The Edge October 2015 by webwax

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 228

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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OCTOBER 2015

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London by a Scottish collector and became the second most costly British comic after a 1937 first edition of the Dandy sold for £20,350 in 2004.

BIRD FEATHERS We all have odd things that we don’t like, and one of mine’s bird feathers on me lawn. I haven’t ‘been to see anybody’ about this strange affliction that I might have, but they creep me out, do bird feathers. Ugh, ’orrible things.

HECTOR

The Edge Editor’s Column SUB ZERO I always make sure I wear me thermals, an overcoat and a wooly hat whenever I go to Sainsburys as it is always so damn cold in there.

We’ve still got a ‘pet hedgehog’ because his ickle bowl is always empty the morning after the night before, after I’ve filled it, and he generally leaves us a couple of lines by way of thanks? “A couple of lines of what?” say you readers. Why, poo, of course. He generally leaves us a couple of lines of jet black poo on the patio so we know he’s saying ‘thank you’.

JESSE SAYS

ASDA FM Why can’t I tune into Asda FM while I’m driving around in me car? It is truly excellent and puts all mainstream stations to shame.

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DO YOU KNOW? Best question I’ve been asked this month...nay, it’s probably the best question that anyone’s ever asked me in my entire life, as it was delivered with such a deadpan and honest expression, was when Chris Windram of bake’n’grape (see restaurant review on page 12) nonchalantly said to me, “Do you know Joe Cadbury?” Now Joe is something to do with the Cadbury’s chocolate empire, so how in God’s name am I ever supposed to know him!

MANHOOD I feel a bit better about the size of my manhood after watching the great Thomas Hardy in the film Bronson. The long and short of it is that we get what we’re given and it is definitely not our fault.

SHOCK TO THE SYSTEM The clocks go back an hour this month, don’t they? And oh what a bloody shock to the system that is going to be, heralding in all those long, dark, chilly winter’s nights. It’s time to put the central heating on.

BEANO Did you read about an original copy of the first ever Beano comic selling for £17,300 recently? It was first published 77 years ago on 30th July 1938, was 28-pages big, cost 2p and only 25 copies are still known to be in existence. Makes you wonder what an original copy of issue:01 of the first ever Edge would fetch, doesn’t it, readers? First published way back in October 1996. The Beano in question was bought at a sale in

INTERESTING Interesting to read Citizen’s column this month (see page 8) and learn that no less an oracle than the Sunday Times says that Palma, the capital of Mallorca, is ‘the best place to live in the world’. Yet here we were, thinking it was most probably Chelmsford...

Please God ‘LIKE’ The Edge. Go on... facebook.com/theedgemagazine twitter.com/TheEdgeMag DO IT NOW! For Christ’s sake, LIKE The Edge, cos no bugger else does.

“This month we will mainly be celebrating 19 years of The Edge.” And Jesse’s not wrong either, folks, for issue no: 01 was published in October 1996.

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

The Edge 01245 348256

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Amazingly Simple Home Remedies That Really Really Work 1. To avoid cutting yourself whilst slicing vegetables, get someone else to hold them. 2. To avoid family arguments about replacing the toilet seat into its original position, simply iss in * the sink instead.

School Uniforms Driving the wife to work the other morning we were headed along Princes Road when we passed a whole loads of kids walking to Moulsham School (or at least The Edge thinks that’s what the school is called?). Anyway, the point is this. The girls looked nothing like they used to look (see above). They were wearing hideously long plaid skirts that were more like picnic blankets that ended well below the knee. What’s more, the skirts were pleated, which the wife says would be incredibly difficult to shorten. So what’s occurring? At a guess/push, The Edge reckons the school wants its young ladies to cease looking like strumpets (see above, again). As in, they don’t want their lasses to look like they’re auditioning for bit-parts in a St. Trinians movie. That must be why they’ve introduced the most sexless new skirts in the world and also presumably given their students a SNT (strictly no thigh) ultimatum. Although this is just The Edge guessing, so if any of you have any concrete evidence, this mag is all ears as it appears the school has taken great strides to SOS (stamp out smut).

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3. For high blood pressure sufferers, simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. (Only remember to use a timer.) 4. A mouse-trap carefully placed on top of an alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after hitting the snooze button. 5. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, as the fear of coughing will undoubtedly render your silence. 6. You only need two tools in life - WD40 and Duct Tape. If it doesn’t move and should, use the WD40. And if it shouldn’t move, but does, use the Duct Tape. 7. If you can’t fix it with a hammer, the problem is doubtless electrical. The Edge reckons that there’s sound sense to be gleaned in a lot of the above and particularly likes ‘problem solving solution number seven’. It further wishes hammers could be used to knock sense into numerous human beings who really aren’t capable of holding the positions they do, yet they are employed nonetheless. There definitely needs to be an idiot cull.

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Stephen Alexander

WHAT THIS PICTURE SAYS TO THE EDGE...

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KEEP YOUR KIDS UNDER CONTROL

Talk about disturbing the peace. I’d cycled down to Costa (opposite the all new Slug & Partridge) for a brew and a nice, quiet early morning read of the ’paper D when in walks two young mums with their unruly kids and one of ’em clearly hadn’t been potty trained (i.e. brought up properly). Talk about scream the bloody place down, yet its mum didn’t seem to care. Such people shouldn’t even be allowed into coffee houses and if it’d been The Edge’s establishment it’d damn well have insisted they all leave. What did they used to say, back in the olden (golden) days, about children being seen and not heard? These days such fond sentiments appear to have Gone for a Burton!

At our age would you rather have Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s?

ROBOT SEX OBJECTS A campaign has been launched calling for a ban on the development of robots that can be used as sex toys. “Such a use of the technology is both unnecessary and undesirable,” said Doctor Kathleen Richardson, the campaign leader. Sex dolls are already available on the market and those working in the field have very different views to the good doctor, who primarily believes that the roles such robots might play are “very disturbing indeed”. She believes that such only serves to reinforce traditional stereotypical views of women and believes it would be dangerous if a robot’s only function was a purely physical one. “People can find happiness and fulfillment other than via human interaction,” says a vet. Sex robots sell for approx. £4,500

Parkinson’s. Better to spill a bit than forget where you’ve stashed the whole bottle.

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CITIZEN FAVOURITE CITIES: PALMA DE MALLORCA

This month Citizen takes a breather from popular culture and returns to another favourite topic - travel and, in particular, city breaks. This time I’m focusing on Palma, the capital of the Balearics and one of the most charming and cosmo-

politan cities I’ve ever visited. Great weather, great bars and restaurants, terrific architecture (particularly in the old town areas) and, quite possibly, the prettiest cathedral in the world. In March of this year, The Sunday Times nominated Palma de Mallorca (to give it its full name) as the winner in its ‘Best Places to Live in the World’ series, citing its “picturesque old town, beaches within walking distance and superb climate”. Oh, and adding for good measure: “It’s such an easy place to assimilate as a Brit abroad.” The short 10 minute drive to the airport was also highlighted, whilst most handy for the people of Essex is the fact that you can fly there direct with either EasyJet or Ryanair from Southend, or via Ryanair from Stansted. Mr & Mrs Citizen have been visiting Palma regularly since 2002 - usually staying at either the Gran Melia Victoria Hotel or the neighbouring Melia Palas Atenea both accessible from the splendid Paseo Maritimo promenade, which is a dual-carriageway bordered on one side by Palma Marina and on the other by a parade of shops, bars and restaurants, as well as the famous Tito’s nightclub. The Gran Melia Victoria, a 5 star traditional olde worlde gem that oozes luxury, is where many of Spain’s football teams stay when playing RCD Mallorca - although currently this will not include Real Madrid or FC Barcelona as they both reside in the Segunda Division of La Liga, having been relegated after 16 seasons in the top flight at the end of the 2012-13 season.

There’s nothing quite like putting your feet up!

