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EDGE
the ISSUE NO: 297
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‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’
Telephone 01245 348256
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DECEMBER 2021
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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GWRYCH CASTLE
only the very first thing I noticed was the fact it had a Cornish Bakery (right next door to Pret) and I do so love a Cornish Bakery outlet (although unfortunately they weren’t offering ‘up to 60% off’ anything there). We did both treat ourselves to a sausage roll and a pair of Levi 514’s for £66 though. Read more about it inside this month’s EDGE.
How fantastically spectacular does Gwrych Castle in Abergele look in ‘I’m a Celebrity’ (yes, I know full well the show was hosted there last year as well)? It is simply magnificent. And you’ve got to watch it, haven’t you? Oh come on, ‘Get Me Out of Here’ has become part and parcel of the very fabric of the build up to Christmas after all. I think Frankie Bridge will do pretty well, and Louise Minchin. But it’s a man’s turn to become ‘King of the Castle’ this year, so I am rooting for the legend that is Richard Madeley.
SCARBOROUGH
The Edge Editor’s Column TICKETY-BOO Treated myself to a new chair for my office from Homesense, as my old one had, frankly, had it. But this new one is smaller, so it makes my (small) office look bigger, and the wood-effect on the backrest matches my wood-effect floor. So all good, on the surface, and a win-win situation for Mrs Edge, who always likes things to look tickety-boo. But to be honest, it’s s bit tight around my arse.
PORTSMOUTH
The Edge December 2021(1845) 2021/11/30 15:09:00
I wasn’t expecting much, staying overnight in Portsmouth with Lurch, after a day assisting him and his surveying antics in Sussex. However, that was before I had experienced Gunwharf Quays and I tell you, readers, it is absolutely brilliant and everything that Freeport ought to be, but isn’t. It’s a designer outlet haven offering up to 60% off brands such as Timberland, Hugo Boss and Belstaff (yes, even Belstaff - you heard me),
Popped down to Hutton the other morning to see David Scarborough, he who used to be the head honcho at Chelmsford Car Auctions (Aston Barclay). Remember him? He runs Fairmont Sports & Classics these days and it was great to catch up and have a sit inside a beautiful Austin Healey in his showroom which has nicely polished concrete floors. He once took me to see his beloved Chelsea at Stamford Bridge, as well as also letting me have the use of his apartment in the Portomaso Marina (Malta) for a week, which was very kind of him indeed. For a southerner.
NEXT MONTH Next month in The Edge, watch out for a right riveting article about Chelmsford City (Men’s) Walking Football Club. Aye.
OFFICE CHAIR The bugger’s started creaking already. But can I be arsed to go through all the rigmarole of taking it back and asking Homesense to swap it for another one? Can I? No, probably not (creak, creak).
LAKE DISTRICT Maybe you recall an earlier trip to The Lakes I featured in The Edge a couple of years back, when I expressed by undeniable love for the scenery up there? Well, we’ve been due to return on a couple of occasions since, but both ended up being thwarted due to Covid lockdowns. But finally, finally, not long after these editions have first hit-the-streets, four of us (two couples) are returning to a lovely rented house (£586 for 4 nights) in Bowness, where we plan to eat and drink ourselves stupid and also cook ourselves a glorious Christmas lunch. What’s more, the place will already be decorated all Christmassy for us too. How about that?
BAKE OFF Yet another cracking contest and while Giuseppe and his ‘explosion in a mattress factory’ of hair might have been the official winner, Mrs Edge and I rather think it will be Jurgen (and his trombone playing antics) who will be most fondly remembered as ‘the character of series 2021’. And what about his eyebrows, eh? Those who are raised in the Black Forest all grow them like that, apparently. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 077 64 6 7 97 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Let The Edge just say for the record, it has always liked Dan Walker. Well, he’s a footie man, isn’t he. And what’s more, he’s always ‘calm under pressure’ when hosting the Breaky News on BBC1. But seeing him on the dancefloor just makes me want to cringe. Ugh! Actually, it’s worse than that. Let me give you an example. Can you imagine your fat, old Uncle Billy turning up for lunch on Christmas Day, only the elastic suddenly goes in his Umbro tracksuit bottoms, which immediately drop to his ankles, thus revealing the unknown fact that fat, old Uncle Billy clearly has a penchant for dressing up in women’s knickers and fishnet stockings. Yes, that’s how uncomfortable if makes The Edge feel watching Dan Walker strutting his ‘church going funky stuff’ (he’s a regular on the Sabeth, by all accounts) on tut polished dancefloor. It’s like, “No, Dan, no. What do you think you’re doing, man? Get back to the studio forthwith to discuss Thomas Tuchel and Chelsea’s title challenge with some ex-footie star guests.” However, The Edge didn’t realise there’s also been rumba-lings (get it?) about some of his performances, with many viewers wanting him off, off, off the show. Oh no. We can’t be having that. That’s not on at all, isn’t that. Dan’s still ‘the man’ and the pure, masculine embodiment of Dame Vera Lynn. It’s just that you’ve got to know your place in life and on the dancefloor simply ain’t where Dan Walker ought to be. Nor anyone with ‘Basil Fawlty legs’, come to that.
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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’.
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When owners Peter & Tracy Webb took over the Black Bull in Margaretting just over a year ago, they wanted to create more than just a pub; they wanted to create a real community hub that would help serve the village. And, not wanting to sound too ‘League of Gentlemen’ about it all, after a quarter-of-amillion-pound refurb, their efforts are beginning to be appreciated further afield than merely Margaretting.
“We also tailor-make packages for our customers who require private events,” says Tracy, “which are proving to be very popular indeed.”
These days The Black Bull is not so much ‘a local pub for local people’, but for all those who like pubs the way pubs used to be. And it is most definitely a pub with a difference.
And if all that wasn’t enough, the Black Bull also sponsors a couple of local football teams, which in turn are welcomed back to the pub after weekend games - yes, as well as the team’s opposition - win, lose or draw.
“We’ve tried to create a bit of something for everyone,” says Peter. “For instance, there’s a sports bar offering a full Sky/BT package with some genuine sports memorabilia. And we’ve converted some of the outbuildings to create a real village hub, even offering a genuine village shop with prices comparable to those you’ll find in a supermarket (not hiked).” “We’ve also created a little cafe,” adds Tracy, “plus a Pizza Shack. But all that’s simply to supplement the pub, where we’ve introduced a particularly varied menu, as well as numerous Special Nights such as ‘Fish Fridays’, ‘Pie & Pint Nights’, and our ever popular ‘Curry Nights.” “We’re even offering a selection of bed & breakfast rooms to let, as it would have been daft not to,” continues Peter, “what with us being situated just off the A12. But you don’t have to stay over to sample our Full English breakfasts!” The Black Bull is highly unusual amongst pubs because not only can you pop in there for a pint, you can also pop to their shop to pick up a pinta, if you find yourself running low on milk at home. Or a loaf of bread, come to that. Not to mention their fresh cream cakes and carrot cakes, which are proving to be a highly desirable draw.
“Oh and let’s not forget our regular Quiz Nights,” says Peter, “which are also in aid of helping out some of the local charities we support.”
“We’re simply trying to create an atmosphere and environment that everyone wants to be a part of and feels at home in,” says Peter. “It’s what pubs always used to be about, only these days you’re often hard pushed to find a decent local.” Once the spring and summer months return, there’s over an acre of pub gardens to sit and relax in, with lots of benches, swings and climbing frames for the kids, plus a miniature set of football goals with nets, as well as regular ‘inflatable things to bounce on’ - naturally weather permitting. Sunday Roasts from £12.95pp - bookings are essential. And, from 1st to 24th December, the Black Bull are offering two course festive menus for £24.95pp, or three courses for £29.95pp. Then on Christmas Day, where once again bookings are required, it’s ‘the full works’ for £60pp (£40 per child under 12). Isn’t it time you went and discovered all that’s going on just a couple of miles down the road from Chelmsford?
