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What do you reckon the nutritional value of one of those hot dogs at IKEA must be, hmmmm?

specs is the day one climbs onto the slippery slope (as surely from that day forth the eye muscles simply say, ‘Ah, f *** it’) and I honestly believe that to be true. I’m told that prescription glasses are cheap as chips in Goa, where I’m going, but maybe it’s that operation on your eyeballs that I need now. Trouble is (a) it’s expensive, and (b) I doubt I could cope with living in darkness for the rest of my life if they went and ballsed it up.


The Edge Editor’s Column NEW YEAR

Bloody New Year. What’s so buggering ‘new’, different or good about it? These days and years are just like those circular wooden balls on an abacus frame in so far as at the end of every year you simply slide all of the balls all the way over to the left-hand side and start all over a-bloody-gain. “Now that’s MAGIC!” Shut up, Daniels, you short-arsed, big-eared twat. It soooooooo is NOT.


Mrs Edge wants a Lemon Tree as she starts each day with a hot lemon drink (the juice of half a real lemon and hot water). So if any of you readers knows where the best place to buy one is, and how best to keep/look after it (like, do you bring it indoors over the winter months?), then I am all Lineker’s. Oh yeah, and what sort of harvest should we expect?


There’s a new bike shop that’s opened up on Navigation Road called Athlon Sport and I overheard some bloke drooling over it the other day. His words were, and I quote, “It’s like bike porn in there.”


Am I the only person who doesn’t listen to music whilst I’m driving?


I feel right old, I do. I honestly don’t give a f *** who Sina Weibo is or what coloured knickers she sometimes wears, or doesn’t wear, as the case may be. But maybe I should care? Maybe I ought to be more interested? I don’t know. How’re you honestly supposed to ‘keep up’ these days. A new star is born every minute.


I’ve totally had enough of it. Haven’t you? It simply seems to be dragging on and on and on.... And anyway, what’s so evil about being called ‘a person of unpolished manners’, hmmm? We seem to devote loads of time and energy to things that simply don’t matter.


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My bastard eyesight is getting worse. I spend a lot of time working in front of a computer screen and now wear glasses 100% of the time when doing so, so it’s the close-up stuff that I struggle with. This morning I had a meeting with someone at Costa Coffee at Chelmsford railway station (at 7.30am) and I honestly had to keep moving my head (and thus my eyes) backwards (as in: away from the person) to get them into focus. Not good. I was always under the impression that the day one gives in to a set of

Has David Attenborough got/had the best job/career in the world since man learnt how to stand upright, or what? His latest series, Africa (BBC1, Wednesdays, 9:00pm) is simply par excellence, although it proper broke my heart to see that mummy elephant’s ickle baby die. I’m not really into animals, or kids, but when the former die and the latter smile, it seems to do things to my emotions that I cannot easily control. So people then assume, “Well, if you like watching stuff like that, why don’t you go on a safari holiday? Maybe to the Ngorongoro Crater?” My answer to that is that the good old BBC strangely appears to have the ability to show me stuff the likes of which I’ll never be able to see in, to all intents and purposes, a glorified zoo. To my mind, watching Match of the Day is far superior to actually being there, watching it live. So you see what I’m saying (sniff)?


The Chelmsford Odeon aren’t willing to stock copies of The Edge. Neither are Virgin Active. If you disagree with either stance, you should make your feelings heard. Go on! I’ve no axe to grind with either of them. The decision comes from above - as opposed to being made at a right local level. But why let out-of-towners decide what’s good for you, hmmm?


Did you read the story in the local press about the 21-hands-high stray bull elephant that went on the rampage through Chelmsford High Street before jumping clean over a single-decker bus along Market Road, eh, readers? “You certainly don’t see that sort of thing every day out of our showroom window,” said Darren ‘Rambo’ Maynard of Bang & Olufsen. But it got worse. It only tried to ‘mount’ a distressed female shopper, didn’t it, who had to be taken to hospital in shock. “When you see something the size of that thing coming towards you, swaying about all over the place, it really is quite frightening,” she said. Upon her release from Broomfield, she added, “And it’s trunk was quite long too.”


The Edge - making a difference to people’s lives in Chelmsford and the surrounding areas, whether they admit it or they don’t. Because let’s face it, Chelmsford without its Edge is a bit like Dover without its, erm, soul. Please God ‘LIKE’ The Edge. Go on... DO IT NOW! For Christ’s sake, LIKE The Edge as no bugger else does.

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Scientists have discovered...

...a gene that makes you happy, but it’s a bit of a bugger in that it only seems to work properly where women are concerned. The study focused on a gene called....well, it honestly doesn’t matter what the gene is called as you’ll never have heard of it anyway, but it supposedly affects the levels of feel-good chemicals in the brain. Almost 350 men and women were asked how happy they felt and gave a saliva (ladies) and gob (men) samples that were tested for DNA. It was discovered that only one-in-four women lacked the happiness gene, whilst the rest purportedly roamed about beaming like Cheshire bloody cats. However, it seems that men (oh, and Fatima Whitbread too, of course) somehow cancel out their own happy gene due to testosterone. “Perhaps men are happier when they are boys,” said a professor with a RBF (right big forehead), “due to the fact that their testosterone levels are much lower and they don’t have such a big, gruesome set of hairy testicles to carry about between their legs. And I am, of course, including Fatima Whitbread in that analysis too, I might add.” Get this though, readers: the happy version of the gene has also been linked to alcoholism (is that why you’ve gone tee-total then, Liza?) and anti-social behaviour. Someone called Dr Chen (no, honestly, that’s his name) says: “Whilst women may be happier, they are definitely more stupid.” No, he didn’t say that at all, ladies. It’s just that blokes seem to be such miserable gits in comparison to you hurts, that’s all.

Confucius Did NOT Say...

‘Man who wants pretty nurse must be patient.’ ‘Passionate kiss, like spider web, leads to undoing of fly.’

‘Lady who goes camping must beware of evil intent.’ ‘Man who leap off cliff jumps to conclusion.’

‘Man who eats many prunes get good run for money.’ ‘War does not determine who is right, it determine who is left.’

Jackie O’Neill

‘Man who fight with wife all day get no piece at night.’ ‘It takes many nails to build a crib, but only one screw to fill it.’ ‘Man who stand on toilet is high on pot.’

‘Man who live in glass house should change clothes in basement.’

‘Man who fish in other man's well often catch crabs.’ And finally . . .

‘A lion will not cheat on its wife......but a Tiger Wood.’

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“HOLY COW....fancy my mag getting there before me!” When I opened up an email from Jill & John Mrs Edge’s sister’s been, but we are still to Barratt and saw this photo, my mouth pretty go, yet when you look at this photo, doesn’t it much dropped open. make you simply want to kick yourself for not ‘Touched’ is not the word. as yet sorting out such a trip? For them to take a copy of The Edge all the 6 ‘unusual’ facts about way to Peru with them. Yep, I definitely felt honoured by that. Machu Picchu Here’s what they have to say about their 1. The first Westerner credited with discovering experience, one I believe I would absolutely Machu Picchu for the outside world (American love.... Hiram Bingham) was said to be looking for an entirely different lost Inca site called Vilca“We have been reading your excellent magabamba when he was finally led up the slope to zine ever since it was on photocopy paper the then totally overgrown ruins of Machu (which goes back a fair few years). I think I Picchu. picked up my first ever edition from the Golden Fleece when I worked in central 2. The most popular way to approach the site Chelmsford (although I'm not really sure as I is via the Inca Trail trek. This three-day hike have been retired for seven years and I can't reaches a lung-squeezing height of 4,214m at seem to remember my name these days withits highest point and there are several sections out a long think!). of Inca stone paths along the way. Due to fears of erosion, the government now limits the numAnyways up, as I have never written to you ber of people embarking on the trek to 500, before, we recently decided to do our ‘silver which includes the compulsory, locally-hired surfer’ bit and see if we could get your organ porters. pictured in a bit more of an exotic and exciting location than usual. 3. Each year there is a race along the Inca Trail, which at 26 miles is pretty much a I know from your own holiday snaps just how marathon. The current record stands at much you are into old buildings and cultures, 3hrs 26mins. castles and magnificent views etc., so here’s just ONE of the 800 pics we took in Peru, 4. Many of the porters sleep with a shiny metal which was the most amazing, exciting and object, or a mirror, beneath them when on the visually stunning place we have ever visited in trail. They believe it deflects spirits coming up our lives. I was honestly left speechless so through the earth and whisking them away. Ask many times the wife thought I was ill! any guide or porter and most will tell you they have experienced the feeling of being pulled We went there to celebrate our silver wedding out of their tents by ‘spirits of the past’. anniversary and boy, did we! The food was surprisingly good (alpaca meat nice, guinea 5. A popular aim on each trek is to arrive at the pig bad), the local beer excellent and Peru's fabled Sun Gate in time for sunrise. However, native cocktail, Pisco Sour, an absolute you might wish to have a lay-in instead as high knockout......literally! mountains block the majority of the view.

Machu Picchu and having a condor flying over our heads in the Colca Canyon were definitely the highlights, but all in all it was the most incredible adventure we have ever had and will live in our memories forever. Give it a go sometime - it comes highly recommended!”

