The Edge Magazine January 2020 by webwax

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 279

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‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’

Telephone 01245 348256

Mobile: 077 646 797 44

JANUARY 2020

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Cast your minds back to Thursday 28th Nov. (which is what they say in detective shows: “Can you account for your whereabouts on the last Thursday of the month almost six weeks prior, sir?”). Surely it had to be them, didn’t it? I even got up to check the night sky and it seemed as though it was making a continuous rectangular shape with its red lights flashing. What was that all about? And why can’t they do it over Maldon or Braintree way instead, so that I can get some much needed shut-eye?

IDIOTS

The Edge Editor’s Column NIGHT NURSE My god, Night Nurse is good stuff, isn’t it? I had the dreaded lurgy pretty bad for a fortnight recently, and I wasn’t too good the week that followed it either. So one night, my missus insisted I take a couple of Night Nurse tablets before I went to bed and OMG, I slept right through, which is something I never, ever do. What’s more, there were absolutely no after effects either (I didn’t wake up the next morning feeling drowsy or with a full-on pair of breasts). Just what do they put in those tablets? Because as I’m a pretty crap sleeper, it has crossed my mind to take a couple of Night Nurse tablets every night before bedtime.

HELICOPTER Being a light sleeper, what you definitely don’t need if you have happened to drop off, is Essex Police test-flying one of their reet noisy helicopters above your house for almost half-an-hour at 04:25am in the pesky morning.

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Somehow supermarket staff need to get a grip of idiot drivers speeding between lanes of parked cars in their car parks, because clearly it is damn stupid behaviour by people who ought to know better. Driving at even 20mph is still way too fast, particularly when all that can be seen are parked cars on either side. Supposing a little toddler suddenly ran out. Then what? Because at that speed, it’s asking for far more than mere trouble. Yet I see this kind of madness happening time and time again. THINK, you frickin’ idiots. THINK!

TRAFFIC LIGHTS Whoever sets the timing of the traffic lights at the Army & Navy roundabout needs to buck their bloody ideas up. Timing is absolutely essential and if the settings are too long between stopping the flow of traffic from one direction and restarting it from another, then unforeseen delays are clearly bound to occur, thus leading to immediate congestion. Someone needs to be keeping an eye on things a damn sight more closely, particularly during peak periods, so that immediate adjustments can be made to those stopping and those going.

NEW YEAR, NEW EYESIGHT I’m going to have to do something about my eyesight this year, as it seems to be worsening at a rapid rate of knots. Doubt I’ll have the finances to hand or the courage to undergo laser eye surgery though. I’ve heard you can even smell burning flesh when they do that, so it’ll far more than likely be milk bottle bottomed spectacles for moi.

SHOP DOORWAYS People who decide to hold conversations with others just inside shop doorways. Jesus, use your frickin’ loaves. You are in the fecking way.

2020 I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m feeling optimistic about 2020, but it does have a certain ring about it, don’t you think? And surely it can’t be any worse than 2019, can it? I said: Can it?

NAPPY NEWS I updated the return-by date on my library books online today for (drumroll maestro, please) the very first time ever. Yay, how about that? Yep, it was genuinely the first time that I have not trudged into Chelmsford Library with some books in a rucksack on my back and updated them through one of their modern (I happen to think) scanners that I generally need to call a member of staff over to assist me with. To all intents and purposes, a bit like when a baby cries for its mum to change its soiled nappy.

FOLLOWING THROUGH Did any of you follow through after eating far too many Brussel Sprouts over the festive period? THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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“I know. Let’s take them to see a massive poo exhibition, shall we? They’d really like that.” Or what about the one about the man walking along the street and he suddenly spots something on the pavement ahead of him. So he approaches it warily and crouches down to observe it. ‘Hmmmmm,’ he muses to himself, ‘it sure does look like poo.’ Then he sniffs it. ‘Oh my god, that’s disgusting’, he declares. So clearly it smells like poo. Then he sticks his finger in and puts it to his lips. ‘Jesus, it even tastes like poo. Therefore,’ he concludes, ‘it surely must be poo.’ And with that he steps over it and continues on his way. ‘Good job I didn’t tread in it,’ he muses. So what do you readers think about exhibitions celebrating the brown and sticky stuff? Because personally speaking, The Edge is all for a bit of surrealist art in the myriad forms it takes. So here’s hoping that Chelmsford Museum can treat us all to a top notch poo spectacular very soon in 2020.

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Dear Edge, I've just (belatedly) picked up one of your November 2019 editions and, as always, found it a fascinating read. Indeed, I've found The Edge ‘a fascinating read’ since its very early days. As a person who’s considerably older than he was back in 1996, when you first began, I think it's these days 'kin wonderful that such a mere youngster as yourself has now decided to give some of your column inches (so to speak) to us older readers. I love 'Fogey's Corner' and all of the other stuff written by those of a similar age to me. Even articles not directly written by older folk bring back fond memories of the 38 years I spent slaving away in Chelmsford at County Hall, where from July 1966 I gradually rose through the ranks from teaboy and general dogsbody, all the way up to coffeeboy and brigadier dogsbody. Having said that, I did have some fun along the way, every now and then. Your 'You missed a bit' item (November Edge, page 7) about the crumbling multi-storey car park reminded me of the lunchtime I spent hanging off the top of County Hall (yes, literally). Basically, I'd had a dreadful morning, so me and my mate, Mick Purkiss (who'd also had a dreadful morning, but I’m convinced mine was an awful lot dreadfuller) went up to the roof of County Hall - A Block and, with bugger all better to do, I decided to play the daredevil. Fortunately, Mick had his Praktika IV SLR camera handy and was able to record the event for posterity. I must admit, it certainly got the adrenalin pumping. At least, that's what I think caused the damp patch at the front of my trousers. So now, over 50 years later, I present said photograph to you for ‘consideration for publication’ in an upcoming edition of your fine organ. And if you do choose to publish it, it will be the first time the image has been seen anywhere within the public domain. Remember too that it was taken long before computers came on the scene and, back in those days, the camera never lied. I truly believe it is important for all of the PC folk of today to see what a mad **** er I was back then, and also to prove that not all local government officers are boring bastards. Sadly, access to the roof of A Block is no longer possible for current staff. Furthermore, there is now no longer any access to staff themselves, due to Equality Acts. Although the photograph does afford a view of the multi-storey car park being built, so presumably so smart arse out there might be able to tell you the approximate date the snap was taken. If nothing else, this photo provides a late 1960s view of part of Central Park and Victoria Road South, much of which no longer exists, or has now been demolished, or built on. All the best, Patrick Chaplin. Editor’s comment: Many thanks for the photograph and your kind compliments, Patrick. Perhaps some local ex-council employees will even remember you and some of your antics, as I cannot believe for one moment that this was an ‘isolated incident’.

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After a month of true British classics and winter warmers i.e. roast dinners, pies, stews etc., we always fancy getting into the kitchen and experimenting with other cuisines and flavours. Mexican food is always a winner in our house, as it’s still quite filling and satisfying, but it’s also fun to share with friends, not to mention being full of various textures and spices. So this month we have put together a delicious wintery taco recipe, along with how to make your very own corn tortillas that can be used for burritos, fajitas, enchiladas or quesadillas.

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Roasted Squash & Cheese Blanket Tacos 1 squash or pumpkin cut into small cubes 1 red onion 4 cloves of garlic 1 lime fresh jalapeños tomato paste dried ancho chillies 1 tbsp smoked paprika 1 tsp cumin 1 tsp maple syrup coriander tin or sweetcorn half a mango in small cubes 100g cheddar cheese Home Made Corn Tortillas 250g yellow or white masa harina 300ml of lukewarm water ½ tsp of salt For the corn tortillas mix the masa harina and water with salt in a bowl to form a ball and leave to rest for 30 minutes. Then whack the oven on 200c and mix cubed squash with salt, pepper, maple syrup, smoked paprika and cumin. Cook for 30 minutes in a roasting tray. Once the squash is cooked, line a baking tray with greaseproof paper and put in 6-8 thin piles of grated cheddar cheese – cook for 5 or so minutes until crisp – then leave these hanging over wooden spoon handles between 2 glasses to create a perfect taco shape - yay!

Add the squash and chopped coriander. In a bowl mix chopped mango, sweetcorn and jalapeños with lime juice. Now it’s back to the tortillas. Divide the dough into twelve. Flatten these small balls using cling film and a block or board to press (a steel tortilla press would be ideal). These should be just a couple of mm thick. Heat a flat bottomed, nonstick pan on high and cook on each side for a minute until they puff up. Serve these tortillas as soft tacos with the cheese crisp, topped with squash mix, mango salsa and any extras you care to add. But most of all, enjoy!

Sautee red onion slices with rehydrated chopped ancho chilli, garlic and tomato paste.

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aware of this), I believe the preachers end up doing more harm to their causes than good. People become sick of having subjects rammed down their throats and end up moving away from things they may have previously considered. For example, everyone has their own reason for choosing whichever political party they want to vote for. Ultimately it will be the one that is best for THEM. Some may call that selfish. However, in reality, no-one is going to vote for a party that leaves them worse off, yet benefits the person who lives down the road, are they? We all have a right to vote for what we think is best for us. Insulting people by saying they are naive and uneducated, or sharing every piece of propaganda going on the internet, is NOT going to change people’s minds. More likely such preaching will alienate them and make them less willing to listen to the prospect of change.