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THE BLACK BULL
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WE ALSO REPAIR CARAVANS!
theEDGE
As I mentioned earlier, in my own editor’s column, to be precise, it’s fair to say I had my preconceived doubts about a trip to Portsmouth. In fact, one of my regular columnists even warned me before we arrived there that “it’s a proper sh thole”. * However, we checked into a very new and rather shiny Premier Inn late in the afternoon, just opposite some sort of Royal Naval ‘thingy’ or other, and after ditching our bags we wandered just over the road and straight into Gunwharf Quays, where I was instantaneously smitten. Trust me when I say this that if you like shopping, then there’s absolutely nothing not to like about Gunwharf Quays, including the fantastic setting. Think Freeport, at Braintree, and how totally unimaginative it is. I mean, let’s not mince words here, for Freeport is an entirely miserable ‘shopping experience’ in the extreme. Yet Portsmouth offers the exact opposite and we - yes, two blokes can actually enjoy a couple of hours shopping together, you know - absolutely loved it (plus it was bloody nice to get out of the motor and stretch our legs after a long days travelling and surveying, it has to be said). Lurch even nearly, nearly bought himself a Belstaff jacket, FFS. Well, he’s a company director these days, and not so much the gangly, spotty-faced young oik who I used to order about to take photographs for The Edge many moons ago. He’s sort of ‘grown into himself’ and his 6’3” frame, so I was chuffed to bits (as his Dad#2) that Belstaff was even on his radar. And you know, I honestly think he’d have whipped out his gold card if they’d only had his size in stock (that’s Gunwharf’s only downside, but then isn’t it a great feeling when they do have your size and you end up paying almost a third of the price less?). However, it wasn’t long before I was steering Lurch towards The Old Customs House, which truly is a resplendent building and is exactly what Chelmsford should have where the old Saracens Head Hotel used to be (if it had any true character of its own, that is). I immediately loved it in there, particularly when I discovered the exceptional HSB which treated my tonsils like nobody’s business. N.B. Shame about their food though, which I do have to say was abysmal. Lurch proper looks after me on the rare away-days I have out with him these days, ‘holding his staff’ (barcode), which I actually find touching. When we first met (he’s 15 years my junior), he was very much my junior, whereas today, he’s the one - the company director and family man with two young kids - who’s doing really well for himself, yet he drives me around the country to places he thinks I might like and always keeps me topped-up with my favoured Costa soya lattes on route. I’m proud of ‘Young Matthew’ (I still call him that) and how he’s turned out as a man and I’m honored to call him my friend.
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However, what I will also say about an away-trip with Lurch is that we are genuinely like two old women (no disrespect to two old women intended) when it comes to sharing a hotel room. For starters, no way would we want separate rooms - where’s the fun in that? But over the years we’ve gotten to know each other’s quirks. For instance, he likes ‘a bit of time’ in the bathroom of a morning (and generally serenades me through the flimsy walls with a touch of the ‘old trombone tuning’, which always makes me titter), whereas I’m happy to have a bit longer in bed and a watch of the breakfast news with a brew or two, before a quick ‘Ertha’ and a shower (always in that order). He’s very good with gadgets though (he’s a Waze and SatNav freak, but then with the miles he covers, I guess he has to be), so I can always rely on him to get the shower temperature working for me just so. He’s also odd in so far as when we go out for a beer before dinner, he’ll always have two halves of different kinds of beer (and always light coloured beer too, which I cannot abide). Come to think of it, this even extends itself to breakfast time when he’ll often return from the buffet with two differing juices in separate glasses. On our Sussex/Portsmouth trip (we caught the 09:00am ferry to the Isle of Wight to do yet more barcoding/surveying the following morning), I actually excelled myself by helping myself to seven rashers of bacon and two fried eggs, minus the baked beans, mushrooms, black pudding and all the trimmings like Lurch generally opts for. He’s also a strictly black tea kinda guy, whereas call me what you will, but I mainly like a (ladyboy) soya latte, or a flat white every now and then. We’ll often veer into a mini-Tesco on the way back to our digs in the evening and discuss what sort of ‘naughty chocolate’ we should buy, before he’ll luxuriate in a deep bath for a bit, because he: “Never gets the chance at home” he says, with a contented grin all over his chops. This trip in particular though, he gave me a fit of the schoolboy giggles at fully 03:00am, when he chose to treat me to a proper trombone concerto in D-flat that I was surprised didn’t crack the plaster on the ceiling, or indeed wake up some of the other guests staying at the Premier Inn. By hell, the boy can fart. And they’re generally proper baritone, somewhat akin to the foghorn of a cross-Channel ferry. It’s all good schoolboy fun though, even at our age, which is 45 and 60 respectively (yep, there’s always been 15 years between us). Next trip on our agenda will be to Manchester, where we plan to visit Old Trafford and The Etihad stadiums. So watch this space.
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wife and daughter). Then this year we’ll be driving over to the sister-inlaws for a big family shindig with my bro’-in-law best mate ‘The Wookie’ who has recently had a pod (minipub) built at the bottom of his garden, so at least us gents will be easy to find come 3pm. I really can't wait to see them all and hear the belly laughs rumbling whilst good food is eaten and traditional games are played.
POLIT INCO ICALLY RREC T
Boxing Day will most likely be a day of recovery and potentially a trip to the cinema while chilling out in a post food and drink coma. Or maybe even a trip to see the mighty Hammers, as you can't beat a bit of Boxing Day footie.
IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS At least I hope it is by the time you splendid people get your hands on this December edition. Where has the past year gone? I know our parents used to tell us to enjoy our days and not wish them away when we were younger, because time does fly by the older we all get. But my god, this year really has been a bit of a blur. It only seems like yesterday that BBB (Big Bad Boris) delivered the gut wrenching blow that we wouldn't be able to spend any time with our friends or family over the festive period, after promising a totally different scenario just a few weeks earlier. So let's all hope and pray that we are all given the opportunity to see the ones we love the most this Christmas and make new memories that we can look back on fondly, rather than with despair.
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Django Unchained
This year has been a really tough one for our family for reasons I won't put down in print, but what I will say is that we are definitely determined to make this our best ever Crimbo and not take anyone or anything for granted. Christmas Eve will start with our traditional ‘Big Night In’ and annual screening of ‘Die Hard’ (the greatest Christmas movie ever made). Then around 6.30am on Christmas morning I will (always) wake up first, tip-toe downstairs to make myself a cheeky double espresso, put on the radio and listen to a bit of festive TalkSPORT with the rosy cheeked Alan Brazil. Then at roughly 7.30am the rest of the clan will arise, the coffee machine will go back on and we will all wander into the living room, gather around the tree (with the Christmas music channel on TV playing in the background) and start working our way through all of our presents. Once the opening of gifts ritual is over, I'll head back into the kitchen and rustle up a good old Full English (inc. veggie option for my
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And that will pretty much be yet another Christmas done and dusted and no doubt the wife will start taking the deccies down whilst I'm back at work on 27th December and it will seem like Christmas has never even happened by the time I get back home (yes, Mrs GP really does love taking the decorations down as quickly as possible once the ‘big day’ has been and gone)! Come the night of 31st December I'm sure we will all be hoping for a far better 2022 than this year has turned out, and praying the fight against Covid and all the sacrifices that have been made will have finally paid off and the world can at last move forward. ALSO If you find yourselves looking for something to do on 10th December, our charity football team has a fixture at Heybridge Swifts where the doors will be open early (along with the bar for pre-Christmas drinks). We will be raising money for a member of staff's charity of choice who sadly passed away recently and the game will be contested between the regular Springfield F.C. team and another staff 11. The bigger the turn out, the more money we will raise for charity. Kick-off: 19:45. FINALLY I would like to use this opportunity to send our thoughts, prayers and love to the family of Margaret who used to run O'Connor's pub. Margaret’s recent passing will not only leave a massive hole in the hearts of the loved ones she has left behind, but also to a whole community that would regularly pop in to see her for a lovely pint of Guinness, especially over the Christmas period. Margaret was not only one of the loveliest, most hard working people you could ever wish to meet, she was also a bloody great landlady what I would call a ‘proper landlady’. They don't make them like Margaret any more, that's for sure. So god bless both her and her family. She will be truly, truly missed. Have a very Merry Christmas everyone. GP x
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1. Most blues songs begin with: "Woke up this mornin’..." 2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to sing the blues, unless you stick something nasty in the next line, such as: "I got a good woman, with a face like a bag of spanners." 3. The blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. And repeat it some more. Then find something that rhymes (sort of). Like: "I got a good woman, with a face like a bag of spanners. Yeah, I got a good woman, and she follows the claret and blue Hammers." 4. The blues is not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in a ditch. Ain't no way out. That’s just the way things is. 5. Blues cars: Chevys, Fords, Cadillacs and broken-down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sports Utility Vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Travelling on a Northbound train is definitely NOT the blues. Jet aircraft and state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the runnin’. Walkin' plays a major part in the blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die. 6. Teenagers can't sing the blues cos they ain’t fixin’ to die adults just yet. In the blues, adulthood means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in his willy in Memphis 7. You can have the blues in New York City, but not in Brooklyn or Queens and definitely not in Hawaii or Canada. Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probably just clinical depression. Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City are still the best places to suffer from the real blues. But you cannot have the blues in no place that don't get no rain. No siree. 8. The following colours do not belong in the blues: (a) cerise (b) taupe (c) mauve. 9. A man with male pattern baldness simply ain't no blues man. But a woman with male pattern baldness is most definitely the blues. Breaking your leg 'cause you were skiing ain’t the blues. But breaking your leg 'cause an alligator be chompin’ on it sure is. 10. You can't have the blues in an office or a shopping mall because the lighting’s all wrong. So try the piss smelling underground parking lot. 11. Good places for the blues: (a) highway (b) jailhouse (c) empty bed (d) bottom of a whiskey glass (e) week old underpants. 12. Bad places for the blues: (a) John Lewis (b) gallery openings (c) golf courses (d) 5-star hotels (e) family gatherings.
