The Edge Magazine June 2021

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EDGE

the

JUNE 2021

‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’

ISSUE NO: 291

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The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:46

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crash directly into the underside of our kitchen units at fully 100mph, thus instantaneously ejecting a cacophony of seeds in every direction you can possibly imagine. And it’s the sheer stress of cleaning up immediately afterwards that I’m going on about here, while my toast is getting cold, when really it should be so simple.

BRITS

The Edge Editor’s Column MICHAEL JORDAN OF TOASTERS We’ve got a De’Longhi toaster. Nothing remarkable about that, I don’t think. Italian, no doubt.

And we presumably bought it just around the corner on the Chelmer Village Rattle Park when our previous toaster conked out.

However, when a world pandemic strikes, the mental anguish caused by a toaster can rightly be put on the back burner, agreed? After all, that’s what rational people, like myself, tend to do. They ‘get a grip’ and don’t let any toaster issues get the better of them (much).

But our De’Longhi, OMG. You can turn its dials both up and down to control to what degree it actually toasts, but there’s no dial that I can see that lowers the height of it blasting the slices out once they’re cooked, and we are definitely talking Michael Jordan proportions here.

It’s ridiculous the mess caused just by fancying a couple of rounds of toast can make. As we favour Sainsbury’s multi-seed loaves, when it’s done and the slices get spat out, they generally

I had the merest glance at the Brit awards on TV. Saw that Harry Styles was wearing yet another one of his ridiculous suits with a matching handbag (yep, you heard me right). But what are Bicep all about? I mean, who on earth decided an ‘arm/gun’ was a decent name for a band? Which, of course, it isn’t.

Lurch told me they’ve done a song called Glue that he likes, probably because it’s (maybe) about being fortysomething and married with kids and the video has an empty motorway in it (oh Lurch just adores an empty motorway).

I said to him, “Next thing you know, some new solo star in the making will no doubt christen himself Amino Acid, while the next superband will probably be called Desiccated Liver.”

He just looked at me, strangely, blankly, oddly.

JACK REACHER Now something I have never done before is read not one, but two Jack Reacher novels simultaneously. How about that, folks? Yes, I do believe a round of applause is in order.

I tend to read half-an-hour or so of Tripwire in bed before shut-eye, when I’m not too tired (purchased brand new), while Night School is the muckiest, yellowist Reacher paperback I have ever had the misfortune to lay my mitts on, purchased for £1.50 (thieving baskets) from a charity shop in Southwold - and it stays downstairs, by the door, next to my smelly trainers.

Only do you know, I’ve almost finished it, but

I’m still not sure whether I’ve read it before, or not. So what does that say about Jack Reacher novels, eh? Though to be fair, they’re p ss easy * to read and once you’ve started one, you cannot help but keep on going ’til the end.

CAN’T COMPLAIN I can’t complain, about my wife, I really can’t.

However, if you’re going to put a load on and expect me to unload it and hang it all out to dry while you’re off out gallivanting with your girlie friends (least that’s what she tells me), then FFS have the decency to check ALL of your pockets for paper tissues before you press the bleedin’ ‘start’ button, my love.

Just saying. After all, we don’t want the readers thinking you’re perfect, do we?

DUE REVERENCE What a way to be remembered, eh?

Both Thora Hird and Eartha Kitt.

Surely it can’t be right?

STOCKLEY PARK VAR is not to blame.

It’s the damned interpretation of VAR that’s at fault.

You’d think those idiots at Stockley Park could call it right, wouldn’t you, having unlimited access to replays in the minutest detail.

It’s high time the responsibility was taken away from the ‘man in the middle’ and his two wingmen, who can only guess, at best.

CYDAMIMA PERSPECTALIS Something’s afoot that is about to make Covid seem as irrelevant as genital warts. For your own safety, read The Claydonator on page 26...

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Well, as you readers can see, yours truly and me long-time bestie Lurch are both staking a claim on a recent trip to Liverpool on a surveying jaunt (that’s what Lurch does, dressing up ‘all professional like’ in a warm, illuminous coat and looking through some sort of a camera balanced on a tripod, while I simply stand there and hold the staff/barcode, which is basically an extendable stick and all you’ve got to do is make sure that it’s dead straight by clamping a spirit level to the side of it). Lurch’s company are always in high demand (he’s one of three directors) as he’s forever travelling the length and breadth of the country and sometimes asks me if I’d like to go with him (as he always needs a wingman), if he thinks I’d enjoy the destination. As it goes, I’d actually been to Liverpool at some point back in the seventies when my team (at that time, seeing as I was born there) Oldham Athletic, then of the old second division, got drawn to play at Anfield in the fourth round of the F.A. Cup, I think it was. Either way, we got beat 1-3 (I remember Kevin Keegan was playing that afternoon) and I’d never been back there since. Question: Why is it called the Liver Building (below-left) and not the, you know, Liver Building (spelt the same), only with a piece of offal on the top above the clock?

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G R W FE AS E AL RT S S SO IL EE SELL IS D ER A S ND

Lurch’s first job on our agenda was a semi in a place called Clitheroe, some 40 miles from Liverpool, only when we walked around the back, I was astounded, as this was the view (above) from just a small, nondescript house on an every day estate.

The only trouble is/was, yep, you’ve spotted it, that white concrete mass in the middle is some sort of a huge factory that as well as being an eyesore omits a perpetual kind of a humming sound (as well as radiation?) and is probably where Homer Simpson would work, if he were a Scouser, naturally.

So I was trying to picture myself relaxing on the decking, in just my underpants, with a nice cold beer in the summertime, before I came to the conclusion that it obviously was a great view, once upon a time, but that factory (plus the no doubt nosy neighbours either side) has pretty much gone and ruined it.

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The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:46

Incidentally, Lurch had got us a cracking deal on a twin-room (only look how close our two single beds were....yes, that ‘mere crease’ is all we were apart) in the Malmaison, close to the old docks, and we’d brought along some supplies just in case we got peckish after the reet nice Thai dishes Lengthy-Boy ordered us in. After which we watched an Ian Wright documentary on his laptop (how rock’n’roll are we)?

Thing is, if truth be told, I was already pushing for us to get back to our room by 5:00pm as it ever so quickly turned absolutely freezing and I do mean icy, readers (i.e. proper northern freezing, as opposed to a namby-pamby southern gust of wind). Oh sure, I might have been born oop north, but after 35 years of living in Chelmsford, my hairy arse rough edges have all been plained off over the years, and now I cannot abide ought much below 10 degrees, thank you very much.

So the first thing we did that evening was take it in turns to have a lovely hot (Scouse) bath, like two reet old incontinent men.

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MELLY MOO BAILEY For many of us, the latter part of May heralded yet another step forward out of the seemingly eternal tunnel of sheer and utter Covid hell.

Finally being able to mix indoors, throw parties outdoors, get on a plane to somewhere and actually go out for a meal without having to wear pretty much everything you own in an attempt to keep warm. For me, it also presented a major challenge, as to how to celebrate my husband’s 40th birthday, which incidentally is followed the very next day by my daughter’s 8th birthday. In my endeavours to ensure my children’s lockdown birthdays (minus any parties or friends) were still special, it has not escaped my attention that I have made a monstrous rod for my own back and reached epic standards of home decorations and celebrations which have set a somewhat unsustainable bar, but that is probably another story.

So back to hubby Dave and what to get the man who has everything (3 feral kids, a tornado wife, an endless list of jobs to do), wants for nothing (other than the occasional power tool and I honestly wouldn’t know one end of a router from the other) and isn’t even fussed about celebrating his forthcoming milestone (ever helpful).

For my 40th birthday, back in December, he managed to pull off a logistical miracle and whisked me away for a romantic hotel stay, complete with a diamond ring, so I think it’s safe to say the bar was already set at a pretty significant (almost Shard like) height.

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:46

After an extensive number of hours spent frantically Google searching hotels within an hour or so’s drive of us and realising that fresh out of lockdown every soul on the planet had clearly had the very same idea, I finally managed to secure an overnight booking for the Saturday night after his birthday. In a valiant attempt to ‘throw him off the scent’ of this surprise, I suggested inviting a few friends and family round for birthday drinks in the garden the weekend prior to his birthday. He seemed somewhat indifferent to the suggestion, but nevertheless I forged ahead, purchased nibbles and alcohol, and told him a few select people would be making an appearance. But unbeknown to Dave, I had actually invited quite a few other people he was not aware of (including his work colleagues!).

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The event definitely went up an octave when I realised that the forecast was set to be shockingly soggy, so I promptly panicked and hired a marquee. However, I think the real turning point where this event went from a mere garden gathering to a full scale party was the week before, when after a few large wines, I decided in my infinite wisdom that it would be the best idea ever to have our wedding singer (from 11 years ago) rock up to perform on the evening, before promptly emailing him at 1.30am to ask if he was free. I had absolutely no recollection of this until the Monday when I received a voicemail from said crooner confirming he was free and asking me to call him back. Feeling slightly awkward, I eventually phoned him and intended to say it had clearly been a drunken idea too far, which had since passed. However, we had such a lovely catch up on the phone, and he offered me such a cracking deal, that before I knew it, the event was in his diary and he was as good as on his way. So the small gathering, with but a few surprise guests, designed to detract any suspicions he might have had about his main celebration planned for the following weekend, had now inadvertently become the main event in itself.

I think what followed was one of the most stressful weeks of my entire life, trying to keep It all under wraps and wondering if I had actually lost the plot by booking a singer to essentially perform in a tent in our garden, most likely during a storm of biblical proportions. It’s also probably a true testament to our love of food and drink that Dave didn’t seem to bat an eyelid when I pretty much threw away everything in our freezer to completely fill it with party food, or when enough drink turned up to stock a Wetherspoons during Freshers Week. He did, however, raise an eyebrow when he returned home from the Saturday morning gymnastics run to find a marquee in our garden, but he seemed to buy my explanation that it was merely a necessary safeguard against the adverse forecasts. The helium balloons and flashing birthday banners which followed next would probably have raised suspicion in any normal situation, but as I said before, my birthday celebrations during lockdown for the kids had reached epic proportions and I think Dave just assumed I was following suit.

When the first guests arrived at 3pm and I told him to go and open the door, he huffed and puffed and begrudgingly obliged, only to find his boss on our doorstep. Needless to say, his face was a picture, and that theme continued well into the night as numerous people arrived, not least the legendary wedding singer who was definitely the biggest and best surprise of all.

All in all, it was an absolutely cracking, long awaited night of some much needed freedom and frivolity. The gang ate every single scrap of party food I served up (there was nearly a riot over the pitta bread, anyone would think there had been a lockdown shortage), everybody danced and sang the night away, nobody sat down, the rain poured constantly, but the marquee held firm, so nobody cared, and we partied like it was 1999.

Part of me (probably the part who decided it was a good idea to email the wedding singer at 1.30am) wishes we could do it all again, and the other part of me (who nearly had several heart attacks in the planning) is eternally grateful that I’ve now got a ten year reprieve until his 50th.

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The Edge, not particularly noted as a fashion journal, thought they weren’t a (half) bad look, if you could carry ’em off, back in the day.

Like the time Leroy used to prance about wearing ’em in Fame on TV, back in the early eighties. ’Bout time they were due a recall, don’t you think, readers?

Your editor even has an ‘ETF’ (equestrian type friend) in Writtle who, if he doesn’t wear ’em already while he’s mainly watching musical DVDs on TV in the privacy of his own home, I’m certain would be keen to slip a pair over his jodhpurs when next he’s out bouncing up and down in his saddle. And to think he’s in the building trade for his day job???

“No, Marjorie, you certainly wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?

But you can never rightly tell these days, and that’s the truth.”

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I told you ‘it turned cold’ in Liverpool, after lovely blue skies in the morning, didn’t I, readers. But just look at these two pics, snapped at the Royal Albert Dock, a complex of old buildings and warehouses dating back to the mid-1800s made out of cast iron, brick and stone (with no structural wood), where these days Scousers flaunt their hair doos whilst sipping their lattes and their mocha-bocha-choca’s.