Prior to discovering and enjoying the more cultural and gastronomic pleasures of Palma, Citizen would have to confess to having visited once before, back in 1973, for a ‘lad’s holiday’ in the (now) infamous (?) Magaluf described, fairly accurately, in the guide books as “a busy resort with a popular beach with a variety of highrise hotels, numerous restaurants and British style pubs specialising in full English Breakfasts and Fish & Chips”. It is, however as rite of passage (isn’t it?). The tabloids, and indeed even the broadsheets, have vividly described the full gamut of activities that apparently feature in Magaluf nowaday, where as in 1973 it was much tamer, although at the time still consisted of a daily diet of beach/pool by day and bar/disco by night (note the term ‘disco’ as this was the 70’s!). Sadly, at the time, we hardly strayed from its charms (?) during our fortnight stay, save for two brief trips into Palma. The first of these was to meet up with some girls we’d met who said they would meet us outside Barbarellas Disco on the Paseo Maritimo. What could possibly go wrong? Apart, perhaps, from the arrival of the US Navy descending on Palma! One minute the girls were there waiting for us in the distance, while the next thing was a scene reminiscent of that dated 1949 musical ‘On The Town’ where three jolly Jack Tars - played by Frank Sinatra, Gene Kelly and that other bloke no-one can remember (Jules Munshin) - go on shore leave in their best white sailors uniforms. ‘Our girls’ were immediately swept off their feet by our American cousins - we didn’t stand a chance, while we were even stupid enough to still go into Barbarellas to

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compound our humiliation. What’s more, Citizen will swear that the band playing were the Australian rock outfit Python Lee Jackson (who once briefly featured Rod Stewart as a guest vocalist), but Wikipedia suggests they broke up just the year before in 1972. (Any PLJ buffs out there who can shed any light please write to Mr Edge the editor and he will pass your correspondence onto me!) Our other 1973 visit to Palma was an equally brief ‘sightseeing trip’ that lasted all of 2 hours in which Citizen thinks it glimpsed the cathedral in the distance. (What a waste - as Citizen discovered in 2002, upon its return, and has appreciated many times since.) Often called a ‘mini-Barcelona’, Palma is compact and easily walked round for anyone who is of average fitness, although visitors should definitely take advantage of the open-top ‘hop-on hop-off” red bus City-Sightseeing Tour, although, in truth, the only places it visits that are a bit off the beaten track are the Cruise Terminal and the splendid Castell de Bellvar that overlooks the city and is definitely a ‘must see’ attraction. The restaurant choice is amazingly good - almost the equal of Barcelona in this particular columnists view. As well as excellent Spanish eateries and the inevitable array of pizzerias and gelaterias, there are splendid Indian, Oriental and numerous other restaurants with a wide choice of ethnicity to please most food buffs. To mention just a few that Citizen has enjoyed, the Restaurante Libanés Rotana in Carrer de Sant Magi is one of the best Lebanese restaurants Citizen has ever been to, whilst the La Baranda Italian restaurant almost opposite is equally as good. There are perhaps two unique and highly original gems to be discovered in Palma - one being a bar and the other a restaurant. The bar is simply called Abaco and is easily walked past and missed as there is no ‘inn’ sign (or flashing lights!) to promote it. Abaco, in Carrer Sant Joan 1, simply has its name on the stone wall outside alongside the plain wooden double doors that fill its archway entrance. Consistently voted into lists of the ‘World’s 10 Most Unique Bars’ it is definitely not to be missed. Once inside you’ll discover a mound of fresh oranges and other fruit (think the centre fold of the Rolling Stones ‘Beggars Banquet’ album) alongside a bar that leads into a courtyard surrounded by tables, chairs and caged birds. The drinks are VERY expensive, but what the hell! You’re on your holidays, so at least have one cocktail or a G&T, just to say you’ve been there, because ‘when in Palma’ it is seriously not to be missed. (Otherwise look it up on Trip Adviser and see what you’re missing!) The other quite unique establishment is the Indian (specifically Hindu style) Restaurante Baisakhi in Av de Gabriel Roca (alongside the Paseo Maritimo). This is a bit Marmite so far as taste goes, but Citizen has had a number of interesting meals there to say the very least! There is no menu. There’s simply a set price that includes several courses, red wine and water, plus tea at the end. The food is freshly cooked after the proprietor has ‘gone to market’ to buy fresh meat and other produce. It is very uncompromising and the Marmite description is most certainly an apt one, as you will discover after a glance at the various reviews on Trip Adviser. Finally, you’ll be on more familiar territory choosing Palma’s superbly located Hard Rock Café (found, yes, you’ve guessed it, on the Paseo Maritimo). With plenty of tables on its impressive outside tiered-terrace alongside the more familiar interior, adorned with the usual rock memorabilia, it’s a very safe bet for lovers of the HRC menu of burgers, ribs and salads. So spend a day or two in Palma and you’ll understand why it was voted one of - no, actually the best - cites to live in! The Edge 01245 348256

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Bartella Family Charity Ball Around 150 people joined the Bartella family at Pontlands Park Hotel for their annual Charity Ball recently. Guests enjoyed a champagne reception and gourmet three course dinner, followed by dancing and entertainment, which included an impromptu surprise performance from the Britain’s Got Talent finalists, Old Men Grooving. The evening raised over £22,000 for the Bartella Charitable Fund, which is managed by independent charitable trust, Essex Community Foundation (ECF). Through the fund, which was set up 10 years ago, grants of over £200,000 have been awarded to local charities providing vital help and support to vulnerable children and families throughout Essex.

Hey, Old Men Grooving, readers. How about that!

Eat 2 The Beat - Saturday 12th September Moulsham Mill Field, Chelmsford. Page 10

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And another thing...

Female Jockeys Let’s face it, there’s not nearly enough female jockeys walking around Chelmsford in their lovely silky bright attire and jodhpurs to liven up the drab, dull winter months (yep, summer’s over and we’re already well into autumn, folks, which feels like winter). They could always bring/lead their horses too, and leave them outside such places as Barclays Bank, Pret a Manger and Cake on the Lake in order to give Chelmsford a real Dodge City sort of feel to it. What’s more, horse poo isn’t nearly as offensive as dog poo, and nor do horses yap and constantly seek affection. This is a genuine, heartfelt observation/plea by The Edge of a sporting improvement that could be made to our fair city, if only horsey-folk would acknowledge such and take action. Leave your 4x4’s at home, ladies, and canter into town on horseback, thus exercising yourselves, your steeds, and reducing traffic congestion and emissions.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

And while we’re on the subject of making changes to our town, The Edge wants to see far more bank managers that look like this, with the managers name (Frank N. Stein) printed on the glass door leading into his office. Or what about special Frankenstein Days at places like B&Q where all of their staff - yes, every last one of ’em have to wear Frankenstein masks for the duration of a certain day, such as Frankie Fridays. There’s also room for Lollipop attendants to wear such masks, and school teachers, and waiting staff in the likes of Jamie Oliver’s Trattoria. Hell’s teeth, there’s enough bad/sad stuff in the world, so hands up all those who want to make living life a damn site more fun?

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festive menu Things didn’t quite go according to plan when bake’n’grape first opened. Teething problems, I think they call them.

3 course from £25.50 per person 1 st – 24th December 2014

But what do you want to do? Do you want to dwell on the past, or would you rather consider what they’re offering to you right now? I’ve always loved the location, but I was never a fan of Strada, the previous occupants of number 12 Baddow Road, because it was so middle-of-theroad, and one thing you cannot accuse bake’n’grape of is being average.

For reservations call 01245 266288 www.thenewlondon.co.uk the new london restaurant and lounge 147 new London road, Chelmsford, Essex, CM2 0AA

The decor and the attention-to-detail is sublime. The place has been completely transformed from that which you may remember and is nowadays a mixture of wood, cow-hide and sumptuous leather. It’s the sort of place you walk into and immediately know it’s where you want to be. But b’n’g is not just a place to venture for the evening - they’re open from 07:00am (yes, really - and from 08:00am on a weekend) so why not pop in for the full b’n’g (streaky bacon, sausage, beans, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, choice of egg) to kick-start your day for 9 quid. Or there’s smoked salmon & scrambled eggs for £8.50 or a sausage or bacon sandwich (choice of granary or white bread) for just 4 quid. Lunchtimes range from a pulled pork sandwich with bbq sauce for 8 quid to a chicken or beef caesar salad for a tenner. Or perhaps you’d prefer a sloppy joe hamburger for £12, right the way up to a choice of a choice of four steaks, including the big daddy of them all, a 10oz fillet for 30 sheets. Now any of you who are balking at the £30 price tag, you need to understand that we are talking about a true quality piece of meat here that you will receive cooked to perfection. We went for dinner to bake’n’grape on a Friday evening and our starters of chargrilled jumbo prawns (with chilli & smoked garlic, served with crostini) £6.50 and seared scallops (served with delicious black pudding with a red pepper pesto) £7 were exactly what you want from a starter. In fact, if starters could talk, they’d have said: “Here you go, have some of this! This is what we do here. This is what we’re about.” And they offered true taste that remained in ours mouth long after our lovely waitresses Claudia and Sonya had taken our empty plates away. It was an indication of what was to come, although I never expected our mains to taste as good as they did. It was Mrs Edge who ordered the fillet steak. Originally she was going to have the 10oz rib-eye £24. Only then I saw her gabbing away with Claudia and Sonya as I returned from the loo and the next thing I knew, she was being presented with the fillet, which she gave me a mouthful of, and thank god she did. (b’n’g = omg) I have honestly never tasted such a beautifully cooked piece of meat in my entire life. What’s that all about? After all, b’n’g aren’t a steak house. They’re just a restaurant, right? Only while we’re at it, my rack-of-ribs £16 were the meatiest ribs I’ve ever gnawed on, save for some I tackled in Breckenridge (USA). We weren’t going to have a dessert. We were pretty full by now, so we ummed and arred for a bit. But the challenge of ‘deconstructed cheesecake’ £6 was goading us, so we ordered one to share. Oh lordy. Beam me up, Scotty! Trust me, it is a dessert to top all desserts. All things considered, after a bit of a shaky start (like Chelsea earlier on this season), b’n’g have totally turned it around. So hats off to them.

