The Edge November 2015 by webwax

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EDGE

the ISSUE NO: 229

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TITS-UP

TOUCHDOWN

Apparently 200,00 British marriages go tits-up each year. How about that?

Ancient history now, of course, but I absolutely loved the way Boris Johnson barged that 10year-old Japanese kid out of the way in Tokyo in order to score a dramatic touchdown. Just shows Boris’ determination to succeed in whatever he blinkin’ does.

THE EDGE Could anyone be more inappropriately named than that tea-cosy wearing dickhead in U2?

HOMES ABROAD

HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN

Wife’s just said to me, “Corrrr, you wanna see what you can get for £150,000 in Costa Rica” while she was watching one of those Homes Abroad programmes while she was doing the ironing in her curlers...

David Beckham Instinct aftershave is now down to £9.99 at B&M, that new right big store just off the Army & Navy roundabout.

AND FINALLY

HALF-A-MILLION

The Edge Editor’s Column STRICTLY One of the cameramen on Strictly is certainly a man after my own heart as he always captures the dancers and contestants bouncing up the stairs to receive their marks from the judges.... and where Rhianoff, Jordan, Vilans, Mabuse (OMG) and May are concerned, it’s well worth sitting through the dancing just for a few moments of fleeting pleasure.

SNUFFED IT Read an extremely small footnote in the Sunday Times about the recent death of Scottish singersongwriter Jim Diamond who the vast majority of you will probably never have heard of. He was a funny looking little bugger, but I oh so remember a track called ‘I Won’t Let You Down’ by PhD which was the band he was in. Of course, you readers may well be far more familiar with ‘I Should Have Known Better’, which your editor didn’t particularly care for. He also wrote the theme tune from ‘Boon’.

And while we’re on the subject of house prices, have you seen the latest development up at Beaulieu Park, readers? Nice. We pulled in while we were out on the scooter one Saturday afternoon, although the missus refused to go into the sales office as she told me point blank that we are not moving. But I liked the look of them and was curious, so in I jolly well toddled. “What can you offer me for £300,000?” I optimistically ventured?” “Nothing,” said an absolute giant-of-a-man. “The starting price is £470,000.” So out I walked with my tail between my legs. Jesus wept, it’s coming to something when the asking price is almost half-a-million quid.

TFI FRIDAY What a most welcome return to our screens of Chris Evans - with his hideously dyed ginger bonce these days - and TFI Friday. When you stay in on Friday evenings, as I tend to do these days (cos I’m an old fart), it kind of reminds you of back in the day.

I never usually watch these Police Interceptors type programmes (C5 Mondays) as they always get me far too riled up against the system, but I happened to tune in for a quarter-of-an-hour the other evening and it was the same old, same old. Some piece of scum was driving a car without a driving license or insurance (and god knows whose car it even was) late at night at 80mph in a 30mph restricted zone, on the wrong side of the road at times, until he smashed into another car and the remainder of the pursuit occurred on foot until the assailant was eventually collared. The low-life was far from remorseful though, swearing, spitting and kicking at both the police officers and cameraman. Sure, he got nicked. But what did he get? A two month prison sentence (if that), banned from driving for two years (is that all?) and a £100 fine (you cannot be serious). The system is a bloody joke. The police are doing their jobs of ridding the streets of scum, but then the legal process is totally letting them down. THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD 077 646 7 97 44 shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

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Couch potatoes rejoice, for there might well be some pills on the market that mimic the benefits of exercise without any of the hard graft and sweat usually involved. Apparently there are currently at least 8 pills under development that aim to replicate some +55 of +0 6the effects of physical training. Oh for God’s sake! And while an ‘exercise pill’ would no doubt be welcomed by all you couch sloaths out there, it would surely also be useful for all those who are unable to exercise through no fault of their own, perhaps due to illness or paralysis. Scientists in both Canada and China say some pills encourage the growth of muscle fibre, which improves endurance, whilst others help blood vessels grow in muscles, which makes them work far more effectively. Another chemical being looked at, Irisin, stimulates the creation of ‘good’ brown fat, which burns away excess ‘bad’ white fat. “Exercise pills have a long road ahead of them,” admit scientists, “but as we learn more about how exercise benefits us on a molecular level we will likely gain increased confidence in creating pills with very few side effects, but improved efficiency.” They did, however, add, “Nothing can fully substitute physical exercise,” so coucho’s, you know what the answer really is, don’t you? Furthermore, apparently absolutely nothing can replicate the stretching of the blood vessels during exercise, which helps keep them both healthy and elastic and also triggers the releasing of a variety of helpful chemicals. Most of the drugs are still in the early stages of being tested on mice, although two have already been put on the banned anti-doping list.

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Stephen Alexander

WHAT THIS PICTURE SAYS TO THE EDGE...

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“Sunshine on a rainy day...”

