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The Edge Editor’s Column DICKHEAD What dickhead tendencies would you say that you personally have as a human being? Okay, I’ll start. I have a 2015 Marc Dorcel 35th Anniversary edition A5 calender on my desk in the corner of my office, permanently open at March (Mars), all because the topless lady on display has the most perfectly formed natural (silicon-free) breasts. How daft is that? However, I’ll go further. Just to the right of the keypad I compile The Edge on each and every month (well, when we’re not in blinkin’ Lockdown, that is), I have not one, not two, not three, but six A4 diaries, also dating back to 2015, all piled on top of one another. Why do I do stuff like this? Why? Is it the hoarder in me, or might there be a meeting back in 2017 that I’m keen not to miss? So, what dickhead traits do you have, dear readers? Come on, out with ’em?
BLOODY SEAGULL
COLONY
Since when did Chelmsford become Brighton? I’ve lived at ‘Edge Towers’ for practically 25 years and I’ve never, never, in all that time had a seagull land in our garden. But one did, but a few days ago. It was fleeting and lasted but a second or two, as if a ’plane was attempting to land on a runway, then thought better of it. But the point is, it was there. So my question is, what was all that about? I don’t recall Alfred Hitchcock ever having any seagulls in his epic Birds movie, but they’re big, scary buggers who can each Cornish Pasties in but one gulp at the seaside, so I’d hate to think this incident could become a common theme.
Things I’d like to see? Well, behind the two door mirrors of my car, for starters, because there’s bound to be a couple of amazing spider colonies back there, the amount of webage that seemingly gets spun every single day/night of the week. And WTF are they doing inside my rear wiper-arm as well?
PROUD I’m proud of this particular edition of The Edge, because a lot’s been against us all. Certainly I’ve never had to cobble an issue together under such extenuating circumstances before, although 9/11 remains fixed in the mind. If I were a punter, and not simply its editor, I would genuinely read The Edge. I would. Over the years (almost 24 of them now) I have attracted writers who are far, far cleverer than I’ll ever be, but hopefully they make up for my shortfall of grey matter. Yet, at the same time, despite their intelligence, they were somehow drawn towards this publication for some peculiar reason or other, so I believe the blend we have managed to achieve is a half-decent one. That said, I urge you all to put any of your preconceived ideas to one side for once in your lives and read every damn page of this particular edition, because I’m certain there’s something in it for everyone, as opposed to merely the jokes (which are a bit shite this month, it has to be said). Would you be willing to do that for me?
INDISCRETION The last time I parked on that raised curb area outside Chelmsford Library (for less than 5 minutes, I might add) I was unfortunate enough to receive a parking ticket, which naturally I paid promptly in order to ‘benefit’ by qualifying for a reduced amount. However, the fact of the matter remains that in real terms, I hadn’t done anything wrong (certainly no-one died because of my actions), yet I was still forced to ‘shell out’ for my ever so slight misdemeanor. So the question begs, how much should China be charged for their most recent indiscretion?
BEAR BILE FARMING Have you been watching Bears About The House (BBC2 Wednesdays)? I never even knew there was such a thing as Bear Bile Farming, yet there’s an entire industry dedicated to the very purpose in Asia and it is simply hideous. Atrocious. And it appears to be linked to the commodity being yet another very ‘valuable resource’ so far as Chinese medicine is concerned. So hey, perhaps that’s something else we ought to be slapping on their bill, which by now must surely be in the billions. Just a thought. (Fat chance of getting it though.) THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 0 77 646 797 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
THRUSH Who needs an irritating yeast infection on top of everything else we’ve got to contend with at the moment?
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Plastic screens are now everywhere - every sodding where - so why were Nail Bars not one of the very first businesses allowed to resume trading? As you can see from the photograph above, it’s a simple case of sticking your hands beneath a screen. What could be safer or more sensible than that? Therefore it beggars belief that Boris and his cronies failed to grasp the basis of the matter. Mrs Edge is a hairdresser, so she was one of the last to return to work, after fully three months off. But if The Edge were a nail bar and not a monthly publication, I’d have been pulling its hair out (if it had any) out of sheer and utter frustration at the ineptitude and idiotic shambles of it all. But let’s return to The Edge as a publication. Back in the April (pre-Lockdown) editions I wrote that it was “up to us” to deal with Coronavirus, which was the case then and remains the case to this day. Sure, this mag has had to reform its distribution/circulation due to Covid-19 and many people’s fear of ‘picking things up’. But Jesus H. Christ on his bike, if you simply WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER everything you do, then you’re all well and good, aren’t you?
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But who’d want to at any rate? Apart from TVS (The Vegan Society), quite possibly? Isn’t it simply glorious? And it actually exists too. Since 2001. In Dundee High Street. All 8ft of it (in bronze). Apparently it’s a tribute to a genuine Dundee character, only The Edge had absolutely no idea that Desperate Dan hailed from Dundee, let alone Bonnie Scotland, as he certainly never seemed to speak with a Scottish twang in any of his weekly cartoon strips. DD made his first appearance in the Dandy in its very first issue, way back on 4th December 1937, and was originally a bit of a desperado, hence his character’s name. But over the years he evolved into a far more sympathetic type who tended to use his immense strength to benefit the underdog. Known to be the strongest man in the world (forget Martins Licis), Desperate Dan could reputedly lift a cow above his head with but one hand, whilst he reputedly had the mattress of his reinforced bed filled with builder’s rubble for extra added comfort. What’s more, his beard was so tough he often shaved with a blowtorch (that’s rock hard, is that). Do you remember what his favourite meal was? Correct! Cow Pie - an enormous meat pie with the added attraction of the horns sticking out. N.B. Which reminds The Edge of some of the characters eating sausage’n’mash in comics, with the mash piled up on the plate like a mountain with the sausages stuck in at random. Oh such wonderful memories. And hey, wouldn’t it be positively glorious to have ‘something like this’ (statue) where the wreckage of the Army & Navy roundabout now sits, forlornly, minus its flyover? Something that actually puts a smile on our faces every single time we see it, because god knows, we could all do with a bit of a chuckle after the past four months. Do we really need an excuse? To erect some sort of symbol of happiness? But what could it be? The Edge supposes it needs to be ‘Chelmsford related’, but what? You can forget old Marconi though, as it needs to be something, or someone, that’s a little more obscure. So do have a think and let The Edge know your thoughts. Your editor used to love The Dandy when he was a nipper. Absolutely love it. And the Beano, come to that. And Beezer. And Topper. And Whizzer & Chips. Particularly the larger, glossy Summer Special issues that used to come out during the school summer holiday period. P.S. And yes, readers. That’s DD’s fellow Dandy character Minnie the Minx (above), complete with her trusty catapult, following in Dan’s footsteps, along with his dog, called Dawg.
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Hello readers. The editor has invited me to pen some dispatches concerning my expeditions. But first, perhaps a little background would be fitting, before my debut discourse to discovery. Now in my late fifties, I’m fortunate to enjoy rude health and am free from aches, pains and attendant lethargy. In fact, I retain an illusion of youth. I’m no Peter Pan, but I enjoy keeping myself fit and active and I fathom this is what continues to infect me with the same desire for travel and adventure I first possessed some 35 years ago. The big difference now is that I have the time (I’m retired) and the finances to indulge my ever itchy feet on a fairly regular basis. Though there has been a transition in my motives for adventure. It’s best captured in the phrase ‘Won’t pass this way again’, because that’s the sense I get whenever I visit somewhere new, exciting, exotic and enticing. Whereas in my youth I’d have put down a marker to return to said location for return-repeat revelry, not so now. It’s proper bucket list territory and sadly the list only has one column to tick.
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Before Covid-19 it was possible to travel almost anywhere in the world and there was a whole industry called tourism dedicated to it. I was privileged to visit some truly fascinating places, including Sarajevo. Here are some notes from my 1 B.C. (before Covid) visit. Attractive as it is, there’s no denying that Bosnia and Herzegovina’s capital is helped in punching way above its weight as an obvious tourist destination by three events, or episodes, of modern history. One of the events, the 1984 Winter Olympics, is pretty simple to get your head around. Yugoslavia won the bid a couple of years before Tito’s death and hosted a successful games, East Germany topped the medal table, but our very own Jayne & Chris won gold with their epic Balero routine. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in late June 1914, near Sarajevo’s Latin Bridge, and how it resulted in nearly twenty million more deaths, including many hundreds of thousands of our Tommies in trenches and Flanders Fields, isn’t as straightforward. I’m not sure I’ve ever really understood how this event and the Austro Hungarian empire’s declaration of war against Serbia acted as the catalyst for such a widespread conflict that engulfed the world to become the Great War, but at least now I can claim to have seen the spot where Gavrilo Princip did the deed and just maybe it’s brought me closer to history. How it connects with the rows upon rows of Portland stone I’ve gazed sadly upon at Tyne Cot, Thiepval and countless other Commonwealth war graves will remain a tragedy and a story of bravery and sacrifice that I respectfully commemorate, but struggle to comprehend, every single November. Fast forward eighty years and Sarajevo was in the midst of a siege that lasted 3 years, 10 months, 3 weeks and 3 days that claimed nearly 14,000 lives, including 5,434 civilians. This was another tragedy and one that occurred within my living memory and was played out on daily TV news bulletins. Horrific as it was, at the time I found it confusing and impenetrable, even with the likes of the trusty BBC’s Kate Adie and Martin Bell reporting. The turmoil in the Balkans wasn’t a simple and customary two-way scrap between a couple of opposing traditions, ideologies, nations or religions. The lid on nationalistic tensions that was lifted after the great unifier Tito died in 1980 and the later break up of Yugoslavia in 1991 resulted in a series of chaotic and bitter inter-ethnic conflicts which prevailed throughout the 1990’s. My fascination with Sarajevo, and my desire to visit, had been partially triggered a couple of years earlier by a chance meeting with someone who had lived through the siege. This charming, fun loving lady had spoken only briefly of the ‘stupid war’ and hinted at the horrors of raising her daughter, a toddler at the time, often with inadequate supplies of drinking water. I had
sensed pain and the rawness of memories and hence wasn’t comfortable in prying for further personal insights. Instead, I resolved to visit the city myself. Twenty four years after the Dayton Agreement and the ending of the siege, I was fortunate to be staying in the iconic Hotel Holiday, formerly the Holiday Inn, which served as the front line lodgings for the international journalists covering events. Built in the lead-up to the 1984 Winter Olympics, this place truly has historical significance and an unmistakable architectural style of the time. In common with most buildings, it suffered its share of shell damage during the siege and there’s an example of the Sarajevo Rose (a common memorial in the city made by filling the scars left by mortar shell explosions with red resin) close to the entrance. Wanting to get a better understanding of the conflict and the siege I visited a few key sites. First was the tunnel, constructed in just three months during 1993, that linked the besieged city to Bosnian-held territory on the other side of the airport. The 800m tunnel allowed food, war supplies and humanitarian aid to come into the city, and also helped people to escape. It’s now part of a museum paying tribute to the resourcefulness and ingenuity of those under siege. On higher ground, on my way to visit the 1984 winter Olympic bobsleigh track, I took a look at some of the positions used by the artillery and snipers of the Serbian forces. The Museum of Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide 1992-1995 was a far more harrowing experience, dealing as it does with personal stories of the atrocities inflicted on the Bosnian people during those dark days. It’s hard to comprehend that genocide was again being perpetrated against an ethnic group in Europe in such recent times. Sarajevo’s appeal and fascinating history, including the unfortunate episodes of brutal conflict, are all tied-in with its cultural diversity and it is considered as the meeting point of the Ottoman and Islamic East and the Austro-Hungarian and Christian West. It’s also sometimes referred to as the ‘Jerusalem of the Balkans’ as it is one of only a few major European cities to have a mosque, Catholic church, Orthodox church and synagogue within a single neighbourhood. Fortunately the cultural diversity also adds to the charm of the place with the rich traditions well represented in the food and drink served by the friendly locals in the cafes, restaurants and bars. It’s not the easiest place to get to - no scheduled flights from the UK, so I had to drive from Croatia - but I was well rewarded for the effort.