Before I continue, my point this month is not to offend anyone at all. I’m not prejudiced towards anyone and truly believe people should be able to live happily and safely in whichever way they choose, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone, so that we can all live side by side. My problem arises when people get all preachy about things and decide their way is the only way, that they are right and the rest of the world is wrong. Or that we bend over so far to accommodate a tiny percentage of the population that we ultimately ignore the needs of the huge majority. In so doing (and I’m not sure they are actually

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On a different note, we have the evermore popular scenario of parents declaring their child to be ‘gender-neutral’. I absolutely believe that boys can wear pink and play with dolls and girls can wear blue and play with cars, and vice versa. It is absolutely right that we don’t need to stereotype. But to not acknowledge their gender at all? Yes, some people may feel they were born in the wrong body and they have every right to change this if they want to when the time is right. As a society, we shouldn’t question a person’s right to be who they want to be. But for parents to decide their child is gender-neutral makes me very uncomfortable. Less than 1% of the population is born of the wrong gender. Clearly we should be fully supportive of those people, but in doing so we surely shouldn’t be assuming the other 99% can’t be told their gender just in case it’s wrong. Such parents also seem so intent on their child not being identified by their biological gender that they seem to overcompensate and actually stereotype towards the opposite sex. Let them be kids, let them choose what they want to wear,

play with whatever toys make them happy and embrace their choices as they get older, but to leave them genderless is surely leading to them growing up even more confused. Babies, toddlers and young children aren’t renowned for their ability to make important decisions, so maybe in the early years we should be helping them by making an educated decision for them. Veganism also seems to be a hot trend at the moment and boy, don’t we know about it! I absolutely get it, really I do, but I’m not going to argue about the rights and wrongs of eating meat. The fact is, being a vegan is a choice. YOUR choice. In the same way eating meat is MY choice. I absolutely respect your choice and I have even more admiration for your willpower, as it’s not something I think I could sustain. But as a non-vegan, I also don’t expect to be told what a disgrace I am to the human race for doing what my parents, grandparents and all of my ancestors have done before me. If you want to spread the word and make a difference, then why not do it kindly and that way, perhaps more people will open up their minds to it. A friend of mine recently posted a picture of a Caribbean curry. It looked amazing, so I looked up the recipe to make it myself. It just so happened to be vegan, but I made it, it tasted lovely and I was very pleasantly surprised. So, just a thought, instead of vilifying meat-eaters, protesting at supermarkets, or posting sickening videos of animal cruelty, perhaps try to educate by showing the alternatives, proving that a vegan diet isn’t all nut roasts and cabbage. It may not convert the entire country to following your lead, but it may encourage people to eat vegan more often than they would have and surely that is a step in the right direction. It is human nature that we don’t like to be told that we’re wrong and making demands or preaching is rarely well received. Sometimes we just need to agree to disagree and move on.

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NEW YEAR, NEW YOU? That’s what they say, isn’t it? It's that time of year once again where everyone feels obligated to declare their New Year’s resolutions and how this is definitely going to be the year when they finally get superfit, or give up some sort of vice/bad habit. It's a known fact that January is the month that has the biggest new gym membership sign-ups made by us Brits with the genuine intention of it finally being ‘our year’ only for them to be cancelled six months later once we realise that only going once a month ain't really delivering what we're after (how many times have we all made excuses not to go to the gym and said to ourselves, "I'll go tomorrow instead, as it's raining/too dark/too cold/too hot right now”?). I've found that setting smaller goals and targets is actually a far better idea and often leads to longer term gains, rather than trying to achieve too much, too soon, and giving up even before you've got going. For example, in November/December I decided to get myself as fit as possible by knocking booze on the head as I had a medical and fitness test due for a possible new career. But once I'd got through the 5 weeks that led up to the test, I found myself not really that bothered by not having a drink and actually felt the best I had done for a long time, which led me to set myself another smaller target to see how long I could go without submitting. The hardest part to begin with was the parties I had been invited to in December, as that's always the right time to succumb to a cheeky half or two. But for the first time for a long time I found myself not waking up with a stinking hangover in December, which was awesome, yet found I could actually still enjoy my evenings out without a drop of alcohol being consumed. Winner winner, chicken dinner! So what do I want to be ‘new’ for

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me in 2020? Well, apart from the usual, which is health, love and happiness for all of my family and friends, something I would really like to do is finally pass my driving test. I know our editor has often sniggered and mentioned my lack of a license a time or two within these pages, but now that my daughter, Maisy, is getting closer to the age where she is going to be needing to get picked up after nights out with friends, I can’t really do that on my push-bike, can I? So if anyone out there wants, or thinks, they can help someone who has had 10 driving tests in 10 years and failed to pass every single one of them (and who also managed to get in the wrong car at the test centre on one particular occasion, although surprisingly that wasn't what I failed on), then I’m all ears. There was even much worse to come in future tests, including almost crashing on a roundabout and a particularly close shave when I nearly ran an OAP over on a zebra crossing. Another thing I would really appreciate in 2020 is to actually receive the redundancy money I am due. Maybe I should stick interest on top of it for loss of earnings from July 2019? Who knows, maybe with that I could put it towards my driving lessons and pass sooner rather than later? Okay, so some other things to look forward to in 2020. April - ‘No Time To Die’ (the new Bond movie) and the trailers look absolutely cracking. Summer - ‘Ghostbusters Afterlife’ (follows on from the original two movies and is set 30 years after the second one). The trailer teases some old familiar fiendish ghouls looking to wreck havoc all over again. PREDICTIONS FOR 2020 Will England win the Euros? No, but we will maybe reach another semi-final and, who knows, possibly even the final, seeing as we’ll be playing mainly on home turf. Liverpool to win the Premiership and F.A. Cup double. Spurs to win the Champions League (which, as a West Ham fan, I truly hate to say). Rafa Benitez to become the next Whammers manager. Watford to survive on the very last day of the season. Brexit still won't have been sorted. Chelmsford Chieftains to win the play-offs again. And finally... Edgy will go on at least 6 camping trips before August and send me a picture of a turd from every one!

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Now surpassing the two year mark, things are still very much on an upward curve for Training Space. For any local independent business, competing against big corporations is always going to be tough. But since day one, Training Space had a plan to bring something different to the local fitness community in Chelmsford and they’ve been 100% true to their beliefs, going from strength to strength. What’s more, where their members are concerned, they have the privilege of being surrounded by likeminded people every single day, who each share the same ethos for hard work and a genuine thirst for achievement. At Training Space, things are never a chore, which is what creates such an incredible environment.

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Looking back on 2019, it was yet another unbelievable year and they’d like to credit all of their members and trainers that help drive Training Space forward day after day. It’s the people that make it such an epic place to be. But what’s new for 2020?

Training Space are always looking to grow and evolve their business alongside their membership’s development. Whether that’s bringing in new ideas and training methods, offering new classes, or expanding the gym, one thing’s for sure - they will never stand still. More Space - After the success of Rooms 1 and 2, Training Space are excited to announce that early in 2020 they will bring yet more expansion to the gym. They will soon be opening a third room - Room 3. This will allow them to introduce more open space and add additional classes to their timetable. New classes will feature fresh styles of training, such as ‘COMBINE’, which is a new late morning slot which will bring some of their existing classes together, aimed towards beginner/intermediate trainers. ‘RIDE’, Training Space’s take on the ever increasing popularity of spinning classes. And ‘MOVE’, a combination of Pilates & Yoga. Furthermore, there will be the introduction of daytime slots which will be short, intense 30 minute burst sessions, aimed at those who like or need a fast, vigorous workout. Events - in 2019 Training Space decided to add fitness events to their diary, such as Above 100 Events. So if you like to compete and push your training to the next level, find out more about Above 100 and all upcoming events for 2020 at www.above100events.com Training space offer a FREE 7 DAY TRIAL that’s open to everyone and all abilities. For more information visit www.training-space.co.uk

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It's January again, and you know what that means, don’t you?

it really is hard not to appreciate the beauty and charm that the alpine resorts have to offer.

For some of you, those post Christmas blues are most probably settling in. More often than not, New Year's resolution gym memberships are taken out, only to be ignored relatively soon afterwards. And if the long days of the cold of winter feel like an endless challenge, then a skiing holiday might well be the perfect solution to lift you out of the doldrums.

Even though skiing is all about adrenaline and adventure, it also forms a completely holistic approach to your overall well-being, due to the fact that there really is nowhere quite like the mountains to rejuvenate your mind and gather a true sense of perspective that you might currently be missing.

Skiing really is a lot of fun and a very sociable way of spending time with friends and family in beautiful surroundings. Being out in the sunshine, whether you are gently skiing through tree-lined forest paths or charging down the black runs for the buzz, is simply a great way to take the stress out of winter. Skiing works your core muscles and improves your balance, posture and overall body strength, which also makes it a great exercise, whatever your age. It will have you toned up in no time at all, maybe even helping you to kick-start a healthier regime once you get back home.