What’s with all the brollies? The Edge doesn’t rightly know, but it’s a remarkably effective look, don’t you think? This is Torrox, on the Spanish coast, a gnat’s bollock away from Nerja, but it could so easily be Chelmsford. OK, so we cannot compete with southern Spain where those delicious blue skies are concerned, but I honestly don’t see why Torrox should have the monopoly on mini-umbrellas. After all, we need ’em, they don’t. And the peeps below? D end of September, there was a fun-run caper On the long-weekend The Edge was there, at the through Torrox’s quaint, windy streets. Naturally all of the competitors got pelted with paint powder and there was a helluva clean-up operation afterwards in the main square/plaza....but such an event could definitely happen in Chelmsford, right? What’s more, it could most certainly be made into a charity fun-run (sod the Chelmsford Marathon - it’d be a day filled with beer and smiles, not crippling pain and cramp). It’s just an Edge idea, but here at the mag we honestly think it could work, so we’re chucking the idea out there so that some bright spark amongst you can give it some legs. It’s just a two-and-a-half hour flight to Malaga, plus a three-and-a-half-hour Sleazy Jet enforced delay if you’d made the same booking as us, which meant we didn’t arrive until a quarter-past midnight in the early hours of Saturday morning and we then had to pick up a hire car before a 45 minute drive to Torrox, so we were certainly ready for a few brandy and lemonades when we eventually got there, I can assure you - despite it being just after two o’clock in the morning. It was a totally cracking long-weekend though, with the fun-run being the highlight as the plaza was filled with people of all ages, all with ear-to-ear smiles on their mugs. And if you cannot smile in life, then what the hell’s the bloody point?

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CITIZEN “NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, MR. BOND”

For its 45th column for The Edge, Citizen returns to a favourite subject, albeit one not covered much since column 8, way back in October 2012. So what does that column have in common with this one? Simple - or is it now ‘simples’? - the last time Citizen wrote about the phenomenon that is James Bond was at the time of the release of ‘Skyfall’, a film Citizen loved, but which, it recalls, Mr Edge our editor had a somewhat more negative view of! (EE: Well clearly I was talking bollocks as I’ve watched ‘Skyfall’ since and enjoyed it much more than I did the first time I saw it!) Having previously declared a favourite James Bond actor - and looked at some Essex connections to the films - it is not Citizens’ intention to return to those aspects. However, one fact alluded to back in October 2012 is worthy of repetition as it still amazes Citizen, who was reminded of it in a superb James Bond supplement in The Times on 15th October. In its ranking of the past Bond movies from 1 - 24 by an impressive panel of experts (that surprisingly didn’t appear to include UK Bond authority Graham Rye, editor/publisher of 007 magazine), one of the panelists, Simon Winder (author of ‘The Man Who Saved Britain’) says: “The (Bond) theme tune could claim to be a fanfare marking the start of the sixties.” Citizen would totally agree, with the caveat that the Bond films share that status with the Beatles as the two British cultural phenomenon that truly set the seal on a decade. As Citizen pointed out three years ago, they were both, by an amazing and even cosmic coincidence, born on the same day - 5th October 1962 - the release date of both ‘Dr No’, the first Bond film, and ‘Love Me Do’, the first Beatles record. The Times supplement ranked all of the Bond films to date - with the exception of the execrable Casino Royal spoof in 1967. It also included Sean Connery’s return to the role in the unofficial ‘Never Say Never Again’ (1983) that it deservedly placed 23rd (next to last)! Citizen suspects that the Times ‘Top 10’ of Casino Royale (2006); Goldfinger (1964); On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969); From Russia with Love (1963); Dr No (1962); The Spy Who Loved Me (1977); Skyfall (2012); Thunderball (1965); You Only Live Twice (1967) and Live & Let Die (1973) will be very similar to that of most fans. That’s five of Sean Connery’s Bond, two each from Daniel Craig and Roger Moore, plus George Lazenby most people’s least favourite Bond, although ‘OHMSS’ was a cracking movie. Citizens’ list is very similar, but instead of ‘You Only Live Twice’, Citizen would place the first of Timothy Dalton’s two portrayals of our hero ‘The Living Daylights’ (1987) - whereas it only made number 12 in the Times’ view. Citizen also places ‘Goldfinger’ first - ahead of ‘From Russia With Love’ - because it set the tone for the majority (but not all) of the plots that were to follow. Which is: larger than life villains that for some reason always explain their dastardly plans to 007 before deciding to kill him by the most complicated means possible, instead of just shooting him. Not to mention some truly freaky henchmen who do most of the villain’s dirty work and usually survive to make one final attempt on Bond’s life at the end of the movie. Exotic locations (although Goldfinger was in fact shot almost exclusively in the UK, apart from a week in Switzerland) and, of course, glamourous female lovers - the first of

