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EDGE
the ISSUE NO: 281
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CARTHORSE
The Edge Editor’s Column DUCK’S ARSE I’ve mentioned this before. During rush hour, the traffic light sequences at the Army & Navy roundabout are far too lax. There’s just too much of a delay between one set of lights turning red and the following set turning amber/green. Far too many seconds wasted add up to an awful lot of minutes and whoever’s responsible needs to understand that it’s their job to keep the traffic flowing smoothly. Perhaps you think that’s a condescending thing to say, if anyone concerned happens to be reading this? In that case, let me make a further validatory point. This morning I returned from topping up The Edge dispenser at The Lion Inn at Boreham and upon my return journey to Chelmsford, the very first traffic light controlled roundabout I approached was the one at The Grange pub, which has to deal with vehicles getting off the A12 from Colchester. But my god, the traffic light sync there was as tight as a duck’s arse.
Can’t say I enjoy going to the gym anymore as I’m fast approaching 59 and I’d honestly rather not. But you kind of have to, don’t you? You have to at least try to hang on in there, otherwise, well, what might the future hold? Trouble is, where I go, there’s some proper fit buggers and I don’t mean those muscle-massed meatheads either. I mean those who simply ouze fitness, who live and breathe it, and can jump up onto a bar and rifle off a dozen (overhand-grip) pull-ups as though it was a walk in the park, whereas these days, I can do but one (and underhand grip at that). However, this week I got invited to attend a whole new class that’s just started that kind of mixes strength with an aerobic workout and it was just the tonic I needed. You know, a proper shot of adrenaline to the arm. Oh sure, I’m still a proper old carthorse. But just to be doing something that’s a wee bit different has actually made all of the difference, if you know what I mean, as it genuinely feels as though the landscape’s been changed a little bit. And hey, isn’t that what all of us needs, particularly the carthorses amongst us?
INSTAGRAM Someone insisted that The Edge ought to be on Instagram recently. So I said, “Go on then, set me up on it.” Which they did. Only I haven’t got it to work on my laptop in my office yet, which is how I prefer to communicate, if I’m going to at all. But what do you put on there? And what’s so different about Instagram, as compared with Facecock & Twatter, which I cannot abide either? There’s just far too much stuff these days. Or, for want of a better word, clutter.
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PAGE 8 The Edge is now looking for someone to replace Billy & Kayleigh on page 8. Doesn’t have to be a foodie column, although maybe it does need to be a column with a common theme about one particular subject every month? I’m not sure. Will consider all offers.
HOT YOGA There’s a hot new yoga venture that’s now open right next door to Mr. Cavendish (coffee) on Rainsford Road, just down from the County Hotel, and (a) it’s great to see a previously empty building being put to good use at long last. And (b) Mrs Edge is loving it!
TYSON FURY What a bloke. What a fighter. Haven’t seen it yet, but I woke up at 07:45am on Sunday 23rd February and the very first thing I did was nip into my office, log onto the BBC Sport website and go straight to the boxing. When I saw Tyson’s grinning face I honestly couldn’t believe it and I was chuffed to bits for him. Not knowing all that much about pugilism, I was fearful Wilder might have whupped him, even though a couple of my mates were strongly fancying a Fury victory. In fact, one of them put on a tenner bet on Fury to win in the round he did at 40/1 and won himself a cool £410. And he also won 30 quid on the National Lottery, the jammy basket. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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If you receive a call asking, “Fancy 36 hours in the South of France (again)?” then honestly, what are you going to say? And OMG it was lovely to see a bit of the old currant bun, although Blighty was very nice too while we were over there, apparently, which I was totally gutted about. If you recall, readers, every now and then I ‘assist’ my former ‘boy/fag’ on surveying trips, as each job always requires a minimum of two peeps. And sometimes, if the location is semi-exotic, Lurch will invite me along, simply to give me a break from Chelmsford, which is always jolly nice of him. So I was up at 03:25am of a Wednesday morning in early February in order to catch an 06:50am flight to Marseille from Stansted. Clear skies all the way. Only Lurch had cocked up on his car hire booking form, hadn’t he. Just before 09:00am we rocked up to pick up our car, but they wouldn’t let us have it until 12-noon. But it was well worth the wait as when we did get it, it was classic, as Lurch couldn’t get it into gear (it had an auto box). “Let’s go ask the girl in the office?” (who’d hired it to us) I suggested. “No chance,” replied Lengthy-Boy. It took him a good five minutes to figure it out. Another thing, it was fitted with some sort of a ‘Resonance Box’ that gives the impression to all those aboard that you’re in a bloody racing car!
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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
When I first met Lurch, many moons ago, he was a spotty faced twenty-something with a penchant for photography and I used to order him about to take snaps for The Edge in and around Chelmsford. And, I might add, upon occasion, if I was feeling derogatory, refer to him as ‘my fag’ (a bit like in Tom Brown’s School Days). Funny thing is, the tables seem to have been turned somewhat these days, as he’s the one with the monitor, while all I do is hold the staff (which is a bit of an extendable metal barcode to the untrained eye) and make sure I’ve got ‘the bubble’ in the right position (can you just make out that mini orange spirit-level in my right hand, readers). But you don’t want to know about the trivialities of labour, do you? No, of course you don’t. You simply want to know about the glamour and the glitz of where we shot off to next, after we’d made sure that Mrs Pompidou’s country shagpile wasn’t about to fall down all around her. And that was to....
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Scalp Sense offers a permanent treatment for hairloss called Scalp Micropigmentation, or SMP as it is also known. Scalp Micropigmentation is similar, in ways, to a tattoo. The main difference being that needles used are smaller and the pigment is deposited in the top layer of the skin, called the epidermis, whereas with a traditional tattoo, the ink is placed in the deeper layers called the dermis. This means that SMP is considerably less painful. The pigments can be blended to almost every hair colour and tone with absolutely all of the green and blue hues (the colours traditional tattoos tend to soften to) removed to avoid any unsightly discoloration. SMP has actually been around for over 10 years, but has managed to stay relatively low profile due to the fact it is a subtle solution to a very common problem. For men, the treatment is primarily used for giving the impression of a full head of shaved hair, as sported by the likes of world champion boxer Chris Eubank Jr and TV weatherman Alex Beresford. These are men who have lost their hair and have almost accepted it, but want to recapture a more youthful look by framing the face with a strong, but natural, hairline. Scalp Sense specialises in providing natural looking end results, with owner and practitioner Matt Cunningham saying: "Every treatment is completely bespoke and is down to what the client prefers. I have been doing numerous sharp and shaped hairlines of late, which are becoming more popular in SMP now. However, I prefer the ones where we aim for ‘that natural look’. The ones that will leave friends and family unable to place what the exact change is, but knowing that you look good. For men, in particular, we don't always want to admit we have undergone a cosmetic procedure. However, we do welcome compliments and being told that we are looking so much better. I have had clients whose friends, colleagues and even their mums haven't been able to pinpoint precisely why they are suddenly looking so well, which makes me very happy indeed." SMP can also be used to give thinning hair a fuller look, as it is often offered by surgeons after hair transplants, as clients can sometimes be unhappy with the density of a transplant. SMP is becoming more popular with women too, with the likes of Gigi Hadid using the process to strengthen the thickness of her hair around the hairline and parting. Matt explains:
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"Women’s hair thins with age too, but in a very different way to mens. Women’s hair doesn't tend to recede at the temples and thin out at the crown, but hairlines can break up and the hair may thin all over, which is called diffuse thinning. Historically women have opted for shorter styles when this starts to happen, although nowadays many ladies want to keep hold of their longer locks, so are turning to SMP to stave off the effects of thinning, maturing hair. Women can also lose some hair after pregnancy and the last thing they need to be worrying about, with a new baby on board, is post partum hairloss. But a few sessions of SMP can mask the effects both easily and permanently." Scalp Micropigmentation can also be used to camouflage scarring to the scalp and for certain scalp conditions. "Scars can completely affect the look of your hair and hairstyle,” acknowledges Matt. “However, scars can be easily camouflaged with SMP and can offer people the freedom to select a hairstyle they truly want, rather than one that simply hides a scar." In regards to scalp conditions that effect hairloss, Matt says, "There are certain conditions, such as alopecia arearta, that cause hair to fall out, sometimes all over and sometimes in localised patches. This can cause serious discomfort for people who have this condition and is once again something that SMP is ideal for. But there are many other conditions that can cause hairloss, so if anyone is unsure about whether SMP will work for them, then why not contact me for a FREE consultation. “Furthermore, I am always happy to prepare a written report of the consultation we have that can be supplied to medical professionals to ensure SMP is a suitable option for you." Matt has been trained by world renowned practitioners and has received great praise within the industry for his work. Scalp Sense only use specially designed equipment and pigments for SMP and are currently offering their treatments at Another Level Medispa and Dark Heart Studio, both situated in Chelmsford. Scalp Sense are also offering readers of The Edge 15% OFF any treatment if they mention the publication at the time of booking a FREE consultation. If any of you have any further questions after reading this article, why not call, text or whatsapp Matt directly on 07950 341121, or email info@scalpsenseuk.com Or check out @scalpsenseuk on social media.
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We absolutely love Chinese and Japanese food, and as big fans of sharing plates, dim sum and dumplings is something like to we order regularly in various restaurants both in and around London.
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Making dumplings always seemed very fiddly and actually a little tricky, due to the paper-thin texture of the pastry. So we have written up our recipe for the dough and the filling, but if the idea of making the dough fills you with fear, then simply buy some from one of the wonderful international supermarkets in Chelmsford as they often have frozen gyoza and wanton wrappers which you can simply defrost overnight in the fridge. ‘Fragrant King Prawn Gyoza’ makes around 20 dumplings 2 cloves of garlic 1 or 2 green Thai chillies (depends on how hot you want them) thumb sizes fresh ginger 3 spring onions spring cabbage (or any hardy leaf will do) 1 carrot 1 table spoon soy sauce 1 tsp sesame oil 1 tsp fish sauce 1 tsp rice wine vinegar coriander 250 grams of raw king prawns for the dough - 250 grams of plain flour, 180 ml of warm water For the dough, you need to mix the flour with just boiled water - we would advise using a food processor as it will be too hot to handle. If you want to do this by hand, use a wooden spoon to start, then begin kneading with your hand. Knead the dough for 5-10 minutes. Put the dough ball in a zip lock sandwich bag to steam a little and get pillowy soft for abut 30 minutes.
add lime juice once cooled. Now for the dough. Segment into 20 small balls and flatten with your palm - you want these to be approx. 3-5mm thick - and think about them being ravioli thin! Doing one at a time, place one teaspoon of filling into the centre and rub warm water around the edge of the circular dough pinch this together and seal, then make a pleat across the edge. We use a traditional bamboo steamer with a greaseproof sheet underneath. They take around 5-6 minutes to cook. Serve with a lime and soy dip. Yum-Yum!