6. The most expensive Bollywood film ever made (‘Endhiran’, released in 2010) was partly shot on location at Machu Picchu and features an ex-Miss World as the leading actress. It is one of only a very few movies to be given permission to film within the ruins.

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Why all the criticism of the new portrait of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Our Kateâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;? The Edge thinks she looks proper relaxed and carefree (see above), even though Emsley has undoubtedly used artistic license in the nork dept. (but then Beckham always puts things down the front of his undercrackers before photo shoots, so what the hell). Perhaps if we had currency like this itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d encourage us to be a little more careful vis-a-vis our spending habits and maybe make us all think twice about disposing of our cash in such a willy-nilly fashion at times. Seriously folks, when was the last time you took a good look at a tenner? Orange is just not a good colour for Liz (and The Edge feels certain Gok Wan would back us up on that. â&#x20AC;&#x2122;Ere, what do you get if you cross Gok Wan with Edge colonist Ian King? Answer: Gok Wan King, bum bum). But Kate? Kate looks positively radiant and perhaps rather than having breast augmentation on his mind, Emsley was rather thinking of a bust filled with the nourishing heaviness of baby milk instead (eeee, where these arty folks are concerned, you never can quite tell). My God, weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a stuffy lot though, arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we? Do you think that when Liz eventually hangs up the leads to her corgis that we might have a brand new, far more refreshing National Anthem under Charlie Boyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s however brief internship, hmmmm? He was very fond of Monty Pythonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Flying Circus, so perhaps that might become the new RRTTâ&#x20AC;&#x2C6;(right royal theme tune). Hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hoping...








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This month Citizen looks at the forthcoming 2013 Oscar Ceremony on Sunday 24th February. There are nine nominations for Best Picture of the year 2012 - the same as last year. Indeed this appears to continue a fairly new Oscar trend for more nominations as between 1944 - 2008 just five films were chosen every year. This doubled to ten for 2009 - 2010 and reducing to nine (the same number as selected every year between 1936 - 1943) in 2011. Surely this doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mean that there are more great films being made nowadays - a return to the 30â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s and early 40â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s? Surely not? In fact, definitely not! It appears to Citizen that a mixture of box office potential between the nomination day and the ceremony itself and a relaxation in selection criteria is responsible for this increase and in Citizens view a half dozen nominations would be about right, as nine or ten is too many. The nominations for the 2012 Academy Awards - to give them their official name - were made on January 10th. As this column is focussing on Best Picture, Citizen will only comment in passing on the other headline categories and suggest that Daniel Day-Lewis will achieve a record third Best Actor Oscar for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Lincolnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; and that the Best Actress category will be a much closer run thing with the possibility of sentiment coming into play. Nevertheless, Citizen would hope to see British actress Naomi Watts win for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The Impossibleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Five of the nominations for Best Picture have already played to cinemas across the UK with three of them having been shown in most, if not all, cinemas following their release. These are Ben Affleckâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s excellent â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Argoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;; â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The Life of Piâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; from Ang Lee (the Oscar wining Director of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Brokeback Mountainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;) and the quirky and highly entertaining â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Silver Linings Playbookâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Despite being a regular cinemagoer, seeing between 40 and 50 films a year, Citizen would have to confess that the other two nominated films that appeared in 2012 passed it by! In fact, Citizen is not even sure they ever made it to Cineworld, Braintree - its regular cinema of choice (something to do with having an Unlimited Card, perhaps) - or even to the Odeon Chelmsford? Chelmsfordians often seem to get a better choice of the more esoteric and thoughtful releases than some nearby towns. The two films in question are â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Beasts of the Southern Wildâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; whose 9 year old star Quvenzhane Wallis is up for Best Actress and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Amourâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, a French language film starring 85 year old Emmanuele Rive who has a similar nomination. Eat your heart out Naomi Watts and smile magnanimously if (or when) either of them wins! Citizen, as is its usual habit, wants to see these but will probably have to either go to London or wait for them to come out on Sky Box Office to achieve it - not that either are actually expected to win. At the time of writing this column, three of the remaining nominated pictures have yet to be released in the UK, while the fourth â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Les Miserablesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; is only just out and not seen yet because â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Mrs Citizenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; wants to see it too and has been far too busy of late! But Citizen is very much looking forward to it, having seen both the stage musical version and the more unique â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;in concertâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; performance at the Chelmsford Spectacular in Highlands Park in August 1997 when many of the famous stage performers of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Les Misâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; from both the West End and Broadway turned up for this splendid one-off event. The remaining three Oscar nominated films Citizen also intends to see before the ceremony has taken place no doubt these have already been seen by the Edgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

estimable New York correspondent! These include â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Zero Dark Thirtyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; from Kathryn Bigelow (she of the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Hurt Lockerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; fame - winner in 2009) a film about the capture and killing of Osama Bin Laden. Then thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Quentin Tarantinoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Django Unchainedâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. This is about bounty hunters in the Wild West from the perspective of a former African American slave and stars Jamie Foxx and Leonardo DiCaprio. Citizen always wants to enjoy a Tarantino movie - if only because he shares a birthday with the director, albeit Quentin is somewhat younger. However, Citizen has to confess to not being an out and out fan. The same cannot be said of Steven Spielberg whose â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Lincolnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; is the third of the soon to be released films and one of the favourites to win. Spielberg, who Citizen believes to be the greatest film Director since David Lean, had to wait for 18 years after the nomination of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Jawsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1975) to win a Best Picture award with â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Schindlerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Listâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1993) and to date this is the only one of his films to win Best Picture, with the aforementioned, along with â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Raiders of the Lost Arkâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1981); â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The Color Purpleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1985) , â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Saving Private Ryanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1998); â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Munichâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (2005) and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;War Horseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (2011) all being nominated, but ultimately missing out. Lean was often similarly piped to the post, being nominated 6 times and winning just twice for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Bridge on the River Kwaiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1957) and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Lawrence Of Arabiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1962). It is amazing, but true, that like Spielberg several of Leanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most enduring films didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t win the coveted title. Citizen has a notion that perhaps Mr Spielberg is destined to win just one more and therefore tie with Mr Leanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tally - the question being, will it be this year? Citizen suspects not as the astonishing â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Life Of Piâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; is surely going to be the one to beat in a very strong field from which any one of the others, and in particular â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Lincolnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Argoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Silver Linings Playbookâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; and, possibly â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Zero Dark Thirtyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (from what Citizen hears) could also be worthy winners. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Life Of Piâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; - whose trailer severely undersells the film in Citizenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s view - could not possibly have been made without extensive use of CGI, but this fact should not, and probably wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, prevent it winning the ultimate accolade from the Academy. The scenes at sea with our eponymous hero, the young Pi, in a small lifeboat with a tiger rejoicing in the unlikely name of Richard Parker, are both fanciful and realistic at the same time, yet never less than gripping to behold. So there you have Citizenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s prediction for this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Best Picture award at the Oscars. The ceremony itself, being held in late February, is after the deadline of next monthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issues, so Citizen will bravely return to the subject in its April column to see if its prediction came true, and at the same time take a look at past Best Picture winners and, perhaps equally enlightening, some of the films they beat to see how they have fared with the wonderful benefit of hindsight. For example, was â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Shakespeare In Loveâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; really a better film than â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Saving Private Ryanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; in 1998? Finally, despite our editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s somewhat disparaging comments in the January issue about the latest James Bond film, Citizen would personally have been delighted to have seen â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Skyfallâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; - the best Bond film since â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Goldfingerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1964) and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Thunderballâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (1965) - nominated for best picture and not just getting two technical nominations and a further two for its music, including Best Score and Adeleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rendition of the title song. Errata: Last monthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s column on â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Press Freedomâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; said: â&#x20AC;&#x153;...should â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Hacked Offâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, the organisation to which many journalists belong. This was a production error which should have read: â&#x20AC;&#x153;...should â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Hacked Offâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, the organisation to which many of these belong,â&#x20AC;? these being the members of the pubic and celebrities who are seeking tighter statutory controls on journalism and, as such, is not an organisation to which many, if any journalists, belong.

The Edge 01245 348256

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OK, so these two photographic examples undoubtedly don’t back up The Edge’s theory that John Prescott and West Ham manager Sam Allardyce were, in fact, Siamese twins miraculously separated at birth.....but watch ‘Big Sam’ facing the cameras after any Irons game on MOTD and you will definitely see an uncanny resemblance to the former Deputy PM. Of late, Sam’s features have unfortunately started to slide down his face a bit, whilst both his jowls and his belly appear to be getting bigger. So now do you see where The Edge is coming from? Honest, it’s uncanny, in much the same way that Mick Hucknall has now started to ape Vanessa Redgrave. Then there’s Morgan Freeman and Nelson Mandela whom these days you honestly cannot tell apart. It’s all true, readers. The Edge would Both Sam and Pressers like to make their opinions heard. never lie to you.


