The Edge Magazine April 2022

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EDGE

the

APRIL 2022

‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’

ISSUE NO: 301

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The Dead Hand of Dominique finds Essex rogue Steven Mason narrating his search for his boss’s missing girlfriend, Dominique.

His discovery of a severed hand in Mickey Finn’s old fridge acts as the catalyst to a series of encounters with people that live on the margins, as well as those thriving in the rarefied air of privilege, all of whom have something in common - a piece of the jigsaw that helps Steven in his quest to discover the truth.

Immediately the reader is drawn to Marlowe’s anti-hero protagonist and this newly published thriller’s dark and villainous plots and sub-plots.

With its characters coming from a world where people do whatever it takes to meet their needs and wants, the author’s skilful wordsmithery has delivered a true page-turner that reflects many of the social issues that have influenced people over the past few years.

A stand-out must-read for devotees of left-of-field characterisation and black comedic moments as evidenced in films such as In Bruges, Seven Psychopath’s and Three Billboards, local Chelmsford author Simon Marlowe unquestionably has a very bright future.

Synopsis: Steven Mason, a young career villain, needs to find his boss’s girlfriend, Dominique. Straightaway he knows things are not going to be easy when he finds a dead hand in Mickey Finn’s old fridge.

So begins a series of encounters: St. Mary with a limp wrist; Dominique’s husband, Texas - a semi-retired gigolo; his vicious brother Greg; rent boys; a psychiatrist and an exceedingly corrupt detective.

As Steven realises he’s uncovering a bitter dispute between two gangs, so division and betrayal make him both hunter and hunted.

He will need to decide whom he can trust, torn between his loyalties and his attraction to his friend’s girlfriend, not to mention what the outcome will be with a caged parrot.

Published by Cranthorpe Millner Publishers in November 2021, The Dead Hand of Dominique is available in Kindle format (£1.99) to pre-order on Amazon at: https://amzn.to/3obXUzT It is also available to pre-order in paperback (£8.99) from the publishers at https://bit.ly/3uiApGe and also at Waterstones at https://bit.ly/3uiFhLJ

Moulsham Mill stands as a testament to the power of the River Chelmer, which gives Chelmsford its name. The river flows through the town to the River Blackwater near Maldon. At one time, there were three working mills standing on the stretch of the River Chelmer at the centre of the town; Springfield Mill, Moulsham Mill and Barnes Mill. All three of these mills relied on the power of the river to drive the millstones to make the flour.

My father, Gordon Readman, was fourteen when he started working for W & H Marriage & Sons as a blacksmith. After serving his national service in the army, he returned home from Egypt and met and married my mother. In 1966 my father got the job as the foreman at Moulsham Mill and my family moved into the cottage between the mill and the ‘big house’.

Living at the mill was like stepping back in time. As a child I can remember being woken in the early morning hours by the cottage shuddering as the mill burst into life when my father started up the machinery. Things clattered and rattled as thick leather belts drove wheels and cogs throughout the mill. On a Saturday, my mother would send me into the mill to look for my father when dinner was ready. Dad could be anywhere, which gave me the opportunity to explore. Upon entering, I had to allow my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, as the lighting was poor within, as odd light bulbs hung here and there from the low ceilings. Once my eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, I then climbed the stairs to the next level in search for my father. The further up I went, the narrower the ladders became, as I climbed to the very top of the building.

Before my father entered our home for dinner, I would always hear him stamping his feet to knock the dust off his boots. Then he would brush himself down and remove his once green beret, now completely white with flour dust.

I used to love the wonderful smells the different cereals gave off as they were being processed, and the feeling of the smooth, golden wood under my fingertips as the many hands and feet over the years had worn the wood down as the millers climbed up and down the staircase. The top floor was my favourite. When the mill wasn’t running, the absolute silence combined with the sunlight streaming through the dusty windows gave the floor an almost church-like quality, while the large windows looked out upon amazing views across Chelmsford, down by the river, and across the Baddow Meads.

In 1974, the mill became obsolete and my father’s job moved to Chelmer Mill. We moved away from the cottage in 1979 and the mill became a craft centre. But I consider myself truly lucky to have seen the mill while it was still working, as it had done since 1878.

Paula R.C. Readman Author of: Seeking The Dark - https://mybook.to/seekingthedark Stone Angels - https://mybook.to/stoneangels The Funeral Birds - https://mybook.to/thefuneralbirds Days Pass Like a Shadow - https://mybook.to/dayspasslikeashadowBlog: https://paularcreadmanauthor.blog Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Paula-R-C-Readman/e/B00A9UHMSO/ Facebook: https://facebook.com/paula.readman.1 Twitter: Paula R C Readman@Darkfantasy13 LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/paula-r-c-r540680b3 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/grannywenlock/ Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/paularc

THE EDGE: So you’re an Essex bloke, aren’t you, Simon?

SIMON MARLOWE: I was born and bred in Essex. When I was growing up, most kids just wanted to leave, due to it being a boring, soulless, suburban hole. Whereas these days it has a reputation for chaviness, which is snobbery for looking down on people, and/or poor working class kids chasing celebrity status (i.e. the reality TV show TOWIE). But, like with anything, there’s a lot to unpick. Some of the cliches are true, but there are also parts of Essex, such as its seaside towns, which are either quaint, retro or desolate. There is also a patchwork of small villages which have olde world thatched cottages and black timbers propping up buildings full of subsidence. But I think the best parts of Essex are out towards the coast, the estuaries, the 400 plus islands, the marshes and the comforting bleakness of the flat farmland, which has a certain melancholy.

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sat way too close to the windscreen, as some women unfortunately have a tendency to do (suck it up, ladies. It’s a fact that some of you do drive that way). To which I then omitted a second VERBAL VOLLEY, along the lines of: “I might have bloody well known. Fecking typical!” etc. etc. (I’m sure you get the gist of it?).

However, it’s simply IRRITATING in the extreme, isn’t it? Being tooted at. Worse still when you’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

Perhaps the sun was shining on my rear n/s indicator and the stupid bitch didn’t see it?

I don’t know.

But what I do know for a damn certainty is that with a mop of fussy ginger hair like that, that woman would undoubtedly have a BRIGHT PINK ‘EYE OF HORACE’.

The Edge Editor’s Column THE ART OF MOANING

SPRING ARRIVES EARLY By mid-March this year, and what a welcome surprise it was too. Which now means that, in an ideal world, I only need to be out of Blighty for January, February and the first two weeks of March in future, once all my dreams come true.

TOAST Great name. Great coffee. Great service.

Situated right beside the river on Chelmsford’s stone bridge. Sit outdoors early in the morning sunshine and you could almost be in Amsterdam. Correct, ‘almost’.

HERE WE GO AGAIN Well yes, The Edge has been published all over again. So was it all just a ruse? No, not a bit of it. I’d still like you all very much to contribute a quid whenever you pick up a copy of The Edge.

THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 077 646 7 97 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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It’s come to my attention of late (yes, only ‘of late’, as a matter of fact, but then people do tend to talk behind your back, don’t they, so you very often don’t get to hear) that I moan a lot.

However, in my defence, I kind of figure that there’s generally a fair amount to moan about.

Take this morning. I was driving along Parkway, heading from the cricket ground to the Army & Navy. I’d been in the correct lane all the way and indicated in advance of pulling into the layby outside Rayleigh Sound & Vision to top up The Edge’s dispenser, only to be aggressively tooted-up from my rear admiral quarters.

To which I proper EXPLODED inside my car (albeit with the windows up as it was still a bit chilly): “I say, what do you think you’re doing back there, honking me up as though I’ve done something wrong?” I moaned (with a fair few F’s and possibly even a C-word in amongst it all).

As the culprit drove past, I noticed it was an ugly frizzy ginger haired woman, wearing specs,

VERY NICE LADY Only then I go and receive an email from a lady called Pam Pamphilon (yes, it is an unusual surname, isn’t it) on 15th March, which read: “I’ve been reading your mag for some years now and it has always amazed me that it is free.

I’D BE WILLING TO PAY FOR IT. The Edge is much more interesting than the female mags I buy and they cost me up to £4 each.”

So I replied saying “Bless you, Pamela” and directed her to The Edge’s GoFundMe and PayPal applications.

Only then, the following day, Pamela replied: “I really don’t know how to donate online. I’m 83 and anything online is beyond me. But I can send you a cheque if you email me your address.”

Which tickled me pink.

I mean, just how lovely is that?

Naturally, I am letting Pam off her ‘quid per issue’ payments. But the remainder of you, please fast forward to page 15 and give generously, readers. Or else The Edge is buggered.

STOKE BRUERNE While this particular issue was at the printers, me and Mrs Edge continued our half-hearted search for ‘somewhere else to live’ (at some stage) with a brief visit to Stoke Bruerne, completely on a whim, which is just south of Northampton.

Then, the following day, we’ll have driven over to have a mosey about within the ‘upside-down triangle’ shape that forms Downham Market, Dereham and Thetford in Norfolk, so I’ll no doubt be letting you know how we got on in the May issues.

By the way, any of you readers that would care to let us know of any other places/areas they would recommend in either Suffolk or Norfolk, please feel free to email The Edge as we’re definitely open to suggestions.

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As well as there being 10,000 physical copies of The Edge produced each & every month, were you aware that The Edge has over 12,000 online followers?

No readers, your editor wasn’t either, as I’m not very au fait with the whole online movement and that’s the truth.

But apparently the figures on 15th March 2022 were as follows:TWATTER 5,130 But it’d be nice if you did, as The Edge will most certainly cease to be if you don’t.

Yes, I know it’s boring, me bringing this to your attention. It’s just that last month you simply didn’t donate enough quids, save for a very few of you kind, decent souls.

But many of you don’t mind spending three times that on a take-out coffee every single day, which quickly becomes £60-£70pm.

The EDGE is worth a quid per month, isn’t it? I need it to become a reflex action.

FACECOCK Shaun Edge 4,645 The Edge 1,800 INSTAGRAM 895 So what I’d now like to do is increase the number of subscribers who receive The Edge online each and every month as it costs you sweet bugger all to do so.

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When I’m not doing The Edge, upon occasion, your editor will infrequently go on a trip with ‘Lurch the Surveyor’ to wherever his work takes him.

The other Monday morning (leaving Ongar at 07:30am sharp), we ventured up to The Midlands, which as its name suggests is neither north nor south (ickle geography lesson for some of you there, as Mrs Edge is hopeless at knowing where places are).