Whilst your dough is resting, blitz the filling ingredients in a processor or chop very finely. Aim for a sort of thick mince texture. In a hot oiled pan, fry this filling for around 2 minutes to cook off the harsh flavour of chilli and garlic and cook the prawns. You want this to look similar to a cooked dry pork mince. Then let this cool and
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I’ve been to Monte Carlo on three separate occasions, as it goes, but never before to Cannes. We headed straight for the harbour, after Lurch, now completely au fait with the Peugeot, had done a nifty bit of sardinelike parking in a street just behind our 3-star hotel, as we contemplated whether or not Harvey Weinstein might have ever checked in there during the Cannes Film Festival. Have to say, once out onto the main drag, I wasn’t very happy paying 8 euros for a pint of bloody lager, particularly as I’m not a fan of lager at the best of times. Plus we always seem to end up consuming a fair old amount of dough on our trips away, so I wasn’t really fussed about having any dinner either. So instead, I convinced Lurch to treat himself to the delights of the Istanbul Grill on route back to des Orangers, while I got a bottle of Bordeaux and a packet of salted peanuts. Once we’d showered (me) and bathed (Lengthy-Boy) and changed into clean boxers + t-shirts we settled down to watch The Man with the Golden Gun on our bedroom tele, in French, as well as also delving into the near 120,000 (he reckons) photos Lurch has access to on his mobile phone (via Google storage, I think he said, but it’s beyond me), which included nostalgic pics down Memory Lane of the two of us snowboarding together in both Saalbach-Hinterglemm and Breckenridge all within the past 15 years. Fortunately I slept like an angel night, whereas when we’d stayed in Newcastle (see February Edge), The Length had given me a horrendous night by continually snoring like an Albanian warthog with catarrh. And oh what a treat it was to wake up early the next morning, sling back the French doors of our room (or rurm as Inspector Clouseau might say), which you lot most certainly wouldn’t have been doing back in Blighty, and breathe in the cool fresh air whilst the sun was coming up. This trip honestly convinced me that during your average English winter, we have to poke up with far, far too much grey, grime, cold and misery.
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As if getting old isn’t bad enough, why do our bodies feel the need to constantly remind us of the fact? Every birthday already tells me that I’m not getting any younger. However, not satisfied with that, my body apparently feels the need to rub it in with a little gift of its own, in the shape of a totally new ache or pain, whenever it sees fit. Everything seemed to be going so well until I was 39. You could even say I was a little smug about the fact I had no wrinkles, no grey hairs and didn’t think twice about getting up from the sofa. Only then I hit 40 and that was the day my
batteries, that up until then had kept everything functioning, began to quit on me. A bit like how Apple slows down the functionality of an ageing iPhone. It still works, kind of, just not as well. But this only applies to the physical aspects, I might add. Because my mind still thinks I’m 18, still waiting to become a proper grown-up and go out to fend for myself in the big, wide world with years of craziness ahead of me. Yet here I am, getting out of a chair and having to slowly and carefully straighten myself out as my body has taken on the shape of a banana (curved like the chair) and isn’t quite ready for doing anything half quite as spectacular as standing up. As an added bonus, if I’m really lucky, hypochondria will kick in too. Oh we all tell ourselves that we won’t Google our symptoms. However, at the first sign of anything malfunctioning, that is exactly where we head to first for a prompt diagnosis. Instantly all headaches become brain tumours, an ache in our leg is undeniably a blood clot, while the slightest twinge in the chest is almost certainly an imminent heart attack. On those rare occasions we actually pluck up the courage to visit the doctor’s surgery to have our fate confirmed, it is usually the case to have our self-diagnosis completely discounted in place of a much less terrifying alternative. However, the surgeries themselves really don’t help the situation. As we await our alloted slot, we have an NHS video on a loop, informing us how Julie, a seemingly healthy 45 year old, suddenly had a stroke at work with no prior warning. Now I understand why we need to be aware of the symptoms, just in case it happens to us, only now they’ve gone and added a ‘possible stroke’ to my ever-growing list of potential ailments. Meanwhile, my other issue with the waiting room is what is it that I’m being exposed to whilst I’m sitting there? I have no problem, in principle, waiting for the GP if they are running a bit late of course I understand how very busy they are -
only from where I’m sitting (which is usually as far away from anyone else as possible), I’m simply wondering what it is I might be catching in the meantime. Even through our day-to-day lives we just cannot seem to avoid the little reminders that we are starting to ‘get on a bit’. One particular favourite is when asked to enter our date-of-birth on a device and you have to scroll back through several decades, two centuries and a millennium to find the year you were born. Aside from all that, it does seem that despite our inability to stop time physically, when it comes to mentally, people are staying younger (or maybe just more irresponsible) for longer these days. Maybe this is just in my experience, but I remember my parents being younger than I am now and inviting their friends round for typically ‘80’s style dinner parties, complete with prawn and avocado cocktails. All very civilised affairs where, at worst, they maybe got a bit merry before the night ended at a respectable time. Yet compare that to nowadays when we’ll order in a take-away simply because we can’t be bothered to mess about cooking in the kitchen, while eating’s cheating anyway, particularly when there are several bottles of gin and Prosecco to be consumed throughout the night instead. I do wonder where this prolonged feeling of youth will ultimately lead us though. I mean, currently in retirement homes you will hear (as you would expect) music reminiscent of the residents’ past. Perhaps a little Vera Lynn and something gentle that the more agile ones can do a little waltz to every now and again. Which is all very lovely. Only I can’t help but think that my generation, in years to come, will be waving their Zimmer frames about to The Prodigy, hearing aids turned up to full-blast whilst necking back shots in the day room. And if that’s the case, maybe getting older isn’t so bad after all? I just need to make sure all my friends book themselves into the very same home as I do!
• Rose, the owner, started out as a one lady band some 25 years ago in South Africa. The business eventually grew into Sewing Solutions Ltd. I, Natalie, work for Rose. My background is in textiles, so I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw an advert for a locally based job with her company. Normally, in my particular specialist field, this would mean a ‘London job’. But as business has grown, my role has expanded and now I have taken on an advisory role on fabric purchasing and garment styling. Flori works with Rose in the design and construction of ‘AND’ (see below) garments and alterations. She too has a real talent. • Specialist services we offer: resizing and restyling of all manner of clothing, from wedding dresses to prom dresses, right the way through to men and women’s high street fashions. • The altering of wedding dresses often involves meticulously sewing on layers of luxurious fabrics and requires a lot of skill and confidence. • We alter clothes so that they fit correctly e.g. to allow for weight loss or gain, or they can be restyled to make something a bit more current. This way, our customers are getting some ‘extra mileage’ out of their clothes, rather than adopting the all too easy ‘throw away’ culture of today, and therefore doing their bit to help the environment. • As Sewing Solutions Ltd. has grown, Rose has started to venture out into developing her own fashion label ‘AND’. • Rose chose to come to Chelmsford because it was drier and sunnier than everywhere else in England, and is also a big town, like Durban. She was planning her business for two whole years after she arrived. During that time, so many people discouraged her from setting up an alterations company, saying that nobody sewed anymore. Yet despite this, she went ahead and set up Sewing Solutions Ltd. • Garments are designed and created by a small team of just three ladies. All garments are made from start to finish on the premises. • There is only a limited number of items made of each design, so once they’re gone, they’re gone. This also means that what a customer buys is really quite unique. • Clothes can be bought from the shop direct, located within Sewing Solutions Ltd., or they can also be bought online.
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them, we decided to take a walk across town and take in a show (Tina Turner: the musical) and what a show it was. The cast were truly excellent and the performance in the lead role of Aisha Jawando was second to none. The show begins with Tina as a child, through a tough16 years with Ike, and finally making it as a solo artist and getting her first number one hit at the ripe old age of 47. Which just goes to show that we should never give up on our dreams, and if you're not joining in with all of the singing and dancing at the encore, then you clearly haven’t got a pulse. After that we headed back to the hotel, via a cheeky pit stop at Pizza Pilgrims (not had a bad one there yet) to get some much needed zeds before the following day.
14TH FEB. 2020 05.30am
12TH DEC. 2019 11:32AM
That's the day I had chosen to ignore a withheld number on my phone. Thank the Lord then, that five minutes later I decided to check my emails, only to discover I had a very pleasant message from Sky VIP and their congratulations on my winning a ‘VIP EXPERIENCE’ to go on the Virgin Radio Chris Evans breakfast show! All I had to do was call them back before 5pm to claim my prize. Hey, so I called them back straight away as I didn't want to miss out on such a fantastic opportunity, even though I still didn't know what the full prize was at that point. Once I got through to a lad called Jack, he kindly congratulated me once again and then explained what the prize entailed. “Jan,” he said, “I'm happy to tell you that Chris and the team are putting you and your other-half up in an all paid for five star hotel in London on 13th February where you will be just ten minutes away from our studio at no. 1 London Bridge so that you can enjoy a VIP behind the scenes experience on St. Valentine's Day. HAPPY DAYS. That was the wife's present sorted in a shot. After I’d picked myself up from the floor (I'd actually forgotten I'd even entered the competition), Jack then went on to tell me that that wasn't all, because top man Chris had also booking us in to The Shard for lunch after the show and to top it all, he was even giving us some spending money to cover our dinner on the Thursday evening, plus paying all of our travel costs. After I’d stopped dribbling and thanked Jack about a million times for such great news, I got straight on the old dog’n’bone to Mrs Polak to tell her I’d be taking Shaun. Fast forward two months and 13th February finally arrived. We got to The LaLiT Hotel just just after midday (and just after Mrs Polak accidently drove into the congestion zone adding another 20 mins and £11.50 onto our journey). The staff were superb and made us feel extremely welcome, even though we were actually two whole hours early for check-in. Once we’d left our luggage with
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That's when our alarm went off for the main experience of our trip. After a quick shower and a Full English (oh yes indeedy) we made our way over to the studio. When we got there we were met at Virgin’s reception by a very nice gentleman called Brett who worked for the station. We followed him to the lifts and once we arrived on the 17th floor he gave us a quick tour, including TalkSPORT as it's on the same floor, then across to where Chris, Rachel and Vassos were already hard at it on the Breakfast Show. For anyone who's never listened to the Chris Evans radio show, I would highly recommend you start, as it's nothing but positivity and offers such great ‘feel good’ vibes. We entered the studio at roughly 8am to be greeted by the very man himself, who gave us both a really warm hug and welcomed us to his show. At that point, we thought we were just meeting him and then watching further proceedings from behind a glass panel. But no. Instead, they brought in chairs so that we could sit behind Chris and watch and listen to the final two hours of his ‘live’ broadcast. And what a show it was, with Chris making you feel so high (I honestly miss not being there on a daily basis). We even got to watch David Gray perform ‘live’ during the show, as he’s touring again for the twenty year anniversary of his White Ladder album, which made our day even more special as that album was playing in our car on the way to church on our wedding day some 20 years ago this July. Marie Forleo (life coach) and Dr Rahul Jandial (brain surgeon and mind genius) were the other guests in the studio, discussing their books, and were truly great too, which only took our energy and positivity levels up even further (we have now ordered their books since returning home). Chris’s final guest was Frances O’Connor of the all new Sky drama ‘The End’, which we have now set our TV to record. All in all, it was a fantastic experience, especially hearing some of the ‘off air’ stories told by Chris and his guests.
