can see the connection between flexibility of rules versus size of wad. The cynic in me suggests this is sadly true in so very much of life.

There are also far more pints of Stella sitting around the edge of the tables than ever there are Dry Martini’s or Sidecars, while Tom Collins is more likely to be the name of the croupier than the drink being served. There are the Saturday night dress-ups often having a night out, although it’s usually the same dress standard as one would wear to the pub. Mostly, it’s blokes in t-shirts and jeans, ladies the same, and Chinese grannies with handbags stuffed full of notes. The Chinese business community always arrive later in the evening, straight from work, and boy do they love a bet.

If you fancy such a night, it can be a good time and good fun. Only forget the James Bond setting for starters, while reconciling yourself to the fact that the house always wins. There are times when the wealth is redistributed amongst the players, but in reality it is a temporary loan. Will there be an international criminal focused on world domination at the one pound table? Most unlikely.

More realistically it will be a roofer called Darren.

I was at the casino the Saturday before I sat down to write this piece. You may be wondering if I can offer any tips on how to make a small fortune? That’s easy to answer. Start with a big one, then simply sit down at a roulette table for a few hours...

Yours aye,

Simply send to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Page 29

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SILVER SURFERS

been returning to the show for some weeks (because she hasn’t previously been picked) yet is frequently reminded of the fact by McGuinness: “You've been here some weeks now and not been picked, haven’t you?” How I wished the girls would shout back, “Lucky me!” at his stupid smarmy sarcasm.

TOTALLY TRACIE “EVERYONE WILL BE FAMOUS FOR 15 MINUTES” Andy Warhol

The Edge has had a fantastic response (yes, 5 enquiries is a fantastic response) to its plea for pensioner columnists....but we’re still after a couple more!

EDGE

the

I don't know about you, but I love a good box-set. I was hooked on ‘Game of Thrones’ and felt a little bit depressed at the ending, to be honest. However, nowadays I cannot stand to wait all week for an episode or even a season to start. Instead ‘I have to have it’ all lined up and ready to hand. Then I’ll sit there, all evening long, flicking through the episodes/seasons.

But is that really good for us? Is it simply another example of our need for everything right now? We just cannot stand to wait for anything anymore, can we?

I recently watched the ‘Black Monday’ box set on Sky and, I won’t lie, I sat there for three nights solid watching episode after episode, back-to-back. Sure, it was good, but I missed out all of the important bits because I started drifting into looking at my phone halfway through and got distracted and lost my concentration.

I love a good crime series, or a period drama. But the one thing that drives me absolutely mad is Reality TV! So imagine my horror when I came home the other night to find ‘Him Indoors’ literally glued to the set watching ‘Love Island’.

He seemed mesmerised by the comings and goings of a group of young people screaming and shouting and crying and making a huge, big drama out of very little at all. So I sat down and I thought to myself, ‘What madness have I come home to?’ Because there he was, excitedly telling me who was coupling-up with who and who was crying in the corner.

Honestly, it was like coming home to hell on earth so far as I was concerned. But I just nodded, smiled (albeit falsely) until I could stand it no more and stomped off to make a cup of tea, whereupon he told me, “You have no sense of fun.” Fun? I’d rather stick my hand in a wasps nest.

It really makes me wonder how we women ended up here? My point being, ‘Love Island’, where the men are picking the girls, but then losing interest very quickly, and the girls are all crying and bitching and fighting amongst themselves.

And don't even get me started on ‘Take Me Out’ with that Paddy McGuinness chap. All those gorgeous girls, and then some ‘bouncy boyfriend wannabe’ acrobats across the stage before running up and down turning out lights left, right and centre, whilst the audience hisses and boos, until he picks the girl he wants to take on a date. Perhaps a girl that has

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Another one that makes me scream is ‘The Bachelor’, where a group of women go to some guy's house to party and do more and more daring things before tearing each other to pieces, all vying for his attentions and wanting to be ‘the one’ to date him. Oh come on, GET REAL! Most of these guys would use all our bath products and slap on more moisturiser before bedtime than us girls ever would.

Ladies - we need to claim back our power and make a man CHASE US, rather than us chasing them. As Kate once said of Prince William, “He’s the lucky one to be dating me!” Kate made him work for the privilege. No-one should be handed it on a plate. Not even a future King!

WORST PROPOSALS EVER One of my friends was in floods of tears the other week. Her boyfriend had taken her to a lovely restaurant to propose and as he got down on one knee, the whole restaurant went quiet. It should have been a moment to behold, as she enthusiastically nodded ‘yes’. But out from behind a curtain came her future prospective mother-in-law with the ring. Now the ring was hers, so she then proceeded to pull up a chair and plonk herself at their table and tell my friend what she could and could not do with the ring and that it was only technically ‘on loan’ to her. My poor friend had waited years for this proposal. She showed me the ring and burst into tears, it was that hideous. But her fiancé was adamant that she did not hurt his mother's feelings, while us girls were advising her to ‘run for the hills’.

I was further taken back when later that same week, another of my friends piped up that her partner had proposed to her on WhatsApp (at least the other guy had booked a restaurant, turned up and asked her in person). Is a WhatsApp proposal not the final degradation? I wouldn’t have minded, only when she showed me the message, it was clearly in between him sorting out his work van when he casually asked her to ‘Be my wife?’

I think all us girls dream of that special moment in our lives when the one we love becomes Prince Charming for a few hours and ‘pops the question’. A proposal is about surprise and excitement and a bit of fairytale romance. No-one wants to be proposed to on WhatsApp. It just smacks of nothingness and emptiness and if someone cannot even be bothered to see your face light up and be there in person, what hope is there for the future? My friend was truly heartbroken, declined, and it’s all gone downhill since.

I guess we women evolve and change over the centuries, but one thing stays the same. Underneath it all, we crave a bit of romance and to be both wanted and desired and made to feel special by our very own Prince Charming. We crave memories to look back on. Anything else simply isn’t worth having.

Tracie123@aol.com

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