And dear oh dear, look what we found.

“Due to a burst water main on a small housing estate, built on an old gravel pit,” Lurch informed me in a reet professional tone, “the fill material got washed away, causing the houses to sink.”

Shocking, eh?

But hey, at least the ‘Heras Fencing’ came out in support of Ukraine.

This is the ‘camera thingy’ that Lurch looks through when he’s ordering me about and telling me where to position the ‘staff’ (which looks like a bloody big barcode, if you ask me). He always wears a Hi-Vis jacket so that people know he’s ‘the boss’ - mainly because as I’m 15 years his senior, he doesn’t want anyone thinking that he is my lackey/bitch.

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Keeping with the surveying theme, they say you cannot teach an ‘old dog’ (Lurch, aged 45) new tricks, although your editor begs to differ.

Upon occasion, surveyors have to bang these ‘screw things’ (which they pompously call ‘road markers’) into the ground/concrete for lackeys like Ye Olde Edge Edge to position the staff/barcode on.

Only look what a complete and utter abortion ‘old hand’ Lurch makes of the job (see below left), as compared to his work colleague, and understudy, Scott Grace (below right).

Personally speaking, I had butterflies in my stomach when I saw what former male model Scott was capable of. I mean, it’s so neat, detailed and precise. Whereas give Lurch an aerosol canister and it’s as though he thinks he’s taking a dump on the tarmac.

There’s just no sophistication. None whatsoever.

All things considered, I think it harks back to his D- grade in Art/Design classes in his final year at school and the lonely weekends he would spend randomly spraying graffiti around Chelmsford onto anything that was stationary and didn’t have a pulse.

‘Lengthy-Boy woz ‘ere’ was pretty much his moniker.

Nothing cultured or understated, you understand. Just BANG, CRASH, WALLOP, have some of that. I was passing, so I thought I’d let people know I’ve been ’ere (sniff).

Although now he’s seen the ‘Grace Effect’, let’s just see, shall we?

The Edge 01245 348256

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There is not much worse than that feeling of dread and self-pity that something seriously painful is clearly in the post, coupled with that sense of panic of just what fresh hell the next morning might bring.

theedgemag.co.uk/subscribe receivetheedgedirectto yourtabletorcough mixtureorlaptopor whereverthehellyou wanttoreceiveit withoutleaving yourhomeoryour officeoryour deckchair. it’sverysimple. allyouneedtodo isSUBSCRIBE

As we get older, hangovers also seem to change in their physicality. Previously taking revenge principally on your head or stomach, hangovers now seem to spread throughout the whole of your body and involve aches and pains in joints and muscles you never even realised you had, not to mention heartburn, shakes, and sweats. At worst, you wake up experiencing much like you imagine a full body cast would feel, and when you drag yourself up to shuffle like a 90 year old to the toilet, you wonder whether you were actually run over by a ten ton truck the previous night, which you have very little recollection of.

I find myself writing this month’s column in the throes of a pretty crushing hangover following an incredible night out with friends at ‘Mamma Mia - The Party’, currently showing at the O2. It’s an immersive theatre experience that replicates a raucous night in a greek taverna, as a story and live music plays out all around you. I think it’s safe to say I had more than a few too many Retsinas and retrospectively the one merciful silver lining was no one came round with the Ouzo.

It got me thinking about how different hangovers used to be in my 20s, and wondering at exactly what point in my life they became so crucifyingly brutal.

Back in the halcyon days of my youth, I used to be a Club 18-30 rep, which basically meant I had 4 consecutive summers of my life that were one long insane night out (particularly the 2 spent in Ibiza). Even back home in the UK, I was always one of the most prolific party animals; the one who was insistent that everyone could and would come out again on the Saturday, after totally destroying themselves on the Friday, and invariably the one buying ‘hair of the dog’ shots for everyone at the start of the night in an attempt to shake off the lingering dregs of our fuzzy heads.

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Back then, consecutive crazy wild nights out came as standard (in my final year of uni I think I pretty much went out every night). I had complete belief in my own invincibility and immortality and remember thinking that older people who complained of loss of stamina had merely lost their tolerance for the crazy life through lack of practice.

However, all too soon you somehow find yourself on the wrong side of 40, battling a violent 3 day hangover, thinking just how blissfully ignorant and misguided you were back then.

Nowadays the recovery time from a good night out is more than double the amount of time you actually spend enjoying yourself (or more) and sometimes the hangover has already started even before you get into bed.

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Previously, a few hours extra kip, a pint of water and a Big Mac was sufficient to facilitate recovery and restore equilibrium.

Whereas nowadays they can and often will last for days, with no way of knowing each morning whether this will finally be the day you get to feel half-human again.

As a carefree overseas rep/student, my hangovers could be nurtured in peace. But now, as a mum of three, the idea of peace is as far removed from reality as the next galaxy. Any parent will generally agree that the most painful type of hangover is the one where you still have to be a parent. In fact, the arrangement of a babysitter for your offspring critically needs to involve childcare for the morning after the night before, otherwise you spend most of your evening vainly attempting to curb your shenanigans, as the impending sense of dread at the prospect of parenting with a hangover looms over you.

You can bet your bottom dollar that your children will develop a sixth sense regarding your morning after fragility, and will be noisier, more argumentative and more demanding than ever, leaving you sobbing into your pillow as you bitterly regret your life choices involving rose gin chasers the night before.

Ironically, it’s always that ‘one last drink’ that seems quite literally like the best idea you’ve ever had at the time, but which unequivocally proves to be your absolute downfall; the final nail in your proverbial coffin.

And it’s always at that exact low point, as you debate whether to make a few calls and say your final goodbyes (just in case you don’t make it through this time) when you mutter threats about “never drinking again”, “knowing your limits” and “never mixing the grape and the grain....” Your willpower is always rock solid, until someone invites you out on a Sunday night, to Nikos’ Greek Taverna, where somebody keeps bringing you wine and everybody wants you to dance. All your good intentions fade into the background and are replaced by your screechy rendition of ‘Dancing Queen’. Many hours later, as you ride your metaphorical, wobbly wine scooter home, the harsh reality of the morning in just a few short hours beckons, along with the realisation that it will undoubtedly bring dehydration, suffering, 3 marauding children and the school run, and you vow to yourself that if you can somehow survive this, it really WILL be the last time.... Maybe ;)

Follow Mel on Instagram at @everyonefed_nobodydead and on Facecock at https://www.facebook.com/everyonefednobodydead/

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But do any of you know what it is and/or where it is?

There’s a clue in the title of this little piece, but I may as well tell you, as The Edge was pretty impressed with the area that is known as Cardiff Bay, which is about a mile away from Cardiff city centre itself.

Lurch and I stayed over in Cardiff Bay recently after yet another surveying trip, this time in Port Talbot.

Above is the Millennium Centre and it’s pretty domineering, isn’t it?

You can’t help but notice it, especially with the late afternoon sun catching it just so, as the photogenic Lurch managed to capture it to perfection while we were out having a wander.

Cardiff Bay’s nowhere near as busy as the centre of Cardiff itself, which we took a stroll to for some Thai food in the evening, but I liked it all the more for that. It also boasts a rather impressive ’Spoons (I don’t think I’ve ever been in one as big) where they served the perfect pint of Abbot Ale for just £2.39. (The more you drink, the more you save!)

What’s more, the vista from the top floor almost made me feel as though I was on holiday, although I’ve forgotten what one of those is.

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Rome, Empires & Stuff In my February article I reported on my trip to Kiev and referred to ‘the ominous build-up of Russian troops in the Donbass conflict zone’, as well as ‘much speculation that Putin is poised to invade’. How tragically prophetic my comments sound following the events of the past weeks.

Had I delayed my visit to Ukraine’s capital I could have been working as The Edge’s war correspondent.

My article also stated that things appeared to be returning to normal. Sadly ‘normal’ isn’t looking too rosy, is it? Suddenly our world isn’t the benevolent place we’ve naively assumed.

Edge of the World travel correspondent. Embarks on assignments in a futile effort to preserve his sense of youth, always acknowledging that he ‘Won’t pass this way again’.

In my March article I expressed my concern for future generations and my angst about the state of the world into which my first grandchild has recently been born.

With ample justification I genuinely believe that life isn’t going to be quite as easy, as comfortable, or as safe as it’s been for The Edge’s ‘mature’ audience. Courtesy of the post-war, post-cold war peace dividend and an extended era of economic growth and seemingly guaranteed generational improvements in standards of living, we’ve had it bloody good. Perhaps we’ll look back on such decades as a purple patch or golden age. What a time to have been alive!

In its place we’re already starting to experience the discomfort of rapidly rising inflation, a decline in real terms household income, an energy crisis, falling life expectancy, the collapse of healthcare systems and the reality of living with an endemic disease that’s already killed over six million people. Oh, and let’s throw in the previously unthinkable possibility that we could all perish in a nuclear apocalypse. However, if you’re still reading this article, there’s a reasonable chance we haven’t all been vaporised (yet). Even better news is that issue 301 of The Edge has hit-the-streets.

Civilisations have come and gone over the millennia so it’s rather fitting that I’m

writing this article in Rome. Fascinated as I am by history and the relics of empires, the city has always been on my bucket list. In that sense, this trip indulges my personal imperialist ambitions; ones I have now achieved at modest expense with the assistance of Airbnb and Michael O’Leary’s yellow and blue air force. By contrast, the cost of Vladimir Putin’s despotic ambitions to re-establish the boundaries of Russia’s Tsarist and Soviet empires will be immense and measured in human suffering and loss of life.

I’m writing these notes sitting bathed in Rome’s spring sunshine with an espresso for company. Steeped in 2,500 years of history the city is an open air museum with examples of classical, Romanesque, renaissance, baroque and neoclassical architecture at every turn. Like most major cities a river runs through it. In this case a filthy, toxic river completely devoid of life. It’s apparently been so for hundreds of years. You’ll know that I’m fond of metaphors, but surely the state of the Tiber has to be a classic comment on the failings of successive civilisations with their fixation on consumption and sod all concern for the consequences. Shit happens, but let’s just flush it into the river (and the sea) and hope for the best.

What is absolutely obvious when you visit the Pantheon, or the Colosseum, or the Forum, is that the Romans were bloody clever. Their civil engineering achievements, craftsmanship and the infrastructure they created is breathtaking. Construction of The Pantheon commenced over 2,000 years ago, but it still boasts the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome and the Colosseum itself could still function as a major stadium capable of accommodating 75,000 spectators; which is more than the Hammers attract to the London Stadium on a good day.

