The Edge Magazine July 2017

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 249

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‘THE CHELMSFORD FANZINE’

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JULY 2017

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to) and often end up simply reading a newspaper or a book in the grounds of Southwark Cathedral, before eventually succumbing to a couple of beers in my favourite Borough pub, the Market Porter.

Next time I go, I’m not so sure how that walk from Liverpool Street is going to feel.

Clearly the perpetrators think that those randomly murdered were not innocent bystanders at all, which means that we really do have a massive problem on our hands.

Yet where do we even begin, when the likes of I cannot even see eye-to-eye with the very person I live next door to?

Live and let live, they say.

What, these days?

We should be so lucky.

The Edge Editor’s Column LIVE & LET LIVE If you read a bit about it, Jihad is supposedly not a violent concept, nor is it a declaration of war against other religions.

Try telling that to the families and friends of those who happened to be on London Bridge and in Borough Market just after 10pm on the first Saturday of June.

I have no interest in fairy stories - sorry, religion - whatsoever. But as a human being, any form of violence offends me, whilst frankly, mindless violence and murder terrifies me.

I haven’t a clue how things have gotten to be as bad as they are today, but it must have something to do with an abject laxness and a lowering (through fear of offending?) of vigilance as regards what is really going on out there.

Borough Market is my particular neck of the woods in London. It’s where I go to chill once every couple of months. I get off the train at Liverpool Street, have a coffee, then merrily saunter across London Bridge (or at least I used

ELECTIONEERING I wasn’t in the least bit impressed with any of the political candidates this time around (apart from Caroline Lucas, although I wasn’t yet ready to go completely Green) or their treatment by the likes of the smug, self-satisfied Andrew Neil, not to mention the bearpit in which they were thrown in order to offer the viewing public Kylevision on a gross political scale.

We surely need to get away from all this.

THE ONE HUNDRED YEAR OLD MAN On a lighter note, I recently read a very quirky Forrest Gump style novel by Swedish author and former journalist/media consultant Jonas Jonasson. Or, to give it its proper title, The One Hundred Year Old Man Who Climbed Out Of The Window And Disappeared.

It was published by forward thinking Hesperus Press and next off their press is The Way Of Muri, which is a cat that travels extensively throughout Europe.

CHELMSFORD SUMMER BEER FESTIVAL This year’s summer beer festival, if you didn’t already know it, runs from 12-noon Tuesday 4th July until 11pm on Saturday (Family Day) 8th July. Please note: it is not open during the night, although you can walk to Barista (opposite Chelmsford bus station) and take advantage of their very own beer festival immediately after you’ve finished your consumption in Admirals Park. Only make sure you behave yourselves, as things always seem a tad different when one is inebriated.

MOTCO Make sure you read Motty’s column on page 29 of the mag this month, readers. It is what I call observation of the highest order.

TYPICAL BRIT I tend to spend nine months of the year complaining about how cold, grey, windy or rainy it is, and the other three months complaining about how hot, sticky and unbearable it is.

Well, make that a week, tops.

MERCILESS Have been attempting to keep up with Brazilian crime drama series Merciless (Channel 4, Sunday nights), but the English subtitles are barely along the bottom of the screen for long enough.

TIME WAITS FOR NO MAN/WOMAN Isn’t it often frustrating, particularly when we’re having an incredibly good time, that we can’t simply stop the clock for a bit?

But time won’t wait and forever ticks by...

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

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Labour MP Chuka Umunna recently churned out the well worn line that we, the people, have “stood together against those who seek to destroy our way of life” yet again.

But he went on to say, “Community and social integration is something we have heard talked about a lot in recent weeks. But just like every seemingly simple answer, the reality is far more nuanced and complex.”

Chuka says that there is clearly no quick fix so far as social integration is concerned, and he’s not wrong there, because it’s a fact that most of us meet and mix almost exclusively with people from similar backgrounds to ourselves.

But hasn’t that always been the case?

“It isn’t just would-be terrorists who need their minds opened to other ways of life and other cultures,” he insists. “It’s all of us.”

It would already appear that there are steps being taken to promote further integration within our schools and fair play to that, although that is clearly a long-term plan.

The question is, what do we do right now?

For however long the world has existed there have always been groups and there have always been tribes.

If The Edge is being honest, it simply doesn’t think that is ever going to change.

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House prices in seaside towns have risen by up to a staggering 95% during the past decade.

The most expensive place of all, should you desire a home on the coast, is Sandbanks in Poole, Dorset, where the average home costs (get this, readers) £664,000 - up 32% since 2007.

Second to Sandbanks is Salcombe, in Devon but The Edge couldn’t get on with that place when it visited, so perhaps it’s just as well that it has no aspirations to set up shop there.

Outside southern England, the most expensive seaside areas are, somewhat surprisingly, the Scottish towns of St. Andrews and North Berwick (circa £300k - £315k), while in Wales, the average cost of a home at Mumbles, near Swansea, will set you back £285,000 - even though it rains all the bloody time.

Homes in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, are also up 67% over the past 10 years - and they sell a decent drop of ale there too.

Second (or even third and fourth) home-buyers are often blamed for helping to push up house prices in many popular seaside towns, thus making it harder for locals to get on the housing ladder, although a stamp duty hike introduced in April of last year has helped keep house prices in check in certain areas.

Meanwhile, nine of the ten cheapest seaside spots to live are in Scotland where you are always guaranteed a lovely blue-white tan during the summer. For instance, the average price of a house in Port Bannatyne, a village on the remote Isle of Bute, costs just £76,000, although who in their right mind would want to go and live up there?

Be quiet - that was a rhetorical question.

Probably beats Pitsea though.

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“TALK ABOUT CRACKING A FEW EGGS” How about a bit of this sort of malarkey in Chelmsford, readers?

These are scenes from the annual festival of Els Enfarinats, dating back some 200 years, that takes place in the town of Ibi in Alicante every 28th December as part of the celebrations related to the ‘Day of the Innocents’ (check out Herod the Great for further background reading, readers).

In the day long festival, participants dress in mock military attire and stage a mock coup d’etat amongst much egg and flour throwing, whilst a band of street musicians tour the city.

Oh yes, The Edge is very much liking the sounds of this far more so than that other dodgy Spanish tradition where they release those bloody bulls into the streets.

At 8:00am prompt (a tad early during the Crimbo holidays, so perhaps we can have a rethink of the start-time so far as the Chelmsford equivalent is concerned), the Els Enfarinats take the city under the slogan of ‘New Justice’, while but one hour later the Race for Mayor begins and perhaps that’s when the eggs and flour start getting thrown about in earnest?

Not sure about you, readers, but The Edge has just about had it up to here with everything concerning politics of late, so how about we celebrate an Anti Politics Day of our very own?

This coming Thursday 28th December in Central Park, Chelmsford. Any takers?

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Arthur and Liz have owned the White Hart at Margaretting Tye for 15 years (see below) and have held a beer festival there every single year, which keeps on getting bigger and bigger. They started off with 15 to 20 beers over the period of a week, whereas now it's 80 real ales and 30 ciders over 4 days.

Last year Liz insisted they add a Gin Bar, housing 30-plus gins, to run alongside their Champers & Pimms bar, which was very well received, hence it’s back again this year. “Delicious!” says Liz. This lovely country pub, with a fab garden, has won lots of awards for both Real Ale & Food, its latest being in November 2016, voted ‘Pub of Year’ by Essex Life.

It also offers two B&B rooms and hosts marquee weddings/parties/wakes and corporate functions.

If The White Hart is too big or too far off the beaten track for you, then check out their sister pub, The Star Inn at Ingatestone, which can host similar events and functions, but on a smaller scale.

Follow them on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Trip Advisor.

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PICTURE FRAMING FOR EVERY ROOM @GALLERY43

Marc Sephton is a young mixed media artist from Chelmsford who has had an artistic streak from a very young age, having experimented with various mediums, including graphic design, photography, print and painting.

He is also a talented musician, both writing and performing his own work, which has taken him to many places.

Following a number of his art shows, people started asking for commission pieces.

This led to Marc producing pieces using reclaimed items, painting onto glass, and the thrill of working with light.

Marc's latest works use light boxes and original film cells as backing, with a silhouetted image to the fore, as can be seen in his latest James Bond piece 'Live and Let Live', currently on display at Gallery43 (right) in Moulsham Street, Chelmsford.

Marc's work can also be found at The Strand Gallery, taking part in the 'Pebeo Mixed Media Exhibition', where he is competing for an award for his piece 'War of the World’ (above).

Picture framing, original paintings, limited edition prints, ceramics, glass, sculpture and silver jewellery.

