The Edge Magazine August 2021

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 293

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The Edge Editor’s Column ENGLAND v ITALY EURO’20 FINAL Let’s be honest and not mince words. If that had been a boxing match, after 120 minutes of play (the match itself + extra-time), Italy would surely have won on points.

We couldn’t honestly expect to win our first trophy (aka our second trophy ever) after 55 long years by sitting so very deep and not posing a threat, surely?

I mean, fair play to Patrik Schick, who scored an absolute worldy for the Czech Republic against the mighty Scotland from just inside the halfway line. But lightening never looked like striking twice where our boys were concerned, so all of my hope gradually drained away after around 30 minutes of play and I remain surprised that the Italians never went on to win it during normal time, as we looked absolutely clueless.

Only before any of you get up in arms and tell me The Edge has no right to question Saint Gareth, let me just say this: Oh yes, it bloody

well has, for BANG has gone the best chance we will ever have of winning a major tournament and I am absolutely gutted about it.

Yet quite staggeringly, we were actually given a second chance, via the lottery of a penalty shoot-out; not that we deserved one. Only didn’t Gianluigi Donnarumma fill the space between the sticks to capacity? My god, he’s a lump.

And weren’t both Harry Kane and Harry Maguire’s penalties absolutely sublime? Which is because you have to work on the ‘Protractor Theory’ about where to put the ball (remember that half-circular, clear-hard-plastic thing that we used to have in our desks at school?) and that is pretty much bottom-right, bottom-left, top-right or top-left hand corners. Put it there, with force, and not even Donnarumma will get a hand to it.

Only here’s the thing. Pre-Russia’18, our eloquent and revered leader (and The Edge remains a Gareth Southgate fan) said that the entire squad had “practised penalties”, yes? He even talked about “owning the process”, right from the long walk of destiny from the centrecircle to the penalty box. So in that case, why do we remain so very shit at it?

Let’s face it, Marcus Rashford and Jadon Sancho were both brought on but a minute or two before the final whistle specifically to take spot-kicks, yet they both failed miserably.

And how Bukayo Saka (we really needed Foden) remained on the pitch after only coming on after, what, around 70 minutes, was beyond me as the occasion appeared simply too much for the poor lad. So that said, why didn’t Southgate ‘do a Grealish’ and substitute the substitute, as we were in the lion’s den and needed specific players to handle such an occasion (Mings in midfield, anyone?).

Surely Chiellini should have walked for yanking back Saka by his shirt collar (professional foul my arse), not to mention Jorginho’s reckless

challenge on Jack Grealish, which could have put him out of the game for good?

Speaking of stepping up, how come Raheem Sterling didn’t volunteer to take a spot-kick? Or Grealish? Henderson? (Hang on, forget Henderson.) Luke Shaw? Kalvin Phillips? Even Jordan Pickford could have volunteered. But no, the weight of history was placed on the fledgling shoulders of none other than 19-year-old Saka and for that, yes, The Edge does question Gareth Southgate’s judgement, because I knew he wasn’t going to convert the moment I saw his demeanour.

So apart from the diminutive, wily, dyed-haired Roberto Mancini outsmarting our gaffer, what else went wrong on the night?

Numerous things. But due to space restrictions, let me suggest how the final ought to have ended.

With victory to Italy without the need for the lottery of penalties, that’s now, on account of the fact they recorded 6 shots on target during open play to our paltry 2. That alone, in my view, is enough to crown them worthy champions.

I am sick to the back teeth of teams finishing sixth in their division during a domestic season, sometimes 10 points behind the team finishing third, yet gaining promotion by virtue of the dratted, showcase play-offs.

It’s simply unjust. It’s blatantly unfair.

So why the need to give an undeserving team the opportunity to become victorious in a major competition by virtue of the lottery of penalties when it’s clear as daylight to everyone watching that territorially they were outplayed (65%-35% in Italy’s favour) while conceding three times as many accurate attempts at goal?

I rest my case.

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However, Kelly Brook remains The Edge’s favourite Man Shed pin-up, although the photograph below was no doubt taken a year or three ago.

She’s just more naturally rounded and The Edge very much doubts she’d be as high maintenance as Vorders.

But they’d both definitely float well.

Yes, that’s right, readers (re: page 3), Carol Vorderman. And let The Edge assure you, she is as ‘formidable looking’ in the flesh as she looks in all of her photo’s these days.

Truly, she is counter-balanced to perfection, both aft and stern (teehee).

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Do you remember a few issues ago I asked if there were any readers out there who’d like to show The Edge around their allotment? Well, there were a couple who bothered to get in touch, as a matter of fact. One was Suzi Wong of Writtle, who showed me hers, while the other was Malcolm ‘Bill’ Bugg, whose allotment The Edge went to see in Kelvedon.

Alas, after meeting both Suzi and Bill, The Edge came to the swift conclusion that it is no longer curious about allotments as they appear to be far too much like hard bloody work.

However, The Edge was rather taken aback by Bill’s alstroemerias (see above). I’d honestly never seen a flower quite like them before and was impressed he’d devoted a patch of his patch, so to speak, to their growing. Apparently they’re known as the ‘Lily of the Incas’ and are native to South America, which was something else The Edge didn’t know. Yet soon after telling Mrs Edge about them, she managed to pick up a bunch in a local supermarket for just £1.99.

So do give them a try, readers, as they make for a right refreshing change to the norm.

Malcolm (even his missus of 50 years calls him Bill) also showed me his asparagus, shallots, onions, leeks, carrots, beetroot, broad beans (which I haven’t eaten for donkey’s years), tomatoes, cabbage, potatoes, rhubarb, strawberries and, my favourite for a crumble, gooseberries.

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I

in Blighty). But the fact is, I always thought manager Bobby Robson stumbled and bumbled over Gazza’s inclusion as a regular in our starting XI and I definitely think we were good enough to have won the tournament finale in Turin.

And so, eventually, 2020-in-2021 arrived, a year late due to Covid, and there was genuine optimism in many quarters.

For my part I was both surprised and impressed by what had happened at Russia in 2018.

Particularly impressed, in fact, because manager Southgate was strongly intimating that we were looking to go further in this competition, with the vast majority of it played on the luxury of home soil (Wembley).

Nice man though he undoubtedly was, Sven was never like that (i.e. overly daring and ambitious, except when it came to Ulrika Jonsson).

In fact, he turned out to be a quarter-final specialist, as if that was acceptable.

So I went into this competition feeling very differently about the tournament indeed.

For starters, the penny finally dropped in so far as I belatedly realised that every single team and every single team’s fans wanted their team to win, only au contraire, that didn’t make them utter bastards; it’s just the way things are. I then came to the conclusion that if we lost, then hey, the other team and the other team’s fans would be highly delighted, the same as I would be if the situations were reversed, so all things considered, whatever was wrong with that?

That was genuinely my first mind-shift in all of the years I have been watching football.

Secondly, and equally importantly, I very much liked what I’d seen thus far of Gareth Southgate, our manager. I actually felt proud that he was our national team’s boss because he both looks and acted the part, yet at the same time he was

making it clear that he knew where we all wanted to go and he was going to do his damnedest to jolly well get us there.

Then came the draw against Scotland and unbelievably there were noises from certain quarters about Southgate not being up to the task and that Harry Kane should be dropped.

Excuse me? Twenty-three goals and 14 assists (two more than champion Kevin De Bruyne, no less) during the season leading up to Euro’20.

And exactly who would you like to replace Gareth Southgate with?

So what I hadn’t been doing during any of our group games, nor after our performances and results against the Germans and Ukraine, was show any of the old Bulldog Spirit. You get me?

There was absolutely no knuckle-dragging on my behalf whatsoever. Until the evening of Wednesday 7th July with the prospect of appearing in a major final for the very first time in 55 long, frustrating years.

A half-century of unsuccessful results and performances has proven to weigh heavily on many a decent player in the past, including the so-called ‘golden generation’. But seemingly not these bright, enterprising lads that Gareth has brought and moulded into the fold.

So yes, it mattered alright and yes, I screamed our bloody house down (and hey, if it wasn’t a penalty, then what about the other occasion Raheem went down in the box, not to mention that challenge on Harry?).

Fact: I genuinely did not see us reaching either a European or World Cup final in my lifetime. I didn’t. All hope had been extinguished in me.

But the afternoon after Austria 1 England 2, my heart was singing. Yes, singing joyously.

So really, win or lose against the Italians....

Hang on. Let’s go and win the bloody thing.

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was too young to remember the World Cup final of 1966, although the ball never actually crossed the line anyway, so it was a dubious victory at best.

Mexico 1970 was different. I used to play footie in the school yard every day during break times by then and I’d collected all of the Esso coins.

The entire event seemed so bright and colourful (we’d even ditched our old black & white TV set), especially the way the Brazillians played, so it didn’t matter that we got knocked out by them (and what did anyone expect with Peter Bonetti in goal instead of Banksy, FFS?).

It was April 1972 where it all started to unravel for me, aged just 10. The West Germans, and Gunter Netzer in particular, gave us a 3-1 trouncing in the quarter-finals of the European Championships and we were out; humiliated and outclassed, as we would be for much of the following 49 years.