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Update: So I took me DLM (daft little motor - I am sadly no longer an Audi A4 Avant driving media mogul, readers) to RS Scuff’n’Buff and they did exactly what they said they would - they removed a couple of STD’s (supermarket trolley dents - you know the type, those pock-marks you get on your car’s bodywork after some no good, lazy. low-life shopper has haphazardly shepherded their over laiden trolley into your motor’s paintwork, due to the fact that they are clearly a twat) from my car’s rear quarter and now it looks as good as new again, all for under ‘a couple of monkeys’ (less than 100 sheets, only The Edge doesn’t know what’s cockney rhyming slang for one hundred knicker). You should have a look at your own bodywork too, readers (noooo, not yourself starkers in the mirror, the bodywork of your car) and see whether it’d benefit from a bit of TLC from ‘Big Rob’, Jane & Kane who are reet nice peeps to do a bit of business with. AND you get 10% OFF when you quote The Edge. So it’s a winner, winner, chicken dinner of a situation/gift horse if ever there was one. Oh and make sure you shake hands with ‘Big Rob’ while you’re there as his mitts are like American Baseball fielder’s gloves (i.e. bananas).
Another thing that gets on The Edge’s goat, from an immensely long list of stuff, is people who leave a message on your landline answerphone and then suddenly speed up talking when they gabble out their telephone number to reply to. Some folk do actually do that. Aaaaaggghhhh! Because then, if 1471 fails and they weren’t the last person to call you, and you tend not to delete old messages (like moi), it always takes an age to find their message again, as it’s the last one on a very long list. (Twats.)
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Last bit about Cannes trip: Can’t tell you how good this felt. Up, showered and out on our balcony at 07:45am in just a t-shirt and jumper. Oh and even the coffee they provided in sachets in our room at the hotel tasted far superior/richer than that which we’re given in your average hotel box on these shores. So there I was, with my pen, pad and specs (I’m old school), just about to go over a few notes I’d made regarding our trip, and it felt like absolute heaven. I could honestly feel the warmth of the soleil sur mon visage and wondered just how long ago such had been? Probably September 2019. Which once again got me to wondering and pining to be absent from an English winter, as honestly, what’s the frickin’ point? I just get so down in the dumps being stuck indoors all the time, while dark mornings and evenings do absolutely nothing for me. And the only way to know, for certain, if we would genuinely miss Blighty is to be away from it for a few months, right? Whereas the most I’ve ever managed in one stint of but three weeks. I’d just love to give it a go. Page 12
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I don’t know about you lot, but The Edge really does miss Blockbuster Video on Springfield Road, particularly during the winter months. Okay, okay, so not when we used to hire clumpy videos exactly, but when it all changed to reet modern and slender CD’s it was brilliant. You used to be able to go in there and choose three for a tenner on a Sunday morning and just chill out and watch ’em all day long and stuff your face with sweets, chocolate and popcorn to while away yet another miserable winter’s day.
Where can you get value like that nowadays, eh? Oh I guess all you new kids on the block will be shouting at your old Uncle Edge: “Haven’t you heard about streaming, Grandpa?” Well yes, I’ve heard about it. Only it’s a bit like dogging so far as I’m concerned, in that I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually done it. Of course, the downside to getting CD’s from Blockbuster was that once in every while the movie you’d be engrossed in would simply freeze, for no reason that any of us could comprehend, and that used to be a proper annoying bugger, did that. Because then you had to unload it, wipe it down your tracky-botties a few times (both sides, just to make sure) and then reinsert it into your CD player, making sure that the foreign language option hadn’t accidentally been activated, and then try and find the exact point you’d got up to. Only we’d no doubt have to go through that process a fair few times, by which time we’d be on the verge of giving up. So I ask of you readers, what is the cheapest, most efficient way to watch movies at home these days, because all the decent ones that seem to be available on our Smart TV/Virgin at ‘Edge Towers’ cost around a fiver. And a ‘fiver for one’ is nowhere near Blockbusters superb value of ‘three for a tenner’ in anyone’s language/arithmetic.
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Situated on the outskirts of Chelmsford, Channels Retreat forms an integral part of the 27 room Channels Hotel, which together with a fine dining restaurant and bar make Channels one of the finest wedding venues in the county. It is also within a short distance of Little Channels, another popular wedding venue, plus restaurant and golf centre. The accommodation provided by Channels Retreat includes a magnificent kitchen, with a large central island, offering plenty of seating for up to eight guests, making it the perfect place to come together to enjoy and entertain. The comfortable ground floor sitting room is exquisitely furnished with inviting sofas and chairs and is an ideal place to relax. There are three en-suite bedrooms each individually designed with modern furnishings and accessories featuring super king size beds and sumptuous bedding to ensure that you and your guests spend a calm and restful night. Within Channels Retreat is a specially designed Salon for wedding preparations, featuring spacious workstations for both hairdressers and make-up artists, large well-lit mirrors, appropriate seating and plenty of plug sockets, along with hanging space for those very special outfits. In addition, Channels Retreat has a private garden and courtyard with a large table and surrounding chairs, sun loungers and BBQ, as well as a hot tub that is able to accommodate up to six guests. Lovingly converted from a former old brick barn, Channels Retreat has been designed primarily to provide luxurious and up to the minute accommodation for wedding guests on the eve of that very special day, but also as an ideal location where family and friends can relax and enjoy all the luxuries on offer. For larger parties there are three rooms adjacent to Channels Retreat, which can take six guests, while the option to reserve rooms in the Lodge or Courtyard may also be available. New photographs will be available during the last week of March.
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! Do you Do ? you think think you you have have some some roof roof d damage? amage? Drones have had a bit of a bad press recently, from causing airport chaos to people using them in locations where they shouldn’t be and raising privacy concerns. However, drones have the potential to be used to do tasks that would have seemed impossible just a few years ago (Amazon packages delivered to you by drone anyone?). In addition, as the technology develops, they are expected to add millions to the UK economy. There’s even a group called Drones For Good which has been set up to highlight the benefits they can bring. For example, delivering essential medical aid in war torn countries.
Would W ould you you like like to capture capture a unique unique bird’s bird’s your property? property? eye eye view view of your Estate Agent Agent looking looking to maybe you’re you’re an an Estate Or maybe for your your clients? clients? offer extra offer e xtra value value for Th These ese a are re just just some some of of the the jobs jobs that that Essex Aerial Photography can carry can ca rry out safely using using a drone. drone. We W rrvi vices offer and video plus photography services offer HD an d 4K vi deo pl us ph otography se
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It is this future potential that caused Craig Hubble to quit his full-time career in the London TV industry to focus on setting up his own company Essex Aerial Photography. Based in Chelmsford, Craig wants people to use his company for jobs that may have previously been carried out by more expensive and less safe methods. Think you have some missing roof tiles? Don’t bother with scaffolding or scaling a ladder - send the drone up! Are you an Estate Agent wanting to have that competitive edge? Add some aerial photos to your portfolio impressing your client! Even if you’re a larger company, such as in the construction sector, a drone can provide site updates so you can see the progress of any development.
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Craig is keen to change the perception and myths of the drone industry. “Anyone can go to a shop and buy a drone these days, but as soon as you use that drone to make money, you are breaking the law. I needed to go through a thorough theory and practical assessment with the Civil Aviation Authority which now enables me to obtain all the relevant permissions. Additionally, I need to know all about the airspace I am operating in, safe separation distances for people and buildings, and of course understanding the great British weather. The actual flying of the drone is only a tiny piece of the overall operation. A drone in itself isn’t dangerous. It’s all down to the person operating it and knowing what to do with it.” Essex Aerial Photography is now taking bookings, so drop them a line to discuss your requirements. Readers of The Edge will also receive 25% OFF their first booking as an extra added bonus!
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Yep, that’s Jan (far left) and his wife Michelle (far right) and can you make our singer David Gray in the mix too, readers? In fact, you can read all about this particular experience in ‘The Polak’s Special Ginger Horticultural Column’ on page 11 this edition, and your editor strongly suggests, nay demands, that you do. To be fair, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke and someone I am proud to call a true mate. Jan had the misfortune to be made redundant a few months back, only then the redundancy pay-off he was expecting never materialised. But what he has been through and how he has turned things around for himself, my god, I sincerely take my hat off to him as personally, I’m not sure I’d have been willing to have gone through all of that. Talk about dust yourself down and get back out there in the trenches. And do you know what? The geezer has always, always got a smile on his face. What a trooper. So let’s hear it for Jan (SFX: whoop/cheers etc.)
EDGE
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Exist to Create
It’s difficult not to like Harry & Sandra, isn’t it? Only The Edge has just finished reading Ian Wright-Wright-Wright’s autobiography and he doesn’t speak too highly of one of his former bosses, following his time spent at West Ham during the latter part of his playing career. That aside, Harry seems to be making just as much success of his retirement - and as much money - as he was during his time in football management, so fair play to him. Being crowned ‘King of the Jungle’ after winning I’m A Celebrity...Get Me Our Of Here seemed to kick-start the ball rolling for all that has followed since, for which he received a cool half-a-million quid alone, if reports are to be believed. And that was when the whole Sandra phenomenon began too, gawd bless ’im for loving his wife to bits. So now, following on from his Jam Roly-Poly TV adverts, he’s even landed himself his very own ITV series (8:00pm, Wednesday nights) featuring his own back yard of Sandbanks in Dorset (just over the Mouth of Poole from where The Edge often frequents in Corfe Castle and Swanage, I might add), where it was reported back in 2005 to have the 4th highest land value by area in the world. “Prices aren’t as high as what people make out,” Harry mischievously quips, but he hasn’t half got a nice gaff in a fantastic location. Thing is, you can imagine some of his neighbours positively hating him, can’t you? For as amiable as Harry appears, all they’re probably after is a nice quiet life, yet here the cockney charmer is, bringing the TV wagons and cameras to their very own peaceful doorsteps. The Edge has only seen the first installment at the time of going to print (oh but hasn’t one of Harry’s mates and fellow jungle buddy Joe Pasquale turned into a bit of a He-Man, what with his pilot’s license, six-pack and goatee beard), but it was interesting to see Harry & Sandra attending the annual Bournemouth Air Show, which is just along the coast from Sandbanks - specifically for the cameras, it has to be said - as ’Arry soon confesses that he’s never even seen it before in his life. No, and The Edge is willing to bet that he only went to Corfe ‘for the cameras’ too, because if they’re paying him the folding stuff, he seems happy to be anyone’s lapdog. Speaking of which, The Edge did like the bit where his two fat dogs were biting the heads off some of the flowers in his garden, whilst the opening episode concluded with him clearing up their shit on a shovel.
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“I wasted three and a half hours of my life driving up to Freeport and back to watch this unadulterated pile of poop. I was falling asleep after just five minutes and things didn’t get any better. The Guardian can go and right royally fark itself.”