whom always gets killed by the henchman within the very first hour. Think how many 007 films this applies to, yet we still go back for more. Why? Because they are usually - with a few exceptions (see below) - action film making at its very best, each one often topping the previous movie. So the question begs, will ‘Spectre’ enter the Bond ‘Top 10’ - maybe even ahead of ‘Skyfall’? The excellent Sam Mendes once again directs and by the time you read this, ‘Spectre’ will already have been on release in the UK from 26th October, so many readers will have undoubtedly seen it - although possibly not this magazine’s US correspondent, Steve Ward, as the film doesn’t open in the States until 6th November. The Sunday Times also recently published a Bond supplement in both its print and online editions and this included its favourite ten ‘Bond Girls & Villains’, although without ranking in order of prefer><+-5 +</any >2/of them <?3=/ &/<738+6 +8. >2/ =ence. Citizen suspects that there would be more disagreement among Bond fans on these, so will take just three from each list as its personal favourites. Bond Girls? Number 1 is Barbara Bach as Anya Amasova in ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’ - and not because she’s married to a Beatle, but Ringo is a lucky fella! Second is the first ever Bond heroine, Ursula Andress as Honey Ryder in ‘Doctor No’. Her character, were she real, would now probably be old enough to be Essex Cricketer Jesse’s granny! Third is the lovely Eva Green, Vesper from ‘Casino Royale’, whilst Shirley Eaton - with or without the gold paint - from ‘Goldfinger’ is a close runner-up. The best (worst?) villains are more difficult, so in no particular order, Donald Pleasence - the original Blofeld in ‘You Only Live Twice’, Oddjob from ‘Goldfinger’ and the truly terrifying Rosa Klebb who certainly didn’t come from Russia with any love whatsoever! The film at the bottom of both the Times List at number 24 - and the bottom of Citizen’s list too - is the truly awful ‘Die Another Day’ (2002) whose Madonna theme song of the same name is only rescued, in Citizen’s opinion, from the double-raspberry of worst Bond song ever by Jack White and Alicia Keys incomprehensible ‘Another Way To Die’ from Daniel Craig’s Bond turkey ‘Quantum of Solace’ (2008) - number 21 out of 24 according to the Times. ‘Die Another Day’ would have vanished without trace were it not a Bond movie. It is doubtful if any other film franchise (even Jason Bourne) could have survived it. That invisible car? An unmemorable villain? The worst CGI ever seen - that truly appalling cartoon like ice surfing scene (in a franchise that before and since has prided itself on staging its own stunts). Plus the total waste of an Oscar winning actress in Halle Berry to whom Bond’s chat-up line should surely have been, “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a travesty of a movie like this one?” It even started badly - which 007 films never do - with Bond emerging with a Robinson Crusoe beard from incarceration by an unnamed dictatorship (presumably North Korea). N.B. Brody did it so much more convincingly in Homeland nine years later! The Times had a bottom 8, but Citizen will content itself with only three. Just above ‘Die Another Day’ for mediocrity at 23 is the incredibly disappointing ‘Quantum of Solace’ (2008), Daniel Craig’s second film that at least inspired Mr & Mrs Citizen to visit Sienna, scene of the film’s opening at the bi-annual Palio horse race. Roger Moore’s ‘Moonraker’ (1979), despite its exotic locations, is at 22, if only because of that ludicrous battle in outer space. But it’s safe to assume Sam Mendes will not emulate any of these three and, who knows, he may even have (hopefully) surpassed himself with ‘Spectre’. The Edge 01245 348256

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Celebrating

40 YEARS

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of ZAGGER This year sees Zagger Fashion Group celebrate their 40th Anniversary. Situated along Baddow Road, the stores provide Chelmsford with the latest in exclusive designer fashion from global brands and fashion houses. Owner Chris Geer has maintained the highest level of quality clothing, shoes and accessories for both men and women since the companies inception way back in 1975. Although Chelmsford has changed to an almost unrecognisable degree during that time, the ethos behind Zagger and its commitment to its customers (some now third generation) has always been of paramount importance. There are precious few independent clothing stores left in Essex, let alone Chelmsford, and Zagger is still at the forefront of fashion retailing. Grace Geer, Chris’ daughter, now carries on the family tradition and runs the womens store.

All the shops (including Zagger’s very own Hugo Boss store) are increasing in popularity as the ‘go to’ stores for designer brands and luxury labels in Essex. Chris is very excited to be opening a new retail unit within the Bond Street development, currently under construction, and with big name retailer John Lewis anchoring the project, the City of Chelmsford will soon boast one of the most important retailing areas in the country. By maximising the potential of both established and new brands, Chris hopes to take retailing to a wider audience of both shoppers and consumers. “I’m looking forward to the next 40 years,” he says, with unbridalled enthusiasm. And so he should, as Zagger aims to launch brand new collections each and every season to its clients. The next generation of customers are evolving and Zagger is ready to welcome them through all of their doors.

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The changing face of Chelmsford It really is all rather exciting, don’t you think, readers? What you’re looking at here is all part of the £120million Bond Street development with Cineworld (foreground) and John Lewis (background) starting to take shape, next to the established Loch Fyne restaurant (above right). To think that this time next year we could all (well, those of us with a little taste, at least) be doing our pre-Crimbo shopping in John Lewis is something The Edge honestly never envisaged for our fast improving town-comecity and it really can’t happen quickly enough. I don’t know about you, but once a change has taken place, I always have difficulty remembering what things previously looked like. For instance, when I first arrived in Chelmsford, way back in the early eighties, I think you used to be able to drive down the High Street and where the Meadows shopping centre is now, some folks were selling fruit and veg from stalls. Oh, and not to mention a lovely Waitrose store arriving on Victoria Road that we’ve also got to look forward to too. It’s all happening in the nick of time before your editor snuffs it (well, you never know, do you?). Shame Dansk came and went so soon on New London Road, but you never know, they might come back once they see what they’re missing.