This was followed by the infamous 0-1 defeat at Wembley to Poland that saw England fail to qualify for the 1974 World Cup finals before Sir Alf belatedly got the chop. The Dutch, playing in their dazzling orange, with Cruyff and Neeskens in their pomp, were supreme, yet sadly lost to the hosts, the West Germans, in the final.

We’ve had our ups and downs ever since.

Cloughie was the manager the vast majority of us craved, yet never got. And when we did eventually get someone who knew what he was doing - 1996 and all that - our ignominious F.A. decided his services would not be retained.

Yes, Italia’90 was magical in parts and offered me the happiest moment of my entire life i.e.

David Platt’s wonder goal in a last-16 encounter against Belgium from a sublimely floated freekick by Paul Gascoigne, fake man boobs’n’belly and all (on the open-top bus journey once back

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might be like.

Grandad had also forgotten the ground sheet for the awning and also we had the misfortune of a dripping water tap ‘uphill’ just behind us. This slowly seeped along the ground, so by the next morning we had a fully fledged muddy bog to squelch into as we swung our feet out of bed.

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There were further life lessons to be had Saturday breakfast time when we tried to make beans on toast, only for us to realise you cannot run the microwave and the toaster at the same time - that’s when the electrics tripped out. It took a good 15 minutes to locate the correct fuse box (apparently there are several) which was stressful enough when we didn’t know exactly where to look or which switch to flip, let alone to the incessant tune of 3 ‘hangry’ kids.

As those of you who have been reading my columns for a while will know, ‘The Legendary Dave’ (hubby), the kids and I are ‘campers’. We invested in our set-up around 2 years ago now and it’s safe to say we’ve definitely had our share of adventures, including several in convoy with my step-dad and his rather posh touring caravan (#upstaged).

With restrictions lifting and increased freedom beckoning, we decided to book another weekend adventure together. However, owing to the fact that our full camping ensemble includes no less than a trailer, a top box, a FULLY loaded S-Max, 3 kids (and a partridge in a pear tree), Grandad had the bright idea of all 6 of us staying in his one bed ’van. I thought he had suffered a temporary moment of insanity, but I soon realised he was just morbidly fascinated to test the absolute limits of his prize possession, as per its specifications (a decision he would possibly come to regret....).

So he set off 24 hours in advance of us, to ‘set up’, and we joined him the following Friday evening straight after school. We had chosen a fairly local site on Mersea Island which was only an hours drive away, in order to maximise our time there.

The kids slept on the converted lounge sofa (which was a bit like playing a giant game of Jenga every morning and evening) whilst ‘The Legendary Dave’ and I set up camp in the ‘sleep pod’ within the outside awning.

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:46

The first issue was our monstrous camping bed (well, a girl has got to have some comforts, hasn’t she?) which did not fit into the pod, so we had to sleep with it stylishly hanging out of the end. This meant we couldn’t close the sleeping pod and coupled with the fact that there were no curtains, it’s safe to say we were practically outside.

The pitch also had a distinct gradient and whilst Grandad had spent a fair amount of time adjusting his caravan and using risers to balance it out, Dave and I, in the great outdoors, were left to experience what I would imagine sleeping sideways on a helter skelter Page 8

It also turned out that Mersea Island (or that specific part anyway) is something of a signal blackspot. It literally has nothing. It’s like someone has wrapped the park in invisible tin foil. So Grandad had no signal for his precious TV channels, I had no signal for social media (surely the modern definition of being truly off grid?) and the only radio station we could pick up was Radio 2. However, I will (begrudgingly) admit that a weekend of enforced listening has made me a fully converted fan. Sunday afternoon’s ‘music from the musicals’ was a true highlight.

And then there was the toilet......

As any tourer/motorhome owner will know, the privilege and luxury of having your own commode negates the need to take a gamble on the often questionable sanitation levels of the on-site services and is truly one of the biggest selling points over a tent. However, this luxury is slightly dampened by the requirement to ‘dump and hump’; also known as the infamous journey to the ELSAN point.

Now on his usual solo trips, Grandad is used to going through this process maybe once every couple of days. It turns out, not so much when it’s bearing the brunt of the bowels of six, and especially three children who eat everything in sight and (delightedly with relish) seem to open up theirs at least five times a day.

During our 48 hour stay, I actually lost count of the number of times Grandad had to refill the flush system with water, deal with a full/blocked/generally upset toilet, and empty his septic tank. What I can tell you is how hysterically funny I found every toilet-related second, not least when he was summoned to refill the water cistern (which is outside the toilet window) only to be subjected to a delighted little face throwing open the window in glee, which resulted in him being assailed by a pungent eye watering aroma before he could so much as brace himself or hold his breath.

Though on the whole, I think Grandad enjoyed our ‘up close and personal’ weekend adventure. Admittedly the 48 hours spent with us were a world away from his usual peaceful, tranquil, fishing retreats. But then they do say that a change is as good as a rest. ;)

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

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I

n last month’s lament for the Great British pub I railed against the impersonal nature of ordering drinks in a pub using an app. It’s bloody insulting in my view and I have lately taken to simply walking away from establishments who offer this as the default service option. It’s simple and genuine customer service, courtesy and respectful interaction that people crave; not the affront of having to download a sodding app to choose your poison from pictures on a drop-down menu.

Well, that’s this month’s rant over with, although I sense the grumpy groanings of men of a certain vinEdge of the World tage are developing into a distinct travel correspondent. Embarks on theme within these pages and one assignments in a futile effort that resonates with EE who shameto preserve his sense of youth, lessly nailed his colours to the mast always acknowledging that he last month declaring that forthwith ‘Won’t pass this way again’. this fine publication is to be squarely targeted at the old git market. I’m unconvinced that this is astute marketing, or a move that will secure the longevity of the publication, but hey, it’s a demographic he knows all too well.

On a more positive note, I’ve at long last been enjoying some limited travel - UK based, of course - which has afforded me the opportunity for some wider observation of the customer service being dispensed by establishments at both ends of the country and price spectrum.

Mayfair Last month I had the good fortune to stay in one of Mayfair’s five star hotels overlooking Grosvenor Square and was then treated by my children to Father’s Day lunch at The Dorchester. I just adored its opulence and tasteful extravagance. The service, of course, was impeccable and

professional. But what impressed me most was the effortless and skillful way in which the staff in these places give the impression of genuine delight in welcoming you like a returning cherished old friend whom it is their pleasure and privilege to serve.

By contrast, a few days later I was away on one of my little cycling adventures, this time a 5 day coast-to-coast ride from Southport to Southend-onSea. A great opportunity, I reasoned, to compare seaside Merseyside with seaside Essex, identify any symmetries and/or contrasts, and gauge the respective charms of these two enduring classic English resorts.

The settings for my observations in the field were to be seaside greasy spoons; Al’s Diner, Southport and Alfie’s Café, Southend. Let the battle commence...

Southport The taking of lunch (for some unfathomable reason they refer to their midday meal as dinner up there) at Al’s was a rather pleasing affair.

Having parked my bike against one of the tables out front I entered the premises to shelter from the rain, whereupon our host hastily urged me to bring my filthy bike inside; his scouse accent and insistence served to endorse the stereotype that anything not bolted to the floor in that part of the world is actively seeking liberation from its owner. This place may well have been a million miles from The Dorchester, but this simple gesture was nonetheless a perfect example of genuine caring customer service.

The fayre on offer, the usual classics including scouse, pie‘n’mash and a plethora of fry-up combos, were all priced at £4.95, including a mug of tea (it occurred to me that I could eat twenty times at Al’s for the price of lunch at The Dorchester). My order was expertly prepared and presented by cheery Al himself, accompanied by friendly banter. Well worthy of a five star rating in its category, I reckon. Fed, fueled and fortified, I headed out once more to recommence combat with the English summer weather.

Southend Five days and three hundred miles later I arrived in Southend. Ever helpful, the weather saw to it that my continuing field study was conducted under consistent conditions, with the Essex coastline now shrouded in a blanket of leaden grey skies issuing forth a persistent drizzle.

Alfie’s Café, positioned beneath the pier, provided some shelter from the rain and was selected for lunch. The service was efficient enough, the friendly proprietor conversed - albeit about his travails versus the prevailing miseries of the weather and Covid - and the food was fine, if a little utilitarian. The experience was unremarkable though and prices were 20% higher than Southport.

Verdict Southport gets the nod. To my surprise I found it rather genteel and quite evidently ‘Posh Merseyside’; and let’s face it, Sarfend definitely ain’t ‘Posh Essex’. If you recall my recent piece featuring Harrogate, then perhaps this is yet more evidence that the ‘It’s grim up North’ notion is indeed a myth. wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com

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Baby Olivia It’s so nice receiving messages completely out of the blue from those whose paths you’ve crossed a fair few years ago.

Do any of you remember bubbly, blonde Krista, who was the GM at Strada (remember Strada?) in Baddow Road between 2012-2015?