GALLERY43 43 Moulsham Street, Chelmsford, CM2 0HY. 01245 353825 www.gallery43.co.uk

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NOW! The New London’s seasonally inspired food offers changes every eight weeks. Menus are devised by the team of highly skilled chefs and director Justin Cracknell, whose passion for first-class contemporary cuisine is evident.

Provenance is key to the restaurant’s success, and the team has developed fantastic working relationships with trusted suppliers to keep quality consistent

You can see all their menus at www.thenewlondon.co.uk Facebook: Newlondonrl Instagram: Thenewlondon Twitter: NewLondonRL Address: 147 New London Rd Chelmsford CM2 0AA info@thenewlondon.co.uk T. 01245266288

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LAUREN’S

LOGIC

July National Ice-Cream Month?

Yep. I’ll take that.

Throw us your largest tub of Neapolitan.

Friday’s Pivotal Question Does anyone else experience the sudden panic when the bartender says: “What can I get you to drink?” and you suddenly forget who you are, where you came from, and what in fact you would like to drink?

The White Isle I could almost smell the fresh baguettes and aioli at Stansted Airport.

Isn’t that just-about-to-board-so-why-not-get-hammered-and-begin-the-holiday-right-thisminute feeling simply the best?

Ibiza, I have missed you.

Being both the holiday-maker and the season-worker, the White Isle has become my second home for the past 4 years running and probably the upcoming 40 (single cat lady, remember?) .

I’ve always been that friend in the group that strongly supports spontaneity. Book the flights from that Ryanair flash sale and worry about every other financial block a few months down the line.

Plus, that’s what credit cards are for, right?

However...

When your best friend also has complete moments of madness and spurs on exactly the same thought processes, spontaneity can be somewhat dangerous to say the very least.

So thank you, Becci. I’d never been in so much debt from a holiday, and that’s even before I’d taken my seat on the plane.

Simply waking up to sunburn (AKA: a bit of colour) is something us Brits take in our stride.

“You wouldn’t get a tan like this in the UK, would you, Bec?” I say that almost every morning.

Factor 50? Pfft! Splash on the oil.

So, with a total of just 34 hours sleep over the course of 10 days, skin blistered as much as the next blotchy Brit, plus a collection of overpriced drink receipts from the local bar stuffed in my purse, I returned home pretty darned content.

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18 degrees or above?

BBQ time! (...it’s almost second nature) Running down to the closest Tesco Express to grab: 146 burger buns, 7 bottles of Pimms, and as many bottles of tomato ketchup as I can balance on top (food Tetris is something harder than it looks), just to self-assure oneself that we definitely won’t run out of food and drink for the eight people we’ve invited round.

Sound familiar? ’Course it does.

And there’s always the alpha male who takes full control of the BBQ, whilst reminding all the women present of their continual multitasking ability to flip bangers and burgers at the same time.

Don’t sweat it, guys. We’re happy to let you have your moment.

Shoulda’ Gone to Specsavers Well, Boots, in fact.

I’ve always been a believer in the saying ‘If it ain’t (reallllllllly) broke, don’t fix it!’. So for the past few months, my life has been shockingly similar to the recent Specsavers advert.

After having my eyes tested by someone who, quite frankly, didn’t appear to want to be there nearly half as much as me, my eyesight was unfortunately confirmed to be deteriorating at the speed of Usain Bolt out of the starting blocks.

But £100+ for a pair of new lenses?

What!

Surely they should be paying me?

After all, my may-as-well-be-Kate-Moss facial structure would inevitably (subconsciously) advertise their new Ray-Ban lens collection sales out of the roof.

So hand ’em over sharpish, pretty please.

London Bridge “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of them all” - Tower Hill, London Underground.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all the victims, the injured, and all the families affected in last months attacks.

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Don’t think this was everyone’s cup of tea, and The Edge has to admit that it was somewhat nonplussed about the majority of movies they chose to send up - particularly Dirty Dancing and Star Wars, whilst I was a tad disappointed with their rendition of Jaws. But they certainly saved the best ’til last with Rocky.

We all know what Rocky sounds like when he talks. It’s as though he’s got a whole packet of pink and white marshmallows stuffed in his cakehole, right? But when he walks down the street in Keith & Paddy’s version, grunting and mumbling away to himself, instead of the locals he’s passing by pretty much shouting: “Hey, Rocky” - you know, friendly conviviality - K&P have got them shouting, “Hey, Rocky...you bum” and stuff like that, which tickled your editor pink.

It was like: where the hell have they got that from? They just turned it all completely on its head, which was right up The Edge’s street.

And then there’s Rocky’s trainer (Micky Goldmill)

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morphing into Popeye and that “Yak, yak, yak” thing that he does. Brilliant. (As was slugging a rubber chicken after he’s thumped a few dead meat carcasses during his freezer training scene.)

Sidenote: Rochdale lass Anna Friel deserves an Oscar for her performance of Adrian.

We’ve all got our own favourite movies and I can understand why they opted for Ghostbusters, but personally I’d have rather they tackled Scarface or Forrest Gump, or maybe even Toy Story, as Paddy McGuinness appears to be doing (right).

I put Leigh Francis in a similar category to Chris Evans, in so far as a lot of people patently don’t like them. But if you just consider the sheer number of imaginative ideas that each of them are capable of coming up with in a matter of minutes that most people wouldn’t even be able to arrive at in a month of Sundays, that’s clearly the reason why they’ve both been successful at that which they do.

Check the series out on YouTube if you happened to miss it.

T

he Edge would like to pay its respects to two proper gentlemen who’ve recently left us: John Noakes and Roy Barraclough.

I know, I know, none of us can live forever, but some people you just wish they would.

It feels as though John Noakes in particular played quite a big part in my childhood, along with Corgi and Dinky toys (cars), The Banana Splits, football and cream soda flavoured pop.

As I write this, my iPhone’s just pinged with the further sad breaking news that the voice of Wallace & Gromit and Last of the Summer Wine stalwart Peter Sallis has also popped his clogs.

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There is nothing better than enjoying a chilled drink outside with friends during the summer months, but there are many more options to choose from than simply a beer or a glass of cold New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc (nice as they both are). In this article, I offer you some ideas on new drinks and twists on old favourites.

Rosé wine is always a favourite during the summer. It is made by limiting the contact time between the juice and the skins (which contain all of the colour) of red grapes, so is lighter and more delicate than red wines. They vary in style from bone dry and crisp, to rich, juicy, medium-sweet, and of course, sparkling. To perk up a lovely sparkling rosé, such as a pink prosecco, try a Blackberry Bellini. Place a handful of blackberries into a cocktail shaker, or a jug, and muddle (gently squash them), add some ice, 30ml of plain vodka, 10ml of lemon juice and a sprinkle of caster sugar to your taste. Give it a good stir, or a shake (if using the cocktail shaker) and strain into a champagne flute before topping up with the cold, sparkling rosé. Delicious.

For a new take on the classic white wine kir, pour 125ml of a well-chilled dry, fruity rosé (a rosé from Rioja works well for this) into a flute and top up with 25ml of crème de cassis.

Woodley’s Pizzas

5pm-8pm

FRIDAY 14th & 28th

JULY Village Hall car-park, South Street, Great Waltham.

On a recent trip to the Douro Valley (the home of port production), I learnt that port is not just for Christmas. Try chilling a bottle of tawny port and serving in a long glass with lots of crushed ice.

Pink Port is a relatively new style of port that is also made by limiting contact between the juice and skins of classic port grapes. It results in fresh, fruity flavours and a delicate pink colour. Try the M&S version - £8.50 for a 500ml bottle. I featured it on a recent tasting and it was very well received.

To enhance all of the fruitiness in a pink port, chop a handful of strawberries and raspberries, place in a tumbler with some blueberries, gently muddle the fruits, add some crushed ice and top up with pink port.

White port has been around for a while and makes a nice alterative to a gin & tonic. Simply pour some white port into a long glass, add some ice and a slice of fresh orange and top up with tonic. For something really different, pour some well-chilled white port into a martini glass and add a scoop of lemon sorbet. Trust me, it is delicious on a hot day and would make a lovely dessert.

Gin & tonic has long been a summer favourite. Hendricks make theirs by adding some cucumber and rose essence at the end of a distillation. To give it an extra boost, using a vegetable peeler, pare some strips of cucumber and add to the gin. Chill for a few hours and then make your G&T as usual, remembering to add some of the cucumber strips. It really is refreshing.

The problem is, it does not taste of gin, so do drink responsibly!

If beer is your thing, then try complementing the flavours with a few extras.

For instance, I love a really good Porter, such as the Chapel Down version which is full of roasted coffee and chocolate notes. For two people, mix 25ml of cold espresso and 25ml of Kahlua and place in the fridge until well chilled.