bake’n’grape 12 baddow road, chelmsford, CM2 0DG 01245 80 70 70 chelmsford@bng.uk Page 12

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Thank God for the return of Gogglebox! Launched in the Spring of 2013, a lot of us - including your editor thought: ‘What? A TV show about people watching TV? How can reality TV stoop any lower?’ But as most of us have now discovered, there’s a genuine warmth to Gogglebox and it’s far more about family and friendship than ever it is about reviewing the previous weeks television programmes. Two of its ‘stars’ are June & Leon Bernicoff who are filmed watching their tele whilst sitting in matching recliner armchairs from the comfort of their very own pebble-dashed semi in Liverpool. Their grandson thinks his Grandad is ‘a ledge’ as he reputedly broke wind on national TV (The Edge must have missed that one) whilst he’s forever asking ? his wife (who is 78), “Show us your knicks, June.” Already on series six, each show regularly attracts 5million viewers. The only observation The Edge would is that theGlonger Gogglebox ( @1D@ ! make @; runs, its producers will undoubtedly have to be more and more careful that it’s ‘stars’ do not try to ‘create entertainment’, otherwise it’ll lose its magic. Until then, long may in reign. Gogglebox C4 Friday nights 9:00pm

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The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 13:57 Page 14

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Wonderful, wonderful TV advert You must surely be as enchanted as The Edge is whenever the John Lewis (home insurance) advert comes onto our TV screens? Isn’t it just adorable? Isn’t she just adorable? Such a sweet little girl dancing around her living-room to the echoes of Elton John’s ‘Tiny Dancer’, surely this ad is right up there with the very best TV ads of all time? It was created by the same agency who created JL’s ‘Monty the Penguin’, released just before last Christmas, and they have so got their fingers on the pulse of striking exactly the right chord. Watching her prance and pirouette around her home, courting disaster as she narrowly misses pulling curtains off their pole, or knocking a rather expensive looking (sold at John Lewis, no doubt) glass off a table, it is sublimely shot to a song The Edge had strangely never even heard before. Call her Tiny Dancer or Reckless Ballerina, this little sweetheart has totally stolen The Edge’s heart. A bit like two ickle girls did on our final camping trip of this year on a rather wet end-of-August Bank Holiday weekend. Only these two ickle beauties came running up the hill and straight into the grateful arms of their newfound Uncle Fester and it genuinely felt like a wave washing over me. I mean, those girls genuinely knocked me sideways and if you could order kids like that, rather than having to poke up with whatever it is you create, then maybe, just maybe, I might have done something about it before now. You girls know who you are, so keep on being good lasses for your Mum.

The Edge 077 646 797 44

The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 14:06 Page 15

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Did you

know

ish Brothers Jewellers has changed - but only in look and feel. We’ve had a rebrand and we’re now known simply as Charles Fish. We’re situated where we have always been, right on the corner of the High Street, next to the Swarovski Boutique

headed by Richard Fish. A far cry from the normal runof-the-mill jeweller, Charles Fish is the perfect high street destination with its luxurious, high-end finish and urban elements; impressive glass cabinets sit against bright, well-lit walls, giving the store

YOUR NEW LOOK STORE (also owned by the Fish Brothers family). The Fish Brothers Group - including Charles Fish, Fish Brothers Pawnbroking and Swarovski Chelmsford Boutique - has been owned by the Fish family since 1830 and is in its seventh generation, currently

a fresh and much needed upgrade into the 21st century. Despite its much needed facelift, Charles Fish still hosts the same great brands customers have become familiar with, such as Thomas Sabo and Links of London, plus some exciting newbies

including Olivia Burton, Endless Jewellery and Vera Wang and we strive to offer exactly the same shopping experience as we did under our Fish Brothers branding. Whilst providing a stage to showcase some amazing designers and brands, we are just as committed to our traditional and essential jewellery and watch repair services. Conscious of maintaining the highest level of customer service and product knowledge, Charles Fish has the same passionate and friendly team on-hand, led by Store Manager Scott Donovan and his Assistant Manager Julie Betts; both long standing members of the Fish Brothers teams with over 35 years’ experience between them. We are eager to greet you back in store with a friendly smile, great service, advice and amazing product knowledge. Be sure to take advantage of the wonderful offers by joining the Charles Fish Friends and Family loyalty club in store.

? WIN a £500

We are most known for pawnbroking under ‘Fish Brothers’. We currently have 9 pawnbroking stores across London and Essex. We were founded as “Chaz Fish” and had a thriving store in Kingsland High Street, London. Up until the late 1900’s, we not only dealt with jewellery and watches but also linen, furniture, umbrellas and bowler hats! The Founder of Fish Brothers, the nephew of Charles Fish, merged independent ‘Fish’ stores together to become one prestigious group as we know it today.

SHOPPING SPREE

An exclusive offer to readers of The Edge magazine! With brands in store such as Michael Kors, Thomas Sabo and Links of London, the chance to win is too good to pass up. The winner will be invited in store for a glass of celebratory bubbly and will be accompanied by a personal assistant who will be on hand the entire day to help select the perfect pieces. To enter, simply email info@charlesfish.co.uk with “Charles Fish Win” in the subject line and include your full name, postal address and phone number in the text. Terms and Conditions: Entrants must be at least 18 years of age to enter. Winner will be drawn on XXXX and notified on XXXX. ID will be required upon collection of prize at Charles Fish, 76 High Street, Chelmsford, Essex CM1 1EJ. Prize is a Charles Fish gift card with £500 credit and it is to be treated like cash. Charles Fish (Fish Brothers Group) cannot be held responsible for loss or theft once presented to the winner. There is no cash alternative. This competition is run by Fish Brothers Group, 114 High Street, Walthamstow, London E17 7JY. The competition is not open to employees of Fish Brothers Group. The winner will be selected at random and the decision is final. Winners name will be available on written request from Fish Brothers Group, 114 High Street, Walthamstow, London E17 7JY. No responsibility can be accepted for entries which are not properly received due to communications beyond our control. Open to UK residents only. Entrants will automatically be listed on our Charles Fish Friends and Family database but details will not be shared with any third parties.

Our store before refurbishment

Across our 185 year history, we have had 30 separate locations and our head office has been in the same location in Walthamstow for nearly two decades.

5269_CF_CHELM_EDGE_MAG_DPS_v4.indd 1

15/09/2015 11:16

Did you

know

? WIN a £500

SHOPPING SPREE

Our store before refurbishment

Across our 185 year history, we have had 30 separate locations and our head office has been in the same location in Walthamstow for nearly two decades.

5269_CF_CHELM_EDGE_MAG_DPS_v4.indd 1

15/09/2015 11:16

The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 14:27 Page 18

Nourishing Christmas Dinner For One - In A Can

Well, you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to be going to all the trouble of wringing a turkeys neck, plucking it, stuffing it, then taking all the outer leaves off your individual sprouts, mashing your swede, delumping your gravy etc. etc. etc., do you, all of The Edgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s single readers? Oh no, you so very donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. Especially when thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Christmas Tinner - a right old jolly festive knees-up of a meal-in-a-can for one that you can heat up thoroughly in a microwave oven in but a matter of minutes. And hey presto, after youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve eaten it, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s only a knife and a fork and a plate to wash up. But best of all, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll still get a decent after-burn and all of the early evening aroma associated with the aftermath of a hearty festive meal. Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more, you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to be single to take advantage of a Christmas Tinner, as you simply need to buy one tin per person for however many bums-on-seats youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re expecting to have sat around your dining table on Crimbo Day. Honestly readers, cans of Christmas Tinner will save you an absolute packet this Crimbly and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s so tasty and nourishing (mark The Edgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s words - we always have â&#x20AC;&#x2122;em in our house) into the bargain. And if all thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not enough to convince you, Jamie Oliver swears by â&#x20AC;&#x2122;em. So use your bonces this year and crack open a fresh turkey Christmas Tinner for your festive Christmas lunch - or dinner - and just taste the jolly well difference*. *Christmas Tinners can also be eaten cold straight from the can.