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13. No-one will believe it's the blues if you wear a suit; unless you happen to be an old black man and you’ve slept in it a fair few times.
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14. Do you have the right to sing the blues? Yes, if: (a) you're older than dirt (b) your first name is a southern state, such as Georgia (c) you are blind (d) you once shot a man in Memphis (e) you ain’t never satisfied; No, if: (a) you have all your teeth (b) you were once blind, but now you can see (c) you're deaf (d) the man in Memphis lived (e) you have faith.
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15. Neither Julio Iglesias nor Celine Dion can ever sing the blues. 16. Blues is not a matter of colour. It's a matter of bad luck. So ugly white folks are definitely in with a chance. 17. If you ask for water and your baby gives you gasoline, it's the blues. Other acceptable blues beverages are: (a) cheap wine (b) whiskey or bourbon (c) muddy water (d) black coffee The following are NOT blues beverages: (a) Latte (b) Shiraz (c) Red Bull (d) Perrier. 18. If death occurs in a cheap motel or in a shotgun shack, it's a proper bona fide blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely of a broken heart. But you can't suffer a blues death if you have a heart attack when you’re hang gliding, or whilst gettin’ liposuction. 19. Some blues names for women: (a) Sadie (b) Big Mamma (c) Bessie-Lee (d) Fat River Dumpling (e) Skinny-Dipping Sue. 20. Some blues names for men: (a) Joe (b) Willie (c) Little Willie (d) Big Willie (e) Humongous Fat Willy (f) Lightnin’. 21. Ladies with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie and Heather cannot sing the blues, no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis. 22. And Jessie is not a ‘jessie’ if he’s wearing a dress, but singin’ the blues.
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What a fantastic game Subbuteo was. I just loved collecting different teams colours when I was a kid (Blackpool and Ajax were particular favourites, only you don’t often mention those two in the same breath as each other). Surely Subbuteo has got to be the greatest football game ever invented, although the carpet you laid the cloth pitch on had to be just right, because if it wasn’t and the two didn’t grip, well then, the pitch constantly rumpled up. Of course, a disadvantage to playing the game on your hands and knees was that you very often accidentally ‘squashed a player’, only you never got a sub in the pack, so you simply drafted a player in wearing a totally different kit. What’s more, if your glue wasn’t good enough, then your mum’s pink nail varnish had to do, giving the crocked plastic individual ‘ladyboy socks’.
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Without a word of a lie, readers, when Lurch and I were experiencing this (mid-November) at around 09:30am driving from Manchester to Leeds to do a surveying job, Chelmsford was bathed in Autumnal sunshine. Exactly: why would anyone want to live oop north?
SANTA SAYS WHEN Y’GOTTA GO Y’GOTTA GO “HE SEES YOU WHEN YOU’RE SLEEPING, HE KNOWS WHEN YOU’RE AWAKE” Sleep tight!
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Hello Readers. What a busy month I’ve had. Ten days in Krakow, Poland, and six days on the sunny Portuguese Algarve. More about that later, as I want to start with an appeal. I don’t normally do personal gripes on here. If I did, I’d tell you about how useless www.lookaftermybills.com are and how their incompetence has left me £1,000 out of pocket and with an ongoing case with Ofcom because they would not take responsibility for placing my gas and electric with an energy firm that took money from my account but never provided gas or electricity and then went bust. Or I would tell you about the utterly useless kitchen department at B&Q Chelmsford who were unable to supply a simple flat pack kitchen for a small flat we are selling. They actually managed to deliver 18 components that we did not need and miss out twelve that we did, resulting in my kitchen fitter having a nervous breakdown. B&Q even designed the kitchen too, for heaven’s sake! But to their credit, unlike www.lookaftermybills.com they have taken full responsibility and are compensating us for their mistakes.
DEAKS
But, I digress. I’m better than that. I won’t waste valuable column space on the likes of them. I want to talk about something much closer to my heart. So, Sunday 24th October my goddaughter Lucy was walking to the shops on Kings Road at 3pm in the afternoon when she was set upon by a youth (approximately 25 years old, white, with grubby blonde air) who made off with Lucy’s handbag that contained her mobile phone and purse, as well as her emergency pack of medication because, you see, Lucy is special needs following a brain tumour when she was aged 6. Now I’m no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one. What a despicable lowlife. The attack on Lucy has angered many people, not least because of her
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disabilities. The company that arranges her care have put up a £500 reward. If you know the lowlife who did this, then turn him in and claim the reward. However, this anger and outrage has also meant that many people have been especially kind to Lucy. She has received flowers, bucket loads of love and, after I shared the story on a neighbourhood group, a lovely lady called Louise reached out to me and dropped a Lulu Guinness handbag (nope, nor me) for Lucy, restoring my faith in humankind, which reconfirms what we all know about the givers and takers in this world (the takers will always score their next line of drugs, but the givers will sleep well at night, or something like that...). “Why were you in Poland and Portugal, Deaks?” I hear you ask. Well, I went to Krakow to conclude the dental work to my teeth that I have previously mentioned in my column and am now in possession of a shiny set of molars that will ‘see me out’, as I like to say as regards to anything that I buy that is likely to last me for more than the next 10 years. During my visit I spent eight of those ten days in a dentist’s chair. Honestly, he could’ve just punched me in the mouth several times when I arrived and saved us both a lot of trouble. Still, you know what they say, ‘no pain, no gain’ and here I am, smiling at everyone I meet once again. Meanwhile, Portugal was a short vacation in search of some sunshine with a friend and very successful we were too. It was 22/24 degrees most days, sat beside the sea, enjoying lunch that was so fresh we could have believed the seafood had jumped straight from the waves beneath our feet onto our plates. Portugal is such a beautiful country with beautiful people. Mind you, I have to say, following my 2 visits to Krakow this year, Poland pushes it very close indeed. Another thing I don’t like to talk about too much on here is my football club, as I understand that West Ham United aren’t for everyone. But come on, cut me some slack here, because we are currently riding the crest of a wave at The London Stadium. I went along to the West Ham v Liverpool match during the first week of November and we deservedly ended the mighty Liverpool’s unbeaten 25 game run, much to Mr Klopp’s annoyance. Uncle Jurgen’s really not the best of losers, is he? There are 2 matches between my writing this article and the publication of the magazine, so I really hope I am not tempting fate when I say what a season David Moyes and West Ham are having. If we are sitting top of the Premiership when the December edition is published, then I shall most likely have passed out with excitement and my next column might be in grave doubt! Blimey, I have almost finished this months offering and I have just realised I haven’t even mentioned the ‘C’ word yet. I get the proper hump when everything goes Christmassy in November. You know the sort of thing, the shops putting up their Christmas decorations and all the Christmas adverts on TV. So you can imagine how hard it is for me to be writing anything about Christmas during the middle of November, can’t you? Who knows what we can expect this Christmas, what with Covid still lurking around the corner. Last Christmas was very odd, due to Covid restrictions, but even more so because it was the first Christmas without our mum/gran. Not having someone around who has been the focus of every Christmas forever is very strange indeed. It coincided with the arrival of my first grandchild, Lachlan, which I guess shows us that life does go on. Here’s a funny Christmas story for you. Back in the day, when I was working up in the smoke, we had a Christmas lunch for about 50-60 of us in a restaurant/bar in Bishopsgate. I was sat beside my secretary, because she organised the table layout and all the fun mob were sat around me and her, coincidentally. I shouldn’t be telling you this as there will be people wondering why they were sat down the other end of the table every year. Anyhow, one of my fellow directors was sat close by and throughout the afternoon we stuffed knifes, forks, spoons and All Bar One branded serviettes in his bag. He lived in Hastings, so he had to leave at 7pm to catch his train, and by this time he probably had about 180 pieces of cutlery stashed in his bag. Now Bob, for that was his name, was notorious for cutting things fine, so in a flash he left the table totally inebriated just before 7pm, with his bag slung over his shoulder, saying he had a train to catch. Well, we sat there amazed that he could even lift the thing, let alone carry it anywhere. Anyhow, next morning, he tells the story that he was running over the concourse at Waterloo Station when he slipped over and his bag deposited all of his stolen cutlery and All Bar One paper napkins all over the concourse floor. Naturally the people around him helped him collect the contents of his bag, including a police constable, apparently, who was bemused by all the cutlery which Bob claimed never to have seen in his life before. And on that Christmassy bombshell of theft and drunken debauchery, I must leave you and, with great reluctance, wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Take comfort, dear readers, that you are the very first recipients of my sincere festive wishes. Bah, humbug! TTFN, Deaks. Email: gmdeakin@gmail.com Instagram: gmdeakin