She was always bright and breezy, but had her finger on the pulse.

Well, she’s married now and living back in her homeland of Hungary these days and this is her beautiful daughter, Olivia (right).

Krista got in touch as a photo popped up of her good self, via Facebook, from 2013 when she was featured in The Edge.

She moved back to her homeland from Chelmsford in March 2015, fell in love (ah bless), got married and is now mother to this sweet little angel...and isn’t she just an absolute peach?

Krista has since quit catering for good and is now involved in transport logistics (whatever that is), is looking to start her own business in the not too distant future, and is also planning to have baby #2.

She says Hungary is a beautiful country where she currently lives in Tata (below), but has recommended The Edge try out Lake Balaton.

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:46

Tata, Hungary.

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But enough of all that, because The Edge was down in the dumps about it for pretty much an entire week after the event.

So to help me get over it, what I did, for the first time in my life, was actually watch a recording of England’s 4-2 World Cup final victory over the Germans, and my oh my, what a very different game it was back then.

After all, they’re pretty much athletes today - well, most of ’em - aren’t they?

There was no such thing as as ‘zonal marking’ that I could see back in 1966. Pretty much the number 5 marked the number 9, number 2 marked number 11, 3 marked 7, and so on. And I’m not even sure Bobby Charlton and Franz Beckenbaur were ever out of the same frame during the entire 120 minutes.

What a game Alan Ball had though; perpetual motion.

Yes, yes, yes.

As soon as The Edge saw the buxom lady running left to right ahead of the chasing pack across its TV screen, it instinctively knew that this was indeed going to become a most memorable commercial indeed.

“We got angry, we got sad, we cried,” recites Iggy Pop (yes, Iggy bloody Pop). “But we picked ourselves up and we started again, knowing that the sun is always shining somewhere.”

Which is surely EXACTLY what the vast majority of us were wanting to hear, as I don’t know about you, readers, but I was totally GAGGING for a holiday of almost any description (see pages 17 and 18).

Here’s what Iggy had to say in full.

“That was some year.

The sun came out when we were stuck inside.

Lockdown local.

We stood outside and we clapped for our carers.

We followed government guidelines.

STAY IN, BREATHE OUT. We got angry. We got sad. We cried.

We pick ourselves up and we start again, Knowing the sun’s always shining somewhere.

And at some point, some day, you’ll be on your dream holiday.

Thinking....is it too early for a drink?

No. No, it’s not.

Everything’s better on the beach.”

Only I had to laugh, twice over, as it goes. First off, Bobby Charlton was heading towards the German goal, only he proper sliced his shot so badly it was almost (well, it was) comical, because that’s not the endearing memory of ‘Our Bobby’ that’s ingrained whenever we think of him, is it? No, we remember him walloping them in for fun from way outside the 18 yard box.

Then there was Nobby Stiles, and no, I wasn’t sniggering over his funny little jig at the end, Jules Rimet trophy held aloft in one hand, toothless grin for all to see.

At the time of the incident, Norbert was in right-midfield. Only then, for some inexplicable reason, he passed the ball precisely all the way over to the left-wing - and there was a definite intention in the way he went about it, I might add - to absolutely no-one and the ball rolled meekly out of play. Though perhaps it was a message to Sir Alf, who didn’t seem to feature wingers in his teams.

Watching that match did perk me up a little bit, because you never know what Qatar might bring, do you?

So fingers-crossed we might all be dancing a little jig of joy just before Christmas of 2022...and what an early present that would be.

These words oh so totally resonate, don’t you think?

Remember that it was March’20 when this whole damn pandemic properly kicked-off, so far as the vast majority of us were concerned.

Does it seem like 18 months of our lives already?

Time seems to go by so very, very quickly these days. But one thing The Edge knows is that it is still truly hankering for far better times ahead and to feel the sand once again beneath its feet, scrunching it up with its toes, before ordering yet another ice-cold beer.

Simple pleasures we once took for granted, perhaps once every year, or twice if we were lucky.

And if, when, we eventually come out of all of this (while some of us unfortunately won’t), the very least we can do is appreciate everything so much more and be far better people for the experience, right?

People who are no longer so selfish and inconsiderate.

Who respect one another.

And wouldn’t that be a positive?

As that way, at least we’d have learnt something from it all. www.theedgemag.co.uk

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It's amazing how many people are saying he is too cautious, doesn't take risks etc, yet that's the thin line between success and failure. During the tournament we conceded but two goals and remained unbeaten until the very last game against arguably the best team in the competition. Had Germany had a similar run, playing the same way, it would have simply been accepted as them being ‘typical Germans’ and applauded that they knew how to grind out results.

YOU HAVE TO THINK TWICE BEFORE ADMINISTERING THIS KIND OF MALARKEY NOWADAYS...

POLIT INCO ICALLY RREC T

But play beautifully and lose, English critics say we need to learn how to keep the ball better and see out games. However, when we did that, especially during our earlier matches, the same fans were crying: "Boring.

We need to be more like Italy!"

TAKE A BREATH That's what I told myself before writing this month's column after the Euro 2020 final defeat, so I purposefully gave myself 24+ hours to reflect.

It's always dangerous to express how you feel when wounded or hurt, but given time the pain heals and the thought process digests things in a different way and can bring you to a more relevant and common sense conclusion.

*

It's strange. I didn't feel as gutted as after past tournaments when we've been knocked out, especially by the lottery of the dreaded penalty shootout. Maybe it's because for the first time in a long time there seems to be a togetherness in our squad that actually has me believing this group of young men do care and genuinely want to make their country proud.

Together with having a manager who doesn't hide his passion for the three lions is also mightily refreshing.

Gone are the days of money grabbing Sven’s and Fabio's and the self interests of players that by their own admission felt more duty bound to their club’s success, which lead to unnecessary clicks and divides in the national group.

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Of course, some will say "same old England, we never learn." But I disagree. During the period Mr Southgate has been in charge he has taken us from a nation that was on its knees after our shocking defeat to Iceland at Euro’16 and the scandal involving Big Sam’s one match reign, to a World Cup semifinal in Russia, a Nations League semi-final, and now a UEFA European Championship final. Whilst doing this he has also blooded more youngsters into squads than any other England manager, beaten the team that knocked us out of the World Cup (Croatia), finally beaten Germany again in a tournament, and was able to get another monkey off our backs by actually reaching a final.

A foundation has been laid. Now let's keep building upon it. I'm sure Germany, Spain, Belgium, Portugal etc would rather have been where England were on Sunday 11th July, that’s for sure.

If I'm honest, I'm more upset about things off the pitch than on it. Whilst I believe the team will learn from defeat and disappointment, it seems like a minority of the public and so called fan base never will.

The racist abuse those 3 England players who missed their penalties have received is absolutely disgusting and should have no place in society, let alone in a game of football.

The fact that Marcus Rashford feels he needs to put a statement out to apologise for missing his spot-kick and ‘letting the country down’ is bad enough. But what he won't say sorry for is the colour of his skin…and why should he?

Ask yourself, are you absolutely perfect in your day to day life? Whether it be at home, or work? If your answer is yes, then you are more than likely one of the ones that think it's okay to allow such abuse to carry on. Rashford highlighted that one tweet aimed at him contained a high number of monkey emojis and was from a SCHOOL TEACHER. That really makes me feel confident that our children's futures are in safe hands....NOT. If people want to talk about progression and improvement, then let's focus on the villains off the pitch, rather than trying to make ones of those who are on it.

Ernest Hemingway once said "Critics are men who watch a battle from a high place, then come down and shoot the survivors."

Lead by example and do the right thing.

G.P. x

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The Edge 293A new_The Edge 172.qxd 23/07/2021 21:45 Page 16

I think I can see our house from here...

Hey, what’s that in the sky?

Is it a U.F.O. Dad?

EDGE

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WELCOME TO WALES, BOYO!

Famous Five: Yours truly, Mrs Edge, wife’s bestie, wife’s sister & hubby.

We stopped off in Tenby on route as I was curious about the place after watching a series about it on TV. However, despite the chilly weather and perhaps not seeing it in its most favoured light, it ended up not being for me. I can’t help it, I like small and quaint, which is St. Davids to a tee.

Tenby’s bigger....so I doubt I'll be stopping off there again.

This is the little harbour at Porth Clais, if you can call it that, with the campsite we’ve stayed at a time or two during previous visits up above. In fact, it was there we saw the meteor shower some years previous which turned out to be one of the best evenings of my entire life. Tut, it’s honestly making me want to go back there just looking at this picture.

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:46

Sis-in-law Sue had made some delicious scones that we all greedily tucked into around the kitchen table of our rented property (see following page) with clotted cream and jam the moment we arrived at St. Davids - well, just as soon as we’d unpacked - which were absolutely to die for, bless her.

Ours really was a lovely house that we did well to discover online earlier on this year and managed to secure, as we Brits went bonkers booking staycations. If you’ve never visited St.Davids, I’d wholeheartedly recommend you do so.