From learning a new skill to seeing some of the world’s most breathtaking scenery, there’s a multitude of reasons why it’s never too late to seize the moment and hit those slopes. So whether it's to kick-start a new exercise regime, get that rush of adrenaline, or simply to experience the majestic beauty of the mountains, a skiing holiday really does have something to offer every single one of us. Skee Tex are the oldest independent ski shop in the UK and would be more than happy to offer any advice to all potential skiers.

What’s more, there are cosy nights in front of a log fire to look forward to, as well as hearty, wholesome food (you'll be burning off the calories, so you’ll need to indulge), not to mention quality time spent with both family and friends at the end of each day. Or for the more outgoing, there’s the unbeatable friendly atmosphere in the après ski bars at even the smallest of resorts. They say you haven't partied ’til you’ve partied up a mountain, so why not give it a whirl? Or, for a quieter evening out, there are always an abundance of great restaurants in most ski resorts. So whatever your preference,

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My best buddy Lurch, being a director of a surveying company, sometimes has its perks, and none more so than when he invited me to ‘hold his staff’ on a monitoring job but an hour’s drive north of Marseille. Mind you, I had to get up at 03:45am and drive over to our starting point in Ongar for 04:45am, so it wasn’t all warm towels and baby oil. Check out this photograph (above) of the curvature of the earth shortly after we took off from Stansted on one of those dinky Ryan Air type ’planes. Cracker, isn’t it? Although speaking of ‘taking off’, my backside wouldn’t stop letting rip at 30,000ft after Lurch had treated me to some sort of a hot bacon roll from Pret in the departure lounge. Talk about a backdraft. Fortunately for the other passengers, the ’plane was only 25% full, but it can’t have been pleasant. But hey, I’m wheat intolerant. My next major shock was landing at Marseille airport. OMG, have you ever experienced such, readers? The runway sticks out into the sea about halfa-mile, but I didn’t know that, did I. I was absolutely bricking it as it looked, to all intents and purposes, that we were about to land on water, which made yet more warm, mouldy vapour release itself from my back passage. Our WELCOME TO FRANCE arrived shortly afterwards where we were charged fully 9 euros for 2 luke warm cups of char before picking up our Seat Shitehawk hire car that often made a grating noise whenever Lurch tried to force it into third gear, although he insists it wasn’t him. No need to bore you with the job itself, which was at a private residence in the countryside with its own pool, because you should know the craic by now from the job we did in Glasgow, as featured in the July’19 editions. We did go out into Bandol and get stuck into a fair few pints on Heineken from 4:00pm onwards at the considerable shafting of 6 euros 50 per pint and I don’t even like the bloody stuff, but it was pretty much all they had. Then it was pizza (yet more dough causing further unbetold back end action) and tucked up in bed shortly after 9:00pm as we were knackered. Had a quite superb buffet petit dejeuner in our boutique hotel the morning after with plenty of (you guessed it) delicious French bread afore Lurch insisted on taking us to Circuit Paul Ricard (the frog equivalent of Silverstone) where I think he had it in mind to do a few laps of the track in our 1.4 litre motor. Only they told us to feck reet off. Just as grey in the South of France as Blighty, but deffo not as chilly.

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Oh yes we can. Friday 12th June it all kicks-off and for the very first time, 12 cities in twelve European countries will host the event, which is just barmy, with both semi-finals and the final being played at Wembley stadium. So yes, damn right, we will never have a better opportunity to win it than this. And, you never know, captain Harry Kane may even come into the tournament with his first bit of club silverware pinned to his chest, in the shape of an F.A.Cup winners medal, afore he goes on to win the Golden Boot after his successful World Cup campaign in Russia 2018. So the location is right, the manager is right, and, what’s more, the players are brimming with talent and confidence; all vital factors. Take that Arnold Trent AlexanderArnold, or whatever he’s called, for instance. The lad’s crossing ability is frightening. Beckhamesque, not to put too fine a point on it. And on the other flank (because full-backs double up as swingers these days), Chilwell’s not three bad either. Only let’s not make the glaring error that would be to leave Kyle Walker out of the squad (and don’t forget, he’s a decent goalkeeper too). Speaking of which, The Edge is still not convinced about Jordan Pickford, but he doesn’t seem to have an obvious challenger between the sticks (jumpers for goalposts?), which is a bit of a concern. However, the crux of the matter is in central defence and, waistcoat or no waistcoat, this is a position Southgate simply has to sort out. So why all the dithering? It’s simple. Slabhead appears to be a shoe-in these days, which means that any one of but two defenders should partner him; either Tyrone Mings or Joe Gomez. John Stone? Nah. The Edge isn’t sure he should even be in the squad as he doesn’t appear to possess the required confidence or boast the concentration levels when the stakes are so high. In midfield, once again we almost have an embarrassment of riches; The Ox, Dele Alli, James Maddison, Harry Wanks, Mason Mount, even Jordan Henderson, and if Southgate can quell his desire to sometimes showboat,

Jack Grealish has surely got to be in with a shout. And if we must take a holding midfield player, let it be Fabian Delph, rather than Eric Dyer. Quite clearly, up top, we are positively screwed if anything happens to Harry (injury wise), but playing in tandem with Raheem Sterling and Marcus Rashford, it’s a trio that ought to rightly strike fear into any opposition we come up against. Fingers-crossed Nathan Redmond and Callum Wilson both get some pre-tourno game time too. This tournament could be Euro‘96 all over again, and we all surely remember how very close we came to reaching the final 24 years ago, when we had both a magnificent team and a superb manager. England kick-off at 2:00pm against Croatia on Sunday 14th June. At Wembley. Then it’s either Scotland, Israel, Norway or Serbia (whichever team eventually qualifies) at 8:00pm on Friday 19th June, so The Edge will most definitely be having a fair few beers on that particular evening. Also at Wembley. Our final group game is against the Czech Republic at 8:00pm on Tuesday 23rd June. And yep, once again, we’re at Wembley. So you see, just like Mr Kipling cakes, The Edge has exceedingly high hopes that we can do some reet proper damage this time around. Who have we got to fear at any rate? Germany, Portugal and France are all in the fabled ‘group of death’ (Group F), so that’s at least one of them gone. And Christiano Ronaldo will be 35 by the time this summer’s competition commences, so no wonder England have already been pronounced joint-favourites to ultimately lift the trophy. The mighty Dutch may well be the ones to watch out for. The Edge needs this though, afore it croaks, as it was just that little bit too young to remember the 1966 World Cup, although we even won that bugger by default, as no way did the ball cross the line. So let’s put that right once and for all, after 54 years of trying. COME ON, ENGLAND!

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The Edge 279 new_The Edge 172.qxd 19/12/2019 11:06 Page 18

Okay, okay, so they’re not so new any more, but he did have ’em done AFTER The Edge commented, in one of its in-depth dental editorials, not long after he’d taken over at Anfield, about just how unbecoming his old, yellow teeth looked for a man in his position, whilst surely the hierarchy at Liverpool F.C. had every right to insist upon their manager having his gnashers sand-blasted at the very least, seeing as he’s forever gurning into footie TV cameras. Fact is though, people’s (fake) pearly whites are starting to really grate on The Edge. Because these days, folk aren’t just having their teeth whitened, are they? Oh no, they’re having them veneered, which to The Edge’s mind is all a bit like having a knob fitted to your forehead. Judging by Klopp’s former teeth, he must have been...what...a 60 fags a day man? But just you have a look at these two photographs of him and tell The Edge, in all honesty, that his ‘AFTER’ photograph doesn’t make him look ‘a tad plasticy’? What is happening to folk these days? Because it honestly seems we’re not allowed to have yellow/natural coloured teeth anymore, which multiple dentists have always previously explained to The Edge are, in fact, stronger than white ones. And while we’re at it, whatever’s happened to frown lines and the look of genuine surprise on some folk’s foreheads? All gone, in many cases. To such an extent that, my god, some women these days look like they’re ‘out of this world’, but not in a good way. What The Edge means is, they look like they’ve come from another planet. Their seamless foreheads, chiselled eyebrows, not a laughter line in sight, teeth...OMG, their teeth...and then, to top it all, a couple of jelly sacks for obviously enhanced boobies. And this is all clearly in the name of self improvement, right? Years ago - and I do mean years (back in 1979, I shouldn’t imagine) - your editor ‘had a bit of work done’, but I was only 18, so it was on my Ford Capri, which I had resprayed black (instead of its faded red). I also had a spoiler fitted to its ‘bootie’. But these days, girls as young as 18 are sometimes having their norks augmented (love the word augmentation) and the question begs, since when did it become acceptable to look so obviously false/fake? Christ-on-a-bike, even Shane MacGowan of The Pogue’s has ‘had his teeth done’ these days, although at least there were genuine grounds for him doing so. The Edge just wonders whether people’s clear and obvious obsession with themselves - because that’s what it is - is actually such a good thing? Or did, in fact, ‘Jurgen the German’ genuinely look far more natural with his former nicotine stained gnashers? Page 18

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ARE WE BEING SMART? I had a Smart Meter installed last November. I wasn’t pressured into it by my supplier; I actually chose to do it. But sadly, it refuses to do my washing-up, or my ironing, as I was ideally hoping for. So I guess I’ll just have to wait for my very own personal robot to be delivered for that to happen. However, the Smart Meter really is a rather clever piece of equipment and it’s an interesting exercise to watch where and when the energy is being used (albeit rather alarming as it can be somewhat hypnotic watching the pennies tick by into pounds). But at least it saves me the bother of crouching in my porch with a torch between my teeth, brushing away the cobwebs, while trying to read and make note of the numbers, while also juggling with a pen and paper. But it got me thinking about the essential services we use without particularly thinking much about them and often take for granted. For instance, we pay for the gas and electricity we actually use, along with excellent water and sewage services. And let’s not forget our council tax. Most of us tend to grumble about that particular bill, but I wouldn’t want to be without any of the services it goes towards paying for. Except when it comes to water. I really fail to understand why everyone is not obliged to pay for exactly what they use, particularly

when water meters are currently voluntary. Surely this is an essential service, perhaps even more so, than any other? Absolutely nothing in this world is entirely free, or finite. Every single thing we use, or consume, takes huge amounts of labour to either grow or produce. Am I being overly political? That’s not my intention, just my opinion.