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Right at the beginning of Lockdown, the World Health Organisation warned that drinking was an ‘unhelpful coping strategy’ in the face of the pandemic. So how many of you actually took notice or agreed with them? Not many, would be my guess. Recently released figures suggest that, in a surprise to precisely no one, Britons drank more during Lockdown. Supermarket stats definitely point to as much as 25% of us drinking more during the past few months. With more time on our hands, it looks like ‘quarantinis’ have become even more elaborate - Limoncello topped up with Grand Marnier anyone? I think not. Even with lots of ice and a cocktail cherry it sounds revolting. Sales of liqueurs are up by 78%, cocktail ingredients are up 48%, and tequila sales have almost doubled. I wonder what the sales figures have been for salt and lemon? Thank goodness those crazy days of buying a year’s supply of toilet paper are over, yet instead we’ve all been knocking back the rosé like it’s about to run out with supermarkets reportedly selling five times the amount they would normally expect to. The Government obviously saw how things were going by allowing off-licences and wine suppliers to stay open, while the pubs were forced to close. Apparently Google searches for ‘wine delivery UK’ have also increased by 2,250%. This cannot all be down to me, surely? During Lockdown, the trouble appears to have been that the week seemed to merge into just one day. Admit it, how many times did you find yourself asking yourself, ‘What day is it?’. Weekdays fast became the new weekends, plus there’s very little that marks the transition from day to evening quite so successfully as a glass (or three) of wine. I know of some people who tried saving their ‘hour of exercise’ until 7pm, which seemed to help them abstain a bit. But nothing hits the spot quite like a proper pre, during, and postprandial! And this, I think, is the main issue. How else could we wind down at the end of the day, seeing as many of the ways we had previously used to relax were no longer viable options, such as gyms being closed, while pubs and restaurants have only recently reopened. Socialising with friends went out of the window, so without all of the usual distractors, many of us seemed to turn to alcohol as a way of dealing with such a strange and ‘unprecedented situation’ (I had to get that in). Most of us are simply not used to sitting still for so long, therefore boredom became a problem for many of us, but fortunately not for all of us. In fact, someone told me that he soon realised what a boring life he had led, because when the pandemic hit town, he had to make absolutely no changes to his lifestyle whatsoever. It has been reported that nearly 45% of people working from home are daytime drinkers. Why? Because they can. The stress of travelling to work, being at work and dealing with the pressures of working with other people we may not actually like have now been replaced by the pressure of Zoom meetings. Clips of people doing some rather strange things whilst in meetings have littered the internet. Things like someone brushing their teeth, applying a face mask, having inappropriate backgrounds, family members appearing semi-dressed, pets and children suddenly appearing, which all adds to the pressure. That may be why the Independent reported that 250,000 of us have admitted to having a tipple before midday and why 50% of drinkers are admitting to an increase in their weekly alcohol consumption. The popularity of Zoom parties as well as virtual tastings, such as my online events, has also shown that quite a few people are still interested in learning more about the wines they are drinking. One thing I have noticed is that there seems to be a lot of people who sit themselves in front of a bookcase for a Zoom call. I find it fascinating to study their books. Is there anyone out there who has not got at least one copy of a Bill Bryson book? One of the other things that we Brits do when in a crisis is turn to humour. So, to finish…a lion walks into a bar and asks the manager, “Do you have any jobs going?”. The manager says, “No, sorry. Why don’t you try the circus?” The lion looks somewhat confused and says, “Why would the circus be looking for a barman?” Stay safe.
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Honestly readers, if you’ve never tried St. Dalfour, then give it a go as it’ll change your breakfastimes forever. Hey, it might not be the cheapest jam or marmalade in the world, but ask yourselves this: “After the past 4 months we’ve just had, don’t you think you deserve it?”
...for t’was almost gin o’clock at 7:45am at ‘Edge Towers’ during some of that spectacular weather many of us enjoyed during Lockdown, never mind 7.45pm. Why wait ’til the evening, was our motto. Indeed, why even wait ’til the afternoon on some days. Only I’m sure that wasn’t the governments intention when they decided to keep the country safe. The sad thing is, my G&T’s aren’t tasting half so good these days, not now that things have slowly returned to ‘as near to normal’ as we’re likely to get. Page 9
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born some 8 years ago, the holidays have been much more Bognor than Borneo, and girly weekends to Spain are unfortunately a thing of the past. However, now it would seem that my former persona was set to make a temporary comeback, and that filled me with a combination of excitement, exhilaration, and emancipation. I can just about remember the blissful freedom of actually being able to sit, or lay in the sun, and read or doze, with no need for constant parental surveillance, chasing after small children, being trampled, sat on or moaned at to do something else. I have vague recollections of a life where going to an all inclusive buffet meant choosing my food in a civilised, relaxed manner, and sitting down to eat it (while it was still hot), as opposed to the Olympic event of almost stapling 3 children to chairs, making numerous trips to and from the buffet, filling 3 children’s plates of food several times over, fetching drinks and making eleventy billion trips to the toilet.
A few weeks ago, after far too many wines on a Saturday night, my friend text me asking if I was up for a random girly jaunt to Spain, and somehow, in my Sauvignon haze, I agreed. I think it was a combination of post Lockdown delirium and exhilaration. Even the next day when we actually booked it, I still couldn’t really believe we’d be going. Before I became a mother to my army of 3, my life was a pretty consistent stream of holidays, travel, and socialising. It’s safe to say that my 4 year stint as an overseas rep in the early noughties instilled in me an appetite for dancing like nobody’s watching and a pretty impressive alcohol tolerance. Needless to say, since I fell pregnant with our first
After the last 17 weeks, I can’t actually remember when my brain didn’t feel like a high speed carousel of work, kids, life admin, crisis schooling, refereeing arguments and wiping bums in an incessant cycle of chaos. Which is exactly what this so-called ‘all new norm’ feels like that everyone is talking about. As sun, sea, sangria and siestas beckon, like a beacon of light at the end of a very long, Covid themed tunnel, I have to say that I simply can’t wait to fully relive some of those distant memories; to laugh all day long with the girls about ridiculously trivial stuff, go to the toilet by myself, get emotional over sunsets, crack out my rusty university Spanish, as well as working my way through the cocktail menu. And after 8 years, I just hope I can remember how. However, amongst the anticipation of this promised, hallowed dystopia, I would be lying if I said there wasn’t also a degree of anxiety building up within me. Suddenly, this impromptu, bargain girly
break of five nights seems an incredibly long time. Five nights away from my babies. Five nights of missing bedtimes; reading stories and tucking them in. Five nights without cuddles, kisses, tickles and giggles. Five nights without knowing almost every waking moment of their day, which is already breaking my heart just a little. What if they miss me? Or perhaps, even worse, what if they don’t miss me? Because amongst my constant carousel of chaos and carnage, home is where I ultimately belong, and I know that I will miss them more than words can possibly say. Since we had the children, I’ve only ever been away from my husband for one single night, and therefore I cannot also imagine 5 nights without him by my side. Although he is more than capable of holding the proverbial fort in my absence (probably far more so, if I am honest) and is definitely not the sort of husband who will constantly be texting me to ask me where we keep the Valium, I think he will miss me too. Because it’s true to say we are an indomitable team (when you’re outnumbered by kids, you simply have to be). Admittedly there is probably a small part of him that is looking forward to a 5 night reprieve from the general impact of the ‘tornado wife’, my incessant lists (of things for him to do) and my daily ‘best fishwife impressions’. So while I fully intend to (obviously) embrace, enjoy and savour every single moment of this golden opportunity, to switch off my parental surveillance radar and revisit my youth, I also know that from the moment I kiss them all goodbye, part of me will be counting down the hours until I am reunited with my very own carnage crew. My fellow traveller mum friend has warned me that although there will likely be tears on departure day (mostly mine), once I’m laid out on a sunbed, oiled up like a kipper, cocktail in hand, the biggest decision I’ll then have to make is what time to eat dinner. Because I will officially be ‘on charge’, living the dream and wondering if I would actually be missed if I stayed away for another week (or five)?
Who says PRINT IS DEAD? It’d good to get back to
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a higher value than gold bullion. The general public's almost childlike refusal to follow rules set by the government was so annoying and frustrating. I often witnessed this on a daily basis whilst working shifts at Tesco in order to help customers that couldn't get to the store, or who were sensible enough to get their groceries delivered to their home via dot.com.
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How long does it seem since the official Lockdown happened? You know, those bad old days when you were only allowed to go out once a day for ‘essential items’. I don't know about you, but to me it feels like an absolute age ago. And, in a perverse way, I kind of miss it. Forced semi-retirement. Don't get me wrong, being put on Furlough helped a lot, along with selling bits and pieces on eBay to keep ‘the wolf from the door’, so to speak. But to actually force myself to have a bit of ‘me time’ and not feel guilty about not meeting up with people (we weren’t allowed to, so I didn't have to say no) was heaven sent. It was also great to binge watch box-sets and films we would have normally had no chance of watching as a family at such a prolific rate, had it not been for self-isolation. And having the chance to do some online course work was fantastic. Fast forward a few weeks and we were allowed to go out for an hour to exercise every day, which was a great way to start appreciating what felt ‘new’ all around us. Everyone I have spoken to all said the same thing, that they started finding places they didn't know existed near to where they live. A lack of cars on the roads helped the environment, wildlife started to enjoy clean, fresh air etc. The clapping for the NHS and other front line services on a Thursday night will always stay in the memory. But for everything GOOD that happened, there is always a BAD, and that was no more apparent than typical human nature. Those HOARDERS for one. Remember them? Right at the very beginning, when loo rolls had www.theedgemag.co.uk
As Lockdown rules eased, people's behaviour seemed to get even worse, rather than better. When the government allowed us to sit in parks, rather than merely walking or running through them, the litter left behind after ‘social gatherings’ was a complete and utter disgrace.
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For me, the moment we stopped doing the weekly clap was almost like a signal to everyone that everything was seen as being ‘back to normal’, which allowed bad habits to return by the dozen. It was a bit like after you’ve lost a close friend or a relative and you go to the funeral, only at the wake everyone says the exact same things: "Life's short, let’s stay in touch. We need to get together more often” etc. But a couple of weeks go by and all of those good intentions of making the most of life and doing more with friends and family goes out the window and we all fall back into the same old habits and routines. Until the next funeral comes around.
FYFIELD, ONGAR, CM5 0NS TEL: 01277 899464
I honestly believe the weekly appreciation should stay as a reminder to everyone of what has gone before, otherwise the countless lives that have been lost will have been for nothing. As things stand, a second spike seems to be practically inevitable.
CHAMPIONS
Congratulations to Liverpool F.C. for finally getting the chance to end their thirty year wait of getting their hands on the Premier League trophy they so richly deserve. Surely no one can deny that they have been the best team this season and it would have been a crime for them not to have won it, had the season been written-off due to Covid-19, which at one time seemed as though it might have been the case. Now I’m looking forward to August with the Champions League and Europa League finals being played, which will be almost like a mini-World Cup. That on top of ‘live’ Premiership games being played almost every day on TV has been footy heaven for me.
STAY SAFE
Be sensible. Stay safe. Let's beat this damned virus. THE POLAK x Page 11
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T.REX WE ALSO REPAIR CARAVANS!
It’s hard to say what draws you to a record (song) or a particular band, isn’t it? I kind of liked T. Rex, for a bit, when I was a kid. Well, Marc Bolan really, I suppose. And it was Jeepster wot done it for me, the one and only 45rpm piece of vinyl I ever bought of theirs. “You slide so good, with bones so fair, you’ve got the universe reclining in your hair.” Slide? As nippers, we used to rub the waxy inner plastic wrapper from a loaf of Sunblest or Wonderloaf bread onto the metal of a slide in the park or down the rec and it didn’t half make our arses zip down it after that. It literally became a super-charged ride. But that’s the only ‘slide’ I’ve ever known. Many years later, in adulthood, I heard Bolan’s Cosmic Dancer for the very first time, due to Billy Elliot. I instantly fell in love with the way it sounds, although once again, what on earth is he on about? And why would you go from twelve (verse 1) down to eight (verse 3)?
At that time, Bolan and Elton John started wearing these silky jackets in reet striking colours with sometimes just a vest, or nothing at all, beneath. I thought that was well cool, I did. Way back then. Legendary DJ John Peel was quick to champion T. Rex, back in the day. Fancy popping your clogs just two weeks shy of your thirtieth birthday, especially when your missus was driving you home. That’s no life, isn’t that. Your editor is almost twice Bolan’s age already. The ones that get taken so young, eh? Apparently Bolan was quite disparaging towards David Bowie, although the former fell off the stage during their last performance together, which appeared to amuse the latter. But they kissed and made up and Bowie was a guest at the funeral of his ‘little friend’.