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The GPstapo
her to help and the receptionist reluctantly found an appointment in a different village 20 minutes later that day. The lady explained that she didn’t drive and wouldn’t be able to make the appointment. Unbelievably, the receptionist muttered that it was a doctor’s surgery and not a spa and if the lady was truly in pain then she would make the effort to attend the appointment. The lady responded that she would visit A&E instead as the hospital was easily accessible by bus. But the receptionist was furious at this suggestion and accused the poor lady of potentially wasting the hospital’s time when she was offering her a GP appointment, albeit it in a village and at a time that the lady had reasonably stated she could not attend. Sadly, this doesn’t appear to be an isolated incident and if you read through reviews on the internet, there are plenty of stories about poor service from our GPs and even more about over zealous surgery receptionists. As for my appointment, I was sent for some urgent blood tests and told to call in for the results after a week. When I called, I obviously reached the receptionist who informed me that, whilst she was not medically qualified, as far as she could tell, everything looked normal. As you can imagine, I found her advice very reassuring!
Trouble on the Tyne Newcastle United are one of those clubs where good things just aren’t supposed to happen. As matters currently stand, they are reportedly the richest club in world football, but currently sit second bottom in the Premier League with a measly 4 points. Of course, with the money they have they will no doubt try and buy themselves out of it in January, but by my calculations, they have 10 games to get through before then (including Arsenal, Liverpool, Man.City and Man.Utd). Teams will know that they are desperately in need of players, so I would imagine you will see some hugely inflated transfer fees being paid for some very average players. They are already 6 points from safety (with a terrible goal difference) and there is a real risk that they will have too much ground to make up. Perhaps, more interestingly, I wonder if the current set of players will have the stomach for a relegation scrap? After all, their prize for keeping them up would likely be them being replaced in the summer transfer window. If you add into the mix Financial Fair Play, the competitiveness of the Championship and the difficulty in attracting players to a second tier club, you can see just how important the next few weeks are for the Toon. Personally, I think it might be a good thing for the game if they are relegated because it is better to
see teams achieve success through good management, hard work and team spirit, like West Ham. I appreciate that all clubs have money these days, but seeing the super-rich come into teams like Chelsea and Man.City and effectively ‘buy success’ just doesn’t seem right. I get that it is big business these days, but there really should be more done to ensure that there is more of a level playing field financially. The league is much more exciting when other teams have a chance of winning it. One of the best seasons in recent memory was when we saw Leicester crowned champions. Perhaps the only way we will see this happen is if every club is eventually owned by super-billionaires. But for the time being, I think a few of them might be put off by what they are seeing at Newcastle.
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After a few weeks of jaw pain, I was lucky enough to get myself a face-to-face appointment with my GP. Ever since Covid, it seems almost impossible to get to see a quack these days, but I persevered with the telephone booking system, due to my health concerns. But when I finally managed to get through, I experienced what I can only describe as a crossexamination by the receptionist as to the issues I had been having, in what seemed to be an assessment by her to determine whether my symptoms were worthy of an appointment with my doc. I fully understand that GP surgeries are under pressure these days, but I do not accept that quasi-medical triage is being undertaken by unqualified reception staff. On the day of my appointment, I was patiently waiting in the reception area when a rather distressed lady entered the surgery clutching her face. She said to the receptionist that she was suffering from a terrible pain in the side of her head and needed to see a doctor. She explained how she had been trying to call the surgery for an appointment for 4 days, but was unable to get through. The receptionist responded to say that she could not make appointments for people visiting the surgery in person. The lady then pleaded with
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ONLY JOKING! SWEET & LOVEABLE
I’m actually quite sweet and loveable. Just keep your damn, filthy, stealing hands off of my flame thrower.
SPIDER’S LEGS T’missus stepped out of the shower and called softly to me, "Hun, I’ve shaved myself ‘down there’. You know what that means, don’t you?” "Yeah,” I said, "the plug ’ole’s gonna be blocked solid with spider’s legs for a fortnight.”
TRENDY NIGHTCLUB We went to a really trendy nightclub for our work’s Christmas knees-up the other night. But the doorman wouldn’t let me in. "Sorry,” he said, “you look as if you've had too many." I said, "But I’ve only had four halves of lager.” He said, “Birthdays, I meant."
NEW JOB TITLE So I strolled into my local and Dave the landlord called out, "Nick! Welcome back. What’s new?” "Hi Dave,” I said, as he poured me a pint. “I’ve got a brand new job title at work.” “Oh yeah,” says Dave. “Go on...” "At my company,” I pronounced, “I am now informally known as Head of Sexual Matters.” "Whoa!” said Dave. “Impressive. Nice. Cushty. Does that mean you’ll be counselling the big wigs on their illicit relationships with their secretaries, nudge-nudge, wink-wink?” "Hmmmm, I’m not so sure as yet,” says I. "Not sure?” says Dave. “Waddayamean you’re not sure?” "Well,” I says, “during a staff meeting about cutbacks, I popped up with the suggestion of a reduction in executive expense accounts. And it was just after that I was told if they ever wanted my f cking advice, they’d let me f cking know!”
*
*
LIFE & DEATH There’s a thin line between life and death. You’ll not see it, but a cardiogram might.
NANOOK Nanook is driving along the Elliot highway towards Fairbanks when the Ute ups and dies. He phones the Alaskan AA and three hours later a mechanic turns up. The guy is soon rummaging around under the hood. "OK, try it now,” he calls to Nanook. But although the engine turns over, it refuses to start. Wiping his hands on his oily rag, the AA man closes the hood and says, "Sorry mate, but it very much looks like you’ve blown a seal.” "Nah,” Nanook assures him. "That’s just frost on my moustache.”
PROSTRATE EXAMINATION I hate it, during a prostate exam, when the doc asks, "Guess how many fingers that is?”
THERAPY When I was young I was convinced I was the ugliest kid in the whole wide world. I was so depressed I needed therapy. But the therapist was fantastic. She assured me that I was not the ugliest child in the world She said, “But you do look a bit similar.”
21 GUN SALUTE During Prince Philip’s funeral there was a 21 gun salute. Boris, sitting near the front, immediately received a text message from Macron wishing to surrender.
CLEVER CHILD Teacher: "Can someone use the word dandelion in a sentence?" Jamaican Child: "Yeah miss. Da cheetah runs fasta dandelion."
SQUARE I once tried very quickly to make a square, but I ended up with an octagon. Because that's what happens when you try to cut corners.
IMMATURE Her: "You are far too immature for me. I honestly can't handle it anymore. I need a break.” Him: "There, there, my love. Don’t be like that. Here, have a KitKat.”