5p charge on supermarket plastic bags The number of plastic bags used in England could fall dramatically by 71% almost overnight when a 5p charge comes into effect this month and not before time too. From Monday 5th October, all large retailers will have to charge their customers for each and every flimsy plastic bag they require in order to carry out their shopping, with the majority of the money raised going to charidee. The policy is designed to reduce the single use of plastic carrier bags and the sheer tons of litter associated with them whilst encouraging customers to purchase those â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;bags for lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; things that Mrs Edge has used for years, whilst old lazy bones â&#x20AC;&#x2122;ere is going to be forced into forking out for a couple. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s crazy though, because British supermarkets apparently gave out a quite staggering 8.5billion plastic bags throughout 2014, which was an increase of 200million on the previous years figures. However, since the launch of such a scheme in Wales in 2011, the number of plastic carrier bags given away by supermarkets has dropped by a most dramatic 71% - so clearly your editor is not the only lazy moron out there who needs to get his conservation act together. Get this - 90% of seabirds have swallowed plastic from carrier bags. Now The Edge hates seagull shit as much as the next person, but even so, that is quite a damning statistic. So letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s get green together and really embrace this change, troops.

A face thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just asking for a custard pie to be shoved in it The Edge doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like Piers Stefan Pughe-Morgan at all. He comes across as a pretty talentless, unengaging sort of a twat and letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face it, his level - when a group of people are doubtlessly sat around a table having a bit of a brain-storming session in order to come up with a suitable guest for his next show - is pretty much Gillian Taylforth. Michael Parkinson Piers Morgan most certainly is not. Though it condones violence of any description, when The Edge heard that Jeremy Clarkson had twatted Morgan at some awards gathering, it thought, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Yep. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Bout time too.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s smarm and thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s smarm and PM looks like the contents of a tin of bloody SPAM. My God, if heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d ever dare interview Oliver Reed, the latter would have surely kicked him out of his seat and right off the stage for good measure.

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Page 18

The Edge 077 646 797 44

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The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 14:37 Page 20

When ‘normal folk’ move house, they make the sensible choice and contact tut ’Ome Partnership (see below). But not these two pair of jokers.

happened upon a run-down, derelict small-holding in a valley in Carmarthenshire in what must be the wettest county in the entire UK. Had they ever even been to Wales before? The Edge very much doubts it. But that’s where they ended up, hoping to live an off-grid lifestyle (you know, self-sufficient, grow your own veg, keep chickens and strictly no TV or Wi-Fi bullshit).

Did you watch ’em, readers? On BBC2? ‘Country Strife’ it was called - ‘Abz on the Farm’. Bloody Abz? The Edge honestly didn’t have a ruddy clue who he was, but immediately took a shine to his girlfriend, Vicky Fallon, so stuck with it (well, it was only for three x half-hour episodes in total, so no hardship there). This London couple (apparently he was a former rapper member of some naff band called 5ive while she reckons she’s a singer/songwriter - huh, in your dreams, love) decided to up-sticks and move to Wales.

WTF?

“Moving to Wales was like just a complete shock to the system, man. What wif the ’ouse, the chickens, me missus, the ’orses, the crafty foxes that eats all our chickens, the cats, the splinters, the rain, the leaks, the mud, the Welsh peoples who does not get my accent, the gates, the fence....’as I mentioned the rain? Man, it doesn’t stop raining ’ere, for real. I ’as made me an axe though. And some shelves.”

What The Edge wants to know is whether they’ll genuinely stick it out, or was this just some ‘made for TV’ caper to earn them a bit of corn? Anyone who’s ever been to Wales knows that it’s heavenly - in parts, like most places - when the sun is shining, but downright bloody grim as arse when it’s covered in cloud and almost incessant rain, as it very often is. Could The Edge ever see itself retiring to Wales? Not in a bloody million years, unless there’s a dramatic climate change over in them there parts.

“Bolivia or Bulgaria was de original plan,” says Abz - as though he’s got a clue about where anywhere outside of Peckham is.

But it’s like Abz says, “Livin’ in London is not real. Parties, drinking, fab restaurants....it’s all not real.”

To be truthful, The Edge honestly thought he was a complete and utter bell-end when it first started watching their escapades, and to be fair, it still feels that way about him. But he’s a lovable bell-end.

So he sold his Rolex and these days he hasn’t really got a pot to piss in, although he says that for once in his life he feels happy.

The bottom like is that they needed somewhere with a bit of land and somewhere that was cheap, so they

So maybe there’s a lesson to be learnt here after all?

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Residential Sales, Lettings & Property Management Page 20

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The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 14:37 Page 21

SMASH HITS This was the first year in almost as long as I can remember that I didn’t attend the V-Festival in Hylands Park. I always normally go because I almost feel obligated to do so, due to its proximity being so very close to my house and it usually guarantees a good couple of days out. However, this year I just couldn’t bring myself to parting with the best part of 200 quid to attend what has essentially become a glorified ‘Smash Hits’ pop awards concert. V, in my humble opinion, has always been known as one of the rockier festivals and always endeavoured to have at least one of the worlds biggest bands taking to the main stage. In the past it has hosted names such as Oasis, The Verve, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, The Strokes, where as this year’s headline acts were Kasabian and Calvin Harris and they just don’t cut the mustard. Granted Kasabian are good quality musicians and the purveyors of decent music, but to be entirely honest, they alone hardly justify the entrance fee. It has all become a bit watered down and magnolia. I appreciate I am getting old, but at 32 I am hardly ‘out of touch’. Of course it makes perfect sense for the festival to diversify and appeal to as many people as possible, but surely that means it shouldn’t completely abandon its roots and alienate its longstanding and loyal supporters. The weekend is awash with artists such

www.theedgemag.co.uk

as Olly Murs and Ellie Goulding and to be fair, neither of them would look out of place at The Fling. If reports of a significant drop in tickets sales are to be believed, then it all goes to prove my point. Next year marks the 21st anniversary of ‘V’ and I sincerely hope they secure a ‘top name’ to celebrate the occasion. It doesn’t necessarily have to be all about rock‘n’roll, but I do hope they at least try to secure a truly global superstar instead of headlining a glorified I.T. assistant who has made his name by creating a song on an Apple iPad and whose idea of a show is pressing play and waving his hands in the air.

MARINE A On a more serious note, and probably at the risk of incurring the wrath of a number of lefties, I would urge you all to support the ongoing campaign for the release of Sergeant Alexander Wayne Blackman, more famously known as Marine A. You may recall that Sgt Blackman was serving in Afghanistan in 2011 when he shot and killed an injured Taliban insurgent. Upon his return from the warzone, Mr Blackman was arrested and charged with murder under section 42 of the Armed Forces Act 2006. He was tried by court martial and found to be guilty of murder on 8th Nov. 2013. He was sentenced to life imprisonment (to serve a minimum of 10 years) and dismissed with dis-

grace from the armed forces. Now don’t get me wrong, the way in which Sgt Blackman ruthlessly dispatched his enemy was sinister and lacked basic human compassion. However, you have to remember that the individual he killed was actively trying to do the same to him and in reality, Blackman’s fate would have been significantly worse if he’d been injured and the Taliban had captured him. Chances are he would have been tortured and more than likely beheaded. The prison sentence handed down has subsequently been reduced to a minimum of 8 years, but personally I feel that this is still far too harsh a punishment. This is a sad case and one that highlights the split-second judgment calls our troops have to make in an instant under intense pressure. What is most disappointing is that it has now been widely reported by the press that the Ministry of Defence censored a full report into the incident and withheld information that showed that senior officers were blind to the psychological strain and fatigue that our soldiers were under. What Sgt Blackman did was wrong, but it was committed at a time when he probably shouldn’t have been on the front line in the first place. For further information, please refer to ww.justiceforsgtblackman.co.uk

Billy Hinken CBB I feel a bit embarrassed to say this, but has anyone else been utterly entertained and enthralled by the latest series of Celebrity Big Brother? Admittedly it’s total car crash TV, but something about the format just seems to work. The barrel has been well and truly scrapped in getting a whole host of Z-listers to take part but the wonderful blend of the financial incentive, over-inflated ego's and desperate craving for attention simply makes the housemates unmissable TV. I absolutely love the constant gossiping, bickering and in-fighting that takes place in the house and whoever came up with the UK v USA idea is a genius. (The Americans really are something else, aren't they?)

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ONLY JOKING!

UNNECESSARY EMBARRASSMENT Northampton Police recently found a man's body in the River Nene, near Becketts Park. The dead man's name will not be released until his family have been notified. The victim apparently drowned due to excessive beer consumption. He was wearing black fishnet stockings, a red garter belt, a pink G-string, a strap-on dildo, purple lipstick and a ‘Jem for PM’ t-shirt. He also had a cucumber stuck up his rectum. The police removed the Jeremy Corbyn t-shirt to spare his family any unnecessary embarrassment.