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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Is there space in your home on Christmas Day for a lonely guy with a ginger moustache? The Edge loves photo’s like this one because they’re so hellishly cruel, aren’t they just? After all, he’s probably got an ‘office joker’ persona who nobody really likes, truth be told, and despite him wearing his novelty festive tie and socks (every day, even the socks, same pair day-in, day-out) throughout the run up to Christmas, he’s not really fooling anyone, is he? Because it’s written all over his face that deep, deep inside, he’s as sad and lonely as they come, sat on his dear old mum’s back doorstep on Christmas Eve with nothing but a carton of eggnog and a bucket of KFC to keep him company. So ?this is your chance to do some good this year, readers, by inviting someone you despise into the warmth and glow of your family home on Christmas Day and really making a difference. After all, you’re a good person, aren’t you? Well let’s see you prove it by giving up just a little bit of space beneath your roof to someone who’ll otherwise be all alone and tearful. Don’t delay, do the right thing and make that telephone call today!

www.theedgemag.co.uk

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A wet day at Freeport The Edge hasn’t got anything against Freeport, otherwise it wouldn’t have gone there in the first place, to buy a pair of trainers, would it? But it was a truly cock-awful Tuesday afternoon in mid-September and the place was almost deserted. The sky was black and incredibly foreboding, the wind was howling right through the place and it was raining to boot. What’s more, it truly seemed as though every other bugger had seemingly decided to stay at home and give the place a bit of a swerve. In fact, even Costa was all but empty, which was pretty unbelievable. And surely there’s nothing worse than walking past empty store after empty store with the vacant, far-away gaze of bored, semi-comatose sales assistants looking right back out at you, counting down the minutes until it’s home-time. Yet despite it all, the powers that be at Freeport still choose to pump out such wholly and hideously inappropriate muzak about the place, which there is unfortunately no getting away from. We eventually went into Prezzo and what a miserable experience that was at around 4:00pm on a totally diabolical afternoon. The restaurant’s not a patch on the two outlets we have in Chelmsford and who wants to dine somewhere that’s cold and empty anyway? Eventually the time arrived for the main purpose of our visit; the early evening showing of Legend at Cineworld and Thomas Hardy’s one man spectacle portraying both of the Kray twins. I didn’t honestly think the Spandau brothers were half bad with their attempt, but Hardy’s performance completely raised the bar, even though my feet were both wet and cold. So a really good movie, but I couldn’t have been happier to eventually get home to my pipe and slippers (now see page 27).

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LUNCH

R O F NO W

K O O B

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NO MEAT BURGER

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DEEP FRIED BRIE BITES, CRISPY BACON AND PINE NUTS ON A BED OF MIXED LEAVES WITH HONEY AND MUSTARD DRESSING

SOUP SPICED APPLE & BUTTERNUT SQUASH

STICKY CHICKEN WINGS

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lunc Mon Avai htim day labl es in -F e r D iday MENU ecem ber! Mains ROAST TURKEY

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HOMEMADE NUT ROAST

PUDDING SHAPED MIXED VEGETABLES AND NUT ROAST WITH A BRIE AND CRANBERRY TOPPING

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All served with roast potatoes, honey roast parsnips, cauliflower cheese, carrots and brussels sprouts

Desserts

CHRISTMAS PUDDING SERVED WITH HOMEMADE BRANDY SAUCE HOT CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE SERVED WITH VANILLA ICE CREAM HOMEMADE BAILEYS BRULEE SERVED WITH SHORTBREAD MARSHMALLOW SUNDAE STRAWBERRIES, STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM, STRAWBERRY SAUCE AND MARSHMALLOWS

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MIXED FRUIT SORBET REAL FRUIT ICE

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HOT CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE WITH VANILLA ICE CREAM

AND PEANUT BUTTER CHEESECAKE

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Xmas Menu Middle Spread.indd 1

02/10/2015 10:00

LUNCH

R O F NO W

K O O B

Starters SEAFOOD TRIO

SMOKED SALMON RIBBONS, PRAWN COCKTAIL & CRAYFISH WITH A CITRUS DIP

CHRISTMAS SALAD

Only £20

per person

PARTY MENU

Starters

Main Courses

SPICED APPLE & BUTTERNUT SQUASH SOUP

BLACKENED CAJUN CHICKEN BURGER

CLASSIC SEAFOOD COCKTAIL

CHICK-INN TIME

GARLIC AND HERB CHEESE STUFFED MUSHROOMS

NO MEAT BURGER

BUCKET OF WINGS BARBECUE OR BUFFALO LOVE AT FIRST BITE PATE STUFFED MUSHROOMS FULLY LOADED POTATO SKINS WITH CHEESE AND EITHER ONION, CHILLI BEEF, CHICKEN, BACON OR PULLED PORK

t h g i n y r e v e e mber! l b a l i e a c v e A in D

DEEP FRIED BRIE BITES, CRISPY BACON AND PINE NUTS ON A BED OF MIXED LEAVES WITH HONEY AND MUSTARD DRESSING

SOUP SPICED APPLE & BUTTERNUT SQUASH

STICKY CHICKEN WINGS

CRANBERRY AND SWEET CHILLI GLAZED

lunc Mon Avai htim day labl es in -F e r D iday MENU ecem ber! Mains ROAST TURKEY