SCIENTISTS v GOD So a scientist calls on God. "Well, it looks like we won’t be needing you anymore.” "Why’s that?” Sayeth the Almighty. "We have learned enough to make anything you’ve ever done.” "Show me?” says God "Okay. So, I take a handful of dirt ... “ "Whoa!” exclaims God. "That’d be my dirt.”
Later that evening, Mary is in her big sister Suzie’s bedroom. She proudly informs her sis that her monkey has started to sprout. Suzie smiled knowingly and said, "Next thing you know, it’ll be wanting a banana.”
DEMON The wife came in and said, "I’ve just been round the corner to Jean’s and there was this bunch of kids drawing a pentagram on the pavement in chalk, and they’d placed some candles on the points and were all chanting in a foreign tongue. Do you reckon they were trying to summon up a demon?” Bravely, I said, "And look what happened. You showed up at that precise moment.”
SCIENTISTS v UNIVERSE Scientists say the universe is made up of protons, neutrons and electrons. But they have totally overlooked all of the morons.
THE DRESS Just remember, it’s not the dress that makes you look fat. It’s the fat that makes you look fat.
GIVE ME A MINUTE As we stripped off and jumped into bed, the girlfriend suddenly said, "Oh, can you give me a minute?" He said, "Why? Do you want to freshen up, or something?" She said, "No. It’s just I only got 30 seconds worth last time we tried this."
NUMBER ONE SON Dad: "Go wake your mother from her afternoon nap.” #1 Son: "No way, man. Please don’t force me to do it, dad.” Dad: "But you’re her favourite. You’re much less likely to get hurt.”
FEELINGS I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings when I called you stupid. I honestly thought you knew.
GETTING OLDER So I rang my mate Stan and his wife answered. "I wanted to wish you and Stan a really good holiday," I said. "You fly from Gatwick this afternoon, don't you?" She said, "Stansted." I said (shocked), "Blimey, he seemed absolutely fine in the pub last night."
PARENTING Parenting is merely saying the same things over and over again, yet expecting different results.
MONKEY Young Mary was showering when, to her horror, she found some dark hairs growing in her private place. She quickly dried herself and, slipping on her bathrobe, sought advice from her Mum. Mum smiled knowingly, easing her fears, and told her it was perfectly normal. "That part of your body where the hair is growing is known as your monkey. You should be proud that your monkey has grown hair. It shows that you are becoming a proper young lady.”
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Madison Heights Family Entertainment Centre, based in Maldon, has once again teamed up with the charity KidsOut to help children whose parents have had to flee their home due to domestic violence at Christmas. KidsOut are trying to give these children a much deserved festive treat via THE GIVING TREE PROJECT. These brave mums have fled domestic abuse to seek sanctuary in refuge, often leaving their homes with only the clothes on their backs, no money, toiletries or even the most basic items for their children’s needs. Each year this affects approximately 20,000+ sons and daughters with the increase of domestic violence still on the up. Many of these children suffer horrific abuse both mentally and physically. They have not had the innocent childhood they deserve. Often these children are deprived of food, clothes and toys; in short, the simple things in life that most kids take for granted. KidsOut works to remind these children and 1000’s of others living with disadvantages just what it is like to be a child having fun. Just imagine if your child had never experienced the joy and excitement of opening up Christmas gifts on Christmas morning. We all know children’s faces light up when they see their presents under the Christmas tree. But these poor mums cannot afford such a privilege, which must be heart-breaking for them not being able to provide for their children on what should be the most magical day of the year. Which is why Madison Heights (Maldon) are asking you to open up your hearts as a community in order to help them to help mothers in distress to have the best Christmas they possibly can with their children. All you need to do is pop into Madison Heights between Wednesday 1st - 12th December and select a gift tag from the Giving Tree (situated by Henri’s Restaurant). Each tag has a child’s name, age and the gift they would most wish to receive on Christmas Day. Then kindly return your unwrapped present (this is so the charity can check the gift and wrap it themselves) with the original KidsOut gift tag attached to Madison Heights (Main Bar) in person during opening hours, or post via the Royal Mail. Madison Heights would also be more than happy to collect donations from any businesses that wish presents to be purchased on their behalf. Please call 01621 850222 and ask for either Sarah or Lisa who will be only too pleased to help with your kind donations. Madison Heights, Park Drive, Maldon CM9 5JQ. www.madisonheights.co.uk
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How appropriate was it that one of the earliest space tourists was one William Shatner aka Captain Kirk of the USS Starship Enterprise (NCC-1701). Despite the numerous criticisms of his and other astronauts’ flights into space, I personally think that space flight will be one of the few options available by which humanity can avoid the next Mass Extinction event. A couple of months ago I wrote that we were now entering an irreversible decline in the Earth’s biomass with rising temperatures, falling biodiversity and little inclination to stop the decline, despite people gluing themselves to the M25. Look at the COP26 which, whilst it is trying to address some of these problems, the leaders of the most polluting or internally destructive countries i.e. China, Russia and Brazil, are not even attending. Much will be discussed, many promises will be made, but little will be done. For instance, India is in the middle of what it calls the 4th Industrial Revolution and is unlikely to modify the progress towards the modernisation of their country. And just look at our own country? The roads are still jammed, despite a recent petrol supply crisis, raw sewage is being pumped directly into our coastal waters, and we are now contemplating building SIX new Nuclear Power Stations within the next 10 years. Who in their right mind is going to scrap their £1000 gas boiler and invest nearly £20,000 in a domestic heat pump? Thus we have to be realistic about the changes we’re going to have to make. Sure, there seem to be more electric cars around these days, but they still only account for a small proportion of the number of vehicles on the road, while there are still large gaps in the charging facilities - what is the use of having only two charging stations in a large car-park with over 250 spaces? So the problems will remain unchanged, whilst we in the UK are trying to move to a Carbon Neutral Society by 2030, this will not be reflected in GLOBAL ACTIVITY. Recently both Russia and China have stated that they will not move to a Green agenda before 2060, which according to the UN is 10 years too late to reverse both global warming and rising sea levels. Neither India nor Brazil have revealed their Carbon Neutral agendas and are unlikely to do so in the near future. Even the world’s forests are now net carbon emitters. It’s all getting a bit late to fix things. When your house is wrecked, the options are to repair and refurbish it or move. But when your planet is wrecked and cannot be repaired,
then you’ll have to eventually move. But how can we move to a new, pristine functioning planet? We can’t. So we’ll have to look for new and better options to either repair or relocate. The question begs, where do we go from here? And if we have to relocate, how do we overcome those vast interstellar distances? I know, I know, you think that the discussion of space flight are the ramblings of a senile old man, but honestly, this isn’t the case. NASA, together with the US Department of Defence and a number of independent research groups based in New York, Zurich and Sweden are looking at the possibility of a ‘WARP DRIVE’ by which Interstellar Spaceships can traverse the vast distances in space in a short period of time - just have a look at the July and August editions of Scientific American if you have a copy to hand. Much of this work is based around the work of Miguel Alcubierre, a Theoretical Physicist who in 1994 first proposed the concept of the ‘Alcubierre Drive’ which effectively flattened folded and shortened space and significantly reduced the time taken to travel between two points in Interstellar Space - a true warp drive! Whilst the maths and physics of the Alcubierre Drive have been accepted by many of the scientists within the field, the missing piece of the equation is the immense amount of energy needed for the drive itself. Both NASA and the US Department of Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) are investigating the possibility of developing a feasible Interstellar travel within the next 100 years under the project title ‘100 Years Starship’ known as ‘100YSS’. To date, there have been a number of (unsuccessful) attempts to replicate the Alcubierre Drive using a laser drive to warp space-time by members of NASA’s Advanced Propulsion Team - I kid you not! So yes, it is a (serious) possibility that sometime in the not too distant future we might be able to achieve some form of Warp Drive (as defined by NASA) and conquer interstellar space. “Warp Speed, indeed, Mr. Sulu”, as Captain Kirk would undoubtedly say.
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reetings one and all from Southern California, where it is December. So, warm and sunny then. Sorry.
it’s visible decay and a cloud of resentment gathers and thickens. The men have been robbed of their manhood by having to do menial jobs they don’t consider worthy of their cultural status. And in that culture the man has to be a breadwinner. Meanwhile, TV, and then the internet too, is awash with images of people that are winning in the game of life. The elites.