SITTING ON THE PORCH Defence Attorney: “Will you please state your age?” Old Lady: “I am 94 years old.” Defence Attorney: “Will you tell us, in your own words, what happened on the morning of April 1st?” Old Lady: “There I was, sitting in my swing on my front porch on a beautiful spring morning, when a young man comes creeping up on the porch and sits down beside me.” Defence Attorney: “Did you know him?” Old Lady: “No, but he sure was friendly.” Defence Attorney: “What happened after he sat down beside you?” Old Lady: “He started to rub my thigh.” Defence Attorney: “Did you try to stop him?” Old Lady: “Hell, no.” Defence Attorney: “Why not?” Little Old Lady: “It felt real good and I hadn’t been touched like that in years.” Defence Attorney: “What happened next?” Old Lady: “He began to stroke me all over my body.” Defence Attorney: “Did you try to stop him?” Old Lady: “Hell, no.” Defence Attorney: “Why not?” Old Lady: “His stroking made me feel all alive and excited and frisky.” Defence Attorney: “What happened next?” Old Lady: “Well, by then, I was feeling so spicy that I just told him to 'Take me, young man. Take me now!'“ Defence Attorney: “And did he take you?” Old Lady: “Hell, no! He shouted out 'April Fool’ and started to run off.” Defense Attorney: “And that's when I shot him in the back?”

PEARLY GATES An engineer dies and reports directly to the Pearly Gates. Saint Peter checks his dossier and, not seeing his name on the list, banishes him immediately to Hell. Only it doesn't take long before the engineer becomes somewhat dissatisfied with the level of comfort down there, so much so that he soon begins to design and build improvements. Shortly thereafter, Hell has air conditioning, flushing toilets and escalators. Needless to say, the engineer is a pretty popular guy. One day, God calls Satan and says, "So, how are things down there in Hell?" Satan replies, "Hey, things are going great. We've got air conditioning, flushing toilets and escalators, and there's no telling what this engineer is going to come up with next." "What!" God exclaims. "You've got an engineer? There must be some mistake. He should never have been sent to Hell. Send him up here to me at once." "Not a chance," Satan replies. "I like having an engineer on my staff. I'm keeping him." God insists, "Send him up here or I'll sue." Satan laughs uproariously and answers, "Yeah, right. And just where are you going to get a lawyer?"

FIRED For many years Colin had a powerful desire to put his penis in the bacon slicer. Unable to stand it any longer, he sought professional advice from the factory psychologist. After six months, the therapist gave up. She advised Colin to go ahead and do it, or he would probably never have any peace of mind. So the very next day, he returned home from work much earlier than usual. His wife, Sasha, was alarmed and wanted to know what was the matter. Colin tearfully confessed of his tormenting desire and went on to explain that he’d finally gone ahead and carried out his deed and was then promptly dismissed. Sasha gasped and ran over to her husband. She quickly yanked down his trousers and underpants, only to find a normal, completely intact penis. She looked up and said, "I don't understand. What about the bacon slicer?" Colin replied, "She got fired too."

HURRY UP A man dashes into A&E and yells, “Quick, somebody, do something! My wife's going to have our baby in the taxi outside if we don’t hurry up!” The nearest doctor immediately grabs his bag of tricks, rushes out to the taxi, lifts the lady's dress and begins to take off her underwear. After she vigorously protests and starts beating the doctor around the head, it is only then that he realises he’s got the wrong taxi.

TEXTING NEIGHBOUR ‘Hi Bob. This is Alan next door. I'm sorry, buddy, but I have a confession to make. I've been riddled with guilt these past few months and have been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you to your face, but I am at least now telling you via text as I can't live with myself a moment longer without you knowing. Truth is, I have been sharing your wife, day and night, when you're not around. In fact, probably more than you, particularly in the mornings after you've left for work. You see, I haven't been getting it at home of late, although I appreciate that's no excuse, so the temptation’s been way too much

for me to resist. But I simply cannot live any longer with the guilt and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies and forgive me. I promise that it won't happen again. Regards, Alan.’ Feeling both anguished and betrayed, Bob immediately went into his bedroom, grabbed his gun and without a word, shot his wife twice, killing her instantly. He then returned to the lounge where he poured himself a stiff drink and sat down on the sofa. He took out his ’phone to respond to the neighbour's text when he saw he had another message: ‘Hi Bob: This is Alan from next door again. Sorry about the slight typo on my last text, but I expect you worked it out anyway. As I'm sure you noticed, my predictive text changed 'WiFi' into 'Wife'. Technology, hey?!? Hope you saw the funny side of it and there’s no harm done. Regards, Alan.’

ANGEL

“You’re an angel,” I said to my wife, as I shoved the Christmas Tree up her arse.

QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS Vladimir Putin, wanting to get on the good side of voters, goes to visit a school in Moscow to have a chat with the children. He talks to them about how Russia is a powerful nation and how he wants the best for the people. At the end of his talk, there is an opportunity for questions. So little Sasha puts her hand up and says, "I have two questions, Mr Putin. Why did the Russians take Crimea? And why are we sending troops into Ukraine?" Putin says, "Good questions," but just as he is about to answer, the bell goes and the kids go for their lunchbreak. When the class reassembles, the children sit back down and there is an opportunity for some more questions. Another young girl, Misha, puts her hand up and says, "I have four questions, Mr Putin. Why did the Russians invade Crimea? Why are we sending troops into Ukraine? Why did the bell for lunchbreak go off twenty minutes early? And where the hell is Sasha?”

APPALLED One night a teenage girl brought her new boyfriend home to meet her parents and they were appalled by his appearance: leather jacket, motorcycle boots, tattoos, pierced nose. Later on, the parents pulled their daughter aside and confessed their concern. "My dear," said her mother, diplomatically," he doesn't seem very nice at all." "Oh please, Mum!" replied her daughter. "If he wasn't nice, then why would he be doing 500 hours of community service?"

TAKING DRUGS Mo Farah has definitely been taking drugs if he thinks Quorn is tasty.

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

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Kids

reading The Edge

Don’t know where this came from... I don’t tend to dream a lot, but there must be something called ‘idle slumber’ where your memory ticks over and for some strange reason, I got to thinking about the first car I ever remember my Uncle Barry owning when I was but a wee whipper-snapper. It was a Singer Gazelle (I’ll bet a lot of you have never even heard of ’em) and I definitely think it’s ‘got something about it’ even to this day. Apparently it was positioned between the basic Hillman range and the more sporting Sunbeam versions (’ere, my Dad once had a Sunbeam Alpine, come to think of it, so putting two and two together, it must have been his younger bro’ who put him up to it). However, moving on, The Edge would like to appeal to anyone in the Little Waltham area who knows of someone locally who owns the most magnificently restored version of an Austin Healey that The Edge has ever seen in its entire life (black with a red leather interior). My god, it is magnificent! I don’t honestly know what version it is, but I suspect it might be the 3000 or even the Sprite, but if anyone knows its owner, please tell them that I would love to feature their car in The Edge and, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, for them to take me out for a spin in it, as it has honestly been my favourite motor car for as long as I could pronounce car names as a kid (apparently I used to call Mercedes ‘The Ladies’). I think many of us got goosebumps when we first clapped eyes on 007’s Aston Martin DB5 for the very first time in Goldfinger - although somewhat strangely it just ‘didn’t happen for me’ in Skyfall - but when I spotted that black Austin Healey in Little Waltham this summer my stomach started doing somersaults, so I’d love to know its story. I’ve never wanted to own a vintage car. Never. But when I saw it, I simply wanted to own it. I wanted it to be mine, all mine, even though I haven’t even got a garage to store it in. Someone reading this must surely know who it belongs to tho’?

Archie ‘Jim’ Bowen (‘Now let’s have a look at what you could have won’)

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The Edge always takes its main two-week holiday of the year in midJanuary and in 2016 we’re off to Sri Lanka with ‘The Feckwits’ - the anticipation of which will hopefully get me through Christmas without topping myself. For the first week of our trip we’ll be travelling around some of the interior of the country on one of these semi-engined motorbikes (see above - and doesn’t it look like part of the engine is missing). But if you have a bike back home in Blighty, you don’t really want one of these at all, do you? In fact, I’m not even certain you want a Triumph Bonneville T100, which up until recently I was pretty certain that you did. No, the more The Edge comes to think about it, the more it thinks you have to have a Harley. I admit that I honestly know bugger all about bikes, but surely that distinctive Harley roar is what it’s all about, plus making sure you wake the neighbours up at 6:00am with it at least a couple of times a week. But groups of men on motorbikes, going ‘somewhere for coffee or lunch’ now seriously, what is that all about???