Divide 250ml of Porter between two glasses and slowly top with the coffee/kahlua mixture. It really does bring out all of the toasty, roasted flavours of the beer. For something a bit lighter, try a lime shandy. Squeeze the juice from two limes and add a teaspoon of caster sugar, whisk together in a bowl until the sugar has dissolved. Divide the mixture between two tall glasses and top with your favourite lager, pilsner or wheat beer. It is both delicious and refreshing.

If alcohol is not for you, then there are hundreds of mocktail recipes to be found. One I really enjoyed last year was the Watermelon Mojito. Blend the flesh of half a watermelon with the juice of a two limes and a teaspoon of sugar until nice and smooth. In a tumbler gently muddle two mint leaves and a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar, add the watermelon puree until the glass is around half full, add some ice, a splash of ginger ale, and then top up with soda or sparkling water.

No matter what drink you favour, try adding something a little bit extra.

Do not be afraid to experiment. Sometimes you will find a perfect blend, whilst others will not be to your liking. Whatever you decide, have a lovely summer and remember to drink in moderation.

Neil Bull DipWSET, Certified Educator Essex Wine School www.essexwineschool.com

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Next time Chris Packham is on Springwatch or Autumnwatch or whatever, just check out how very similar he is to the ivory tickler Jools Holland.

Trust me, readers, this is a really good call by The Edge.

Both of these stylish men are absolutely passionate in their chosen fields and such clearly comes across whenever they are in front of the camera.

They have a similar style of delivery and even sound not dissimilar, but this is not at first noticeable until you study each in greater detail (okay, so I sometimes have a little time on my hands).

And is it just The Edge, or do both of these bright sparks have ever such a slight lisp?

What’s also blatantly obvious is that neither of these guys are refreshingly not geezers either. They are both cultured gentlemen who are to be applauded in these tragic days of the Triffid, sorry, Chav.

In a word, Terry Nutkins or Chris Packham?

No contest.

Jools Holland of Liberace?

Likewise.

The Edge is hardly a devotee of Packham programmes and it rarely tunes into Later...with Jools Holland. But they’re like Cairnsworths in Little Waltham: you’d miss them if they weren’t there (and sadly, Cairnsworths no longer is, and what a glorious cafe and patisserie that used to be).

In these sad times when standards are most clearly slipping, it’s nice to still have some suave types to look up to.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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More than three decades after the original, the long awaited sequel to Top Gun is in the planning stages, with filming due to start next year.

The action thriller made £275million at the box office after its release in 1986, whilst US Navy recruitment officials reported a dramatic rise in enquiries from dumb idiots who mumbled: “I wanna fly jets.”

No doubt they’ll play Top Gun 2 with a straight bat, but Cruise isn’t shy about sending himself up, so

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why don’t they make it a spoof of the original instead?

There are some great lines just waiting to happen.

“I feel the need...for another pie.”

Iceman “I see some real genius in your flying, Maverick. But do you still fancy me thirty years down the line?”

McGillis Let’s hope it lives up to the hype.

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The only alcohol The Edge ever buys from Aldi is Sombrero Tequila beer (5.9%) at £3.49 for 3 x 33cl bottles, simply because it’s cheaper than buying Desperados by about 37p per bottle (trust me, I’ve worked it out) and to my mind tastes pretty similar.

Despite my reticence, Aldi has recently been voted best place in the UK to buy beer, wines and spirits, beating shortlisted upmarket rivals Waitrose into the runners-up spot.

Aldi has also been named Multiple Wine Retailer of the Year, but TBH The Edge has never found a wine in Aldi that it particularly agrees with - despite what you say, Faith! - so perhaps it’s just been unlucky? (Until stocks ran out, I was recently enjoying Asda’s Banrock Station Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon-Shiraz (14%) for just £4.50 per bottle, so long as you buy two, although I generally grab 6 at a time, just to be on the safe side.)

Meanwhile, an Aldi spokesman says: “Blah, blah, blah...our team work incredibly hard to ensure that each of our products blah, blah, blah...is of excellent quality and is sold at the best possible price blah, blah, blah...to earn a place on our shelves.”

In ‘Edge Towers’ back garden we get our fair share of Robins, Blue Tits (or are they Green Tits, or possibly even Coal Tits? One thing’s for sure, they’re definitely Tits of some description), Starlings, Sparrows, Blackbirds, Magpies, Pigeons and, every now and then, possibly a red faced Goldfinch.

But the very day after I’d mentioned to Edge missus that I wished we could attract even more variety, I spotted a bird the likes of which I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, in the car-park opposite Mack down Wharf Road, of all places.

It was just after 06:00am in the morning and I don’t know what it was, but it had yellow all down the middle of its back and I reckon it was between the size of a blackbird and a crow.

Speaking of crows, I don’t like ’em, but I reckon the only time we attracted one to ‘Edge Towers’ was when I’d cut up a load of cooked skin off a Kelly Bronze turkey and I chucked it all out onto lawn.

It seemed to attract the usual crowd for starters, but then this BGC (bloody great crow) swooped down - a proper big bugger it was - and crammed loads of pieces into it’s beak before taking off again like a fully loaded Boeing 747.

After a while, it made a return visit.

Now why - not that we want to attract crows - is that the only time we’ve ever seen a BGC in our back garden?

That’s the question to all you twitchers out there?

Is it something along the lines of, “Why don’t you simply stick to acting, love?”

Because she certainly does like to stick her oar in, doesn’t she? Particularly when it comes to food.

Recently, Gwyneth published a survival guide to Fast Food on her website Goop.com detailing the healthiest options available for those times when we simply cannot resist a take-away.

Only then she quickly goes on to say that we should choose a fruit salad, as opposed to a blueberry muffin or a chocolate brownie, if we ever find ourselves drawn to Starbucks.

“No, no, no, bloody noooo, Gwynnie!” If a person’s got something bad on their brain, since when is fruit ever going to fit the bill/stomach?

Come on, gel, you need to get real here.

Only she cannot take a hint and goes on to insist that we should use Subway as though it were a salad bar.

Which is patently why a lot of us folks think Gwyneth is a bit, you know, loopie la-la... simply because she patently cannot get what it’s like to be us, as opposed to being her.

Do us all a favour and have a day off, will you.

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One in particular that will always stand out from the crowd is The Lion Inn at Boreham. This place remains as consistent as ever, producing some of the most delicious ‘pub grub’ around

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There’s many things your editor doesn’t know about local Bang & Olufsen supremo Darren Maynard, but I was both saddened, shocked and dismayed to learn that he is a bit of an arrows fan on the QT (cough/splutter).

the O2, I was in that virtual waiting room before you could bellow 180.”

Honestly, readers, darts is the last thing I’d have had Maynard down as (secretly) watching.

board and still be standing without swaying. Oh, and not to mention their obligatory stomachs hidden beneath their untucked shirts. Whereas in reality, it really was all quite different.

“The age range of those who follow darts is vast. There was a great mix of both men and women at the O2 and the atmosphere was absolutely electric. (You are surely pulling our plonkers, right?) Okay, so one did feel so much more in the mix if one sat there with a four pint pitcher of lager to oneself, but everybody there had a single goal, and that was to have a top night out cheering on their favourite player.

(Like a load of buffoons.)

“It all started three years ago,” confesses Maynard, with a distinct air of embarrassment about him, as though confessing to having a bit of a Martini problem. “I was sitting in a bar in Spain during the family two weeker in the summer hols. I seem to recall it had been yet another gloriously sunny day and we’d yet again spent the vast majority of it sitting around, doing the sweet square route of sod all, and I’d been desperate to get out and have a bit of dinner.

We stumbled (not literally, it was still relatively early) across an English bar in Villamartin called 'The Tavern'. And it was there, sipping a pint of golden San Miguel, that me and the missus found ourselves being drawn into the sordid world of darts via a particularly large TV screen (not B&O standard, but adequate).

“So to any of you reading this that fancies a superb night out, with a great atmosphere in a room full of people (all with their shirts hanging over their bellies) who’re all there simply to have a brilliant time together, I thoroughly recommend to you the game of darts.”

Dear god...

“Not being sporty types, and never usually being the type of couple who watch sport of any kind on TV together, it came as a total surprise when we found ourselves back in ‘The Tavern’ on the next three consecutive nights watching 'Mighty Michael’ Van Gerwen, Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor and ‘The Flying Scotsman’ Gary Anderson.”

Editor’s note: ‘Mighty bloody Michael’ my arse!

“So when it was recently made apparent to me about the possibility of getting a couple of tickets to see the Premier League Finals in May at E4

“Some of you might be forgiven for thinking that the spectators of such a sport (A sport? Surely not, lad?) would all be morbidly obese, at least 50 years old and generally be able to sink 12 pints of Stella before a single dart has hit the £199

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T

he wife & I have been visiting South Goa for many years now, writes David Lewis of David Lewis Mortgage Services in Moulsham Street, Chelmsford. The weather October to March is just fabulous. It does not rain. Temperatures are 30 degrees plus. All in all, it is the perfect winter holiday destination.