There is a podcast series (available wherever you get your podcasts, as they always say) that is a collection of conversations between two men who have struck up an unlikely, but deep friendship. It is unlikely because one is over a decade older than the other. One is Harvard educated, the other barely made it out of High School. One is black, the other white. One is a musician, the other used to be President. Which makes the title of the podcasts – Renegades – seem similarly unlikely. However, that is how each sees himself. More on this later.
The two men we are talking about here, and you’ve no doubt figured it out already, even if you didn’t know, are Barrack Obama and Bruce Springsteen. Yeah, yeah, yawn, yawn. Who wants to listen to two old men moaning about stuff? Well, that’s where you’re wrong, because it is engaging, thought provoking and entertaining discourse. The podcasts explore a number of issues. Some deal with aspects of American life that will be of little interest to anyone in mid-Essex. On the other hand, a number get deep into parts of the human condition that are universal. What it means to be a husband and father, for example, or how boys learn to be men. That boy/man one is unsettling if you are the male of the species, because it reminds you what a nasty piece of work you were as a teenager. Well, most of us. There was another episode that travels around their musical histories which was particularly interesting, but we’ll maybe come back to that another time. This month we are going to take a look at an installment that was centered on two songs that BS wrote back in the early 1980s. ‘My Hometown’ and ‘The River’ have the same subject matter – what was happening to small towns in rustbelt America. Yawn, yawn, again, right? No, because the sentiments and consequences portrayed are equally fitting to those British places that are now described as ‘left behind’. The songs also neatly encapsulate the issues around manhood mentioned above. And,
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And the resentment grows, stoked by populist politicians who know which buttons to press. Well, it took thirty years, but eventually that cloud of bitterness had reached such intensity that it had to break and duly dumped a shitstorm of biblical proportions upon us. Brexit and
although he couldn’t possibly have known this when he wrote them, they witness the genesis of the votes for Trump and Brexit.
Trump. It was the forgotten ones’ revenge on the elites.
The songs tell the story of a town where “they bring you up to do what your daddy done”. The town had a factory, or a mine, or a mill, that was the main employer and most of the men worked there. Then their sons worked there. Then their sons worked there. In other words, ambitions and expectations were low. They brought you up to do what your daddy done. No thoughts of university or moving away – there was no need. You had a community and a job for life with a pension at the end right where you were.
Now, in no imaginable way is Chelmsford left behind – there’s a John Lewis for Chrissake but unless you are incredibly self-centred and uncaring, everyone living there will acknowledge that there are towns in the UK that exhibit the exact problems that BS was singing about. And, whether you acknowledge it or not, you, an inhabitant of Chelmsford, are one of the elite. The town is prosperous, very few people have to shower after work instead of before it. And you are hated for all this by certain sections of the UK populace.
At least you did until those jobs went elsewhere in pursuit of cheaper labour.
Which doesn’t explain Chelmsford’s leave vote, but hey-ho, exceptions, rules and all that.
In the case of the UK, you can add to the deindustrialised places a huge number of coastal towns where it wasn’t a factory that went missing, but the summer tourism industry that brought in just enough money to keep the place afloat. All that has buggered off to Ibiza and Aiya Napa now, leaving behind poorly paid and insecure jobs in Amazon warehouses, supermarkets and DIY stores. Think Clacton.
To return to where we started. BS and BO go through all the above (well, not the bits about Walsall or Clacton) with a great deal more clarity, detail and intellectual rigour than has been displayed here, but they come to the same conclusion. A country is seemingly divided on cultural lines, but really it’s the economic disparity that is the real issue. Solve that problem, and the cultural points of conflict wouldn’t even get a mention
As an alternative to B&Q in those coastal towns there is the possibility of catering to the odd stag or hen do to bring in a bit of cash. And a lot of barf. Not exactly what you’d want to build a sustainable local economy on, is it?
But identifying the problem is one thing – how you fix it is an entirely different scale of challenge. ‘Leveling up’ may be the answer, if it had some substance and wasn’t just another empty, meaningless slogan.
So as the towns gradually decline – be they Youngstown, Ohio, or Walsall, West Midlands -
Oh, nearly forgot. So why ‘Renegades’? No idea. Page 25
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Well, I’ll admit it, my Christmas tree is already up and I have started on the M&S mince pies and festive nibbles a little early this year. No idea why, but I’m so excited, perhaps because 2021 will finally be over and we can all look forward to a far happier brand new year, fingers crossed. I must say, the last few months have been busier than ever, what with attending a London Travel Conference at the new Jumeirah Carlton Hotel, swiftly followed up with exhibiting at the recent Essex Wedding Show. Whilst on the subject of weddings, it was fantastic speaking with everyone who attended and hearing where they wanted to go on their honeymoon. What’s more, the Maldives wasn't on the agenda of the majority, which frankly was a breath of fresh air. I honestly think lockdown/Covid has made people want to seek more adventure further afield, which was music to my ears. Only I suppose you're thinking, ‘Really? So where do they want to go?’ Well, as always, I am happy to share some inspiration with you readers. So, at the top of the list was actually an African Safari, followed by a luxury beach stay. Of course, the options are endless as you can choose Botswana, Kenya, Uganda, South Africa or Tanzania, where you can see the ‘big five’ and tour the game parks. I would highly recommend South Africa, starting off in Cape Town where you can visit Table Mountain at sunset and enjoy a glass of wine and tapas. Or perhaps embark on an awakening visit to Robben Island, the prison island where Nelson Mandala was held captive for fully 27 years. Once there you can pretty much have a self-drive tour and drive along some of the finest wine routes in South Africa. Then later maybe head over to Mombasa Island, Zanzibar, or even the Maldives, for some well-deserved beach escape. The Caribbean will always be a top choice as it’s such a great distance from the UK, with St Lucia and Antigua being the go-to resorts for many honeymooners. And if that sounds like you, then I've got some good news, as your favorite resorts are now due for a makeover, offering you that ‘brand new’ feeling. St Lucia is famous for its piton mountains; did you know you can actually hike these and you can go zip-lining in the tropical rainforest? My best ever river excursion was in Antigua when we canoed through some mangroves out into the ocean, before hopping on a speed boat for a dive in the sea and ending the tour with a private island BBQ. If you haven't already, I would definitely urge you to book a Caribbean holiday and simply indulge on what the islands have to offer. Then, of course there's, some who just hate flying, in which case I truly feel for your partners, not being able to go long haul. That’s because some of the best destinations are at least 8+ hours away, which makes your best alternative Europe. So might I suggest touring in Italy, offering a chance to visit iconic places such as Rome, Florence, Milan and Venice, before catching a train across to Switzerland, which I think sounds absolutely delightful. It’s an incredibly scenic route on an express train and the best part of it is that it takes less than 4 hours. However, if you do find your partner is up for taking an 8hr flight, then why not try Canada, as you can cover and dine in all of the popular places, such as Toronto, Montreal, Ontario and Quebec. These are just some of many ideas I have to offer, which is why there is no better time than right now to book your next holiday with me, your personal travel counselor. I was speaking with a lady who booked her wedding destination with a company for 2022. She went on to tell me how she almost lost £7k as the company is now no more. What was most heart breaking to hear was the news that she had no choice but to keep her original booking, yet was forced to pay a further £4k+ as she wanted to go ahead with her wedding overseas as planned. It just goes to show that many people and travel companies will be in this position in the coming months, if not already. Whereas any bookings made with me are 100% financially protected, giving you peace of mind whenever the time comes to book your next holiday.