‘Gripping nightmare’ The Edge’s arse. It is nothing of the sort. Sheer coma inducing boredom, more like. It’s shot in black and white. The screen’s square. And you can’t tell what they’re saying half the time. ‘Captivating beautiful cinematography’? Give over. What do people get off on writing such bollocks? It was miserable. A mate of mine text me when I came out: “What was it about?” I replied: “F @@ k all that I could fathom.” (But did you notice how I slipped in a nautical term there?) He replied: “Well, I must say, I’ve read more in depth film reviews. But I guess that just about captures the essence of the whole cinematic experience.” He’s not wrong. “The performances of Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson have a sledgehammer punch.” My god, The Guardian’s reporter is actually being PAID to spout such drivel. Hasn’t he ever seen Night At The Museum, for gawd’s sake. Now THAT’S drama. One of the characters (Pattinson) is called Ephraim, which pretty much says it all Such pretentious flotsum. The only light relief is the mermaid. THANK THE LORD FOR THE MERMAID, which causes Ephraim to masturbate furiously whilst alone in the woodshed (well, with a name like Ephraim, what else is he going to do?). Best bit, apart from the mermaid, is definitely when Ephraim shows a seagull who’s boss. I did appreciate that bit. And THE END, naturally, when it felt as though I’d been let out of a Nut House. What is the point of making films like this? It isn’t art. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. Bugger, I’ve only just noticed that I’ve omitted to mention the name of this tripe, perhaps because I’m so concerned for you readers not to make the same mistake that I did. It’s called THE LIGHTHOUSE. Only it would be downright ridiculous of you to ever bother watching it.
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BASE JUMPING My late life ‘career’ as this magazine’s female Old Fogey columnist almost came to a shuddering halt this month, as I thought that I really didn’t have anything else left to say. I might be writing under the banner of ‘Fogey’, but there’s so much good stuff and good people out there that I don’t want to be penning a constant bitch-fest. However, Editor Shaun gave me such a blistering reprimand at my ‘wobble’ that I thought I’d better fire up my beast of a P.C. (a new present from a very dear and kind friend) and try to put it to some use, other than for totting up my shopping receipts. It was my own choice to take early retirement, due to the time it frees up to do as many of those things on one’s ‘retirement bucket list’ as possible. However, the major drawback with all of this free time is that you have to have reached a ripe old age before you’re allotted it, and some of us are then far too decrepit to enjoy it (I speak only for myself, of course). However, on the plus side, I’ve discovered the joy of jigsaws (hey, I’m aware it’s not Base Jumping from Melbourne Flats, but don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it, alright?). As a consequence, I honestly believe this occupation could be an aid to
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good mental health, as doing jigsaw puzzles can be enjoyed alone, or with others, and is totally absorbing if you practice a little patience (anyone who knows me reasonably well will be snorting into their coffee right now, as I’m known for losing interest in many an unfinished project, but I still stand by that statement). There’s nothing wrong with this calm, quiet, innocent activity at all.
tablet. I’ve never previously felt incomplete without this piece of modern day equipment, but it’s very rapidly becoming as important as a phone itself, which ironically I only originally bought to use in an emergency. My new toy now sits by my side constantly. I find it such a useful tool for looking up a fact or character in some programme or other that I might be watching, or within a book I’m reading. It’s instant access to pretty much all the information you could ever want to know, with plenty to spare. Isn’t that absolutely marvelous? Who could have known when they first showed the mobile phone on Blue Peter in 1976 how life would be transformed by 2020 (and not necessarily for the better, some might say)?
My old mobile phone I’ve also succumbed to a little high tech modification. Just before Christmas I reluctantly changed my mobile phone, as I could no longer manage the weight of the shoulder bag needed to carry it about with me (you no doubt have to be old enough to have been around at the birth of the cell phone to understand precisely what I am talking about, kids).
Anyway, back to my new tablet. I’ve always loved games and quizzes and I now have so many available right at my very fingertips. I feel a bit like a kid in a sweet shop all over again, or with a book and torch beneath the bedcovers, it excites me that much (yeah, yeah, I know all about the warnings of blue light filters, but it’s just as well no one knows about my Prosecco in my Ovaltine habit - I know how to enjoy myself, I do!).
My new phone came with a freebie
I’ve also found a smashing app
called Borrow Box, where you can download library books and audio books (yep, I’m never one to miss an opportunity to bang on about the pleasures of books and reading) so am indulging my passion like crazy (ooh, cheeky). And all for FREE, which is a win-win situation for an old cheapskate like me! I’ve even downloaded a language app and am tentatively starting to learn Italian (it’s such a romantic language, don’t you think?). I thought about trying Latin, but figured I’d best try to master ‘He/She eats an apple’ in everyday Italian first, before I dive into ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici...’. Ciao for now!
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Back by popular demand! Hello again, readers. Well, here we are again, it’s March and my blooming 60th birthday is looming! At the time of writing I am in sunny Barbados, overlooking the magnificent James Bay. I shall also celebrate my birthday here, but in actual fact I am piggy-backing my mates’ birthday celebrations as he was 60 in February. Nick, my mate, invited a dozen close pals out here and very nice it is too! My 60th birthday celebration of choice will be in June when hopefully we might have some sunshine in the UK so that the masses descending on my home can behave badly in my garden and not in my house. The weather forecast for June is already keeping me awake at night and I’m not optimistic, if I’m being honest with you. In fact, it will be just my luck if the whole of June is a washout. If there was an Olympic event for optimism and I entered it right now, then I honestly wouldn’t fancy my chances.
DEAKS
I am currently organising the party (well, not right now, as right now I’m sat beside a pool drinking a cold glass of Banks, the Caribbean’s finest beer) and I am going to have a singer, the lovely Francesca, plus a DJ, the mighty BMC, outside my house on the decking. I definitely won’t be dancing though. Oh no, I dance like Virgil Tracy at the annual Thunderbirds Ball. I stick out on the dancefloor like a bulldog’s bollocks, so I tend to avoid getting up, preferring instead to prop up the bar. One thing I certainly will not be hiring is a Scottish piper, despite my daughter-in-law and her family being from north of the border. Gary, my son, and Samantha got married in a Scottish castle and they had a piper playing in the grounds. When she had finished a vaguely familiar tune, she asked if anyone had any requests. So I strode forward and in an effort
to impress the locals, I asked, “Could you play Amazing Grace?” To which she replied, “I just did!” Fortunately, the piper resisted the temptation to pull out her sharp, pointy Sgian Dubh that she kept in her sock and bury it in my neck. But seriously, it sounded nothing like The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards on Top of the Pops way back in 1973. Speaking of yesteryear, I told a story in last months edition about my run in with a taxi driver many moons ago and sure enough, the first taxi I got into after February's edition was published, the taxi driver recognised me (that’s the price of fame, I’m afraid) and says, “Oi, you’re the bloke that writes in The Edge, aren’t you?” I was immediately thinking he might chuck me out there and then, but he didn’t. Instead he told me a story about one of his colleagues. Apparently, his pal picked up two lads from Chelmsford town centre and one was completely wasted while the other was just about holding it together. Anyway, the least wasted chap was the first to be dropped off, while 10 minutes further on the extremely wasted lad was due to be dropped off. However, he suddenly bolted out of the taxi at a set of traffic lights and vaulted over a fence into a farmer’s field and into the darkness. But the taxi driver knew where he lived, so he simply drove to his house and waited. A little while later the guy staggered up the street, caked head to toe in mud, with ripped trousers and minus his jacket, which in his haste he had left in the back of the taxi with his house keys in the pocket. So the taxi driver handed him his jacket and asked, “Why did you jump out of my cab, mate?” To which the lad slurred, “I suddenly realised I had no money on me, so I thought I’d make a run for it.” To which the taxi driver replied, “Your mate paid for you both when he got out and gave me a generous tip to make sure you got home safely.” Moving on, what is everyone’s view of Harry & Meghan? I’m a bit undecided on this one. I’m a staunch royalist. I love the Queen and I have always really liked William and Harry. I thought the Royal Family would be in good hands once the throne passed through the Queen’s direct dysfunctional brood, but Harry has quickly gone from being everyone’s second favourite royal to public enemy number one. I do think Meghan is trouble. But rightly or wrongly, I sort of understand why they want to walk away. I mean, they are always going to be second division royals, aren’t they? Especially if William & Kate keep dropping kids. You only have to look at Andrew, Anne and Edward to see what’s in store for them, and poor old Princess Margaret, the Queen’s sister, who got a real rough ride. In fact, upon reflection, I think Harry & Meghan are probably better off out of it. I’ve actually met Princes Diana and William & Harry. Those comments above on Harry & Meghan were just a cunning way of introducing this particular story into my column. Back in 1995, I was due to have a business lunch at a restaurant in Belgravia called San Lorenzo, which was just around the corner to Kensington Palace. The restaurant was owned by friends of Diana called Lorenzo and Mara Berni, and Diana was often photographed visiting the restaurant by the paparazzi. Anyhow, there we were, waiting to be seated, when in walked Diana and her two boys. I managed to stutter a “Hello” and she replied in kind with a wonderful smile that lit up the entire restaurant. Believe me, she was even more beautiful in the flesh. We sat three tables away from her and I barely ate a thing whilst I dribbled on the expensive table linen. That restaurant was so posh, as we sat down at our table, one of my guests asked the maitre d’ if he could remove his jacket and the maitre d’ replied, “Sir, potatoes wear jackets. Gentlemen wear coats.” I’ve never forgotten that. I just couldn’t believe a waiter would speak to a customer like that. They show you more respect at the Toby Carvery! Ooooooh. News has just reached me that Philip Schofield has come out as being gay. Jeez, whoever would have thought that? Next they’ll be telling us that Boy George is gay too.
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 onto www.theedgemag.co.uk/subscribe and Fanny’s your Aunt, it’s absolutely FREE! Or head to The Edge’s Facecock page and click on the online subscription button thingamajig.
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Well, that’s your lot. After all, you know what these all inclusive holidays are like. You need to be eating and drinking constantly to get your money’s worth, so I can’t be spending any longer writing for you, can I? But by the time I write again, for the April editions, I shall be 60 years old and sat beside a different pool on a different continent. What’s more, I shall also be a granddaddy too! So make sure to order your copy now, to avoid major disappointment, as I’ll have so much to tell you about. Oh and by the way, my post bag (aka inbox) was full of pals pointing out that I DIDN’T DO ‘Dry January, as indicated in a previous column, and indeed they are correct. However, I did last until Thursday 23rd January, when we had one of our Jolly Boy’s nights out at The Ship in Chelmsford, so at least I made a decent effort, I thought. N.B. So please forgive my fibs, only our editor nags us authors for our columns by the middle of the month and at that point, I did still intend to stay dry for the entire month. Honest guvnor! TTFN DEAKS. gmdeakin@googlemail.com The Edge 077 646 797 44
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HE’S OUT As I write this I don’t know if there is anything more to the story about Phillip Schofield coming out as being gay, but if there isn’t, then I am quite surprised by the stir it has caused in the British press and general public.