ACCOMPANIED BY BACON WRAPPED CHIPOLATAS, HOMEMADE FRUIT ‘N’ NUT STUFFING, CRANBERRY SAUCE AND GRAVY

SALMON FILLET

WITH CRAYFISH AND WHITE WINE SAUCE

HOMEMADE NUT ROAST

PUDDING SHAPED MIXED VEGETABLES AND NUT ROAST WITH A BRIE AND CRANBERRY TOPPING

PESTO CHICKEN BREAST

WITH ROAST PICCOLO TOMATOES & MOZZARELLA

GARLIC & HERB MUSHROOMS

BIG RIB OFF

FULL RACK OF RIBS

CUP MUSHROOMS STUFFED WITH GARLIC & CREAM CHEESE THEN DEEP FRIED IN GOLDEN BREADCRUMBS WITH A GARLIC DIP

LOVE AT FIRST BITE

NEW YORK STRIP

1/2LB OF SIRLOIN STEAK SERVED WITH PEPPERCORN SAUCE

CUP MUSHROOMS FILLED WITH SMOOTH BRUSSELS PATE THEN DEEP FRIED IN GOLDEN BREADCRUMBS WITH A GARLIC DIP

All served with roast potatoes, honey roast parsnips, cauliflower cheese, carrots and brussels sprouts

Desserts

BIG RIB OFF

PEANUT BUTTER CHEESECAKE HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE

NEW YORK STRIP

MIXED FRUIT SORBET REAL FRUIT ICE

THE PIG MAC

Desserts

CHRISTMAS PUDDING & BRANDY SAUCE

HOT CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE WITH VANILLA ICE CREAM

AND PEANUT BUTTER CHEESECAKE

COFFEE & SWEETIES £2.00

Only £20

per person

MARSHMALLOW SUNDAE NEW YORK BAKED CHEESECAKE MIXED FRUIT SORBETS BAILEYS BRULEE WITH SHORTBREAD

BELGIAN WAFFLE WITH BANANA & BUTTERSCOTCH OR APPLE & CINNAMON

TEL: (01245) 269983 VICTORIA ROAD, CHELMSFORD, ESSEX, CM1 1NY� WWW.BACKINNTIME.CO.UK

Xmas Menu Middle Spread.indd 1

02/10/2015 10:00

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Karl Pilkington - Art At the time of writing The Edge has only clocked the very first episode in a brand new series of Karl Pilkington’s The Moaning of Life on Sky 1 but it’ll definitely be tuning in to all the others. In this first one, our Karl was looking at what he perceived to be art, such as a flock of starlings all flying in formation in the sky together (“That’s birds performing art, is that,” he quipped). However, the bit that tickled this mag’s fancy the most was those two guys interfering with dog poo on the streets of New York. Now we all loathe and despise dog poo, right, readers? It’s just something that shouldn’t be there and the owners of the dogs who’ve cabled it ought definitely have their faces rubbed in it. But what these most enterprising couple of Noo Yorkers set out to do is turn dog poop into an art form. The first dollop they stumbled across “lacked form”, they insisted. “There’s not a lot we can do with that,” they both agreed, so they sprinkled some hundreds and thousands on top of it. Genius. Then they went into a store and bought an ickle kiddies dumper truck (similar to the one shown above) and when they found a suitable poop, they positioned the truck as though it’d been driven right into it and was about to start clearing it up (hey, even better if they’d dropped a piece of turd into the shiny yellow load area, but then The Edge is always one step ahead with its ideas and notions). After which they took a picture of it for posterity. Now here at the mag, we honestly think these guys are onto a winner, so The Edge wants to galvanise all of Chelmsford’s good citizens to in future garnish dog poops whenever and wherever you see one. For instance, you could push a little red flag into one, or press a shiny £1 coin into another....anything to decorate it and make it look somewhat less offensive. But don’t forget to photograph your efforts, folks, and email the results straight over to The Edge. Ay thank you.

Cradle to Grave The Edge is already missing the excellent Cradle to Grave with Bolton comic Peter Kay playing the part of Fred ‘Spud’ Baker. It was a drama based upon the memories of Danny Baker (yes, the bald fat bloke off the radio) growing up in a South Bermondsey council flat when he used to tell girls he was David Essex’s brother in order to get off with them, the rascal. Lucy Speed was also excellent, playing the part of Danny’s Mum. Fact is, I’ve never been a huge Danny Baker fan, although perhaps now I’ll read his memoir entitled ‘Going to Sea in a Sieve’. The part of the young (slim) Danny was played by actor Laurie Kynaston and Baker himself admits, “I was genuinely quite a good looking lad once upon a time.” And talk about attention to detail - the producers even found the exact same wallpaper the Baker’s used to have.

Singer’s Spat What’s Tom Jones got the hump with Engelbert Dinckabout for? Apparently the Welsh star has recorded the verdict of “Once a always a so far as plain old Arnold Dorsey is concerned. Mind you, that didn’t stop Edge Mum throwing her knickers at the TV screen when either of them used to come on back in the late sixties.

****

A better way to divorce?