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ANDREW ELEY
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In the summer of 84’, a super exited 8 year old me queued around the block for several hours with my family, eagerly anticipating getting into Chelmsford’s old Pavilion cinema to see a new supernatural based comedy that had come out, only to reach the end of the line and be told they had now sold out. I was crushed. But with no prebooking and suchlike back then, long queues to get into the local fleapit, with no guarantee of getting a seat, where de rigueur. So several weeks later we tried again, this time successfully, and I sat down with an oversized bag of popcorn and cold fizzy pop, ready to watch the hottest ticket in town: Ghostbusters! Unless you where around in 1984, it’s hard to imagine just how popular the film was back then. The famous Ghostbusters logo was everywhere; I even had it on my school lunchbox. And, of course, there was Ray Parker Jnr’s brilliant Ghostbusters theme song which helped propel the movie into ‘classic’ status. As a movie, Ghostbusters was a ‘lightening in a bottle’ event. Perfect casting, brilliant script, outstanding humour, plenty of chills’n’thrills, iconic villains and THAT SONG eared it a legion of fans. The film is so good it remains endlessly rewatchable today and firmly remains in my ‘Top 10’ movies of all time. But with such a high bar set, it was always going to be a challenge to equal it, let alone better it, with an inevitable sequel. Ghostbusters 2 arrived in 1989 and was mostly derided for a being a lacklustre follow up. But personally, I liked it, and still do to this day, even though it doesn’t reach the lofty heights of the original. Perhaps due to the negative reception of the sequel, an often-mooted Ghostbusters 3 remained in development hell for years, only later being used as the blueprint for a Ghostbuster video game. As time passed, the gang got older, Harold Ramis passed away and it looked like any hope of a proper third entry was all but over. Instead, Sony decided to re-imagine Ghostbusters with an all-female group and a weirdly heavy emphasis on crass humour with less thrills, resulting in 2016’s box office flop. So it really did look as though the franchise was as dead as the ghosts in its movies. Only then, to every fan’s surprise, it was announced that an official follow-up would be happening after all.
Smartly hiring Jason Reitman, son of the original's director Ivan Reitman (who remains as producer) to bring the movie to the big screen, excitement began to build that after nearly four decades the gang would indeed be back. With the remaining original cast now being septuagenarians, it seemed unlikely they themselves would don the proton packs and return to busting ghouls. So in Ghostbusters: Afterlife, we pick up with Phoebe Spengler, who discovers her Grandpa was a famous Ghostbuster (one Dr Egon Spengler) who was still trying to protect the world from the everpresent threat of Gozer, the demonic big bad from the first film, until his death. Basically what we get here is a redux of the first film, only with young kids taking the reigns of ghost busting duties. The same demon dogs are back. The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is back (albeit in mini-form) and a greedy green ghost who both looks and acts like Slimer is also in it (only called, wait for it, Muncher). So it’s both a sequel and a re-boot, sitting somewhere between the two. I had mixed feelings whilst watching it. On the one hand I had goosebumps where the music, gadgets and ghosts were concerned, all evoking wonderful feelings of nostalgia. But on the other, it felt a bit lazy and small in scale. Aside from a thrilling car chase with our hero’s attempting to catch a ghost at high speed, no big scenes really stand out. There’s nothing to match the original, where you could talk in the playground about ‘that library ghost’, or Stay Puft stomping down Manhattan, or a possessed Sigourney Weaver floating above her bed in a revealing red dress. I don’t like to be critical of this film as it gets so much right and it’s a million times better than the 2016 joke of a movie. It’s well directed and looks beautiful in places, using its open vistas to create a very different feel to the original city bound action. And the kid’s work well together, giving it the feel of an 80’s Spielberg produced family film such as Goonies. But perhaps that's the problem. The original wasn’t a film aimed at kids. It was a smart comedy for adults that kids liked because it had ghosts in it (including Dan Aykroyd getting a BJ from a sexy apparition). The jokes and tone where grown up (“Yes, it’s true, this man has no dick”) and the spectres where scary. Whereas Ghostbusters: Afterlife feels like a film made for kids, but with lashings of nostalgia heaped on top to please the (now) grown-up fans of the original. Then again, perhaps my opinion doesn’t rally matter. Because there was, after all, a very young lad in the audience dressed as a Ghostbuster, who, upon the credits rolling, stood up and shouted: “That was brilliant!” And who am I to disagree? It will probably be as much of a happy memory for him as it was for me some 37 years ago.
The Edge 01245 348256
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The Edge December 2021(1845) 2021/11/30 15:09:02
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Max Headroom’s
BIZARRE NEWS
CHEEKY GIRLS ARE NOW SELLING HYUNDAI MOTOR CARS
2022 will probably be the last year of The Edge, so 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 the local equivalent of Playboy. And 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 still, won’t you? But that doesn’t exclude you. No way. So get your asses into gear and get those photo’s sent in. The Edge is anxious to see ’em!
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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Crap reality TV stars and so-called pop singers The Cheeky Girls are now both working in Hyundai car dealerships in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire respectively, in case you were wondering, readers. The pair, who are actually called Monica Taylor and Gabriela Irimia, are twin sisters who shot to fame in the early 2000s on ‘Popstars: The Rivals’. Despite being described by judge Pete Waterman as “The worst act I've ever seen” they became inexplicably popular, even achieving two top ten singles. One of those was called 'Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum)' which, for the uninitiated, gives you a half-decent flavour of what they were all about. The identical Romanian twins are now working in the same job, with Monica following her sister into the motor trade business after a difficult few years for the live music industry. That said, the pair do seem to have a knack of landing on their feet and they have seemingly taken to their new roles very well indeed. So well, in fact, that there's a decent chance they might even one day open up their very own motor car dealership together. Which would be quite something, would Cheeky Cars. Gabriela was recently revealed to be working at Minstergate Hyundai in York, while now it seems her sister, Monica, has been working at another of the South Korean car brand's stores, this time at Read Hyundai in Boston, Lincolnshire. Monica told Headroom: "Me and Gabs need a solid business for our future and cars will always be good business. "Being an entertainer was fantastic, but then Covid happened and if you don't have a solid job or business, how are you supposed to survive?” "Our gigging literally disappeared for two years during Covid.” Gabriela added: “We want to learn the ropes of car sales, then branch out together, just me and Monica.” The Transylvanian twins' mother Margit, who wrote the aforementioned 'Touch My Bum' song in just 10 minutes flat, said that this career change is a “very logical step” for her daughters. She said: "Let me ask you this: can you be a Cheeky Girl when you're 60? They need a solid business footing and part of girl fashion is now cars, so why not? After all, some women change their cars every year." Well, at least we can be sure that they've got the right work ethic for the job, so Headroom says good luck to ’em. The Edge 01245 348256
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MOTCO
Man on the Clapham Omnibus
END OF TERM RECAP So here we are once again. We have reached that milestone in the year and start the Michaelmas term at that fine educational institution St. Edge of the emptying bottle immaculate. Halloween, that upstart American import, has left its junk in the cupboard for another year. Our pets are only just stopping shaking from the bonfire night fireworks, although our lazy sod of a cat Soxton snoozed his way through the entire lot. Which means we are now in a full sprint towards Christmas. I made a note that I saw my very first TV Christmas advert on 4th November, as the fireworks were still going off all around me. Which means I am now sitting here writing my festive December article. I am not exactly sure what has happened to the past 12 months, aside from ending the year just as heavy and unfit as I started it. But as I sit at my desk to start this piece, I actually have no idea what it may be about or where it is likely to take me. For some reason this year us columnists have not had the usual instructions from EE about use of the ‘C’ word, so I am going straight in with the Christmas stuff. Maybe we haven’t had the usual instructions ‘Due to Covid’, that dreaded phrase that has now entered into our everyday lexicon. An excuse that has been hijacked and is now a justification as to why (1) you are 150th in the queue to be answered, even though the call is apparently so very important to the company concerned. Or (2) we can not come out to repair your boiler for at least the next three months. There’s also seemingly a good chance that this may be the last Christmas MOTCO too, due to the fact that our very own EE is currently scouring the country (well, parts of it) in search of a new bolthole for ‘Edge Towers’. His seeming loathing of our town grows by the day, so he is curiously seeking pastures new. I am certainly with him for not accepting Chelmsford as a city, apart from us now having to endure city-like traffic dramas each and every time you want to go anywhere. So what we’ve ended up with is a provincial town with city-type problems. I read with interest when Southend was granted city status, after the tragic events there recently, about the effect it would have on house prices. This, of course, was stated by the Daily Fail, a newspaper which can seemingly link any event to the phrase ‘how it will affect house prices in your area’. That said, in view of the seasonal element of this article, I shall of course be doing my bit for house prices within the local area. Come the very first week of December, the outside lights and external fully lit Christmas tree will be up, along with my tacky 1970’s style internal decorations. This seasonal lowering of the tone is a guaranteed 5% off the asking prices in a flash. The Daily Fail can then immediately scream in a headline such as: ‘Christmas lights…what it means for house prices and are they good for the environment?’ But, as I have written over previous years, nay confessed more like, I am a fully paid up member of the schmaltzy side of Christmas.