Rome isn’t my first visit to the site of an ancient civilisation or past empire though.

I’ve been privileged to have visited Teotihuacán, near Mexico City, the home of a mysterious Mesoamerican civilisation. Then in Sri Lanka I climbed Sigiryia, the Lion Rock, ancient capital of King Kashyapa, while in Cambodia I was captivated by Angkor Wat the centre of Suryavarman II’s Khmer Empire.

Then, of course, we had the British Empire, the most extensive of all time and in the eyes of some the true golden age of civilisation upon which the sun has still never set. At its height in the early 20th century it occupied nearly a quarter of the earth’s land area and held sway over nearly a quarter of the world’s population. How jolly grateful those countries must be that the British, the good guys with totally honourable and benevolent imperialist ambitions, graced them with an invasion. Except we didn’t call it an invasion; back in the day the British, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Belgians and Dutch called it ‘colonisation’. Whatever, surely it was but a small price to pay having their natural resources plundered, their populations decimated by novel diseases, their people subjugated and an alien religion, culture and administration imposed upon them. Thankfully, that would never happen today. Oh, hang on…!

The reality is that the British Empire, like all before and since, was not eternal. All of history’s civilisations and empires have ultimately faltered and collapsed and what generally follows is regression. In Europe’s case, after Rome fell, we entered the dark ages with an extended period of economic, cultural and intellectual decline lasting hundreds of years until the dawn of the renaissance.

I was talking earlier today to a learned Italian lady about the demise of the Roman empire. As she proceeded to explain the how, why and when, I sensed a growing concern. She explained that the Roman empire collapsed due to a number of conspiring factors, including the incompetence of its government and administration, endemic and pandemic deceases, a mass influx of refugees (apparently the Goths were fleeing the Huns), divisions in politics and society, attacks from Barbarian foreign armies and even a degree of climate change. Does any of this sound vaguely familiar? Should we be concerned, given that just about all of these themes are precisely aligned once again now? Increasingly the climate change deniers, the net zero refuseniks and those who believe that ever increasing consumption and economic growth is somehow a sustainable model are starting to look incredibly naïve.

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Presently we’re wrestling with the Covid pandemic, global warming, the war in Ukraine, a social media obsessed society divided as never before, states sponsoring misinformation, distrust in democratic processes and the total abandonment of any integrity in government. Could these factors herald the tipping point and foretell the next collapse of civilisation?

For the sake of my children and my grandchildren I desperately hope my pessimism is misplaced, because the next collapse of civilisation won’t be defined by national borders or confined to continents. Such is the extent of globalisation, international interconnectivity and interdependency in this digital age, I reckon that any collapse, however it’s triggered, would afflict the entire planet and would be an existential threat to humanity.

I’ll end on that positive note. But I’m sure it’s all going to be fine. Human civilisation will prevail and at the vanguard of geopolitical and social commentary, The Edge will forge on for yet another 300 issues.

Anyway, my tonnarelli cacio e pepe has just arrived, and then I’m off to get a gelato and stroll along the Via del Corso. Life’s looking better already. wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com Page 10

The Edge 01245 348256

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When conservationist Chris Packham saw a badger he had befriended lying dead in the road, he was so upset he felt compelled to write an emotional tribute to its passing.

In a moving eulogy on Twitter, the television presenter said he had first come across the badger last year, during lockdown, and went to see the female every evening, admiring both her beauty and her ‘standoffish nature’.

But recently he found the badger, which he had named Golden Sow, fatally struck by a passing vehicle.

In his tribute, Chris wrote: “I met this beautiful badger back in the spring, during lockdown, and I went to see her every night. Slowly I won her trust. I named her the 'Golden Sow' because she appeared haughty, more stand-off-ish than some in her group, and this made her my favourite. But one night I found her just lying there, dead, still warm, in the middle of a straight road with a 30mph speed limit.”

He added: “I don't see how anyone could not have seen her and I honestly don't understand why they just left her there. She was beautiful. What is wrong with people?”

He continued: “I picked her up and sat in my car with her on my lap.

She smelled lovely; all musty, sharp, and of the woods. I touched her nose and stroked her head, smoothed her ruffled fur down and felt her long, perfect paws. She was heavy, probably about to give birth.

“She was made of the place I love. She had teased and taunted me, emerging from her sett. She had held my breath as I lay frozen on her ground. She had made my heart skip beats. Yet now hers remains forever still.”

According to recent figures, 39 animals, including six badgers, five pheasants and five hedgehogs, are reported killed on UK roads every single day.

More than 14,600 animals are run over and killed each year, with the A1 and the M6 responsible for the largest numbers.

However, the true number is thought to be far higher, as most deaths are never reported.

The Badger Trust estimates that more than 50,000 badgers are run over and killed each year, while a study by Nottingham Trent University in 2020 estimated that as many as 335,000 hedgehogs are killed on UK roads every single year.

Chris Packham's account left many of his social media followers in tears, with several calling for greater protection for wildlife through schemes such as nature corridors, which would allow animals to cross over or underneath busy roads.

Annelisa, an amateur photographer, wrote: “Your beautiful words and compassion brought a tear to my eye. I also found one of my clan dead on the road outside my home last year, in a 20mph speed limit.

There is never any excuses for needless speeding.”

Ash Gerrard, a design student, said: “I’d just driven down to Cornwall and back when I heard of your distress. Around 800 miles of driving and I honestly could not believe the sheer amount of dead badgers I saw lying beside busy roads.”

Chris concluded: “I simply couldn’t let her go. I took her home with me and, the next day, I lay her down in the sunshine, beside me, beneath a tree, as I listened to everything she could no longer hear and smelt everything she could no longer smell. What a tragic waste of such a beautiful, beautiful creature.”

It goes without saying that The Edge is pretty partial to Packham. www.theedgemag.co.uk

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When I’m out on secondment with Lurch in his top-of-the-range Mondeo estate (Audi call their estate cars avants, don’t they? But when you’re driving a common-or-garden Ford, they’re simply known as estates) with all of his surveying gear rattling around in the back, we discuss many things in order to while away the miles whilst we’re out on the open road, and the other day, the subject of hemorrhoids/ piles raised it’s ugly head, hence the image above (well, The Edge could hardly show a picture of a real sphincter, could it?).

Now Lurch has a little bit of history with the old ‘grapes’ so I thought I’d sound him out, as the other morning, whilst showering, I thought I could feel a very miniature aberration of my otherwise spectacular ‘starfish’ (who on god’s earth thinks up these analistic names?).

Which was at the precise moment that Lengthy-Boy brought up yet another ‘name for it’ and immediately had me in stitches. And that moniker was (wait for it) ‘The Eye of Horace’, which is not to be confused with ‘The Eye of Horus’....or maybe, perhaps, it is?

But the ‘bottom’ line was, I found it exceedingly amusing indeed.

I’ll tell you something for nothing, readers: The Edge is not a fan of these particular service station toilets at all.

Oh they whoosh your bodily functions away alright; a bit like those toilets do on aeroplanes, after which a chap feels mightily relieved his ‘meat and two veg’ haven’t been sucked down the turdscuttle with it.

But the thing about these mauve & orange affairs is that conscientious blokes, like your editor, as a matter of fact, are all about the ‘courtesy flush’. Only you can’t do that with this particular design as the flushbutton is concealed on the panel immediately behind you, which is impossible to reach while the toilet seat is raised.

Whoever in their right mind thought of such a damned stupid configuration as that, eh?

Oh and just look at the list of things we’re supposedly not allowed to flush away, such as plastic bottles, nappies....hang on, was your editor in the ladies lavs by mistake, I am now wondering???

You’d think it would be common sense, wouldn’t you, but clearly there are many folk who try to flush all sorts of things down ‘someone else’s crapper’ that they wouldn’t dream of flushing down their own toilet.

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www.training-space.co.uk NAVIGATION ROAD, CHELMSFORD, CM2 6ND Page 12

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Wouldn’t it be lovely if Chelmsford boasted beauty of such magnitude, rather than being put to shame by the likes of bloody Cardiff?

Moving on, I hear we’re decided upon the ‘hamburger solution’ to solve our Army & Navy traffic congestion problems, once they get around to building it (as reported in The Edge’s October’21 editions).

Trouble is, it’ll solve sweet bugger all, because what Chelmsford oh so desperately needs is to keep the traffic moving, with a two-lane flyover or underpass (either would have done). Yet we’re getting a ‘hamburger’ instead (editor rolls eyes and looks up to heaven).

Well, at least it’ll stop those pesky Russian tanks when the lights turn to red is all The Edge can say about this ultra annoying matter.

Do you know, readers, I conscientiously make a point about never being out in Chelmsford in a motor vehicle of any description between 8am-9am and 3pm-6.30pm Monday to Friday and never ever between 9.30am-6pm on a Saturday.

How (seriously) sad is that?

Surely it shows that something ain’t right.

Yet I drive the length and breadth of the country surveying with Lurch, only to get caught up in traffic as soon as I get back to Chelmsford.

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the Dark Knight.

The director wanted to put emphasis on Batman’s detective skills, which haven't really been shown in previous outings, and highlight why, in the comics, he is known as ‘the world's greatest detective’.

This film already had a lot of pressure on it to produce the goods, due to Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy, starring Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne/Batman and with a running time of three hours it needed to hit-the-ground-running from the opening sequence to hold a torch to the previous movies.

POLIT INCO ICALLY RREC T

17th MARCH 05.50am That was the time I got up this morning to go to the gym and boy, do I feel better for it.

A few years back I would always get up at around 05.00am and put in a good hour-and-a-half’s session to kick-start my day, and this would often be five days a week; sometimes even seven days, when I could afford the time.

I felt so good for it as well. Even with the early start I found I had more energy than I would have done had I simply laid in.

Then, as they say, ‘life got in the way’ and all of my good intentions seem to fallen by the wayside for one reason or another. But actually getting myself out of bed that bit earlier and doing just a forty-five minute workout reminded me of the reason why I used to get up at that time of day in the first place.

Already today the world seems a better place, just by me getting up early, doing some exercise and setting myself up for the day ahead.

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Now the question is, can I keep my good habits going again?

Well, it's St. Patrick’s Day and I do love a pint of Guinness. Oh and on top of that, West Ham have their second leg in the last 16 tonight.

So all things considered, maybe I'll restart my good intentions all over again on Monday, not tomorrow.