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Ingredients - Serves 4 2 x 400g tins chopped tomatoes 200g plain flour Olive oil 8 chicken thighs, skin on or off - your choice! 2 celery stalks 2 carrots 1 large onion 2 small red peppers 3 cloves garlic 2 sprigs fresh rosemary (or 1tsp dried) 270ml white wine 1 tsp sugar Dash balsamic vinegar 60g of your favourite olives Salt & Pepper Chopped fresh herbs of your choice to garnish
Some good things have definitely emerged from Lockdown, but we’re sorry, ‘Tiger King’ wasn’t one of them! We are Russ and Amanda, a Chelmsford born couple who for most of our 50 years have been obsessed with food and drink from across the globe, yet it has taken a worldwide pandemic to spur us on, to share our love and passion of cuisine. For decades we have enjoyed entertaining and cooking for our friends and family, but with a little more time on our hands, we have taken the opportunity to realise the vision of bringing our ‘table’ to a wider audience. And so was born Worlds Pantry; our culinary journey, encompassing the tastes, textures and flavours of the world and we would love for you to join us on our travels. Over the months to come we aim to inspire and tempt you with exciting recipes, lend you valuable tips and advice, as well as keeping you up to date with all the latest ideas, trends and products. Whether you are vegan, vegetarian, pescatarian or an unashamed carnivore, we will have something for you all if you just bear with us. And whether you’re a wine lover, a real ale fan, or are absolutely tee-total, we will find the perfect food and drink pairings to compliment what’s on your plate with the contents of your glass, though of course, we may need to have quite a few glasses just to make sure we get it right! We hope to push the boundaries, make you think outside the box and try something new; but we promise, you will not be disappointed with the results. We’ll definitely be giving you an insight as to what we like, but we’d really like to hear what ‘floats your boat’ too. Tell us about your favourite recipes and why you love them, your discoveries and tips, or even ask us to create something different especially for you. Worlds Pantry wants your input; we want to explore the world of food and drink with you as it’s much more fun when we do things together. Perhaps you are not aware, but although The Edge hasn’t been physically available for the past few months, it has been very much alive and well in a virtual sense. Along with contributions from the other fantastic columnists, we have also published a few articles that we’d love you to check out online and give us your feedback on. Please visit http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/ to catch up with what’s been happening since April. Are you a caffeine addict? If so, don’t miss our article ‘For the love of coffee’ http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/for-the-love-of-coffee/ and definitely try our twist on a classic espresso martini. Pie fan? I challenge you not to salivate over our Chicken, Mushroom and Asparagus Pie http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/pie-time-we-atemore-asparagus/ So there you go, this is us! We’re genuinely pleased to make your acquaintance and look forward to forging a wonderful ‘foodie’ relationship with you all. But before we go, “What’s for dinner tonight?” Well, it would be rude not to help you out with that daily conundrum, wouldn’t it? So let us leave you with yet another tasty recipe…
Method 1. Coat the chicken thighs in seasoned flour, ensuring both sides are covered, then shake off excess. 2. Heat 3 tbsps of olive oil in a large frying pan on a medium-high heat. Add chicken to pan and fry on both sides until golden brown and the skin is crispy (if using skin on chicken). 3. Whilst chicken is cooking, finely dice the onion, carrots and celery. Cut the red peppers into bite size chunks and slice the garlic. You can use a garlic press to mince the garlic if you want a more intense garlic flavour. Once chicken has been fried on both sides, remove from pan, set to side and sprinkle with a pinch of salt & pepper. 4. Add the diced vegetables to the frying pan and sauté for 5 mins or until slightly softened. Add an extra drizzle of oil if necessary. 5. If using fresh rosemary, finely chop the leaves after stripping from stalks and add to pan along with tomatoes and wine. Add sugar and dash of balsamic vinegar (to your own taste). Stir to combine and bring to a simmer. Re-add the chicken to the pan along with olives. Cover and simmer gently for 40 mins. 6. Once chicken is cooked through (75 degrees celsius/internal temp) and sauce is rich and thick, garnish with a sprinkling of chopped fresh herbs and serve with side dish of your choice. Great with crusty bread, pasta, mash or couscous. 7. Enjoy! But don’t forget the wine… WPWP (Worlds Pantry Wine Paring) SANTODENO SANGIOVESE We thoroughly recommend this wine; it happens to be one of our favourites. Stands up really well to the tomatoes, olives and garlic, available from most supermarkets priced around £10. Lush and heavy with dark cherry and rich fruit, hint of spice with vanilla and chocolate. Well-balanced tannins with a lovely long aftertaste.
For more recipes and food inspiration: Instagram: follow us @worldspantry Like us on Facebook Worlds Pantry As always, any questions/comments regarding this or any of our recipes and articles, please contact us at team@worldspantry.com We’d love to hear from you. www.theedgemag.co.uk
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OUR WOOD FIRED PIZZAS ARE NOW AVAILABLE EVERY FRIDAY @ ‘THE STORES’ 5PM - 8PM
The Stores Coffee, brunch & lunch
Why was it only the ladies who appeared to be so up-in-arms during Lockdown, due to the fact that they couldn’t get their barnet’s tended? My wife’s a hairdresser and she might have been Furloughed for three months and enjoyed a few too many daytime G&T’s during Lockdown, but my god, she now comes home from work each evening absolutely cream crackered, simply because there’s an awful lot more than merely doing someone’s hair involved in a trip to the salon these days. It’s all the rest of the safety malarkey that has to go with it, post Covid-19 (not that we’re ‘post’ anything at all, we’re simply enjoying ‘a lull in the proceedings’). She’s also been working six days per week (at times) rather than her usual three. Talk about having your life turned on its head, all because some weird feckers think it’s all fine and dandy for pangolins to be served to them on a plate. However, I digress. The point I wanted to make was about bloke’s hair during Lockdown and how some of them started to look really, really good, ‘all bouffanted up’. Take BBC Breakfast News’ Charlie Stayt, for instance. Now you can see what a great head of hair Charlie has from the photograph (above), yet unfortunately the photograph above is how he usually wears his hair (they say tut t’internet is great, but if it’s so great, how comes there are no photo’s of Charlie’s thatch during Lockdown to be had?). Yet Charlie’s hair started to look truly, proper magnificent during Lockdown, simply because it was growing down the back and curling a bit, and acting all excited. In short, he looked sh-mokin’! Only what has he gone and done, now that the barbers shops have reopened? Yep, you guessed it, he’s gone straight back to looking like he looked before Lockdown: aka boring old Charlie. Why? Why would you do that? Hasn’t he got a wife with eyes in her head? Surely his couch potato partner Naga must have complimented him on his curling, kinky locks? Then there’s current (you have to use the word ‘current’ where The Irons are concerned, as you never know what’s about to happen next) West Aym manager David Moyes. Now the photograph (below) doesn’t show it quite as long as it’s been of late, but he has began to look spectacularly suave and debonair, which is a far cry from the days he first burst onto the scene at Everton, when his hair was short, unimaginative and the colour of rust. So what The Edge is saying is that while it might have been a massive pain in the ass for three months for most of you female readers out there, so far as the guys are concerned, I think it’s done many of them a huge favour. Others that spring to mind are David Tennant (well I liked it) and Michael Sheen (explosion in a mattress factory), while Michael Ball has forever had a fantastic head of hair, only these days there’s even more of it. Jealous? You betcha.
Opening Times
TuesdayFriday 8.30am-5pm Tuesday - Friday 8.30am - 3.30pm Saturday 9am-5pm Saturday 9.00am - 3.30am Main Road, Great Waltham, Chelmsford, Essex, CM3 1DE Tel ǻ 01245 362649 Email- thestorescafe@icloud.com
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of Wivelsfield Green, supported by the nearby villages of Plumpton (Trumpton) and Chailey (Chigley). Do you remember how every single episode began? A musical box would rotate while playing a tune, accompanied by the following narration: “Here is a box, a musical box, wound up and ready to play. But this box can hide a secret inside. Can you guess what is in it today?� At which point Windy would let rip an ear-shattering fart from deep within his windmill. The series was set in the small, picturesque and totally fictitious village of Camberwick Green, with almost Edwardian costumes and old fashioned social attitudes, which were not necessarily concurrent with the swinging sixties, as they were called. Other characters included Police Constable McGarry (number 452) and Mr. Honeyman who “keeps the chemist shop�. Each week the village would undergo a domestic crisis, such as a shortage of flour or a swarm of bees, or perhaps the lack of the 24-hour pill (blame Mr. Honeyman for that), although by the end of each episode, all things had been happily resolved. Oh for such simpler times, eh, readers, when perhaps our own lives were a lot more like Camberwick Green and unfortunately not as they are today. Truth is though, we never properly appreciated it.
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Ahhhh, the rhythmatic creaking sound of Windy’s old sails, which used to look like a load of old garden fence panels hammered together. And then Windy would stroll out with what used to look like an upturned plant pot on his head (but with a brim around), timing it to perfectly between the clockwise rotation of the panels. Yep, this was Camberwick Green on Watch with Mother from way back in the early sixties, kids, with a chap named Brian Cant (yep, that’s the correct spelling) doing the narration. And you know what they say about the sixties, don’tcha? The sixties was when it allllllllllll happened. In total, just thirteen 15-minute episodes were ever made and the characters faces were formed from ping-pong balls, their bodies from foam and wire, and they were moved by fractions and shot/photographed frame-by-frame. Incredible. When the series ended, creator Gordon Murray destroyed the entire kit - windmill, models, et al - in a bonfire in his back garden. So when Quaker Oats, the breakfast cereal, wanted to bring Windy back to life and produce some TV adverts, every single thing needed to be recrafted from scratch, based on photographs and Murray’s own dodgy memory. The inspiration for the name is believed to have stemmed from the East Sussex village
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A photograph such as this ought to make you feel happy, didn’t it? But instead, it simply makes me feel sad - but that’s not just because it’s a left-hand drive sportscar, or the fact that this centre-page spread has generated not even thrupence worth of advertising revenue (which absolutely mortifies me, if the honest truth be told). Rather, I think it’s the fact that the image depicts both a physical and mental freedom, yet right at this moment in time, our true freedom is being prohibited, whilst the fear of a detestable ‘second spike’ seems to loom like Godzilla upon the horizon. Yet these are the cards we’ve been dealt and far better those than September 1939 revisited. One of my major concerns is the true percentage of those amongst us who are simply that ignorant or that selfish that they may jeopardise the outcome of this pandemic for the rest of us. They always infer that a sad minority tend to spoil it for the majority, and there’s seemingly a great truth in that statement. For example, you have to wonder about where the hearts and minds were of all those who considered it wise to visit the beaches of Southend, Brighton and Bournemouth during Lockdown. Sadly, that’s the kind of behaviour The Edge is referring to. Then there are all those who aren’t really fit to be let into a pub, whether there’s a pandemic at large or there isn’t. And what about those who apparently have no social conscience whatsoever and appear unable to function in a desired manner, such as the gentleman who chose to urinate on PC Keith Palmer’s memorial in Westminster. These folk are amongst us and our race as a whole is both diminished and degraded because of their presence. But just what percentage are we talking about, that is the question? On a more upbeat note, perhaps what’s happened has made some of us, but by no means all, appreciate far more what has always been around us just that little bit more. To have had the time, thanks to Lockdown, and the opportunity to hear the chirping and fluttering of birds’ wings, rather than the more usual rumble of far too much traffic, has been joyous. This coupled with a more basic need and desire to communicate more readily and spontaneously with total strangers, which can only be a positive. But whether such good and decent traits remain is down to each and every one of us.
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EDGE
the
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With cinemas being closed, the big new film releases have temporarily been put on hold, writes Andrew Eley of Cineworld. But that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been a plethora of new films to catch up on since Lockdown began. So I’ve delved into what’s been released on streaming services in order to give you some quick reviews on some of what is up for grabs. So get some microwave popcorn, take your seats, and please turn off your mobile phones so’s not to disturb the performance.
TOGO (Disney +) Earlier this year, you may have caught Harrison Ford starring alongside some CGI dogs in the latest adaptation of Call Of The Wild, a story of a sled dog’s struggle for survival in the wilds of Canada. The CGI dogs where jarring, but I guess they made old Harrison look somewhat more alive than he has done in years. The filmmaker’s decision to use computer-generated dogs was apparently to prevent putting any animals at risk during filming. Which is admirable, I guess. But then Disney release Togo, a film about a sled dog’s struggle for survival in the wilds of Alaska, using real dogs (only using CGI for action scenes) and the movie is so much better for it. This powerful film is based on true events where a sled team race to retrieve a vaccine to cure sick children in an Alaskan town. Togo is the lead dog and the film focuses on the relationship between owner Leonhard Seppala (William Dafoe) and the feisty Siberian Husky. Many of you probably missed this one when it was launched on Disney + back in April, but it’s a great film for both dog lovers and families alike. It’s just a shame it never had a cinema release at it looks stunning in places, most notably a rather tense dash across a rapidly cracking ice covered lake.
EUROVISION SONG CONTEST: The Story of Fire Saga (Netflix)
wood, refusing to shirk away from being ambivalent as regards who its villains are and keeping the event confined within the cockpit of a plane, the limited space creating unbearable tension as things rapidly escalate out of hand, almost played out in real time. Considering this film races along at almost break neck pace, the conclusion slows things down a little too much and could have done with being cut by ten minutes, for my money. However, that shouldn’t prevent you from immediately putting this film on your ‘must watch’ list, with Joseph Gordon-Levitt being outstanding as the pilot who is put into an almost impossible situation.