During the month of Pride (see page 23), well, you’ve got to ‘do your bit’, haven’t you? So here’s one of your editor making clumsy advances towards me bro’-in-law, Potter, awaiting “the best burger I have ever tasted in my life” at The Bishops public hostelry in St. Davids (and bugger, what a quite magnificent faceful it truly was) during our birthday/anniversary celebrations in Wales. Thing is though, situated on the coast (bottom lefthand corner, I always say), St. David’s is somewhat of an extremity with the entire Atlantic Ocean to its west and the weather can change quite rapidly. We went from what you see here to literally shivering in minutes as we watched the mist roll in up the street from the cathedral....and it’s not as if you can simply pile indoors at pubs anymore these days, is it?

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Yes, yes, The Edge appreciates it sounds a bit like a Chinese restaurant, but it’s nothing of the sort.

This is the 3-(double) bedroomed house The Edge crew rented in Wales for a week as of Friday 25th June from a local company called St. Davids Escapes and it was lovely. Simply lovely.

So if you like the look of it and you’re interested in walking the coastal path to the likes of Solva and Whitesands, then you can find out more at stdavidsescapes.co.uk or by contacting Rachel on 07714 689855. Oh, and another thing, it only cost us £913 for the week, so if you can arrange a party of three couples, it works out at just £304.33 per pairing and I doubt you can say any fairer than that.

Incidentally, I mentioned to Rachel that it may just be the two of us when next we visit ‘the smallest city in the UK’ (it’s honestly not much bigger than Writtle) and she informed me they’ve just taken on a property in the very centre of St. Davids called ‘Gallery Nook’ which is perfect for two people and is styled very much like ‘Gallery House’, which is already on their books. Rachel also recommends ‘The Nest’ and ‘Ty Cosy’, or ‘Hideaway’ if you’re happy to be stationed just outside of town.

It’s around 25 years since The Edge first visited St. Davids and we originally did so because it’s coastline is a lot like that of Cornwall, though perhaps not so up-and-down.

If you leave Chelmsford in the early hours - we left at 05:00am - and the roads are relatively clear, you’re looking at around a five hour trip (obviously it’s advisable to stop for a stretch and a brew at some stage) as it’s right on the most south westerly tip of Wales.

Oh and there’s no longer any toll to pay on the Severn Bridge upon entry or exit of Wales.

So what are you waiting for, boyo?

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Wrighty???

..

Roger Moore wasn’t The Edge’s favourite James Bond, but I’d take him any day of the week ahead of Timothy (Timothy? That’s no name for a secret agent) Dalton.

But I do think Live & Let Die is perhaps a slightly underrated 007 movie.

Because aged 12, which was probably when I first saw it, it struck me as being quite edgy, rather than fanciful (Diamonds Are Forever).

I’m not a Paul McCartney fan, but the theme tune’s a belter too.

And any right thinking soul has simply got to feel at least a shiver up their spine at the merest mention of the word voodoo, haven’t they?

When ‘Tee Hee’ lured ‘Our Rog’ onto that little hump sticking out of the water like a crackless backside and left him there, as he retreated with his dodgy hand on a retractable jetty, I honestly couldn’t see a way out of it.

But the whole cinema broke out into spontaneous applause when he did.

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The Edge is a BBC man through and through, so I was both surprised and somewhat disappointed to see him popping up on ITV during Euro’20.

What’s happened there then?

Have ‘The Beeb’ let him go?

I Googled it, but couldn’t find any further information.

I’ll always remember him best (not that he’s croaked) for that programme he did where he was simply speaking into camera, a black face on a black background. It was powerful. And he spoke about Mr Pidgen, a former school teacher of his, with such awe and reverence.

Wrighty figured Mr P had passed away. Only then, behind him, on camera, Sydney Pidgen suddenly appeared, and Wrighty broke down.

And so did I watching it.

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The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:47

That you can’t even be bothered to go out and pick up a copy of The Edge?

Well it’s lucky for you that you don’t have to.

Simply log onto www.theedgemag.co.uk/subscribe and Bob’s your uncle, it’s absolutely FREE! Or head to The Edge’s Facecock page and click on the online subscription link/button/thingy.

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The Edge 293A new_The Edge 172.qxd 21/07/2021 22:40 Page 21

IT DIDN’T COME HOME AFTER ALL As a West Ham fan I am in an even more difficult position than most because I have to pin my hopes on the national team in terms of winning a major footballing tournament.

The problem is that the England team seem to be cursed. Surely we have suffered enough heartache already and deserve a modicum of success?

In my lifetime, we have endured the so called ‘Hand of God’, German penalty defeats, penalty defeats by other nations, goals that weren’t given, injuries to crucial players, together with a couple of near misses.

They say that it’s the hope that kills you, and it really, really does.

I was pretty relaxed going into the Euro’20 tournament as I didn't expect us to get past the last sixteen. The squad selection seemed odd and there also didn’t seem to be the usual excitement around the tourno because I think, by now, we’re all resigned to the fact it will inevitably end in disappointment, despite reaching the semi’s in the World Cup of Russia in 2018.

substitutions and seemed content to not lose the game, rather than actually trying to win it.

“Harry Kane is starting to hit form at the right time.”

Taking Declan Rice off, arguably our best player on the night, and replacing him with Jordan Henderson made no sense at all. By then we were crying out for some creativity to aid Kane, who didn't register a single touch in the box in the entire 120 minutes.

“The draw is opening up for us.”

You start to get excited. Despite the past, you simply cannot help yourself. And, of course, reaching a final inevitably raises expectations....and what a start we made, going 1-0 up within two minutes.

We were in dreamland. Playing an extra full-back seemed to be a masterstroke by Gareth, because the Italians ageing defence couldn't deal with our width. Only then the unthinkable happened; we tried to 'Out Italian’ the Italians.

Fatal mistake. We sat back and tried to absorb the pressure and you could just see the opposition growing in confidence, which inevitably led to their equaliser.

In truth, it is surprising that Italy didn't go on to win it inside 90 minutes, but somehow, with rather more luck than judgement, we managed to hold on.

Tactically, we came up a little short and I think Roberto Mancini outthought Gareth Southgate once we’d reached half-time. We were definitely too late in making our

England playing out for penalties is genuinely akin to shooting yourself in the foot and I think that, deep down, everyone watching knew what the outcome was going to be even before the first ball had even been struck. :.': 9.5=Sancho +<+4 9:/)1/4Credit to/4Rashford, and : Saka for stepping up to take one, but let's not kid ourselves; all of their penalties were terrible and despite the Italians missing two of their own, we somehow still managed to balls it up.

Next up is Qatar and given the delays caused by Covid, we only have to wait just over a year to get going again. But despite our obvious progress under Southgate, I do genuinely wonder whether he’s the right man for the job? I appreciate it might seem incredible to say that, particularly after two semi-finals and a final under him, but does he have the courage to pick teams in the latter stages of tournaments that will have the

bravery to attack and take games to the opposition?

For me, I simply think he’s far too cautious and defensively minded; therefore I think we could see history repeating itself yet again in 2022. Having said that, our team spirit does seem high and this is definitely a talented crop of youngsters, so hopefully the pain of this defeat in particular will spur them on to go one step further in Qatar.

So whilst the jury is still out, all things considered, I think perhaps we give our manager one final shot at glory before we seriously look at our options.

SOUTHGATE OUT? Surely that’s unthinkable, ISN’T IT, readers? So why not have your say by emailing shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:47

Then, as the games progressed and we started winning, the hope and expectations began to build.

“We might be a bit boring, but we haven't conceded a goal ...yet.”

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ONLY JOKING! THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking and I’ll be your pilot today.

In a few moments we’ll be ... and ... uh ...

Goddamn, that’s a lot of buttons.

Ahem. We’ll be flying at ...

Jesus, that is a f ing lot of buttons!”

***

BOUNDARY ISSUES My neighbour reckons that I’ve got boundary issues. At least, that’s what she wrote in her diary.

N.B. See Douglas V Kingsley’s ad on page 3.

LACK OF INDICATION Me: "Be kind. After all, you don’t know what someone else might be going through.”

Also Me: "Oh nice turn signal, you f *** ing useless tw t!”

*

HIM & HER Her: “I really hope you’re not a serial killer. Haha (feeble attempt at humour).”

Him (stuck in stalled elevator with cute woman): “Define ‘serial’?”

JUDGEMENTAL You can usually tell when someone’s being overly judgemental just by looking at them.

CROSSED WIRES Hubby suggested we’d simply got our wires crossed. So I ‘simply’ electrocuted him.

BORED I am bored shitless.

Not exactly watching cricket bored, but, you know, pretty damn close.

EYEBROWS Those women who paint their own eyebrows on must be really, really clever. After all, how do they know at 7:30am in the morning how they’re going to feel all day?

HUMAN RESOURCES Employee: “Wait, so when you tell a woman she has beautiful lips...?”

HR Officer: “That’s okay.”

Employee: “But when I tell her...”

HR Officer: “You’re a naughty gynaecologist.”

PEACE Years from now, I imagine myself lying on my bed, surrounded by my children and grandchildren.

Daughter (soothingly): "You can go now, Dad. Be at peace.”