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Should have gone to


Gentleman Sundays with the Gentry Whatever the dispute, we are the experts in conflict resolution and are here to help Chelmsford: 01245 492200 Colchester: 01206 767388 Harlow: 01279 311431

Stone the ruddy crows - the grandchildren turned up. Why oh why is it always on a ruddy Sunday - God’s day? Thank Enoch I’ve only gotten them for six hours or so. That’s enough - the little shits. Nice to see that, yet again, their lazy-bott mother is palming them off on me. thanks to some must see arty-farty exhibition of other. Seems a lot more frequent now we’ve stopped charging. One’s convinced the ill-bred is having another affair with a chap from the squash club. Well, who can blame her? My second born’s always been the runt of the litter; shy, possibly even queer. One’s convinced his failings spanned from the time I humorously pulled his trunks down whilst he was looked into a beach telescope. But the congregation laughed - oh how they laughed - his tiny buttocks clenched, his little ‘gentleman’ (his mother’s side exposed. There’s a beauty to a good Sunday - kidneys on toast with a tomato or two, the Sunday Times (see what the lefty tits have been whining on about - probably Cam’s desire to leave the Hun-led Common Market), a leisurely poo with The Edge for company, then a brisk walk around the grounds, shooting and pruning as one goes. Then an hour of ‘C of E’ and a few hymns to keep in with the chap upstairs, a decision not at all influenced by the rather tasty bit of crumpet on the organ, despite what the Lady Gentleman says. Post-church, one tends to factor in a bit of Fearnley-Whittingstall. Quite

enjoy the way he educates and scares peasants in equal measure. “You H don’t have to buy Findus pancakes from Iceland.” “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” they run off, screaming, bemused. One retires to the study circa three to ‘count the pot’ and often ring the ruddy broker and shout at him about a thing or two - Sunday or not - nobody takes The Gent for a ride. Similarly one barrages any

Page 10

available factory staff about why we are producing less and spending more. “It’s the Chinese....the Chinese,” they rant. “Work bloody quicker,” I retort. But times have changed. Someone in Brussels now tells them they are entitled to ‘breaks’ when clearly it was a lot more profitable in the good old days when the proletariat would smoke ‘emselves senseless, still dangerously drunk whilst operating heavy machinery, a little grin on their blackened faces. Thankfully we can still cut some corners (or the admin team, as I call them). But what one really objects to on a Sunday is the incessant drone of tiny feet pattering across the landing. “Shut those little imps up before I cane their toes,” I always shout. “We want to play on the swing.” “Well go on then,” I answer gruffly, “and have a swim in the lake too, why don’t you?” They can’t swim. These days I just give them a twenty or two and send them on their merry way. Very occasionally, I’ll talk them through the trials at the Crimea - you know, start them off young. By the time supper comes, one is usually a little squiffy (approx. fiveish, after I’ve popped to The ’Arms for a pipe, a gamble, some gentle sexism and a couple of ales). Then one will usually arrive late to carve a decadent rib of beef or a couple of fowl. Tend to always criticise at least one aspect of the meal - keep her on her toes, you see - and sadly it’s oft the piss thin gravy. “Darling, it’s a jus.” “Woman, it jus isn’t thick enough.” Take a decent nap. Awake for stewed plums. Release the Spaniels and the Russells to decorate the apple trees and chase the foxes away. Sometimes pop by the stables to ensure that the Gypsies haven’t been around. Occasionally fire up the jag and chase a pauper or two. By which time the wife’s usually fuddling herself over Bates in Downton. Then to the bedroom it is, as Lady Gentleman silently and dutifully places an Earl Grey on my bedside table. Which just leaves me to put on a pair of fair trade Primark PJs, indulge in some selfish missionary intercourse and go to sleep. Thanks for spending it with me. Graciously, The Gentleman M

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“I always keep a copy of The Edge in the glove-compartment of my motor. It doesn’t pay to leave it on display on the parcel-shelf and show people your business in my particular line of work.”

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It is, as Jane Austen might have said (had she been a beer drinker), a truth universally acknowledged that a person’s tastes do not remain constant throughout their life. Few of us, I should imagine, listen to the same music now as we did when we were 10. Fewer still read the same books or watch the same films as we did when we were 5, unless there is something seriously wrong with us. Evident as this change in taste may be, it does not lead inexorably to the conclusion that our tastes alternate between two opposed extremes on a regular basis. The change is more one of a progressive nature, whereby a set of preferences is established gradually over our childhood and teenage years, and becomes more or less fixed during early adulthood, so that by the age of 25 we are broadly definable as beer drinkers as distinct from wine drinkers, rock fans as distinct from hip-hop fans, book-lovers as distinct from film-lovers, and so on. Or not, it would appear, if you are involved in the beer and pub industry. Take a look at the selection of beers available in your preferred pub (as you’re reading this, I assume you drink somewhere with a fair choice of ales, not just a couple of national-brewery bitters). Now think back to what you saw there six months ago. Much the same selection? Or rather different? And if different, why? Has the selection of people who use your local changed that much in six months, causing the demand, and therefore the selection, to be altered? I doubt it. Here’s what’s happening. People who run breweries and beer-supply agencies seem to think that each person has two sets of taste buds, one of which we use during the Summer, the other during the Winter (presumably keeping the ‘spare’ set in a cupboard while it’s out of use). The Winter set, so the theory goes, is incredibly sensitive to hop bitterness and citric character, and must on no account be exposed to such tastes in case it causes an explosion. Therefore, any person using this set of taste buds will only want to drink dark beers with a sweet malty character, or a burnt roast taste. The Summer set of taste buds, however, has been blunted by a thousand years of exposure to hydrochloric acid, to the point where it can only gain any sense of fulfillment by being exposed to pale beers with virtually no

body or complexity and about a hundred tonnes of hops per pint. It is, naturally, a hanging offense to come out with the wrong set of taste buds and expect to drink dark beer in the Summer. Do you actually know of anyone whose tastes conform to this model invented (in recent years, I might add) by the British beer industry? Do your tastes, or those of your friends, change miraculously when the sun comes out and the temperature goes into double figures? Mine certainly don’t, and I’ve yet to meet the person to whom this description applies. There has, of course, always been a tradition of seasonal beers, but it has nothing to do with the crass marketing venture we’re now being exposed to. Strong ale, for example, has always been seen as a Winter drink, due to the warming properties of the alcohol. Mild, on the other hand, is traditionally a drink for the Summer and harvest times, its increased sugar content being beneficial to the well-being of agricultural workers. But try finding a pint of Mild during the Summer and you’ll be a disappointed drinker; you’ll be told by the majority of landlords that dark beer is a Winter drink (yeah, cos no-one drinks Guinness in Ireland, or indeed in Africa, during the Summer, do they?). I don’t personally like Golden Ales (this will not come as a shock to my regular readers), but many people do, and they don’t like them any less just because it gets dark at five o’clock. So why are they constantly being described (even by those who drink them all year round) as ‘Summer beers’? They’re not. They’re just citric beers, light-bodied beers, pale beers, Golden Ales..... call them what you may, they bear no more relationship to the Summer than they do to a wet Winter weekend in Wales. Why can’t brewers allow publicans to simply do what the customers want to provide a range of beers to suit all tastes, all year round? Beats me. n Congratulations to Milton Brewery of Cambridge, who have just won first AND second place in Camra’s Champion Beer of East Anglia competition, with Nero (a sweet stout) and Pegasus (a traditional bitter) respectively. Essex’s Nethergate Brewery won the Speciality Beer category with Umbel Magna. Again!

The Edge 077 646 797 44

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HAVEN’T THEY DONE WELL? The Edge would like to wish The Home Partnership estate agency in Duke Street (where else?) a very happy 7th birthday and must say that an awful lot has changed there since they first came into this mags orbit, when Merrick, Scott and the lovely Joanne did a Beatles impersonation (see above) way back on a cold Sunday winters morning in February 2006 (when Jo was actually freezing her s off).


We’re not talking about THP gaining weight, losing their hair, or growing moustaches (although they do for Movember). We’re talking about the fact that after 2,555 days in business, they still regularly receive thank you letters and cards with most of their clients coming from recommendations, which is ultra-impressive in today’s tough housing market. THP now have 9 members of their team on hand to handle all of your property needs, which includes Residential Sales, Lettings and Property Management, as well as offering independent mortgage advice. And hey, The Edge has even managed to secure its readers an exclusive MONEY OFF voucher (see overleaf) if you are considering a change of address. And whilst you’re at it, why not log onto their website and have a look at their achievements/gongs - inc. national awards - that they’ve won, together with key dates in their history since opening.

-23rd Feb 20th

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Hey, is there anyone out there who’s a bit of a whiz at Adobe InDesign and who’s also good (and patient) at teaching people how to use it - someone such as yours truly, your editor, dear readers? It’s been suggested to me that Adobe InDesign is the way forward, as opposed to Quark Xpress which I currently use to compile each and every copy of this mag - but I don’t know, do I, as I am absolutely clueless regarding such matters.

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My initial idea is to have two x 2hr sessions per week and the recompence you would receive would be....hmmm, now let me just look up the minimum wage structure on t’internet. Ah, here t’is. Right: £3.68ph if you’re under 18 (but then I honestly don’t think anyone under 18 would be ideally qualified to supervise someone who’s as stuck in their ways as I am). Then it jumps massively to £4.98ph (which I would be happy to ‘round up’ to a fiver) if you’re aged between 18-20. But what The Edge would ideally prefer is someone aged 21 or over, for which you would be rewarded to the tune (wait for it - drum roll, please) of £6.19ph!