Eating Out

Getting There

Most shacks are constructed from railway sleepers and corrugated iron and are covered with brightly coloured material. They are taken down every year before May/June when the monsoon season starts. For a special occasion, the shack owner will take you to the local market to purchase some serious fireworks to let off on the beach whilst you are enjoying your meal.

Imagine that at Frinton!

Most holidaymakers will take a package holiday flight direct from Gatwick - flight time 9-10 hours.

However, the more adventurous tend to arrive via Delhi after visiting the Golden Triangle of India which is Delhi, Agra and Jaipur. You may well end up in South Goa totally exhausted, but you’ll definitely have some wonderful tales to tell.

Visa You’ll need an Indian Visa prior to arrival and you have to do the application ‘on-line’. In all honesty, the website is not user friendly, so best to enlist the help of a ‘techno teenager’. Print out the ‘E-Visa’ form and then you simply queue up upon arrival to be let in. Alternatively, post your passports and printed forms to the Indian Embassy, which is more expensive, although you will avoid queuing and your Visa will be valid for 12 months, should you wish to return before it expires.

The beach shacks are undoubtedly the best places to eat and drink at as these shacks are what Goa is all about. You can honestly get an excellent meal for two with a drink or three for under £20.

One of the lovely hotels in Benaulin.

Escape from the hustle and bustle of the modern world.

The lack of traffic, or any sereious beachfront development, is an obvious attraction to many.

Local Life There are many beach seller girls who usually have a pile of colourful folded garments balanced on their heads. They will tell you stories of their arranged marriages and although they have no schooling, they are often fluent in German, Russian and English. They will haggle with you all day long for something you don’t really want costing but a couple of quid.

This guy’s job is literally to wave the spotty flag to prevent birds stealing or ‘sharting’ on your breakfast!

On Arrival After showing your passport to up to possibly 10 different officials, you are then free to collect your luggage and head for the nearest exit.

Then it’s a case of ‘WOW’ as India is a real shock to the senses. You will be hit by both colour, noise, heat, smell and chaos, in no particular order.

Take note: Indian drivers use their horns far more than ever they use their brakes. Blind bends are for overtaking on, fact. Car drivers play ‘chicken’ with their lorry driving counterparts (well, it seems to pass the time of day during a long, hot, sticky journey). Mopeds carry mum, dad and 3 children - no helmets.

There are many places to stay to suit all budgets from literally £10 a night to luxurious 5* hotels it’s best to do your research on TripAdviser.

Typical colourful Goan beachfront shacks offering outstanding value.

This lovely young lady is Preema and she could sell a fridge to an Eskimo, in English, Russian or German.

Her wedding is arranged for next year.

She has not met her husband-to-be yet.

Meanwhile, her young helper lads have just ‘done me’ for ice-creams yet again!

Return Journey Pay one of the many willing airport porters a few rupees and he will quickly whisk your cases through the scanner and immediately to the check in desk, which is an absolute bargain considering the weight of the wife’s case.

One last wistful look out of the aeroplane window and you will see the airport workers in their safety regulation flip-flops, as your pilot will be waiting for cars and mopeds with 5 people on board to cross the airport runway before you can take-off.

This is Sachin - many of the local lads are named after the famous Indian cricketer Sachin Tendulkar.

His job is simply to go around and swat mosquitoes with his electronic tennis racquet!

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I absolutely guarantee that once you have been, you will want to return again and again for the weather, crazy value-for-money, and the happy smiling faces of the Goans.

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Having thought about it, The Edge doesn’t actually think this is such a bad idea, because whatever BBQ you attend, or whichever restaurant you order a burger in, most don’t get the bread part of it right at all.

I appreciate burger connoisseurs will say it ought to sit in a nice brioche bun, but since when has white dough been tastier than brown granary - and why oh why can you seemingly never get the latter option?

It honestly drives me to distraction and I even take my own rolls to the Chelmsford Beer Festival.

The taste and consistency of the bread is of equal importance to the burger itself and lettuce is never going to cut the mustard.

So who sells the best burgers in Chelmsford?

Who? The Edge wants to know.

I read with low to moderate interest recently that we throw away 40% of the bagged salad we buy (although having said that, I sometimes buy bananas that go directly from the fruit bowl straight into our green bio bin because there’s only a right time to eat ’em so far as I’m concerned - yet the skins are good for wrapping around the base of certain trees and plants, but check out which ones before you try that).

So anyway, once you’ve opened up your purchased bag of fresh salad, you simply put it into a Tupperware (with a seal proof lid), but over the top of the salad leaves lay a damp single sheet of that really thin blue and white striped dishcloth stuff (that some scuzzers use as their main dishcloth) and hey presto, your green leaves will be kept fresher for longer.

And no, it’s not about being a tight arse yet again, all you lovely southern readers out there. It’s simply about being sensible.

D

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WE DON’T ALL STAND TOGETHER Like most of you, I have been horrified by the recent terrorist atrocities we have witnessed here in the UK. First of all, we had the Westminster Bridge attack, where 52-year-old Khalid Masood drove a car along the pavement killing 4 people and seriously injuring many others, before getting out and killing an unarmed police officer.

This was followed by the Manchester Arena bombings, where Salman Abedi detonated a shrapnel-laden homemade bomb at an Ariana Grande concert. Twenty-three people lost their lives and over 100 others were injured.

Most recently we have witnessed the attack on London Bridge, where Khuram Shazed Butt, Rachid Redoune and Youssef Zagbha drove a van into pedestrians at 50mph on London Bridge, before launching a savage rampage stabbing and slashing innocent victims with 12 inch blades. They killed 8 and injured 48 others

The reluctance on the part of the British government and authorities to take any meaningful action to combat Islamic extremism is breeding a deep undercurrent of discontent and dissatisfaction. People are no longer happy that, according to The Times, there are 23,000 potential jihadists walking our streets, three thousand of whom need to be continuously monitored, especially when you consider that Khuram Shazed Butt slipped the security net despite appearing on a Channel 4 documentary promoting extremist views. I hope a solution to this situation can be found, and quickly, because I fear further attacks will lead to extreme right-wing thinkers taking matters into their own hands, which will only lead to further discontent and further division of our country.

COALITION OF CHAOS So there we have it. Theresa May has royally shot herself in the foot by underestimating the disdain the voting British public have towards our politicians. In an act of absolute selfindulgent madness, the PM called a snap election, hoping that she would increase the Conservatives majority over the Labour party and bask in the glory of a quasi self-coronation, before trotting off to Europe to thrash out a Brexit deal. Sadly, like most things political these days, things did-

n’t go according to plan and the Conservatives actually ended up losing seats and are in the process of setting up an awkward coalition with the DUP. Given her catastrophic failure, it is likely her days are numbered.

So the question is, who will take her place?

My money is on Boris saving the day, riding in on one of his bicycles, no doubt in his underpants, and telling Germany when they can stick their Schengen. I know it sounds crazy, but surely he is a better option that Jeremy ‘boob slapper’ Corbyn?

THREE GIRLS Did any of you see the excellent BBC drama Three Girls last month? It told the heart-breaking story of three of the vulnerable young girls who were groomed, sexually abused and trafficked by British Pakistani men in Rochdale, and of the failure of the authorities to do anything about it.

Billy Hinken Thankfully, following an investigation

by Louise Casey, the entire Rotherham Council cabinet resigned and in March 2015, Greater Manchester Police apologised for its failure to investigate the child sexual exploitation allegations more thoroughly between 2008 and 2010.

I was absolutely gripped by the storyline and truly saddened that such horrific crimes could be committed so blatantly in our towns and cities and yet still go relatively unnoticed, simply because people did not want to appear racist.

Sadly, this will do very little for the victims of these grooming gangs, especially when you consider that a number of the perpetrators of these crimes have never faced justice.

In an article by Adam White in The Telegraph, he said that there was a “pervasive culture of sexism and bullying” within Rotherham Council and that whistle-blowers were “suppressed and any mention of ethnicity ignored”.

The only hope is that the ongoing inquiry into the systemic failures will ultimately lead to more convictions.

E

LI

UA L I T NQ Y

F O OD

THE ANCHOR RIVERSIDE

O

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After each of these horrific attacks we were subjected to the same old, tired rhetoric from our MP's, along the lines of ‘we will not be defeated by terrorism, good will prevail and that we all stand together’. Sadly, this is no longer the case, as ordinary people are starting to realise that lighting

candles, giving free hugs and going to benefit concerts is no match for knives and explosives.

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2017 TIO

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ONLY JOKING! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM

I’ve just read a book called ‘How to offer Constructive Criticism’.

It was absolute shite.

FAKING IT I woke up this morning and said to my wife, "Wow! That was amazing last night. Were you faking it?"