Me: "What? I'm only 58. Get the f*ck out of my bedroom.”

Son: "Go on. After all, you can’t last forever, you old bastard.”

BARCODE Ever wondered how much a zebra would cost if you scanned it?

DUNG BEETLES Dung Beetle1: "Whatcha eatin’?”

Dung Beetle2: "Erm, not sure.”

DB1: "Is it good?”

DB2: "Tastes like shit, man.”

DB1: "Awesome.”

DURING SEX Him: "Hurt me, baby.”

Her: "Your brother’s cock’s bigger.”

FAMILY LIAISON OFFICER FLO: “Oh, so she’s not your first cousin after all? Erm, so how many of them would you say you’ve had?”

DUMBO No-one even mentions Dumbo these days.

He’s become completely irrelephant.

EXISTENCE Surely pre-marital sex implies the existence of post-marital sex?

REMEMBER Even if you hate yourself, remember, you are not alone.

SEX CHANGE Mark’s sex change operation went really well yesterday. In fact, it was so successful, she's still trying to reverse out of the hospital car park.

SHORT CUT One dark night, Mel’n’Dave were staggering home from t’pub, three sheets to the wind.

They decided to take a short cut through the cemetery and were about half way through when they heard a ‘tap, tap, tapping’ coming out of the faint mist ahead. Well, Dave nearly shat himself there and then, while Mel’s heart was properly hammering through her left tit.

They crept forward silently to find an old boy chipping away at a headstone with a hammer and chisel.

"What the f ck?” said Mel. "You scared us half * to death. We thought you was a ghost. What the hell are you doing working so late at night?”

Bloke said, "Bastard’s spelt my name wrong.”

DO WHAT YOU WANT If she says: "Oh, do what you want.”

Don’t.

Do NOT do what you want at all.

In fact, don’t do what you want under any circumstances whatsoever.

Because it’s a trap.

Just stand still.

Try not to blink.

Don’t even breathe.

Wait for her to speak next.

Because she will.

Sweet Jesus, she most definitely will...

SPIRITUALIST I went to see a spiritualist the other day.

She told me I was a fish in a previous life.

Talk about gutted.

UPSET She said: "I can't even tell you how upset I am."

Then immediately proved herself wrong for the next fifteen minutes.

GIRL ON A TRAIN A girl on the train told me I’m a bit of a looker.

Well, voyeur was the word she actually used, but I knew what she meant.

RESISTANCE TRAINING Refusing to go to the gym.

CIGARETTE BUTT How is it you can throw a cigarette butt out of a car window and start a forest fire. But two boxes of matches, an old Sunday newspaper, an entire box of fire lighters and a 500ml bottle of lighter fluid, but you still can't get the f cking barbecue * to spark up?

HUGS Things you wouldn’t want to hear a stranger say when they hug you: 1. I think of you every time I shave.

2. Sorry about that certain stiffness in my pants.

3. Soon.

SIX YEAR OLD My 6YO: "I figured out your tablet password and bypassed all the parental controls to download all my shows and reset the password so only I can use it.”

Same 6YO: "DAD, HELP! I put both legs in the same panthole and now I’m stuck!”

OCD CLUB First rule of OCD club ...

There has to be more than one rule, so we can place them in order of importance.

DIAMOND v ORGASM Diamond: "I’m her best friend.”

Orgasm: "Ha-Ha. Yeah, right!”

SPARK ’Chelle: “And do you know what, Jules. He had the bare faced cheek to start whining on about the spark no longer being in our marriage.”

Jules: “Noooo, babes, no. He’s got a bloody nerve. So what did you say, ’Chelle?” ’Chelle: “SAY? I was past saying. I tasered him.”

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

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:47

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As I think I’ve mentioned before in these pages, during the last few months I’ve been working at one of the immunisation centres when in May it opened up to all under 40’s who were to be immunised with the Pfizer vaccine. As I’ve previously noted, what a difference there’s been in the various age groups who’ve received their vaccines.

The over 70’s were brilliant - smartly dressed, eager to be vaccinated and no problem whatsoever. The over 40’s were also a very good bunch, though their style of dress did not match their elder counterparts and there were a few moaners amongst them. But overall, they were a happy crowd who pretty much got on with it.

But oh dear, the 25-35 crowd.

Flaky, or what? I’m not just being an ‘old fart’ moaning about the ‘youngsters’, as the 18-25 group were brilliant. Even though they didn’t really want the jabs, they were willing to have them because, as they put it, it would “set us free”.

Whereas with the 25-35 crowd many were pale and tearful before even being injected. Some felt light-headed straight after vaccination and quite a few even fainted!

I’m not sure why this particular age-group behaved in this manner, but I seriously wonder if it’s because they grew up with the use of extensive Social Media and have thus been affected by the many anti-vaxxer comments and lies promoted on the various sites they have become addicted to?

However, despite the huge amount of conspiracy theories and disinformation circulating and the resulting mixture of disbelief in the Government’s message and the anxieties created, the 25-35 age group and their younger counterparts came forward and got vaccinated so - courage, mes braves well done to all!

Despite being a pensioner, I’m absolutely bowled over by the films and TV series being put out by the Marvel Studios. They’ve not only provided us with up-to-date story lines, but to Oldsters like me, they continually nod back to the very early days of the Marvel Comics.

In the most recent film, Black Widow, they introduced us to the original Red Guardian who was first seen in 1967 (appearing in the Avengers).

In the recent Falcon and Winter Soldier, as well as the new Black Widow, up popped Julia LouisDreyfus - better known as Elaine in Seinfeld and who latterly starred in Veep as the Contessa Allegra de

Fontaine, who was first seen as an Agent of Shield and the love interest of the 1960’s Nick Fury, originally introduced and drawn by Jim Steranko in 1967.

If you watch Loki, you’ll see the ‘Original Loki’ that dates way back to his introduction by Jack Kirby and Stan Lee in 1962, while in Captain America you meet Batroc, a throwback villain from 1966.

Thank you oh so much, Marvel.

OK, so we lost the Euro’20 final on a penalty shoot-out. Let me repeat that, we lost the Euro’20 final on a penalty shoot-out, because that in itself is a phenomenal achievement in so far as we actually got to a major tournament FINAL for the first time in 55 years, yet lost to a team that had gone 33 (now 34 that nations best ever run in international football) games without defeat, holding them to 1-1 for the full 90 minutes plus extra time.

Millions of words will inevitably be written about the tactics, team selection and players, as well as their performance, so I won’t add anything more. But what the English team (as well as the Scots and Welsh teams) gave us was hope, pride and a sense of inclusion after 18 months of lockdown, infection, quarantining and the very real threat of disease and death.

Our nation came together to enjoy the spectacle of live football, with ever increasing crowds noisily filling Wembley stadium, basking in our continued progress throughout the tournament.

So well done England, I say. You made us proud and helped us to partially exit the isolation of Covid.

And despite the loss in the final, we can truly look forward to our performances in next year’s World Cup finals in Qatar, especially as even more new young players are likely to emerge during the forthcoming 2021-22 season.

Yes, it all starts this month again!

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G

Did you read the letter that GS sent the nation before the Euros? A wonderful treatise that was surely a part of his team building strategy, but at the same time asking the country to recognise that the diversity of his team reflects what the UK not only is, but should accept that it is.

reetings once again from California.

Here we are in August already. We all thought Covid would be done and dusted by now, didn’t we? But a combination of tenacity on the bug’s part, utter incompetence on the Government’s and willful ignorance by a section of the population means it is 18 months down the line and still we can’t escape the bastard.

This month’s column from the Golden State is being penned (keyboarded?) just after the Euro’20 final. Another English loss on penalties at a major tournament - plus ca change.

But it’s clear that despite the loss, this particular team has caught the imagination of the English populace in a way that not many previous generations have. So this month we’re going to have a look at why that may be, and it certainly has nothing to do with the relative merits of 4-4-2, 4-3-3 or whatever formations.

Why is this team different to previous versions? Well, the argument being made here is the difference is Gareth Southgate.

Re-reading all of this, it dawns that GS is being made out as some sort of saint here.

That wasn’t the intention - maybe he has overdue library books. No, the purpose was to highlight what real leadership looks like.

And then contrast it to something else.

Proof? Forget the penalty shoot-out, remember the good times. The times when England scored and all the substitutes erupted in joy. These were players disappointed personally, because they weren’t playing that day, but had bought into the team ethic that you win as a team or lose as a team. They were happy for the team they were a part of, not for themselves.

That attitude is the product of a real and respected leader.

During the team huddles, were there players on the fringe not listening because their monstrous egos demanded they were above it all? No. GS didn’t have to force players to listen to him, they wanted to.

Now, nobody is going to tell you GS is a master tactician, so it’s not his footballing skills that have made the difference. But there is one thing the man has in spades, and that is leadership skills. Actually, there’s a second thing he has in spades - decency.

Oh, and emotional intelligence - make that three things.