In short, the very idea of changing and learning at least the basic rudimentaries of a whole new program is enough to have me reaching for the Viagra (eh....they’re not the right pills, surely?), so whoever is willing to take up this challenge really would need to be immensely patient by nature as you’d definitely be dragging me kicking and screaming to a place I appreciate I probably need to go, but am scared of.

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NOW OPEN (THE WEIGHT IS OVER) YOUR GYM, YOUR CHOICE… If you want treadmills, weight stacks & a swimming pool, then we are NOT for you! Everyone is unique & that includes us. We are as individual as YOU are. You see, if we were a cow we would be a PURPLE cow with a HUGE MOO; (we are kinda different)! Are you the person, or the shape you want to be...? We can take you from where you are to where you REALLY ought to be. We know that there is more than one way to peel a Banana and get you the RESULTS you deserve!

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NOW OPEN (THE WEIGHT IS OVER) YOUR GYM, YOUR CHOICE… If you want treadmills, weight stacks & a swimming pool, then we are NOT for you! Everyone is unique & that includes us. We are as individual as YOU are. You see, if we were a cow we would be a PURPLE cow with a HUGE MOO; (we are kinda different)! Are you the person, or the shape you want to be...? We can take you from where you are to where you REALLY ought to be. We know that there is more than one way to peel a Banana and get you the RESULTS you deserve!

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The Edge 196_The Edge 172.qxd 30/01/2013 08:51 Page 29

The Edge is sure there’s some sort of computer game called Premiership Manager whereby the players (of the game) pretend to be Premiership Managers by accosting referees, driving flash cars, chewing a lot of gum and generally wheeling and dealing in the transfer market with their chairman’s money. Only this publication got to thinking about an entirely different concept of the game and what’s more, you don’t even need a computer to play it. Basically, it’s working title is ‘Premiership Manager’s Knobs’ (not dissimilar to the movie ‘Bedknobs & Broomsticks’ starring Angela Lansbury and David Tomlinson, only any resemblance stops right there) and it’s a bit like pinning a tail to a donkey’s arse. In short, what you do is rub your chin and try to work out a league table for how ‘well hung’ the current bunch of 20 Premiership Managers actually are in comparison to their team’s current league position (which is totally immaterial). As an example, here’s what The Edge thinks, but why not consider it yourself on your next commute up to London, or even discuss it over dinner with friends at the weekend, rather than merely talking the weather and/or just how much your kids have grown.

1. TONY PULIS (Stoke City) 2. CHRIS HUGHTON (Norwich City) 3. ROBERTO MANCINI (Man. City) c If this is the size of the ‘Pulis Pecker’ then The Edge rests its case.

4. ARSENE WENGER (Arsenal)

If these are the size of his balls, clearly Chrissie is packing a proper ‘hampton’ downstairs.

5. MICHAEL LAUDRUP (Swansea) 6. BRENDAN ROGERS (Liverpool) 7. ALAN PARDEW (Newcastle) Correctamundo! With a ‘Welsh Dragon’ in his pants Brendan simply can’t walk anywhere without pushing his tackle before him in a wheelbarrow.

8. MARTIN JOL (Fulham) 9. SAM ALLARDYCE (West Ham) 10. NIGEL ADKINS (Southampton)

Well, he’s Dutch after all. And just look at his face. If ever a man was happy with his own pride’n’joy’ it’s ‘Big MJ’.

11. FERGIE (Manchester United) 12. STEVE CLARKE (West Brom) 13. PAUL LAMBERT (Aston Villa) This ambitious Scot doesn’t look as though he’s exactly overjoyed by his twelfth placed ranking, but The Edge still reckons there’s a bit of a Loch Ness ‘Monster’ beneath his kilt.

14. A.V.B. (Tottenham Hotspur) 15. DAVID MOYES (Everton)

If ever a man (a) looked like he was made out of Play-Do and (b) looked more like a carpet salesman than a football club manager, then it has got to be Brian McDermott.


Surely it’d be hard to even find it amongst all that unruly ginger foliage?

Page 18

19. MARTIN O’NEILL (Sunderland) 20. FAT SPANISH WAITER (Chelsea)

“Fernando? FERNANDO? Have you seen my cock?!”

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Bird Stuff

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Should have gone to

Whether you’re a bird or not, you may well have noticed, over the past few years, that handbags appear to be getting bigger and bigger, writes Louise Thomas. No, don’t panic, it’s not just your eyesight that’s getting worse, due to old age. However, I do think we’re genuinely in the middle of a serious crisis and there’s simply no point in denying it, for it appears that we have a severe handbag obesity pandemic on our hands! Of course, every girl knows the golden rule about big bags; that being, the bigger your handbag, the slimmer you look. It’s like some trendy optical illusion whereby size really does matter. Which is pretty much the same reasoning behind why some girls seem to surround themselves with fat friends. For some bizarre reason, we women simply like to feel as small as we possibly can. Maybe we’re all just a little bit psychologically damaged from watching Thumbelina too much as a child?

Whatever the the dispute, dispute, we we are are the the experts experts in in conflict conflict resolution resolution Whatever and are are here here to to help help and Chelmsford: 01245 01245 492200 492200 Colchester: Colchester: 01206 01206 767388 767388 Chelmsford: Harlow: 01279 01279 311431 311431 Harlow:


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So in true womanly ‘Borrowers’ style, it seems Chanel have created the perfect bag to help make us girls look absolutely miniscule and, believe it or not, it is based on the shape of a hula-hoop. Yes, I know, it’s just what we’ve always wanted from a handbag and oh so much more! With a circumference that would rival Pat Butchers earrings, you can be sure this bag will make you look absolutely tiny. However, do bear in mind you might also risk looking a little like a clown on day-release from the circus. But it’s truly so much more than just another handbag. After all, we women seem to have some kind of innate talent at being able to justify a valid reason behind exactly why we absolutely need to own each and every one of our twenty-odd handbags. But by chance you’re not so well versed in that particular area, Chanel have kindly written their own excuse, simply to let us know why we must have this bag. That’s right, it’s USP (unique selling point) is that you can take it to Southend-on-Sea, or maybe even Clacton or Frinton if you’re feeling a little frisky, stick it in the sand and hang all the rest of your other crap from it. In fact, I’m not even sure how we’ve ever coped on a day trip to the beach without one before, if I’m honest!


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Only the fun doesn’t stop at the beach. Just imagine walking down Chelmsford High Street with one slung casually over your shoulder. Getting into training for the Hula-Hooping finals at the very next Olympics, are we, ladies? I’m almost 99.9% sure that this shoe had us Essex Girls right at the very heart of it’s design. Ever been on a night-out where you’ve had one too many, begun teetering on your way-too-high heels and, before you know it, one snaps and you’re face down on the cobbles? Thought so! Unless you have a chivalrous knight in shining armour on hand to run off to Tesco with to purchase some superglue (they do exist, only they’re a little thin on the ground) then you end up hobbling around on one shoe all night. So you’ll doubtless be pleased to hear that someone has gone to the expense of re-creating that very moment, and all at a most generous £300 per pair too. How’s that for a bit of drunken Essex Girl chic?

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YOUR letters


The Edge 196_The Edge 172.qxd 17/01/2013 11:15 Page 20


to theedge!

CHELMSFORD, CM2 6XD. The Future’s Orange

there must be boyfriends, girlfriends, parents and/or friends on hand that see it and choose to ignore it? The girl this morning was reasonably pale, but her whole face was simply orange; not a subtle healthy brown or tan, but downright bloody orange. And not only that, but the colour abruptly stopped about an inch after her face ended, leaving the rest if her neck looking much paler and far more 'normal'. Fake tans, to a point, I can understand. Personally, I feel far better when I have a little colour in my cheeks. My tubbyness somehow becomes a little more acceptable and a little less repulsive. I feel more confident and am happy to walk around a pool in shorts. But Seville Orange faces just seem odd. And it has even got to the point where, in my local Boots, they have stopped stocking the face colour my wife usually wears (‘corpse white’) whilst the lightest shade they start with appears to be ‘Subtle Satsuma’. Clearly it’s not a man’s place to offer beauty advice or tips, but do girls really want to look like Belisha Beacons? Matthew. Here, here, Matthew. E.E.

New Columnist Dear Edge, Why don’t you see whether you can talk local-ish girl Jodie Marsh into being a new Edge columnist for 2013? You know, so’s she could tell it like

Dear Edge, I have a question and it goes something like this: If (some) women are so worried about whether their thighs look too fat, or their bum looks too big, why do they never ask, “Do I look like an Umpah Lumpah with this ‘slap’ on my face? I only ask because getting on the bus this very morning there was a girl who obviously hadn't asked anyone that question and she looked like a bloody clementine! Now, being a man, I may have got this all totally wrong, but my understanding was that when it comes to make-up, a lady is surely supposed to use powder and blusher to enhance that which she already has? Obviously it is not my place to pass comment, BUT, shouldn't something have been said? Surely

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Remembering Dukes Dear Edge, Now that we are in 2013, I thought I would get in touch to let your esteemed readers know about an exhibition that Chelmsford Museum is putting on in December 2013 and ask for everyone’s help.