Well, I can vouch it most certainly does pack-a-punch, and then some. From the moment the opening score and the voiceover begins and the camera shows Matt Reeves’ interpretation of a dark, gloom, rainy and doomed Gotham City, I instinctively knew I was in for one hell of a ride. The atmosphere felt every bit as good as I remember it watching Zodiac and Seven, with The Batman out to catch a serial killer in the guise of The Riddler.

I won't say anymore as I don't want to spoil any of the plot’s twists and turns for you. But what I will say is that it is now set up fantastically well for a sequel (or sequels, as it’s due to be a trilogy) and has set in place the character of Bruce Wayne as The Batman to develop, grow and evolve.

Be warned though that it's far closer to a comic graphic novel than previous Dark Knight outings and might not be everyone's cup of tea, as the wife only gave it 6/10.

But for all true fans of ‘the world's greatest detective’, I'd honestly give it 9/10.

It’s also worth watching out for a truly unrecognisable Colin Farrell playing The Penguin.

Until next time (hopefully)!

Stay safe.

The Polak. x

THE BATMAN Along with No Time To Die, this was the next blockbuster movie I'd been looking forward to seeing on the big screen.

After facing delay after delay for a release date, The Batman finally came out at the beginning of March.

It promised to be a totally different version of ‘The Bats’ then we have seen before, this time doing away with an original story, as that's been done too many times already, and instead starting it during the second year of The Batman being Page 14

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AN UPDATE FROM THE EDITOR

301

YAYYYYYY!

AFTER ALL, WHAT C GET F AN YOU OR A Q THESE UID DAYS, EH???

Not ev en a coffee Yet so . m spend e of you £3 per day on bre ws!

search: editortheedgemag@gmail.com Oh, and do it as ‘Friends & Family’ (wink)!

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gofund.me/32db649a

of Think rt of o s it as a OX! STY B p HONE e v de lo Please donating IT of a HAB very single e £1 for f issue o ! e g d E The

Issue Number

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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Do you remember The Clangers, readers?

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They were a bunch of strange little mouselike creatures in pink woolen suits (knitted by a lady called Joan Firmin, if you were wondering) who inhabited another planet. In order to communicate with each other they whistled, rather than talked.

Can you imagine pitching such an idea to the BBC? But hey, somebody did. What’s more, the Beeb said: “Yep. We’ll have some of that.”

They eat only GREEN SOUP (ably supplied to them by the Soup Dragon) and, get this, blue string pudding for dessert. No, not the most varied of diets, but there we go.

The Edge seems to recall The Clangers coming on just before the 6pm News, right at the very end of kid’s midweek programmes

(Monday through to Fridays), but each episode didn’t last that long.

The third (and possibly final) series of The Clangers was narrated by former Python Michael Palin and broadcast from June 2015 (The Edge must have totally missed that series) which garnered some pretty impressive viewing figures. It also landed itself a BAFTA for ‘Best Pre-School Animation’ in the same year.

The Clangers originated as a series of children’s books. In 1969, the year of NASA's first landing on the moon, the BBC asked a company called Smallfilms to produce a new series for colour television, yet without specifying a particular storyline. But as space exploration was pretty topical at that time, it was decided the new series should take place in outer space (inspired by the real moon landing) and that the

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which was covered with an old metal dustbin lid to protect against meteorite impacts (and space debris). In each episode there would be some problem to solve, typically concerning something invented or discovered, or perhaps some new visitor to meet.

The original Mother Clanger puppet was stolen in 1972, while today, Major Clanger and the second Mother Clanger are on display at the Rupert Bear Museum in Canterbury, Kent.

The Clangers grew in size between the first and final episodes so that an Action Man figure could appear in an episode entitled ‘The Rock Collector’ (The Edge must have missed that one too).

To be fair, The Clangers weren’t a particular favourite of The Edge, as to be honest with you, it much preferred The Magic Roundabout.

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set should strongly resemble the moon. Oddly the Clangers look similar to mice and, possibly, wooly pink aardvarks, while it was decided they should speak in ‘whistled tongue’.

The Clangers are best described as ‘a family living in space’. They were small creatures living in peace and harmony (us earthlings could learn a thing or two from them about that) both on, and inside of, a small, hollow planet, far, far away, nourished by blue string pudding (definitely worth a second mention) and vibrant pea green soup, harvested from the planet's ‘VSW’ (volcanic soup wells), served up by the intrepidly named Soup Dragon.

The word ‘Clanger’ is said to derive from the sound made by opening the metal cover of one of the creatures' crater-like burrows, each of

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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A paraprosdokian is, apparently, ‘a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is either surprising or unexpected’. Therefore, ‘Where there’s a will, I want to be in it’ is a paraprosdokian. OK, so now you know, here’s some others...

1. Do not argue with an idiot; they will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.

2. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on my list.

3. Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

4. We never really grow up; we only learn how to act in public.

5. War does not determine who is right - but who is left.

6. Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

7. The evening news is where they begin with 'Good Evening' and then proceed to tell you exactly why it isn't.

8. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.

9. A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. Ironically, my desk is supposed to be a work station.

10. I thought I wanted a career; turns out I simply wanted paying.

11. Whenever I fill out a job application, in the part that says: 'In case of emergency, please notify....?' I always put 'my doctor’.

12. I didn't say it was your fault. I simply said I was blaming you.

13. Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut and still think they’re sexy.

14. Behind every successful man is a woman. And behind the fall of every successful man is usually another woman.

15. A clear conscience is the sign of a fuzzy memory.

16. You do not need a parachute to skydive; you only need a parachute to skydive more than once.

17. Money can't buy happiness, but it certainly makes misery easier to handle.

18. There's a fine line between cuddling someone and holding them down so that they can't get away.

19. You're never too old to learn something stupid.

20. To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit ‘the target’.

21. Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

22. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a mechanic.

23. A diplomat is someone who tells you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.

24. Hospitality is making your guests feel at home even when you wish they were.

25. I always take life with a pinch of salt - plus a shot of tequila and a slice of lemon.

26. When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the Fire Dept. usually uses water.

Did you enjoy those, readers? Personally speaking, I’d had enough by about number eight because that’s just the way things seem to be where The Edge is concerned right about now. To have had diarrhea for three days solid (ha - now there’s an oxymoron if ever there was one) and still not feel right has really left me feeling totally out of kilter.

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can’t they use their imagination, like Leicester City (now that’s what The Edge calls an ‘away kit’). Top marks to The Foxes.

Look what happened when Everton visited The Etihad (above) as well. They could have worn their first kits. Yeah, yeah, yeah, they might both play in blue, but it’s a completely different type of blue, so no-one’s ever going to mistake one side for the other.

Is it all just a massive con to influence fans to fork out for their team’s third and fourth kits these days, as well as for their first and second kits?

Speaking of which; Southampton. Why oh why are the backs of your shirts ‘solid red’?

You’ve played in red & white stripes for as long as The Edge can remember, so next season please make sure that ALL parts of your shirts are striped and simply put a number on the back that’s black (to match your shorts), like you always used to.

Spurs have an away kit that looks as though

they’ve chundered down it. Pagh! Sort yourselves out, lads. It’s not a Chimp’s Tea Party.

The rule of thumb should clearly be that the away team only ever needs to change their colours if they clash with the home team, like when Aston Villa play Burnley.

Tut, can you imagine if Wolves turned up at Highbury (whoops, The Emirates) and weren’t wearing their Old Gold & Black? It’d be senseless. Plus The Edge believes home fans want to see visiting teams playing in their usual kits, if at all possible, because it’s who they are and what they’re all about.

Having said that, The Edge remembers an old First Division (pre-Premier League) encounter ‘back in the day’ (early seventies) when Coventry City were a bit strapped for cash, so when they went to Maine Road they ran onto the pitch with with their cocks out (they did) aka Shirts v Skins, like we sometimes used to play in P.E. lessons when there wasn’t enough kit to go around. S’true, that.

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When Newcastle visited the London Stadium recently, that was the last pesky straw for The Edge. It had a right old paddy.

Reason being, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever why they couldn’t have worn their famous black & white stripes (unless they were in the wash), yet instead they chose to play in some naff bland away kit in which they completely lost their identity.

Why? Particularly as their first colours didn’t clash with West Ham’s claret & blue?

It’s getting ridiculous. In times gone by, teams only changed into their ‘second kit’ if the colours clashed (i.e. whenever Liverpool played Manchester United, or Leeds played Tottenham).

But come on. It’s clear as daylight that each team would be easily identifiable whenever the Hammers play the Magpies.

The Edge wouldn’t have minded, but the kit Newcastle wore was so bloody bland. Why

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Hello Readers.

Well here we are again and the demise of The Edge was clearly greatly exaggerated, to paraphrase Spike Milligan’s announcement in The Times concerning his death. I am not one to say that I told you so, but I did, in fact, tell you so. That said, I shall not do another farewell message in this month’s column. But if, in the unlikely event, this is the last ever edition of The Edge magazine, then please see my March column in which I offer my sincere thanks and love, and I even provide a beautifully worded quote to go out on. This can be found here and is as sincere now as it was last month. No really, it is, from the bottom of my heart: http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/

DEAKS

In the meantime, our esteemed leader/proprietor/editor seemingly has more platforms to raise money on to save The Edge than the Red Cross and Save the Children combined. I’m just kidding. Saving The Edge is a very worthy cause, although not quite as worthy as saving children, granted. And what can you get for a pound these days? Not a lot, is the answer, I can tell you. In fact, not even a cup of coffee.

Whereas back in my day (during the war, Rodney), when I first started going into pubs after school with my chums Tony, Daryl and Nozzy, we could buy a round of beer and a bag of crisps for each of us for just one pound. It’s true. A pint of beer was 23p and a bag of crisps tuppence. A round of beers and crisps for four adolescents for a quid.

Each of us had one pound and so it was four pints and then home to mum for tea. Those were the days. We used to drink in the Rose & Crown on Rainsford Road, before it became yet another block of flats.

It had that crimson velvet flock wallpaper that was nice to the touch too. How about that? It’s funny how I can remember all of that, yet can’t remember what I did yesterday, isn’t it?

You will be pleased to know that I am writing this column sat in the sunshine on the Portuguese Algarve. I left wet and windy UK on 14th March for two weeks, but I will be back by 1st April when these editions will probably go out. I only add that in case a burglar is considering breaking into my home while I’m away. It’s very relaxed over here and the flights are much less painful as regulations are diminishing in both countries. You need to show you are double vaccinated and fill in a locator form and that’s about it, thankfully. And with the temperature in the seventies every day, there is no prospect of sitting indoors in the bars and restaurants, so masks are not a consideration. Sorry, but I could not resist adding that. Seventy degrees today. I am telling you, I am liberally coated in Amber Solaire factor 2 with a tiny dab of the factor 50 nipple cream on my tender bits. What could possibly go wrong?