DA 5 BLOODS (Netflix) Delroy Lindo is one of those great character actors who appeared prolifically in films during the 90’s and early 00’s. Here he finally gets to shine left, right, front and centre with a powerhouse performance which makes up for a lot of the shortcomings in Spike Lee’s action drama/historical war film hybrid. Spike has always had his finger on the pulse of the current political climate and this film spookily covers Black Lives Matter just as the protests broke out. Unfortunately, the message that a greater percentage of young black men where sent to fight and die in Vietnam than whites, and that they where treated less favourably on their return, is somewhat lost as four of the original 5 bloods (the titular fifth having been killed in action and appearing only in flashback) years later head back to Vietnam to recover buried gold. There are some tense scenes and some very creative filmmaking, but it arguably outstays its welcome at over 150 minutes long. Nevertheless, it’s still worth watching and Delory Lindo should be given an Oscar immediately.
Maybe it’s the effect Lockdown has been having on me, but Eurovision is probably the film I’ve had the most fun watching during these past few months. This Netflix comedy, starring Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams as Icelandic singing duo Fire Saga, goes full in on the silliness, with killer elves and burning corpse ghosts, whilst remaining respectful of the already outlandish event. There is a wasted cameo from Graham Norton as the show’s commentator, but the rest of the cast give it their all, with a fully committed Dan Stevens standing out as Russian entrant Alexander Lemtov. Most importantly, the music is great and several of the songs will stick with you long after the credits have rolled. The likes of ‘Husavik’ and ‘Ya Ya Ding Dong’ ought to be shoe-ins for best original song nominations at the Oscars in 2021.
ARTEMIS FOWL (Disney +)
365 DAYS(Netflix)
THE VAST OF NIGHT (Amazon Prime)
This film has been hanging around in Netflix’s ‘Top 10’ for ages and it certainly isn’t because of a gripping storyline and award winning acting. Clearly inspired by Fifty Shade Of Grey, Polish girl Laura is kidnaped by Italian mafia boss Massimo and told she will be held captive for 365 days, in the hope that she will fall in love with him during that time. I say held captive, yet she lives in a mansion that’s more like a palace, gets taken on endless shopping sprees, and fills her days sunbathing aboard his luxury yacht. Of course, Massimo would really like to get his end away, but promises he won’t even touch her without her permission (before going on to touch her without her permission). Naturally Laura eventually gives in to his chiselled Italian charms, later telling her best friend that Massimo has a body carved by god (and a dick manufactured by the devil). And so they end up screwing each other in every position possible until she eventually falls in love with him. How romantic. The sex scenes are surprisingly graphic, far more so than even Fifty Shades, and I am convinced they actually had sex for real during this movie. Some people have said that 365 Days is about female empowerment, due to Laura holding back and taking control, and that it is her decision, in the end, to be with Massimo, not his. Whereas honestly, I thought it was just a woman’s personal fantasy, with the book being penned by Polish author Blanka Lipinska. Then again, perhaps I’m not the best person in the world to be giving a view on this movie? So I asked a few of my female friends, one being Polish, for their take on it. “It was wicked,’’ said one. “This guy’s much hotter than Christian Grey.” And, “Why can’t someone like that kidnap me?” So there you have it. A giant thumbs-up for a bit of pure sexual escapism.
For some inexplicable reason, critics have been praising this low budget sci-fi film, comparing it to the early works of Steven Spielberg. That said, I feel I must have been watching a completely different film as I nodded off several times during this abominable snoozefest. It has a long, slow and meandering start and barely recovers. Even the film itself seems to get bored and fall asleep as the screen just goes black for around 10 minutes several times over as people talk...and talk and talk and talk. Wondering if I was missing something, I text a trusted fellow film fan and asked if they had seen it? “Utter rubbish,” was their immediate response.
There are some good things that have come out of Covid-19, one being paying customers being spared parting with their hard earned cash to see this complete disaster of a movie in cinemas. Realising they had a stinker on their hands, Disney decided to pull it form their release schedule and drop it straight onto Disney +. Directed by Kenneth Branagh, no less, this is hands down the worst movie I have seen so far this year, with an incomprehensible plot and the worst acting from a lead role you are ever likely to witness. However, in terms of cinematic low points, having Dame Judi Dench playing an Irish space fairy, making an entrance where she looks at the audience and without any hint of irony says, “Top o’the morning to ya” surely sets a new low bar.
7500 (Amazon Prime) Sometimes whilst walking through an airport I have asked myself the question: ‘What’s to stop a terrorist taking bottles of duty free alcohol on board and then proceeding to use a smashed broken bottle as a weapon?’ Well, in this taught thriller, they do just that, and take the plane over with relative ease. In my view, there hasn’t been a decent ‘terrorist on a plane’ thriller for years, mainly due to 9/11 putting Hollywood off making graphic entertainment of the situation, with films such as Executive Decision and Air Force One being consigned to the 90’s. However, this movie is almost anti-HollyPage 18
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HELLO AGAIN Well, hello again, and a warm welcome back to all of our readers on the printed page! Okay, so I’ll say it if no one else will admit it out loud, amid the fear and uncertainty, the strangeness and the daily briefings from solemn faced government advisors pushed forward to tell us bemused mortals what the hell was going on, the coloured graphs and the desperate pleas of sweaty, careworn, almost alien-looking figures shrouded in layers of PPE (if they were fortunate enough to have any), the daily rising numbers of the dead, photo’s of those lost loved ones, the Thursday evening clapping, Capt. Tom Moore and his solitary walk which lead to a heart-warming outpour of generosity and kindness, the furloughed and the home schooled, from shopping trolleys filled with toilet rolls to empty shelves, from hugging, kissing and shaking hands, latterly reduced to elbow-bumping, not to mention masks, and from the many, many hero's and the not-so-few villains, the shortages and the closures, the empty roads and silent towns, the unmanicured nails and uncoloured hair, the missed take-away coffees and afternoon teas, from pop-up hospitals to locked-down care homes, the missed family visits and celebrations, from rescheduled appointments to cancelled holidays, the new mantras and new words acquired and constantly
repeated; I learned to accept, and yes, almost enjoy the slower, quieter, thoughtful pace of enforced life during Lockdown. And breathe. Until our world stopped spinning, who would have realised that lives could still go on, but at a much less frantic pace? Perhaps all those activities we thought were essential to our health, wealth or wellbeing weren’t quite as important as we’d previously believed? Who knew that everyday commodities such as eggs and flour would become items to skirmish over, and send us in search on the t’internet to obtain? Who could have imagined that those with a generational attitude of ‘want it now, get it now’ would be pulled up to a screeching halt? What an unasked for opportunity to make something good and lasting come finally out of an appalling, rampant infection. But then we’re only human after all, with the capacity to suffer, but survive, to remember, but not dwell for long on all of the bad stuff. Most of us will never forget this time, to be talked about in the years to come, and written up in history books as a modern plague. But sadly, I’m cynical enough to believe that very little will change for the better in the long term. Would it have been the same for me if I hadn’t had an almost daily Skype call with a very kind friend? Possibly not. But I did stay home and become healthily paranoid
about being around others. My mask, hand washing and hand sanitising regime will likely stay with me for years to come. Have I personally learned anything that I can take from this whole experience? I would like to think so. Please don’t think that I’m unaware that the fall-out of all this will reverberate and affect all of our lives for decades; poverty, hardship and abuse for some will not vanish. We are/were in it together, no one untouched, but many will endure more than others.
A PAIN IN THE... I would like to pen a passing paean of praise to a panacea of pain. As I popped out a couple of Ibuprofen from their bubble pack, in the hope and surety of easing my back pain, it occurred to me how fortunate we are to have such easy access to a miracle of overthe-counter pain relief. To be able to take a small tablet such as a paracetamol or aspirin and to be pretty damn sure that it will take away an ache or a headache, and all for little more than a few pennies at that. Dr. Derek Eastwood, a pain specialist from the Wirral, gave a talk about the history of painkillers in 2005. He began by saying that although we are three months into the twenty-first century, there are no new primary analgesics - those we use are still based on the willow
and the poppy. Now is that a flipping amazing piece of information, or is it shortsighted of scientists that more alternatives are not readily available? Opium is the oldest painkiller. Originally it was used in a religious context. Salicylic acid, the active ingredient in aspirin, is most known for its association with willow, but it is also found in other plants, such as meadowsweet and wintergreen. The other common analgesic, paracetamol, was developed as long ago as 1893. Yet we accept that any medicine, drug or remedy can have its side effects and that we should always use any medicine responsibly and treat with due care and respect.
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DEAKS
Back by popular demand!
they no doubt had yet another evening in front of the television.
Hello readers.
Fortunately my Big Bash has now been rescheduled for September, but I’m not holding my breath. Unfortunately, my 60th birthday still occurred, as nothing holds back time, but being sixty isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s a lot like being 59, if I’m honest, and I’m pleased to report that nothing drops off overnight.
It’s been a while, so I’m just conducting a roll call to check you are all well and good. Please email me on gmdeakin@gmail.com to confirm that you are still in the land of the living, because I don’t want to be talking to myself here. I even had to check with the Edge Ed. to find out when I’d last written for you and was told it was in the April editions. Good heavens, that’s four long months ago. So what has happened during those missing months?
Well, let’s start off with a positive thought, shall we? By my calculations, if you are still reading this publication, you have survived the prospect of World War III, a world wide pandemic, global warming and Justin Biebers Yummy. So, I don’t know about you, but personally, I consider myself a very lucky soul indeed. I wrote every week, sometimes twice a week, at The Edge Online, which you can find at http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/ along with my other esteemed columnists. Pop on there and have a browse, why don’t you. There are some excellent articles, as well as mine too, and some healthy and witty commentary. It’s definitely worth a visit, even though the hard mag is now fortunately back on the shelves, so to speak. I need to pick up somewhere, so I’ll pick up from where I left off in April. At the time I had just returned from St James in Barbados, and the Algarve in Portugal, and I was all set to fly out to Thailand too. But that never happened. Nor did the trip to my friend’s timeshare in Scotland, unfortunately. My best laid plans came crashing down thanks to dear old Mr Covid. And he also put paid to my birthday party at the end of June, where 200 guests were due to descend on ‘Chez Deaks’, when instead
EDGE Ale
I also became a grandpa on 15th March when my Gary and his wife Samantha presented me with my very first grandchild, called Lachlan James Deakin, who is probably the most gorgeous baby in the whole wide world. Yeah, I know, I would say that, wouldn’t I? Just as soon as he can hold a copy of The Edge I will pester the Ed. to get his photo in here under the banner of ‘Kids Reading The Edge’ - if Mum & Dad will allow it, of course. I’ve also lost my dear old Mum of late. Ninety-one wonderful years young, she was. Simply the ‘Best Mum in the World’ and I won’t take any arguments on that. But that’s all I’m going to say about that particularly sad subject. My post bag (aka my inbox) also had a record number of letters (aka emails) following my revelation about the ground breaking travel fart absorber in the April editions. Regular readers may recall it was a banana shaped foam insert that you place between your buttocks on long haul flights that is infused with carbon to absorb nasty odours. Enquiries ranged from “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” to “Where can I buy one of those from?” All enquiries were replied to in the strictest confidence and hopefully our editor also received his. Now I know the Edge Ed. wants me to get back to my story telling about my life adventures, from scholarship at Rainsford University for the Advanced of Learning, through to my career with Coughdrop Bollox & Bellend, right up to the present day, and I will do soon, I promise (Edge Ed. only wants me to do that because he knows all the sordid details that are yet to come!). But not right now, because right now I want to spend a little time filling the void between April and August. I have mainly spent Lockdown helping the local economy by employing painters & decorators (good old Smurfy again) to repaint the outside of my house. It’s been a case of Smurf being up a ladder while his mate, Dave, observes social distancing to the letter by being at the bottom, on terra firma. Well, at least until I take some refreshments out to them, when all notion of distancing seems to go right out the window as they gather around their tea and biscuits like flies around a dog’s egg. Brother Kev and his son Jay have also ripped up my patio and are currently installing a new one that when finished will probably be visible from space. I fully expect inbound planes to mistake the lighting for the second runway at Stansted. Naturally all of this is to be completed in time for my September Garden Party that unfortunately I do not even know will go ahead. And it’s the uncertainty of Covid-19 that is totally doing my head in. The inability to make plans. These are not the best of times, are they?
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 Bob’s your uncle, it’s absolutely FREE! Or head to The Edge’s Facecock page and click on the online subscription button thingy.