The exhibition is all about Dukes nightclub. When they closed, the owners were good enough to let the museum have a number of pieces to remember this iconic institution by in the future, such as sofas, tables and chairs, the desk at the entrance, advertising banners, a bouncers’ uniform and even a carpet sample! What we need, however, is everyone’s memories (keep them short, please) and any photos (etc) that people might have (only clean ones, due to us attracting a family audience and all that!). Please send to and you may find your entry used in the exhibition. Many thanks to all who supply. Nick Wickenden Museums Manager Parks & Heritage Services Directorate of Public Places Chelmsford City Council Well, that’s a challenge and a half, isn’t it just, readers? So why not see what old photographs you might be able to find, and maybe you’ve still got some of your old clobber that you used to wear on the dancefloor up in the attic that you can donate? E.E.

Shire Hall

it (really) is from a woman’s point of view? Abigail Watson Shenfield What a blinding idea, Abigail, and thanks for reading The Edge in deepest, darkest Shenfield. Actually, thinking back a few years, I did spot Jodie Marsh entering Baroosh one Saturday lunchtime, so I followed her in, gave her a copy of the mag and asked whether I could do an article on her. She never got back to me though! E.E.

Hello, I’ve sent this email to a few people who may be interested (or may know other people who may be curious, so please do forward it on to your readers) in the future of this now empty building in Chelmsford. Maybe if enough people send in their ideas for a community/creative/arty use for Shire Hall then the local council could be persuaded to make it happen? Ideally, they want people (or groups of people) to come forward with a use that is both self-funding and commercially viable. It’s certainly not up to me what happens to it (it’s owned by the County Council, not the City

Council who I work for) but I’d definitely like it to become something special befitting our new city, so I’m emailing this info because people need to know there’s a potentially exciting opportunity that’s now up for grabs. Here’s some official blurb about Shire Hall that you might find interesting: It is rare that a building of such architectural and cultural significance becomes available for adaptation and reuse. This is an opportunity to be part of the City Council’s plans to enhance the position of England’s newest city as a significant regional centre for development and trade. Following the closure of the Magistrate’s Courts within Shire Hall, Essex County Council, the freeholder, is seeking new partners who will implement a sensitive scheme to enhance and improve this magnificent building. Any scheme must respect the heritage of Shire Hall and at the same time ensure that it has a future which is both commercially viable and meets community objectives. Essex County Council is therefore inviting ‘expressions of interest’ from a potential development partner/partners who share their vision and enthusiasm to make Shire Hall once again the heart of Chelmsford’s vibrant community. The following objectives will be placed at the centre of the County Council’s decision making process: - It will retain both the freehold of the building and an interest in the proposed future use of Shire Hall - It will ensure any future uses of the building deliver a sustainable financial model that generates income to benefit the residents of Essex - It will require continuation of public access to the building and a sense of community ownership. These are just a few of the highlights of this exciting opportunity. For more information, go to Essex County Council understands that this building plays a prominent part in the life and streetscape of the City of Chelmsford. We would welcome any feedback from members of the public as to how the property could best be used. We will capture all feedback and the Shire Hall Reference Group will review all of the suggestions. Please send an email to: uk Regards, Liam Rich. Hmmmmm. This is a tricky one, is it not, readers? Erm, what about turning it into a giant cloakroom and/or place to leave your brolly when shopping in town when the sun suddenly takes us by surprise? Or what about it being a special holding pen for Chelmsford’s remaining ratboys? A right big cheese shop? Brothel? VSC (Vegetarian Storage Centre)? I dunno. E.E.

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If you’re of a certain age and you’re looking for a St. Valentine’s Day gift to go with the box of chocs and the bunch of red roses (for pities sake, do we still buy our loved ones such obvious and typical gifts every February 14th?), then why not treat that certain someone in your life to a DVD of the Beeb’s initial series of Last Tango in Halifax, first aired in November/ December 2012 (or possibly hire it from either Blockbuster or Chelmsford Library, if your as tight as arseholes, like me), reports The Edge Editor. A drama like this doesn’t come around very often and the viewing figures reflected the fact as it attracted the biggest mid-week ratings for a brand new series (throughout 2012) with an average consolidated audience of 7.1million viewers. The cast stars Anne Reid and Derek Jacobi (above) as Celia Dawson and Alan Buttershaw, childhood sweethearts whose paths went astray in their teens, yet whose love is rekindled some 50-odd years down the line. There is a genuine warmth to this series and a true affection towards the characters, making it all the more poignant for me as my very own fatherin-law (‘Only Me’) has only just recently found new romance in his life at the tender age of 76, although he did let on that he’d been ‘working on’ her (Daphne) since the tail end of the 2012 bowling season.

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Sarah Lancashire (Caroline) and Nicola Walker (Gillian) also give sterling performances as Celia and Alan’s respective daughters, the former once playing the part of barmaid Raquel in Corrie, you may recall, whilst in Last Tango she plays a career-focused head teacher who embarks upon a passionate lesbian relationship (“with someone who ’appens to be a woman”, as they say oop North), whilst Gillian works hard on the family farm and also part-time in a local supermarket in order to make ends meet, and also has a somewhat promiscuous social life to boot. It’s all quite delightful stuff, but not at all squeaky clean like The Darling Buds of May if that’s what you’re thinking. Those of you who caught this really rather refreshing drama will no doubt be pleased to know that a second series has already been commissioned. And I’m sorry, folks, but do you honestly think it would have aroused such initial curiosity had been called, pray, Last Tango in Chelmsford? One definitely thinks not.

Sarah Lancashire, Anne Reid, Derek Jacobi and Nicola Walker

The Edge 01245 348256

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Irish Divorce Court

In an Irish Divorce Court a woman asked the judge if he’d grant her a severance from her husband. "But why?" asked the judge. She replied, "Because he is not faithful to me." The judge asked, "How do you know?" She replied, "M’lud, not one of our children resembles him."

All That Jewellery The BBC made Jimmy Savile wear all that jewellery so that kids could hear him coming.

Scouse Discovery Police in Liverpool last night announced the discovery of an arms cache of 200 semi-automatic rifles with 25,000 rounds of ammunition, 20 tons of heroin, £5million in forged UK banknotes and 25 trafficked Ukrainian prostitutes, all in a semidetached house behind the Public Library in Toxteth. Local residents were stunned. A community spokesman said: "They're all in shock. They never knew we had a library."

Oldie But Goodie Paddy and Colleen were making mad, passionate love in Paddy's minivan when suddenly Colleen, being a bit on the kinky side, yelled out: "Whip me, big boy. Whip me!" Paddy, not wanting to pass up this unique opportunity, obviously did not have any whips at hand, but in a flash of inspiration, he opened his window, snapped the antenna off his van and proceeded to whip Colleen into a state of near ecstasy. A couple of days later, Colleen noticed that the marks left by the whipping were starting to fester, so she went to see her doctor. The doctor took one look at her wounds and asked, "Did you get these marks having sex?" Colleen, a little embarrassed, eventually admitted that, yes, she did. Nodding his head knowingly, the doctor exclaimed, "I thought as much. In all my years as a doctor, this is the worst case of van aerial disease I have ever seen."

Now Then The TV News just displayed three images of women who claimed that Jimmy Savile interfered with them sexually. They showed a current picture of each of the women, together with a photo of each of them taken back in the seventies.The caption read: Now, then. Now, then. Now, then.

The Aliens Have Landed Two aliens landed in the Arizona desert near a gas station that was closed for the night. They approached one of the gas pumps and the younger alien addressed it by saying, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Take us to your leader." The gas pump, naturally, did not respond.

The younger alien became angry at the lack of response, so the older alien said, “I'd calm down if I were you.” But the younger alien ignored the warning, as younger aliens tend to do (no matter what their species) and repeated his greeting. Yet once again, there was no response. Miffed at the pump's haughty attitude, he drew out his ray gun and said gruffly, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Take us to your leader or I will open fire!" The older alien once again warned his comrade, saying, “You probably don't want to do that. I really think that will make him mad.” “Rubbish!” replied the cocky, young alien, who then aimed his weapon and opened fire. There then followed a huge explosion and a massive fireball roared towards the young alien and blew him completely off his feet, eventually landing in a burnt, smoking mess about 200 metres away in a cactus patch. Half an hour passed. When the young alien finally regained consciousness, he refocused his three eyes, straightened his bent antenna, and looked dazedly at the older, wiser alien who was standing over him shaking his big, green head. “What a ferocious creature!” exclaimed the young, fried alien. “That Earthling damn near killed me! How did you know he was so dangerous?” The older alien leaned over, placed a friendly feeler on his crispy young friend and replied, “If there's one thing I've learned during my intergalactic travels, it’s that you never mess with a guy who can loop his pecker over his shoulder and stick it in his ear.”

Never Again “IT’S A BOY!" he shouted. "IT’S A BOY! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! IT’S A BOY!" And with tears streaming down his face, he swore never to visit a Thai brothel ever again.