Whereas me & Lurch crammed ourselves into an outdoor cubicle outside a bar with one of them there heaters mounted just above head height (which was closer to Lurch than me as he seems to be half-a-foot taller than moi these days, such is the rate I am shrinking). What’s more, I didn’t care if my Old Speckled Hen was £5.95 (as opposed to ‘3 bottles for a fiver’ in certain supermarkets these days) if it meant we could ‘take the chill off’ for a wee while.

Jeez, I honestly think it was one of the coldest occasions I’ve ever been in my entire life, yet during the first week in May (what’s that all about? It canna be right, can it?).

So could I live up north again?

Nah, I honestly don’t think I could.

When we were driving back down the M11 the following day and the sun was out and the winds had died down (and it wasn’t bouncing hailstones the size of billiard balls off our heeds), we commented, upon seeing a Cambridge turn-off sign, “Ahhhhh, that’s better.”

Because it is better, isn’t it, down south? (There, I’ve said it!)

I mean, I can WALK to TK Maxx from ‘Edge Towers’ to buy a new 3-pack of shreddies (no, madam, not the breakfast cereal) and also have a Costa on route. What’s more, I have the choice of not one, but two restaurants in less distance than it takes Mo Farah to purposefully stride around a 400 metre running track.

I mean, ‘talk about having it all’, reet on me very doorstep.

Mind you, one stinking, lousy thing about Chelmsford is that I arrived back here during ‘rush hour’ (which ought to be plural) and I kid you not, it took me fully half-an-hour to get from the traffic lights outside the County Hotel to ‘Edge Towers’, very near to the Fox & Raven.

That is central London-style congestion, is that.

How ironic that I’d been all the way up to the North West of England and I only got held up ONCE all trip, back in bloody Chelmsford!

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BRAIN OF MAN

“IS IT SAFE?” Read the views of The Edge’s SILVER SURFER (that’s him, above left) this month on PAGE 24

Whoever would have thought it?

Certainly not your editor, despite being a man, of sorts.

But what most certainly is not in any doubt is that men are clearly from Mars, while women, naturally, come from Venus, Pluto, Saturn, Uranus, Bluewater, Freeport and places of that ilk.

That’s just something both sexes have to accept, rather than constantly fighting and railing against it all of the time.

The fact is, any difference between the brains of men and women are tiny and inconsequential (i.e. size really isn’t everything, ladies). Oh sure, men will probably boast about the extra 11% of cargo between their ears, but what about their extra height (apart from Rod Stewart, who plainly looks ridiculous stood next to Penny Lancaster) and all of that extra weight around their midriff? Frankly, if they’re taller and their arms and legs are longer and their guts are bigger, you’d expect their brains to be a teeny wee bit bigger too, to help compensate, wouldn’t you? To act as a sort of a counter-balance to stop their heads permanently lolling to one side with their tongues hanging out.

BRAIN OF WOMAN

Rather, what The Edge has found is that an awful lot of women (as compared to men) are doers, and that can be both a blessing and a curse (so far as men are concerned).

Think about all of those jobs around the house that women ask men to do that never, ever get done, until the woman does them herself, or reluctantly gets in ‘a man who can’. That is the natural doer instinct of women. The will to get the job done, sometimes even against all odds.

In his extensive studies, your editor was once on a course where the tutors insisted that we were all either one of 4 things; Doers, Actors, Thinkers or Friends. Your editor turned out to be pretty much a Thinker/Friend in equal parts. But let me confess, for my sins. I married an absolute Doer.

The wife thinks I over-think things. “If you just got on and did it, rather than thinking about doing it....” she’ll often admonish me. But then, in my defense, doers often do things the get the jobs done and out of the way.

But are they done to a decent enough spec?

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For all of our electrical jobs, we always call upon ‘Kevin the Sparky’, as I was once up in our loft, clipping some wires, when I received an impromptu electric shock. No, of course I hadn’t turned the power off.

What do you take me for? An electrician? Thus, it’s often far better to call one and save yourself an awful lot of hassle. Maybe even your life.

Twice I’ve tried to lay patios, in my younger years, in my early and mid-twenties. Both times the results were embarrassingly disastrous, on account of the fact that I’m not very practical and I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

So maybe us men use our extra 11% of brain matter proportions to be stealthier (or craftier), simply to try to get out of doing very much at all?

It’s certainly a theory, isn’t it?

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Shwings, like us all, are so happy that we are finally starting to get back to some sort of normality and the opening of their new outdoor terrace (with heaters) is awaiting you right now - though hopefully it won’t be too long before there’s no need for the heaters!

They would just like to say how very much they have appreciated all of your support throughout the pandemic and lockdowns. The volume of home deliveries they’ve made has truly been astounding, so a huge thank you to their fantasticly loyal customers.

Something BRAND NEW at Shwings (or available to be home delivered) are Sunday Roasts, as shown on this months front cover. And by way of showing that little bit of extra love, they are also offering two-for-one on cocktails after using their lockdown downtime wisely and coming up with a whole new range of flavours.

Shwings are really excited about the future and not just theirs, but the future of everyone. Says owner Mark: “I’m sure we’ve all been affected in one way or another by the pandemic and it’s important to acknowledge that. But now it’s also important for us all to look forward to the good times that are once again ahead of us and we hope that the new, exciting experiences that we will be offering you reflect our appreciation of your amazing support that has been truly appreciated by us all here at Shwings.”

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

Once we’d showered and eaten a continental breakfast in our room in just our pants in Liverpool, we were back on the road by 08:30am crossing Saddleworth Moor to get to Holmfirth.

Now I was ferried across Saddleworth Moor many a time as a nipper as it separated the homes of my estranged parents, one who lived in Lancashire, t’other in Yorkshire. But you’ll all probably think of it as the rather large burial ground for some of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley’s misadventures between 1963-65, which does not strictly do the landscape justice. Plus it’s a cracking stretch of road.

It leads to a place called Holmfirth, in the Holme Valley, the very location where ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ was filmed, and I have to say, it’s a little town that has truly upped its game since last I was there, perhaps some 15-20 years ago, clearly having its economy boosted by the filming of series after series.

Do you realise ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ is the longest running sitcom in the world (not a lot of people know that)?

What The Edge particularly likes about it, as if fast approaches (hopefully) the age of retirement, is the fact that it portrays the older generation in a most reverential light.

It’s also a charming name for a series with such a perfect theme tune, don’t you think, composed/produced by Ronnie Hazlehurst who also created the opening tones for Yes, Minister, Only Fools and Horses and Are You Being Served? And I do have to say, readers, spending plenty of time in a village called Skelmanthorpe as a child, where my grandparents used to live, and where the current Doctor Who actress Jodie Whittaker was born, it does remind me of what I would call ‘true Yorkshire’, where people like Nora Batty definitely still exist.

Remember Barry Took, he of the gravel voice and thick-framed glasses on the comedy circuit? He was actually responsible for recommending Holmfirth to the BBC as a potential backdrop for the filming of the series, as they were after a village centre surrounded by hills, so The Edge reckons the beeb have got a lot to be thankful to old dearly departed Cooky for.

As a father of two, Lengthy-Boy is proper looking after ‘Dad No. 2’ (that’s what he calls me) in my fast approaching dotage, as he only ever asks me to be Robin to his Batman when he’s visiting places he thinks I’ll appreciate seeing, as well as when there’s not that much hard graft to be done and we can have a couple of beers together and a right proper catch-up, which is always a pleasure.

Next up was a job on the Isle of Wight.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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No, no, no.

It surely can’t be right to be THAT much of a narcissist that you’re forever (and The Edge does mean seemingly, irritatingly, forever) photographing yourself and loading the results onto the likes of Facecock, Instacrap etc.

Because that simply wouldn’t be healthy, right?

In fact, it’s the complete opposite of right.

It is clearly so very wrong, wrong, wrong.

And, as mentioned in The Edge last month, what about ‘doctoring’ photographs before they are uploaded here, there and every bleedin’ where, including airbrushing and stretching/distorting the original results to make yourselves look more lithe, slender etc.

It’s all gone too far. Way, way too far.

Worse is that many people now seem to think they’re the stars of their very own reality TV programme and are seemingly of the opinion that the more shit they throw at social media, the more some of it might stick.

Honestly, how can it be good for a person to spend so very long navel gazing, considering their own attractiveness, or lack thereof? To dwell upon themselves for so very long each and every day. To be so self-absorbed?

So self-obsessed?

Social media sites were supposedly created to help people connect with one another, but that’s not really what they’re used for, is it? Predominately, they’re an excuse for people (anybody) to pretty much show off and say: ‘Hey, look at me. Coooooeeee [whistles]. Here I am. Yes, over here!’

So let’s ask the obvious question, shall we: Are people with an indefatigable desire to show off photographs of themselves shallow and lacking in self esteem?

Oh sure, The Edge gets it. Some of you out there think it’s massively important to portray a certain version of yourselves to others, including folk you don’t even know. But those of you who blatantly lie about yourselves and who you really are, in short attempting a ‘cover up job’, seriously, what’s the point, as you’re kidding no-one, least of all yourselves.

On the other hand, what The Edge is in favour of is stuff like the ‘no make-up selfie’, where peeps (one would assume predominately females) were encouraged to post pictures of themselves without any of their usual masquerading face paint in a bid to attract attention to cancer awareness, although even then there was doubtless a competitive nature to the proceedings, what with the inevitable airbrushing out of a zit or two.

Years and years ago (back in prehistoric times, some of you might think), we had photographs taken of ourselves, along with photographs we’d taken of both our family and friends, and maybe even the family pet, and the best ones (yes, we were selective, to a degree, even way back then) ended up in things called photograph albums which we might keep in a bookcase, or on a shelf, or on top of a wardrobe, or under the bed. But we didn’t take it to work with us, or to school, or to the pub.

Please note the subtle difference. Because such photographs weren’t for the purpose of all and sundry seeing them, because quite frankly, why ever would they be? That simply wouldn’t make any sense, would it? After all, who’d be interested in seeing the personal photographs of someone they don’t even know? Of a complete stranger, not to put too fine a point on it.

So perhaps, taking all things into consideration, you can see where things nowadays have gone a bit wrong? A little bit skeewiff?

And that tends to happen when people who aren’t in the slightest bit important strangely begin to think they are, which quickly manifests itself in other ways, such as their mood swings and attitude problems.

Oh yes, the internet has become world changing, alright.

But like most things, not all of it’s been for the better.

The Edge 077 646 797 44

Essex Wine School is an independent wine education company that offers fun, informal wine tasting events and Wine & Spirit Education Trust (WSET) courses, both in Chelmsford and Colchester.

For more information please contact Neil Bull DipWSET, Certified Educator, on 01371 267260, or visit www.essexwineschool.com www.theedgemag.co.uk

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WHY NOT TREAT

The concept of wine in cans has become more popular in the UK recently. Previously they have been largely overlooked, but today, with the advent of ready made gin & tonics and cocktails such as mojitos, highballs and mimosas, canned wine has become almost de rigueur. Plus there’s no need to pack a corkscrew! Surely there is nothing more frustrating than arriving at the park with a bottle of perfectly chilled wine and nothing to open it with? I have seen grown women cry in such situations.

Another advantage of canned wine is that it can be chilled much quicker.

There’s none of that ‘putting a bottle in the freezer’ as you’ve forgotten to put it in the fridge malarkey. Cans are also a really convenient choice for picnics, concerts, outdoor cinema, as well as drinking by the pool, where glass is most likely prohibited.

With sustainability being the current watchword, another major advantage of cans is their reduced carbon footprint. Aluminium has far higher recycling rates than glass, while 72% of cans are recycled in the UK and the carbon effect of shipping lighter containers is significant. You’re also far less likely to waste any wine, due to the fact there’s no need to open an entire bottle. Most contain 25cl, which is a third of a bottle of wine, and many are priced under £5 per can.

As for quality, you are certainly not going to find a Petrus (in a can), so it’s important to recognise them for what they are - enjoyable, fresh, fruity, and ideal for when the sun is out!