YOU LUCKY PEOPLE Have you noticed how the phrase ‘man cave’ (also known as a ‘manspace’ or ‘mantuary’) is in general parlance these days? I’m of the age when the only space a man had to get away from the trials and tribulations of family life was disappearing into the spider’s web covered, push-bike littered, sanctuary of the shed, usually situated at the bottom of the garden, or perhaps resting his palms on the bar at his local pub. Yet these days the phrase seems to mean a warm and comfortable space, well equipped with all the latest tech devices, plus a beer fridge and a humongous great media centre. All you young men out there have definitely never had it so good!

SNEAKY BLINDERS Most of us are familiar with the annual Open Garden scheme, where proud gardeners can show off their efforts to the public for charity. So I’d like to suggest another one. The ‘Nosy Neighbour’ scheme.

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I’d like to take our esteemed editor to task about a comment he made in the November 2019 issues, about library books. I happen to help as a library volunteer (we’re all volunteer staff there) at my local library and although I’m not disputing his complaint about the condition of the odd loaned book, I’d like to stick my head above the parapet and say that I’d rather (but not necessarily) find the odd ‘foreign body’ in a book and know that it’s been read from cover to cover, enjoyed, pored over, delved into, laughed at, shed tears over, or exclaimed at the words on the pages, whether it’s been written by J K Rowland or is, perhaps, a Mills and Boon.

There’s something to be found for everyone within a library and I won’t even mention the large print books, audio books, DVD’s and even computers for the public to use (I said I wouldn’t mention it!). The life of libraries, like many of our shops, large or small, feels fragile. They are no longer what we of a ‘certain age’ remember them to be. They have had to adapt to survive and in my opinion are all the better for that. They are still a place of relative peace to study and read and educate, but are now home to many other initiatives. In short, LIBRARIES ARE LIKE OUR HIGH STREET SHOPS. USE ‘EM OR LOSE ‘EM! Editor’s Note: Some folk still wipe their bogeys within the pages, tho’!

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Back by popular demand! HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ’Y’ALL. It’s 2020 and I shall be bloody 60 this year. I don’t think I feel 60 as I do pack a lot into my life. However, I do see some very active sexagenarians (you’d best Google that) knocking about that put me to shame, so I guess it’s people like them who make me feel my age a bit. My pal, Phil, who is only a year younger than me, cycled the length of The Rhine recently, doing something like 1,000 miles over 12 days. Then the week after that, he walked just shy of 30 miles from Chelmsford to The London Stadium in a mere 9 hours to raise money for Prostate Cancer awareness. I see people like that and I am truly in awe of them, whereas I tend to feel fairly decent about myself if I can successfully get my leg into my underpants without losing my balance first thing of a morning. Turning 60 has got me thinking about, well, you know, what happens when I am no longer here. Or when I pop my clogs, if you prefer. I have written my will and placed it in a safe place, although not too safe a place so that no one can find it. My boys would probably dismantle the house brick by brick otherwise. I’ve also attached two further documents to my will. The first is an expression of what I want to happen upon my death. It’s titled ‘Its my bloody funeral anyway’ and covers stuff like the hymns that I want sung and the fact I want to be cremated and not donated to the worms. I’ve also requested that people attend my funeral service in brightly coloured clothes and loud ties. None of those dull black suits and black cravats for me! Also all ladies present are to attend in tiny short dresses in my honour - well, the attractive ones at any rate. And after the service, everyone is to go to a drinking establishment and get horribly drunk on me (well, I say ‘on me’, but I probably mean my sons really, because it will be coming out of their inheritance).

EDGE Ale

The other document is a desiderata. I bet you’re wondering what one of those is, aren’t you? A desiderata is something you leave for your friends and family, thereby sharing with them your wisdom and advice from the other side, as it were, which is typically read out at the funeral service. My desiderata is two pages long and covers such pearls of wisdom as:Before you judge someone, ‘walk a mile in their shoes’. In other words, put yourself in their position. After that, who cares if you don’t like them. You’re a mile away and you’ve got their shoes. My friends and family are also due to receive such deep and meaningful advise. I think it will be like a light has be shone on a path of righteousness for most of them, although the vicar might disagree with that. Oh, but I can already hear my readers screaming, “Don’t forget to tell us more about your fascinating journey through life, Deaks, after graduating from Rainsford University, armed with your CSE Grade One in woodwork.” I left you hanging in suspense in last month’s edition, didn’t I, having joined the mighty firm of surveyors Coughdrop Bollock & Bellend and then moving home from Clapham to the haunted house in South Woodford. We only stayed there for a couple of years before I moved back to Chelmsford. I also changed partners like I changed houses back in those days and moved into a lovely old house in Baddow Road with yet another one of my secretaries. Now that’s what I call taking work home with you. The house was the big end-of-terrace one on the left as you go up Baddow Road, opposite the bike shop, about 500 metres up from the Army & Navy. ‘Russell House’ it’s called and it used to be owned by a mate of mine, before I bought it off him. It had a basement and an attic room and several more levels, plus vast rooms with beautiful wooden floorboards. My boys kept all kinds of pets in that house (it was the only way I could get them to visit me), one of which was a corn python called Casper. Anyhow, sure enough, one weekend, one of the boys did not put the lid on its tank properly and Casper escaped. By the time they came round the following weekend, it had been out for a week and we could not find it anywhere. Six months passed by when one evening, I’m sat with a girlfriend, watching the television, and a bloody great big snake slithers across the living-room floor! Well, she very nearly hit the ceiling before she held me tightly in fear (honestly, I couldn’t have planned it better). Casper had either been living beneath the floorboards or in the basement, eating God knows what for the past six months, and had almost tripled in size. He’d also become pretty feral too. My roleplay of Indiana Jones, wrestling on the floor with Hissing Sid to save my stricken guest, was well impressive, I’ll have you know. We also had a dog back in those days. He was honestly the greatest dog that ever lived and answered to the name of Barnie Top Dog, or BTD to his friends. I bought him for my boys for Christmas one year and I also bought Barnie’s sister, who was subsequently named Lady, for my mum. I put these two little Golden Retriever pups in a wicker basket, with a bow on top (on Christmas Day, just before I gave it to them - after all, I don’t want any of you thinking I put the puppies in the baskets and stuck them up on top of the wardrobe for an entire week before 25th December). Even though one of them ended up being called Barnie, I honestly had it in mind to call him Sit. That would’ve honestly given me hours of enjoyment, that would. What with: “Come here, Sit” and “Fetch, Sit”. Shame that, as it would have been a right old laugh over at Hylands Park. Meanwhile, my career at Coughdrop Bollock & Bellend was going from strength to strength and I was soon promoted to an Associate Director, which was very satisfying, because they had no call for wooden foot stalls anymore by then. But more about my meteoric rise in the property world next month, folks.

That you can’t even be bothered to go out and pick up a copy of The Edge? Well, it’s lucky for you that you don’t have to. Simply log on to www.theedgemag.co.uk/subscribe and Bob’s your uncle, it’s absolutely FREE! Or head to The Edge’s Facecock page and click on the online subscription button thingy.

EDGE

the

01245 348256 077 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Page 20

In other news, I’ve also started to publish my Edge column on the Next Door app. If you haven’t downloaded Next Door yet, you most definitely should, as it’s really, really good. It basically puts you in touch with your neighbourhood and a dozen surrounding neighbourhoods and members share news, recommendations, things to sell, public announcements and stuff like that. Anyhow, all of that is a very long roundabout way of telling you that I now have three new extra readers. So many thanks to Christine, Alison and Debra of Next Door! P.S. By the way, in my November column, I mentioned that Queen Elizabeth ll was a West Ham supporter and some of you have suggested that I may have made that bit up. But it’s true. She has a season ticket in the Bobby Moore Lower Stand and sits in row 11, just behind the goal, near me. Jeez, I can’t believe people think I make some of this stuff up. And on that bombshell, that’s yer lot for January. This time next month I shall be yet another month closer to being a doddery 60 years old. It’s in March, by the way, but please, no presents. But I do have a number of trips planned in 2020 to ease the pain. I will tell you about those in forthcoming columns. DEAKS. gmdeakin@googlemail.com

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EURO 2020 With the cold winter months in full swing I am now firmly looking forward to the summer and, in particular, Euro 2020. England, despite their hiccup against the Czech Republic, have been in great form (as always) during the qualifying rounds and have been installed as one of the early favourites to win the tournament. Uefa made the decision back in 2012 to hold the competition across 12 nations in order to celebrate its 60th anniversary. The good news is that the home of football, Wembley, will be hosting the semi-finals and the final and us footie fans will be hoping for a similar spirit to that of Euro 96, which for many of us ranks as some of the best England performance seen at a major tournament. Yet what is odd, given our recent performances on the big stage, is that the players will have to deal with the expectations of the nation on their shoulders once again. Given our over-performance in the World Cup in 2018 I think everyone believes we can win Euro 2020. And who knows, it might be time for Baddiel & Skinner to release yet another, updated version, of the Three Lions song, while I might personally invest in a load of England flags for people to attach to their cars. While it’s definitely not going to be a cake walk, we certainly

have a decent chance, and for once it’s nice to be looking forward to a tournament with a certain amount of optimism.