Molly A new Marine Captain was assigned to an outfit in a remote post in the Afghanistan Desert . During his first inspection of the outfit, he noticed a camel hitched up behind the mess tent. So he asked the Sergeant why a camel was kept there and the nervous sergeant said, “Well, sir, as you know, there are 250 men in this outfit and no women. Sometimes the men have 'urges', sir. So that's why we have ‘Molly the Camel’.” The Captain says, “Well, I can't say that I condone this action, but I’m a man and I understand all about 'urges', so the camel can stay.” About a month later, the Captain started having his own 'urges' and, crazy with passion, he asked the Sergeant to bring Molly to his tent. Putting a ladder up behind the camel, the Captain climbed a few rungs, pulled his pants down and took part in some wild, insane, anal, animal desert sex. When he was done, he asked the Sergeant, “Is that how the other men usually do it?” “Er, no, not really, sir,” said the Sergeant. “They usually just ride the camel a couple of miles into town where the girls are.”

wine to drink. The drunk immediately necked it and said. "It's a Muscat, three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade, but acceptable.” "Wow!” said the boss. “Spot on.” Another glass.... "It's a Cabernet, eight years old, a south-western slope, oak barrels, matured at 8 degrees. Requires three more years for finest results." "Whoa!” exclaims the boss. A third glass.... ''It's a Pinot Blanc Champagne, high grade and exclusive.'' The director is astonished. He winked at his secretary, secretly suggesting something. So she left the room and returned with a glass of urine. The alcoholic tried it. "It's a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant, and if you don't give me the job, I shall definitely be naming the father."

Curry Powder Mistake Two Indian junkies accidently snort curry powder instead of cocaine by mistake. Both end up in hospital. One's in a korma. The other's got a dodgy tikka.

Frying a Couple of Eggs A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs for her husband. Suddenly, her husband burst into the kitchen. “Careful,” he said. “CAREFUL! Add a little more butter. Oh my god! You're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY, I tell you! Turn them. TURN THEM OVER! More butter. Add more butter. DON’T LET THEM STICK! Oh good lord! You NEVER listen to me when you're COOKING! Never! Turn them again! Hurry, before they start to stick! Are you CRAZY? Have you lost your MARBLES? Now serve them up. And don't forget to salt them. You ALWAYS forget to salt them. Use the salt. USE THE SALT! THE SALT, WOMAN! USE THE SALT!” The wife glared at him. “What in the world is wrong with you this morning? You think I don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?” Her husband calmly replied, “Just wanted to show you what it feels like when I'm driving, my dear.”

Sex Object A man’s wife is nothing more than a sex object. Every time he asks for sex, she objects.

Python I'm selling my pet python on eBay. Some bloke’s just rang up and asked me how big it is? I said, “It’s f *** ing massive.” So he asked how many feet? I said, “None. It's a f ing snake.”


Surprise! Surprise! My wife surprised me the other night when she came home with one of those devices that make your penis grow bigger. H’hey, it was her sister!


Dublin Florist

At a wine merchants, the regular taster died, so the director started looking for a new one to hire. A drunkard, with a ragged, dirty look, came in to apply for the position. The director of the winery wondered how to send him on his way. So he gave him a glass of

Paddy goes into a Dublin florists and says, "I would like to buy a bunch of flowers for my girlfriend, please." The florist looks at him and says, "Certainly, sir. Now is there anything in particular that you’re after?” Paddy says, “Yes. A f .”


All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to

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londonmen’sfashionweek The Edge for one reckons it’s hard to get your head around fashion.

The first outfit onto the catwalk summed up the key message for next autumn, mixing sporty outerwear, such as parkas, with suiting. Playing with shape and proportion was emphasised through the styling, so cropped fur-trimmed coats fell short over suit jackets whilst trousers, tucked into thick wool hiking socks and boots, had extra volume through the leg.

What’s fashionable one moment simply ain’t in vogue the next and it’s all to do with the fickle creations of designers the likes of Cuthbert, Jemima, Douglas and Freesia. Take the bloke’s London Fashion Week event that occurred in our capital city in January. Prime Minister Dave Cameron even invited a load of ’em along to Downing Street beforehand, addressing them thus: “Tonight, Matthew, I, your PM, will mainly be wearing a Richard James suit, Oliver Sweeney shoes and M&S undercrackers. As you can see, folks, I know next to nowt about fashion, only when I do get the chance to have a bit of a gander about the shops, my wife doesn’t really let me look around. I am merely positioned inside a changing-room and passed items to try on.”

“men need to start walking about in their pj’s with a wooden box that’s been freshly smashed over their heads”

And fair play to him for that admission as ‘Our Dave’ probably speaks for an awful lot of men the length and breadth of the country, because when it comes to dress sense, let’s face it, we’re hardly the French or the Italians, are we? Meanwhile, Dylan Jones, editor of poncy GQ magazine and chairman of London Collections (Volume: Men) said: “From Saville Row to Shoreditch, from Bond Street to Backnang Square, British menswear has never been more dynamic, or more successful.” Staged over the course of three days, the event featured more than 60 shows and presentations

aimed at setting the right tone for this coming autumn and winter 2013 menswear season. “Eh?” pokes up The Edge Editor. “But I’ll be wearing exactly the same togs as those I’ve been wearing this season and last, on the straight forward and somewhat practical grounds that they haven’t bloody well worn out yet.”

Now does a comment such as that speak for the vast majority of the country, or for an exclusive 10% of us, is it a case of blow the expense because it’s out with the old (wardrobe) and in with the new?

Gordon Richardson, Topman Design's creative director, explained that "an early gentleman explorer look" was central to THE LOOK for next autumn. "London man has come into contact with other cultures, such as those of Tibet or India, and then absorbed those cultures into his own style." What the f...?!?!?! Certainly the appearance of giant backpacks, which feature compasses and hip flasks swinging from brightly coloured straps, ticked the ‘explorer’ box.

“HOY! So where does the crate smashed over a geezer’s head come in then, eh?” shouted out The Edge’s special correspondent from the wings, whilst desperately trying to be restrained (man-handled, no less) by Brendan the bouncer. But there was no stopping the fashion bollocks, now that it was in full, puerile flow. “The autumn/winter 2013 colour palette will include spicy oranges and reds, whilst Tibetan prints will feature on boiled wool pea coats....” BOILED MUSHY PEA JACKETS?!?!?! That is just complete and utter nonsense, is that.

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I was reading this article about Sir Ranulph Fiennes a while back and the mind truly boggles. Next month, this 69-year-old is venturing across Antarctica on a six month mission he himself once described as being virtually “impossible”. Yet the reason he’s so very keen to do it is because he’s had a whiff that another exploration party from Norway are also considering giving Antarctica a crack, and the mere idea that they might be the first to set a record was just too much to bear for this particular OAP. How about that, eh, readers?

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Make no mistake, Sir Randy will most definitely be putting his own life in severe danger in the name of exploration. Already he has lost several fingers to frostbite - a couple of which he sawed off himself (’ard, or what?) as well as suffering a heart attack back in 2003, so surely he should know better, right? Nope. Not a bit of it. Perhaps he’ll even carry on doing these sort of crazy escapades until the day he croaks, and all credit to him for that, for life is for the living. Only by Christ, can you even imagine trying to climb to the summit of Mount Everest when you’re 65 and actually succeeding? That’s right, Sir Randy’s already been there, dunnit and got the flamin’ t-shirt. Surely this fella puts us mere mortals to cotton-picking shame.

“Somebody said that the older you get, the more you become the person you always should have been. I feel that’s happening to me.” David Bowie

MY Christmas Day LUNCH

Now honestly, readers, is it any wonder I don’t want anything whatsoever to do with Christmas ever again? Just look at the size of my Christmas Day lunch, will you! Christ, we even bought BIGGER PLATES especially for the occasion and what’s (probably) worse is that I managed to polish off the entire lot that was piled onto mine. No wonder I got ‘the sweats’ a few times over the Crimbo/New Year’s period. With all that food and booze swilling around inside you, how can you possibly not? Hence my reason for wanting to jettison the whole ridiculous period for the remainder of my days (yes, I am being totally serious). I love the build-up to Christmas, but once Christmas Day arrives, that’s it, I’m no longer frigging well interested. In future, I want to be on a ’plane that’s heading somewhere warm and sunny. The only reason I’ve only ever been away twice over the festive period before is because it can be literally The Edge 01245 348256 double the price of other times of the year. But in all honestly, for the sake of my sanity, I think it’s a price well worth paying in the future.


Bless her heart, this old dear, who really did look as though she’d been abandoned, wished me a ‘Happy New Year’ whilst I was walking along the beach in Dorset on New Year’s Day. Only I wanted to say to her, “Do you think you’ll see another one in then?” But hey, you don’t, do you? You just don’t. You keep thoughts like that to yourself. Least I do. But we’ve all got to go sometime, haven’t we? Only hey, we never know when our time is going to be up. Could be this week, next week, this month, next year.... Who knows? Happy little soul, aren’t I? Oh aye, I’ve certainly started 2013 the way I intend to go on.