I was sitting at my desk when I heard the Sky news flash alert and couldn’t really believe that it was the top story on there. I get that he is a well known celebrity for most of us and a bit of a national treasure, but it’s 2020, so I can’t believe that this is headline making news for most news outlets. In the age of inclusion and diversity I actually think this is all a bit strange and makes it seem as though coming out as gay is some kind of strange phenomenon. I also acknowledge the point that he’s been married for 27 years and I do feel for his wife and family. But if he was having a heterosexual affair, would that really have been the top news item of the day? Worse still, I can’t believe the abuse Eamonn Holmes has been getting from the press for making his quip about how
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he wondered why Phil’s wife didn’t get jealous when he shared a hot tub with Holly Willoughby. Isn’t it typically that sort of humour we all revert to in Britain to lighten the mood in awkward situations?
LOVE ISLAND I don’t know what it is about Love Island, but I can’t seem to pull myself away from the TV whenever it’s on. It really doesn’t make sense for a professional Dad of two, approaching his late thirties, to be sitting at home watching a bunch of twenty-somethings trying to find love (and fame), but the show is so addictive. This year the winter version took a while to warm up, but since it’s got going I’ve been absolutely hooked. There was the drama of Callum leaving Shaughna for someone else in Casa Amor, Nas finally finding someone to couple up with, only to leave her for someone else a few days later, and Paige and Fin seemingly finding happiness together. I know, I know, I can’t believe I have just written that either, but if you haven’t seen it yet, then I seriously suggest you give the series a watch.
CAROLINE FLACK Since writing that last article I heard the awfully sad news that Caroline Flack, a former presenter of Love Island, has died. It was terribly sad news of yet another victim of suicide which is on the increase in the UK and claimed the lives of over 6,500 people in 2018 (11 in every
100,000). It is heartbreaking to read that someone so young and seemingly so successful felt she had no other option other than to end it all. There was clearly lots going on in her life, what with the well publicised imminent court case, being suspended by ITV, as well as being hounded by the press. But whatever challenges she faced, you would have hoped that with the right support of her family and friends she could have found a way to conquer them. Rumours are that they are now considering cancelling Love Island as a result, but I think that would be the wrong decision. There are lots of people out there who get enjoyment from the show and lots of people who are lonely that get comfort from TV. Criticism has been levied at ITV for suspending her, pending the outcome of her trial, but let’s not forget that she was facing serious charges for the alleged assault of her boyfriend. The criticism seems to be that it was unfair that ITV suspended her despite sticking by Ant McPartlin following his drink-driving crash and subsequent ban. I get the frustration at the double standards, but isn’t it better that ITV are now getting it right and taking the correct action?
Billy Hinken As for the CPS, once again they are facing a lot of criticism for pursuing a case against Caroline Flack, but again it is worth remembering that these were serious charges and the decision to prosecute her would not have been taken lightly, especially as her boyfriend, the alleged victim of the alleged assault, was asking for the case to be dropped. It is worth remembering that just because a victim of a crime doesn’t want action to be taken doesn’t mean that a crime has not been committed. We will never understand the full story about what has happened, but the sad outcome is that a troubled individual has taken her own life as she couldn’t see a way out of the situation she found herself in. Whatever you are going through, there is always someone there to help you go through it, however tough it may seem. Call the Samaritans.
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ONLY JOKING! MICHELANGELO
Guy: "It’s beautiful. Quick question though. Why are their dicks so small?” Michelangelo: "They aren’t small, LOL.” Guy: (Says nothing as has nothing to add). Michelangelo: [nervous] "Whoa. Are they really that small?”
SPOOKY I was driving towards a village and, I’ll admit it, I thought I was going a bit fast. But then one of those auto road signs flashed up 87mph, and spookily enough, that was exactly the speed I was travelling at. So hey, I figured I was OK.
ALEXA Me: "Alexa, remind me to go to the gym.” Alexa: "I have added gin to your shopping list.” Me: "Good lass.”
OASIS SOUP Wife: "What did you have for lunch?” Me: "Soup of the Day.” Wife: "What kind of soup was it?” Me: "Oasis soup.” Wife: "What?” Me: "You Got A Roll With It.”
VISITORS FROM OUTER SPACE One day a spaceship lands behind a farmyard barn. A Martian gets out and wanders over to speak with the farmer. He tells him that he and his wife have decided to see the Solar System before settling down to have a family. The farmer, as a token of friendship, invites them to dinner and the Martians are chuffed. After a simple but sumptuous meal, they are all sitting around imbibing plentiful alcohol. The Martian man then explained how, on their planet, it was customary to swap partners as a token of friendship and goodwill. The farmer, not wanting to create an incident, thought, ‘Well, she’s not a bad looker, even though she is a bit green.’ So he turned to his wife, who nodded her assent almost imperceptibly. So the Martian took the farmer’s wife into one bedroom while the farmer paired off with the Martian’s missus in another. They had been having carnal shenanigans for about ten minutes when the Martian asked the farmer’s wife, "Well, how does it feel for you, making love to a Martian?” The farmer’s wife smiled politely and replied, "Very nice, thank you. It’s just a shame you’re not a bit, erm, stouter, if you know what I mean?” So the Martian twisted his right ear and his willy immediately got fatter. Well, this was right up the farmer’s wife’s street and for the next thirty minutes she never thought she had had it so good. After a bit, the Martian asked, "How does it feel now?” "Awesome,” she said, “awesome. The only thing that could top it would be if it was just a little bit
longer.” And with that, the Martian twisted his left ear and, Hey Presto, his willy immediately grew by a couple of inches. Thus the Farmer’s wife spent the remainder of the night in absolute pig heaven. Next morning, after breakfast and after waving their guests off, the farmer says, "So how was it for you last night then?” "Oh, adequate,” she said, not wishing to cause any friction. "And yourself?” "Very weird indeed,” said the farmer. "She spent the majority of our time together fiddling about with my ears.”
SEARCHING I’ve spent two years searching for my wife’s killer, but no-one will do it.
BOLLOCKS The Bollocks/Dogs Bollocks - the best That’s Bollocks - you’re talking rubbish Utter Bollocks - complete fabrication Bollocking - severe reprimand Stark Bollock Naked - without clothing Bollocks to it - I shall ignore that Bollocksed - rendered unusable Drop a Bollock - make a mistake Couldn’t give a Bollocks - not worried
TINDER How do you tell your wife you’ve seen her on Tinder?
CHINESE FUNERAL A guy was in a Chinese restaurant when he suddenly got to thinking. “’Ere,” he says to his missus, “there are thousands of Chinese restaurants and take-always throughout the world, which means there must be many more thousands of Chinese people running them. Yet when was the last time you ever saw a Chinese funeral?” His wife considered the question whilst looking down at the two huge chicken balls on her plate.
CHEST FREEZER Don't you just hate it when you are clearing out your chest freezer and you discover people you don't even recognise?
ALEXA AGAIN Me: "Alexa, please check my bank balance and let me know what Apple products I can afford?” Alexa: "Juice.”
TWO A bloke was walking through town one day and spotted a homeless man with a cardboard sign that read: ‘One pound for a joke’. So he handed over a quid and the homeless guy said, "Alright, mate. So what’s your name?” "Nick,” the fella responded. "Okay, Nick. So there’s a black rooster, right. How many legs does it have?” "Two,” says Nick. The homeless man says, "Damn right. So how many wings would this black rooster have?” "Two,” says Nick. "Bang on,” says the homeless man. “You’re good at this caper, aren’t you? So, Nick, how many eyes has it got?” "Two,” says Nick. "Precisely,” says the homeless man. “So now there’s a white cat prowling around. How many hairs are there on the white cat’s back?” “I haven’t the foggiest,” says Nick. "Hmmmm, funny that, innit?” says the homeless man. “So how come you know so much about black cock but nothing about white pussy?”
EVERY NOW AND THEN Cop: "Turn around.” Chap: "Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming round.” Cop: "Turn Around.” Chap: "Every now and the....” BZZZZZZZ [gets tazed]
BREATHLESS You stand in awe, beholding the sheer majesty of the mountain as it looms up into the sky like a God delivering judgement. Breathless, you raise your camera. Camera: "What, that tiny white triangle barely visible over there in the distance? Yup, got it!”
SEXISM “I’ve just written a book about sexism and included absolutely everything. Hey, it’s even got pictures for the blokes.”
BITTER QUARREL They had a bitter quarrel on the day of their 40th wedding anniversary. He yelled: “When you die, I’m getting you a headstone that reads: ‘Here Lies My Wife - Cold As Ever’.” “Oh yeah?” she replied. “Well if you die first, yours is gonna read: ‘Here Lies My Husband Stiff At F*** ing Last!”
AISLE 3 It’s that time of year, when leaves change colour, flowers die, skies darken, birds fall silent. The ancestors start to stir in their graves, restless with consciousness of wrongs they suffered, mindless from decay, implacable and thirsty for living blood, or a double pack of custard creams. "Aisle three,” I wearily tell the customer, "under the sign that says ‘Biscuits’.”
MAD Remember, back in the day, when people got mad if you read their diary? Only nowadays they put everything online and get as mad as hell if you don’t read the f*** ing thing.
DEODORANT Bought one of those stick deodorants. The instructions read: ‘To apply, push up bottom.’ Got to say, it chafes a bit when I walk, but my farts smell absolutely outstanding.
HONEYMOON So we got back from the honeymoon, but it didn’t go very well Me mate said, "Jeez, how can you be at loggerheads already?” I explained, "We’d just consummated our union, and without thinking, I threw a fifty onto the bed. I was mortified. But it was just a natural reaction.” Me mate came back with, "Don’t worry. It’ll soon blow over. She can’t expect you to have saved yourself just for her for all these years.” "That’s not the problem,” said I. "The problem is, she handed me back a twenty.”
BADGERS I was out all night collecting badgers. I’ve nearly got a full set.
HANDCUFFS Me: "I have to admit, it was kinda sexy how you put those handcuffs on me just now. But hey, what's my safe word?” Cop: "Now listen ’ere, pal...”
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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BALD LEGENDS Thank god those post-Clarkson dark days of Chris Evans and Matt LeBlanc are now well and truly behind us, when Top Gear totally flopped, and it’s now back with a vengeance with Harris, Flintoff and McGuinness.
Now you’d be well within your rights to argue that to this very day, ITV Saturday afternoon World of Sport anchorman Ron Aubergine - doh Dickie Davies has a full head of hair. And well he might have. But the fact of the matter is that it kind of always looked as though he could lift the whole of his barnet right off his head, a bit like a lamp-
While The Edge still prefers Clarkson, May and Hammond - well, Clarkson and May at any rate - there’s no doubting that this all new trio definitely works, even though it’s a bit top heavy when it comes to northern accents, which you southerners probably find difficult to understand. As Edge columnist William Hinkleberry alluded to in last month’s editions, their ‘Nepalese Special’ was an absolute corker, although this latest series kicked-off with something that only an incredibly brave, or an incredibly stupid man would ever have agreed to tackle. The Edge is referring, of course, to Freddie Flintoff being strapped into a red Rover Metro cabriolet (bad enough), which he was clearly far too big for, and both man and vehicle being dramatically bungee jumped over the side of a 500ft Swiss dam. Not in a million years would The Edge have ever put its hand up to swap places with him and it genuinely feels as though there is something ‘really quite odd’ about Flintoff that The Edge can’t quite put its finger on. How can anyone in their right mind be truly that fearless, although he did admit he was bricking it. What’s more, he’d been left up there in the car, over the side of the dam, for over an hour to contemplate the worst eventualities happening, before finally getting the green light. Yes, yes, I know they clearly ‘made it safe’. But seriously, you need a “big old set of gazongas” (as Harris put it) to take on a stunt like that, which is why The Edge is seriously questioning the former cricketer’s sanity. Flintoff seems to clearly revel in being a bit mad and bad and he’s such a lump too, which makes him all the more menacing. The Edge sometimes feels genuinely sorry for Chris Harris, who often seems to be the butt of some of Freddie’s pranks. And what about when Paddy McGuinness had that suit of armour on, at the Gold Driving Range (as you do) and Freddie was fairly twatting golf balls at him (cricketers can’t half throw a ball hard, you know) before eventually catching him right between the eyes, with undisguised glee.