She said, "No. I really was asleep."

REDNECKS Two rednecks from Alabama were sitting beside each another chewing stems of grass one afternoon, looking out over a lake.

After a while, one said to the other, "If ah wuz to sneak over to your trailer this Sat’day afternoon and make hay with your wife while you wuz out huntin' an' she fell pregnant, would that make us kin?"

The other scratched his head and replied, "Dunno ’bout that, but it'd sure make us even."

CONSUMER RESEARCH Two women with clipboards knocked on my front door and asked me what bread I ate.

When I said white, they gave me a 30 minute lecture on the benefits of a brown bread diet.

I think they were Hovis Witnesses.

RIVER WALK A blonde was out for a walk. She came to a river and spotted another blonde on the opposite bank. So she shouted, “Yoo-hoo!” How can I get across to the other side?” The second blonde looks up the river, and then looks down the river, before shouting back, “But you are on the other side.”

STRAY GOLF BALL A man and his wife were out on the golf course.

They've just played the first hole and are walking to the second tee when his wife is hit on the head by a stray golf ball and is knocked unconscious. The husband panics and rushes into the clubhouse shouting, "Is there a doctor in the

house? My wife's been knocked unconscious by a golf ball."

A chap at the bar pipes up, "I'm a doctor. Where has she been hit?"

The husband says, "In between the first and second holes."

"Blimey," says the doctor, "There won't be much room for a plaster."

THE BIRDS & THE BEES A little boy asks his father how he was born.

His father answers, “Well, son, I guess one day you’ll need to find out, so I suppose it might as well be now.

“Your mum and I first got together in a chat room on Yahoo. Then I set up a date via e-mail with her and we met at a cyber-cafe where we sneaked into a secluded room and Googled each other. And it was there that your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive.

“As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later, a little Pop-Up appeared that said: 'You've got male’.”

SPEEDING TICKET A police officer stops a blonde for speeding and asks her very nicely if he could see her driver’s license. She replied in a huff, “I wish you guys would get your act together. Just the other day you take my license away, only now you expect me to show it to you. You’re crazy.”

ROLEX & TIMEX A girl was visiting her blonde friend, who had recently acquired two new dogs. She asked for their names. The blonde replied that one was called Rolex and the other was called Timex.

Her friend said, “Whoever heard of someone naming their dogs like that?”

“HELLLOOOOOOO.......” said her blonde friend.

“They're watch dogs.”

CIRCUS CHILD A husband and wife who worked for the circus went to an adoption agency.

Social workers there raised doubts about their suitability as parents.

The couple produced photographs of their 45ft motor home, which was clean, well maintained and equipped with a beautiful bedroom for the child.

The social workers raised concerns about the education a child would receive while in the couple's care.

"We've arranged for a full-time tutor who will teach the child all of the usual subjects, along with French, Mandarin and computer skills," they said.

The social workers expressed concern about a child being raised in a circus environment.

"Our nanny is a certified expert in paediatric care, welfare and diet,” the couple insisted. “In addition, there are sixteen other children who travel full-time with their circus parents."

The social workers were finally satisfied.

They asked, "What age of child are you ideally hoping to adopt?"

"We’re flexible,” they said. “Just so long as it fits into a cannon."

BRILLIANT BUSINESSWOMAN A New York attorney representing a wealthy art collector called his client.

"I have some good news and some bad news."

The art collector replied, "I've had an awful day.

Give me the good news first."

The lawyer said, "Well, I met with your wife

today, and she informed me that she’s just invested $5,000 in two pictures that she thinks will bring in a minimum of $15 million to $20 million, and I think she might be right."

The art collector replied enthusiastically, "Oh well done her! My wife is such a brilliant businesswoman. You've made my day. Okay, so what’s the bad news?

The lawyer replied, "The pictures are of you and your secretary."

FULL ENGLISH A husband arrives home in the early hours, steaming drunk.

In the morning, his wife gets busy rustling him up a wonderful English breakfast, with bacon, sausages, two fried eggs, the works. Only there’s a sock lying over the top of it, covered in baked beans.

“What’s that?” he moans.

“Well,” says his wife, “when you staggered in blind drunk last night, you were insistent that I cook your sock.”

TELL A TALE Tell a man something and it goes in one ear and straight out the other.

Tell a woman something and it goes in both ears and straight out of her mouth.

FAITHFUL My mum always used to say to me, “Make sure you always go for the ugly girls, son. That way you know they’ll always remain faithful.”

Clearly she’s never see The Jeremy Kyle Show.

DELIVEROO I went for a job interview at Deliveroo today.

I got lost on the way there, so I was over an hour late. I also hadn’t bothered to wash or change my shirt from the night before, which had smelly armpits and pizza stains down the front.

By the time I eventually arrived, they were so impressed they offered me the job of Senior Delivery Manager for the whole of the South East.

MILKMAN I’m not saying my wife is ugly, but the milkman flirts with me.

AEROPLANE CRASH A new £1m study has found that, in the event of an aeroplane crash, the rear seats are the safest ones to be sat in.

Why on earth did they bother to spend all that money?

The bloody pilot’s hardly going to reverse into the top of a mountain, is he?

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

The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:19 Page 23

It all looks a touch like “Fire up the Quattro” (Ashes to Ashes), doesn’t it?

But if you’ve missed this brand new BBC2 sixparter, then make sure you get it on iPlayer as it is absolutely....erm?

Created by half of the team behind the excellent Inbetweeners (Damon Beesley, minus his writing partner Iain Morris) and also starring two of its cast members, James Buckley and Joe Thomas, White Gold is a series about the days of flash in early eighties Essex when the commodity in question was uPVC windows.

Led by charismatic, smarmy, bullshitting, hot-shot double-glazing salesman Vincent Swan (Ed Westwick, above-centre), this is a tale of dog-eatdog in the murky world of naff replacement window salesmen, their shiny suits, and all of their sordid tricks to secure a deal on the night.

Yep, the quicker you can climb the social strata and get out of Basildon, the better.

But there’s initially only six half-hour episodes, readers, so do make the most of them.

Inevitably, there are bound to be Inbetweeners comparisons. But frankly, how can there not be?

So just give Beesley a break, because Vincent Swan is a truly great character and Ed Westwick (whose father was a double-glazing salesman) has been superbly cast.

The dodgy shenanigans and petty rivalries are truly cringworthy to observe and it makes you pine for the era of loadsamoney when everything

seemed ripe for the plucking.

What’s more, the characters operate with a swaggering ignorance and indifference.

“One of the most attractive things about that particular decade is that there really wasn’t that much guilt,” says Joe Thomas (who The Edge has incidentally met at The Wheatsheaf in Writtle, I’ll have you know). “Political correctness levels were also somewhat refreshingly at rock bottom.”

Westwick says, “My eldest brother used to sell timeshare in the eighties. He’s 18 years older than me and he used to tell me such crazy stories. So I approached the character of Vincent Swan with a condescending tone as though I was gently mouthing profanities at people.”

He’s not wrong there. Five minutes in and your editor absolutely hated Vincent. Yet by the end of the first episode, he’d somehow metamorphosed into the best thing since garlic bread.

The Edge already knows what it’s going to do. It’s going to watch White Gold (sublime title) every week, before it watches all 6 episodes on the spin, one after the other, with pizza and beer.

Because when all’s said and done, no, it’s not as good as The Inbetweeners. But hey, was Extras or Derek anywhere near as good as The Office?

Of course they weren’t.

But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy what is served up in front of us and the good bits in White Gold really are good bits.

But will it get another series?

Regular Edge reader Kevin Jenkins of Galleywood sent in this email (below), readers, which fairly tickled your editor:“When I collected my 7 year old son from school the other afternoon he was holding a potato.

“What have you got there, son?” I asked him.

He said, “Diego Costa.”

And that’s it.

Doesn’t take much to impress me, does it?

But like I say, it definitely appeals and I can certainly see where the footie mad youngster is coming from, what with Diego’s pitted skin and dour ‘the world is against me’ complexion.

So more potato characters, if you please.

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The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:19 Page 24

Okay, so Chelsea were hardly a surprise like Leicester were a completely outrageous, blow-your-socks-off, mind-blowing surprise in the 2015-16 season, but they were still a surprise package of sorts.

Back in the summer of ’16, after yet another disastrous Euro campaign and before a ball had even been kicked (including in the Charity Shield curtain-raiser), six Edge footballing pundits each scratched their heads and set about predicting where all 20 Premiership teams would finish after all 38 league games had been completed....and not one of us chose Chelsea for the title.

In fact, I’m not sure what he’s been on (some Polish home-brew concoction or other, no doubt), but Zagger’s Jan Attrell even had Antonio Conte to be the first manager of the season to be sacked.