EDGE
the
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Anyway, I thought I would finish on the ground breaking news that I have at long last discovered social media. After very much persuasion from my sons, I have at long last set up an account with Instagram (#gmdeakin - if any of you want to follow me). I confess that I’ve religiously avoided Facebook and Twitter from the outset, but have been persuaded to share my stories on Instagram and now I’m addicted to it and am posting stuff pretty much every single day. And it’s lovely to have a new source of beautiful women that are half my age falling in love with me instantly and pretty much wanting to marry me. Jeez, I never saw that coming. Do people still really fall for that shit? Oh wow, really? You’ll come visit me in England if I transfer £1,000 into your bank account to pay for your flight here from Africa? Tut. Some people are so dim. You do wonder how they found their way out of the birth canal in the first place, don’t you? Well, that’s all for another month, folks. I’ll be back with you all in September, all being well, and I’ll continue to dip my toe into http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/ Stay alert. Keep well. Big shout out to our wonderful NHS. TTFN DEAKS. gmdeakin@googlemail.com The Edge 077 646 797 44
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WORKING FROM HOME So not even a global pandemic, enhancements in technology and new ways of working can kill off the physical edition of the Edge magazine. The only question I have is will there be anyone left out on the streets and commuting to London to pick up a copy? That’s all been taken care of, Billy-Boy. Apart from a few filled dispensers, the rest of the copies will all get delivered through local household letterboxes via hands shrouded in PPE gloves. E.E. Personally, as a manager of teams, I have always been in the camp of striking a positive work/life balance and to me that means spending a day or two per week working from home and the remainder of the time in the office. That is mainly because I think that social interaction is important for building effective teams and that meetings are always far better in person. But what this enforced Lockdown has taught me is that the latter point isn’t really necessary, given the technology available to us. I have used a variety of video conferencing software over the past 4 months and nowadays virtual meetings have become the new normal. I still subscribe to the thought that teams are more effective when they interact, but the question I now have is does it have to be as often? Both me and my teams have reported an improvement in wellbeing - as not
having an hour or so commute wedged either side of your working day certainly does help. I now have more time for my family, my friends, and even for a few hobbies; albeit I still can’t seem to find enough time to go running! So what does the future hold? Honestly, I really don’t know. Companies must clearly be looking at their balance sheets and thinking that this is a great opportunity to reduce costs, although what damage could that cause to the economy? As for us employees, is our new found happiness due to such a rapid and monumentally different change in circumstances and will it become even more difficult now that the novelty is starting to wear off? I have heard the arguments on both sides of the fence and, on balance, I think I am still in favour of working from home, albeit it with some proper structure about getting out, getting to meetings and seeing your colleagues on a fairly regular basis.
SHED WARS One thing I have found whilst working from home is that it is an almost impossible scenario when you have two young children in the house. There are simply far too many distractions, such as laughing, screaming, music, snack times and watching Frozen II on repeat (all of that before the kids even get up). Sitting huddled up against a makeshift desk in my 4-year olds bedroom got me to thinking: ‘I need an office in
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ONLY JOKING! BOTANY
Just discovered that Botany isn’t the study of robots. Damn, a whole year at uni wasted.
A MODERN DAY LOVE STORY A little boy goes to his father and asks, "Daddy, how was I born?” The father answers, "Well, son, I guessed you were going to ask one day. Your mum and I first got together in an online chat room. Then I set up a date via email. We met at a cyber cafe and sneaked into a secluded room, where your mother agreed to download from my hard drive. As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither of us had used a firewall. Since it was too late to hit the delete button, a little pop-up window appeared nine months later and said ...”You’ve got male.”
JOKES OF A CERTAIN ILK Everybody hates masturbation jokes, but sometimes they come in handy.
CAMOUFLAGE Most of the time I like my husband to wear his uniform around the house. However, I’ve now become used to the camouflage, so unfortunately I can still see him.
VIAGRA All the proof you need that you’re getting soft in your old age.
ANAL BLEACHING I was on the computer the other day and my missus had a mate round for coffee. I was not paying too much attention to their chatter, but my ears pricked up when she said, "I'm thinking of having my arsehole bleached.” Well, her mate started giggling profusely. I could tell that my wife must have looking puzzled because she said, "What are you laughing at?” in a rather curious way. Her mate said, "Sorry, ’Chelle, it’s just I can't imagine your Nick with blonde hair.”
CHICKEN SALAD I made a chicken salad for lunch, but the ungrateful bird turned her beak up at it.
AUTONOMY My boss has always given me a certain amount of autonomy at work, so I reminded him, “But you’ve always told me ‘Whatever makes you happy’, sir. And vodka shots at work make me really, really happy.”
DECORATOR We’ve just had a painter & decorator in to do some work. I got chatting to him and it turned out he’s a British Airways pilot who’s been furloughed and was earning a bit of cash on the side. He made a lovely job of the landing….
TODDLER I know our toddler shouldn’t drink coffee, but hey, what else is he gonna have with his first ciggie of the day? Yes, I know, I know. You’re all shocked that we let him smoke at all. But in our defense, we always make him go out onto the patio. Well, you’ve got to maintain standards, after all.
FOX TERRIER I urgently need to re-home a small dog. It’s a fox terrier and has an irritatingly bad habit of barking a lot. If this appeals, give me a bell and I’ll hop over the neighbour’s fence and go get the little bastard for you.
T. REX
HIM & HER Her: "You promised me you’d make me happy forever after?” Him: "But I didn’t expect you to live this long.”
HAIRCUT You know you’ve hit middle age when your ears need a haircut.
DILEMMA Sometimes I feel in the mood to help raise money for charity, while at others, all I want to do is get 'fall-down’ drunk. So now do you see my dilemma?
QUESTION FOR WOMEN If a man is alone in the woods, is he still wrong?
OLDER
I called a Tyrannosaurus Rex a wanker the other day. Yep, that’s the sort of guy I am. He turned, looked at me with big cow like eyes, and forlornly said, "What, with these arms?” Tut. No wonder they’re always cross.
You drop something when you were young, you just bent down and picked it up. Whereas now that you're older, you stare at it for a while, contemplating whether you actually need it anymore.
WINE CLUB
TRYING TO SLEEP
First rule of wine club? Always swallow. Swill it around a bit if you really must. But always, always swallow.
POSTMEN If you re-arrange the letters of POSTMEN they get so pissed off…
TEFAL HEADS Scientists claim that 60% of our body weight is water. So hey, I’m not fat. I’m just flooded.
GAMBLING She left because of my gambling. So what do I have to do to win her back?
SCIENTIFIC EVIDENCE Scientists are reporting that as many as 75% of people need to f@ck right off.
CURED HAM I see supermarkets are selling Cured Ham. But shouldn’t they be stating what disease their pigs were previously suffering from?
TRUCKER If the trucker at the urinal next to you has a phone that’s ringing and he yells out, “WHO THE F@CKING HELL IS CALLING ME NOW?” he’s probably not wanting you to start guessing. To my cost, I know this now.
HIM & HER Her: "WTF? Jeez, that was barely two minutes!” Him: "Well, it was doggy style. So that makes it like, er, fourteen.”
HOOKER T’was our wedding night when she turned to me and said, "Darling, I have a confession to make. I used to be a hooker.” "Really?” I said, immediately perking up. "Actually, that sounds quite erotic. Tell me more?” "Before the operation,” she said, “my name was Nigel and I used to play for Wigan.”
Legs ... comfy Bum ... warm Arms ... relaxed Body ... calm Breath ... shallow Brain ... I wonder if penguins have knees?
GATE Why do farmers always put their gates at the muddiest parts of their fields?
ARSEHOLES So tired of arseholes trying to tell me how to raise my kids. And by ‘arseholes’, yes, I mean my kids.
DUCT TAPE Don't f@ck with anyone who duct tapes their car back together. These people obviously have nothing to lose.
KUNG FU Kung Fu student asks his teacher, "Sensei, why does my ability not improve? I am always being defeated.” The master, pensive and forever patient, answered, "Grasshopper, have you not seen the gulls flying by the setting sun, their wings seemingly like flames?” "Hai, Sensei. I have.” "And the waterfall, how it spills mightily over the stones without taking anything out of its proper place?” "Yes, master. I too have witnessed this.” "And the moon, where it touches the calm water to reflect all of its magnificent beauty?” "Yes, master. I have observed this marvellous phenomenon with both awe and wonder.” "That is the problem with you, Grasshopper. You keep watching all this shit instead of training.”
NAMES FOR SUNNY DAYS
NAKED
Taking a cue from the naming of hurricanes and storms, the Scottish Weather Centre, speaking at a recent press conference, decided to start naming sunny days. When someone pointed out about the lack of suitable Scottish names, the committee assured the reporting throng: “Even with global warming, we don’t expect to get past Ian and Jock.”
The police have gone away now, but they told me if I'm going to walk around my house naked, I have to make sure it’s on the inside.
Please email your jokes to The Edge, folks!
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
The Edge 283 new_The Edge 172.qxd 27/07/2020 15:26 Page 23
And bloody grateful I was to be such too, I’ll have you know, as some of us hardly received any Furlough dosh, myself being one of them, so it was very much a case of ‘needs must’. As such, I will forever be grateful to store manager Mark Rushton for taking me on within just 24-hours of my application to Tesco (directly). I worked nightshifts (10pm-7am) every Friday, Saturday and Sunday between 27th March - Sunday 28th June and it totally saved me and enabled me to keep my head above water, not to mention becoming a dab-hand where the fishfingers were concerned. I also came into contact with some really good peeps, including ‘Tesco Terry’ (who I christened ‘Post’, as he’s deaf as one), ‘Plant’ (Steve Parkhurst) and ‘Swiss Tony’ (Marc Roffey). Hopefully the four of us will be meeting up for a few beers real soon. However, my problem was that I couldn’t sleep between shifts, so I have honestly never known tiredness like it. I’d get there, at about 9.45pm on a Friday neet (this was so far off one of my usual Friday nights it’s untrue) and the last time I’d seen my pit would have been around 7.30am that morning. So by the time I got home at 7.15am on the Saturday morning, that’s already 24 hours without sleep. Once I got home, my routine was to leave my trainers outside ‘airing’ and then completely strip off on the door mat, as Mrs Edge was paranoid about Coronavirus being brought into the house - I don’t blame her for that. Then I’d make her a brew (as she always had a nice hot bath waiting for me, bless her) whilst pouring myself a triple, yes, you read that right, triple vodka & fresh orange juice with ice, before taking it up to the bathroom with me, where I would very often ‘nod off’ with my glass of V&O still wedged in hand and only wake myself up when my head fell backwards and banged into the sharp corner of our bathroom unit. After which I’d maybe jump into bed for a couple of hours, although usually by 10am I’d be out in the garden sunning myself in a deckchair and be cat napping in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the day. You can’t actually do anything between shifts. You can barely function. So those three days are completely lost to ‘The Shift’ (someone ought to write a book about it). I also thought I’d see the entire store. You know, a night working here, a night working there. But no, I only ever worked down the fabled (as it became known) Aisle-12, and just one side of it at that (the side where the fishfingers are). But the memory will honestly stay with me forever.
As part of Essex Police’s continued commitment to ensure more officers are present within communities, they welcomed 58 new police officers at their headquarters in Chelmsford for an adapted ‘Passing Out Parade’ ceremony on Friday 3rd July. The new recruits were welcomed into the force by Chief Constable Ben-Julian Harrington, Deputy Police, Fire and Crime Commissioner Jane Gardner, as well as numerous other chief officers. Special measures were put into place to ensure the officers could celebrate while still respecting the government’s Covid-19 guidelines, which included 2.5m spacing at the recognition ceremonies as a precaution. The new officers completed their training under new circumstances over the past few months, during which classrooms contained smaller numbers of students with plenty of space, while many sessions were held online.