HOTEL MUMBAI I recently watched the movie Hotel Mumbai, which is based on the attacks on the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai by the terrorist organisation Lashkar-e-Taiba. The storyline, loosely based on true events, centres around a brave chef and kitchen worker who risk it all to save the guests of the hotel in the most frightening of circumstances. Whilst this is certainly an extremely sad and macabre tale, it is also definitely worth a watch.

CLASH OF THE DUNES I do absolutely love the boxing, but I cannot believe that Sky have the audacity to charge for it. I have been paying the best part of 100 quid per month for my Sky package that includes Sky Sports, so it is really frustrating that I have to pay for the big fights in addition. What is worse is that they still have adverts between each round, so we don’t get to see what is being said or how the fighters are shaping up. You can see why so many people are online streaming it for free these days. I do actually wonder whether we are starting to see the beginning of the end for Sky. If you look at

the football, they have quite a bit of competition already, and with Amazon now getting involved it could be a real game changer. Although as a consumer, too much choice isn’t necessarily a good thing, given the multiple subscriptions that are needed to watch, for the most part, teams that aren’t your own. So if we are going to pay inflated prices, then at least let us have the choice for what we want to watch. But nor do I think it will affect live attendances in the slightest, as if people want to view a match online, there are plenty of streams they can watch it on already.

POLLING DAY So after years of writing about my political views in this magazine, it was finally time to make my vote count. The only problem was, my polling card or postal vote hadn’t arrived. Although I wasn’t too worried as I knew that I could go along to my local voting station and they would have me on their list. Only they didn’t. So I didn’t even get my say on this election after all, which in isolation isn’t the worst thing in the world as I am from a very blue constituency, although it’s still not right. I wonder how many people up and down the country didn’t receive their ballot papers? With how the Remoaners have been acting ever since the refer-

endum, it wouldn’t surprise me if foul play was to blame. In any event, hopefully by the time you read this we will have a majority government and will be well on the way to getting Brexit done.

DISNEY How is it that Disney make the songs in their films so very catchy? I recently took my eldest to see ‘Frozen 2’ and since then I haven’t been able to stop myself singing the songs. I wouldn’t mind if it was just at home with the family, but I even find myself at the photocopier at work humming into the unknown. It is a really good kid’s film (better than the first one, in my opinion) and I can highly recommend a family afternoon at the cinema to watch it. However, you have been warned!

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ONLY JOKING! DRAGON’S DEN

A Scouser goes on Dragon’s Den with a shotgun and a gamekeeper's pouch. Peter Jones says, "So what's your bright idea then, mate?" The Scouser replies, "It's a simple concept, Peter. Just you’s lot put all of your watches and rings in my bag and I’ll be off pretty sharpish."

NORMAL Is it normal to have one of your testicles bigger than the other two?

ASTRONOMY A high school girl, seated next to Brian Cox at a dinner party, struck up a conversation with him by asking, “So what do you do?” He replied, “I study astronomy.” The girl said, “We did that last year.”

SEPARATED Mr. Cooper, Head of Science: “Now can any of you tell me why the water and oil separated?” Me: [remembering my parents yelling at me the other day] “Is it because of me?”

BREAD KNIFE “Have you seen the bread knife, babe?” “Nah. ’Phone me mum.” “WTF. Why would I ’phone my mother-in-law to help me find our bread knife?” “Cos she was here yesterday helping me by drying up and putting away the breakfast things.”

STRANGE IMPLICATIONS Potatoes implies the existence of potafeet.

BREAST REDUCTION My wife had a breast reduction last year. She’s down to just the two now.

BEATLES They asked me what my favourite underground band was? I said: The Beatles. They smirked and informed me that they weren’t exactly underground. I smirked back and said, “Half of them are.”

CLARK KENT Clark Kent goes into a restaurant. Waiter: “For starters would you like soup or salad?” CK: [laughs nervously] “A super salad? Jeez. I'll just have a regular salad please.” Waiter: “Alri....” CK: [loudly] “Just a regular salad for a regular guy. Have you got that?”

PRESCRIPTION “Doc, could you write me out a prescription for half a viagra tablet, please?” “Sure. No problem. No, wait. Did you just say half a Viagra tablet?” “Uh huh.”

“I don’t get it. Why on earth would you only want half a tablet?” “Because I’m going to have a sauna at my club this afternoon and I want to look good.”

CHECK MATE Bloke says to his missus, “Okay, okay, so if it’s so very bad for you to eat late at night, why do they put a light in the fridge?”

Q&A Q. How many dyslexics does it take to change a lightbulb? A. Steven.

SEVENTIES JOKE A married couple are at a zoo and they come to the gorilla enclosure. Woman: “Gorillas are no better than men. They have no control over their sexual urges. Watch this [checks to see that the coast is clear]. I’ll expose one of my boobs and see how horny it gets.” So she does as she’d said, and, sure enough, the gorilla immediately gets excited and grabs the bars of its enclosure as if it it would very much like to break free. “See,” she says to her husband. “Typical. That’s why you react the way you do; men simply cannot control their animal instincts, same as gorillas can’t.” Her husband says: “Go on. Expose both of your breasts to him and let’s see what happens?” Checking that no-one is about, the woman does as her husband has suggested and the gorilla gets really excited and desperately tries to reach out between the bars to cop a feel. “This is incredible,” says her husband. “Now pull your knickers down, turn around and show it your arse and lets see what happens?” So she pulls her skirt up, pulls her knickers down, turns around and wiggles her bum suggestively at the gorilla, who by now is extremely aroused, bends the bars of its cage aside, grabs the woman and starts to give her one of those ‘damn good seeing to’ things. The woman screams to her husband: “What do I do now? What do I do now?” Her husband replies: “Tell it you’ve got a headache and you’re no longer in the mood.”

eBAY Just bought a rug off eBay. Unwrapped it. Rolled it out and there’s a damn great hole in the middle. Emailed the seller to vociferously complain (in CAPS). He wrote me back saying it had clearly stated: ‘Rug is in mint condition’.

HOT STUFF Rob: “Wow, she’s hot. Does she have a boyfriend?” Julia: “Certainly does. A cute, strong and clever one, as it goes.” Rob: “Really? What’s his name?” Julia: “That’ll be James, Maurice and Rick.”

WATCH THIS A Boeing 777 widebody jetliner was lumbering along at 500mph at 27,000 feet when a cocky F-16 fighter jet pilot flashed by at Mach 1. The fighting Falcon pilot decided to show off. On his radio, that was part of the 3D, state of the art, million dollar headset within the F-16’s cockpit, the youngster told the 777 pilot: “Hey, Cap’n. Watch this...” With that he promptly went into a double-barrel roll, followed by an unimaginable vertical climb, culminating with a stall turn at about 50,000ft.

Then he screamed back down with a sonic boom as he tore through the sound barrier at twice the speed of sound as the F-16 hurtled towards terra firma, pulling near impossible 9Gs, before eventually levelling out just above sea level. The F-16 pilot brought the plane back up to the Boeing and asked the passenger pilot what he thought about that. The passenger pilot said, “Hey, young man, that was truly impressive. But watch this ...” The jetliner continued to chug along for about five minutes at a steady 480mph. Then the passenger pilot got back on the radio and said, “How about that, eh?” Puzzled, the cocky F-16 pilot said, “What? What the heck did you do, man?” The Triple Seven pilot chuckled and said, “Why, I stood up, stretched my legs, walked to the back of my rig, had a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll, then secured a date with one of our fresh, young trolley-dolly’s for tonight in my room at a 5-star hotel, paid for by the company.” And the moral of the tale: When you’re young and flash, speed might seem like a really good thing. But as you get older, relaxation and comfort is far more the order of the day.

EASY MISTAKE TO MAKE My missus shocked me when I got home from work the other evening. I couldn’t believe it when she told me that our son and daughter weren’t actually mine. She explained to me, quite patiently, that there’s a knack to picking up the kids from school and that I needed to pay far more attention if she was ever to trust me to do the job in future.

TIRED A young married woman goes to see her doc, complaining that she’s always tired. After giving her a thorough examination, he finally gets around to the subject of her sex life. “How often?” he asks her. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday,” she says. “Do you think that’s too much?” “Well,” says her doc, “it might be. Perhaps a little down time might do you some good. Maybe you should skip Saturdays? That would give you an extra day to recover each week.” “Nope. I can’t skip Saturdays, doc,” she says. “That’s hubby’s night.”