S N V

A recent study found that 85% of consumers did not have a clue how many calories there were in the average glass of wine. Calories in wine, and other drinks, can come from sugar content, although alcohol itself is a major contributor.

Alcohol weighs in at a hefty seven calories per gram, which is only two calories fewer than pure fat. I know what I prefer!

I have heard calories in wine, and other alcoholic drinks, referred to as ’empty calories’, on the grounds that they are not considered to have any nutritional value. Naturally the very same could be said about a delicious bar of Dairy Milk, yet that completely ignores the pleasure of consuming both the wine and the chocolate.

Even though wine feels ‘light’ to the taste, it is actually a concentrated source of calories, so are there certain wines which are a better option if you are limiting your calorie intake?

In a word, yes. And the really good news is that most Champagnes can be a very good choice because they are often relatively low in alcohol compared to other dry whites. This is because sugar is created as the grapes ripen, so the riper the grapes, the more the sugar, which the yeast will convert into higher alcohol levels in the wine. Yet a cooler climate, such as in the Champagne region, results in grapes that do not have so much sugar. Therefore cooler climate white wines will have lower alcohol levels and therefore fewer calories per glass/bottle.

It’s also important to think about serving size. A standard 750ml bottle of wine with an abv of 13.5% would have approximately 567 calories, although this needs to be put into context. If you were to drink 4 bottles of wine a month, this adds up to a yearly consumption of around 27,000kcal, which is the equivalent to eating 48 Big Macs per year (4 per month) according to the NHS in a guide to calories in alcohol (last updated in 2020).

There has been lots of debate about calorie labelling on alcoholic drinks.

Sainsbury’s has committed to printing calorie amounts on all of its own brand wines over the next few years. But not everyone agrees. For instance, Tesco has no plans to show the calories contained in their ownlabel wines, while rival retailer Morrisons has also said it doesn’t plan to introduce wine calorie labelling. Although Waitrose, by contrast, has been printing calories per 100ml and per glass on its own-brand alcoholic drinks for the past three years.

However, surely the last thing we need is for the food police in some teetotal bureaucratic committee to decide when, and how much wine, we can drink. Because as with everything, moderation is the key.

THE OLD MAN?

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/27/2021 3:25 PM Page 13

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The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/25/2021 6:27 PM Page 14

we obviously had to get rid of all the old bits, so we had a look on Facebook as the wife remembered seeing someone recommending a company who did just that. After a bit of searching, she eventually came across PT's Services and got straight on the blower to see if they could quote us happy.

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"You what?" was my reply.

"Well, we needed a new one, so I thought, why not just do it. So I did."

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She was right though, we did need a new bathroom as we’ve had a problem with damp for some time.

But everything I'd earned with overtime of late was now suddenly going to be greedily gobbled up.

Gutted wasn't the word.

"Oh and we also need to get the roof done, if we’re forking out on the bathroom,” the better-half declared, “otherwise it's pointless as that must be where a lot of the problems are coming from."

‘For f@ck’s sake’ is pretty much what went through my head.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and the bathroom had arrived and praise the lord for my fantastic father-in-law, Mr B, who worked his socks off ripping out the old suite to put in the new (in between bacon butties and sausage roll breaks - well, you’ve got to keep them fed and watered, haven’t you?).

But twenty minutes later, Patrick was at our front door, ready to gather it all up (he’s a proper local chappy who is super friendly and chatty which ought to be his catch-phrase and written on his van! So chatty, in fact, that he almost forgot to charge us...but not quite!) We were really impressed with Patrick, so would definitely recommend him to you.

His number is 07492 811846 should you need any garden or household rubbish cleared at a reasonable price.

I'll update you in the next issue about the roof, as the damned summer weather put a halt to the guys being able to make a start.

However, they did a decent job on the house next door, so fingers crossed they do just as good a job on ours too.

ROOTS HALL Last Friday I was fortunate enough to play at the home of Southend Utd. in a friendly vs Essex Police. We were 2-0 down after half-an-hour, but after a Braveheart style team talk at half-time by the usually silent warrior known as Damo, we pulled it back to 2-2 with 10 minutes to go.

Only then, on the 88th minute, Skinner won us a penalty (killer pass laid on by yours truly) for Deeks to tuck it away beautifully in the bottom left corner. We won 3-2. Happy days.

Also a big shout out and thank you to Chelmsford Community Radio 104.4 fm for having myself and McCarthy on as their guests to talk about our first home game at Heybridge Swifts ground, which as it goes was to be the last game ever to be played on their grass pitch as they’re turning it into an all weather 4g surface during the summer break.

So that’s another bit of history for our fantastic charity football team that I am super proud to be a part of (Springfield Road F.C.).

Stay safe. Be good.

The G.P. x

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

As I write this, we currently don't have a shower and the water doesn't seem to be running very fast. It painfully takes about half-an-hour to fill up the bath, so I’ve had to use the gym membership I pay for on a monthly basis solely to use their loos and showers on more than one occasion whilst the work is being done. But once finished, it will look and feel really good, so let me say a very public thank you in advance to Mr B for all his hard work, as always. (He tells me he’s even going to show old Edgy-boy his allotment just as soon as he’s finished!)

Whilst all the work was being done,

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BRIDGE CLUB On-line Bridge Booms during Lockdown in Chelmsford!

Founded in 1952, Chelmsford Bridge Club faced potential collapse in March 2020, in the face of the pandemic. Chairman, Valdie Poter, faced a dilemma: Should Chelmsford Bridge Club close its doors, as six other Chelmsford based bridge clubs had done, or re-invent itself and embrace the challenge that the Covid pandemic presented?

Bridge online seemed to offer some alternatives to the face-to-face game, so Chelmsford BC decided to put its faith in technology and develop the club around it. Yet this was no light decision. With most players aged between 60 and 90 years old and barely familiar with technology, all and sundry faced quite a challenge.

For instance, Ann, a player in her 80s, swore she would never play bridge online. But she not only mastered the game on her iPad but also taught some of her 80-90-year-old friends to play.

Audrey, also in her 80s, not only mastered the game, but went on to direct and help launch a new video-savvy on-line bridge playing platform called RealBridge. A product of the pandemic, RealBridge has allowed bridge players to emulate the true face-to-face game.

The spin-off has not only been the chance to play a great game with friends during lockdown, but has also given many elderly folk confidence to use technology for zoom calls, shopping and other necessary activities.

Indeed the take-up of on-line Bridge has been incredibly popular, so it was not long before Chelmsford moved from just a Monday night club to offering bridge play to members almost every day of the week. And get this, Chelmsford Bridge Club even ran a session on Christmas Day to support members who were sadly alone and had seen all the reruns on TV. One player said: “I like the scope of playing whenever I’m free to do so.

Whilst I enjoy the discipline of playing at a regular time at a regular club, I also now have access to other clubs within my local area. So I would definitely say that online bridge has been my saviour during lockdown.”

Another said: “I don’t drive, therefore I rely on friends to take me to the bridge clubs I usually play out.

Because of this, it is great being able to play online, particularly Real Bridge, as contact with other people is so important. Though I would like to be able to play at my regular clubs, I am certainly glad to have the opportunity to play independently, without needing to rely on the kindness of friends.”

Although many players are looking forward to getting back to face-to-face bridge, nearly everyone expects to continue to play online as well.

A friendly club, Chelmsford now caters for every type of player with members ranging from complete beginners and improvers to those who have represented bridge at both a county and national level. That said, everyone is welcome and they look forward to meeting you all.

GET ’ MOTT ‘THE T EFFEC

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

To learn more or to learn Bridge visit https://www.bridgewebs.com/chelmsford

READ ALL ABOUT MOTTY TURNING 60 ON PAGE 29 www.theedgemag.co.uk

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EE: So Mel. You live on Canvey Island. What’s that all about then?

MM: I do indeed, along with 38,169 other islanders. I have lived here, on and off, all of my life. Have you ever been to ‘The Rock’?

EE: ‘The Rock’ FFS! Yes, of course I’ve been there a time or two. But I honestly can’t say I’m very enamoured with the place, from what I’ve seen of it, truth be told. I generally go there to visit the camping store at Charfleets, only I detest your bloody one-way systems. So go on then, gel, try and convert me to the virtues of Canvey’s charms?

lower beachside level promenade, serving breakie and lunch with some of the best homemade cakes I’ve ever tasted. And we’ve been eating at the main restaurant upstairs for the past 22 years and have never had anything less than a truly exquisite meal. The panoramic views of the estuary only add to the ambience, especially on a summer’s evening, and I’ve even attended a wedding reception there which was superb.

One of the other major selling points about this place though, is that it’s only staggering distance across the road from our house ;)

MM: Where do I start? Well, we have beaches, our own national sport (crabbing), quite possibly the cheapest cinema south of the Watford Gap, a Splash Park, two funfairs, arcades, an ice-cream parlour, a fresh seafood stall, one of the best restaurants in Essex, not to mention the RSPB Bird Sanctuary. Oh, and Canvey Wick nature reserve, which is home to over 1300 different species of wildlife which were previously endangered or thought to be extinct in the UK, including the shrill carder bee, the emerald damselfly, and the weevil hunting wasp.

So if it’s good enough for them ;) EE: I’m figuring you work for C.I.T.B. (Canvey Island Tourist Board), don’t you? So tell me, what are those horrible looking power station type chimneys that are at 2 o’clock when you drive down that long road onto Canvey from T.S.W. (the sane world) billowing smoke up into the sky like the power plant Homer Simpson works at? That proper says ‘Welcome To Canvey’, doesn’t it just? I’ve never been able to get over the sheer ugliness of that sight, no matter what you say. Surely you’re only there because you were born there, Mel? Or captured and taken prisoner and you’ve never been able to escape?

MM: Well, there isn’t a hospital on Canvey and I wasn’t born on the kitchen floor, so no. But we did live there when I was little. I moved off when I was 6 and I ended up back there after I finished Uni at the tender age of 23. Admittedly that’s where my mum had moved to, so I simply gravitated back to the mothership (and food source), as it were.

But when I met ‘The Legend that is Dave’ and we actually chose to stay on ‘The Rock’ because, to be frank, for our price bracket, we could have a spacious three-bed semi there, or a shoe box on the mainland.

And as for ‘The Oikos Towers’, they don’t always billow smoke (maybe they cracked some out in your honour?). It’s a handling and storing facility for oil and fuels.

EE: Hmmmmm? Let’s just have a quick backtrack to the business about Canvey having ‘one of the best restaurants in Essex’, shall we?

What dining establishment are we talking about, as I don’t think one’s ever been mentioned to me during my 37 years of living in Essex?

MM: The Labworth Restaurant really is the ‘jewel in Canvey’s crown’.

An iconic circular building designed by Ove Arun, built to look like the bridge of the Queen Mary cruise liner, it offers a fantastic cafe on the Page 16

EE: I’ve honestly never heard of it, so I’ll have to look it up. But it does sound good. Hey, isn’t that the place photographed at the top of this page? I thought it was a giant Rossi’s Ice-Cream parlour. The Fox & Raven and Miller & Carter are both ‘staggering distance’ from ‘Edge Towers’ and although I don’t use either of them much, it’s somehow oddly comforting knowing that they’re there. And if I’m ever running low on me ‘shreddies’, then hell, T.K.Maxx is just walking distance as well.

Tch, I really ought to be warming to Canvey Island by now, didn’t I? TBH, you’re actually doing a pretty good job of selling the place. Only answer me this: why do you think a lot of people speak about Canvey Island in a derogatory manner, even though (like myself) they really know very little about the place? Is it simply down to ignorance (that we start humming ‘Duelling Banjos’ at the merest mention of its name in polite society), or what?

MM: I had similar views about the Isle of Wight (based purely on heresay and the reflections of others) until I actually visited the place and realised how stunning it was. I would say doubters should come and see for themselves. But in all honesty, there is nothing more irritating on a hot summers day than beaches and car-parks being full of tourists arriving in their droves from the mainland, so I wouldn’t openly encourage it! Canvey isn’t without its faults (where is?). Admittedly it’s transport links are precarious at best. But personally speaking, I love living a stone’s throw from the beach, and it also has a great community spirit.