Unless you are the CEO, anyone of us who has worked in a large organisation has been managed. Most have also had to manage others at some time or other as well. You will know that leading people ain’t easy. The buggers all have their own agendas and priorities. Some have ugly personalities. Some are shy, some extrovert. Some respond to an arm around the shoulder while others need a kick up the arse. And never forget, unless you are the CEO, you are one of those buggers too.

That attitude is the product of a real and respected leader.

There’s no blueprint for making a cohesive team. Everyone that has done it takes a different path, but by and large a successful team will mimic its leader’s personality. And this is where GS’s decency plays its part.

He behaves in a respectful manner to everyone. No histrionics. No calling out individuals, refs or opponents. No bluster. Just a calm and professional attitude to the job at hand. And the players, during interviews, act the same way and they certainly don’t sound as though they’re reading a script.

You can see and feel they get the mood.

Getting a disparate bunch of personalities to work as a team - all for one and one for all is a difficult job and not often accomplished.

In every walk of life, the ability to get a group to be more than the sum of its parts is the target for all managers. It doesn’t happen very often. But GS has achieved it.

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:47

Someone once said that Johnson watches where the crowd is running then charges to the front and says “follow me”. That sounds about right when you consider all the U-turns he makes, doesn’t it? A week before the tournament the players were wrong to take the knee. Yet after the final, the racist abuse some of them received was “appalling”. Kamala Harris’ appraisal of the dreadful man as a “shape shifting creep” looks more and more astute with every passing day, don’t you think?

To be clear here, this is not a criticism of Johnson’s political views, it’s merely pointing out that he is utterly unqualified for the job he holds. From both the relevant experience and personality points of view, he is just not up to it.

In fact, that obvious lack of self awareness means another thing should be added to his list of faults. Delusional. The country is going to hell in a handcart with this inadequate in charge. Isn’t it time we stopped electing posh boys from Eton, with a sense of entitlement, but nothing to back it up?

There’s one final piece of evidence that proves GS’s real abilities as a leader of men. It’s how he handled the issue of taking a knee before games. The players were getting stick from all over the place. Ministers of the crown called them out for it, some of the fans booed them, the usual suspects in the press carried on about wokeness. But the team, led by GS, stuck together and stood up (well, kneeled actually) for their principles.

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

Compare GS’s cool, calm, competency and clear vision for his team’s objectives with our own Prime Minister. A man so absorbed in his own needs he cares not one jot for anyone but himself. Can you imagine Johnson coming out after the penalty loss and saying he takes the blame for not preparing the team well enough? No, he’d point the finger at the players. Or more likely hide in a fridge until the reporters had gone.

Does Johnson have a clear vision for the country’s future? Only as far as it affects his own ability to do as little as he can get away with for as much money as possible.

And on that…

Anon, Chelmsford.

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And that, dear readers, is not even the dumbest scene in the movie. That honour goes to Vin Diesel traversing a collapsed rope bridge as he impossibly ‘swings’ his car like Tarzan across a giant chasm. Contender for worst film of the year, FF9 is surely the proverbial nail in the coffin for this once mighty cinematic juggernaut. Only, and somewhat depressingly, it is set up for an inevitable sequel.

OK, I get that we’re all mad at Boris. He took away many things, including what seemed like our freedom to travel.

But I am here to tell you that we can.

This November marks two years since I last travelled. Seems like a lifetime ago for someone who used to take five holidays a year.

I must say I am gasping for a holiday now more than ever. It feels like I am so thirsty and only a holiday to foreign climes will quench it.

My last trip was at the top of my bucket list to Bora Bora, and yes, it was lavish. A true paradise, just like in the Disney movie Moana. With an exotic flower crown placed on my head I truly felt like a royal highness. I staying at the Conrad in an over water villa and it felt like I had hit the jackpot. Alright, alright, I won’t rub it in - but it is by far the most epic trip that I have ever taken to this day. However, little did I know that shortly after my return the world would change quite drastically and travel would be completely reshaped. Only now, after being locked down for so very long, I long to go anywhere, just to experience that buzz again that is unique to travelling abroad.

Giving birth to my beautiful daughter during the pandemic was extremely hard because of the hospital restrictions, forbidden baby shower and limited play groups when I needed them most. She will be one year old this month and I will be 30, and we’re both so over it all and will be living our best lives on holiday again very soon indeed.

Some people think I’m crazy, to have started my very own travel franchise, backed by travel counsellors, during Covid-19. But it has been by far the best decision I have ever made. During all of this my passion for travel remains at an all-time high and I would be thrilled to be able to book your holidays for you too, at home or overseas.

Although technology has made it super easy to book a holiday in just a few clicks on the internet, I am a strong believer in people buying from people.

Post-Covid, many people are looking for a more bespoke service which I most certainly offer, which is completely hassle-free. I try to get to know you by finding out some of your finer details that will help me tailor-make your perfect holiday.

Why spend hours searching online when you can share your wants and needs with a true travel expert who has access to over 100 suppliers? It is surely time for you to take that leap of faith and face the situation by looking ahead to 2022 and you can be sure to let me take care of finding you your dream holiday, while booking with absolute confidence. What’s more, I can ensure that you will be booking with a travel agent that offers flexible products, financial protection, duty of care, and most importantly, a personalised service.

Aren’t you missing that 5* all-inclusive resort, where us Brits are the only ones who line up at the buffet? What about the rush of finding the right shuttle bus and thinking how well your money was spent after your first glimpse of the hotel? How about happily waking up early each and every morning for the chef's special breakfast with a cheeky glass of mimosa? What’s the saying? It’s always 5 o'clock somewhere!

I miss the excitement of when I first book a trip, as being on holiday is such a good vibe and you always feel at your very best and tend to be far more spontaneous. I bet I am not the only one who Google’s the hotel repeatedly and reads the reviews left by salty guests. As if that weren’t enough, I also tend to use Google Earth just to see the location virtually. I mean, Staycations are great; they have let us re-explore the UK and have helped local businesses; even cursing has made a great comeback. But there’s clearly only so much we are willing to both see and do on our shores, otherwise we would have done it already, right?

For me, I feel like travel brings us hope. It makes people happy having something to look forward to whilst still being in our current reality. So right now, we should all consider booking our family holidays, honeymoons, and luxury escapes for 2022 and onwards. Because as I have already said, travel lifts our spirits and gives us all that dreamy feeling, and surely we are all in need of a bit of that?

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Another Round Fast & Furious 9 Several months ago I said that Godzilla vs Kong was the dumbest film I had ever seen. Well, buckle up your seatbelts as gravely voiced, muscle top wearing slab of meat Vin Diesel and his motley crew enters the chat to offer us the latest installment of the F&F saga, now up to it’s ninth official sequel (tenth if you include spin off Hobbs & Shaw). The original ‘The Fast & Furious’, released way back in 2001, was a relatively low budget affair focusing on not much more than illegal street racing and stealing DVD players. It had a modicum of success that spawned a sequel and then a third entry that shifted away from the original cast and introduced viewers to drift racing in Tokyo.

When it looked the franchise was suffering from diminishing returns, something remarkable happened that was unheard of in Hollywood.

The subsequent sequels became more popular then ever, grossing over a billion dollars at the box office by the seventh installment.

A combination of beautiful cars, even more beautiful people, outrageous stunts and rollicking soundtracks set to globetrotting espionage stories guaranteed success on a huge scale, cementing the franchise as one of the most successful in movie history.

Still, everything eventually loses the war of attrition, and Fast & Furious 9 (FF9) is the cumulative result of a franchise that has nowhere left to go. The films have always relied on an element of pushing the boundaries of what is considered overly far fetched, and yet the use of mostly practical effects and character driven stories allowed the audience to suspend disbelief for several hours as they enjoyed some fun escapism on the big screen. Yet there was a creeping sense that the films where getting sillier, with fans concluding, tongue firmly in cheek, the only logical step was to take the series into outer space.

And that’s exactly what we get in FF9, with a car fired into space, the crew wearing nothing more than deep-sea diving suits held together with tape, before they ‘drive’ around the earth’s atmosphere attempting to destroy a rouge satellite.

From the ridiculous to the sublime and a restoration of faith in cinema, even if you do have to look abroad for your movieland smarts, with this Danish drama starring Casino Royale villain Mads Mikkelsen as a teacher, Martin, who along with his fellow co-workers indulges in an experiment with alcohol consumption to improve daily performance.

As his marriage begins to crumble, Martin lacks both confidence and motivation and is unable to inspire his pupils, much to the chagrin of their demanding parents. Over dinner with his fellow and equally stuttering in life colleges, they are collectively drawn towards an idea by Norwegian psychiatrist Finn Skarderud, who claims that it is sensible to drink all of the time, and that maintaining a constant blood alcohol level of 0.05% improves creativity, courage and promotes relaxation.