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Dickie Davies shade, and hang it on the newel part of the stair banister the moment he rocked back home from work, afore shouting to his missus, “Oh Betty, pour me a scotch & soda, will you, my love. I’ve had one hell of an afternoon in tut studio.” Do you honestly think the character Ron Burgundy was based on our Dickie, because the similarities are quite striking? Thing is, The Edge was always in Grandstand’s corner on a Saturday afternoon (being pro-BBC and all that) and even though presenter Frank Bough has always been a proper, bona fide slaphead, it’s much more fun to imagine Dickie Davies being as bald as a coot underneath his Catherine Wheel of a syrup, don’t you think? Talk about coiffure and hairspray in the make-up dept., not to mention his distinctive ‘seagull shit’ quiff. Furthermore, The Edge never bothered about Tiswas or Saint & Greavsie, or any of that nonsense on a Saturday. I was always far more of a belt’n’braces Swap Shop and Grandstand type of young lad, with ITV only ever getting a look in if I was staying at my Grandma and Grandad’s in Skelmanthorpe (yes, that’s exactly the same place as current Dr. Who lassie Jodie Whittaker comes from) and the Wrestling was on at around 4:00pm. To say my grannie was such a staunch Methodist who could knit for England, she was totally transformed when Mick McManus came on in his posing pouch, whereas I was always far more into Adrian Street, as I liked T.Rex at around about that time. Eeeeee, I’m going to have to do an Edge exclusive on Adrian Street at some point now though, that’s for sure. But anyway, that’s the bald eagle that is Dickie Davies for you!
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“DO YOU FANCY ’AVING A CHEEKY GLASS OF LIEBFRAUMILCH WITH ME & THEN COMING BACK TO MY PLACE FOR A GAME OF SCRABBLE AND A COUPLE O’BAGS OF PORK SCRATCHINGS, OR WHAT, LOVE?” Page 24
OK, so I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why the UK government is so ballsed up following Coco the Clown’s overwhelming victory at the last general election. In fact, I had a lightbulb moment and realised that’s exactly what it was. The European legislation that changed our beloved 60-watt lightbulb into something called a GU10 providing 36.5 lumens (WTF) is the reason. Because you can’t just nip into a shop and get a 60w bayonet fitting lightbulb anymore. Nowadays it’s all down to luminosity and power, plus a whole range of strange and weird fittings. You only have to go to B&Q to see crowds of elderly people standing around aimlessly staring at the lightbulb section to understand why we voted Brexit. Yes folks, it was the famous EU directive EC 244/2009 that made the UK phase out our beloved incandescent lightbulbs in order to be replaced by these newer supposedly less energy consuming bulbs. However, the only reason they consume less energy is because when you go to replace them it’s so bloody complicated to figure out that you give up and try to survive on less lighting. Since the majority of Brexit voters were aged 45+ its easy to see that one of the major reasons why older people voted LEAVE was due to this particular unwanted EU legislation. If it’s any help, just you go to B&Q on a Wednesday, when its ‘OAP Discount Day’, and if you’re of a certain age you’ll be looked after by staff of a similar age, all of whom have been carefully trained in helping us wrinklies (anyone over 50) to understand which lightbulbs are applicable. (Is this now called ‘Age Appropriate Lighting’?) BUT HERE’S A THING - the EU have recommended that: ‘We Should All Stop Eating Meat’ in order to help reduce the number of cows farting methane into the atmosphere and save the planet. Really? How is that going to have an impact on the Australian bushfires, the flooding in Indonesia, not to mention the melting icecaps and the rising sea levels. I really don’t see how Europe, by farting less, is going to have any impact on Climate Change whatsoever. One effective method that would help us all reduce our carbon footprint would to abolish those infuriating magazine/newspaper inserts. Am I alone in getting extremely irritated when you buy a magazine and no sooner have you picked it up than a whole load of inserts fall all over the floor, which you immediately put in the bin (for recycling, of course)? It’s Sod’s Law that one particular insert advises me how to improve my lighting for reading. And I would if only I could under-
stand the new bulb replacements that have been imposed upon us. Also, I really don’t want, or need, a side entry bath system. After all, wouldn’t it just flood the bathroom? Similarly, why does someone who reads Practical Boat Owner/Total Film/Military History and a variety of car mags need convincing to buy Private Health Insurance or go on a cruise via an insert? The Direct Marketing Association (DMA) estimates that 3.5 billion magazine inserts were incorporated into newspapers and magazines in the UK in 2018. So I ask you, JUST HOW MANY TREES WERE DESTROYED FOR THIS SEEMINGLY USELESS PURPOSE?
HARD SHOULDER There are very few things more frightening than having a breakdown or a crash on a motorway and having to park up on the hard shoulder. Despite being off the road, it’s still a very lonely place to be, with vehicles thundering past in exceptionally close proximity. That said, what idiot thought up the idea of abolishing the hard shoulder and converting it into part of the main carriageway with no safe refuge to go to? The concept of a ‘SMART MOTORWAY’ with proactive signs protecting the very vulnerable car from all the HGV’s on the inside lane was never going to work. At a cost of £8 billion of our money, finally the government has woken up to the idea that the ‘SMART MOTORWAY’ was not a very smart idea, but an incredibly dangerous failure, with near misses and vehicle collisions increasing 20 fold. So what other ideas have the government unwisely spent our money on? Well, there’s the £101 billion that’s gone on HS2 aimed at halving the journey time from Manchester to London. But is that really necessary? Then there’s the 18 billion plus being spent on Crossrail (now 3 years overdue). Although it has to be said, aren’t the overground and Jubilee lines already a form of Crossrail? The Edge 01245 348256
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Out here in the US there is a rough equivalent. It’s called National Public Radio, with a TV version as well. It too is under threat from an authoritarian leader who doesn’t like the fact it reports his mendacity and bullshit without, er, kissing his ring, in deference to his stable genius. Does that sound familiar?
...dommmm. As Mel Gibson once famously screamed. The whole Braveheart thing made a good tale for the movie, even if it was only on nodding terms with real historical events. But never let the facts get in the way of a good story, right? Of which more in a minute. Incidentally, and before we get started on this month’s subject proper, let’s just tidy up the William Wallace reference. His gruesome death, as shown in the film, apparently did happen something like that depiction and if you search hard enough around the eastern side of Smithfield Market in Clerkenwell, you’ll find a memorial to the event on the spot where it happened. Given the drift away from freedom and democracy towards authoritarian leadership in the UK and the full throttle drag race to it over here, it seems like a good time to remind ourselves about the importance of a free press. Boring, boring you say - there’s cake baking on TV which is much more important. Yeah but… In the UK Johnson (he will never be called ‘Boris’ in this column) has already started his campaign against scrutiny from journalists. He recently tried to ban certain newspaper people from a Downing Street briefing. Guess what? None of them worked for a Murdoch owned paper - Murdoch is a character we’ll return to later. No, those banned were the ones that can be guaranteed to highlight his mendacity and bullshit. Fortunately the press stood together on this occasion and said we all come in or nobody does. That solidarity can’t be relied on forever though. There’s a very thin thread separating a country that allows the piss to be taken out of its politicians and other nations where the Dear Leader is never criticised. Some Brits seem to be OK with this drift. You shouldn’t be. Freedom of the press is a fundamental part of your life, even if you don’t think about
it much. After all, you wouldn’t want Edge Ed locked up for having the temerity to publish an article like this, calling Johnson a cowardly, lying, incompetent, would you? It’s straight out of the Trump playbook, of course, and there is one particular attempt to constrain the press we should all keep an eye on. Johnson, or at least Cummings, his puppet master, wants to get rid of the BBC. That’s because he deems it insufficiently servile to his position as King of the World. They won’t do it by shutting the BBC down directly, but by withdrawing the license fee. Which to all intents and purposes would do the same thing. The BBC would then be just another broadcaster scrabbling around for sponsorship and subject to the whims of its paymasters. Now, the BBC is far from perfect. It has a tendency these days to avoid anything remotely controversial and stick to bland stuff that won’t frighten the horses. Or indeed the mainly aged people that make up its core audience. But, and it’s a big but, when it comes to news reporting, if all the parties from left, right, up and down are attacking it for bias, it’s probably fair to say there isn’t any.
You might think you won’t miss the BBC - you never watch it anyway. But you will when it’s gone and you have to rely on Fox News UK (Rupert bloody Murdoch again). It’s fine for a TV news station, or indeed a newspaper or website, to have a political bias - that’s free speech. The problem with Fox News is that it peddles absolute lies without compunction and reports ridiculous conspiracy theories as if they are fact. Anything, indeed, to keep its audience fired up and angry. Because angry sells. This leads to a situation where the half of the country that watches it is in a constant state of hatred, just to make Murdoch richer than he already is. Is this what you really want? Docile old Auntie Beeb doesn’t look so bad after all, does she? There are liberal and progressive leaning stations here too, but there is one crucial difference between them and Fox. That is they never report anything as a fact unless they have verified it is actually true. How old is Rupert Murdoch? Well, having just looked it up, he’s 88. The world would be a much better place without his malign influence in almost every continent. Isn’t it time Jerry Hall gave a bit back to humanity and finished him off with some heavy demands on his physical stamina? And on that rather revolting thought, it’s over and out for another month. Anon.