So it would seem, at the time of writing (I hate having to add that, but the world is changing so very quickly these days), that we are on the brink of WW3. No sooner do we come out of Covid lockdown than Vladimir Putin invades neighbouring Ukraine. I pray that this all ends soon - the war, not the world - and we can all get on with our existences once again with a small measure of normality. You do remember normality, don’t you? I think that some of us do not care whether WW3 breaks out. Thanks to Covid-19, we are all tired of existing. We don’t want to work, we don’t want to pay our bills, we don’t want to socialise, and we don’t want to meet societies expectations of us. We are just sick and tired of everyone else’s bullshit. Or is it just me?

Seriously, what a world we are living in right now. Our generation have been unbelievably lucky and I think sometimes we do not appreciate that fact. Every generation before us have had wars and disease to contend with. My parents lived through WW2 and their parents through WW1, along with chickenpox, plagues and pandemics galore. We have had 75 years of relative peace and I hope for my children and my grandchild’s sake we get another 75 years. I’m optimistic, as I’m always a glass half-full kinda guy. Actually, I’m even ahead of that, as invariably I’m thinking about my next full pint.

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D DD My favourite quote on war is this: War does not determine who is right, only who is left.

The good news for the Ukrainian people is that I can drive a tank. You are still thinking about me sat on the Portuguese Algarve, drinking G&T’s in the sunshine, aren’t you? But listen, forget all that, because I genuinely took tank lessons 20 years ago at Donington Park (and I even have the photograph to prove it - see above)!

It’s not so hard to drive a tank, you know. My tank had a reverse gear and four forward gears. It also had neutral for when you want to park up and brew a cuppa in the old jerry can. The reverse gear was popular with the French army, apparently. I was told that the French surrendered the day that the Russians invaded Ukraine, just in case.

What struck me about driving a tank was how hard everything was.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting Ford Capri Ghia quality, but everything inside the tank was hard metal surfaces and sharp edges which you were forever knocking into. I was covered in bruises after my brief sortie over at Donington Park and I never even encountered enemy fire!

Apologies too for the fashion statement in the photograph, by the way, but in my defence the ‘double-denim’ look was very much ‘in’ during the late 90’s and whilst I don’t specifically recall the baggy jeans being all the rage, I might’ve chosen them with the prospect of entering and exiting an armoured vehicle very much in mind.

I’ve been lucky enough to go on a lot of corporate motor race days too, as it was a popular form of business development in my industry, ranging from Silverstone Formula One to karting, 4x4 off-roading, skid panning and driving Caterham 7’s in a straight line, as well as F3 racing cars around Brand Hatch. What’s more, getting our lardy arses into those single seat cockpits was no simple task, believe me.

Dramatic change of focus now, but I must provide an update regarding my moles before I sign off, since I received so many emails on the subject. At the time of writing, I am pleased to report I have no molehills whatsoever. I have absolutely no idea what persuaded them to bugger off, but I installed solar vibration stakes and stuck various unpleasant things in their tunnels, but I am pleased to say that I did not resort to peeing down their holes, as recommended by a couple of readers, much to the relief of my neighbour.

Anyway, it feels like I am fast approaching my allocation of white space in this 301st edition of The Edge. Will there be a 302nd edition?

I don’t really know. At the time of starting this column, I had not even been told there was going to be this edition, so I certainly hope so.

But I refuse to do any more final farewells all over again, readers. So instead I shall bid you cheerio until next month, hopefully. In the meantime, stay safe, be kind and be happy.

Oh and did I mention I am currently sat in the Portuguese Algarve sunshine drinking G&T’s whilst writing this column?!

TTFN, Deaks.

Email: gmdeakin@gmail.com Instagram: gmdeakin The Edge 077 646 797 44

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LIFE IN VIRTUAL REALITY Anyone who knows me will know that I am partial to the fairly frequent impulse buy. The telltale signs are littered throughout my house, from Alexa to voice controlled bulbs, to computer games to all-in-one cookers. My wife says that they are all a waste of money, but seriously, who wouldn’t want to be able to cook a roast chicken in record time? What’s more, who can be bothered to use physical light switches these days?

The other week I took the kids to an arcade centre for something to do. Immediately my attention was caught by a Virtual Reality machine. It had moving seats, head gear, controllers and an array of games to choose from. The only problem was the queue of kids snaking out of the door waiting for their turn. Undeterred, I turned to Argos to see if there was something similar I could buy for the home.

God knows what I might look like to the outside world, but I have discovered a VR golf game, so have been spending some of my evenings hitting an imaginary driver in my living room. You really do get caught up in it all and it’s a bit disorienting when you are in a cartoon graphics world, but then interacting like you were in a new world.

If you think where we have come from in the past 20 years in terms of technology, just imagine what VR will be like in a further 20 years time. You can be playing games that make you feel part of the real thing, such as playing footie at Wembley for England, or being able to meet with families and friends all over the world without ever leaving your sofa.

I thought it was a fad, but it really is impressive and something that Facebook own and are continuing to invest it. That on its own should tell you a bit about how they see our future. It is both scary and really exciting, all at the same time.

WE’RE ALL GOING ON AN EUROPEAN TOUR If you’d said to me a couple of seasons ago that West Ham would be bringing back David Moyes to save us from relegation, then taking us

to a top six finish, followed by an European adventure, I’d have probably thought you’d been smoking crack. Yet here we are, two years down the road, and we are still in with a shout of another top six finish and are into the quarter finals of the Europa League, having dumped serial winners Sevilla out of the competition, even having been a goal down on aggregate.

During the pandemic, when games were being played behind closed doors, the pundits were saying that not having West Ham fans in the ground meant that the players performed better as they were not being criticised. But if anyone went to the Sevilla game at the London Stadium, they will tell you that the crowd really was like a twelth man.

It was the best atmosphere I have witnessed in a long time and certainly the best we have experienced at our new home.

How incredible was it too that our only Ukrainian player, Andriy Yarmolenko, should come on and be the hero. The fact that he was even playing at all, given everything that is going on right now, was remarkable, let alone to score the winner that decided the two legged affair.

Next up is Lyon and I have just been fleeced out of £370 for the train fare alone. It’s going to be an expensive trip, with no guarantee of a ticket once I get there, but it

Billy Hinken will be worth it even if it is simply to soak up the atmosphere with the thousands upon thousands of West Ham fans savouring the opportunity to follow our team across the continent.

It will also be a very tough game against the French side, but not an impossible task to reach the semifinals. If we do overcome this hurdle, then it’s likely we’ll be up against Barcelona next. Us fans aren’t counting our chickens just yet (we support West Ham, after all), but how incredible would it be to see Mark Noble on the pitch at the Nou Camp in his final season.

Proper ‘Roy of the Rovers’ stuff. I mean, Mark Noble playing in a competitive fixture for West Ham against Barcelona. I just hope it can happen. But with David Moyes in charge, who knows what might be the outcome.

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I ended up getting myself something called an Occulus Quest.

Basically, it’s a headset with controllers that is mainly designed for gaming and interacting online in a ‘Virtual World.’ I’m not quite ready for that just yet, but I really have enjoyed the games. It’s all a bit weird because the graphics go back to what they used to be like in the 90’s, but the immersive

experience is incredible.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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ONLY JOKING! 100

So, I’m chatting to the Doc. "Do you reckon I could live to be a hundred?”

The doctor asked back, “Do you smoke or drink?”

“No,” I replied, “I’ve never indulged in those.”

“Do you gamble, drive fast cars, fool around with women?” inquired the doctor.

“No, I’ve never done any of those things either.”

“Well then,” said the doctor, “what do you want to live to be a hundred for?”

ALCOHOL I never give money to homeless people in case they use it to buy alcohol. And to be honest, I want to use it to buy alcohol with.

FAKE It really pisses me off when I hand over cash and the person on the till holds it up to the light to see if it’s fake.

Do they not realise that if I could counterfeit money, I wouldn’t be shopping in Poundland?

SEX CHARGE So I’m slumped in the pub, a tad the worse for wear, feeling pretty sorry for myself, when all of a sudden I make a little faux pas and blurt out, "My own missus charges me twenty quid for sex!”

The room immediately fell deathly silent.

Until Dave, the barman, looked up from topping up my next pint and said to me soothingly, "There, there, Nick. That’s not so bad. After all, she charges the rest of us thirty.”

SIXPENCE Remember back in the day, paying sixpence to see the fat tattooed lady in the travelling fair?

Well bloody hell, they’re everywhere now.

RAPID HAND MOVEMENT

THE TACHE

A choir boy walks into the vestry after choir practice to find the priest shaking something rapidly beneath his cassock.

"What are you doing, Father?" asks the boy.

"It's called knocking one out, my son, and you’ll be doing it soon," the priest replied.

"Why’s that, Father?" asked the lad.

"Because my arthritis is playing me up something chronic,” the priest informed him.

So I was in bed with my girlfriend.

She said, "I wonder what you’d look like without your tache, Neville?”

I said, "Jeez, I can’t shave it off. The missus loves it. She’d kill me if I took it off.”

"Oh, pretty please, please, please, no sex, please...” she wailed.

So, just to shut her up, off came the ‘TLH’ (top lip hair). Anyway, a couple of hours later and I’m sneaking into the marital bed. I snuggle up behind the missus. Kiss her on the shoulder.

So she rolls over and in the dark, gently caresses my face and says, "Jeez, Phil. You’re taking a chance, aren’t you? The miserable old fart is usually home by now.”

THE OTHER DAY I ran into my ex the other day.

Well, she had it coming to her.

BETTER HALF Mick: "Aye, aye. Here comes my better half.”

Steve: "What do you mean half? She's three times your size, the fat slob.”

ALEXA Man: "Alexa, remind me to go to the gym.”

Alexa: "I have added gin to your shopping list.”

Man: "Close enough.”

PULLED A MINGER I pulled a proper minger last night. I took her back to my place after a decent night in the local, as you do. Then we went upstairs to the bedroom where I started to undress her. Only then a voice says: "I hope that's not that fat bird from the other weekend?"

"Who the feck said that?" she says.

I said, “Oh, just ignore it. It's my memory foam mattress giving me some verbal.”