What’s more, only ardent Spurs fan and Edge columnist Steve Ward had Harry Kane to win the golden boot, whereas four pundits opted for City’s Sergio Aguero, whilst I, no doubt trying to be clever, went for West Ham’s Andre Ayew, and look where that got me. Yep, nil pwa.

Billy Hinken, Wardo, Lengthy-Boy and myself all had City to be champions, no doubt largely due to the fact that they’ve got bundles of wonga to spend these days and now have a true ‘champion manager’ in the form of Pepi Granola-Bar. But we were wrong, weren’t we. As were former columnist Citizen and Polish Jan who both figured Jose would pip City to the title.

What’s more, only Wardo (an ardent Spurs fan, lest we forget) had his club to finish runners-up, whilst only The Length placed Chelsea to finish as high as second, and he’s an ardent F1 fan

who professes to know nowt about footie.

So it just goes to show that although it often appears likely which teams will form a ‘top six’, it’s still no easy task trying to figure out who’ll finish where, particularly before any new season kicks-off and everyone’s trying to find their feet after a close-season.

We all clearly knew Leicester wouldn’t repeat their amazing feat, but only Billy-Boy had them as low as 10th (they actually finished 12th).

The last time Arsenal finished outside the ‘top 4’ (and a guaranteed European league place) was in the 1995-96 season, yet only Wardo predicted them to fail last season. (Once again, do you think that has anything to do with him being an ardent Spurs fan, or was that yet another masterstroke on his part - Gooners to finish 5th?)

You could argue that little Bournemouth, finishing ninth, marked them out as the team of the season. Yet again, only Wardo predicted them to finish anywhere near such a lofty perch, with his eleventh place foresight earning him 3 pwa.

It’s probably no surprise that 4 of us had Hull City to finish bottom, whilst the other 2 had them to finish one place off the bottom, yet none of us could get it spot on (The Tigers finished 18th

EROTIC

and were duly relegated accordingly).

Hindsight may be a wonderful thing, but only Wardo and I had Sunderland or Middlesborough to go down. In fact, both Jan and The Length had The Black Cats to finish as high as 13th (thirteenth?) whilst I had ’Boro to finish 10th, Billy 12th, Citizen 13th and both The Length and Jan guessed 14th (’ere, were you two lads copying each other?).

The way the scoring worked was like this: 5 points for a direct hit, 4pts if you were one place out, 3pts for 2 places out (etc), and the same where the first manager to be sacked and the top Premiership goalscorer was concerned.

Final Placings Wardo Billy-Boy Edge Editor Jan Attrell Lengthy-Boy Citizen

65pts 48pts 48pts 47pts 45pts 39pts

Your editor has already started thinking about next season - sad, but true - and whether it will favour Arsenal just a teeny-weeny bit (them not being involved in the Champions League, thus having fresher legs for their league games)?

Can Brighton and Huddersfield avoid the drop, as I feel reasonably confident that Newcastle will under their ‘Fat Spanish Waiter’? And will Reading’s unfortunate manager and former Manchester United defensive rock Jaap Stam find himself managing in the Premiership after all, given the rate at which managers get the old heave-ho these days?

Roll on Saturday 12th August....I can’t wait!

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Page 24

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Saturday 10th April 1971.

21,922 spectators flock to Leeds Road, home of Huddersfield Town, to see them beat Manchester City 1-0 in a league game with a solitary goal from Trevor Cherry, who went on to play for Leeds United and England.

If a 9-year-old later-to-be Edge Editor hadn’t been in the crowd, cheering them on, the attendance would have only been 21,921 (for sure).

So you see, readers, Huddersfield Town regaining their top flight status after a period of 45 years actually means something to your editor, for Huddersfield were my Grandma & Grandad’s home town club, and that match against Manchester City was the very first top flight football match I’d ever been present at in my young life.

The season prior (1969-70), when Chelsea famously beat Leeds United 2-1 in a replayed F.A.Cup Final at Old Trafford, Huddersfield won the Second Division Championship by 7 clear points from runners-up, and also duly promoted, Blackpool (there were no second-chance play-offs in those days, it was all sorted out on merit).

In there first season back in the big time, after a 14 year absence, The Terriers managed to finish 15th, nine points clear of a relegation position (Blackpool, incidentally, finished bottom). But the following season (1971-72), when Brian Clough’s Derby County piped Leeds United, Liverpool and Manchester City to the title by just one point, Huddersfield finished rock bottom and not since then have they even been close to making a return.

Until now. Amazing stuff.

The Edge 01245 348256

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like to think of ourselves as the great power’s special buddy - a nation punching above its weight and recognised as such by the super-power that is the US. “Gotta have some of your attention, give it to me”.

Well, sorry people, but that’s all delusional horseshit. The vast majority of Americans couldn’t point to the UK on a map. They don’t know who our Prime Minister is. They have no idea about our politics and culture.

Chrissie Hynde and The Pretenders, for those of you searching the memory banks as to where those lyrics originated. Incidentally, and completely irrelevantly, before we get to the meat of the subject, as it were, it’s a matter of some sadness here that the leather clad and completely credible uber rock chick from the 80s is now a tree hugging, animal rights, vegan. Oh how are our heroes diminished.

Anyway, in the light of yet another UK election, you know, the ones that seem to come along on an annual basis (probably because they do come along on an annual basis) UK voters have rejected strong and stable in preference for a coalition of chaos. But it is not quite the same coalition of chaos Supreme Leader May continually spouted about, parrot fashion, prior to the vote, is it?

You’d have thought that with all these elections we’d be getting the hang of it by now. Instead of that, with each trip to the polling station, we continue to pile debacle upon fiasco. And each new surprise result leaves the rest of the world wondering what on earth is going on in the UK.

In fact, the only thing that might faintly ring a bell in the average Joe’s head is that we have a royal family. They might get as far as saying that that Kate woman is OK and her kids are cute, but the husband is a bit odd. It doesn’t extend far beyond that though. Prince Charles? Who? dumb thing.

So both countries seem not to know their arse from their elbows at the moment - perhaps we make ideal bedfellows? Maybe the fabled ‘Special Relationship’ is at work here? It’s so special the two countries mirror each others’ chaos.

That phrase - Special Relationship - was originally coined in the aftermath of World War II by Winston Churchill. It was intended to put into words the gratitude the UK owed the US for the latter’s late, but vital, entry into the war.

Without US intervention, and Japan played its part in making that happen, the official language of Chelmsford would now be German. That sentence is going to upset the British Bulldog Brexit people, but it is an undeniable fact that without the might of the US we would not have won the last world war. Or the first, come to that. Size does matter.

Oh, and there is one other thing that sometimes gets recognised as being British - Downton Abbey.

So, let’s put this in perspective. To the average American, and remember there are nearly as many people here called Juan Ramirez as there are John Smith, the UK has no historical ties to the USA, but they like the way we live in big houses and have butlers to serve when the royals come to visit.

This special relationship is entirely one way. Witness Treesa holding the Orangeman’s hand (something even his wife won’t do) when she prostrated herself before him, selling the UK’s soul, and her own, just so that we can have one friend in the world. And which part of ‘America first’ do you think she reckoned applies to the UK?

Having derided politics in the UK for being the shambles it is, in the interest of balance and fairness, it is incumbent on this California based column to take a look at what’s happening over here in the Land of the Free. It won’t take long. Yes, it’s just as crazy. A deeply divided country, a Trump has now upset every country not run by a dictator. It Congress that makes no pretence of being anything other doesn’t reflect well on us that our politicians continue to cosy up. What’s that about being known by the friends you than completely split upon party lines, and a president, The expression has since been referenced by various keep? well, what a president. A bullying, lying, self-obsessed, politicians on both sides of the Atlantic whenever it suited ignoramus, manchild. And those are his good qualities. them, but there has rarely been much solid evidence of it Special Relationship? Don’t think so.

He’s a real life, but very dangerous, David Brent. Someone in action. In truth, it’s used 90% of the time by Brits. We who thinks he’s oh so smart, but is actually dumb as a You can contact Wardo at steveward2000@hotmail.com

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Page 25

The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:27 Page 26

PART-TIMER You may recall a couple of months back that I was going to talk to the company I work for to discuss the possibility of changing my contract to reduce my working hours and drop down to 4 days a week. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d have an update for you this quickly, and nor did I think I’d be reporting such good news. But I’m happy to say that I was more than pleasantly surprised with the outcome.

I drafted an email explaining what I wanted to change, and why, as well as offering different ideas as to how this could be accomplished without impacting on my department (or my wages) too much, and sent it off to my manager and the head of IT. Then I just sat back and waited, not expecting to hear anything much for a while.