Mr Harrington thanked the officers for all their hard work during their training period and welcomed them into the force. Chief Constable BJ Harrington then greeted the officers and said, “It is a real honour to welcome yet another 58 officers to Essex Police. Our job is to help people, keep them safe, and catch criminals, and that’s exactly what you will be doing. “You will be in our communities providing a visible and reassuring presence, helping people in their time of need, apprehending criminals, and working with our partners to keep people safe, whilst also protecting the vulnerable. “Essex Police is growing at its fastest rate in four years and every new officer we welcome is making a difference within our communities. “Being a police officer is a real privilege because it means we can make a difference to people’s lives and help them when they need it most. I wish every single one of you every success in your new careers.” PC Eddie Thorn was also awarded The Kirste Snellgrove Student Officer award. The award was introduced to celebrate the achievements of an exceptional student in each intake, in honour of the late Essex Police Training Sergeant Kirste Snellgrove, who sadly passed away at the beginning 2012 after a long fight against cancer. The award represents all the core values and behaviours of a Police Constable, which Kirste herself not only practiced, but instilled in all of her students. Recalling why he decided to become a police officer, Eddie said, “I wanted to do something different from my 9 to 5 job. I want to help and protect people in need and make a real difference.” With a current strength of 3,306 full time equivalent (FTE) Police Officers, Essex Police are now well on-track to recruiting their target of 3,369 FTE Police Officers by 31st March 2021. Last month, they had 262 people apply to work as police officers, which is around 9 applications every single day. There are truly so many exciting opportunities for new recruits available within the Essex Police force. So if you’d like to make a real difference to your community and help people, keep people safe and catch criminals, you can discover more about starting your journey as a police officer at:
www.essex.police.uk/fitthebill #FitTheBill www.theedgemag.co.uk
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Past, Present & Future
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The Edge is back after a shutdown of some four long months, but (and it’s a huge but) we have to remember why it occurred and where we go from here. Despite the joyful celebrations at pubs and restaurants on 4th July, this pandemic is by no means over it’s merely a breathing space. During the past few months, we Edge scribes have been chatting online and on The Edge’s website (have a look at it, why don’t you) about the Covid 19 pandemic and whilst a lot of it was light-hearted, the issue is actually deadly serious. We’ve literally seen societal changes not experienced during the past 75 years. The whys, wherefores and origins of the pandemic are now irrelevant, as we are living through it and will have to cope with the virus for some years to come, as an early vaccine (if there’s ever going to be one) is highly unlikely. Despite much research, there are still no vaccines for the other two Coronavirus outbreaks (MERS and SARS) and the last 35 years has still not produced a vaccine for HIV either. Looking back in history, pandemics seem to last at least one year, but often range from two to five years before they’ve run their course and sufficient numbers of the population have developed an immunity. The Black Death lasted from 1347-1353; the Great Plague of 1665 lasted for approximately 18 months until the Great Fire of 1666; the Spanish Flu 1918-1919 with three successive waves of infections; the H1N1 Flu Pandemic lasted from April 2009 until August 2010. So the Covid-19 virus has not disappeared and is still most definitely out there, yet our populist government would have you believe that we’re
over the worst. But we’re not. Not by a long chalk. You see, the problem with populist governments, such as those led by Boris (UK) - Trump (USA) Bolsonaro (Brazil) - Obrador (Mexico) - Modi (India) is that their leaders have an ‘Optimistic Bias’ and tend to shy away from giving out bad news. Furthermore and unfortunately, their leadership is also based on the belief that they - and they alone - can solve any threat. Notice the similarities? These leaders also preside over countries with the highest infection rates, the highest mortality rates (from Covid-19) and their characteristic is that they have not taken the pandemic seriously. In short, their leadership has been complacent, incoherent and utterly confusing, simply because they don’t completely understand or trust the science and tend to overrule advice and rush into overturning Lockdowns based purely on economic factors. So where are we now? Staring down both barrels waiting for the next series of spikes which are going to be a persistent feature of our lives, is where.
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W
ell here we go again then. It has to be said that the chances of The Edge rising, Phoenix like, from the ashes of the Covid disaster seemed a very remote possibility back in April. But it’s August and, lo and behold, a proper folding pages version. Kudos, Edge Ed.
should too. So the US has just equalised. 1-1. Let’s look at leadership. This is tricky to put in football terms because both countries have incompetent populist egotists in charge, so how can you award a goal to either side? Well, let’s split some hairs here, because someone has to score in this fantasy game. As stated earlier, Trump has washed his hands (ha) of the virus, it just doesn’t exist any more in his head. Party on, dude.
The picture accompanying this column is what’s painted on the boarded up door of a restaurant here in downtown San Diego. It seems unlikely they are re-opening for business any time soon. It also neatly and succinctly sums up the state of the world, doesn’t it?
On the other hand, Johnson, on the rare occasions he bothers to turn up for work, does at least acknowledge the thing is a thing. He doesn’t want to have to deal with it, and has largely absolved himself of any bad outcomes by saying “the pubs are open, over to you to act responsibly”. Yeah, well good luck with that. Trumpy states took that stance three weeks ago here, and now they all have overflowing hospitals, with a large proportion of the patients being in their 20s and 30s.
This column has been published in The Edge and gone largely unread for very nearly 20 years. It’s been squeezed through the internet tubes between the US and the UK for the last eight of those, initially from New York and latterly San Diego. So something like 100 missives from the USA in all. Many of those have taken a look at differences between life as it is lived here, and the way you in Chelmsford have to deal with the world. True, there have been a few bemoaning the incompetence and truly revolting nature of Trump as a human being along the way. And, recently, several about Johnson’s unsuitability for high office.
It seems likely, and worrying, that by the time you read this the UK will be in a similar position with the poor old NHS staff that have only just started to recover from the first peak having to deal with it all over again, no matter how exhausted physically and mentally they feel.
But for this month we’ll return to the majority Modus Operandi and posit a few random thoughts about the virus, specifically where they highlight a contrast between experiences here in the US, and back there in sunny Chelmsford. And, to make it more fun, let’s treat it as a football match between the UK and US to see who wins.
On reflection, the UK and the US have equally incompetent government, but the UK just wins because at least its Premier accepts there is a problem, even if he is clueless about handling it. UK 2 - US 1
Given the publishing deadlines and the quickly changing virus environment, there’s a distinct possibility that events will have overtaken anything written here by the time you get to read it. But hey-ho, let’s give it a go. Firstly, let’s get things absolutely straight. Despite the fact that the pubs are open again in the UK, you can get your hair trimmed and your toe nails painted, the world is still grappling with the first attack of Covid. It’s a tricky little bugger and it’s here to stay for a year or two, maybe more. Sorry, but that’s a fact and we’re going to have to find ways to co-exist with it. Or maybe move to New Zealand. Surely there’ll be a vaccine soon, you yell? Well, a vaccine will be available at some point, but until everyone in the world has had it, the disease isn’t being consigned to history anytime soon. And a potential vaccine is where we hit our first comparison point. Apart from the time it will take to identify and manufacture a vaccine, there’s another reason Covid-19 won’t be eradicated entirely. Stupidity. Now, the world is awash with stupidity and there ain’t no cure for that either. In normal times the willfully ignorant can be left to rot what’s left of their brains in front of Real Housewives of Chelmsford, or whatever’s on the TV, and it’s not harming anyone. But there’s one particular brand of ignorance that threatens us all. The anti-vaxxers. Anti-vaxxers started by believing something published by a now struck-off and disgraced (British) doctor that the MMR vaccine causes autism in children. Utter and dangerous cobblers, but it gets worse. That basic concept has now mutated into a full on conspiracy theory that goes something like this. Bill Gates has introduced Covid-19 to the world so that he can then produce the vaccine to get rid of his creation. But, as if that’s not nutty enough, there’s more. A designed-in feature of the vaccine is that it will allow him to control the world’s population so that his friends, the Clintons, can steal and eat your babies. Additionally, the Clintons are demons and in control of a child sexual abuse ring that operates out of a Pizza Parlour in Washington DC. George Soros is almost certainly a part of it somehow, too, but any sane person’s mind can only absorb so much of this crap before the automatic shut-off valve triggers itself. shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
It will come as no surprise to you that a full 25% of the US population actually believes this stuff. There are some seriously under-educated and over-religious people here. However, before you get too smug about British superiority, surveys show that nearly 15% of the UK population is similarly afflicted. That means that if you have seven friends, one of them thinks Hillary and Bill Clinton want to kidnap your children for mucky purposes. Makes you proud, doesn’t it? So, 1-0 to the UK, I guess. But it was a very scrappy toe-poke off the goalie’s arse sort of goal. To masks. Although the importance of mask wearing was a bit ambiguous at first, it is now universally accepted as essential in slowing the spread of the nasty little bugger. As of this writing, there is no mandate in the UK except in terms of Public Transport. It may, or may not, depending which confused government minister you listen to, become mandatory in shops by the end of July. What? If it’s a good idea in mid-July, why is there a two week lag? Out here it’s a state by state thing, because the Orange Ignoramus has decided Covid is boring and not his problem. So he’s abdicated all responsibility for it (and anything else requiring actual work or decision making, but that’s an altogether different column). The O.I. has rarely been seen in a mask – he thinks they are only worn by snowflakey pansy wimps, not real men with BSDs like him. So, given he has a cult, almost deific, status amongst his followers, they will not wear a mask either. Yes, it really is a political statement as to whether you wear a mask or not. However…. The infection and death rate has got so bad in the heartlands (Trump country) that even some of those Trumpy states now have mandatory mask wearing policies in place for everywhere outside your home. This is a huge deal, and if they can do it, the UK really
One last thing to look at to see if the US can scrape a last minute equaliser. It’s the thorny subject of getting the population on board with whatever misguided advice you want to put forward. Again, it’s a very difficult proposition to separate the sides. Trump tells us to drink bleach and shove a sunlamp up our arse. Whilst Johnson, or at least Cummings, who is the real Prime Minister (weren’t we supposed to hate unelected bureaucrats?) think a raging microscopic virus can be controlled with two or three word slogans. What the heck does ‘Stay Alert’ mean in practical terms? Then, because we’re already out of the woods, there was ‘Build Build Build’ and ‘You’re All Mugs’. OK, that last one might have been made up, but you get the gist. Anyway, simply on the basis that although the slogans make you want to vomit and chuck spanners at the bastards for taking you as a moron that will swallow all this, they don’t reach the level of fuckwittery that drinking bleach does, so the UK scores again. 3-1. That means the UK has won this Pan-Atlantic battle by 2 clear goals and has handled the virus slightly better than the US. But let’s be clear here - this was Villa v Norwich. The final table shows the US in 20th position, Brazil is 19th, and the UK 18th. It’s a fairly pyrrhic victory, isn’t it? And, because this column is what it is, it must be pointed out that right wing populists aren’t exactly winning any titles, are they? Three of them relegated. Elections have consequences – remember that next time you get a chance to vote and try to find someone serious and competent, rather than the one that makes you laugh the most on Have I Got News For You. Oh to have someone like Boring Old Angela Merkel or the wonderful Jacinda Ardern in charge. So much of this carnage could have been avoided. One last thing. Depending on your age, your parents or grandparents had six years of WW2 to get through. Your grand or great grandparents had 4 years of WW1 to deal with. For us to have a year or two of inconvenience and missed holidays really ain’t so bad in comparison, is it? And on that slightly more optimistic note. Anon. Page 25
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I’m not going to write about Covid-19. While I’m sure it’s still
KiNGPiN
uppermost in all of our minds, I’m also confident in guessing that most of you are sick to the back teeth of hearing about it. Instead, I’m going to write about something else we were all sick of hearing about which has been knocked off the ‘top spot’ by the pandemic. That’s right, I want to dredge up Brexit all over again. Despite the unprecedented global crisis, the UK is still barreling headlong towards leaving the EU and unless we get what’s increasingly looking like a miracle, it’s likely we’ll be crashing out without a deal. Even without the economy being on its arse due to the pandemic, only the most deluded or deceitful are still trying to pretend it won’t be a disaster. But no-deal on top of a pandemic? Good grief. The UK economy is Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks (the pandemic) has just chopped BD in the throat and is now tagging in Pat ‘Bomber’ Roach (Brexit) to jump off the top rope and land squarely on Big Daddy’s scrotum. Looking at that fat, sweaty analogy, surely we can all agree that it’s not a pretty picture. Much like in the heyday of classic UK wrestling, Brexit was shoved down our throats with chants of “Easy! Easy!” which always rang hollow, but are now sounding increasingly desperate. Indeed, most of the Brexit zealots are now frantically backpedalling and trying to tell us they never said it would be easy, that they never said we could have our cake and eat it, that “they need us more than we need them” and that we’d all be better off out of the EU. We should surely have sent Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks as our negotiating team instead. The narrative has shifted from glorious Albion once again ruling the waves, or whatever jingoistic nonsense was being parroted by the intellectually challenged and morally bankrupt, to talk of ’surviving’. Nobody, not even the Tory government pushing this through, thinks this isn’t going to be damaging, as evidenced by their own assessment in the Yellowhammer document (you know, the one they tried to hide from us). Actually, that’s not quite true. That disgusting waste of oxygen, Jacob Rees-Mogg, does think it will be good for the UK, just not for around 50 years. So at least we’ve got something to look forward to, I suppose. He’s OK though, as he’s already moved his new investment firm to Dublin so it can trade within the EU. So that’s OK. He’s a man of the people. He’s on our side! If you voted for this lunacy, are you still happy to admit it? If you voted to Leave, are you trying to pretend you voted in the knowledge that it would be economically ruinous and would almost undoubtedly lead to job losses across the UK? If so, are you genuinely happy to say, with a straight face, “I know the entire Leave campaign was built on saying how wonderful it would be when we left, but I never believed that. I knowingly voted to be poorer and for people to lose their jobs!” I genuinely can’t believe how anyone that has been following this process can’t see how a succession of shysters and charlatans have duped 17.4 million people into turning the UK into a clown car. They lied, and lied and lied, and they continue to lie with impunity because, bizarrely, so many of the people they lied to are to this day still defending them. Look at the people that bankrolled the leave campaign. These are people that own the Ritz, that own newspapers. They’re millionaires, in some cases billionaires, and almost all of them have already become even richer by shorting the pound. Seriously, take 30 minutes out of your day and look into it. A frankly shocking amount of
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The Kingmeister reports
BLAST FROM THE PAST people that directly bankrolled the Leave campaign and/or Boris’s Tory leadership bid are major contributors to the roughly 7 billion in short positions against the pound. Let me make that as clear as possible. The same people that told you it was a great idea to leave the EU are the same people betting huge sums of money on leaving the EU wrecking the UK economy. If that doesn’t smell somewhat off to you, then you really are a lost cause. I know, it’s shocking, isn’t it? It’s almost as though the UK, being able to ignore all those pesky regulations and workers’ rights the EU foisted on us, would somehow benefit them, but that can’t be right, they’re on our side, aren’t they? It’s all the immigrants’ fault, isn’t it?