The Edge 077 646 797 44

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

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The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/26/2021 10:34 AM Page 18

HERE COME THE GIRLS A Beaulieu Park Wife’s Diary in which names have been tweaked to spare blushes and exposed breaches to Pre-Nup Agreements.

Hands up who has spent the last month pouring over pop up photographic reminders of how gorgeous the weather was this time last year? Oh, the daily snapshots of how blooming fantastically sunny it was, how green the grass was and, well, just how many reels I took of mini-me frolicking on some crazy-ass slip and slide contraption in the back garden.The Met Office clearly hasn’t yet got the memo that it’s okay to give us news of some meteorological magic…until now, that is! Yes, the hot days and balmy nights are on there way, folks, as we eagerly anticipate ‘Flaming June’; a predicted 16-day period of wall-to-wall, uninterrupted sunshine - hooray! Bring on the Piriton, the Pinot Blush and actual, real ‘people’ being able to ‘pop over’ and leave in the early hours after that cheeky glass of something or other turned into a full-on bender. Belting out 90s classics on the Sonos and generally losing a good 12 hours to some hazy alcohol-induced oblivion where the recollection of the previous evening’s events is triggered only by finding stray prosecco flutes and half eaten goats cheese crostini dotted amongst the Cherry Laurels!

I’m actually planning a CC Matinee for later in the month (‘Covid-Compliant day time gathering’ in other words) in celebration of our wedding anniversary. It’s not a particularly momentous milestone this year, but I’m desperate to break out the natural slate serveware, dust off the Ralph Lauren home ice-buckets and find as many poncy ways as possible to display high end canapes; obviously all of which are a mere attempt to provide some sustenance to soak up the plonk we’ll be plying our discerning (judgey) neighbours with. All of the gang have accepted our invites (who doesn’t lap up an opportunity to mingle now we actually are allowed to?) and WhatsApps are flying around amongst the ladies vis-a-vis planned attire.

Fuchsia and turquoise seem to be featuring heavily, but I’m sticking with Panetone’s chosen hues for 2021 - ‘Illuminating Yellow’ and ‘Ultimate Grey’.

Nat thinks I’m running the risk of resembling some bloody great wasp, but what does Gok Wan know anyway? I’ve told him to stick to worrying about making

sure the new Weber Genesis is operational after he spent months researching barbeques and iGrill Technology! (Yes, the man really does have an app to make sure his sausage is cooked to perfection!)

One little obstacle in my plans is the ongoing construction of the new summerhouse. In true ‘me’ fashion, what started off as a small corner feature has developed into a full-on Grand Designs-worthy project. The stress is really starting to take its toll. Choosing said garden building was a doddle, but dealing with workmen whilst I oversee the purchase and positioning of materials (whether it be sandstone paving, Spanish slate roofing, ornate pitched roof finials and so on) is a total bloody nightmare. National cement shortages aside (who knew that building materials would be the equivalent of the 2020 loo roll debacle? Yeah, thanks once again, Covid AND Brexit!!), I have come to the conclusion that I am not cut out to project manage. I have spent many an hour making endless cups of ‘builders tea’ (in paper cups, of course, as I wouldn’t entrust my Wedgwood with such slovenly oiks), only to watch the ‘workers’ standing in the garden with their hands on their hips, staring into the holes they have made in my beautiful garden.

I mean, what is soooo fascinating that makes two grown men down tools (if they have actually picked them up that day at all) and stare into a hole? As you can imagine, my tone has been curt. They know I am somewhat pee’d off at the pace of their progress as the tea-accompanying biscuits have now been downgraded from M&S All Butter Shortbread Fingers to lowly custard creams and my strategic forays into the garden to see if the washing is dry usually gives them the very much needed kick up the arse they require to get proceedings moving along.

They know they have a deadline; CC Matinee Day is almost upon us and this gal has got a shedload (well ‘summerhouse’ load to be precise!) of gorgeous furniture and trinkets to adorn the garden with - think beach-hut chic meets the Hamptons.

So, here’s to sun, the official start of summer, seeing friends (and seeing double from the copious amount of drinks we will all share), perfectly cooked barbeque fare (assuming the BBQ technology actually works) and oh, managing to stay out of police custody by not burying the builders in one of their holes!

BEAULIEU PARK HOUSEWIVES Page 18

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David Moyes has recently gone on record as saying the Premier League needs splitting into two tiers, thus forming Premier League 1 and Premier League 2, only The Edge doesn’t think Moyesey has properly thought it through. For instance, what’s ‘Premier’ about any ‘League Division 2’?

No lad, what you meant to say was that the Premier League ought to become a proper, bone fide Premier League, which means it needs to be reduced to just 16 clubs (two up, two down, although doubtless they’ll still want to keep the play-offs, so that’ll make it three) with but 30 league fixtures per season. And hey, that way you can even fit in a winter break.

Another thing we need to do is completely get rid of the bloody stupid EFL/Carabao Cup so that the F.A. Cup once again becomes the great knockout cup that it always used to me, with a slight twist. That being that no team ever plays against a team in the same division (until perhaps that becomes impossible during the later rounds), as surely the ‘true magic’ of the cup is teams playing against unfamiliar opposition?

Clearly VAR needs sorting out, because VAR itself is not to blame for some truly ‘cock awful’ decisions this past season. Bottom-line, VAR is accurate.

It’s just what to do with its information? The Edge thinks we need to take away the responsibility from the actual referee, as they’ve shown they haven’t the bottle (the true minerals) and let Stockley Park decide the outcome. Only for gawd’s sake, let’s make level mean onside.

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Ahhhh, M&S. It’s a bit like that, isn’t it?

After all, M&S is somewhat of a safety blanket, in so far as during lockdown, whenever we popped into their store on the Clockhouse Rattle Park, as you do, ‘just for a few bits’ - because you have to be well minted to buy ALL of your groceries there - it felt as though: ‘Well, if M&S are still trading, we’ve definitely got Covid-19 on the run’.

Do you know where The Edge is coming from?

M&S is like a lovely hot bowl of tomato soup in wintertime, isn’t it, with a chunky slice of buttered granary bread on a side-plate in front of a real fire. It just gives you a lovely warm glow, as if they’re saying to you: ‘There, there, pet. Come inside. Everything’s going to be alright.’

Mind you, pensioners must me sorted, as there were a fair few of them about when I was in there the other morning at 09:30am, procuring one of M&S’s fantastically good value ‘Meal Deals’ for dinner that very eve-ning. Well, you’ve got to treat yourself, haven’t you? And who can be bothered cooking on a Friday neet?

I chose two meaty, garlic-stuffed chicken kievs with a side of truffled cauliflower cheese (‘lavish & indulgent’ it says on the wrapper - and I’m sure we’ve got some petit pois in the freezer to go with it), with a lovely, gooey sticky toffee pudding (which we’ve had before) for dessert, accompanied by Alan Partridge and Gogglebox on the tele.

Surely you cannot spend a tenner more wisely?

It’s all so sophisticated in M&S. People are, by and large, polite (even the customers), which makes the entire experience a pure joy and a ‘must visit’ venue, particularly when you’re feeling ‘a little out of sorts’.

And if you want to feel that little extra special, pop into the Aldi store just across the way on Clockhouse before you go to M&S (and never in reverse order). But that is not The Edge having ‘a pop’ at Aldi. Far from it. It’s just that everything’s so serene in M&S and you have time to pack your purchases, whereas Aldi’s just a tad more crash/bang/wallop.

Hey-ho, I’m sure you get The Edge’s gist.

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The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/25/2021 5:18 PM Page 20

Hello readers.

Spring is here, the sun is shining, Covid is in retreat and the borders are reopening. Reasons to be cheerful, parts one, two, three, four as Ian Dury nearly said.

I love this time of year. November to March is okay. I mean, I don’t suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) or anything like that. It’s just that I much prefer it when it’s warm and the sun is shining. Who doesn’t?

So, as I write this column, in the middle of May, I have already booked a trip to Krakow (Poland) for a week to get some much needed dental work done. I lost a couple of front teeth earlier in the year and I’ve put up with hiding my smile for several months now (which is when a mask is a distinct advantage), whilst I await the chance to fly out to have my pegs restored. I’ll write about the experience in my next column but https://indexmedicauk.co.uk/ are meant to be very good and very competitively priced. They also put you up (for free) in their own hotel for the duration and collect you from the airport. Add to that the cheap cost of the flights (less than £100 return) and I’m hoping this turns out to be one of my better decisions. I’ll let you know in the next edition of The Edge since I will literally be writing my column on location in Krakow later on this month (eat your heart out, Phil Claydon).

DEAKS

It will be the first time I’ve been on a plane since last July, when I slipped out of the country between lockdowns to visit a friend in Crispiero, Italy.

The flight back to the UK was the worst I’ve ever been on. I was boxed into a window seat and I was sat beside a couple who argued from the moment they boarded until the moment we landed at Stansted. To add to my misery, they also had a baby that cried the entire journey, though hardly surprising really as the poor little thing was thrust from one to the other

every 90 seconds. At one point I was tempted to offer to take the baby from them so that their hands were free to kill one another. I really wanted to discuss with them my theory that all babies should be placed in the aeroplane hold on flights of over an hours duration, but I was stopped from doing so by the numerous body-piercings and tattoos they had, especially the ‘KILL’ and ‘HATE’ ones across their knuckles and their nose-to-ear chains. I must admit that they did unnerve me a little, and the bloke was only marginally less scary.

So what can I tell you this month? Well, I ended last months missive promising to be back to write this months column providing no further near death experiences befell me after nearly burning my house down and setting my hand on fire while making candles, all of which can be found at http://theedgemag.co.uk/blog/ So I guess I should tell you about my falling down a manhole. Yes, these things really do happen to me. Truth me told, I’m beginning to feel pretty damn vulnerable these days, it has to be said. My sons claim they are already looking at residential homes and I’m beginning to believe them.

So, there’s a manhole adjacent to my drive and it had a lightweight flimsy metal cover over it which had cracked over the years, not helped by me parking a car wheel on it from time to time. Anyhow, I had alerted the Water Board and they had promised to replace it (and they did so the very next day), but on this particular morning I was driving a friend to the railway station and as I let her into the passenger seat, I walked around the car and literally fell down the manhole. Without a word of a lie I was waist deep in the hole, only stopped from falling further by my outspread arms.

I managed to pull myself out and because I was wearing shorts, I had blood running down both of my legs. Yet I climbed behind the wheel and my passenger never even knew of my mishap, not until I told her several days later. She’d apparently been far too busy looking at her phone, otherwise she would have seen me disappear from view as if by magic. “Now you see me, now you don't!” But I was in a fair amount of pain and kept busy picking out bits of rusted metal from my cuts for days.

I’m somewhat of a recent convert to social media, whereas 12 months ago I would have laughed had you suggested I would have any interest in the likes of Instagram, TikTok, Twitter or Facebook. I’m still managing to avoid the temptation of the last three, but I’ve got to admit I’m hooked on Instagram to the point I have not one, not two, but three accounts and I actually post on them every single day. I include a topical and hopefully humorous daily story on @gmdeakin plus a few jokes on @myfunnies2020 and then a photo or two of Portugal on @casabonita338 which is my second home in the Algarve, in an effort to secure holiday lettings to help pay the bills.

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

I shared a story on @gmdeakin that I wanted to share with you here involving the police knocking on my door (no, not that time, dear family and friends, not that time!). This occurred a good 15 years ago. I have a very large tree in my back garden that has a rope swing attached to its strongest branch which my boys fitted up when we moved into the house some 20 years ago. Anyhow, during one of my eldest son Gary’s many get fit regimes, he substituted the swing for a leather punchbag to practice his boxing and Kung Fu moves. This punchbag was huge, well over one metre high, and much too wide to get your arms around fully. You get the picture, yes? And it was left swinging from the branch all week long until the boys came around the following weekend and it got the crap kicked out of it all over again.