Greetings from the Kopi Desa bar/restaurant in Agonda
And couldn’t the rest of us be doing with a bit of this right now? However, here’s local readers Beverley & Bruce in South Goa, India, in late 2019 (sorry for the delay in publishing this photo, folks)! shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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So you want to change the world, do you? My fiancé and I were having one of those ‘life, the universe and everything’ type discussions the other weekend and while talking about how ‘the system’ is inherent-
KiNGPiN
ly corrupt (OK, so I’m not that good at pillow talk), I ended up with a shrug saying: “That’s just how the world works”. My fiancé, quite rightly, pointed out that was actually really depressing, which then set me to wondering about what, if anything, could be done to change it. Now, I’m not about to solve all the world’s ills and create a totally fair socio-economic system and utopian form of governance in the next 1500 words - I’m not that good - but I did enjoy the exercise of really thinking about what I believed the problems were and what we could do about them. In all honesty, I ended the exercise feeling slightly despondent, not because I don’t think anything can be done, but rather because nothing will be done, due to the undeniable fact that not enough of us really want things to change. That the world is set up to directly benefit the few, rather than the many, isn’t in question. Since time immemorial we’ve had the concept of leaders and those being led, the haves and have-nots. This set-up is so ingrained by now that I think it’s not only normalised, but probably part of our psychological make-up. The people in power will always find ways to benefit from that power and do their utmost to stay in that position. We see this every day in ways both big and small, in ways that affect us personally or affect entire nations, yet despite the sometimes appalling human cost, we just carry on with business as usual. Why? Let’s all be completely honest with ourselves and each other, shall we? It’s because we just don’t really care. Unless whatever injustice being perpetrated directly affects us, and unless that injustice is particularly ruinous, then most of us will just shrug our shoulders and ignore it, or possibly give Oxfam a fiver and carry on about our day, secure in the knowledge that we’re good people and we’ve just made a difference. Whereas we’re not, and we haven’t. Why aren’t we spending our days feeling angry and ashamed that in a 1st world country, the world’s 5th largest economy, we’re about to hit record breaking levels of homelessness and child poverty? Why aren’t all of us demanding to know exactly what went so badly wrong for that to happen and what the bloody hell is going to be done about it? Why aren’t we disgusted by the fact that our pets have access to cleaner drinking water than millions of children around the world? Stop and think about that for a second and admit what a moral obscenity it is that millions of people are starving and living in abject poverty while we spend Page 26
The Kingmeister reports
What’s wrong with this picture? more on Tiddles or Rover every year than we ever think about spending on helping people. “Oh but there are plenty of charities helping these people, Kingpin, and I’m doing my bit donating £5 a month. In fact, I’ve probably built a dozen wells in Africa by now.” Oh well done, you. Let’s all keep telling ourselves that’s enough and just carry on then, shall we? But I’m not knocking charities. Far from it. But they’re the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke. How many charities are there fighting poverty, hunger and homelessness, and how long have they been fighting? I’d argue that if we’re still fighting the same battle after decades, and often losing, then it’s just not working, is it? Of course, there is another benefit to charities, namely that all of us can forget about taking any direct actions and assuage our consciences with a £5 a month direct debit, so that we don’t have to actually think about it anymore. So what’s the answer then? Well we know that these things are terribly, fundamentally wrong and we know that our socio-economic model of constant, ever expanding consumption is a root cause of many of the world’s ills. We know it’s an unjust and unsustainable model that at some point WILL come crashing down on us. But the fact is, just enough of us are doing alright aren’t we? Just enough of us are haves, and we all know that a complete overhaul of our systems would see a lot of us becoming have-nots, at least by the absurd standards of the 21st century. If we put the world’s richest 30 people on the same bus, that bus would contain as much wealth as almost half the entire population of the globe. Please, tell me why we think that’s acceptable? Various studies have agreed that the richest 100 people in the world could end global poverty, and not just once; they have enough wealth to end it 4 times over, so they’d even walk away with a nice chunk of change. Please tell me why we think it’s acceptable that they’re not doing it? At this point I’m sure all the Ayn Rand apologists and Gordon Gecko groupies reading this will be frothing at the mouth. “It’s their money, Kingpin, you communist scum. They earned it and they can do what they like with it!” Absolutely right. But what you’ve basically just said is: “If they want to let millions of people die in misery and poverty while they hoard more money than they can possibly spend in their lifetimes, they can!” How on earth did we ever get to a point where that’s an
acceptable argument? Also, I’d like to point out to all you ‘capitalists’ out there that you’re not one. You’re a consumer, just like the rest of us. The capitalists are the people that own the places we work at and the corporations we buy stuff from. Unless you’re breathing the same rarefied
air as that 1%, you’re just a wallet with legs to them. So, what do I really think about it all? I’m going to be totally honest here and I’m sure I’ll catch some flak for it, but I think the whole twisted, narcissistic edifice needs to come crashing down, and as I said above, at some point it will. It’s an inherently unstable system and all the people balancing on top of it know this, so of course they’ll try and ride it out for as long as they can. What I’d hate to see is it all come crashing down and we all just build it back up again, like we did after 2008. Do you know that since the global financial crash the gap between rich and poor has accelerated even further? The rich lost all of our money and then got even richer, while we got austerity, stagnant wages and food banks. Why the bloody hell are we still letting this happen? I think it’s because we’re all part of that system now, and as much as we know it’s exploiting us, we’re too tied into it. We’ve got mortgages and families and responsibilities, we don’t want to jeopardise that, do we? We don’t want to lose all that cool stuff we’ve worked so hard for either, do we? We’re all part of the problem, and our kids are all growing up learning the same rubbish we did about the importance of getting a good job, making money, buying expensive crap, and round and round it goes. Unless the system spontaneously implodes (which is entirely possible) or a natural disaster or global pandemic occurs of such magnitude that it fundamentally changes the political and economic landscape, it’s highly unlikely people of my generation will see any change, let alone be responsible for it. I’m hoping that more and more young people are starting to realise that ‘the system’ is right royally shafting them, and with how much so many young people are struggling these days it’s fair to say ‘the system’ hasn’t even had the courtesy to lube itself up this time round. But what can they do about it? It’s a rigged game, so it’s tough to beat, but what if they decided not to play it at all? If you are a young person reading this, then I hope you seriously look at the world and ask yourself is it good enough? Do you want to jump on the same treadmill as us and just keep the machine going? Don’t be fooled into believing rubbish like what car you own or what version of iPhone you use actually means a damned thing. I know it’s rich, coming from me at 45, with a nice house and car, but like I said, 95% of my generation are a lost cause now. We’re so used to running the machine we wouldn’t know what to do if the treadmill ever stopped. Maybe what the world needs is enough people refusing to get on it in the first place? The Edge 01245 348256
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS GREEK STALLION
A personal trainer known as the ‘Greek Stallion’ (above right - whereas above left is a real stallion having its semen collected for evaluation) claims he has “no option” but to use designated parent & child car parking spaces because he is so “very handsome and muscular”. The PT said he “always picks the wider spaces” to allow his 20 stone frame to get out of his motor with ease. He explained to The Edge: “I’m a muscle-model champion. I’m a beast. Even if there are empty parking bays, I never use them. I always park in the parent & child bays that offer a bit more room and I don’t give a stuff what people say or think.” The ‘Greek Stallion’ was filmed on security cameras trying to get out of his car in a normal parking space, crying: “Help! I’m stuck! I’m actually stuck!” But he remains totally unrepentant. “I actually think I should have my own parking bay that says: ‘Keep out! This is The Greek Stallion’s Parking Bay’. Damn right, the amount I spend in [mentions supermarket’s name].” He recently appeared on C5’s Britain’s Parking Hell show to talk about his woes, as some people (mainly women) often take issue with him for parking in the wrong spaces. But the PT simply says it’s a necessity, due to his finely sculpted physique. Innit? The cock.
M&S HOT CROSS BUNS Hot cross buns are one of those foods that tend to be fiercely protected by British people. Which is precisely why M&S’s new chilli & cheese version has been such a divisive decision among foodies across the country. As part of M&S’s Easter range, which features everything from puddings to lamb, they have also launched salted caramel & chocolate, blueberry, Kentish bramley apple & orange marmalade, and chilli & cheese flavoured hot cross buns too. They are being touted by M&S as ‘this year’s new buns on the block’. However, they don’t include currants or dried fruit, but they do have the classic cross on the top to make them Easter-friendly. Due to their lack of traditional spices, however, they have caused some controversy. As you can imagine, the comments started pouring in almost immediately. One said: ‘Why cant we just have normal Hot X Buns?’ Whilst another said, ‘If you are going to faff about with the recipe, take the cross off the top and call them something else.’ That said, plenty people were happy to voice their support for M&S’s new savoury twist, which will be a welcome change for those who don’t like the traditional version. A spokesperson told The Edge: “Our customers love our hot cross buns and we sell more than any other retailer. We know some people like to stick with tradition, so us creating something so deliciously different was always going to raise a few eyebrows. But we’re delighted with our new flavours, as are many of our more savoury-toothed customers who like things a little on the spicy side!” Rest assured, M&S customers looking for traditional flavours can pick up a pack of the multi-award-winning Luxury Hot Cross Buns which are bursting at the seams with Vostizza currents, Turkish sultanas and spices - not to mention a gluten free option too. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Page 28
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus
ST. VALENTINE’S DAY RETAIL MASSACRE I confess to being late(ish) with the submission of my March article. So here I am, the day after St.Valentine’s Day, starting a totally different piece to what was in my mind. We have all just finished yet another hype driven shopping spree supporting an occasion hijacked by big business. Yes, by now the shelves have been rearranged and all of that red themed stuff gets put in a corner for a few days to come, simply because there are always the well organised who will pick up stuff a whole year in advance, just like the people who buy their Christmas wrapping paper in the January sales. The leftovers are put there for their benefit and general smugness, while the majority of us have been forcibly moved on to the next retailing extravaganza which is Easter. After all, those eggs are not going to get eaten without our help, are they? I had decided yesterday to write about coffee, having been prompted by a situation I witnessed in my office. This very morning, I found myself at Tesco’s in Lewisham, South East London, although quite why is entirely another story. But being in urban Kent for a pure Essex lad such as myself is, frankly, traumatic enough without the whole Tesco element. So I walk past the aforementioned heavily discounted St. Valentine’s cast-offs where prices have been marked down faster than any sorry bunch of red roses could change a nice girls mind. For just a moment I felt that it was a bit spiteful to the buying public to remind us that we have been ‘done over’ once again. But then, they don’t care, do they, because in reality, we don’t either. Yesterday those red roses cost £50 quid, but today they’re £15 - no questions asked, guvnor. Not to mention a pair of red fluffy novelty handcuffs reduced from £10.99 to just £2.99, so that tonight’s fun can be obtained for almost a quarter of the price. Of course, back in the 1970’s, when I was a mere lad at school, St.Valentine’s Day was a low-key affair when Valentine cards, just cards, were sent. These cards were generally sent anonymously from spotty boys to unobtainable girls and vice versa. There were also the spurious ones where the glamourous dashing head of PE would get a card allegedly from the battle-axe who ran the maths department. Probably an occupational hazard for teachers in those much simpler times. St.Valentine's Day is celebrated every year on 14th February and we have now accepted that it's the day when people show their affection for another person, or people, by sending cards, flowers or chocolates with messages of love. But who was
our man Saint Valentine? There are several stories about this. The popular belief is that he was a priest from Rome in the third century AD. Emperor Claudius II had banned marriage because he thought married men were bad soldiers. Valentine felt this was unfair, so he broke the rules and arranged marriages in secret. When Claudius found out, Valentine was thrown in jail and sentenced to death. There, he fell in love with the jailer's daughter and when he was taken to be killed, on 14 February, he sent her a love letter signed "From your Valentine". Job done. The very first St.Valentines Day was in the year 496. Having a dedicated Valentines Day is an old tradition and is thought to have originated from a Roman festival called Lupercalia in the middle of February. It is further thought that as part of the celebrations, boys drew names of girls from a box. They would be boyfriend/girlfriend for the festival and may have even gone on to be married. Also this is officially the start of their springtime. There are still many folk traditions in the UK and Europe that have been marginalised by the ‘lurve‘ version. In Norfolk, a character called 'Jack' Valentine knocks on the rear door of houses leaving sweets and presents for children. Although he was leaving treats, many children were scared of this mystical person. In Slovenia, Saint Valentine (or Zdravko) was one of the saints of spring, the saint of good health and the patron of beekeepers and pilgrims. A proverb says that ‘Saint Valentine brings the keys of roots’. Plants and flowers start to grow on this day. It has been celebrated as the day when the first work in the vineyards and in the fields commences. It is also said that birds propose to each other or marry on that day. Gradually, St.Valentine's name started to be used by people to express their feelings to those they loved. So did I buy roses? Of course I did. Chocolates? Oh yes indeedy. Because I’m just an old fashioned sucker like everybody else. What’s more, bring on those damn eggs! 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, it was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?” were the sage words from Nat which alerted me to the fact that I must be the one and only person in our clique unaware of the deep financial do-do that Victoria and Rob find themselves in. And there was me thinking that the pair of them were loaded; I mean, seriously minted! Just goes to show that the plastic, filtered, soft-focus Insta-glow that more than just hints at loving and living life LARGE is a foil. I feel pretty bad now for thinking that ‘Vicky’ (I feel I can call her that now, rather than Rob’s preferred and insistent use of ‘Victoria’, given how she seems somehow more ‘authentic’) must be on the old marching powder, given her alarmingly shrinking frame - the poor woman must just be wracked with shame! So, as I now know, Rob has been gambling big outside of his day job. Of course, he hasn’t made a packet over the years in business by playing it safe - the trading has often been fast and loose and hugely risky, but he was typically always gambling with his employer’s money. But it would appear that his own bets haven’t been quite as successful - the losses have been stupendously large and all against a backdrop of trying to maintain the reputation of Top Dog. Yep, the continued obscene spending, despite debts to rival that of Japan, has continued and they are now well and truly f$ck£d! I guess I won’t be asking them if they fancy joining us in an executive box at the races this year…if they’ll even be able to afford a ticket at all?! Unfortunately for me, their financial woes have got Nat all pensive about cashflow and our spending habits. He’s been sitting at the dining table, tucking into a fillet steak, washed down with a couple of glasses of his finest (and no, I don’t mean Tesco) Chateauneuf, saying things like: “Maybe we should go a little easier on the holidays this year?” Or “Did you really need to buy those Pigalles last week?” I mean, WTF??? I don’t see him cancelling his golf club membership, or spurning his love affair with Lanvin. I wonder if he’ll be so keen to ‘tighten his belt’ when it’s from Matalan rather than Mont Blanc? Next thing you know, he’ll be asking me to pop down to Lidl for something nice for tea. I mean, hasn’t he heard of shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
Coronavirus - I’m sure it must be more prevalent amongst the great unwashed.