If you are facing a breakdown of your relationship, the things that you may dread the most are how you can sort out the finances; the house; the children. The thought of arguing and going to court is both frightening and expensive. There is, however, another way. Collaborative Family Law is a process where you and your spouse have your own solicitor, but instead of being adversarial, you work together to find the right solutions to your problems. You agree that you will not resort to court proceedings and by having a series of meetings you can reach agreement on all of the things that matter to you. These can be things that the court can not help you with because of the way the traditional court system operates. You set the pace of the process, you set the agenda, and you make the decisions. Your lives are not left in the hands of the courts or the judges. At a time when the court system is becoming even more pressured due to cut backs, the collaborative process can offer a far quicker resolution. Many people are finding the collaborative process a better way to divorce and come away feeling satisfied that they have aired their views and reached an agreement that will work. Children have especially benefited from their parents dealing with their divorce in a collaborative way as they see their parents working together rather than arguing about them. Collaborative Family lawyers are trained to deal with separation in the collaborative way and are experienced family lawyers committed to providing a professional service to their clients. Most collaborative lawyers will offer a free chat about collaborative law to see if it would suit you. For more information contact Karen Taylor on 01245 349696 email: ktaylor@thblegal.com or visit www.thblegal.com. Page 18

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www.theedgemag.co.uk

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he first time I ever had the use of a mobile ’phone it was about the size and weight of a house brick and the company I worked for sent me to the Isle of Wight to sell some billboard poster advertising space, reports the EE. I honestly felt as though I was the bee’s knees; like Gordon bloody Gekko, it was such an impressive gadget. But everyone’s got one nowadays and what’s more, no-one can seemingly live their life without one. What if you suddenly found you’d absentmindedly left home without your mobile ’phone? You forgot it because it was on-charge, or resting on top of the toilet cistern whilst you were depositing an Ertha. You proper panic, don’t you? And, late as it might make you, you bloody well about turn and go right back home to fetch it, rather than be without your precious mobile communication device for the majority of the day.

WHY DO PEOPLE TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS OF THEIR FOOD? TO SEND TO THEIR FRIENDS, RIGHT? BUT WHO ON EARTH WANTS TO RECEIVE A PHOTOGRAPH OF SOMEONE’S BLINKIN’ LUNCH? But it’s what people sometimes use them for that gets The Edge. If folks are not taking selfies, then they’re either taking pictures of certain parts of their anatomy - or their lunch - and sending such on to god only knows who. Long gone are the days when the mobile ’phone was simply a means of talking to someone. And where’s the art of conversation gone over the dinner table? On a recent trip to Torrox (see page six) I saw this couple on two consecutive nights (I honestly reckon they were stalking me and the mis-

sus) and the woman was busy texting away on both occasions and only stopped when her food arrived (to take a bloody picture of it). I was absolutely livid on behalf of her limp male partner who really ought to have grabbed it from her hands and dunked it in her carbonara sauce, the thoughtlessly rude cow. It’s coming to something when you can’t even get through dinner without looking at your mobile ’phone to see if anyone’s contacted you, isn’t it? (And then subsequently having an on-line conversation whilst totally ignoring the person you’re sup-

posed to be dining with.) These days you see people walking down the street and they’re not just walking. Oh no. They’re either talking (into their ’phone) and walking or texting and walking. Praise the lord that there are rules that you have to turn your mobile ’phone off (or at the very least have it on silent) in public places such as the cinema, but surely this ought to be extended to restaurants, pubs and coffee houses. (Oh yes, and on all forms of public transport too.) Mobile ’phones are a phenomenon, they truly are. People look at you daft these days when you mention your camera (“...but haven’t you got one on your mobile ’phone?”). Only I hate my iPhone 4Si or whatever it’s called because already it’s (apparently) hideously outdated, I hardly use any of it’s numerous devices and it runs out of charge faster than coins in a parking meter. Give me back my old one-hand-totext-with Nokia any day.

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SWING LOW EGG CHASERS World Cup fever took hold of the nation last month when England hosted the Rugby World Cup for the first time since 1991. I have to be honest and admit that I am not the biggest fan of the sport, but I did, momentarily, get caught up in the swell of excitement and patriotism during the England games (well, except for the Uruguay encounter). I usually enjoy watching the big international matches and normally use it as a decent excuse to enjoy a few pints and ‘soak up’ a bit of the atmosphere as well. The World Cup was no different, so I ventured to the pub to watch England take on Fiji on the Friday and then Wales on the following Saturday. For that first game against Fiji the pub was fit to burst and an awful lot busier than usual. A small crowd had amassed around the TV and there was a real sense of expectation that England were on the verge of something special. All of the build up had whipped up the excitement levels to fever pitch levels, but all was to be dashed in a single moment. With the wait finally over, the referee took his whistle out of his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew to signal the start of the match and the Rugby World Cup 2015. An eerie silence of excitement descended and the crowd drew a

www.theedgemag.co.uk

deep breath of anticipation….and then one of the players proceeded to kick the ball out of play. All of us gathered in the pub looked at each other in total bewilderment as it was apparent that no one really understood the rules, even those adorned in their newly purchased skin-tight rugby shirts, although one brave fellow did interject to offer the suggestion that the kick was simply a tactical move in order to gain territory, but that just seemed ridiculous. I mean, what kind of sport encourages its players to kick the ball out of play? And that's the problem with rugby; it’s a sport that pits 30 of the fittest, most athletic sportsman on the planet against each another, but then they spend most of the game either retrieving the ball from the stand or engaging in big group hugs. I honestly think rugger is in dire need of a major reinvention, like we have seen with the introduction to Twenty20 in cricket, and my suggestion would be to speed the game up, cut down on the kicking and the penalties, and limit the amount of phases. In fact, why not save all of the time and expense of doing that and just start watching Rugby League instead?