EDGE

the

Anyhow, one evening I’m sat at home during the week, after the boys had gone home to their mother’s house, when there was a knock at the door.

Stood on my doorstep were a couple of coppers. “Could we come in for a moment of your time, please, sir? We have received a report that a body is hanging from one of your trees.” Naturally I tried to tell them it was only a punchbag, but they insisted on coming in and inspecting it. The PC let himself out into my garden whilst the WPC stayed with me in the kitchen, presumably in case I attempted a runner. After much prodding and poking, the PC came back indoors a little embarrassed and joined me and his colleague for a nice cup of tea. And yes, of course they saw the funny side of it, thankfully. But that didn’t stop me from joking with them that luckily they hadn’t noticed my new patio, as their eyes narrowed for just a moment and I had visions of them calling an excavation team out. Which, in fact, did happen to one of my former neighbours, but that story will have to wait until another time.

Well, I think that’s your lot. So until next time, stay safe and be happy.

TTFN Deaks Email gmdeak@googlemail.com Instagram: gmdeakin

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MAYOR OF LONDON As if Covid-19 wasn’t bad enough, it’s given us Sadiq Khan as the Mayor of London for an extra year, due to the election in May 2020 being postponed, thanks to the pandemic.

For me, I think Westminster needs to take back control of London and abolish the post of Mayor altogether. I have worked in the city for twenty years and it is our capital, yet as a voter, I have no say.

London is locked in an ideological bubble that is absolutely not in line with the rest of the country (see Hartlepool). For that reason, I think there should be a national referendum on whether or not the position should even exist.

When Khan took office, he pledged to make London “a safe and secure place”, but in my view the complete opposite has happened. In a 2019 video circulated online he was presented with statistics from the Metropolitan Police which showed that since 2015/16 robberies had increased by 65%, knife crime by 55% and gun crime by 30%.

Safe? Secure?

Yet last month he was re-elected on the back of manifesto pledges to create 170,000 new green jobs in London and to aid the recovery of the economy following the pandemic, but on key policies such as crime his answer is to lobby the government for more funding - an

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extra £159m to be precise. Of course there has been pressure for the Metropolitan Police to cut costs over the past decade under our Conservative government, but they are unlikely to give Khan the cash he wants when it has also been alleged that there has been £83m of ‘wasteful spending’.

He also wants the government to provide extra support to improve the transport network, which includes plans to install 4G mobile connectivity on the entire tube network. But that just doesn’t make sense to me, when the streets are more dangerous, the roads are more congested and the affordable housing crisis rumbles on. Why on earth does he want to spend our money on a 4G network when there’s barely enough room to stand on the tube during rush hour, let alone get your laptop out and start doing some work. It simply seems completely unnecessary to me. If so much funding is really required from central government to support London, then why not get central government to run London hands-on, rather than handing Khan the cash to waste on his pet projects.

There is quite rightly criticism of the government’s response to Covid, but I also remember Sadiq Khan telling us that he was listening to expert advice before advising us that traveling on public transport was perfectly safe. But with the

Conservative party doing so well throughout the country, I do wonder if they are leaving London to Labour in the hope that it will help their next election campaign. You can just see the headlines now - ‘If you want to see what a Labour government will do, look no further than what Sadiq Khan has already done to London’.

LINE OF DUTY I am hoping that by the time you read this they will have already announced their intentions to make series seven of Line of Duty because I just refuse to believe that Ian Buckells is ‘the fourth man’ responsible for running the OCG (Organised Crime Group).

I have invested almost 10 years of my life in that show, even sticking through some far-fetched storylines, including an armed break out from the middle of a secure police building. Yet now, at the very end of the sixth series, I am supposed to be brought back to reality by some weak tale of some bumbling, greedy copper leveraging his position of power to meet his own needs as some kind of damning reflection of society? Get out of here. Better still, get on with writing series seven and give us the plot twists and ending the show truly deserves.

EURO 2020(ish) So finally Euro 2020 is within touching distance and I for one cannot wait. Following our unex-

pected run to the semi-finals of the World Cup in 2018, I am once again filled with that hopeless optimism that every England fan has had since circa 1967, which roughly translates to ‘surely the time has come for England to bring home a major trophy?’ For the first time in as long as I can remember, I think we have a group of players who could actually do it.

We have a solid defense (including more right-backs than I can shake a stick at), a talented midfield and Harry Kane up front. That is some team. And when you sprinkle in a little bit of the ‘magic dust’ that is Phil Foden, then surely we have all the ingredients that we need for success.

However, we’d best not get ahead of ourselves and start putting the champagne on ice just yet, but I definitely think there is sufficient room for cautious optimism.

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The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/25/2021 5:18 PM Page 22

ONLY JOKING! WEIRDO

Couldn’t believe it.

Overnight some prick has written ‘Weirdo’ on my car with wax crayons.

Took me ages to lick off.

PREGNANT Doctor: "It looks like you’re pregnant.”

Patient: "Oh, that’s fabulous NEWS, doc. We’ve been trying for absolutely ages.”

Doc: "No, you’re not pregnant. You just look as though you are. You should try to lose weight.”

EUREKA! According to new research, too much sex can cause memory loss.

Eureka! At last, something that explains my ultra detailed photographic memory.

RELAX Relax. Take a chill pill. After all, it's 2021. Don't get offended over someone not replying to your text messages. Their cell phone is probably set on silent, or probably right there in front of their ugly, stupid, lying, ignorant, bastard face.

SPOTS Patient: "Are you sure these spots are normal?”

Vet: "Yes. You’re definitely a Dalmatian.”

NEW HAIRCUT I was so proud. All I wanted to do was show my work colleagues my new haircut.

But they were like, "Ew, no. Put it away!” and "Pull your pants up!”

SQUAD CAR When a cop pushes you up against his squad car, never yell, “F@ck yeah.”

Because you never know just what they’re capable of these days.

DURING SEX Him: “Hurt me, baby?”

Her: “OK. You’re brother’s cock is bigger.”

TRIP TO THE DUMP

DURING CONVERSATION

“When I said we need to get rid of all the crap in this house, I didn’t mean just my crap.”

“So, let me just get this straight. When you guys arrive promptly, it’s called polite and civilised?

But when I come too early, it’s called premature ejaculation?”

FLASHER "Yes, madam, of course I understand you were taken by surprise. But an identikit image of a ten inch willy isn’t really going to be of much help.

Did you not get a look at his face?”

MASK If you’re wearing a mask alone in a car, the police might have good reason to assume that you’re nicking it.

BATHROOM Annie: [knocking] "Darling, are you in the bathroom?”

Schroedinger: Annie: [sighing] "For f@ck’s sake Erwin, do we have to do this every single morning?”

Hmmmm, not sure that’ll be a popular one? E.E.

PEOPLE YOU HATE Remember, even the people you hate sometimes have the capacity to make you smile. For instance, like the way they tumble downstairs and the noises they make after you’ve tripped them up.

BATH Hmmmm, I think I might have a bath?

Yep, just checked. There’s one upstairs next to the khasi, just as I suspected.

LOLLIPOP MAN Got the sack after my first day as a Lollipop Man, even though none of the little shits got past me.

CHICKEN SURPRISE A couple go for a romantic meal at a Chinese restaurant and order the Chicken Surprise. The waiter eventually brings a dish over served in a cast iron pot with a lid on it. Just as the wife was about to serve, the lid ever so slightly raised and she was almost certain she saw a little pair of eyes peering out before the lid slammed shut.

“Good grief!” she exclaimed to her husband.

“Did you see what just happened?”

They immediately called the waiter over and explained the situation.

“What you order?” asked waiter.

“The Chicken Surprise,” they replied.

“Ah. So sorry,” waiter said. “You have Peeking Duck by mistake.”

PRE-MARITAL SEX

BIG BOOTS An Essex Girl walks into a bar in Southend and sees a young man with his feet up on a table.

He is wearing the biggest pair of boots she had ever seen in her life.

So she asked him if it were true, the rumours she’d heard about men with big feet...

Winking, the young man said, "Why don’t we go out into the car-park and find out?”

She agreed, and five minutes later she was handing the guy a £50 note.

“Why thank you,” the young chap said. “I’ve never been paid for my services before.”

Sharon said, "It’s not for your services. It’s to go towards a decent pair of boots that actually fit.”

WOW! “Wow! So when you make sacrifices for our marriage, you're being mature and responsible.

But when I make sacrifices, the RSPCA always seems to get involved.”

FIRST COUSINS “So, she’s not your first cousin after all.

My mistake.

How many have you had?”

MECHANIC “You’re the mechanic, I’m just the customer, so I don't want to be telling you your job. But it seems to me my car makes a sort of screaming sound whenever I run people over?”

BASILDON At a nightclub the other night, the girl I was dancing with sniffed behind my ears and whispered, "Hmmm, nice. Wot u got on?”

I said,”A boner.” Only I honestly didn’t realise you could smell it?”

KIDNAPPING Have you ever loved someone so much that you wanted to keep them hidden from the world and have them all to yourself?

NORFOLK & GOODE Two men were discussing their divorce lawyers.

The first one said, “My solicitors were Norfolk and Goode.”

The second one said, “Really? Mine weren’t much cop either.”

Boom, f@cking boom, Basil!

Which clearly implies the existence of postmarital sex.

SIDE-EFFECTS Doctor: “Side-effects may include weight gain, heart attack, stroke, paralysis, blindness, rectal bleeding, loss of hearing, hallucinations, and in certain instances, immediate death.”

Patient:”Whoa! Weight gain, did you say? No, way, doc. I’m not taking that.”

TYPING Don’t you just hate it when you’re typing something on the computer whilst you’re thinking about something else, so that you subconsciously type what you were Titties...?

JAMIE So I said to my daughter, I said, “Jamie, have I been a good father to you?”

He said, “FFS, Dad. I’m Stephen!”

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

The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/27/2021 3:49 PM Page 23

I wouldn’t want to live on this street, would you, readers, with the view from your front window being the side of Goodison Park...or any footie ground, come to that. Jeez, what must it be like on match days when you’re out there cleaning your windows?

And what a glorious day for it, eh?

8:00am on Tuesday 11th May (and take note, readers, for it’s not all sunshine and sandcastles surveying with Lengthy-Boy, you know, as I was up at 04:37am and I didn’t get back home until 8:10pm), but it felt like we were going on a mini-holiday as we left Portsmouth harbour with our bucket and spades. Oh sure, a couple of surveying jobs needed to be done, but you don’t want to know about that, do you? No, of course you don’t. You’d far rather know what Lurch treated me to by way of a late lunch, wouldn’t you?

And it was this lovely platter sat outside the Fisherman’s Cottage in Shanklin (where I’d previously visited a fair few times during a cycling weeks stay on the Isle of Wight with Mrs Edge, ‘Bernard the Butcher’ and Mrs T), bathed in glorious sunshine. (Oh, and mine was the pint of Guinness, seeing as Lurch was in charge of all driving duties).

There’s a reet low crime rate on the Isle of Wight, but a reet high pensioner ratio too, if you were wondering, which you probably weren’t. But Jersey’s the place for me, if they’d have me (they won’t, as I think you you have to be seriously rich before you can live there). Although I’ve yet to visit the Scilly Isles, which I deffo need to get around to.

Ah, this was a bit better, as there are blue flags on street lamposts around Everton’s ground. What’s all that about? Supposing you don’t support ’em or have little to no interest in football, do you really want to be living in some sort of a ‘blue zone’? It all seemed a little odd to me and Lurch. And while we appreciated that only Stanley Park separates the two famous clubs, it has to be said, they really are very, very close.

If your name’s not on the list you’re not bloody well coming in!

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

This is The Pumphouse at Hartley Quay, where we literally froze our ’nads off sitting outside to ‘enjoy’ our very first Scouse pint (as you still couldn’t go inside pubs when we were in Liverpool).

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Page 23

The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/26/2021 2:24 PM Page 24

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For the film buffs amongst you, many will recognise the question asked by Laurence Olivier to Dustin Hoffman in the 1976 movie ‘Marathon Man’.