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You see photo’s like these and you initially think, ‘Wow! What were the chances of capturing a snapshot like that?’ Only I don’t know about you, readers, but often The Edge gets to thinking, ‘Hang on a minute, perhaps this is a ‘staged shot’ after all....otherwise what would anyone be doing walking around in just a thin cotton shirt in what appears to be the middle of bloody winter....unless it’s summertime in Wigan?’ Whereas this one (left), yeah, The Edge doesn’t think it’s been ‘stage managed’ and is just the photographer and his ‘creative eye’ having a bit of a laugh at the fellas expense. But back to the winter photo (above) and isn’t it depressing, seeing all of that ice-blue sky and the snow on the pavements? The Edge loves spring. The Edge likes summer. The Edge is OK about autumn. But winter? You can poke winter, so far as this publication is concerned, every single year it comes around. The Edge 01245 348256

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Here’s a question. Do you consider yourself English or British? Let me answer it for you. You are English (or Scots or Welsh) most of the time, but at the Olympic Games you root for anyone representing Great Britain plc. Having said that, most of the time us English don’t think about it much at all. On the other hand, the Celtic nations have had hundreds of years oppression by us bastard English to unite them in national fervor, so their ethnicity tends to mean a bit more to them. That will change when England are playing the Sweaty Jocks in the World Cup qualifiers next year. Undoubtedly there will be equal amounts of national pride on show for both countries, just as there is in the Rugby Six Nations games. So, a sporting occasion brings out the nationalism in the English, but let’s be honest, not much else does. We don’t even get a day off for St George’s day.

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

However, the reaction in the US to this latest flag inspired mass murder has proved an education to me. In retrospect it’s pretty embarrassing that this lesson needed to be learned, but hey-ho, so it goes. It’s all very obvious once you stop and really think about it. The Confederacy flag was the standard for the south in the American Civil War, which let’s not forget, was only 150 years ago. Four or five generations. A blink of the eye in the history of humanity.

by Steve Ward

WE’RE ALL FLAGGING

Accepting that it’s sport that does it for the English, when next year’s Euro football tournament is on, how will we advertise our non-passion and low expectations of Rooney and the other serial losers? Well, the country will be awash with St George’s cross flags. They’ll be hung from windows, balconies and car aerials to show the owners’ allegiance and pride. The Sun will have the white and red plastered on the front page and every two-bob market trader will try making a quid or three by selling very cheaply made versions.

damentalists which is always well to the fore in any of the videos they produce to show the world how great living in the 6th century was.

Facebook and Twitter to justify his actions. So very quickly his whole back story became public knowledge, and guess what? It was a flag that was his inspiration.

You see the point - flags are potent things.

Yup, flags are where it’s at. Since prehistoric man first pinned his underpants to a pole, they have been used as a neat and easy focal point for everything from whole countries through to societies and clubs of all sorts; even some schools have their own.

One of the recent slayings was conducted by a wannabe Ku Klux Klan member who walked into a church and shot a number of people, all of whom were African Americans. It later transpired the killer was a white supremacist of the old school. This particular nutjob, like all recent perpetrators of such atrocities, used the ubiquitous

In this particular case it was the flag of the Confederacy he was rallying behind. Now, I don’t know about you, but if I thought of the Confederate flag at all, it was in association with the Dukes of Hazzard, Lynyrd Skynyrd and immature students who think they are being cool and rebellious by hanging one on their wall. And that’s all there is to it. It was painted on the roof of a 70s muscle car which was the main attraction (apart from Daisy Duke’s legs) of a programme portraying the unlikely but humourous adventures of two good ol’ boys. It served as a backdrop to a southern rock group’s album covers and concerts. And as for rebellious students, well, ‘pathetic’ is the word that comes to mind. In other words, the flag of the

Then there is the black flag of Islamist fun-

Confederacy had no strong message to us Brits at all. It was just another colourful image.

To change tack a bit, but continuing the theme, out here mass killings are becoming way too common for anyone’s liking. The ease with which any old nutter can get hold of a machine-gun is the root of the problem, but that’s a subject for another day.

It’s a wild simplification of a complex situation, but a big part of the Civil War was the different attitude to slavery in the north and the south. The south was pro and the north anti. So, to all Americans of African descent, the Confederacy flag is a potent symbol of the slavery their ancestors were forced to endure. Given that, it’s no surprise there is a pretty strong antipathy towards the thing from those of a more progressive persuasion, no matter what their skin colour. Anyway, as a result of the killings, the Confederacy flag, which had been flying in front of a number of public buildings in the south, has now, by and large, been retired from official use. Quite right too. Fortunately, I got away with my ignorance before I’d upset anyone. I guess a Brit in the US not understanding the significance of the Confederate flag is akin to an American wandering around Glasgow under the notion that the Scots and the English are one and the same people. And good luck to him, should he voice that one.

You can contact Wardo at steveward2000@hotmail.com

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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I LIKE DRIVING IN MY CAR As some of you may already know, I’m a latecomer to the world of the horseless carriage, having only passed my test just before Christmas last year, at the grand old age of 39. It always amused me how shocked people were when I told them I didn’t drive, and it really was shock they expressed as I tried to explain how I managed to live my life perfectly well without driving. Between having no interest in cars or football, I was often told to hand in my ‘man-card’ as if I somehow didn’t qualify as a manly-man type of man, due to these two obviously vital and virile interests.

Truly a man amongst men...

I still profess (and will do to my dying day) that football is a vastly overrated load of cobblers and that anyone who gets excited by watching a bunch of ponces kick an inflated bladder around a field needs their head examined, or possibly hollowed out as they obviously aren’t using the contents properly. The fascination with driving though? Now that I’m beginning to understand. I’m not talking about the love affair with cars themselves, nor have I suddenly found myself pontificating about torque and horsepower and the like (whatever the bloody hell that means). But simply driving in itself is something I really enjoy and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also feel some measure of affection for my car. My old 4x4 is, to put it bluntly, a disgrace. It’s scratched, dented and covered in splatters of mud which appear to have welded themselves permanently to the bonnet as washing it seemingly has no effect - although by ‘washing’ I guess I really mean it ‘getting rained on’, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised really.

“What are these carwash things then?”

The inside is just as bad, what with its dirty carpets and ever-growing collection of rubbish, including coffee stains that I’ve somehow managed to splatter on the inside of the windscreen when I drive to work in the morning. I do have a nice scented-thingy hanging down from the rearview mirror though, so at least it doesn’t smell like Big Daddy’s jockstrap. I call it my 4-wheeled Oliver Reid, considering how damn thirsty it is, and it’s also a proper pain in the arse to park at times, but I’ve definitely grown to love it. As much as I genuinely enjoy driving Page 26

ME & MY adamantium skeleton

The Kingmeister reports though, it has to be said that it’s definitely not all fun and games and cruising happily along listening to Creedence Clearwater (very loudly). Having avoided driving for so long, I’ve obviously missed out on a lot of things that the rest of you have had to put up with for an awful long time and there are definitely things about driving that irritate the living hell out of me. I’m a pretty laid back fellow most of the time and it’s not easy to wind me up. Usually I’m calm as a Hindu cow, but I have to admit that there are a few things guaranteed to stretch my patience pretty thin pretty quickly when I’m behind the wheel of my Surf. The worst offenders for this by a country mile are bloody cyclists. I enjoy cycling myself and I’ll be the first to say that the world would be a nicer place if we all ditched our cars and cycled everywhere instead. That being said, when I’m driving and I see one of you two-wheelered wankers appear in the distance, I immediately start gritting my teeth and swearing. I think the problem is compounded by the fact that my girlfriend and I live in a rural area so I usually run into this problem down small and winding country roads that make it very difficult to overtake, and in the worst cases I can find myself crawling along behind a smug bell-end on a bike for literally miles. It also usually happens on my way home from work when I’ve already had to deal with the vagaries of the A127 which further fans the flames of my road-rage Weekends can be even worse as entire packs of the free-wheeling fuckwits descend on our village and its immediate environs and we’ll often find ourselves stuck between several groups of 5 or 6 at a time, turning a quick run to the shops into Homer’s Odyssey as we’re forced to weave between the Scylla and Charybdis of cyclists and oncoming traffic. God forbid the knobjockeys actually go in single-file, like they’re supposed to. No, it’s obviously much better for all concerned if you go three abreast and have a good old chinwag while the traffic jam of fury and frustration builds up behind you.