CARRIED AWAY The fact that supermarkets now charge 5 pence for the privilege of a carrier bag has caused a bit of a stir recently. It has been widely accepted that the introduction of

the fee is there to encourage people to re-use their old bags in an initiative to protect the environment. I can see the logic, particularly when you consider that supermarkets gave away somewhere in the region of 7.6 billion plastic bags last year. Having said that, I am not convinced that the 5p charge will cause enough of a deterrent to deal with the problem. The general public are sceptical and a large proportion of the population see it as a purchase tax or a way for the supermarkets to boost their profits, and I can empathise with them on this point. It was reported by the Telegraph that as soon as the tax was introduced, Sainsbury’s made all of their bags for life 5p with free replacements for old, worn out bags. It sounded like a grand gesture from one of the UK’s largest retailers, but alas, it appears they had a much more sinister motive. You see, a bag for life is exempt from the new rules and, according to the reports, Sainsbury’s keep all of the profits from the sale of such bags with none of the money going to the causes the 5p charge was introduced to support.

IT’S ALL A BIT GRIM FOR NICK How thoroughly refreshing it is to have Chris Moyles back on the radio. Now I know that the idea of a loud mouthed northerner spouting politically incorrect vitriol across the airwaves first thing in the morning isn't everyone's cup of tea, but

Billy Hinken you must find some satisfaction in the great big two fingers he has stuck up to Nick Grimshaw and co. over at Radio One. You will recall that Britain's most popular breakfast show presenter ever was sacked from the Beeb as part of its reinvention of Radio One. The flagship station decided that it no longer wanted to appeal to the masses (including a large proportion of people who pay for it through licensing), but instead focus on a younger target audience of 19-25 year olds. Personally I have absolutely no objection to providing a dedicated service for youngsters, but I just don’t think it should be on the nations most prominent radio station. After all, isn’t that what cbeebies is there for?

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ONLY JOKING! HUSBAND

A husband is someone who, after taking the trash out, gives the impression he’s just cleaned the whole house top-to-bottom.

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? A highly paid London lawyer is pulled over by an Irish cop in Cork. He imagines he is so much smarter than the mere plod because he is a ‘lawyer from London’ and is certain he has a far better education, so he decides to prove it and have a little fun at the Irish cop's expense. So the Irish cop says: "License and registration documentation, please." London Lawyer: "What for?" Irish cop: "Ye didnae come to a complete stop at the stop sign." London Lawyer: "I slowed down, and no one was coming." Irish cop says: "Ye still didnae come to a complete stop. License and registration documents, please." London Lawyer: "What's the difference?" Irish cop: "The difference is, ye huvte come to a complete stop, because that's the law. License and registration documents, please." London Lawyer: "I tell you what, officer. If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I'll hand over my license and registration documents and you can give me a ticket. But if not, you let me go scott free. Deal?" Irish cop: "Sounds fair enough to me. Please exit your vehicle, sir." The London Lawyer gets out of his car. The Irish cop swiftly takes out his baton and starts beating the living crap out of the lawyer before saying, "Now dayee want me to stop, or just slow down?"

STRESSFUL You pick up a hitchhiker. A beautiful girl. Suddenly, she faints inside your truck and you take her to the nearest hospital. Now that's stressful. Only at the hospital, they say she’s pregnant and congratulate you on soon becoming a father. You say that you are not the father, but the girl

insists you are. Now that’s very, very stressful indeed. You request a DNA test to prove that you are not the biological father and after the tests are completed, the doctor reports that the results show that you're infertile and that you probably have been since birth. You are extremely stressed, but relieved. On the way back to your lorry, you begin thinking about your two kids back at home.

NEW SWIMMING POOL Someone knocked on my door today to ask me whether I’d be happy to donate to the new local swimming baths that’s being built. So I gave them a glass of tap water.

CASUALTY Last night my wife sent me a text saying she was in casualty, so I manfully took the trouble to watch all 50 minutes of it, but I never spotted her once. What’s more, by the time she eventually got home, I was absolutely starving.

GROWING A BABY When I was six months pregnant with my third child, my three year old came into the bathroom when I was getting ready to get into the shower and said, “Mummy, you’re getting really fat!” I smiled and replied, “Yes, honey, I am. But remember that Mummy is growing a baby in her tummy.” She replied, “So what's growing up your bum?”

HIGH EXPECTATIONS The difference between the Pope and your boss is that the Pope only expects you to kiss his ring.

LOST ARM

A man had lost an arm in an accident. He became extremely depressed because he loved to play golf. One day, in his despair, he decided to commit suicide. So he got on an elevator and went to the top of a really high building to jump off. But as he was standing on the ledge looking down he saw a man skipping along, whooping and flicking up his heels. He looked closer and saw that this man didn't have any arms at all. So he started thinking to himself, ‘What am I doing up here feeling sorry for myself? I still have one good arm to do things with. Yet there goes a man with no arms at all and he’s positively skipping down the street, oh so happy with his lot.’ So he hurries down to catch up with the man with no arms. He tells him how glad he is to meet him because he has only lost one of his arms and feels useless and was genuinely going to kill himself. So he thanks him from the bottom of his heart for saving his life and says he knows he can make it with one arm if this guy can go on with no arms at all. And the man with no arms continues dancing and whooping and flicking up his heels once again. Curious, the man with one arm asks, "So tell me, how come you’re you so incredibly, deliriously happy?" He says, "I'm not. My balls itch."