The dialogue goes something like this: Szell (The White Angel - Laurence Olivier): Is it safe?

Babe Levy (Dustin Hoffman): Yes, it’s safe. It’s very safe. It’s so safe you wouldn’t believe it.

Szell: Is it safe?

Babe Levy: No, it’s not safe. It’s… very dangerous. Be careful.

This seems to be a mirror image of the questions we need to be asking about the current safety levels as we embark on a post Covid world.

Sure, we are safe, here in the UK, with most of the population vaccinated against the Covid-19 virus.

But the rest of the world isn’t.

At the moment, both the Astra and Pfizer vaccines provides us with greater than 95% protection against the pandemic and significantly reduces the transmission and rate of infection from person to person which is precisely what a vaccine is supposed to do. But here’s the problem; as the country opens up, there is an increasing clamour to be able to travel abroad. Yes, really!

But why? What’s the great benefit?

Okay, I get it if you want to travel to see relatives/friends and maybe sort out your property abroad. But to sit in a socially distanced restaurant (if there’s sufficient space and you’ve booked a month ahead) with a limited menu, or sit masked up on a bit of sand for a couple of weeks (if you’re even allowed onto the beach, what with a ‘traffic light system’ in place), is that really what you want?

What we’ve learned in the past few months is that the virus is able to mutate into varieties that have greater (and lesser) rates of infectivity and if we’re not very careful, a mutation will arise (probably abroad) that will be resistant to the vaccine and then we’ll all be back to square one, with further lockdowns and a complete braking of our recovering economy.

Even as I write this, the problems in India are having an impact in the UK with a surge of the Indian variant (now labelled a ‘Variant of Concern’) occurring in parts of the country, presumably brought back by those who’d (justifiably) gone out to help and support their families in the Indian sub-continent and returned prior to the imposition of quarantine rules. So the worry is that this Indian variant may not be susceptible to the Covid vaccine.

The government and SAGE are now discussing the possibility of delaying the easing of restrictions in June, though hopefully this will not be the case.

The problem with travelling abroad is that we’re exposing ourselves to

Covid virus mutations that don’t express themselves ’til after we’ve returned home and exposed others to it, especially if social distancing and face mask rules are relaxed.

So, to repeat Babe Levy - “No, it is not safe at all. It is very, very dangerous. So be careful.”

If we’re going to be stuck right here in Essex, here are a couple of ideas to stimulate your thirst for local historical knowledge.

Go visit the remains of Pleshey Castle. Now just a ruin, during the 14th and 15th century the castle played an integral part in the machinations of the Plantagenet Dynasty.

This was notably played out in 1380 when Mary de Bohun (heiress to the de Bohun fortune) was seized (and freed from Pleshey) from the clutches of her brother-in-law, Thomas of Woodstock, by his elder brother, John of Gaunt, who promptly married her off to his son, Henry Bollingbroke. Thomas of Woodstock was later imprisoned and murdered on the orders of Richard II. Henry Bolingbroke subsequently deposed Richard II and became King Henry IV and his wife, Mary de Bohun, gave birth to the future Henry V (of Agincourt fame).

See the Eagle of Salamanca at the Essex Regiment Museum (Chelmsford Museum) in Oaklands Park. In the Peninsular War, the 2nd Battalion of the East Essex Regiment (known as the 44th Regiment of Foot) covered itself in glory with the capture of a French Imperial Eagle at the Battle of Salamanca in 1812. The Eagle itself can be seen in the museum as part of the display of the history of the Essex Regiment. The capture of the eagle has been immortalised in the TV series ‘Sharpe’, but the regiment has been renamed as the South Essex, the battle relocated to Talavera (which took place some three years earlier) and, of course, in the TV episode, Lieutenant Richard Sharpe (the hero) took the eagle, rather than Lieutenant William Pierce of the 44th.

The Edge 01245 348256

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It’s June. Summertime, and the living is easy.

Or at least, easier.

in a flag and railing against the ‘elite’ they have managed to persuade enough of their countrymen they are just the right man - always a man - to lead the country.

As this is being written in mid-May the successful roll out of vaccines has allowed California to gradually get back to some form of normalcy. The same appears to be the case over there, thankfully. But there is a fly in the ointment towards complete return to life BC (Before Covid, obviously). In fact, it’s not a fly in the ointment, more like a kilo of rough grit. And what’s that, you might ask? Well, until the vaccine hesitant have been persuaded to roll up their sleeves and get jabbed, it will not be entirely like January 2020 in either country.

This whole vaccine hesitancy thing is a sad state of affairs. There are many reasons for it, some legitimate, but most not. A few people will have had bad experiences of reactions to previous vaccinations that understandably makes them pause on this one. That’s an entirely reasonable stance.

But the truth is that most of those reluctant to get the shot, or worse, downright adamant they won’t, are doing it because they were not at the front of the queue when the brains were being handed out. These are the people prone to believe ridiculous conspiracy theories. There’s one floating around that Bill Gates has inserted some form of microchip into each dose and he’s going to use that to control the world’s population. Somehow the Clintons are wrapped up in this and are running a paedophile ring on the back of it. And, of course, it’s all being funded by George Soros. Or maybe shadowy Jews using a laser from outer space. Or something. Anyone with a normally functioning brain very quickly loses track of the plot.

You have to be really dim to believe all this, but millions out here do. And before you get too smug about moronic Americans, there’s a significant number in the UK who do too. Last month’s magnificent Edge column by Kingpin put this much more eloquently, but carried the same message - a considerable proportion of the population is off-the-scale stupid. And sadly, as someone once said, “There ain’t no cure for stupid”.

Er....at this stage you have to scratch your head and think, Johnson; Eton, Oxford, rich Daddy why is he not one of the elite?

Now this is where the threads start coming together. It is the supporters of these incompetent and deadly leaders that are the same people who consider the vaccine to be some sort of deep state plot best avoided. The two stupids collide.

Whilst all this dumbass-energy is focused on whether men landed on the moon, or maybe it was Walt Disney that shot JFK, it remains stupid, but a relatively harmless form of stupid. But when it comes to the vaccines, we’re in completely different territory. Not getting a vaccine may be your right as a free individual, but your freedom to be an asshole affects my freedom to live in a world without Covid. So quite apart from any other considerations regarding the mental capacity of the vaccine deniers, they are utterly selfish.

Changing tack a bit here, but stay with it, we’ll draw the threads together in a bit. You’re sure to know by now that four of the worst performing countries in terms of hospitalisations and deaths due to Covid are the UK, the US, India and Brazil. There’s a common denominator. They all have incompetent populist leaders. Johnson, Trump (until recently), Modi and Bolsenaro.

These four also share some characteristics. None of them have any previous life achievements worth noting. All have gargantuan egos. The entire quartet are very adept at shoveling public money to their mates. And finally, the four also consider themselves the ultimate alpha male.

You’d think adding that lot together most voters would say, “No thanks. I prefer a decent human being as my leader.” Yet by wrapping themselves

Now, let’s make this abundantly clear. This is no longer an argument between political visions for the future. There is no left and right here, where you could have intelligent debate about policies.

What we have now is a divide between the real world, where objective truth and evidence prevails, and a fantasy-land, where truth is whatever you want it to be. In fantasy-land, Trump is still the president and Covid is only a bad cold. And it’s the same land where Brexit is a roaring success, the UK fishing fleet isn’t bankrupt, there’s nothing kicking off in Northern Ireland and no companies are moving operations to Europe.

Quite where this goes next is anyone’s guess.

Such is the fervor of the inhabitants of fantasyland on both sides of the Atlantic that they are much closer to a religious cult than a political party. And there have been a lot more wars fought over religion than just about anything.

Nobody is saying that the UK is about to descend into a violent civil war, but there doesn’t seem to be a way out of this divide in the short term at least. Hopefully the younger generations are better educated and less prone to the willy waving that is the staple diet of the populists, but that’s still to be determined, I guess.

In the meantime, those of us that live in the real world can but try to convince the vaccine deniers that their selfishness is in fact delaying the return to normal. The best way to achieve the conversion of these cultists is unclear, but it’s probably not a winning tactic to call them morons.

Oh.....

theEDGE just

LOVES

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

this bull

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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ing faded and desiccated with stems systematically shredded and defoliated by countless thousands of hungry caterpillars. Make no mistake, this latest threat to the British way of life is set to eclipse Covid-19 and will make the plague and impending climate change Armageddon look like a minor inconvenience.

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’.

wontpassthiswayagain@gmail.com

Cydalima Perspectalis Lockdown may have ended, but we’re all still locked in and unable to cross borders legally for leisure.

There’s also a very limited choice of ‘green list’ countries open to the eager negative tested British tourist, but all that means is that the beaches, bars and bistros of those nations will be awash with Brits doing what Brits do best; over indulging in the sunshine and the sauce with frenzied determination to make up for valuable time lost to the pandemic. Those in search of anything a little more culturally intoxicating are likely to be frustrated for a year or two yet, I fear. Whether I choose to travel beyond these shores this summer is debatable and as I write it looks as though the decision may well be snatched away from me by B.1.617.2.

But the ban on you and I travelling has done little to protect us from the devastating effects of the wave of Asian migrants who’ve flooded into this once green and pleasant land over recent years. I refer, of course, to Cydalima Perspectalis (aka the box tree moth).

To gauge the scale of terror that’s engulfed Chelmo’s leafy locale, one only has to witness the panic that ensued on social media when one of my fellow columnists (he of the extensive estate with sweeping vistas over in Little Waltham) recently posted about the imminent pestilence.

Yes, it’s a crisis on an unparalleled scale, but, in our darkest hour, where is our PM? Why isn’t Boris hosting daily news conferences from No.10 flanked by George Eustice (the Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs) supported by a glum faced Alan Titchmarsh or Monty Don? I want graphs and statistics showing how many moths and caterpillars have been observed and how many hedges have been tragically lost. I want Alan (or Monty) requesting “Next slide, please”.

It follows that the Minister will award lucrative tax payer funded pest control contracts to a host of his cronies. The measures will no doubt be delayed and will deliver disappointing results with limited and patchy success in suppressing the moth’s relentless advance.

Conspiracy theorists amongst you might conclude that this is yet another plandemic, an infestation orchestrated by sinister dark forces intent on the decimation of the neatly trimmed hedges of our manicured gardens in a campaign to enslave the British middle class in its leafy habitat.

Others, who have yet to actually observe the moth, or it’s voracious caterpillar offspring, might postulate that the threat has been grossly exaggerated, or that the whole thing is a hoax; a moth myth perpetrated by a morally corrupt elite.

This latest threat to your meticulously-groomed and trimmed bush puts a pillar of British culture in peril. Apparently, this topiary terminator possesses an appetite that will leave your box hedging appear-

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How this thing pans out I have no idea. I have nurtured the box hedging at The Lodge for many years; my pride and joy is currently thriving and resplendent in its verdant spring foliage. Will it survive? Will we ever return to normal? What will normal look like (some are already predicting, God forbid, that we may have to plant privet instead of Baxus Sempervirens).

Good luck, readers. I hope you can withstand the experience of having your bush munched.

ANDREW ELEY

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Sitting somewhere in between Finding Nemo and Toy Story on Disney Plus, subscribers to the streaming channel can now watch the Oscar winning Nomadland, in which grieving sixtysomething Fern (Frances McDormand) can be seen floating naked in a stream and shitting in a bucket.

Not what you would expect to see on a service that mostly focuses on Cinderella and Star Wars, but such is the world of streaming channels these days.

Still, this is not a film that can be truly savoured at home anyway; it should, if possible, be seen on the big screen, where it has received a simultaneous release.

Ideally you need the cinematic experience to appreciate its stunning vistas and contemplative sunsets.

Director Chloe Zhao, who also wrote and edited the film, based on the 2017 non-fiction book, delivers a poignant and beautiful picture that far from its seemingly bleak premise would have you believe, is a film about the kindness of strangers and healing from past hurts.