I’ve now started fighting back against the cancer of cyclists, using the power of my iPod and Queen. When I see a push-pedaled nemesis in the distance, I turn the volume way up, cue up ‘Bicycle Race’ and pause it at just the right moment so that when I drive past they get sonically bombarded by Queen suddenly shouting “Bicycle!” in their ears at a level of potentially dangerous decibels. While I haven’t managed to scare anyone off their bike and headfirst into some conveniently placed nettles as yet (or an oncoming combine harvester) I still live in hope. I also like the fact that

more sympathetic to other road users. Cyclists always seem to be bleating on about how we should respect their nontax paying use of the roads, but it’s quite alright for them to dictate the pace of the 5 or 6 cars behind them while they crawl along waving their arses in our faces. If you see a convoy of angry traffic behind you, then do the right thing and pull over and let them all go past. You’re obviously not in any hurry. If you were you’d be bloody driving, wouldn’t you? I’ve also never been one to understand why people make modifications to their vehicles, but I’m slowly leaning towards sticking some carving knives on my hubcaps like Boudicca’s chariot. The roads would be a lot nicer to drive on if I lopped off a few dozen cyclist’s limbs on my daily commute. Sometimes I get lucky and I can make the entire journey to and from work without seeing a single two-wheeler, which is usually when I get stuck behind the slow-moving menace that meanders down the roads trailing shit behind it. No, I’m not talking about horses. I mean the elderly. 30mph in a 60mph zone? Thanks very much, you coffin-dodging idiot. You’ve just added another 10 minutes onto my journey and ensured I get home in a stinking mood so that I dropkick the cat again.

“This will be my finest hour!”

Freddie loved a good ride.

I’m allowing Freddie Mercury to continue bothering men in skin-tight trousers from beyond the grave. Yes, I’m also well aware that this is dangerous behaviour and could result in somebody being injured - I’m not stupid. Why do you think I’m doing it, if not to injure them so that they can’t ride their bloody bikes for a while so that I can get home from work a bit quicker? It’s all about common courtesy as far as I’m concerned. If you want to pull on your lycra and a stupid helmet and fanny around on a bike, then fine, go ahead and fill your boots. But if you decide you absolutely must make such a nuisance of yourselves, then be a little

If you’re that much of a doddering old fool and can’t drive over 30mph because your reactions are slower than a sloth swimming in treacle, then don’t bloody drive. You’ve got a free bus pass, so use the sodding thing and get out of my way! I know I’ll probably get some flak for ripping into poor nanny and grandad, particularly from those of you who give anyone over the age of 70 a free pass in case they fought in the war. All I can say is it’s a good job they flew those Spitfires better than they drive or we’d all be speaking German by now. However, even with these irritations, along with the general annoyances of people apparently losing a few dozen IQ points as soon as they turn the ignition, I still enjoy taking the truck out for a spin and I’m glad I finally got round to passing my test, but I am worried that its having an adverse effect on my otherwise calm and saintly demeanour. The thing is that, like the rest of you, I’m used to having the truck now and although I used to get on perfectly well without driving, I’m not so sure I would anymore. Yes, I know that’s just laziness, but what are my options? Public transport? Don’t get me started on how bloody annoying that can be…. The Edge 01245 348256

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Traditional South Indian Food Dosa, Appam and Kappa Meenum are just some of the delicacies that you will find at Live Dosa and not at any other restaurant in Chelmsford, writes Fazila, who along with her husband Ajikumar are the proprietors of the authentic Live Dosa restaurant opposite Chelmsford Bus Station in Duke Street. Live Dosa has been a revelation, bringing amazingly distinctive flavours to Chelmsfordâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ever growing - and some might even say over saturated - culinary scene. In such a short space of time, Live Dosa has reformed peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s perception about traditional Indian food.

For years, Indian food has been totally one dimensional, serving the same menu in outlet after outlet, restaurant after restaurant, be it either from small take-away joints or expensive â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;contemporary Indian cuisineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; style restaurants, with curries both looking and tasting similar wherever you go. But Live Dosa offers a refreshingly diverse menu of traditional South Indian cuisine, with the main differences being that coconuts, rice and fish form a staple diet in Kerala, which is evident in the menu at the restaurant. All of the food at Live Dosa is wonderfully flavoured with various spices including cloves, cardamom, black pepper plus many others which are abundantly grown in Kerala. The menu has a perfect balance of lip smackingly spiced food to that more delicately flavoured. Live Dosa may not serve a vindaloo, which is grossly misrepresented by curry houses who simply add extra chillies to the dish, whereas in reality it is a pork curry with vinegar and ginger, but you will surely not be disappointed with its lamb curry as it is truly delicious and wonderfully spiced. So is the Avoli and the Kerala Fish Curry, which are true specialities of South India and are always cooked in the traditional way at Live

The Edge 077 646 797 44

Dosa. These are perfectly balanced by a delicately flavoured Fish Molly, which is a preparation of fish with tomatoes and coconut milk. Coconut and coconut milk are widely used in Keralan cuisine. Most Indian restaurants that you will have visited probably use cream to thicken their sauces, while at Live Dosa, keeping true to South Indian traditions, its chefs use coconut milk as a thickener instead. This not only gives the food a delightful flavour, but also means most curries are dairy free. Furthermore, the use of rice and rice flour means there is a huge selection of gluten free foods, with all of the curries and almost all of the dosas being completely gluten free. Live Dosa also offers a wide and varied selection of vegetarian options, which are far more authentic than the average saag or Bombay potatoes, such as Vendaka Theeyal (okra in roasted coconut sauce) which tastes absolutely amazing. This year the restaurant will also be celebrating Christmas in an extremely Keralan fashion. Live Dosa will be offering a Nasrani Sadhya or a Nasarani meal throughout the festive period. Nasranis, also known as St. Thomas Christians, are one of the oldest Christina communities and form a huge part of Keralan community. Their celebration brings together Indian tradition and Christian faith and this is what we will be showcasing in our Christmas menu - a four course traditional Nasrani set meal. As stated, we at Live Dosa may not serve a Vindaloo, Madras or a Jalfraize, but surely that is a good thing, yes? Because it is surely high time Chelmsford boasted a true Indian restaurant and Live Dosa is just that. It is a wonderful family run establishment where you will always be welcomed with a familiar warmth and smile and served quality South Indian cuisine.

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DOG CAUGHT PILE-DRIVING CAT Animal experts claim that a dog’s guilty expression has feck all to do with any such feelings of remorse. When something goes wrong or they are caught in the act and give their owners the ‘sad face’, it’s actually a learning response from thousands of years of living alongside us humans (aka mugs). It’s simply a way of appeasement and securing their next bowl of Chum. What’s more, they’ve clearly nailed such looks to perfection.

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The 1990s. The decade of the Spice Girls, Titanic (the movie, as opposed to the actual sinking) and the grinning/gerning imbecile that was Tony Blair, yet also some of the absolute crappest cars ever. Take the Fiat Multipla (above), for instance. A great idea, what with its three rows of seats, but seriously, why so ugly? Then there was Ford’s successor to the Granada, the Scorpio, launched in 1994. Jeremy Clarkson called it “the ugliest car on the road” and it was duly axed 4 years later and never replaced. Then there was the Daihatsu Sirion - and what sort of a bloody name for a car is that - whose makers obviously thought that ‘plenty of chrome’ would go down well in the UK. Er, no. That was best left to the all-new Mini launched a few years later. OMG - sorry once again, Ford - but what were they thinking of with the launch of their Probe? ‘A modern day Ford Capri’? Not likely. And let’s hear it for the Proton Persona. If there’s a drabber looking car in the history of car-making, name it? In a time when ‘cheap cars’ were genuinely bad, this one takes the biscuit. Though perhaps we are forgetting the Daewoo Matiz? Fact is, people actually bought the very first models of the Renault Megane Scenic in their droves, despite them proving to be both drab and unreliable. Oh dear, and we were almost forgetting the Vauxhall Frontera, launched before the Landrover Freelander as a ‘lifestyle SUV’, only it was pup. Noisy, slow and not very reliable. The Edge 01245 348256

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MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