A TIMELY REMINDER As I clean the toilet, then make dinner for the family, and get to go to work tomorrow and eat a stale granola bar for lunch, I remind myself that this was the life I truly craved, when I was crying, crumpled up on the floor of my rented one bedroom apartment, single and drunk.

MUM’S THE WORD The children rush into the kitchen.

"Mum, who’s your favourite?”

Mum: "Umm....Connor.”

Kids: "Connor? What, the kid over the road?”

Mum: "Yup.” Kids: "No, silly. We meant out of us?”

Mum: "I know you did. And it’s still Connor.”

GENERATIONS After the baby was born, a rather agitated father went to see his doctor for reassurance.

"You see, Doc,” he says, "our new daughter has red hair. She can’t possibly be mine.”

"Nonsense,” snorted the doctor. "Even though both you and your wife have black hair, one of your ancestors may well have contributed the red hair to the gene pool.”

"No, it can’t be possible,” the man countered.

"Both our families have jet black hair going back generations.”

"Well,” said the doctor, "let me ask you this.

How often do you have sex?”

The man was surprised at the question and responded almost ashamedly, "In all honesty, Doc, what with the pressures of work and our Covid commitments, probably only three times over the course of the last year or so.”

"Well there you go then,” says the doctor with confidence. “It’s rust.”

BMW A gorgeous woman walks into a BMW dealership. She walks around looking for the perfect ride. And there it is. A beautiful, jet black 5 series. It has everything, including sports package, Bluetooth entertainment system, GPS navigation, hybrid energy management, tints. She opens the door with a whisper and that new car smell hits her hard. It has contrasting black and red leather seats. As she bends down to stroke the new carpets, out slips a (fairly loud) fart.

Incredibly embarrassed, she looks around to see if anyone has seen or heard her little emission. She prays that a sales assistant doesn’t show up in the next few moments so that the air can clear. She knows it would be really awkward if…and there he is. Where the hell did he come from? Kindly, he says, "A very good morning to you, madam. How may I help you today?”

Uncomfortably, she says, “Well, I appear to have fallen for this beastie here. So what’s the damage?”

The salesman says, “To be honest, I heard you fart touching it just then. So do you promise not to shit yourself if I tell you?

INAUGURATION “Welcome to the inauguration of the Premature Ejaculators' Club” announced the maitre d.

“Nice to see you've all come so early.”

INCRIMINATING TEXT MESSAGE Michelle: “My husband’s just sent me a text message with no punctuation whatsoever.”

Liz: “He’s obviously seeing a younger woman.”

OPTICIAN OFFICIATING AT A WEDDING “Do you take this man for better, or worse?

Better....or worse?

Better....or worse?”

MOANING MINNIE "Give it to me!” she moaned. "God, I’m so wet!”

Well, she can moan all she likes, he thought.

But at the end of the day, it’s my umbrella.

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

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20 YEARS of D&A in theEDGE READY! All set for reopening.

Above: Della & Andrew with their boy, though these days very much a man, Harrison.

Right: ‘The Team’: Debbie (who joined D&A six years ago), Della & Andrew, who all couldn’t wait for lockdown to end!

D&A

HAIRDRESSING

www.theedgemag.co.uk

Above: Della & Andrew move into their present Springfield Road salon in 2004.

“Offering great service & fantastic products in a small, happy environment.”

“Out of town, but not out of touch!”

Come and relax in our clean, fully air conditioned salon.

Your safety is our priority.

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204208 Print Acumen The Edge 32pp April(3300) 2022/03/30 18:58:21

Unleash the Power of Print

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As we struggled through 2020 and 2021, we started to think we could see clear blue sky as we entered 2022. Covid had been effectively neutralised by Vaccinations and the Booster Dose and here in the UK and most of Europe we were hoping for a rapid return to normality.

Only then Ukraine happened.

Did we foresee this? Did Europe foresee this? Did our politicians foresee this? The answer is an emphatic NO. As we in Europe struggled to repair the damage inflicted upon us by the pandemic, it came as a total surprise that Russia would take a page out of the Nazi Playbook and invade their western neighbour on a vague pretext - see the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939 for reference.

So we are now plunged back some 60 years to when we were at the height of the Cold War and there was a constant imminent threat of a Nuclear Holocaust.

Yet here we are now, in 2022, still dealing with Covid, only don’t think the pandemic is truly over; numbers are once again climbing, the death toll hasn’t really changed over the past few months, and now we’re being warned that immunity from the vaccination is beginning to wane.

On top of this, we’ve also got to deal with a major conflict on our eastern border with no end in sight, which Europe and NATO will most likely get sucked into, so how long will it be before there are air raids and missiles over both central and western Europe?

All of this is a re-run of the 100 Years War that raged in the 14th Century at the height of the Black Death, where nobody involved came out of it well.

As I write this, more than 2.5 million Ukrainians have left their country, with the population of Kiev being reduced by 50%.

Imagine Birmingham and Manchester being totally empty and deprived of its population.

The Russians are attacking and bombing the Ukrainian cities and ports, despite making little advance within the bulk of the country. More worryingly, two large Nuclear Power Stations have similarly been bombed and there is now an increased risk of a radiation leak from at least one, or possibly both of them.

Sure, at the moment, Ukraine has inflicted a bloody nose on the Russians, but then they (the Russians) are used to that.

Following the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941, the Russians lost three million men

within the first year, yet they still turned it around, crushing the Wehrmacht (German Army) as they advanced on Berlin. In fact, in one operation alone (Operation Bagration), in their advance across the Ukraine and Eastern Poland in 1944, it is estimated that the Soviet Army lost one million men in a three month period between June and September 1944.

So, the Russian mindset is that they are prepared to accept heavy losses as long as they get what they want in the end. They won’t give up, and peace will only be accepted on THEIR TERMS. They will continue to bomb and flatten cities and directly target civilians and hospitals.

Next up will be chemical weapons; they’ve already done that in Syria and here in the UK (remember Alexander Litvinenko - poisoned with Radioactive Polonium-210 in his tea) and the ‘Salisbury Poisonings’ with the nerve agent Novichok? They don’t care what the world thinks of them. After all, the Soviets lost somewhere between 30-60 million of their population in WW2 and their leaders are a product of that society. The fact that they’ve already used thermobaric bombs in the Ukraine, despite their use against civilians being banned by the United Nations, clearly demonstrates their total disregard of world opinion.

In August 1941, Winston Churchill, addressing Parliament following the German invasion of the Soviet Union, stated: “Since the Mongol invasions of Europe in the sixteenth century, there has never been methodical, merciless butchery on such a scale or approaching such a scale. We are in the presence of a crime without a name.”

Similar words may soon be echoed by both Ursula von der Leyen (President of the EU) and Boris Johnson.

At which point, we will then know that we are at war for certain.

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I remember venturing into The Hot House during the very first week it opened (I’m guessing perhaps circa: 1994?) and absolutely falling in love with the place, reports The Edge Ed. Owner James Perry totally transformed the old cells from their former days of Peelers with some crazy paintwork, whilst adding candles and fairy lights. I used to adore their draught Hoegaarden and vegetarian chilli nachos - yet I’ve never been a veggie.

For an extended period I’d visit The Hot House every single Friday night without fail. Loved it. Absolutely loved it.

There are other places I remember with fondness over the course of my 40 years spent living in Chelmsford, such as the Prince of Orange and, without doubt, The Queen’s Head in Lower Anchor Street, when the legend that was/is ‘Silent Mike’ used to run it. But the three I’ve mentioned definitely stood out from the crowd and I miss them all to this day.

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When Spin opened Waterfront Place, it was like Chelmsford had immediately gone up in the world, it was that important a destination. We’d seen nothing like it before. All that glass, set beside the water.

Mrs Edge & I used to go mid-afternoon to avoid the rush. They used to do this amazing chicken pizza, but I’d pay extra to have some smoked salmon added and it was marvellous. What a tragedy it was when Spin sold it. Worse still when it didn’t take the new owners long to f@ck it up completely, which was a travesty.

Personally speaking, I think the original Waterfront Place would still fit nicely into the all new Chelmsford we have today.

Last, but by no means least, bada (intentional lowercase ‘b’), situated just a little ways up from The Ship, created by brothers Barry & David, hence the name.

This was undoubtedly my favourite Chelmsford restaurant of all time.

Some folk used to think it needed pictures on the walls and some cushions on the chairs. Oh no it didn’t. It was perfect just the way it was. Grey. Minimalistic.

Altogether absolutely superb.

Do you know that as the light diminished outside bada during the summer months, their discreet lighting inside would slowly increase by indistinguishable degrees, so that is was just one smooth completely unnoticed transformation?

Oh and their food. To die for. Every single time. The nearest we’ve got to bada today is The New London restaurant, where Justin Cracknell is doing a fantastic job.

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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It’s the first Batman film to receive a 15 rating and it definitely earns it.It’s also the first Batman film to be 3 hours long, and at times it feels every minute of it.

Tim Burton’s Batman, released back in 1989, generated a huge amount of hype and controversy for the time, with Batman fans angry that Michael Keaton, a little known stand-up comedian who’s most famous acting credit had been as lecherous spook Beetlejuice, would don the cape and cowl in the titular role, him being deemed not physically big enough or intimating enough to fill the Dark Knight’s boots.

The film was also mired in controversy regarding its levels of violence, eschewing the camp of the Adam West TV series for a much darker tone, earning it the UK’s first ever 12 rating from the BBFC. Despite this, Batman went on to be huge global box office success and Warner Bros., so happy with the cash pouring in, gave director Tim Burton carte blanche to do whatever he wanted with the sequel.

And so we got Batman Returns, a weird gothic fantasy that features both Michelle Pfeiffer's over fetishized Catwoman (whom may or may not be a zombie) and Danny DeVito's grotesque, potty-mouthed Penguin, who spouts such lines as: “I’d like to fill her void” and “You’re just the pussy I’ve been looking for”.

Add to that a plot that involved drowning babies in the sewer and it's no wonder McDonalds pulled out of a happy meal promotion for the film.

Batman Returns remains a true curio; a director unleashed in his vision creating a film that kept families away and scared Warner Bros execs into changing direction completely with the franchise.

So it’s interesting that the latest effort to bring the caped crusader back to the big screen seems to emulate Batman Returns for its inspiration. It’s an ultra-dark, neo-noir set in a rain drenched Gotham City, featuring once again The Penguin and Catwoman, this time sharing screen time with another villain in the guise of The Riddler. Only this isn’t The Riddler that we have seen before, all spandex and bright red hair. No, this Riddler wears a dark green gimp suit and opens the film by bashing in an unfortunate shmucks brains with a steel carpet tucker.