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JACKANORY I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t much care for Jackanory when I was a kid. I think I knew, way back then, that there was something â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;just a little bit oddâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; about it, in so far as some stranger wanted you to metaphorically sit on his lap whilst he read you a story through the television screen.

Chinese New Year

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The show was first transmitted as long ago as 13th December 1965 and it continued right up until 1996, clocking up some 3,500 episodes, so hey, some of you must have liked it. There was actually a bit of as revival back in 2006 when none other than Sir Benjamin Kingsley chose to read some of his lines from Sexy Beast for the young boys and girls whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d just finished school for the day. And what about the theme tune? â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Jackanory, dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;doo doo doo doooooo, Jackanoryâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Very sinister indeed. Was it designed to put kids into some sort of a trancelike state? Whilst weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re on the subject of books, The Edge heard someone say recently that people (of a certain age) can be divided into Tolkien and non-Tolkien categories. Well, it may come as little to no surprise to learn that your editor happily falls into the latter group. I seem to recall at my primary school, when I was about 10 or 11, having our very own Jackanory type sessions when, on a Thursday afternoon, right after swimming, our teacher would read us â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The Hobbitâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Bilbo Baggins my arse! I used to take the opportunity to either daydream or nod-off completely. Give me the Dandy and the Beano any day of the week.

You want Daddy to read you another one of those silly stories the Edge man prints, Lily???



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Clearly The Edgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s youngest reader of allllllll time, Ms Lily Keene, all three and a half months of her, sent in by her mummy, Donna.


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SWEET, SWEET SCIENCE Regular readers (I reckon I must have at least 4 by now) will know that I’m all about the science. I love science. I’d science morning, noon and night if I could. My relationship with science has often been a turbulent one and my egg-headed friends have let me down on many an occasion.

ME & MY adamantium skeleton

exactly as you’d expect them to by staggering around and being incapable of navigating simple mazes. Insteadthey took to cowering in corners, presumably after telling the researchers that they were their best mates ever. But the rats given all that lovely booze and an injection of DHM behaved completely normally, showing no signs of drunkeness or illness after their mammoth drinkathon. I’m not entirely sure what constitutes normal rat behaviour, but I’m going to assume it meant that they chewed stuff and had sex a lot. Anyhow, it looks as though we’ll be getting this one sooner than the exercise pill as it’s already undergoing human trials in the USA.

OK, they did come up with that military robot that could power itself by eating dead bodies and I’m willing to forgive them for pretty much anything after that little gem. Still, I’ve had to resign myself to the fact that they still won’t do the decent thing and turn me into Robocop not to mention that my chances of ever visiting Jurassic Park and fighting Velociraptors are slim to none.

The Kingmeister reports yourself (although that one gets a pass on comedy value alone). This is a pill that actually mimics the calorie burning of a workout.

So Irisine is being looked at with more serious benefits in mind as they believe that it will be able to help treat some neuromuscular

“...or that one that seems to make you lose f...” weight by uncontrollably soiling yoursel

However, it appears that science might just be on the verge of knocking it out of the park for all of us, and even I’ll put these next two on my wish list above the flying monkeys I’ve been after for ages. Now, be honest, how many of you have already fallen off the gym wagon after Christmas and the New Year? You have, haven’t you? Well, in a few years, you might not have to worry about sweating up a storm in those dungeons of the Spanish Inquisition they call ‘gyms’ as they’re currently testing what might be the first viable exercise pill. Yes, you heard that right, and if you’re anything like me the preceding sentence was read while the sound of heavenly trumpets sang in the background and Robocop himself charged past on a unicorn.

Well, it could happen! I’m not talking about another bullshit weight-loss pill here either. This isn’t one of the million rip off pills that cost you a fortune and just contain a bit of caffiene, or that one that seems to make you lose weight by uncontrollably soiling Page 26

This discovery of discoveries comes to us via my new favourite hormone: Irisine. Irisine essentially mimics the fat burning process of your body, turning ‘bad’ white fat into ‘good’ brown fat. The ‘good’ fat produces heat and burns calories even when - and this is the important bit - you’re not doing anything. Obviously it wouldn’t be a proper subsitute for exercise and you wouldn’t get all the other benefits, such as toned muscles, stress relief and insufferable smugness. On the other hand, you can spend the evening sitting in a paddling pool full of doughnuts watching a BattleStar Galactica marathon and still be losing weight. Let’s face it, with 62% of the country classed as overweight in 2012, I think it’s safe to say most of us prefer a visit to Pizza Hut rather than the gym. I can think of a dozen things off the top of my head that I find much more fun than exercise, such as drilling into my own kneecaps, or attaching electrodes to my genitals, and even if an Irisine pill just means that I only have to do half of the exercise I do now, then I’ll be all over it if they ever get it right. I’ll be completely honest with you and admit that I go to the gym and do exactly the minimum amount required to stop myself getting really lardy - and to look at girl’s arses on the treadmill in front of me, of course. Given the opportunity of a brisk walk to the shop for more cigarettes being enough exercise to keep me in trim, I would never, ever bother going within 100 feet of a gym.

disorders, diabetes and actual clinical obesity. To be honest, I’m not sure why that last one even gets classed as a medical condition. Surely it just means that you’re a really, really fat bastard, doesn’t it? Not content with teasing us with the possibility of a fat burning pill, those lovely scientists are also on the verge of giving us a cure for one of the most devastating health issues known to mankind: The Hangover. That’s right, they’re getting very close to perfecting a preventative cure for the hangover in handy pill form.

Dr. Charlie Sheen: Head of research I’ll certainly be keeping a close eye on these two and I’ll be the proverbial pig-in-shit if and when they ever do make it to the market. I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that every night will consist of ‘getting pissed and ordering a 20 inch pizza’ in the Kingpin household. And it’d be great if they could come up with a pill that added an extra zero to my bank balance as well.

The Long Arm of the Law This is one of those “What the f*** was he thinking?!” moments that I had to share with you. Do you remember at school when the police or firemen used to visit to deliver sermons about not talking to strangers or fire safety? They do a similar thing in the States but, as usual, our US cousins have to do it bigger and better.

Couldn’t they have invented it before New Years Eve? We can thank the Oriental raisin tree for this one, or, more accurately, a chemical called DHM that is processed from the tree. DHM is being tested on rats in the usual sciencey and hilarious ways, namely by injecting them with the equivalent of 20 beers in 2 hours, or as we call it: Friday Night. Those rats that had been given the alcohol and nothing else behaved

To demonstrate what life in law enforcement was like, Officer Chris Webb had the genius idea of getting the 10 year old kids to clean his patrol car. One lad, obviously believing this wasn’t a true representation of a career in the police, declined the offer. Officer Webb decided to deliver the salutary lesson of “This is what happens to people that don’t listen to the police” and then tasered the 10 year old until he blacked out. I can’t imagine any level at which delivering 50,000 volts of electricity to a child seemed like a good idea and I can imagine quite a lot. One thing’s for sure; that’s one visit that won’t be forgotten in a hurry and that’s probably how a future supervillain was just created.

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norm, as evidenced by the Liverpool Street sign, that you are not supposed to be confrontational or rude to people, the same is true here in the States. In fact, the same is true on steroids. Anyone here who works in the service industry, and that covers the ‘would you like fries with that?’ guy at MaccyDees through to someone trying to sell you a Ferrari, has been indoctrinated. Don’t forget, most of us have had such a menial job (MaccyDees I mean, not selling Ferraris) at some point in our lives so that indoctrination encompasses just about everyone.

Despite the myriad attractions and stimulations of NYC, this month’s missive has been inspired by a visit to the homeland. Yes, the Christmas and New Year holiday period afforded the chance to return to the UK for a week or so to see what had changed in the last six months. From afar, it seemed the Olympics has put a new energy and enthusiasm into the UK, and I expected all would be positive optimism. Well, that’s what I was hoping for, but in reality it seems that not a lot has altered and any feel-good generated by the games appears to have been washed away with four months of rain. The visit had been timed to coincide with the most glamorous game of the season at White Hart Lane; Stoke City. They haven’t changed. A side made up entirely of six foot thugs duly played out a very unglamorous 0-0 draw. Transport isn’t any better either. Just to make sure I felt totally at home, Greater Anglia duly managed to keep me immobile in a broken down train outside Ilford for an hour and a half. The weather? Well, you don’t need me to comment on that. So, all in all, it was a little disappointing to find that the damn good show put up by both the organisers and competitors hadn’t had a long lasting effect. The word ‘home’ was used twice back there a bit and it’s interesting to note how the brain reacts to living in a different country. Before Christmas, I was telling work colleagues I was going home for the holidays - that is, back to the UK. On the other hand, when I was in London or Essex, completely without thinking about it, I talked about going home on the 2nd January - meaning back to New York. So which is home? Is it where you live, where you were born, or where you feel most comfortable? A very interesting question that maybe we’ll return to at a later date.