STRESS BALLS Wife: “The doctor says that squeezing stress balls might be good for my anxiety.” Husband [in an exceedingly high pitched voice]: “And what makes him think it’ll work?”

FIVE-A-DAY A freshly squeezed orange for breakfast, that’s the first of your ‘five-a-day’. And with the vodka, that makes two before it’s even turned 08:00am.

FOUR LETTER WORDS A girl had just got back from her honeymoon and immediately called her mum. Mum: “Oh, how was you honeymoon, dear?” Girl: “It was lovely, but now that we're back, he’s started using the most awful four letter words.” Mum: “What? Tell me the words?” Girl: “I can’t bear to repeat them, Mum. Please will you come and pick me up?” Mum: “I can’t do anything unless you tell me the words, darling.” Girl [in a whisper]: “Wash. Cook. Tidy.” Mum: “Jesus! I’ll be round in twenty minutes.” Many thanks to Nyx Trye, The Edge’s saviour once again!

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

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Quite clearly, this is not a good look for a man. Any man. The Edge doesn’t care if Liberace was a piano genius, his mother should have damn well put her foot down when he was n’but a nipper and said: “Archie, nooooooo. I admired your ability to play Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody Number 2 in d-major blindfold by the time you turned seven, but all of this dressing up like a bloody Christmas Tree has simply got to stop. Otherwise you’ll be getting a bit of a reputation for yourself.” But Edge Grandma - Grandma Belle - was a staunch Methodist, yet she didn’t see anything wrong in Liberace’s make-up either. Nor Danny La Rue’s, come to that. “There’s nowt wrong we ’im,” she’d insist. “He just dresses up a bit, because he’s on t’stage, like.” But that bird’s nest perched on Archie’s head, yep, that was definitely a ‘syrup of figs’, was that. Same as Terry Wogan’s was. And Dickie Davies, come to that. Archie apparently once cancelled a facelift as the doctor insisted he remove his toupe before the procedure. “Toupe?” flounced dear Old Arch. “Toupe? How very dare you. Whatever do you mean?” They also reckon Liberace was born with one of them there caul things, which was thought to be an omen that the child was destined for greatness. Other famous ‘caulists’ include Lorn Byron, Napoleon Bonaparte and James Iha, best known as a guitarist and founder member of the Smashing Pumpkins. If you liked this article, you should deffo watch ‘Behind the Candelabra’.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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The Edge 01245 348256

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in with more (but different) bright ideas that piss off the professionals and…. Well, you know where this goes.

Greetings once more from the west coast. How’s the new year treating you? Same as the old year probably. That is, everything changes but it stays the same. It’s very rare that the dawning of a new year brings anything seismic in terms of betterment for the average Joe or Jane. Some of that is just the way of the world. After all, 1st January is just another day amongst gazillions to the cosmos. Some of it is human nature. All those resolutions we make set the bar way too high. So the promise of new beginnings fades very quickly into a realisation that this year is just more of the same old shit. In fact, just as long as it takes to get back to work and the consequent death by email. Given that the UK has just voted for five years of being lied to and a hard Brexit the subject of this month’s missive is going to sound a bit odd, but hey-ho, here we go. But before we get started, a personal note. If anyone who voted for Johnson genuinely believes he gives half a toss about you and your life, maybe you’d like to contact me – I have a bridge for sale you might be interested in. Anyway, here is the premise. We need to pay our politicians more. A lot more. Whhhaaattt???? Yes. That might be a ridiculous thought on the face of it given the constipated state of the UK government for the last few years, but there are good reasons to make the argument to throw some money at them. Let’s start by looking at why nothing ever gets done that improves the lot of Joe Public. It’s not because there are no policies – our glorious leaders can spew policies like a teenager

It’s not just the Tories, although they have been spectacularly inept in recent years. You look across at St Jeremy’s lot and playing spot-the-competent-one won’t exercise you for very long. Having said that, by the time you get to read this St Jeremy will no longer be in charge, but the same lack of talent abounds.

barfing on New Year’s Eve. Ideas abound. It’s the lack of basic competence to implement them that is the problem. Anyone who has worked in the City or at a high level in industry will know that the UK has plenty of extremely smart people more than capable of getting things done. People that you can tell half a story to and before you’ve finished they’ve already worked out the ending, the resulting questions, and the appropriate answers. Just the sort of people you’d really like to be running the NHS. Or the economy. Or the trains. Instead we get the likes of Johnson and his assortment of costly half-cocked projects as mayor of London. Failing Grayling, spaffing away public money on his many glorious balls-ups. Remember the contract for ferries to a company with no ships? And the wonderful success he made of running the railway system? Various ministers have stormed into office at transport, health or education with a set of ideas that piss off the professionals yet don’t get very far towards implementation before said minister is moved somewhere else to weave his or her magic. So another head honcho comes

It didn’t used to be like this – there have been some titans of intellect in past UK governments. So what’s to be done? Why aren’t the very brightest people attracted to public service any more? Well, two things. Firstly they can make a lot more money in the commercial world, and secondly, why subject yourself to all the abuse that comes with running for office? After all, sitting behind your desk at BigBank plc you never have to come into contact with the country’s more ignorant and obnoxious inhabitants. Who needs the hassle? Maybe if we took the financial disincentive away, we could perhaps add a little pressure to the better nature of such people to give something back to society? After all, if you’ve run a huge corporation successfully you don’t need the ego boost that appears to be the only driver for the current crop of nobodies making up the government. Hence the proposition that we should pay the top public servants a salary commensurate with their skills. But, and it’s a big but, those skills have to have been honed in the real world. And that proviso doesn’t include gaining a degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics which seems to be the only achievement most of the current lot can point to. OK, it’s accepted you can’t stomach the idea of paying these bastards of whatever party more. But the words ‘peanuts’ and ‘monkeys’ come to mind.

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’ve briefly touched on conspiracy theories before and still believe now, as I did then, that the most popular ones are obvious nonsense, ranging from David Icke’s wonderfully lunatic shapeshifting lizard people from another dimension, to the simply idiotic flat-earthers. If there are conspiracies out there, and I’m sure that there are, they’re almost certainly going to be of the banal, predictable kind that are doing nothing more than lining somebody’s pockets.

KiNGPiN

The flat earth conspiracy is an interesting one as, for some bizarre reason, it has surged in popularity in recent years and I’ve struggled to see the sudden appeal (and by that, I mean how anyone can admit to believing such blatant nonsense and not feel utterly ashamed). After all, we’ve known the earth was a globe since the time of the ancient Greeks, and unless there was some cataclysmic shift to the entire structure of the planet that nobody thought to mention, it’s still a globe right now. There are a lot of problems with the flat earth idea, not least of which is that there are at least a dozen experiments you can do at home that prove (using the laws of physics, which are also still a thing) the earth is round (or slightly ovoid if you want to be pedantic) within about 5 minutes. Apparently, our flat earth is surrounded by a huge wall of ice and many flat earthers treat this as gospel, despite the fact that nobody can actually see it. Yet one simply has to assume that a stupendously high wall of ice that encircles the entire world would be relatively easy to spot, wouldn’t it? Also, if this were true, then at some point someone would have had the revolutionary idea just to keep walking and sailing in the same direction until they reached it. A quick video to YouTube and a few tweets and the entire movement is vindicated. But for some reason, we’re not supposed to think it’s strange that this hasn’t happened. Which will no doubt be NASA’s fault, whatever the reason, because flat earthers absolutely despise NASA. But at least flat earthers are harmless. Believe the world is shaped like Scooby Doo for all I care, it won’t make any difference to anyone, apart from Google maps, I suppose. At the other end of the spectrum are the deluded, wilfully pig-ignorant filth (yes, filth) that endanger and sometimes even kill their own children by refusing to vaccinate them, because big pharma is trying to inject us all with cancer and dead embryonic cells apparently. As yet I haven’t heard a convincing argument as to why big pharma’s master plan appears to revolve around killing all their customers, but I’m sure there’s a completely plausible reason for it. In a recent article, I mentioned that it has been said we’re living in a post-factual world and the image above-right certainly lends that theory credence. So why? Why do so many people cling to these beliefs that are obviously foolish, sometimes dangerous and so easily disproved? According to some psychologists, conspiracy theories are a big security blanket. The world, as it is, makes some people nervous, even frightened. They don’t understand the way it is, they don’t like the way it is, and so they create or buy into some narrative that makes more Page 26

The Kingmeister reports

I still want this one to be true though sense to them. Add a group of fellow believers into the mix and it’s even more attractive. They’re not alone anymore, they’re part of a group of likeminded people that see the (pancake shaped) world the way they do. But for me, it always comes back to just two questions, the first being: Cui bono? Who benefits? Of what value is it to anyone to hide the fact that the world is actually flat? People that make globes, obviously, but I just can’t picture a worldwide cabal of globe makers that have, somehow, managed to hoodwink 99% of the human race for the last couple of thousand years, just so they can keep making globes, even the really good ones you can keep booze in.