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When I first saw Batman Returns at the cinema, I walked out feeling depressed. Partly because the film didn’t live up the first one in terms of quality, but mostly because it’s just not a fun film.

It's simply too dark and too moody to be truly entertaining and The Batman has exactly the same effect. It’s just too long, too bloated and too grim to be an enjoyable movie experience.

What’s more, the plot is overly convoluted and the run time simply cannot justify itself, with far too many slow tracking shots and lengthy stares into the camera.

Still, my real issue lies within the casting of Batman himself. Sure, Michael Keaton got a lot of stick when he was cast and arguably he really didn’t have the physicality to play the central role. But what he did do was deliver a brooding sense of intensity that made you believe he could be dangerous. He also looked like a grown man. Whereas Robert Pattison not only lacks the physical attributes for the role, looking too skinny throughout, but he also lacks any of the required intensity. His apparent decision to ‘not train’ for the role clearly shows and he doesn’t look like someone who could take on a group of thugs in a street fight.

Especially compared to Ben Affleck’s hench Batman who convinced us a mere human could take on a super powered being.

Daniel Radcliffe, no matter how hard he tries, still comes across as Harry Potter when he tries to play a grown up and Robert Pattison, in the same way, has unsuccessfully tried to ditch his Twilight persona over the years.

Yet he still comes across as that same, mopey teenager, no matter what role he plays, and for me, it just doesn’t work as Batman. Even less so as Bruce Wayne.

Far more Batboy than Batman.

A new columnist, to give you your official title, warmly known as ‘colonists’ here at The Edge.

To bring something new and fresh to the party; something that we don’t already have.

Ideally you will already be a regular monthly reader, but figure you could add something to the publication; put your own stamp on it.

Only don’t (ever) say to The Editor, “Okay, so what would you like me to write about?”

No, no, no. There is no remit. That’s for you to decide.

Take, for instance, young Andrew (left). Now Andrew likes his movies, so that’s what he chooses to write about. Whereas the rest of The Edge’s motley crew tend to shoot from the hip about whatever takes their fancy, which is how it should be. Other than, perhaps, ‘The Silver Surfer’ and ‘Kingpin’, who tend to remind us just how long we’ve got left to live. But hey, that’s fine, as we need to know that sort of shit.

No, you don’t necessarily have to have written before, but the chances are that you probably will have, as you enjoy it, even if it’s just a blog, perhaps regular diary entries, or, pray, do any of you still write letters to other family members and friends?

Have to say, the pay’s not very good.

TBH it’s zilch/nowt/nada.

Edge columnists do it ‘for the love’ of it.

What’s more, don’t be too much like ‘Melly Moo’ or ‘Totally Tracie’. In fact, don’t be like those ladies at all. There’s a technical term for them and it’s called ‘Deadline Stretchers’ (oh yes, girls, don’t you go moaning at your editor, because you both know you are guilty as charged).

Instead, be more like ‘Deaks’ and get your prose to me nice and early each and every month, as it’s always appreciated.

What else?

Age is immaterial.

And ‘odd’ can also be good too, as The Edge would never discount anyone who, in the rest of their life, can often appear to be a bit like a square peg trying their best to fit into a round hole. Unsuccessfully.

But it’s not a prerequisite.

So email yours truly in the first instance, please?

Better still, send me 500 words as though you are auditioning with your very first column to appear within the publication and I’ll pretty much know instinctively.

Forward to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

All in all, The Batman is a case of being careful what you wish for. For instance, I always thought I wanted a Batman film that depicted The Riddler as a ‘Saw’ style serial killer. But now that we have it, well, I actually find I want a bit of light and camp put back into any future Batman films.

Kerpow!

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KiNGPiN

People who were already on War: What Is It Good For? their arse from 2 years of lockIf you answered: “Absolutely downs, lost wages and closed nothing!”, then good for you. businesses are facing the largest Unfortunately, we all know that’s cost of living increase and enernot true. However, the correct gy price rises in decades. answer of: “Depending on your The Kingmeister reports Any one of these in isolation stock portfolio it can be would be bad enough, but put immensely profitable” isn’t quit them all together and we could as catchy. be looking at a proper shitstorm.

I’m talking about the war in Whoever ‘wins’ or ‘loses’ in Ukraine, of course, as that’s Ukraine, we’re looking at a future really the only thing to talk about of inflamed global tensions, more at the moment. economic chaos and the chasm I’m going to preface this article between the haves and havewith the disclaimer that of course nots growing even further at a I abhor Putin’s actions and vehetime when we’ve never been mently oppose the invasion of more socially divided.

Ukraine. Anyone that isn’t a The rhetoric on both sides of the sociopath (or a major stockholdUkraine war is becoming more er in defence companies, like strident and despite the continmany people in the UK and US ued protestations from NATO, it’s governments) would feel the still not an impossibility that more same way. I hate that I feel I of Europe will get dragged into need to do this; it’s like prefacing the conflict. Whatever happens a conversation with: “Of course going forward, people are dying I’m against kicking babies in the face.”

“Shall we illegally invade another country and murder innocent people?” right now and not just because ‘Putin Bad’, as the narrative Opposition to the invasion of a “Oh, go on then.” would have us believe. sovereign nation and the murder pening over and over again.

Is Putin a dangerous megalomaniac? Of of innocent people should be taken as a course he is. But have NATO and the West given, but nuance seems to have been dead Goodies, Baddies & The Hypocrisy spent the last couple of decades poking that and buried for a while now and if you’re not Of War Russian bear? Yes, of course they have. firmly on the black or white side of an issue, Russell Brand made what I thought was a At the end of WWI, the French Marshall you’re increasingly viewed with suspicion.

Ferdinand Foch referred to the peace treaty We live in a time of headlines and soundbites, good, and true, observation recently, while speaking about the war, when he said that the as a “Twenty year armistice”, believing that quick-fixes of information and character limits. era of goodies and baddies was long dead. In the allies had overplayed their hand with the Too many people have neither the time nor WWII we had a real enemy to fight in the form defeated German empire. History shows he the inclination to dig deep into the details and of the Nazi Party and the terrifying ethos of was pretty much bang on the money with his the history of any issue. The fact is that National Socialism. But since then, what have prediction after Hitler used the mistreatment geopolitical issues are too complicated for we had? of Germany by the victors as a rallying cry to soundbites. The details and the history are Decades of dirty little wars and regime plunge the world into war once again. the issue, not just the inconvenient clutter change. Decades of supporting today’s freeIt’s easy to see the parallels between this and we like to ignore. dom fighters, until it becomes expedient to the fall of the Soviet Union, so let’s all hope It’s entirely possible to find Putin’s actions label them tomorrow’s terrorists. Strip away all we haven’t overplayed our hand yet again abhorrent and at the same time understand the bullshit smeared over the headlines, the and let history repeat itself. that NATO and the West have played a signifwars of ideology and religion (like that makes I don’t know what’s going to happen over the icant role in pushing him towards such a perthem any better) and its just Realpolitik. next few years, but I’m fairly confident it’s ilous and destructive path. NATO have been Grubby little men and women starting grubby going to be rough and I’m absolutely certain repeatedly warned for the past couple of little wars for resources, profit and position. that it’s going to be rough for us, the little peodecades that their expansionist policies could We have politicians in the UK cheering on ple. The people who keep stirring the pot, eventually result in open conflict with Russia. those Russians daring to protest the war, then who interfere and destabilise for position and Like everyone else that won’t profit from war, on the same day (the same f cking day) vot‘new economic opportunities’. The same calI hope it doesn’t lead to that. But the fact is, * ing for a bill that works towards criminalising lous, craven pieces of shit that will give the we’re closer to war than we’ve ever been protest here at home. You can’t decry Putin order to send people to war will do what they since the 1980’s. shelling a hospital while ignoring the Saudis always do; sit back fat and happy while It also appears to be entirely too easy to be bombing civilians in Yemen. You can’t call a there’s blood in the streets and add a few up in arms about Putin illegally invading a Ukrainian a hero for throwing a Molotov at an more million to their net worth. sovereign nation while forgetting we did invading Russian and turn around and call a Perhaps the worst part of it all is that we’ll do exactly the same thing in Iraq. It’s easy to Palestinian a terrorist for throwing a Molotov what we always do; keep on voting these point fingers at the Kremlin for meddling in at an invading Israeli - and if you don’t think amoral, duplicitous scumbags in to do it all Brexit and the US elections, while forgetting what the Israeli’s have been doing with over again. We’re living in hard and scary that NATO and the West have been openly impunity for the past few decades isn’t every times, but like I said last month, that’s okay. meddling in their affairs since the fall of the bit as murderous as Putin’s latest venture, We can do hard and scary. We’re strong Soviet Union. then you’re very sadly deluded. enough to cope with it. But what we really We find it way too easy to ignore that the US, Ukrainians have become what is known as need to do is be brave enough to demand the so-called leader of the free world, has ‘Fashionable Victims’ and both they and all some real change in the full knowledge that bombed a sovereign nation every single day the other victims around the world deserve such a change is going to be just as hard and for the last 20+ years. It’s not what you do much better than that. just as scary as anything we’re seeing now. that matters, it’s whether you have a big The only change the people with all the enough stick and a good enough excuse.

So What Now? money and power want to see is them having Let me make it clear that none of this Nobody knows, and any of the experts, anamore of it and us having less. If we want a absolves Putin in any way. However, I find lysts or talking heads who say they do are full chance at something different, at not seeing this moral relativism and selective memory of shit. What we do know is that the world is people die for profit, at not seeing the wealth repugnant. A really awful thing is happening now a more dangerous place than it has been we create going into the same few grasping to people that don’t deserve it, just as the in a long time. I said a couple of months ago hands, we need to remember they only have 460,000 people that died directly or indirectly that I thought it was likely we were about to this power and wealth because we let them. from us going into Iraq to get oil and make a enter a dangerous period, but bloody hell, I We need to realise they’ve kept us too scared profit didn’t deserve it either, yet that really didn’t think it would happen this quickly. and divided to demand a better world and awful thing is partly the fault of the ‘good We’ve got a world leader openly discussing admit we’ve let ourselves grow too numb and guys’. the nuclear option. With supply chains and lazy to put in the hard work and make the If we don’t remember that, or wilfully ignore it food production still reeling from the pandemic sacrifices we’d need to make that better world because it’s ‘our team’, then the same murthe breadbasket of Europe is being invaded. come to fruition. derous, destructive shit will just keep on hapshaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Max Headroom’s

BIZARRE NEWS

PIG WANDERS INTO WORKING MENS’ CLUB

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Did you hear the one about the pig that casually wandered into a Working Mens’ Club at around 10pm oop north (where else?) and had to be lured out by a packet of Cheese & Onion crisps?