sequence, I have been truly rinsed, mangled and spun dry by the UK tourism industry, whilst lamenting that we had to cancel TWICE our long awaited tour of the southern states of the USA. I had built myself up to finally tasting real Southern Fried Chicken, alas yet again to fail at the final hurdle. So instead I was eating bacon rolls on Heacham beach in Norfolk. Which was nice, but it wasn’t the authentic stuff in Memphis. What’s more, the KFC joint along Broomfield Road just doesn’t offer me the same vibe. Does it you? I also turned 60 this year, along with Queenie Mott - and EE his very self, come to mention it - and am feeling every one of those years. We have still thankfully avoided the other dreaded ‘C’ word at the time of writing, both having three vaccines inside us, and we’re planning to travel overseas in March of 2022 for some very much needed early spring sunshine. As this year has progressed and a scintilla of a new normality has started to emerge, so has a large reappraisal of life in general. Our desperation for some sun now sees us accepting paperwork and physical intrusion (ooh matron) to go on top of all the post 9/11 security hassles at airports that we first endured, yet sadly have now come to accept. On the job front, we started a return to the office, but only for a couple of days a week. On the plus side, that means one has to endure less of the travelling highway robbers that purport to make up the parney show that is Crapper Anglia trains. Yes folks, we have all continued to crank onwards and are ready to step forward into December and Christmas and embrace all that schmaltz. Be kind, be nice and be glad that 2021 will soon be coming to an end. Hopefully you are still able to lovingly embrace those you started out the year with, and if not remember those left behind with warmth and happiness of lives well lived. Next year is for dieting (definitely/possibly), maybe some change and hopefully much better times. And as is customary, I shall end with a joke. I asked Santa how much his sleigh cost. “Nothing,” he replied, “…it was on the house!” Boom Boom. Tut, all that, yet I still haven’t figured out what to write about! Seasonally yours aye,
Last year we were all kicked off the touchline at the very last minute. It was heart breaking; all family plans were sent to the shredder and zoom went into meltdown all over again. Gatherings were cancelled and that meant at our house, like many others, food meant for eight to ten people had to be dealt with by just the four of us. We then went on to endure another year of rubbish times and false starts. So this Christmas I have the strong inkling that people will be ‘having it large’ and be all in for maximum good times. That is, of course, if they can buy what they want in order to achieve those deeply required good times, given the so-called shortages issues. Having endured the bog roll supply-chain misery, endless queues at petrol stations and the general shortage of goodwill to one and all, we now find ourselves having lots of mini-product shortages to contend with. This is due to, and insert your own favourite cause here, Brexit/No Drivers/Covid/Jedi insurrection. I have even read that Walkers crisps are going for six quid a packet on eBay due these days, due to a fire at a Walkers crisp factory. Is there no end to such sorry tales? However, this could actually be a positive on my part, due to my lifelong fight against excessive consumption of said fried potato slivers. Despite the lockdowns and restrictions, we were lucky enough to go on holiday twice this year, though both times staying in the UK. As a conshaun@theedgemag.co.uk
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I remember once watching Goldie Hawn being interviewed on television and being asked how she managed to keep the romance alive in her relationships and why all the men she dated talked so very highly of her. Her advice was: “Never ever get comfortable enough to pass wind in front of your lover and learn to sleep with your toes pointed in bed,” she gushed. Which is advice I have practiced religiously as it is virtually impossible to break wind with pointed toes. Go on, try it. See, I am not wrong, am I?
TWO TRIBES GO TO WAR If someone had told us all the things that would happen in 2021, would we have believed them? Biden and Boris - world leaders during a pandemic? Even Nostradamus would have been ridiculed if he had dreamt that one up. Boris, who looks like he brushes his hair with a chair leg, and Biden, who can’t walk up a set of steps without tripping up. Neil Kinnock once fell over in the sea whilst walking with his wife before an election and became a laughing stock and deemed too stupid to run the country. Whereas today he would have his own TikTok channel, 50 million followers, and be hailed a PR genius. Biden flew in on his gas-guzzling jet to take part in the Cop26 Conference in aid of Climate Change and instead produced his own brand of lethal gas, frequently letting out long, loud smelly farts whilst talking to dignitaries. That will teach him to overindulge on the haggis! Now try looking at Nicola Sturgeon again the same way as you once did. The Scots used to lift their kilts, ‘moon’ and break wind at the English before a battle, simply to show their displeasure. So Biden has obviously been reading the wrong history books. Camilla was almost blown away when talking to him. He apparently let rip with such gusto that she was taken aback, yet managed to keep a stiff upper lip and carry on regardless (without laughing). That’s Royal etiquette training for you. There are two types of people in this world; those that fart with wild abandonment and those who would rather die than let one rip. I have to say that I am in the latter category and would have gone absolutely mad. I hate it. I find it the very height of bad manners. I have even been known to throw a fit at a work’s dinner and leave when one of the group thought it funny to trump at the table. Talking of ‘Trumping’, poor Donald may have been a bit whacky and off the wall, but one thing he would never have done is pass wind in front of our Royal Family.
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Talking of toilet humour, Greta Thunberg and her crew are meanwhile campaigning for us all to install bidets in our bathrooms to help save the planet and stop those ‘Toilet Roll Wars’ ever happening again. Back in the day, Henry VII married Elizabeth of York to stop the War of the Roses and put an end to the warring of the people, and yet 550 years later our answer to stop all the fighting is to install bidets. If I hear one more person tell me they are going out Christmas Card shopping I am going to scream. I have never been a fan of Christmas Cards. I think it is deep rooted from my childhood. I remember exchanging cards with kids who you never really liked, simply to get one back. Poor old Billy who wore a pair of NHS glasses with one lens taped over to cure his lazy eye and constantly cuffed his runny nose on his school jumper. No-one liked him enough to sit next to him, but they still gave him a card at Christmas, just to get one back. My mum and dad were the same. Each year they would have a Christmas Card list and would argue nonstop about who to cross off it. Even writing out the list was always a cue for them to argue. A little paragraph would be added: “My sister was always the one who achieved everything and was mentioned in glowing terms as being ‘a high achiever’, whereas with me it was always “Tracie is trying to improve.” Anyone who did not return a Christmas Card was immediately struck from the list and deemed unworthy of a second class stamp ever again. Or presumed dead. So what is going to happen now that we are entering the age of the ‘Metaverse’ where you can connect with people as Holograms? Facebook has just rebranded to be known as the ‘Meta’ and is committed “to people being able to have dialogue with each other face-to-face in a hologram format, rather than behind a screen (or a card).” Anyone who has ever been in a Facebook Marketplace Group will know that a ‘war of words’ breaks out at the drop of a hat with someone being ‘offended’. Can you imagine trading punches with someone’s hologram whilst watching TV? Is there no end to the madness? This is the future - you heard it here first!
tracie123@aol.com
OMG, Spurs have just got serious all of a sudden. The appointment of a ‘serial winner’ (three consecutive Serie A titles with Juve, plus a Premiership gong with Chelski) could be a total game changer for the underperforming Yids. If Conti can get the Kane/Son partnership firing on all cylinders once again and scrounge some dough out of Daniel Levy, the good times genuinely could be returning to ‘The Lane’ (well, to that magnificent new stadium that deserves a team worthy of it). The Edge loves the way the Italian hugs the crowd when his team scores. It’s infectious. It’s genuine. So let’s see how ‘Tottingham’ fare for the remainder of the season, once he’s had the chance to stamp his theories and principles upon the players. And given them a fecking good kick up their backsides to boot.
Did he even have the remotest idea what he was doing? Did he know which end was up? Somehow he just fluked his way into becoming the manager of one of the most famous football clubs on the planet. United were perhaps too desperate for a familiar face after Mourinho. But The Edge was genuinely never convinced about him from the off. Talk about being tactically ‘unastute’....if there is such a word.
Hashly treated by the media at the beginning of season after three straight defeats. Glad to see he’s steadied the ship since then, a bit. The Edge 01245 348256
The Edge 297 new_The Edge 172.qxd 24/11/2021 21:38 Page 31
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The Edge December 2021(1845) 2021/11/30 15:09:02
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