So What Happens Now? In a few months we’ll leave the EU and if it all turns out to be a calamitous sh t-show, we get to * do what we all like doing best: play the blame game. One thing I am certain about is that if it does all go horribly wrong, none of the people who lied to us and none of the people who fell for the lies will shoulder any of the blame. The odious narcissist that is our Prime Minister certainly won’t be to blame. Boris, the man fired from a newspaper for lying. Our ‘glorious’ leader who rode a wave of populism with a ‘Get Brexit Done!’ slogan all the way to number 10, then hid in a fridge from a journalist. Jesus wept, it’s not even funny anymore. He’s never taken the blame for anything in his life, and he certainly won’t start now. Nigel “I applied for my German passport one day after the referendum” Farage? Nigel “UKIP isn’t racist, but I’m just popping over to Germany to address a Far-Right rally” Farage? Of course not. Good old Nigel has already said that if Brexit is a disaster, he’ll simply leave the UK. And what about Gove, Leadsom, Villiers, Davis or Fox? Will any of these mendacious buffoons that spent so long telling us how easy and how great it would be ever admit they were wrong? If you voted for it, will you? Of course not. I’ll be interested to see who people do blame though, and I get the feeling it will be people like me. People who from day one said it wouldn’t be easy will get the blame for being right, but we won’t be blamed for seeing what anyone with access to Google and a vague understanding of the Good Friday agreement could have worked out. No, we’ll be blamed for not getting behind Britain! For not subscribing to the ideal that Brexit would’ve been amazing if we’d have just believed in it! If you do think like this, then for Christ’s sake
grow up. I know I shouldn’t be so disparaging, and I know I’m not making any friends on the Leave side, or persuading anyone to my way of thinking, and frankly I don’t care. But if someone continues to ignore fact after fact after fact because it clashes with what they believe, they’re idiots. If someone believes whatever tripe the papers say about migrants and ‘EU bullies’ and not only doesn’t verify any of it, but gets angry when such claims are easily proven to be complete falsehoods, they’re idiots. If your only arguments are ‘sovereignty’ and ‘taking back control’, then you don’t have an argument. I know there’s a school of thought that says many people felt driven to vote Leave as they didn’t feel their voices were being heard, and there is some merit in that. However, I’m way past being so magnanimous now. If you want your voice to be heard, make the effort not to spout ill-informed drivel and you might just be taken seriously. I’m now going to commit the cardinal sin for writers and journalists everywhere: I’m going to make a prediction. If you are a Brexiteer and you voted Leave because you felt your potential was being stifled by the EU ‘dictatorship’ or by immigration, I’m going to make a bet that for the vast majority of you, your lives won’t improve in any appreciable way. Indeed, for many of the core Brexit voters at the poorer end of the spectrum, I predict your lives will be worse. I hope I’m wrong. I honestly do, and in a year or two, if the UK is demonstrably better off out of the EU than in, then I’ll eat humble pie and be glad to do so. But if I’m right and it does turn out badly, then I won’t shed a tear for anyone that voted for it. You’ve not only made your bed, you’ve taken a steaming great dump in it too. Unfortunately, like the Bucket family in ‘Charlie & The Chocolate Factory’, we all share that bed, so I’ll have to slide under the same skid-marked sheets as you. And if I am right and you are a Leave voter, can I request one thing? Please don’t believe something just because it’s in the papers or fits your own bias. Don’t be led by belief, but look to facts, whether you like them or not. If a powerful person tells you the powerless are to blame for your woes, they’re lying. If a rich person tells you the poor are to blame, they’re lying. Don’t let the liars and charlatans keep on getting away with it, because one thing I am certain of is that they’re laughing at you while they get richer at your expense, and for the love of god, STOP VOTING THEM INTO GOVERNMENT!
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During Lockdown, me and the missus watched a fair few gardening programmes, and we were far more excited when the news broke that the garden centres would be reopening than ever we were when the pubs reopened. A couple of soily characters that seem to have grown in prominence are Harry & David Rich, who have recently been featured on Charlie Dimmock’s (ooooooh, she’s a size now, isn’t she just?) Garden Rescue programme. In fact, they’ve quickly become known as gardening eye candy, although I guess it all depends upon what coloured spectacles you’re looking through. Eldest bro’ Harry (29), below-right, says, “We don’t really see ourselves as green-fingered pin-ups, but if we’re making gardening more
appealing to a younger audience, then we’ll definitely take that.” TBH, they’re young enough to be The Edge’s sons, which is alarming. But it’s true, gardening has grown in popularity exponentially of late and it’s all due to the fact that the garden is no longer looked upon as being separate to the home, but an extension of it, particularly with the popularity of bi-fold doors. Both brothers live with their long-term girlfriends who find their newly found heartthrob status “absolutely hilarious”. Yet these days the guys get to work alongside their old childhood crush, Charlie ‘no bra’ Dimmock, who is now 50 (but looks older) and shot to fame on Ground Force almost 25 years ago, along with Alan ‘Tit’chmarsh. “I had a secret crush on Charlie when I was growing up,” confesses David (26), while Harry chips in, “Charlie once told me she starred in a saucy calendar shoot when she was younger, which even outsold one by former lingerie model Caprice, and I think she’s secretly quite chuffed about that.” Harry launched Rich Landscapes in 2011, while David joined him 3 years later, and they were an immediate success. So much so that
After just over half-a-century of trading, it is with great sadness that Marie Horn Boutique on Can Bridge Way (see page 3) will be closing the doors of its very last shop. During her time, Marie has owned ladies fashion businesses in Westcliff, Shenfield, Brighton, Braintree, Great Baddow and Chelmsford, and throughout such time she has served many generations of wonderful people. Marie has sold so many young girls spectacular prom dresses, sourced countless magnificent mothers-of-the-bride and groom ensembles, and many an eye-catching race day fashionista, which were obviously accompanied by the most impressive hats. Additionally, she has even sold outfits to guests attending Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding, due to the outfit one of these guests chose from Marie Horn Boutique, they were subsequently named one of the ‘20 best dressed attendees’ on the magnificent day. The stunning design of the outfits that Marie Horn Boutique holds are produced by specially selected designers from Milan, Paris and London, making sure that each outfit is unique, exquisite and impeccable in both
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
in 2015 they became the youngest designers to win gold for a main garden at the Chelsea Flower Show - which is a sore point as Mrs Edge had tickets to be there this year. The boys credit being born and raised in the Brecon Beacons, South Wales, for their love of nature. “We didn’t realise it at the time,” says Harry, “but we were really lucky to grow up in an environment which allowed us to spend nearly all of our free time outdoors. We truly love nothing more than showing people how to make the most of their own outdoor space.” Now living in London, the brothers have learned how to make the most of even the smallest of garden spaces. David says, “I have a miniscule balcony, but I’ve packed it with a fig tree, climbing ivy and herbs. You see, the trick, whether you have a large space or a small space at your disposal, is to choose your plants wisely and only pick those that best suit the conditions.” It’s true, gardening really is cool, hip and trendy these days, and there’s nothing worse than seeing one that’s unloved and uncared for. So make the most of yours, readers, and email The Edge with your proud pics.
quality and design. This also meant that items were different to those found on the high street, from her stylish casual wear to her most extravagant evening wear, plus everything else in between. Not only have Marie’s clothes, hats and accessories always been spectacular, but so too has the incredible service customers have received from the staff that have worked there. Marie and her husband, Juan, have made many friends of their customers over the years and have always enjoyed hearing of the events they have attended and seeing pictures of the joyous occasions they have been present at. Therefore The Edge recommends that you make your last few trips to Marie Horn Boutique while you still can. Prices have been slashed as they offer their final reductions, with trousers and casual wear from just £10 and evening wear from £20. A wide range of sizes from 8-20 are catered for. Marie Horn Boutique has been a part of the Chelmsford community for many, many years and we wish Marie, Juan and their family the very best of health and happiness in the future.
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
MASSIVE BREACH OF ANAL PROTOCOL A man in Vienna has been fined nearly £500 for farting provocatively in front of police officers. Austrian police were forced to defend the penalty after the Österreich newspaper revealed the man had been punished for ‘offending public decency’. Officers argued that the offender was uncooperative and behaving provocatively with officers leading up to the incident. They wrote on Twitter, just like the Fat Orange Buffoon does, that the man had been sitting on a park bench before getting up, looking at them, and then letting go of some ‘massive intestinal wind’ apparently with full intent. The man can appeal his €500 (£447) fine.
ALL FOR THE LOVE OF A BARGAIN BUCKET
Hey, whatever happened to Kid’s Reading The Edge? Nope, they don’t have to be on the potty at the time, but simply email your entries to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Oh and the lady I was chatting to during Lockdown who sent me a photo of her son via Facecock... please email it to me instead!
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A traveller says he was left “humiliated” after KFC refused to serve him at a drive-through while he was riding his horse’n’cart. The 55 year old queued up and made it as far as the kiosk window, only for the manager to appear and say he would have to leave for the ’ealth’n’safety of other customers. But our man says he doesn’t understand, as his horse is as “good as gold”, adding: “Horse and carts were around long before motor cars.” Driver and steed, a seven-year-old Irish Cob, pitched up outside the KFC restaurant in Carlisle, Cumbria. He said: “I had queued up behind some cars and was about to order a Bargain Bucket when all of a sudden the manager appeared and said I wasn’t allowed to be served. I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d done nothing wrong. My horse was behaving itself; he was quiet as a lamb. But there was no reasoning with the bloke. So in the end I had to go to McDonald’s for a Big Mac. No one batted an eyelid there. They just served me my food.” He added: “I think my treatment by KFC has been downright disgusting and discriminatory against people who use horse and carts. But it’s a common way to get around where I come from.” But the fast food franchise has spoken out in defense of their manager’s decision to deny the Bargain Bucket, insisting health and safety standards were paramount. A KFC spokesman said: “Hold your horses. We’re not looking to stirrup any trouble. It’s just that we cannot allow horse drawn carriages in any of our drive-thru’s.” “Going around on a horse and carriage is just something I like to do,” says our chap. “I love my horse like people love their cats and dogs.” The Edge 01245 348256
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus
IT’S GOOD TO
BE BACK
Hola, dear readers. We are back and living in interesting times. It is a world that is unrecognisable from the time our last edition hit the streets. As I sit writing this article with an ever-pressing deadline, I realise it is not just The Edge that is back. It is actually ‘Flying Ant Day’ and they are driving me absolutely mad. The flying ant has just one day on earth. What a bummer to arrive for such, only to realise what a pile of shite earth currently is. So bad, in fact, that groups of flying ants probably took a quick look around and decided one day was probably enough! I have been fortunate enough to be fully employed throughout the crisis thus far. My employer dispatched me from Moorgate on 10th March and I have been working from home ever since. Also, at the time of writing, I am looking forward immensely to visiting a pub for the very first time since then. So by the time you read this in glorious print, I would hope to have had a few more visits under my belt. I honestly haven’t felt so excited about a visit to a pub since realising I could first get served in one circa 1976. Most recently my friends have been contacting me saying, “Oh, I expect you have got all of those outstanding jobs done then?” Er, no. I have been working fulltime as per normal. Neither have I managed to learn any guitar chords after 59 years of trying. Those that turn up in the office, whenever that may be, with unfinished projects, but having transformed themselves into Arnold Schwarzenegger, are also going to have a bit of explaining to do. The first four months of Lockdown has certainly made a few things clear. Ideas about working from home and how wonderful it is have been challenged, I expect. After all, it is a bit isolated way back here in the corner. I do miss, as many of my co-travellers do, my work colleagues and the social interaction. Skype and Zoom etc. are all well and good, but looking somebody in the eye is far better. Also my sheer and utter loathing of our train provider has remained undiminished. The lack of Turder Anglia in ones life is definitely a positive, as is NOT giving them several hundred pounds of your hard earned every month. Result. I haven’t missed the journey to work one bit, but strangely enough I miss my fellow commuters, as I now realise just how much material they provided me with for my articles. Also clearer now, after being at home with three women in the house, is that bra wearing has all but ceased, except for those rare visits outdoors. We may have a curtailment of freedom on some things, but certainly much freedom has been gained for ladies in that particular department. It has meant that I have become de facto door answerer for the ‘liberated’ of the household. Oh how our exhausted Amazon man’s hopes rise as he hears the chorus of: “You get
it. I’m not wearing a bra.” His disappointment is always as plain as his tiredness from the moment he sees me standing before him. The total non-importance of ‘celebrity’ has also been a positive outcome of the Covid-19 Lockdown situation. Everybody now understands it does not matter what anybody from Towie really thinks or dresses in. And the same applies for any other celebrities, except Tom Hanks. My ‘new’ office is overlooking the garden, which is my third location to date. Originally I was working in the kitchen, which proved to be way too untidy for Mrs M. So I was moved into the front room, with ditto the consequences. Finally, and based upon the notion that I will not be returning to Moorgate anytime soon, I had to get a carpenter in (once permitted, of course) to extend the desk in my man cave. These days it’s now incredibly untidy in there, but with the door closed, it’s a case of ‘job done’ so far as Mrs Mott is concerned. Naturally our cats have been destabilised by having their day disrupted by constant human presence. The 22 hours sleep they seem to be mostly dedicated to has become yet another Lockdown casualty. Not to mention the Lockdown dress code, which will become another issue for the return. Not sure HR are going to accept the ol’ sitting around in chuddies and t-shirt look that has become the new norm. Even my beloved tweed has taken a bit of a backseat during the crisis. Although this is, of course, excluding the rather fetching pair of tweed face masks I managed to obtain for trips outdoors. It is being mooted that when my company returns it will be on a rotation basis only, such as a week in the office and a few weeks at home, which I feel is a decent enough compromise in a brave new world. In the meantime, office small talk will now revolve around such topics as, “Have you cancelled any nice holidays this year?” 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. Did that just really happen? I’m completely in denial that my entire being has, for all intents and purposes, been stuck in freeze-frame mode since that fateful day in March when Bojo decreed that life as we know it would cease to be; that we’d enter some Twilight Zone/Groundhog Day existence when the highlight of the day would be perving over Joe Wicks in his black lycra PE kit, despite his insanely annoying insistence on reminding everyone that he lives in leafy Richmond (yawn) and can read a map of the world, all whilst prancing around in little more than his pants.