Say that again? The second question is one of competence and commitment. Somehow these evil globe makers would have had to get every scientist in history to sign up to the scam, presumably for a cut of those sweet, sweet globe profits. Governments? Don’t make me laugh. Those idiots can’t fix potholes in the roads, or manage not to get caught boning their interns, so they’re certainly not masterminding global conspiracies spanning the centuries. I think the security blanket theory has merit, but I think it’s more than that, and it comes back to why? Why lie to people? Because if they’re lying to you then…

And the truth shall set thee free If you’re the victim of a conspiracy then it’s a form of oppression, of control. If someone is trying to control you, to disempower you, then there must be a reason. That reason could be ‘just because they can’ but considering the

great lengths these conspirators would have to go to to maintain their control, that seems highly unlikely. So why? Why go to such great lengths to control people and hide the truth from them? If someone is trying to control you and hide knowledge from you, then at some level they must be scared of you, scared of your potential actions if the truth ever came out. Perhaps even just scared of your potential if they didn’t keep you down.

If we follow that logic, then if someone is scared of you, that means you do have power of a sort, or the potential to have power, and I think this goes a long way to explaining why some of these conspiracies are so popular. It’s not a stretch to say that many people feel powerless. Most of us are at the mercy of the economy, of government policy or just blind chance, and it’s not hard to see why this constant thorn of uncertainty in their side might cause some people to look for answers, or at least someone to blame, wherever they can. Personally, I believe that any real form of control over our lives is illusory. Yes, there are buffers we can put in place to lessen the chances of, or soften the blows of misfortune if it does strike. But if the shit really does hit the fan, or lady luck decides she’s going to be a bitch, then there’s nothing we can really do about it, and all the policies and plans we’ve put into place become the 21st century equivalent of putting a toad under our pillow to ward off evil spirits. But what if? What if the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune were actually being thrown at us with intent, rather than by chance? Or, God forbid, were a result of our own poor choices? What if it was all someone else’s fault? At best we’ve got something, or someone, to fight against, a machine to rage against, and if we’re ever to beat them, then maybe our lives will finally be all sunshine and flowers? Or, at worst, we’ll have someone to blame, and we all know how much people enjoy blaming anyone but themselves. I honestly think we should be concentrating on why so many people feel powerless and marginalised. Granted, some of the conspiracy theorists need no more explanation than that they’re unfortunately mentally unwell, while others believe all this hokum because they really are just that stupid. It’s easy to poke fun at the conspiracy theorists, but it’s actually quite sad to think some people are willing to believe nonsense like the earth being flat because it helps them make sense of a bewildering world. If the trend of divisiveness continues, with the gap between haves and have-nots consistently increasing, I wouldn’t be surprised to see more and more people feeling disenfranchised, powerless and persecuted. Why, it’s almost as if there was a conspiracy against them. So perhaps if we want people to stop believing so much nonsense, we need to make sure the real world is something that’s worth believing in? The Edge 01245 348256

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FINDING THE MEANING OF LIFE IN A CHINESE TAKE-AWAY Wow! What a year 2019 was for me - probably the worst one ever. I am so glad to see the back of it. But as with all things bad, there must be some good to come eventually and whilst last year stretched me to the limit, I also found many good things to celebrate. Which is why 2020 is going to be my best year yet (here’s why, so please hear me out on this tale).... My childhood is best described as crazy and chaotic and sometimes, looking back, I wonder how I ever survived it. My Nan, who I loved to bits, fell out with her sister when they were young and all their lives they hated each other. The rows were so intense that it completely split the family. If we, as kids, ever went to visit one of them, we were forbidden to mention it to the other. But one of us kids would always slip up and get a clip round the ear. There was no childline back then! The feud went on and on, but no one knew what it was about. To this day, no one really has a clue, but it was all over something petty. But it drove them both to a life of insanity. Then one day, Aunty Ede fell over and died at home, all alone. And my Nan, despite their differences, went into a massive depression. She was so sad and totally eaten up by guilt over the rows and wasted years of upset and misery. Within a year, she too was dead, and it was ultimately decided within the family to bury them side by side. Which taught me a valuable lesson at the tender age of but 12 years old never hold a grudge, always make the peace and apologise. Because hate eats away at you. So that is how I have always lived my life, by being the peacemaker. Fast forward to 2019 and I kept waking up at 3.00am - always dead on 3.00am. After which I would lie awake for hours, going over the things I wish I'd done and said in the past, and also ‘not said’. I would just lay there, thinking about all of those lost opportunities in life, rather than any of the positive things I had around me. I then began to get grouchy through

Yet it was quite by chance that I found my cure and cures do tend to come from the most unlikeliest of sources. After all, in my crazy life, anything is possible! I’d been invited out to see an old friend - DJ ‘Brandon Block’ - playing a set. Well, the girls and I had a tad too many cocktails and eventually found ourselves in a Chinese restaurant, which was when I got talking to the man who owned it and in the very early hours I found myself saying, “Well thank goodness I am just going home to bed, rather than laying awake at 3.00am procrastinating”. He told me a tale that in Chinese Medicine they have meridian clocks and parts of our body heal at different times. Apparently, at 3.00am our soul and emotions begin to realign and if we are out of sorts, our bodies just stall, a bit like a car, and we jolt out of sleep. He gave me the name of a Chinese medicine man in London. So I went along to see him and lo and behold, Mr Robert Wong reset my body clock and dealt with my blockages with a bit of back slapping, toe tapping and acupuncture. I had apparently been the peacemaker for far too long and had given too much of myself to keep the peace and my meridian line was blocked. So as crazy as this may sound, my sleep problems were eventually cured by finally understanding that sometimes, always ending up being the peacemaker and sometimes even backing down where my own beliefs are concerned is not always the right thing to be doing either. So 2019 ended up teaching me a valuable life lesson, which was never to hate, but also to stand true to one’s own convictions and beliefs. And instead of worrying about missed opportunities and pleasing everyone else, start doing the things your very own soul is yearning for. So I immediately booked a one way plane ticket and told everyone I’d be back when I was good and ready! Because it doesn’t matter where you are in life, how old you are, or how many dreams you have unfulfilled - it’s never too late to reset your body clock. So 2020 is going to be an amazing year and I wish that for everyone of you reading this too.

tracie123@aol.com

S N V

lack of sleep, so I consulted my doctor who gave me a short course of sleeping tablets, which failed to work. So I went back to him and he gave me an even stronger brand, promising me that these would definitely make me sleep. But nope, bang on 3.00am, I would always be wide awake. I tried everything, such as going to sleep at midnight, having a drop of gin before bed, even hypnosis. But nothing worked. So I began to get a bit fed up of always being tired and miserable.

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Imagine floating along a Central London canal in a hottub. Does that tickle your fancy, readers? Because that’s what an innovative company called Skuna are offering, along with some nice cool drinks to help you unwind. Whether you’re simply looking for a whole new experience, or you have a particular celebration in mind, here at Bizarre News, we think this one could be a winner. Trips last for 90 minutes with 75 minutes spent floating on the water. And yes, of course, the water is changed for every trip and set at a balmy 38 degrees to keep your parts nice and warm. The boat fits up to 7 peeps and costs £225 off-peak or £250 peek (so between £32 -£36pp) if you’re hiring the whole tub. Or, if you don’t mind throwing your car keys in a fruitbowl and jumping in with some total strangers, then it’s £45pp for a guided tour setting off from West India Quay. (Robe or towel rental is an extra fiver per person) Or you might prefer a floating BBQ, seeing as it’s winter? If so, Skuna have boats that hold up to 8-10 peeps and all you need to do is bring along your food and drinks, all from just £15pp. info@skunaboats.com Readers, you are most welcome!

IT’S A NIKE TING

Trust Nike to bring out a pair of shoes specifically designed for doctors and nurses to help keep their ‘plates’ comfortable during long shifts. The Nike Air Zoom Pulse collection features a laceless, easy to clean design with a rubber outsole and a flexible drop-in midsole to make them ultra comfy to wear for long periods of time. Nike describes the shoes as like a ‘soft, snug hug’ with a coated toe box to help protect against any type of spillage (i.e. coffee, tomato soup, blood, saliva, urine, even worse etc.). Meanwhile, the traction pattern on the sole (who writes this stuff?) means that doctors and nurses will have plenty of grip, not to mention be able to change direction in a flash, no matter what they have just trodden in. Nike have discovered that many a nurse walks approximately 4-5 miles yet sits for less than an hour during a regular 12-hour shift, so footwear is clearly of massive importance to them. The full range is available online right now. But hey, what about Sketchers? That’s what waiters and waitresses keep on telling the Max Headroom crew is their favourite mode of footwear. The Edge 01245 348256

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MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

INNIES & OUTIES: PART 2 We kick off 2020 by revisiting a subject from October last year. The article ‘shift change’ about ‘innies and outies’ provoked a bit of traffic about the subject matter. The title created an expectation, and it has to be said, an assumption by many that it was, in fact, a piece about belly buttons! Yes, belly buttons or navels, as they were called in my youth. The ‘navel’ is a type of juicy orange with a feature like a belly button inside and navel gazing is a form of daydreaming, just so we’re all clear. But let’s do the serious bit and then take a quick journey around the world of the belly button. In anatomical terminology it is thus, the navel. Clinically this is known as the umbilicus, but you and I know it better as the belly button. A protruding, flat, or hollowed area on the abdomen at the attachment site of the umbilical cord. A few key facts to start. There are, in fact (according to my research), twelve different types of belly button. Now I do not want any letters correcting me, as I am not a doctor. That is except for when I am telling my wife that she needs to take her clothes off and I can legitimately use the term like many men: “Trust me on this, I am a doctor”. The belly button is actually counted as a scar. I know many of you will be pleased to hear that Innies and Outies actually exist. I was often told as a child that if I played with said belly button too much it would come unscrewed and my bottom would fall off. Where boys are concerned, this of course changes around ten years of age when other things are alleged to fall off with overuse. Here is the dirty dozen in full. The Outie: A navel consisting of the umbilical tip protruding past the periumbilical skin is an outie. Essentially any navel which is not concave, standing to attention and proud with it. Next is the rare, but attractive sounding swirly/spiral where the scar literally forms a swirl shape, the twirl of BB’s. Following this is the rebellious split where the protruding umbilical cord scar extends outwards, yet is split in two by a crack which extends part, or all of the way through the belly button, rather like a coffee bean. The Nescafe of navels, you might say. The protrusion is the Ronseal of the belly button world, i.e. it does what it says on the tin: the umbilical cord remnant is completely protruding and divulged. What a great medical term, divulged!