Believed to be called Porky, it ambled around the bar area, seemingly hopeful of receiving a few strokes, some Pork Scratchings and perhaps the odd friendly grunt, after it had escaped from it’s pen.

Whey aye, man. Locals were surprised to see the farm animal at the Easington Colliery Club in County Durham shortly before closing time.

But as pigs are not allowed inside the esteemed venue, customers managed to lure it back outside, doubtless before it shat everywhere and started rolling in it, with a packet of cheese & onion crisps, until a farmer arrived to claim him after spotting the misdemeanor on Facecock.

The bar’s stewardess, Kayleigh Porkin, said: ‘I live on the premises, so I was upstairs, painting my trotters, when a member of staff rushed up and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a pig in the pub!”.

‘They told me it was friendly and had been running about the bar trying to get strokes off everybody.

‘Then they opened a packet of crisps, which they owe me for, and managed to lure it outside. Cheese & Onion flavour they were, my favourite.

‘Shortly after the owner came to pick him up about 15 minutes later.

Well, he said he was the owner, but who really knows?’

Kayleigh added: ‘Everyone was laughing about it and it cheered up an otherwise ordinary Tuesday night.’

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MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

AFTERLIFE - INTO THE UNKNOWN Well, readers, here we are. The ‘not so sure it was ever going to happen’ edition, which has happened after all.

It’s also the ‘oh no, I need to get something down on paper pretty damn sharpish edition’, as I am going away for a spot of very much deserved sunshine on Thursday 17th March.

I was intrigued, when I read the triumphant 300th edition, how many columnists made reference to Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’ and the line: “And now, the end is near, and so I take, my final curtain etc.”

So I am wondering if we will all think alike once again and use this occasion to refence Mark Twain’s famous quote: “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Which would appear to be the case.

Well, for another month, at least.

Which got me to thinking, in a bit of a panic, once I realised that on the Saturday evening, The Edge would indeed be going to print with the April editions, about how a soap-type-drama would have dealt with this type of thing?

Of course, I am thinking back to the days of Dallas, when the ratings fell off a cliff after Patrick Duffy, aka Bobby Ewing (and ‘Man from Atlantis’, although he probably wants to forget that), left the show.

For good measure, his character was run over by a truck and killed. Which was pretty conclusive, you might think? But remember, this is Soapland, where the ordinary streets and places where ordinary people live are scenes of such carnage involving murder, rape, under patio burials, mothers being sisters, sisters being mothers, this person is your father etc. etc. and any other combination therein.

You get my drift, I am sure, that in the world of soap opera nonreality, absolutely anything appears to be possible.

Bobby’s departure left a huge hole in the show, just like the huge hole in your month, dear readers, once The Edge does indeed finish for good. And it’ll happen, for sure, if you don’t get those squiddly diddly quid’s sent in to aid our editor. Dallas immediately slid down the ratings and drastic action was indeed required to halt the decline in the billion-dollar franchise that the show had become.

Easy. Bring back Bobby!

As the ninth season drew to a close in May 1986, in the very final moments of the very last episode, it all happened. Pamela Ewing awoke to the sound of running water and entered her bathroom, only to find ex-husband, Bobby Ewing, the particularly dead, recently-runover-by-a-speeding-vehicle Bobby Ewing, soaping his nether regions with a big fat smile on his face.

News outlets called it the most famous shower scene since Psycho.

To say viewers were shocked is an understatement. The headlines in The Sun were screaming the next day, as you can imagine. It was big, big news. Patrick Duffy (who played Bobby Ewing) said that not even the cast, crew, or CBS executives knew the scene had been

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

shot. It was edited in less than an hour before airtime; not even his on-screen wife knew it was going to happen. So you can imagine the look of shock on her face was partly for real too. Oh and Duffy was smiling alright, as he had picked up a $25 grand per episode salary increase.

So it’s all been a bit like that where the April Edge is concerned, apart from any 25k salary increase, naturally.

But ‘Bringing back Bobby’ was audacious even by Soapland standards. They had created worldwide hysteria over their ‘who tried to murder J.R. Ewing’ stories some years earlier and for the following four months, viewers had to wonder if this particular Bobby was a twin, an imposter, or if the entire previous season had simply been a bad dream. Meanwhile, the bad dream idea was so outlandish that magazines commented that the ‘dream thing’ was the least likely.

“Besides rendering the entire past season’s episodes meaningless,” they wrote, "what a cheat that approach would be for audiences.”

Yet that was the plot; it had all simply been an exceedingly bad dream.

So just imagine the possibilities of life in general if you could simply apply that logic and flick the ‘its all just been a bad dream’ switch.

So there you are, sitting down of a Saturday evening, some way into a beverage lake. You reflect upon recent events and start the old ‘I should have said that or this’ type conversation in your head. But upon reflection, the past six months have proven to be a pile of parney, haven’t they? Therefore, I need to go back to where I was before.

And in soap opera land, you can do just that. Get in the shower, stay there long enough and BOOF, everything goes back to where it was.

The long running TV show especially has an ability to apply a logic that we viewers are all just mugs anyway, so they do whatever they wish with their ‘back from the dead’ scenarios.

Look at Dirty Den of EastEnders fame. A few million people see him get shot and plunge into a canal. Nope, all wrong. A couple of decades later, when the actor’s panto work is drying up, his character miraculously makes a return. Meanwhile, the most likely equally unbelievable pretense is that he’s been running a Fish & Chip shop in Droitwich. Which is, of course, a place where a cockney geezer can easily lie low without anyone noticing. (Okay, I made that last bit up, but I liked it, so it’s staying!)

So here we are then, in our own little soap opera, and one that we all wish we could fix as easily as they do in the shows on TV. But it’s one that you, dear readers, can take a part in, as it’s something altogether more believable, by simply sending in your monthly quids to The Edge Fund once you have read yet another ‘free’ edition.

Oh come on, you must like reading The Edge, as copies regularly fly off the racks and out of their dispensers so soon after our editor has placed them in there.

Thing is, I tried to think of a way the scriptwriters could make this all a bit of a bad dream for EE? Trouble being, I couldn’t get past the thought of him soaping anything, let alone his nether regions in the shower, which of course would be the ultimate bad dream!

Yours aye,

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I could leave all of my belongings behind. My shoes and handbags alone are a lifetime’s work. I think I’d have been on the next plane out to Russia to have some serious words with Mr. Putin.

TOTALLY TRACIE What a difference a month makes.

Last month I was appealing to the oligarchs in Essex to help us out with a few quid, whereas this month it seems they’re now all as skint as the rest of us! Meanwhile, our Ed is still busy in ‘Edge Towers’ trying his best to drum up support and donations to keep The Edge afloat, whilst the whole world seems to have gone stark raving mad.

When I wrote last month, Putin was telling the world he had “no intentions of invading Ukraine” - he was just playing War Games on the border.

Whilst we all looked on in trepidation, he did invade and bomb city after city.

As it stands, the Ukrainian people are putting up one hell of a fight. The acts of bravery on both sides to protest are nothing short of breathtaking.

To us in the west, it all seems so unimaginable. But just think, if overnight, all the men were told that they cannot leave their country. They have to stay and fight, whether they want to or not. I saw a news agency clip that will live with me forever, consisting of a line of young 18 year old boys on a bridge at night, terrified in the freezing cold, with the Russian convoy coming towards them and Vitali Klitschko, the Mayor of Kyiv and former professional boxer, and his brother Wladmir, who both walked up and down the line all night long calming their fears and making them laugh.

Young boys who yesterday were no doubt on Instagram and Playstation, with their whole lives ahead of them, now suddenly totally disrupted. Such things should never, ever happen again in the 21st Century.

And then there’s the brave women who left their homes and took their children to safety, fleeing across the borders to Poland to seek sanctuary with only the clothes they stood up in and a very few belongings in a carrier bag - which gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Bag for Life’, doesn’t it just?

I honestly do not know, if it were me, what I would take. As someone who cannot possibly pack lightly, even to go for a weekend away, I am not sure Page 30

And then, just when we thought things couldn’t get any worse, he threatened to press the button and use nuclear weapons on any country that helps Ukraine and suddenly there is worldwide shock and awe. Social Media was alight with what you should do in the event of a nuclear bomb being dropped. Sadiq Khan, the Mayor of London, issued a statement saying: “London is fully prepared in the event of a nuclear strike.” Mate, we were not even prepared for high winds a few weeks ago. We only have to get a strange leaf on a rail track and London grinds to a halt. But apparently, if you are lucky enough to live 2 miles away from the point of impact, you should go underground and take enough water/food and medicines to last five days and hope that you don’t get radiation sickness.

How did we ever get to a stage where nuclear bombs and hypersonic thermogenic bombs were ever allowed to be made and threaten mankind in the first place? Chemical and biological weapons are just terrifying.

So what should we do? Well, I guess we should do everything possible to settle this amicably. No one wants WW3, so every avenue to peace must be explored, even for the Russian people too. Sometimes you need to back down in an argument to win a war. We must try to engage with Russia positively and find some common ground, although in life, sometimes you have to pluck up the courage, come what may, and take on the bullies.

Our whole way of life in the western world is now threatened. Oil and gas is sky-rocketing in price, while petrol and diesel has gone through the roof, not to mention food and heating. Our only saving grace is that we are entering the warmer months and we have to pray that it will all be over by the autumn.

On the upside, if there is an upside after all, we Brits must find dark humor in all things as it’s our culture - Russia has been ‘sanctioned’ from taking part in this year’s Eurovision Song Contest.

It was noted as being one of the toughest sanctions imposed on them, so I am sure it will have made Putin think twice about all of his future actions. At least this year we might stand a chance of not coming last!

Well, The Edge is still here. We live to fight another month, and I am grateful to all the people who have followed my column for many years and who have donated and to those who have contacted me to tell me that they have/will be donating. Please keep on ‘Supporting The Edge’ - we need you.

Kindly see page 15 for ways in which you can contribute.

tracie123@aol.com

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