In a bid to not become a statistic and join the D-train (aka D.I.V.O.R.C.E.) by arguing the point too vociferously, I thought I’d at least try to humour him and offer to de-clutter the wardrobes and sort out the garage. “Maybe we could sell some of this stuff on eBay or at one of those Boot Sales?” I suggested, half-heartedly. I’m not stupid, I knew that would get him. The man wouldn’t be seen dead standing behind a pasting table next to a hot dog van in some muddy field with cars on the A12 whizzing past (in his Mallets, no doubt) and he certainly wouldn’t be ‘prostituting himself’ on an online selling platform either. Phew - so no decluttering then, although I do hear that you can pay to have people come around to the house and do that for you these days. Hmmm, I guess that defeats the object of doing it to save/earn money though, right? Serious financial planning aside, it has been a fairly exciting few weeks. We have had a new couple move into the house just along from us. They are two gay guys with just the best taste in clothes, scent, matching bags and aesthetic beauty. We have already bonded over our appreciation of micro needling and Russian lashes, and the artistry they are bringing to their new pad is insane - I’m thinking they might just be Beaulieu’s answer to the Clark-Neals and I can’t blooming well wait! After all, every glamourous gal needs an equally glamourous gay BFF and this may just be the next hotbed of rivalry for the women of B.P. Who will be crowned victorious in the race to best-be-friend ‘the boys’? I know one thing’s for sure though - what’s not going to cut it is a supermarket own brand digestive and a mug of builder’s tea. I’m off to check out Fortnum’s website to see if they will send their ‘Fit For Your Queen’ hamper to CM1. After all, I’ve an afternoon tea to host and I’m sure Nat will be chuffed that it comes in at an exceptionally purse-friendly £150.
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Neighbours?
obviously at night, which took me to some of the darkest parts of Prague and was truly brilliant.
No, they’re not neighbours. It’s just that brothers Bob and Chris have fitted both of these front doors in Old Moulsham for people who are, in fact, very much neighbours. But it’s Big Bob’s health that has been a concern of late, as he unfortunately recently contracted Epididymo-Orchitis, which is otherwise known as inflammation of the testicle (singular). “Thank god they didn’t both swell up,” admitted Bob, after a few days stay in Broomfield Hospital, “or I’d have been karting them about in a wheelbarrow like Buster Gonad.”
No Laughing Matter But this is no laughing matter, readers. “Talk about painful,” recalls Bob. “I was literally doubled over and thankful for the morphine.” Epididiwotsit is usually caused due to a urine infection, or can be sexually transmitted via gonorrhea and chlamydia (hey, I’m only quoting what it says online, our Robert, so please don’t shoot the messenger). It also says that a chap may be at higher risk of infection if one is uncircumcised, and from what your editor can remember from the locker room of our post match squash days many moons ago, Bob is most definitely uncircumcised (only what a strange name to call something that hasn’t been cosmetically tampered with. It’s surely like calling natural boobs unsiliconised). Oh, and before you get any wrong ideas, readers, about whether or not your editor was peeping in the shower block, I shall say only this: “Peeping? PEEPING? Bugger me, you could see Bob’s todger from three bloody miles away on a starless night!” There, I hope that’s just put that not-so-little matter to bed.
Mentor In fact, way back in the late eighties and early nineties, Bob was a bit of a mentor to yours truly and I really used to look up to him, even though he’s always been a couple of inches shorter than moi (but certainly not in the hampton department, where I wouldn’t mind being a couple of inches shorter than ‘Our Bob’, that’s for sure). He even let me have my 30th birthday party (that was like no other’ I’ve ever had) in the grounds of ‘Kershaw Manor’ on a balmy summer’s night where I got absolutely wasted, just about half of my lifetime ago.
Epiphany Only he’s seventy now (“Seventy-and-a-half, actually”) and still humping ruddy great wooden doors about and fitting ’em, yet he says his testicle swelling episode was “somewhat akin to a bit of an epiphany”. “Maybe it was a sign?” considers Robert. “You know, like to down tools a bit. I’m not ready to retire at the moment. There’s still most definitely a lot of life left in this old dog yet (he was in Koh Kood for a fortnight over Christmas/New Year and is now off skiing for a week later this month). But I think that from now on, I’m going to start taking December, January and, possibly, February off.” Oh doesn’t that sound absolutely downright bloody delicious, readers? To feck winter right off (although personally I’d plump for January, February and March). “You won’t want to go back on the tools after three months off,” The Edge suggested to him. “We’ll see,” mused Bob, “we’ll see.” Hey, so best you get your wooden door orders in early, readers (both external and internal), as you never know! Tel: 01245 361201 Mobile: 07778 938920
TOTALLY TRACIE PRAGUE v KRAKOW I had a boyfriend many years ago in Chelmsford who was a larger than life character who always promised he’d take me to Prague one day, but somehow it never happened. For years I longed to go, but I’d always end up somewhere else instead. So when I saw an offer come up from a low price airline that said ‘Fly to Prague for £14.99’ I jumped in with both feet. But you know how it is, don’t you? It’s only £14.99 if you travel in just your underwear and hang on to one of the wings. Should you wish to even take a handbag on board, pack a small hold-all and pick your own seat, the price goes up by a hundred quid. However, I still booked a ticket and that weekend I was on my way to Prague, at long last. And what a great place it is. I stayed in the fantastic Grandior Hotel in the centre of Prague for three nights B&B for £189.00. I always use the App ‘Get Your Guide’ and immediately booked a tour of the castle. What an amazing place - only do book your tickets beforehand as the queues take hours to pay-at-the-door. The castle went on and on I had to stop half way round the tour as I was shattered. I warn you, it is uphill all the way with a million steps. I doubt anyone ever attacked them as they would have been far too worn out to fight by the time they’d climbed all those stairs. Food in Prague is cheap, but extremely good if you are a meat eater, with lots of juicy steaks and cuts of pork and lamb. The town square itself is full of shops that would put Oxford Street to shame. I stopped for a drink in the Peace Cafe, which is symbolic for the fight against Communism. However, the day I was there two people were arguing and one even threw their glass down on the floor, shattering it - so there are clearly some issues still left over! I also went on a three hour dinner cruise by night which was wonderful seeing the city like that. But the best bit about the whole trip was the ‘Ghosts & Legends’ Tour,
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The famous Charles Bridge by day is full of artists, singers, painters, crafters and entertainers. It can take over an hour to pass from one side to the other, but by night it’s much quicker. Legend has it that Charles IV built the bridge after many unsuccessful attempts that would simply fall down. However, once he decided to mix egg with the mortar to strengthen it, it has remained standing to this very day. Though many dispute this myth, no other bridge has managed to stay standing as long as the Charles Bridge. The State Opera House is an impressive building full of statues of past composers. The story goes that when the Nazis stormed into Prague they demanded to know which statue was Mendelssohn (being Jewish), but no one would tell them. They beat and shot several people until one bright young lad pointed to a statue right at the end. The Nazis climbed up and promtly threw the statue off the building in triumph and it smashed to the floor. Only they had the wrong statue and threw off Wagner instead, who was Hilter's most favourite composer. It apparently kept the Prague people's spirits up whilst they were under German occupation. I ate in two amazing restaurants which were like stepping back in time. The Art Deco Imperial Hotel was immaculate with original gold fixtures and fittings which shone in the light. The tiles were all original and the ceilings were a sight to behold. They even had someone polishing the front door after each person had entered or left. What’s more, the food was out of this world. And it was a similar story at the Art Nouveau Palace Hotel. But you will also find a multitude of little bars and restaurants tucked away, as though preserved in a time warp, still serving beer from taps of the 1920s served in ancient cut glasses. Even if you are not particularly religious, I would recommend a trip to the beautiful St. Vitus Cathedral and the Church of Our Lady Victorious. Both are truly breathtaking. I had never seen such grandiose and splendour in a church before. Prague was good fun and I look forward to going back and doing a few more things. There was much too much to cram into a single weekend. Unfortunately the weather was cold and rainy, but it didn’t stop me having a great time. topped off with a trip to the Swarvoski Shop to seal the deal! For me personally though, I loved Krakow a whole lot better, even though I will definitely be returning to Prague in the summer, as it was well worth waiting 25 years to see it in all of its glory in the end.
tracie123@aol.com
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