The exotic circlet is up next, the entirety of the umbilical cord remnant sits out with the umbilical collar, the centre of the knot is inset by a deep crack. Unlike a split outie, in this form the crack is contained centrally and does not extend past the cord remnant in any direction, much akin to a 'donut' shape. A ring donut by the sound of it. In the middle of the pack is the standard Innie: a navel in which the umbilical tip does not protrude past the periumbilical skin, so any navel which is concave. After ten pints and a kebab, it’s then deep enough to use as a candle holder for a semi-amusing party trick. As we are in the plain section, we now include the round shaped BB. These navels are completely circular with no hooding and great for collecting fluff. Up next is the fanciful vertical shaped navel which can be seen in the form of a more elongate and elegant hollow, possibly sported by those of an artistic direction. Whereas the straightforward oval, consists of three variants; superior hooding (GTi version), inferior hooding (GLX) and no hooding at all (L). Meanwhile, the Harrods version is T-shaped, as the name states, with the scar being in the shape of a letter T, and may have superior hooding to various degrees. To be clear, the hooding is not, in fact, a striped sun shade from Habitat. As we hit the last couple we encounter the horizontal, where the scar is least visible as the natural lines of the body fold over (the scar) and sometimes goes under the banner of ‘the beige - it’s there, but just blending in and doesn’t want to be noticed. Finally, to close the beauty parade, is the distorted, which is any navel which does not fit well into any of the other categories and that generally produces the cry: “Holy shit, what the hell happened there?” from fellow sunbathers. I hope this has cleared up the disappointment from the October article, so that you can now get navel gazing and see where your fits in! Yours aye,

Beaulieu Park Housewives

A Beaulieu Park Wife’s Diary in which names have been tweaked to spare blushes and exposed breaches to Pre-Nup Agreements. Well hello 2020 – how did that happen? I still feel like I’m only in my 30s most of the time, or maybe that’s just a vain attempt to cling onto them as time marches by. The holiday season certainly took its toll though. Frankly, I’ve upped my PT sessions in the past week, juiced the feck out of the fruit & veg section of my favourite upmarket-supermarket, while protein shakes are ‘de rigueur’ for my daytime meals from here until Burns Night. But I’m not convinced I’ll stick with Dry January as I’m not a bloody saint and, believe me, coping with the Beaulieu bunch certainly requires the odd libation or three. January really is where the topic of conversation is all about weight/weight-loss, health spas/sports bras, the biggest losers and, well, we all love to gossip about those who have gained the most poundage, don’t we? Pregnant Sacha aside (who actually barely looks like she as much as sniffed a pig-in-blanket during the festive season, to be fair), there is disappointingly a distinct lack of bodies to berate for their efforts with ‘Weight-rose’ this year. In fact, quite the opposite, so maybe that’s why my ‘New Year, New You’ efforts have stepped up a gear.

There are a few of the ladies who have raised our ever so ‘on fleek’ eyebrows. Let’s start with Anna. She, as you may recall, is one of the oldest in our circle and most certainly the wrong side of forty-five. Well, hubby Neil gifted her Turkey for Christmas – and not the organic/bronzed/Bernard Matthews variety. I am talking 10 days, upgraded return tickets and a luxury stay at, yes, you guessed it, an allinclusive medical cosmetic ‘hotel’. In-resort services included a tummy tuck, lipo, extensive nipping, stapling and pummeling, and rumour has it, even some enhancement of her lady parts (Neil obviously subscribes to the ‘one present for you, one for me’ rule too!). I hate to say it, but she looks amazing. No wonder they were even more touchy-feely than usual at our little soiree recently – Neil was obviously super excited and in fervent anticipation of getting his hands on BP’s very own Katie Price. I wonder if he’s going to follow in her footsteps and go for shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

some Otoplasty on those magnificent ears of his? (Well, he’s not known as ‘The Elephant Man’ for nothing, although Anna has told us otherwise, during one of her many in-depth accounts of their love life).

The other lady catching our attention this season is Victoria. Now it’s pretty wellknown around these parts that hubby Rob is partial to taking his clients snowboarding at this time of year, in order to secure not only their future business, but his place at the bountiful table of all of their stupendous boys’ club outings/golf trips/insider trading tip-offs etc. It’s equally well-socialised that ‘powder’ doesn’t only put in an appearance on the slopes either. In fact, word is out that Victoria has even been joining Rob in his habits and her figure is alarmingly starting to resemble that of a pre-pubescent schoolboy. Then again, she was never the curviest of female species, but my god, I feel like a poxy heifer standing next to her – cue the Nutribullet! Another reason to get into shape is our next little trip on the horizon – must have a bit of winter sun to tide us over until the next school holiday. This one is just Nat and me, while mini-moi will be deposited with the grandparents so as not to miss school/riding/gymnastics and whatever else it is we pay to ensure that we don’t have to spend too much of our own time trying to entertain her. Of course, we will bring back gifts and she’ll hardly notice that we’ve been gone for the week – just a speedy jaunt to the Caribbean to catch a few rays, order food that we’ll spend the first part of the meal photographing so we can boast-post all over social media, and the perfect opportunity to splash a bit of cash whilst browsing the wares of Tom Ford and Breitling at Heathrow. Yes, a holiday is well and truly called for, what with all the bloody boring election shenanigans of late and the whole country going into meltdown over the return of Gavin & Stacey. I am more than happy to be waving goodbye to this place for a short while. However, thinking about it, perhaps Turkey or the French Alps would have been a better idea, not to mention far less flying time?

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COME ON YOU WOLVES! November 28th 2019 After 30 years of supporting The Wolves, I embarked on my first ever European away day with my mates, writes local, friendly, Nationwide ‘Black Country’ Building Society manager, Oliver Worthington. To be perfectly honest, I never thought this day would ever happen, as I first started supporting my team when we were bottom of the old 4th Division. Two thousand official tickets were sold for the game, but 6,000 ardent fans made the trip to sunny (it literally rained for 2 days solid) Portugal, as the home team allowed the sale of tickets to Wolves fans upon arrival, which meant everyone who wanted to could go to the game. Timeline 7:00am – Set off from Stansted Airport direct to Porto. The ’plane was full of Wolves fans. Some of my mates had to fly to Spain, then on to Lisbon, then on to Porto, and back home via Dublin (although this could well have been an excuse they told their wives and girlfriends for an extended jolly) as there were no direct flights to Portugal on the day in question after tickets sold out within 30 minutes of the fixture being released.

Editor’s note: Great photo, Ollie. As if we don’t all know what a Ryan Air ’plane looks like, sat on the tarmac at Stansted Airport, while everyone’s queuing up to get on in the cold and wet, freezing their tits off. Doh!

Club legend Derek Dougan

11.30am – Landed. Dropped bags off at our apartment before carrying on to Braga, where the match was being played. 12.30pm – Collected our match tickets from a hotel and then went on to the main square for some prematch beers and a bit of a sing-a-long. 4.30pm – All of us headed to the ground proper excited about the match which would potentially see us qualify from our group. 5.15pm – Met resistance from the local police who held us supporters back for absolutely no reason whatsoever in the pouring rain and were unnecessarily heavy handed. Braga only had 3,000 home supporters who were in the other end of the ground, so we were at a complete loss as to understand what the problem was. We were fully restrained for over an hour and missed the first 30 minutes of the game, including two of the goals, which put a bit of a damper on our grand day out, particularly as it defied all logic.

From L to R: Southall, The Sarg, Oliver ‘The Funbus’ Worthington & Bruiser Brewin

8:00pm – 3-3 was the final score, which meant we had qualified from our group! What an incredibly superb achievement. Then we were held back in the ground for an entire hour after the match, in the pouring rain once again.

WOLVES 11:00pm – Eventually got back to Porto and we’re all looking forward to our next European away day in the knockout stages come February!

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Wolves fans gather in the main square afore tut game for a fair few beers and a bit of a ‘black country’ sing-a-long

Raul Jimenez scores a 13th minute equaliser against Braga, but Oliver and his pals missed the first two goals. Final score 3-3 and Wolves march on.

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