After losing everything in the recession and mourning the loss of her husband, Fern packs up her RV and embarks on a journey though the great American West, meeting up with fellow nomads whilst taking odd jobs along the way in order to get by, including stints at a giant Amazon Warehouse, degreasing burger fryers and collecting litter in a holiday park.

What, on the surface, seems to be a simple story of life on the road, is a metaphor for how we all circumnavigate the highways of life, meeting new people, changing jobs, living in different places, facing tough challenges and losing those closet to us, all condensed into a two hour movie.

No doubt some won’t see the parable in it and will dismiss it as boring or pretentious. Yet if you open yourself up to it, Nomadland will move you in a way films rarely do, and make you ponder upon your own travels through this life.

It’s a film that will have different meanings to different viewers, and to me it was about a journey of overcoming grieve and loss, whilst also making you think about working for the man, grinding away for a pension you may never see and a future that may never come, rather than living for each and every day, right now.

I’ll leave you with the words of Bob, one of the real nomads we meet on the way, who comes across like a wise old Santa Claus, and towards the end delivers a most moving speech about the death of his son in order to help bring some comfort to Fern and encourage her to move on.

“One of the things I love most about this life is that there's no final goodbye. You know, I've met hundreds of people out here and I don't ever say a final goodbye. I always just say, "I'll see you down the road". And I do. And whether it's a month, or a year, or sometimes years, I see them again. I can look down the road and be certain in my heart I’ll see my son again.

And you will see Bo again. And you can remember your lives together then.”

It may not sound like a glamorous life, yet the nomadic lifestyle appeals to many, free from the burden of routine and expectation, as Fern spends her evenings sitting around campfires, listening to people talk about their struggles in life. It sometimes feels like a therapy session more than a film, and many of the people we encounter are real life nomads rather that actors, giving the movie a grounded documentary like feel.

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BUYING THE FARM

KiNGPiN

Before you roll your eyes and mutter about me being a one-trick pony, whilst this is Brexit connected, it isn’t me taking yet another opportunity to froth at the mouth and be rude about idiots, sorry, people. Far from it. This is a genuine attempt to get a glimpse of some of the promised sunlit uplands.

You may already be aware that the stunningly incompetent Liz Truss is currently attempting to fumble her way through a trade deal with Australia, after starting the negotiations with that classic and winning tactic of insulting the Australian team.

You may also be aware that our gobshite in chief, Boris, has said he backs tariff free imports for food, something which has understandably caused the UK agriculture industry to collectively soil its dungarees. On top of the imminent post-Brexit loss of up to half of their current subsidies, it’s not difficult to see why this is causing so much concern, and not just for farmers.

The UK already imports approximately 80% of its food, so clearly any reduction in its own production capacity could be an issue. Sorry, what am I going on about? Global supply chains are enormously robust, it’s not like we’d ever get something like a pandemic followed by a freighter blocking the Suez Canal and completely disrupting global trade for months is it?

Oh, hang on.

Joking aside, this got me thinking: could this turn out to be a good thing? Any change is disruptive, while profound and lasting change can often be damaging, although maybe it’s time for a complete change to England’s farming? I’d argue that any industry essentially relying on subsidies to survive simply isn’t working and absolutely ought to be changed.

Older farmers are being offered retirement packages of up to £100k to make way for younger people to take up farming, and assuming that the small handful of farmers I’ve personally met are representative of the breed and they’re predominantly miserable twats, I’d hazard a guess that a lot of them would be happier not farming.

The Kingmeister reports

in and really change things up? What if we started seeing land being purchased by communities and cooperatives? What if we started seeing more small farms servicing their local communities rather than selling their produce to Tesco and the like? Less intensive and more environmentally friendly methods?

We discovered a wonderful little farm shop literally 5 minutes down the road that we didn’t even know existed and we still get our fruit and veg there and will continue to do so, because not only is it a lot nicer than the supermarket stuff, it feels really nice to support some of our local small businesses.

Maybe, just maybe, if we’re brave enough and don’t let the sociopathic incompetents in government ruin it all, we really could make some positive changes? After all, there’s never been a better time.

CH-CH-CH-CH-CHANGES! The pandemic has turned the whole world on its ear and for us in the UK, Brexit is sending us into even further paroxysms of change. When things are in such a state of flux and so radically uncertain, I think it’s the perfect time to enact real change. I’m not talking about the backward looking Brexiter ideals of chucking all the foreigners out, so that good honest Englishmen can refuse to do all of the jobs that the Polish did and pretend we’re still an empire. No, I mean a complete paradigm shift.

As I’ve pointed out until I’m blue in the face (and you’re probably sick of hearing), there are deep and serious issues in our country and while everything is up in the air and all bets are off, maybe we could actually do something about them? Even without the pandemic and Brexit, changes were already about to start kicking down our doors with their size 12’s.

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

Unfortunately, many of us will be just as resistant because change is often frightening, but the sooner we admit that it’s inescapable, or realise it might actually be desirable, the better off we’ll be. On some level, I think a lot of us would like to see some sweeping change, a real upheaval of the status quo, even of our lives.

That might sound daft, but why do you think post-apocalyptic stories have always been so popular?

During the early days of the pandemic, when getting your food shop turned into a special-ops mission and half the shelves were bare because of panic buying imbeciles, we started to look at getting our food elsewhere. Our local village shop became a proper shop again, not just somewhere to get your newspaper and packet of fags. All of a sudden it was like ‘Open All Hours’ with tables of fruit and veg outside, much of it from local farms, and even though things are rapidly returning to normal, I’m very pleased to say they’re keeping it going.

Rather than looking back at what we once were (at least that awful, jingoistic notion of what we were), why don’t we look forward at what we could be? If leaving the EU so we could ‘stand on our own two feet’ was the ideal, then let’s be brave enough to try and do it. Let’s not just ‘get back to normal’, let’s not be content with a return to the dreary status quo, let’s dream a little bigger for once.

I’d certainly be happier having less of them moaning at me when I walk the dog. You’d think I was walking a bloody combine harvester along the side of their field the way they whinge.

If the UK agriculture industry isn’t swept away under a tsunami of Aussie, hormone-soaked beef, then what if these younger farmers come

because the only changes those people want to see are more zeroes on their bank statements.

Mass job losses due to increasing automation and AI will be first to arrive, followed by climate change, so sooner or later we’re going to be forced to change the way we do things, even the way we live. Rather than be forced into it, what if we actually took the reins and drove that change instead? Obviously there will be resistance from those who are on the top of the pile,

So many of these stories showcase the issues we’re dealing with right now: looming climate disaster, global instability and a ‘profit over people’ mentality blinding the people in power to the damage they’re doing, only then it all gets swept away, leaving those who survive free to wear leather trousers and ride motorbikes like God naturally intended. Seriously though, at their heart most of these stories are as much about liberation as they are about annihilation.

I don’t think we’re heading towards a global apocalypse any time soon, though like a lot of people, at least on a subconscious level I think that would be pretty cool, even though I know I’d last about 5 minutes before becoming a zombie’s breakfast or Lord Humungus’s unwilling concubine.

I do think that change isn’t just coming though, it’s already here, whether we like it or not, and despite what I said last month about not having much hope for the future, the cynic in me never lasts long against the dreamer. So I’ll end by asking you all a favour. Think about it for a bit.

Think about what we could all do to make changes, to make things better, even by a tiny amount. Then, after you’ve thought about it, talk about it. Look for other people that want things to change and see what you can do together.

I’m going to do the same. I’ve honestly had my fill of moaning about things. I’m sick of the sound of my own voice, so I need to stop whinging and start seeing if I can actually do something positive.

And who knows? If enough of us start making changes, start trying to make life better for ourselves and each other, instead of vainly hoping our politicians might do what we pay them for, maybe we could really make a difference?

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Max Headroom’s

BIZARRE NEWS ON THE MERSEY PROWL

A Covid rule-breaker who said she was going shopping has been fined after she confessed she was on the prowl looking for men. Louise Lovewood (30) drove across the River Mersey from the Wirral to Liverpool City Centre because she knew there’d be “loads of fit fellas” about. When she was pulled over during the first lockdown, she told the bizzies she had just dropped off her niece and was about to go shopping. But PC Plod smelled a rat (or something like that) and found out that she had crossed the river on the hunt for a bit of the old rough’n’ready. He said: “I asked her why she was in Liverpool, to which she stated, ‘I just fancied a bit’.”

“She went on to say that she had had a few problems of late, in Wirral, and that Liverpool had loads of ‘fit fellas’ who were ‘gagging for it’ and that she was driving around trying to find some.

“I pointed out to her that we were currently in the midst of a life threatening pandemic and that feeling cock-happy was not a valid reason to be out and about looking to get seen to and that I would be reporting her for a breach of Covid restrictions. To which she replied, ‘Okay. I don’t suppose you fancy a bit, do you, luv?’“ Ms Lovewood was fined a total of £339 by Scouse magistrates.

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:47

ONE WAY TICKET BACK TO CARDIFF

OK, bollocks to you!

Don’t bother sending in any photo’s of your precious ickle ones reading a copy of

The Edge shaun@theedgemag.co.uk Page 28

A pensioner from Cardiff is looking for two Irishmen who helped him escape Australia by nailing him into a wooden crate for postage back home to Wales.

Derek Dragon was just 19 years old when he felt homesick in Oz way back in 1965. After almost a year down under, he’d had it up to here with their cockiness and irritating accents and he wanted to get back home to see his Ma and Pa, only he didn’t have £700 handy for the air fare. So he managed to talk his two Irish buddies, who he was over there working on the railways with, to hammer him into a wooden box the size of a mini-fridge. So they nailed him into a crate and sent him off to cargo on a Qantas flight from Melbourne to London - or at least that was Derek’s plan.

He had packed a couple of pillows into the crate with him, plus a torch, his suitcase and a bottle of water to quench his thirst and an empty bottle in which to relieve himself.

Derek, now 75, wasn’t expecting a luxurious trip, but what ought to have been a 36 hour direct flight turned into a 4 day ordeal. The Qantas flight was so full that his crate was instead loaded onto a much slower PanAm flight that ended up in Los Angeles. He reported that the hold on the plane would vary from freezing cold to boiling hot and that he struggled to breathe at times throughout the flight.

Once he was finally on terra firma in LA he was carted off to a freight shed and upon risking a peek through a hole in his crate locked eyes with a terrified US customs official who thought he was a dead body.

He was then interrogated by the FBI who thought Derek might be a Cold War spy. But once they realised he was just a Taff who was down on his luck, they decided not to press charges and instead flew him on to London (at no cost) on a regular commercial flight.

However, Derek had to wait a few days before he was fit enough to fly home, as his legs had seized up inside his cramped crate, so he was forced to recover in hospital.

After eventually returning to Cardiff, Derek spent the remainder of his life working in the right riveting world of retail and has since written a book of his escapades, wittily entitled ‘The Crate Escape’.

Looking back on his long distance caper, he conceded, “It was bloody ludicrous. If my kids had tried to pull a cunning stunt like that, I’d have tanned their backsides. But way back then, I was desperate.”

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MOTCO IS

IT

Man on the Clapham Omnibus THE

NEW

50?

By the time you are reading this many of you will have experienced drinking inside a public house again, along with a few other newly permitted ‘inside’ activities. Nice. For my part, I will mainly be working on my July article, yes July indeed, very soon, as a sexagenarian.

Now before we get into any Sun type headlines and cries of ‘PHWOAR….MOTTY MAKES OUT MASSIVELY AS RULES ALLOW ANYTHING OUTDOORS’ start appearing, you all need to rein it in. It merely means I will have celebrated my birthday during mid-May and have made it to the grand age of 60. Yup, that’s what being a sexagenarian is, all you younger readers out there, although I’m not sure what it’s all about just yet. Is it just a state of mind, or is it something completely new altogether?

In recent years I have read so many times that sixty is the new fifty.

Many of my friends are in that age-group, one up from me, and will work hard to convince me that 70 is no doubt the new 60. But to use the famous quote, “they would say that, wouldn’t they.” However, I am now firmly sold on this idea that sixty is, most definitely, the new fifty.