FaceMott Like a small boy dragged squirming to go and kiss a sweaty moustachioed elderly aunt he has never even met before, or the EE paying City of London beer prices (£5.50 a pint BTW), each is resigned to their fate. They will face up to it, but not without some reluctance. Despite the grave misgivings I share with EE and many others of a ‘certain age’ and having ! now, I have been! dragged like a reluctant horse held out for some! years ! to drink !$ at " the ! well of Facebook. The sheer weight of social !$ & and%made pressure proves that the proverb can lead water ,)A <7 +-4-*:)<<0-unlike .16-: <016/; 16 41.- ‘you 413- .77, ,:163a horse 5=;1+ to )6, .:1-6,; and it drink’.77,E Rather like <7 a leggy blonde virgin on a date $0- make <-:5 D#<:--< :-4)<-; ) :-4)<1>-4A 6-? +76+-8< 16 <0-with % Rod < 0); Stewart, it’s only a )6, matter of time before the inevitable happens. >):17=; 16.4=-6+-; 16;81:)<176; 7?->-: 1< 1; /-6-:)44A +76;1,-:-, <7 *;74, 76 <0- ;<:--<; 7: 57:- )++=:)<-4A 67< ;-:>-, .:75 The mobile 7: phone, :-;<)=:)6<; +).BE;a communication device of amazing capability, has D#<:--< .77,E 1; *1/ 16 76,76with *=<which 1< 0);toA-< <7 01< 7=: +1<AFacebook. =6<14 67? merely become something connect with075bloody 7+)4 0-45;.7:, #;000 an>-6<; 0)>- ;-4-+<-, .-? For whole chunks +758)6A of the populous actual<,speaking phone )call is ;<:--< not .77,primary >-6,7:;use, 47+)4 87;;1*4?07 ?144 the nor?0-:text, nor even email; all;-:>thingsA7= you<0-1: can 6<-:6)<176)4 do on the +=416):A ,-41/0<; .:75 ;757. <0- +774-;< 9=1:31-;< >-01+4-; A7=Captain +)6 ->-: average mobile phone nowadays. These were things that only ,:-)5 7. 7: 16;<)6+2=;< 15)/16.1-4, .=44 7. -,1*4'144A '763-: Kirk, Bones and Spock were capable)of in Motty’s younger days. Now '76,-:6-;;E ;-< real, )476/;1,,:16316/ *):; they are here for in our>):17=; pocket,=619=and we878 do =8 not*7=<19=use them. No, the 7?port )*7=< ) D to 16 provide ):,-6E information +7+3<)14; ;-:>-, .:75 ) &' )58-: first of call is Facebook. But now we &)6 must7: not !155; 76 !)44-<; 44 ;-< 16 <0- of 81+<=:-;9=78-6 /:--6 7. only provide the key information the message, such as:;8)+“Can anybody 7=4;0)5 *)+3/:7=6, *-)<; has *:7=/0< A7=down” .:75 47+)4 put me up for144a ?1<0 couple of weeks 5=;1+)4 as the house just <7 burnt but ; )>- &)4-6<16- )6, )>1, :773;*)63 also: “I was cooking sausage, chips and beans and managed to get this < ?144 ;=:-4A *- ,)A .7: )/-; <7 -627A 8-6 .:75 85 =6<14 85 picture before I had to run out of the house as the flames were beginning $1+3-<; ):- )>)14)*4- 16 ),>)6+- .:75 7=4;0)5 144 7: +)6 *- 8=:+0);-, to singe the bottoms of my chuddies. Please like the sausages in my pic76 <0- ,)A )< C *-.7:- 85 )6, C <0-:-).<-: 014,:-6 =6,-: .:-ture.” Two people will shortly express horror at your misfortune, but no $01; ->-6< ?144 *- ;=887:<-, )6, *:7),+);< *A 0-45;.7:, 755=61<A one will)6, offer put,)A you up. However, people will like the "),17 76to<0,76)<176; ?144 /7150 <7?):,; ;=887:<16/ <0-bangers +0):1<A and 6<-:start +< a chain of 500 sausage related ‘pics’. " ! ! ### ! ! ! Then, of course, there is the time thief element, for both readers and those that post material. Now it has struck me in the first few weeks that some people are hard core posters or forwarders of other peoples material that they like. This creates the magnetic like draw akin to a moth and a lightbulb of constantly checking to see new updates; to see if anybody’s house caught fire and if the sausages survived. One individual, or ‘friend’, is constantly posting all day long. Now I know this person is at work, or at

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

least I thought they were, but work cannot surely be possible as they have to view the incoming item before pushing it out to everybody else. These ‘friends’ are posting all day, every day. One posts short videos and one comments on just about everything. He is funny, but I know both are at work; well, are certainly on somebody’s payroll. Then, of course, we have the whole question of where all this stuff goes. It is rather like the famous hard boiled egg eating scene in ‘Cool Hand Luke’ (younger readers, that’s your ‘look up task’ to do for this month) in that pretty soon everything is clogged up. Every image that somebody puts on the site which you look at ends up in the colon of your phone until you empty it out. And naturally this is yet another time thief element as this exercise has to be done rather regularly, with surveys suggesting that 75% of mobile phone users admit to using their phone whilst on the toilet, whilst the other 24.99% reoccurring are obviously liars - and that odd smidge of a percent excludes the Queen,as she probably has somebody who does it for her, probably granted the job (or should that be jobby?) under the ancient and royal charter of the privy Facebook liker. It is an addiction I will admit, but of what? Nothing, that’s what. I have smoked, I certainly drink, and I was once told that sniffing Tweed would make me feel ‘good’. That last one I am sure was a lie as I didn’t feel anything and it certainly wasn’t addictive, but the Scottish guy who sold me the ‘Shetland brown’ seemed pretty convincing. Then, of course, there is the lack of control over content posted. You may not want the picture up there, but if somebody else does, then that’s tough luck. This is certainly bad news for those nights when one finds oneself a little overtired and emotional. You may not know what you have done, but the rest of the world certainly does. Yours Aye, Motty.

Page 29

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TOTALLY TRACIE SUMMERTIME SADNESS

When my son was a little boy, I used to love the month of September coming to an end and really look forward to October as by then I’d just about recovered after the six weeks of Summer Holiday Hell. All those pictures at theme parks with false smiles, pretending that my idea of heaven was being hurled into the air and rotated upside down for 3 or 4 minutes at a time was my greatest wish on earth, not to mention the £10 quid souvenir photo’s to boot which are these days stashed in drawers, never seeing the light of day. So for me, September was always the month of getting back to normality, with hot-on-its-heels October always meaning....(sigh) Halloween Parties and Fireworks displays to attend. However, my son is now grown up and has a job of his own and I hardly see him any more, and the sadness I’ve felt with this summer ending has been well and truly depressive. After years of saving for sleek contemporary garden furniture and an outdoor barbie to rival an Aussie outbacker, I finally reached my pinnacle and purchased it this year. As I unwrapped the shiny BBQ devise that was easily big enough to roast a whole hog, I dreamed of the barbecues and parties we would have and the family dinners we would all share together, and how they would bring us much closer together as a family, relaxing underneath the stars on our new rattan sofas, sipping cocktails. $ But I am such a dreamer. I even have whole boards on Pinterest dedicated to outdoor cooking as I tend to skip past the ‘burnt to a crisp chicken’ and ‘bin end rose wine’. Where as the reality is that we used the barbecue twice. Yep, eight burgers were cooked on it in total. The first was the obligatory test night, like you do, as everyone stood and watched whilst I played with the dials and managed to turn up the heat until 4 burgers were all but cremated. Then second time around the heavens opened and I stood cooking in the rain with a plastic bag over my head whilst everyone shouted their

orders at me from the warmth and dry of the kitchen - and then promptly disappeared down the pub, leaving me to clear up the mess. And that was it - the sum total of my % barbecue dream. From there on in it stood looking at me every day,-(9taunt> me. ‘Ha ha’, it would gloat, ‘you ing think you’ll make me dirty and messy? No chance.’ So there our BBQ stands, all shiny and gleaming, all £542 blinkin’ quid of it, just to cremate eight burgers! That calculates as roughly £68 quid per burger. $ Blimey, at that rate, surely I could have booked Gordon Ramsay to come round and do it? But that’s not all, because as September came to a close, so it brought with it some truly freezing cold mornings and even colder nights, which already heralded in the winter game of ‘Thermostat War’ where one turns it up and the other turns it back down again. Not to mention the piling on of all those extra unwanted pounds we’ve got to look forward to, due to the excessive munching of ‘comfort food’ after spending all summer down the gym. So as I watch from my window as all the covers on the garden furniture blow off and I dash out to retrieve them yet again, I think to myself, all this fear of global warming and % adverts spurting ‘Aerosol Cans will damage the Ozone Layer’ - what a joke. We were lucky if we even saw a week of sunshine this year. So roll on Halloween and all the shops being filled with ‘Seasons Greetings’ cards ready for Christmas. Yep, it all starts in October and it’s all downhill from here on in. Oh how I miss the summer already.

MAN SPREAD Across the pond in New York, there are now advertisements and warn0: ;/, ;04, 46:; ings, posted (4 around train and under) ground stations, which threaten fines and eviction from the train if you’re a man who sits like this.

Similarly, over here, a group of women have got together to stop ‘Man Spread’ as it is so downright unsightly and off-putting. Psychologists are now analysing the type of man who ‘spreads’ himself think Henry VIII as opposed to David Niven (you get my drift?). % type of man who partakes of The this most unsociable habit is a dominant alpha-male on a power trip, who sadly has a complete lack of manners and common sense.

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The Edge 228_The Edge 172.qxd 24/09/2015 15:15 Page 31

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