Soon after embarking on this questionable experiment, all of them, especially Martin, began to see improvements in their work, relationships and general outlook on life. With early success comes the desire to push the limit further, continually increasing their alcohol intake whilst attempting to live a perceived normal life. Inevitably this begins to have consequences for all involved and a night of pushing the boundaries of human intoxification (involving lots of absinthe) starts to tip the balance from being beneficial to destructive. Some have criticised this movie for glorifying drinking culture, yet thankfully it remains neither for nor against alcohol. It is about celebrating life and finding a balance between growing into middle age, leaving behind the carefree lifestyle of being a teenager and a young adult, whilst still embracing the joys of life in later years, such as meals with friends, deeper relationships and meaningful work. Having said that, it did give me a rather strong desire to go on a bit of a session after walking out of the cinema.

It’s a shame that many won’t get to see this movie on the big screen as it has a very limited release, but be sure to watch it at home when it becomes available.

Also see it before the Hollywood remake lands, of which Leonardo DiCaprio has brought the rights for and will no doubt star in.

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KiNGPiN The Kingmeister reports

*

The Edge (August)(379) 2021/07/25 18:58:47

***

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Max Headroom’s

BIZARRE NEWS CANNABIS COULD SAVE THE PLANET

In what will probably be the last year of The Edge, let’s truly celebrate fogeyism by all you 65+ readers sending in your snaps, as this could be your last chance to appear anywhere that’s ‘full-colour & glossy’.

The more interesting the photograph, the better, so try to use a little imagination. And hey, if you’re chairbound, well then, you’ll have to use even more imagination, won’t you? But that doesn’t exclude you. No way.

So get your asses in gear and get those photo’s sent in. The Edge is looking forward to seeing them!

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Scientists and industry insiders have hailed hemp’s potential as an unlikely tool in the fight against climate change.

Experts are increasingly optimistic that the world’s most versatile natural product can supercharge efforts to avoid environmental meltdown.

When farmed on a large scale, it is hoped that its natural properties and the potential for it to save land and water can benefit farmers, alongside ‘decarbonising’ industries through an array of hemp products.

Speaking exclusively to Headroom, the director of Oxford University’s Environmental Change Institute claimed: “There is good reason to be ‘hyped’ about the cannabis plant. It might well turn out to be a land-saving crop and would spare the expansion of cropland into forests. This would create substantial emission savings.”

There are also hopes that the plant can improve soil yields and absorb significant amounts of carbon, while the British Hemp Alliance (BHA) say it can provide a host of other environmental benefits too.

Hemp is a form of cannabis plant distinct from marijuana. A BHA spokesperson explained: “(Hemp) has wide-ranging applications which include construction materials, biodegradable plastics, and uses in the automotive and aerospace industries.”

People working in the sector believe the plant has been vastly underused and totally overlooked, partly because of the stigma around marijuana, another form of cannabis plant used as a drug.

It is believed hemp could help create ‘a lucrative green and sustainable economy’ heralding its quick growth and ability to aerate soil.

“It is the world’s most versatile natural product, potentially replacing wood, cotton, and all petroleum-based matter,” someone knowledgeable says.

Hemp really could be a solution to climate change.

Compared to cotton - which requires approx. 1400 gallons of water for every pound of produce - hemp only requires half of that, possibly less, yet produces 200%-250% more fibre on the same amount of land.

Yet there are some doubts about the amount of carbon hemp can retain and experts are cautious about talking up its environmental benefits too much, particularly if it does not become more widely used.

However, comparing its carbon absorption to other plants was ‘not very meaningful’ in a ‘climate solution’ context, it is thought. For instance, a field of wheat or cabbages might absorb ten times more carbon than the neighbouring woodland. So what?

There are a variety of hemp products which industry insiders hope can help combat climate change. For nearly all agricultural crops, the carbon will relatively rapidly be recycled through processes of decomposition and decay, releasing the carbon back into the atmosphere.

It is thought hemp could grow successfully anywhere in the UK and the good news is it absorbs far more carbon than other plants.

There are definitely opportunities where hemp is concerned. It could also be way more cost-effective for producers than current alternatives.

In particular, potential use of the fibres in composite building materials would provide the long-term storage (more than 50 years) that is needed to take the carbon out of circulation.

But be warned against seeing the plant as ‘the solution’ when it is only one tool among many to battle the climate crisis.

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MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

THE PLEASURE OF 7 INCHES! I can feel that there will be some elements of the readership who will soon be sinking into disappointment fairly quickly. Yet again you have been led into the warm friendly tunnel of smut. And once again, you find that actually it’s a garden path I have led you up. Because instead, we are going to talk about the pleasure one can find in seven inches of moulded vinyl (stop it) as opposed to twelve.

CD sales are dropping. Sainsbury’s have even announced they are taking CD’s off the shelves, which is a a mistake, I might add, as people aren’t quite finished with them yet. Pundits have written off music delivery systems before - think vinyl. Back in the 1980’s the CD took the world by storm. Records, as people like me still call them, and record players, were to be consigned to history. Or so those ill-informed techno warriors thought. For some of us, vinyl never went away. But back to the story. The supermarket concerned is giving over even more retail shelving space and increasing its range of…yes, you’ve guessed, records. Good old outdated, prehistoric records.

There you are in Saino’s, listening to whatever takes your fancy in your state-of-the-art wireless headphones. Most likely to any one of several hundred thousand, nay, even several million tracks available on demand via streaming services (and older readers, that isn’t a man following you around with a cut onion)! The delivery vehicle of said streaming service is most likely a smart phone costing several hundred pounds. So here’s the great part. You are browsing a technology that has delighted listeners and collectors since the 1900s. RCA Victor launched the first commercial vinyl long-playing record in 1930. This grand dame of music, vinyl, has defied all the odds. To paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of its death are greatly exaggerated. The format continues to grow in popularity. Last year in the United States, vinyl sales were over 1,000% higher than a decade prior. In the UK, in the first quarter alone, sales were 92% higher than the previous year. How I smile to myself as I think back to all those Apple bores I had to listen to at weddings many years back, who glibly stated, ”Oh you still have records? I got rid of all my vinyl. I only have stuff on my iPhone now, drone, drone, drone.” Of course, these are the same people out there right now buying back their record collection via reissues and are paying through the nose for originals. Then, of course, they brag, “I have an original copy”. And of course they have to purchase a turntable to listen to it all on. The most unportable thing ever! No pocket technology here, matey. Oh no. Our Japanese friends must be looking on in aggrieved fashion, having spent the last 50 years miniaturising everything. Particularly as now we’re back with eighteen inch square boxes with wires hanging out the back.

Here’s a bit more educational stuff. The first vinyl discs were made for playback at 33 1/3 rpm and pressed onto 12” diameter flexible plastic discs. These were a commercial flop due to lack of public interest, as it was the Great Depression and no bugger could afford a record player.

However, in 1939, Columbia Records stayed the course and carried on developing vinyl technology. In 1948 they gave us the 12” Long Play - or LP as it became known - which played at 33 1/3 rpm. That’s revolutions per minute to you. The cutthroat rivalry between RCA Victor and Columbia Records then brought us another competing format by RCA, which was the 7”/45 rpm, better known in later years as a ‘single’. So now you know why it’s called the singles chart - and nothing to do with the man-beef on Love Island. The period where both of these formats slugged it out, from 1948-1950, was known as the ‘War of the Speeds’.

(Please also note that’s nothing to do with other types of speed common in the world of pop music!) After a few years the 12”/33 1/3 rpm LP became the predominant format for albums and the 7” record became the format of choice for singles. Your grannies 78’s were fast on the way to history. (No, there will be no info on 78’s here today.) The seven inch was king and would remain so for many, many years.

Albums are great and allow the artist to show a broader range of their music. Trouble is, there would be just 30 minutes on an album and about 12 tracks. That meant three or four tracks were so good they would be issued as singles, which meant there was a good chance the rest would be a load of old dross. That said, there are some albums that are awesome from start to finish. I could start a massive debate here, so will leave you to think about that list yourself.

love story with Columbo?

Cards on the table. I am a huge fan. I have never stopped loving the medium and have never stopped buying the stuff.

Ever. No fashion victimness here. I just never stopped buying it. Yup, I have CD’s in abundance, and yes, I listen to streamed music on my mobile phone. Although therein lies another problem, which is a 12,000 single habit. Yup, you read that right. It started when I was seriously ill as a child around 1968.

Off school for months, a neighbour gave me a small box with a dozen singles in it. And here I am at sixty years of age and I truly mean I have never stopped buying since that day 53 long years ago.

Each little disc is a two or three minute time capsule. A moment or memory that is ready to be relived when the stylus hits the record and that crackly hiss starts. I can be carried back instantly. I worked with my records as a mobile DJ with two friends back in the seventies and early eighties. My records still have a faint smell of the years of the beer and fags they were immersed in. Pubs and clubs allowed smoking back then and boy, did people take up the option to do so. Stale aromas of smoke and beer is terrible in reality. But in that same reality, the smell only adds to the joy and helps to recapture the time, both good and bad.