For 20 years a dear friend has often said to me, over our regular beer meets when discussing matters, “Well, you are at a difficult age”. Yet this so-called ‘difficult age’ has seen me through my forties and my fifties and I know for sure that the sage of Broomfield will soon be telling me that as I enter my sixties, I remain at a ‘difficult age’.

I feel like an inbetweener. No, not the frantic and gross-out but funny lads from both TV and film, but something a little more subtle.

Because now I am old enough not to have to pay for my prescriptions, but still have another most frustrating five years to go until I can officially retire. Meanwhile, I am fully able to go on a SAGA club 58/80 holiday, but am not eligible for a free bus pass in Chelmsford. Unlike the TV Inbetweeners, I am not going to be ID’d anytime soon, unless of course the CO-OP starts a Challenge-70 campaign for selling booze. Then again, I won’t be queuing up for nightclubs either, unless the Darby & Joan Club offer up any Soul Classics nights.

So is there any science behind the statement about what is the new whatever? Actually, yes, there is, and it is all down to the NY University who seemingly looked at this in the late-twenty-teens. Amazingly, this study even goes as far as to say sixty-five could be middle-aged.

“Schweet!” I can almost hear many of you cry out loud.

Things have changed for sure. I had my dad’s cine films put onto video some years back. It was all very interesting as my dad looked older in the late 1960’s than he did in the early 1980’s. Gone was the Brylcreem slicked back hair, heavy glasses and the obligatory collar and tie. In the 1980’s he even had natural hair (of sorts), sideburns and no tie, looking distinctly Eric Morecombelike at the time. Thing is, he looked so much better for it. Younger and far less austere.

These days I look at myself and the good Mrs Mott. At sixty (she got there first, by the way), we both look how our parents did in their thirties, such is the change in outlook. And that is the key really, outlook. One can be categorised by chronology alone and that is infinitely damming. But these days, how we feel and what we expect from later life is so very different to but a few generations ago.

It might be a challenge to the established mindset, but think about it this way: We now expect to go on for longer and with an older population that is pretty healthy compared to the much recent past. We may have creaky knees and bad backs, we may be obliged to go “ohhhhh” each and every time we bend over or stand up, but we are overall in far better shape in terms of health and life engagement than prior generations. So basically, what was once considered old is now thought to be ‘middle aged’. Perfect. I am definitely buying into this theory.

Every few years a new survey or study tells us that each decade makes us younger. Forty is the new 20, fifty is the new 30, and sixty is the new 40. At this rate, aging sounds almost exciting. Though in truth, getting older might be difficult on a few levels. Such as emotionally, as in over tired and ‘emotional’, probably caused by drinking too much shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

gin. ‘Physically’, because you can’t walk too well, because you’ve been drinking too much gin. And ‘spiritually’. Oh yes, that’ll be the gin again!

But it’s how we manage this transition that will make the difference between feeling forty or feeling sixty. For instance, at the time of my first gin, I felt forty, but by the time I finished my last one, I was definitely feeling more like sixty.

I am reliably informed that with age comes wisdom and experience.

Oscar Wilde famously said that “experience is the name everybody gives to their mistakes”. So, on the experience front, I am fully loaded.

As for wisdom, it is defined as a body of knowledge gained over time.

Trouble is, I don’t think being able to name all of the Magnificent Seven actors (the original version, naturally) or why goats faint is what they had in mind when making that statement.

I am also told this phase can be dark as we become so called ‘empty nesters’ once our children have left home. This is when we really start to feel 60. In our forties, many of us still had kids dirtying up our homes and we’re still making endless meals for everyone etc. Hmmm?

We must have missed the memo on that one; still a work in progress.

On a Spiritual level, at 60 we have allegedly become grateful of our existence at a higher level. Is that because we are a step nearer our maker? It’s funny though, people’s expectations. Have you ever noticed that when folk on TV shows like ‘The Repair Shop’ speak of a dead relative or friend, they always say, “I bet he’ll be looking down on us right now and smiling.” Although I wonder whether anybody can admit to their real place of destination actually being the Palace of Beelzebub and say, “I bet he’s looking UP right now and laughing his f@cking head off!”

Older friends tell me that in later life I will be looking at life with a ‘glass half full’ attitude. Well, I can tell them quite categorically, only if it’s their round will I be. Maybe this will, in fact, be the case, but I will have to work on that, being as I am treading the well-worn path of turning into a miserable old git of late. But I don’t want to be, I can assure you.

Maybe it’s just part of the package? Because at forty I was charging around like a madman in the city, without any time to stop and smell the roses. But at sixty I shall be working on being calm, serene and ultra positive, while my wife will be looking for a miracle if that really is to happen.

What about the love stakes? This is the point when younger readers get nervous about the direction of travel. No, I am not discussing that, but the answer is yes. Now get over it.

We have made it to the age of sixty years together having met at school, married at twenty-one. That part we have got right, no wisdom or advice required. Whilst at 60 we love for the right reasons; the games are no more. Our hearts are open and still capable to love unquestionably.

So, dear readers, is 60 really the new 50? I have avoided using the numerical so far, as they look so damned harsh. But yes, I think it might be, although I am bound to say that, aren’t I? And given the choice, I’m definitely thinking of embracing the sixties with open arms.

Not to mention this will be the year of my first tattoo. Why? Well, because I can and I am definitely old enough to know better. Therefore I enter this new phase/decade with completely open arms and an open mind to make it as good as it can possibly be.

But just one thing remains unanswered still. Why the hell do I need hairy ears?

Yours aye,

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“Thanks to the lovely Shaun at The Edge, we have been given another opportunity to update everyone on what’s been happening with us (see our adverts on pages 3 and 31).

So here goes. Thankfully, we are now back in action! After a long and uncertain year, Rose, Natalie and the team at Sewing Solutions and &/AND (see page 3) are now firmly back in the groove. Like many businesses, we were hit hard by the Covid restrictions put in place by the government.

But now our business is thankfully buzzing with a renewed energy as we are back to doing what we positively love, which is working with our new and existing customers to create, alter and restyle bridal, prom, ladies and gentlemen’s clothing.

Now that the Covid restrictions have finally been lifted, we have brides who can at last go ahead with their eagerly awaited wedding plans. This was after much disappointment when they were forced to reschedule, sometimes multiple times.

We have noticed that since lockdown, some bride requirements have changed as body shapes have altered, occasionally with the arrival of a baby, or the inevitable weight gain or loss during such difficult and stressful times. So Rose takes extra time and care to ensure dresses nevertheless fit perfectly. She always uses her vast knowledge and skills of tailoring, hand sewing, specialist sewing machines, lace and beading work to make certain all of our brides leave us feeling reassured and with a dress they are totally satisfied with and will be proud to wear.

Fortunately we are also having numerous new enquiries from brides who can now finally go ahead with planning their weddings. And, due to schools finally giving the go ahead for Proms, there has been a surge in demand for prom dresses to be altered-to-fit so that young girls can look their very best.

There has also been a growing interest in customers who want to restyle their once loved clothes, instead of simply throwing them away. We think perhaps people are starting to reconsider their spending habits where clothing is concerned. And, rest assured, we can work towards most budgets as required. By using this service, customers leave us with unique, well-fitting garments and it is also of great benefit for our planet.

During lockdown, making use of her skills and equipment, Rose dedicated her time to setting up a team who made scrubs for the NHS, using money from a crowd funding page. This was a hugely successful project in supplying workwear to local hospitals and medical centres.

as I got through arrivals I saw Jacob, the IndexMedica limo driver who immediately took my bags and helped me into the car and whisked me straight off to see the dentist where I was immediately greeted with tea and refreshments, oh and a toothbrush, all ready for me to freshen up. I was then seated in a quiet lounge to take a few minutes to decompress. The clinic really is is of the highest standards, even though many people automatically assume other countries will not meet our standards. However, speaking from experience, I’d say they surpass many of our own health services.

TOTALLY TRACIE A TOUCHY SUBJECT I hope the past month has been kind to you and the lifting of the lockdown restrictions have at least allowed you to get a haircut and a pint, or a glass of chardonnay in the rain. I have to admit I have only ventured outside once for dinner and sat at a table shivering.

But May was not a total write off. Some of you followed my story 18 months ago of going to get my teeth fixed in Poland.

(I know a lovely elderly lady read my column and it gave her the courage to go and tackle her teeth, as her grandson would not come near her without any in!).

Teeth are a very touchy subject. As a young child I was terrified of having my teeth drilled without any aesthetic and it scared me for life. I never smiled in photographs. My teeth held me back. My son Charlie has been reminding me for ages to smile in my photos, now that I have a lovely set of teeth. I also know a couple of my fellow columnists are looking at going to get their teeth fixed. I was due to go back and get more work done last year, but we were hit by Covid and both the UK and Poland locked down.

I started getting a lot of pain in one of my front teeth and I approached several dentists over here, each one giving me a different opinion. They all wanted to steer me into implants, but could not start work until Covid had disappeared, by which time I probably would have been in even more pain. I was on permanent antibiotics, going to bed chewing ginger and oil of oregano, both of which did work and helped keep the tooth infection at bay, but it was not a long term solution as the pain was there both day and night. One dentist even suggested taking bone from my hip and grafting it on to my jaw, while others said I needed a root canal, by which time I was getting beyond distraught.

The Edge (June 2021 - 32pp)(89) 2021/06/02 09:59:48

So I contacted Kevin, who is the UK representative of the dentists I used in Krakow, and he assured me he would get me on the very first flight out to Poland.

So on 14th March I made my way to Stansted, even though travelling right now is not for the faint hearted. But the pain had become almost unbearable by then. I had to take a test to get on the flight and fill out a whole load of paperwork. Then when I arrived in Poland I had to queue for 2 hours to go through border control as they’re very strict. After seeing proof of my two vaccinations they eventually waved me through with a cheery “Welcome to Poland” and as soon Page 30

Sebastian, the medical executive and head dentist, came out to greet me and led me into his room to examine my teeth. He is so knowledgeable and welcoming that he immediately puts you at ease. He gave me a thorough check-up and then I was taken for x-rays where he accompanied me throughout as the radiographer x-rayed me from every conceivable angle. I was then led back to his office where he gave me his verdict.

“Yours is an easy problem to fix,” he told me. I said, “So when can you do it”?

Sebastian replied, “Right now. I am going to take your pain away.” He then applied gel to my gum and I never even felt a thing after that. Fifteen minutes later he was wheeling in the x-ray machine and taking even more x-rays and I thought I wonder when he will start drilling? But after a short time he announced, “All done. I am very pleased with the work.”

Talk about being shocked. I can honestly say that I never felt a thing. No drilling, no pain, nothing. He then told me to return the following day so that he could check the filling again and x-ray it for absolute assurance. I kept wondering to myself whether he’d done anything at all, but the pain was gone, together with the pressure in my tooth that I’d endured for the past 14 months.

I returned the next day and it was confirmed that my treatment had been a total success and I’ve felt no pain since. He explained, “With modern dentistry and modern equipment there should never been any pain.” People fly in from all over the world to be treated there. I also had a clean and polish on my other teeth plus another filling refilled and we talked about me returning in a few weeks to have the work completed on my lower teeth.

I stayed the rest of the week and left on the Friday back to the UK. Getting home was a bit of an ordeal; you have to take a Covid test in order to leave Poland which costs £11 and allows you to board the plane, plus take a series of tests and Isolate when you return home. But the cost of my root canal treatment, further fillings and a very thorough clean was less than £400 which included my limo driver and a beautiful stay in their amazing 5-star INX design hotel. I felt like I’d had a holiday. Poland has the most amazing shopping centres full of designer shops, but the cost is much cheaper than here. So I will shortly be going back for more cosmetic work, but am no longer afraid of the dentist. Stefan and his partner Sebastian have the most amazing team and from the moment you walk through their door, you are looked after with first class care. I can honestly vouch that you can put your fears aside and contact them.at IndexMedica.com (0800 334 5967) - only please mention that I have passed their information on to you.

tracie123@aol.com

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The Edge 291 new_The Edge 172.qxd 5/25/2021 6:39 PM Page 31

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