So I was surprised and more than a little nervous when my boss asked to speak to me the very next day. It had been less than 24 hours since I had put in my request, so surely the only possible answer they could have come up with was “no”? But, as it turned out, it wasn’t. They’d spoken about it the afternoon before and come up with a plan they wanted to run by me straight away, and while I’m obviously biased, I have to say I think it’s a very good plan.

As a department we’re very stretched as the company has expanded a great deal since I joined, but our staff count in IT hasn’t. Consequently, my usual day ranges from very busy to ‘Jesus wept, how on earth am I supposed to get all this done?’ My boss said he knows I’m working at 120% most of the time and that I can’t be expected to keep that up, and while it

ME & MY adamantium skeleton

The Kingmeister reports I agreed. I was more than happy with their plan, but then they surprised me by telling me that if I waited until November they’d get me a pay-rise to offset the money I’d lose by dropping a day. And, to top it all, they finished by saying that as November was a few months away, I could now work from home every Friday.

To say I was pleased is an understatement. So I’ve been working at home on Fridays for about 6 weeks now and it has already made a huge difference to our home life. I can now get a few bits done at home while still keeping on top of my work, which saves me time at the weekends, and

MEANWHILE ...IN THE US-OF-A Because, of course, it would be in America, wouldn’t it? Where our wonderfully barmy colonial cousins have added yet another chapter to their ‘Let’s do really doolally stuff and pretend it’s a normal work in progress’. Not content with electing Trump and resting on their laurels for a while, some Americans are now trying a new way to combat the horrors of old-age, by having the blood of young people injected into their veins.

No, that’s not the basis for a new

“Hi, Grandad!”

This is how smug I look at work these days.

was nice that he recognised how much graft I’ve been managing to keep on top of, the fact that we were so busy was probably going to be the biggest roadblock to me dropping a day.

He told me he completely understood why I wanted more time outside of work and that both he and the head of IT said they’d love to do it themselves. So while they’re happy for me to go down to 4 days a week, they said there’s no way we can do it at the moment, due to our high workload. However, they’ve already put plans in motion to recruit two new members of staff, one of whom will be taking some of the day-to-day stuff off my hands, which will leave me with more time to work on projects and take some of the pressure off me, which is very welcome news.

Unfortunately, this can’t happen until October/November when we get our new budgets, so they asked if I was okay to wait until then, and of course

Page 26

known as parabiosis and has been studied on mice with conflicting and inconclusive results. Several other ‘clinical trials’ of parabiosis for humans are also underway across the world, and while some of the anecdotal evidence is encouraging, it must be remembered that at this stage it’s anecdotal rather than empirical.

As an aside, I recently got into a debate at a BBQ about mediums and told the man arguing for it that I’d believe it once empirical evidence had been found, to which he angrily replied: “Well I just told you what happened to me!” as though the word of a bloke I’d only just met who was on his sixth glass of Pimms constituted laboratory conditions.

I’m sure I’m not alone in finding this latest weapon in the fight against ageing to be more than a little distasteful. Do we really find the prospect of old-age that repugnant and death that frightening that we’re happy to start injecting ourselves with the blood of the young?

Putting aside the obvious parallels with Dracula and Elizabeth Bathory, it’s a pretty disgusting practice.

The really scary thing will be if it actually turns out to be true and a regular ingestion of teenage blood does keep us young. If it works, do you think some people would be okay with cutting out the middle-man and opening up someone else’s veins for a quick slurp?

I can’t see a generation of bloodsucking pensioners living even longer and having more time to dither in the shops and drive at 30mph in a 60mph zone turning out well for anybody, although to hear

I can also do things like taking a late lunch in order to pick the kids up from school. Best of all, I’m not ending the week totally knackered and wanting to fall into bed by 10pm on a Friday night.

I’m gobsmacked at how good my company have been about all this and I’m very lucky to have found a job there as they genuinely seem to want to keep their staff happy and look after us all. I think it’s had a positive effect for them as well, as I really want to work hard a do a good job for. (Naturally not that I didn’t want to before, I might add!)

I have to say, I didn’t think the private sector would be so accommodating.

It’s funny, and not a little bit sad, that the public sector is often touted as being the caring employer, while the private sector is known for being a lot more cutthroat. Yet the private sector has done more for me in 16 months than the public sector ever did in 16 years.

Eli Roth film (at least, not yet). It’s a newly available treatment that literally entails taking plasma (blood with the blood cells removed) from the under 25’s and using it for regular transfusions in an effort to stay young. And if you think that’s even slightly creepy, then well done, you’re relatively normal.

The company offering this treatment, named ‘Ambrosia’ after the mythical food of the Gods (as opposed to rice pudding), will pump you full of teenybopper blood for the bargain price of $8,000 dollars, but maintain the treatments are to study the effects of ingesting young plasma, rather than about making money.

Of course they are. It’s not like the beauty industry, which this treatment is a lunatic but perhaps inevitable extension of, is making a lot of money from people trying to stay young, is it?

In science-speak, the process is

some people talk, we’re there already.

SPA DAYS Just got back from a weekend at a health spa which my girlfriend kindly arranged so we could have some much-needed downtime together.

I’d usually be the first person to take the rise out of places like that, but after an initial period of feeling a bit of chump in my bathrobe, I have to say that I honestly loved every minute of it.

As well as the fantastic Chateau Briand I scoffed, we had a weekend of swimming, menthol steam rooms, plunge pools, scented ‘experience’ showers and hydrotherapy massages...and I feel great.

Consider The Kingpin a health spa convert from now on!

thekingpin@hotmail.co.uk The Edge 01245 348256

The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:38 Page 27

As you can see, The Edge has been pretty much back to normal (if you can ever call this publication normal) these past couple months, after what can only be described at the ‘Thailand Special’ that was the May 2017 editions.

To be perfectly frank with you though, I’d far rather be telling you about somewhere else I’ve visited every single month, although unfortunately, I don’t lead the Life of Riley that many of you seem to imagine I do.

If I had my way, I’d sod off somewhere for a week every single month of the year, for the simple reason that it’s usually better than everyday life right ’ere in Chelmsford.

Oh Chelmsford’s improved beyond recognition, I’m not denying that. But it’s still the place we call home and what we’re all hashtag used to, isn’t it?

Whereas I like experiencing stuff that I’m not so used to and I honestly don’t see the crime in that.

So if any of you readers have just come back from your ’olidays and you feel as though you’ve a tale or two to tell, then simply email The Edge some words and pics, because you simply never know what you’ll find in the very next edition, do you? shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

Early one Thursday evening the other month, me and Mrs Edge met my parents in a restaurant at a place called Godmanchester, near Cambridge, as it’s roughly half-way between our two abodes. The journey normally takes us about an-hour-and-ten-minutes Coming back though, what a frickin’ nightmare. The A14 was closed southbound and the diverted traffic signs weren’t offering us a surmountable way around the problem at all. So we blindly started heading eastwards on the A1123 with the SatNav most unhelpfully repeating itself with: Do a U-turn.

What bloody use is that?

Fortunately I had a map in the boot of the car, so we figured out a route and tried to rejoin the A14 at a place called Girton.

But bastard, the road works still wouldn’t let us.

So I managed to catch a local bloke filling his car with petrol and explained to him our plight. Fortunately he was able to direct us back up the A14 a little ways, then on a westward loop in order to get us onto the M11 just south of Cambridge, which eventually worked.

In total, it took us over an hour on top of what it should have taken us to get back home to Chelmsford and I was absolutely seething about it. (a) How can you block a major road off and not offer meaningful diversion signs? (b) What use is a SatNav in such situations, when all they tell you to do is go back the way you’ve just come? (c) How are you supposed to cut down on your midweek drinking in situations such as this, because the first thing I did when we eventually got home at night at 11:30pm was to open a bottle of wine to help me unwind.

It’s taken me 38 years to own a car with a factory fitted SatNav installed and I honestly can’t say as though I’m impressed. If it works off a satellite, why didn’t it bloody well know that a major road had been shut down?

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The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:45 Page 28

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And you probably thought Chelmsford was bad these days?

But you ain’t seen nothing ’til you’ve had a Saturday night out in the infamous Bigg Market area of Newcastle.

It is reputed to be one of the party capitals of Europe and there’s even a bar called Filthy’s in Grainger Street selling a selection of Jam Jar cocktails for a fiver and they always play very loud music.

Says one local lass: “The Bigg Market is getting worse. There is always trouble and it isn’t very up-market. The Quayside is much better. All around the country people slag off Geordie girls and I think The Bigg Market is the main reason for that.�

While a local lad says: “It’s a horrible, dirty, urine soaked place that’s nicknamed The Meat Market?�

Check out the woman on her hands and knees.

“’Ere, ’Chelle, does my arse look big in this dress?�

NEW BORN BABY STARTS WALKING A new born baby in Brazil has been compared to Stewie from Family Guy after she started walking just minutes after she was born.