Anyway, all that serves as a rambling introduction into a stereotypical view of New Yorkers and the chance to ponder whether it is true or not. At Liverpool Street it’s hard not to notice the signs asking you not to take it out on the staff. What they mean, of course, is that your frustration at being inconvenienced yet again should not be directed at the guys at the barriers. Obviously nobody can condone the use of physical violence, but what’s the problem with venting a little verbal anger? We seem to have reached the stage whereby us poor little flowers don’t know how to handle a bit of confrontation. Which should be a problem for a delicate Brit in Manhattan because New Yorkers are really, really rude, right? Everyone knows it - we’ve seen a thousand TV series where a wise-cracking New Yorker is deliberately and consistently rude to anyone and everyone. But is it fact or fiction, that’s the question. Well, having lived amongst them for half a year the answer is very similar to the one posed above about where exactly is home. That is, there are several answers. Let me explain. Just as in the UK it seems to be the accepted

Yes, two or three decades worth of customer focused education has bred a generation and more of people who would no more dream of being rude than they would poke you in the eye with a sharp stick. It goes against all they have been brought up to hold holy. So, born and bred New Yorkers, and there are not as many of those as you might think - most of the people here are like me and have migrated from elsewhere - fall into two categories. There are those under about 40, who have been educated to say please, thank you, you’re welcome and have a nice day, who will not be loud and rude to you. Then there is the older generation that is more cynical and assertive. They do not suffer fools gladly and will tell you in no uncertain terms if you are being foolish. This does come as a bit of a shock to us genteel Brits, but you get used to it and soon realise that it’s just a way of living that is best handled by being similarly assertive. So there you have it. New Yorkers are rude, and then again they’re not. Unless they get behind the wheel of a car, in which case they are all, to a man and woman, rude as a rudeboy in Rudeville. Just like the UK, in fact.

prolong life. Is this true? A

The Edge 077 646 797 44

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The Friday before Christmas, Lengthy-Boy went to see comedian Jerry Sadowitz at the Leicester Square Theatre and reckoned he was that good he fancied seeing him again. So we met up after work on Friday 4th January and the kind-hearted Length actually drove us up to the capital. Now, I must say, London didn’t appear to have a feeling of: ‘We’re skint. We done all our money over Christmas and the New Year and now we’re absolutely brassic’. People were out there enjoying themselves as though they’d waited all week for this particular Friday evening, when in reality, the vast majority of the punters had probably only clocked-on for three days at most. An almost immediate early highlight was kerb-crawling around London’s ‘Brown Light Area’ in Soho, trying - unsuccessfully - to find a parking space (for free). We passed the Admiral Duncan onceover, before The Length eventually spotted a bit of a right tight space outside the Mary Poppins (or whatever the pub happened to be called). Now then, to the gays sat inside, checking out my bald head and Chenille scarf and The Length trying to rear-end his motor (the last three letters on his registration plate, I kid you not, read ‘PUF’) into a right tight space, well, they must have though ‘helllooo’ and that we’d soon be joining them for a few halves of Babycham. However, we were chuckling at our sorry situation far too much for that and had to abandon the space in the end as The Length does drive a bit of a ‘bus’ these days. So it was a case of onwards and into one of those lovely, cuddly NCP’s for £18 instead. By this time we were both feeling pretty peckish and as we were right next to Chinatown, it would surely have been rude not to chance our arm. But with only 45 minutes to spare before Sadowitz took to the stage, we opted for a bit of a budget buffet for around £7.80 per person, and hey, it certainly did the job. Mind you, we definitely reckoned we must have been eating cat (or quite possibly dog) instead of, erm, chicken. Soon after we left, The Length pointed to another restaurant and said, “That’s where me and Simon (David Blaine - the mate he ‘d previously seen Sadowitz with) had a buffet,” (cheap at £6.50 per head) “but it was shit” (well, what on earth had they honestly expected?).

Leicester Square Theatre

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Now then, The Leicester Square Theatre is a proper little dimly lit, all rouge cutey, with a bar at either side selling overpriced drinks. No sooner had we taken our seats (although it has to be said we were up and down like bloody yo-yo’s with our row seemingly having the heaviest traffic to the bar and pissers of all the rows in the entire auditorium) than Sadowitz took to the stage in a horrible grubby white toweling bathrobe and cheap blonde wig in order to ‘celebrate’ the late (great?) Jimmy Savile for what must have been fully 10 minutes, and when you’re firing out the anecdotes as fast as he does, that ends up being a very long time indeed. At this point, you may be forgiven for thinking, ‘What the f.....?’ but then he does make you think about things and perhaps, just perhaps, adjust your moral compass accordingly. Sadowitz is the same age as me, but my God, hailing from Glasgow, he’s clearly had a much harder life. His sense of humour has actually been described as ‘sick’, but then to The Edge’s mind, that all depends upon just how tightly your cork is fitted (up your jaxie). As well as being a ‘stand up’ (he hates the likes of Ben Elton and Michael McIntyre, but then he hates a whole host of things and other people as well), Sadowitz is also reckoned to be one of the greatest close-up magicians in the world and has written several books about the subject. In 1991, he was actually knocked out cold by a member of the audience after he’d walked on stage at the Just For Laughs Comedy Festival in Montreal and announced: “Hello moosefuckers! I hate you lot (see, I told you what he was like) because half of you speak French and the other half let you get away with it.” All I’ll say is that I have a tremendous respect for anyone who dares take to any stage and Sadowitz makes certain he completely owns it. The Edge 01245 348256

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He may never wear a belt, which gets right on The Edge’s tits, but if ever a man epitomised the job that he does, then it is undoubtedly Sir David Attenborough. So afore he croaks, this publication would simply like to say that it SALUTES YOU, sir!

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For those of you who thought February was traditionally the month of love when Cupid shot his arrow far and wide, think again, for February is now known as the most depressing month of the year for falling out of love. More people seek out a divorce in February than any other month of the year, most saying that they soldiered on through Christmas and the New Year - put up with the in-laws and wore the Christmas jumper with gritted teeth - but with thoughts of St. Valentine’s Day fast approaching, when everyone else seems to be in love but them, it’s the final push that makes them seek a divorce. February is the month when solicitors jump up and down with glee and start eyeing up a brand new car. And February is also the month when more people start an affair. According to the website ‘Illicit Affairs’ (yes, shock horror, there are even websites you can log on to and find someone to hook up and have an affair with!), their membership quadruples in the month of February. It certainly seems that those unhappy in love take that lingering look just one step further and take the plunge in February. Whilst it may seem exciting at first, sneaking around and pretending you’re just nipping down the shops for a newspaper, when really your popping out for a quick fumble and a bit of fun, a far more sobering thought for anyone out there contemplating an affair is this: less than 1 in 5 relationships survive an affair, and 4 out of 5 people bitterly regret them as most end up losing their home. The common cause of being found out surprisingly comes when one party tries to end the affair and the other person turns into a ‘bunny boiler’. So even though your other half may not look that attractive sitting on the couch stuffing the last of the tin of Quality Street left over from Christmas into their mouth perhaps whilst breaking wind in the process - do try and resist the urge to log on and start that affair. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Personally speaking, I think St. Valentine’s Day is vastly over-rated, but having said that, woe-betide

‘The Man’ if he doesn’t pull out all the stops. Whoever said ‘love doesn’t have to cost a thing’ obviously never ventured into the local card shops and florists around my neck of the woods. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you simply can’t have romance without finance. It’s impossible! Sending a mere card to your ‘hunny bunny’ is likely to cost you the best part of a fiver. I have campaigned for years to have St. Valentine’s Day moved to the middle of the year (I have) because women surely can’t be expected to squeeze into their sexy underwear and look all alluring when just a few weeks previous it was Christmas and we were busy ploughing our way through a 100cwt of sausage rolls and mince pies, for heaven’s sake. And I don’t care what anyone says, no amount of Gok Wan ‘shapewear’ or low lighting is going to hide the spare tyre or the lardy arse. So is it really any wonder that February is the month of break-ups and affairs? That St. Valentine has an awful lot to answer for if you ask me!

LOOK INTO MY EYES If you’re unlucky in love, it could all be down to the colour of your eyes. Apparently men with brown eyes are seen by women as more trustworthy and sexy. But before all you blue eyed boys rush out and reach for the coloured contact lenses, it may also be down to your facial shape, as brown eyed men seem to have happier faces (could it possibly be from all the attention women shower on them?). Researchers from Charles University took over 800 photographs of men’s faces and asked 250 women to rate them. Overall, brown eyed men were deemed to be more trustworthy, attractive and sexy than any other, whilst least attractive by far were men with wandering eyes. n

Another bit of research that caught my eye recently was this: if you want to be popular, forget buying people drinks and trying to make them laugh (and I can vouch for that, ha-ha) because being popular may already be predetermined by your genes. Research shows that individuals who are popular and liked have descendants with a very similar nature. So if you are a miserable so-and-so, then don’t blame yourself - it’s all due to your descendants!


Would it surprise you very much if you came home one evening to find Clare Balding in your kitchen? Perhaps sitting at your kitchen table sipping coffee and filming a brand new cookery show? I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve seen more of that bloody woman than I can stand of late. Is there honestly a programme that she hasn’t presented or been on in the last few months? I am honestly sick to death of turning on the TV only to find her manly features filling the screen. Enough is enough!

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The Edge Magazine February 2013  

News, fun, current affairs