I’ve REALLY struggled, if I’m being honest -my ‘mask’ has well and truly slipped: Nic, the formidable, kick-ass gal about town was at times a total mess - and I don’t mean aesthetically either. The lippy was always on, even if it was just to go and top up on bottles of Fever Tree at the Sainsbury’s Local. What I mean is emotionally. My God, some days I would actually cry whilst watching re-runs of Loose Women it was that bad (my mood, not just the programme. What the actual f@ck? Maybe it has been the realisation of no far-flung vay-cay anytime soon, or perhaps the distinct lack of freedom to jump on a train and head into town for a little splurge at Selfridges. Chances are, it was probably just the bloody annoying requirement to scrub every grocery item to within an inch of its life with antibac before putting it in the fridge, or feeling compelled to clap like a performing seal every Thursday night that set me off. I have, in all honesty, been in mourning for my life B.C. (‘Before Covid’). Salon and nail appointments, eyelash and hair extensions, oh how I have missed you. But, truth be told, I have genuinely yearned most of all to see my gals and bitch & snitch and chide & deride ‘in situ’, at their side, in close quarters, with an incredibly large ‘double’ of something or other in hand. Dare I admit it, but it has taken this insane time to make me truly appreciate my Beaulieu cohorts, warts and all; yes, despite their annoying habits and rituals, their insistence on keeping up with and ultimately overtaking the competition and their little quirks and kinks (I would say ‘wrinkles’ but the resumption of beauty services has meant that these too have been botoxed out once more), I can finally say, hand on shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
heart, that I am sooooo grateful to be able to see them all in person again. We have obviously been very ‘adult’ about our ‘socially distant’ rendezvouses and observed the guidelines as instructed - apart from the time when Leanne went in for a full on girl-on-girl Prosecco-fuelled snog with Jo, simply to demonstrate how deliriously happy she was to see her. Oh, and the (short-lived) embarrassment of being told off by one of the new Channels residents for us all being drunk and disorderly under the watchful eye of the Henry VIII wood-carving! We’ve picnicked and partied and taken it in turns to host on more than a few occasions in our gorgeously over the top backyards. In fact, the one huge ‘plus’ of Lockdown is that the garden is looking wonderful and resembles an extension of a high-end rattan furniture showroom. Leanne’s antics once again featured heavily at our last hosted barbecue when she attempted to spin the Lazy Susan on our brand new 12 seater patio table, just using her arse-cheeks. At which point, Nat politely showed her to the front door. So, it hasn’t all been doom and gloom; at times I have wanted to drop-kick my significant other off of the mezzanine staircase in the hallway. Whilst at others, I have wanted to politely send back my mini-me and ask for a refund like I have so many of my impulse, attempt at mood-enhancing online purchases. In the main though, I think we have emerged from Lockdown more appreciative of each other and of basic ‘things’ in general. Let’s see how long that lasts, shall we? Certainly the six week ‘holidays’ should now be a doddle after what feels like 4 years of home-schooling. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever moan about what’s on TV again after being subjected to numerous ‘classic’ episodes of Eastenders. I am so looking forward to building new memories with my nearest and dearest, as well as being kind of excited to work out just how we get to holiday this summer without having to join the masses in a chintzy B&B on the south coast, or under canvas - I mean, who actually goes camping, global pandemic or not? And face-mask, I will totally embrace you if it means I can hand-pick a pair of ‘real’ Louboutins in a ‘real’ shop, rather than from a digital online representation - just make sure you’re a cloth one with a designer logo. Page 29
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We watched with baited breath as Boris went down with Covid himself. We saw the death figures rise and we learned to stay at home and amuse ourselves. I decluttered my house and undertook all of those jobs that I had been meaning to do for some time. Suddenly they were done. I even caught up with my friends on ‘House Party’ and ‘Zoom’. I did lots of writing and even helped man the Edge website, assisting my fellow writers in getting to grips with posting online. It felt good to be useful.
DOT.COM DELIVERY DRIVERS - THE EDGE SALUTES YOU! Another thing your editor tried, in order to earn a few quid during Lockdown, was being one of those in-store shoppers/pickers (you know, the peeps in the branded t-shirts you see with shopping carts in supermarkets and some sort of a technical device in their hands, doing shopping for customers who have ordered their groceries online). I did two shifts at Morrisons in Maldon, from 05:00am-11:30am, wearing one of their bottle green t-shirts with ‘Love to Help’ written on the back, and, in a word, I was completely shite at it. Edge columnist Yan/Jan (see page 11) did a stint at Chelmsford Tesco, where I’d worked as a stacker for 3 months, and said to me, “It’s easy, mate. You’ll smash it.” Smash that bastard hand-held device, more like! I honestly got to the point where I didn’t know right from left (my arse from my elbow, so to speak). Yet all of these young kids they employ generally take to it like a duck to water, probably because there’s nothing they love better than twatting around on their mobile phones every spare moment they have. So to them, it’s pretty much just more of the same. But to me, who cannot even fathom how to work Google Maps, it was like Rocket Science. Confused.com? You betcha. So, after just a couple of reet miserable shifts, me and Steve, the chappy responsible for that particular side of the business, looked at one another, sighed, and decided, nah, it just wasn’t for me. Which is how I came to meet Ed Alexander (see below) who is incredibly aged just 49 years young, whereas I’d have pegged him for early thirties on sight. I was meant to be doing another ‘picking’ shift the following day, only I said to Morrisons, “Look, you’re not utilising me to my best capabilities here, so why don’t I come in for FREE, I’m not asking for any money, and let me spend a morning out with one of your home delivery drivers, as I’m curious as to how that job works?” Manager Steve (yep, the very same Steve) said to me, “It’s not just driving, you know.” And then he picked up one of their dratted handheld devices and said, “You have to be able to use one of these.” And you do too, readers, as that’s where all the information’s kept, including routes, which houses you’re delivering to, at what time, plus what groceries per household. So it appeared that maybe that wasn’t going to be for me either, although driver Ed and I proper hit it off and it was wonderful, and I do mean wonderful, driving out on a load of really quiet roads in the likes of Mundon, Latchingdon, Mayland, Bradwell-on-Sea, Southminster, Burnham-on-Crouch etc., whilst those receiving their groceries really did seem very grateful indeed. Ed stalled the van once over, which I found proper hilarious, and he also told me he’d formerly been a Legionella Detector for the water board (yeah, that’s exactly what I thought too). What a diamond geezer he really is though, and a good cook too, so he says (he has heartily recommended bbcgoodfood.com to me). Once he sees himself in print, I’m even hoping to receive an invite for dinner from him, although I won’t hold my breath. Oh and guess what his missus is called? Alexandra. Yeah, since she married Ed, she’s now called Alexandra Alexander. WTF!
SURVIVING & THRIVING Wow, are we really back? How surreal have the past 4 months been for us all? People say there are defining moments in history that change the course and pattern of life. We often hear people saying that they remember exactly what they were doing and where they were when they heard that JFK/John Lennon/Lady Diana died. But I think in years to come Lockdown will become a defining moment for us all. That actual moment when Boris announced that we needed to “Go home and stay home to protect ourselves”. His chilling words “we will lose loved ones before their time.” Rich or poor, old or young, none of us knew who was going to die. Life became a lottery. For me, that moment of realisation came whilst I was sitting with my good friend Lisa at her house eating a beautiful dinner she had cooked. Lisa is a nurse who works for the NHS. Boris came on the television and made the announcement to go home and stay home. Self isolate. Lisa turned to me and said, “Look at the fear on his face.” Boris looked absolutely terrified as he spoke. We ate our dinner in silence. I left shortly afterwards and hugged my friend just that little bit tighter, knowing that she would be one of those magnificent ‘key workers’ who would have to don the uniform, pile on the PPE and bravely go out there into the very thick of it all to try and help those in need. I did not know if I would ever see Lisa again. I cried in the car driving home that evening. I also cried with fear for my son, who is a Type 1 Diabetic with heart problems and asthma. He brought home his laptop and began to build his office in his bedroom to completely isolate himself. I watched as he and his girlfriend parted ways for the duration of Lockdown, sad to not know when they would see each other again.
Morrisons of Maldon temporary Dot.Com home delivery driver ‘Edward Alexander I’ (the one and only) as no offspring required Page 30
Life changed. We relied on good people to get us our food. My friend Tina came and went into the thick of it, putting herself at risk of the dreaded virus to make sure we had sufficient supplies. It’s something I will never forget. She was so brave to go and queue at the supermarket for us all.
We got through the worst and screamed at the News on TV as people began to break Lockdown to go to the beach in their droves. Ridiculous. But we got through it, although some days were really tough. Being isolated at home was lonely. My son and I went for our very first walk on VE Day, but both of us simply wanted to get back home to be safe. It was as if we had become institutionalised. Lockdown eventually eased and we emerged into a ‘New World’. I had an amazing birthday during Lockdown which coincided with the Hair Salons reopening, although going to the hairdressers was no longer a pampered experience that I once loved. I had to don a mask and sit in a chair while my stylist was only able to make the most minimal conversation. There were no drinks, no magazines and hair washing was a feat of endurance as I held a shield in front of my face in order to lean back in the chair. There was only so much I could take, so I left with wringing wet locks! And so, the one million dollar question: “Do I think Covid-19 will return for a second wave?” Yes, I honestly do. I don’t think it’s done with us by a long chalk. I hope that I am very, very wrong here, but I just have a feeling that we have only scratched the surface so far as this dreadful virus is concerned. So it is time to change. And time to stop lazily dumping used gloves and masks out of the vehicle window. It’s a time to continue washing our hands and disposing of our rubbish carefully. To stop flitting from person to person on Tinder and such like, and start building a relationship bubble with the one person we can rely on to help us in times of need. I do think that everyone is being just that little bit kinder to each other right now and long may that continue. I think if we do this properly we can embrace the change for good. It has been forced upon us, but now is the time to look at the positives and make the changes within us all, because we will have to wear face masks and sanitise for a long time to come. So I think we all deserve a bit of a clap on the back and a medal for surviving and thriving against a scenario none of us could ever have envisaged in our wildest dreams.
tracie123@aol.com
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