Nurses were trying to bathe her when she had other ideas and started to walk on her own.

Normally babies don’t start walking until they around 12 months old.

One of the nurses exclaimed in Portuguese: “Oh good garden fruit, the girl is walking!�...or words to that effect.

However, immediately being able to walk seems to be a not too uncommon trait in new born babies.

Meanwhile, a spokesperson for the NTDA (National Tyre Distributors Association) said: “In my humble opinion, you cannot beat a Michelin Pilot Sport 4 if you’re looking for the best traction in a variety of conditions.�

So there you have it, readers.

Stewie from Family Guy Page 28

The Edge 01245 348256

The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:39 Page 29

MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

THE UNMISSABLE OFFER At the first true sign of Autumn each year, there is a huge exercise at ‘Mottlands’, that of repacking the shed with all the stuff that has been taken out, bit by bit, over the summer period. Although the pile of stuff that then needs to go back in seems to grow and grow each year as yet more tut and rubbish is obtained and hoarded. That also means that at some stage the (un)equal and opposite action must take place, and that time was just last month.

Bit by bit, as the weather improves, different things are required and must be found. As yet, we have still not used the BBQ, so the ‘Foodwrecker 5000’ is still clogging up much needed shed space, and it was while gingerly inching past this item, in order to get the bug spray for the roses, that I was inadvertently attacked by another implement. And not just any implement, but one Mrs Mott arrived home with a couple of summers back after stopping off to fill up her car with petrol. Such an implement has remained unused since its sunny day of purchase, yet remains in the shed taking up valuable space and attacking the innocent. Why does it remain unused, you may ask? Because it is a snowscoop/shovel, that’s why. A few summers ago, Mrs M even came home from Esso with a plastic toboggan type thing, which is now stationed behind the shed. It too remains totally unused, but has a light covering of moss on it now.

So you have surely realised that we have a household weakness for petrol station bargains, often fuelled by those little adverts showcasing their most excellent offers. The airline friendly hand-luggage with wheels for just £9.99 when you spend over £50 on petrol has been used, but whether it will survive a second outing is another matter entirely.

That little advert in the handle of the petrol pump, the ad placed by the pump dials, on the train barrier, take-away carton, or over toilet urinals, is called ‘ambient’ advertising. The definition of ambient is about placing ads on unusual objects, or in unusual places where you wouldn't usually expect to find an advertisement. As a result of my new found interest, Mrs Mott is now regaled each night with the sight of ‘Read MOTCO in The Edge’ emblazoned on my chuddies. These are little traps (the ads, not my chuddies BTW) to catch the more determined ad avoiders amongst us. Even when the very floor we are walking on is tiled with the Sainsbury’s logo and we raise our eyes to the sky in disgust, we are liable to see a branded mini-airship bobbing around, promoting mad, unrepeatable and unbeatable prices of some description.

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

The statistics for this form of advertising are impressive, with food and drink brands reporting double digit percentage increases in sales as a result of such campaigns. Of course, despite EE being a fully trained and approved southerner these days, he is still, to a fair degree, ‘a prisoner of the north’ and you readers can rest assured his wallet will not stretch to Edge based ambient ads on any appliance or appendage near to his mag stands anytime soon.

A few years back, Tesco, in conjunction with that ‘King of the Beards’ and serial grimacer/smiler Lord/Sir Alan Sugar, trialed a system that scanned shoppers faces and registered their gender in order to beam targeted ads on a small screen as they pulled out the petrol pump nozzle, or were looking at a screen in the checkout queue. So you get the drift? The Mott arrives at the petrol station. Overall body scan takes place. Recognises ‘well fed’ man and immediately starts pie and crisp ads. Next is the facial scan and immediately notices tattooed on forehead in invisible ultra violet the word ‘MUG’. Thus start the ads for a handy shoulder bag for all those finicky little items, such as a vape pen to go in it, even though I don’t smoke. Scanner spots Mrs Mott in the passenger seat and immediately instructs the manager of the shop to go round the back and dig out his stock of old sledges and snow shovels to put on display, despite it being July and almost 30 degrees.

Just imagine if we still had pump attendants? They would be like everybody else in trying to upsell as at every given opportunity. “Thirty pounds worth? Of course, sir. Could I interest you in a stapler, kite, or perhaps a giraffe polishing implement, all at just £4.99 with every £20 you spend on fuel?” I am even writing this month’s column in longhand with my space-pen that writes upside down (£5.99), whilst enjoying the value giving petrol station meal deal, with optional upgrade to a 2 litre full-sugar Coke and diet book for just £2.99 extra.

Yours aye,

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The Edge 249_The Edge 172.qxd 23/06/2017 17:39 Page 30

TOTALLY TRACIE WHO WANTS TO BE A BILLIONAIRE? As the kids break up from school and the summer really gets going, it’s time to dust off the BBQ cover and annoy the hell out of the neighbours.

Whilst most of us return to the well worn BBQ of summers past and scrape the last of the cremated sausages and burgers of yesteryear away, spare a thought for those poor old ‘Billionaires’ living in and around Chelmsford who demand the most up-to-date, spotlessly clean BBQs before they will even think about putting their Wagu Wagu burgers on them. (Interesting: did you know there are more Russian Oligarchs living on the outskirts of Chelmsford than anywhere else in the country? Danbury is reported to be a positive Mecca for them). So yes, I was shocked to discover that while we have been quietly going about our business, worrying about our recycling boxes being emptied, right under our noses, the Russian Oligarchs have quietly moved in.

And while The Edge is famed for including everyone in the fun, its only fair we take a peak into the lives of the average billionaires amongst us, don’t you think?

When it comes to barbecuing, the blackened charcoaled chicken that you watch your nan suck around the burnt bits all afternoon is never going to enter the world of the average oligarch. The latest £7k BBQs on the market are (wait for it) linked to your mobile phone and adjust the temperature and tell you when your food is ready to eat. Absolutely nothing is left to chance. Seriously, is there nothing an iPhone can’t do?

And for a another mere £14k you can have a BBQ with a self-cleaning programme. Now I have to admit the self-cleaning bit does look appealing because it’s always muggins here that has to tackle ours.

In this house, the men cook al fresco once a year, whilst the women spend the next 11 months cleaning up after them. We have never turned a corner from the Stone Age. So if this tickles your fancy, John Lewis is where it’s at.

But spare a thought for the billionaire, because once he’s got his hands on his shiny new BBQ, it doesn’t stop there. The apron for cooking in clearly must be of top-

Page 30

end, designer quality. Forget Cath Kidson. We are talking Aabelard, the doyenne of aprons, at a mere £495.

Then there’s the Italian bespoke crockery and the grass-fed French organic sausages and buttery brioche. None of your Aldi buns for any self-respecting billionaire. Their ketchup is from Hotel Chocolate Cocoa Ketchup, at a mere tenner a bottle. I can honestly never show my face in Hotel Chocolate ever again, since their chocolatier held out a huge platter with only four tiny bits of chocolate on it to taste, and ‘Him Indoors’ shoved them all in his mouth.

Then there’s the monogrammed linen and crystal glasses. The list goes on and on...

So as I looked at our Bird's Eye burgers slowly defrosting in the sink, I suddenly figured the life of a billionaire must be pretty hard work.

And when ‘Him Indoors’ said he was off to get a lottery ticket, I hid his car keys. I mean, all that stress.

Who needs it?

GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIME Wedding Lists. They used to feature nothing more ambitious than a kettle and a toaster for young couples setting up home. But such items, along with crockery and bed linen, no longer dominate the typical wedding list.

The modern bride and groom now want ‘statement gifts’. They want outdoor Pizza Ovens (there we go again), Drones and Go Pro cameras for their social media.

If you are newly wed and your idea of fun is flying a drone, surely there is no hope for you? (So let’s not even go there with what those cameras with Social Media instant upload features are needed for...)

Then there are those weddings lists which feature ‘experiences’. Oh yes, the newly weds want their guests to fund their next big adventure.

“Let’s go trekking in the Himalayas.“ What do you mean: ‘Our bank account is empty?’

“So let’s get married and get our guests to fund it for us?”

So they set up an online account and guests can donate and see online what part of the journey they are funding, whilst the newly weds are encouraged to post pictures enjoying themselves when they hit a particular point of their trip.

Give me a break. Call me old fashioned, but surely a wedding is about the guests coming and having fun and celebrating the happy event with you - not supporting and enhancing ‘the lifestyle’. Where’s the love and romance in that?

The average cost of attending a wedding as a humble guest, according to American Express, is a mere £782. So just keep your fingers crossed and hope that you don't get asked to play the part of a bridesmaid or usher, because then the costs are said to double.

I've been invited to 4 weddings this year, so maybe I should rethink that lottery ticket purchase after all?

Tracie123@aol.com

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