We DJ’d at a notorious pub in Harold Hill called The Pompadours. It wasn’t a place for strangers or the fainthearted in any way. This is what I mean about memories. Jimi Hendrix’s ‘All Along The Watchtower’ was our safety blanket there. A local (very) hardman drank in the public bar where we played. He requested it and we declined, immersed in disco music as we were at the time. After this small misunderstanding had been straightened out, somewhat like ourselves, we played the tune and all was right with the world. Each night, as long as we played that record, Charlie was happy. But the strangers who started on us one night weren’t when Charlie had finished with them. All because of that record. Funny to look back on it now, and we do when the three of us old men meet up. My collection contains some truly great records, some absolute stinkers, as well as a lot of pop rubbish. But its all great to listen to in its own way. In seconds you can be back in a time of shirt collars so big you could give Dumbo a run for his money. Drenched in Brut aftershave, waiting patiently for that last smoochy record and a chance of a bum squeeze at the school disco.

It’s easy to see why people of all ages love vinyl. My very own three Mottlets all own vinyl and record players. The electronic world has reduced much that was lovely to nothing but digital mush. The art of letter writing - real, heartfelt hand written letters - is almost dead. To this day I still write letters with a fountain pen, but by now I guess you are hardly surprised. Digitalisation just cheapens everything and removes all amazement and thought about what you have in your hand. A whole book in a nine inch flat square Kindle, millions of songs on your phone.

We just shrug our shoulders with indifference. The wonder has been removed. Whereas with vinyl, one still has to be amazed that by placing a sharp bit of metal onto a piece of moulded plastic - Wah Lah - music emerges. And to be honest, people are amazed at just how much room is needed to accommodate 12,000 singles. Just ask Mrs Mott and she will most definitely tell you!

Yeah, digital is great, but it has removed tangibility. We like to hold things in our hands, feel them, touch them, admire them. You are now thinking this is building up to to some smutty knob gag, aren’t you? So yes, your patience will be rewarded. Who would have thought that there could be so much pleasure in holding seven or twelve inches in your hand? There it is, nearly 1,500 words later, before you got to the knob gag.

So I suppose that after such a long read I should chuck in yet another gag for free, to bring this marathon to a close? Yes, LP’s are great, but singles are the king of vinyl and always will be. Which is why you are now so well informed that you know that 7 inches will always give more pleasure than 12!

Yours aye,

So why this homage to a piece of seven inch vinyl just weeks after my shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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far worse out there. You will love the house you live in once again. The stress of selling your home, finding another and packing up is enough to put you in a lunatic asylum.

If that was not bad enough, I had to find a new car this month as well. All I can say is many car dealerships have not moved with the times. Many have a pretty woman receptionist, but the actual sales folk are men and gosh, are they rude and obnoxious. Many don't return calls while others treat women as though they are idiots.

One dealership in Chelmsford - and it was a high end one at that - kept me waiting for 4 hours for a test drive, only to come back after making me wait for all of that time and tell me they didn't have the car to show me anymore.

THEY’RE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY, HA-HA! This month has had me wondering if I have finally gone mad and should be carted off by the men in white jackets.

I decided, like every other deluded fool out there, to move. I’d had enough of the pandemic and looking at the same old four walls every night, so I put my house up for sale and thought, “If it happens, it happens.” Well, what quickly transpired was a crazy bidding war and these were not just ordinary folk; these were people who lived overseas and had never even been to view the property, yet making offers and wanting me out within just four weeks. I started to think that I had fallen into some sort of crazy black hole. I am very ill at the moment and really need to de-stressing in my life.

So you get an offer and you then start the process of looking at other houses to move into and there is nothing so ‘queer as folk’, the things I have seen when viewing houses, and unfortunately once seen they can never be unseen.

I've seen a house where a wall had been built in the middle of the sofa. Talk about ‘divide and rule’! Someone had to sit behind the pillar. I then had someone tell me they were not leaving the bath in the house. WTF, who takes a bath? Not to mention the most hideous colour schemes and home improvement ideas that could only have been dreamt up whilst high on LSD. I then had another woman, who I’d bid the full asking price on her house, tell me she would have to “vet me for suitability” before I could move in. I have also had unscrupulous agents try to tell me I am up against 6 other people making offers and needed to go higher, only to find out there were none. For the first time in my life I think we need a complete overhaul of the way we sell houses in the UK. To be fair, there are a great deal many good estate agents out there, but there are some really bad ones too - taking advantage and giving the profession a bad name.

The good news is that it was a ‘sellers market’, thanks to the Stamp Duty holiday, but now that has tapered off you only have to look on Right Move to see that house prices are coming tumbling down to the levels they were before Rishi Sunak started his craziness and has quickly returned to a ‘buyers market’. I reckon I could go on Mastermind and win it on my specialist subject: ‘Right Move & Houses in Essex’.

So out of temper, I got in my clapped out 15 year old Mini and drove off one Sunday morning determined to buy a car. I tried a few dealerships and was treated with disdain, so in sheer temper I pulled up at Nissan in Chelmsford. Now I will confess never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to buy a Nissan. So I walked in the showroom in a bad mood and saw a ‘black car’ and said, “I’d like to buy that one.” I did not even know the model. It just said: ‘Buy me and drive away’ on it. In my time I've had Porsches, BMWs and Mercs, but this little car just screamed ‘BUY ME’. Now you would think they’d have been yanking my arm off and writing out the invoice there and then. But no, they were more concerned that the car was right for me and insisted I took it out for a test drive.

Bearing in mind it was the Sunday England were playing Italy in the final, they were all ready to go home, and yet they would not let me buy the car until I had test driven it and was totally happy with it.

So they gave me the keys and told me to go off and drive it on my own. Well, a quick whiz later I definitely wanted it, but they still wanted to make sure it was the right car for me, because they believe that ‘a car sale is more than selling just a car’.

Totally different to any other dealership I went to. Most other dealerships kept me on hold for ages, passed me around and never called me back. Whereas these guys treated me as a person, not a stupid woman, even when I could not work out how to open the back door. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, was too much trouble for them.

The sales person who looked after me, Kevin Bell, what a guy. I could have been buying a Rolls Royce and I doubt I would have got the service I got from him.

Throughout the week, whilst they were getting my car ready and the last minute (new) checks, he always called to update me. I went in the following Saturday to pick it up and was shocked at how efficient and easy it had all been and then I was blown away when they had included lots of extras as a surprise. I even got 3 years breakdown cover. They did not have to do that, but it really made my day; their kindness.

So I’d like to say to Glyn Hopkin and the Nissan team in Chelmsford how totally restored my faith has been in buying a new car. For a woman on their own, I would highly recommend these guys. Even their after-sales was out of this world.

Kevin is one amazing employee. He treated me with respect and importance and as if the sale was more than just a sale. I once had cause to ring up and ask a question and instead of being put on hold and passed from person to person, even the lovely receptionist went out of her way to help me. Other dealerships could learn a lot from these guys and I am so very pleased with my new car.

My advice is this. If you feel fed up with your house and want a change, put your house up for sale and go and view a few others and you will soon be running back to your abode and thanking your lucky Phew! So, onwards and upwards. stars for that damp patch on the wall and the cramped kitchen, because there are tracie123@aol.com Page 30

A stuffy bunch, you might think, eh, readers?

Well, across Chelmsford, there are about 150 of their members who regularly meet in smallish groups. They are a mixture of men, women, from different backgrounds, different ethnicities, of varying ages. And no, they don’t roll up their trouser legs or have any secret signals. Nor are they all ‘rolling in it’.

But what they do have in common is a wish to help their communities in all sorts of ways, whilst having fun - when the occasion presents itself - while they are doing it.

You’ll often see them around our town, sometimes doing silly things, such as serving up their ‘world famous’ mulled wine, pretending they can sing, or being a human fruit machine.

They have also been known to find fun in litter picking (bless ’em) and creating a garden in town for youngsters with mental health issues. And they do all of this to help make life in Chelmsford slightly better and to raise funds so that they can aid people both near and far.

During the past year, they have not been so visible (for obvious reasons), but they are still there. And right now they are slowly beginning to come out of their zoom meetings and looking to get going once again.

These (not so) strange people are all members of local Rotary Clubs and they are always keen for others to join them. So if you are interested, simply Google Rotary 1240 and a few clicks will tell you all the more about them.

You could even go along to try a club meeting, or perhaps just talk to them when next you see them about in our city centre.

Some have called it the biggest breakthrough since sliced bread.

In a boost for cooks, bakers and cocktail makers, pip-free lemons have hit supermarket shelves for the very first time, readers.

In future, lemon lovers will be able to save precious time fretting as they no longer have the bother of picking out the tangy citrus fruit’s pesky pips.

But don’t worry, for the pip-free variety aren’t cross-bred or genetically modified in any way, shape or form by Tefal-headed scientists. Oh no. Instead they are the result of a natural mutation and were discovered completely by chance.

The variety of lemon was found in Australia and is now being successfully grown in South Africa and Spain - meaning there should be year-round supplies for the UK. Trouble is, here in The Edge household, these days we prefer our G&T’s with either lime or cucumber. Only if it’s the latter, no way should it ever be sliced, as Mrs Edge was once served in a Chelmsford hostelry that shall remain nameless.

You’ve got to do it in thin slivers, like you’ll get if using a potato peeler ‘down the shaft’ of the cucumber!

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