PIECE OF LETTUCE A man goes to the doctor and says, “Doctor, I’ve noticed there's a piece of lettuce sticking out of my bottom.” So the doctor asks him to drop his trousers and thoroughly examines his ringpiece. The man asks, “Is it serious, doc?” The doctor replies, “Unfortunately, it might be, as what I’m seeing is just the tip of the iceberg.”

QUICK THINKING A man went into a supermarket in Birmingham and tried to buy half a cauliflower. The young greens produce assistant told him that they only sold whole cauliflowers. But the man persisted and asked to see the manager, so the boy toddled off to find him. Walking into the stock room, the boy said to his manager, "Some idiot out there wants to buy half a cauliflower." Just as he finished his sentence, he turned to find the customer standing right behind him, so he quickly added, "And this kind gentleman has very decently offered to buy the other half." So the manager approved the deal and the customer went on his way. The manager then winked at the boy and said, "I’m impressed by the way you got yourself out of that tricky situation. We like people here who think on their feet. Where are you from, son?" "Cardiff, sir," said the boy. "And why did you leave Cardiff ?" the manager asked. The boy said, "Because there's nothing there but prostitutes and rugby players." "Really?" said his manager. "My wife is from Cardiff." "You're kidding?" replied the boy. "What position does she play?"

KNOT-HOLES A little old lady was walking down the street dragging two large plastic garbage bags behind her. One of the bags was ripped and every once in a while a £20 note fell out. Noticing this, a policeman stopped her and said, "Ma'am, there are £20 notes falling out of one of your bags." "Oh, really?” she replied. “Darn it! I'd better retrace my footsteps and see if I’ve lost any more." "Whoa! Not so fast," said the cop. "Where did you get all that money?” The little old lady explained, “My back yard is right next to a golf course and lots of golfers pee through the knot-holes in my fence, right into my flower garden, which kills the flowers, you know. So I thought, 'Why not make a shilling out of it?’ So now I stand behind the fence-panel with the knot-holes, real quiet, with my hedge clippers. And every time some guy sticks his thing through my fence, I surprise him, grab hold of it and say, “OK, buddy! Give me £20 or off it jolly well comes." The cop smirks and says, “And what's in the other bag?" She said, “Not everyone pays."

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

The Edge 229_The Edge 172.qxd 22/10/2015 14:47 Page 23

How can THIS guy be worth THAT much money when he cannot even dress himself properly? As Harry Enfield & Paul Whitehouse might say: “Cowell, noooo! Whilst we admire your uncanny ability to take hopeless singers and mould them into hopeless singers whose records people buy, we do not think you should be let out of the house without someone checking your clothing attire first, you pompous, square headed, fag breathed prick!” And it’s not just the Bermuda shorts....it’s everything he ever wears. For instance, what’s with the ultra long t-shirts that cover both his groin and backside with the stone-washed flared - yes flared - jeans beneath? What is that all about? It’s a totally nonsensicle look. And if he chooses to wear a suit, it’s forever funeral black with a tight white shirt beneath that’s always unbuttoned down to his navel so that his chestrug is sprouting about like a cat trying to get out of a cricket bag. Surely with his amount of wonga he could afford a personal dresser?

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Page 23

The Edge 229_The Edge 172.qxd 22/10/2015 14:36 Page 24

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Kelly Sephton and Cristian Basile, both from Chelmsford, are the owners of a brand new diet, nutrition and work-out advice website called Blueberry Sports that is apparently taking the internet by storm and gaining hundreds of new followers every day. Kelly and Cristian set the business up from scratch yet it already has over 4 million subscribers and helps guide people of all ages through the minefield of how to live a healthy lifestyle. After gaining an unhealthy amount of excess weight in his early twenties, Cristian (29) has been an avid gym user for the past three years. He started out using YouTube to learn how to perform various exercises, but soon discovered that, along with most other people new to fitness, information about what to eat and in what proportions was difficult to assimilate. He also wanted to help people who were having similar weight issues to those which he once suffered, which he found affected his confidence as well as his wellbeing. With that in mind, Blueberry Sports was born, which is one of the first websites with access to fitness videos and a whole section dedicated to fitness nutrition, including healthy fat loss and high protein recipes. “It was when I started running out of breath from simple every day walking that I realised I needed to make a big change in my life,” admits Christian. “Gaining weight doesn't just affect you physically, it also gives you low self esteem, which naturally affects your confidence massively.” Kelly was motivated to set up the online website from her past experiences during her teens where she suffered eating disorders and body image issues. Kelly completely transformed her own life with hard work and dedication and was recently crowned one of the world’s best female body builders. "I did it all myself," she proudly says. "I spent ages online researching diets and various training methods and then I met my husband, who is a personal trainer, so that was handy!" A determined Kelly then set about training for two hours a day, six days a week, whilst eating a strict, high-protein diet of lean meat, fresh fish and raw eggs before competing in her very first competition, the National Amateur Bodybuilders Association's Miss NABBA South East Toned Figure contest in April 2012, before taking part in the biggest and most prestigious show in fitness and modeling in the grandest of locations - Las Vegas in 2015 - where she was a huge success. For more information on how to improve your body's health visit www.blueberrysports.co.uk

‘William the Porn Baron’ at Erotic Fantasy would like to wish all Edge readers a very Merry Christmas and wonders whether anyone would like to buy his business off him as a going concern? The Edge 01245 348256

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Twenty years ago, if someone had uttered the words ‘bucket list’ they would have been met with a blank stare and an uncomprehending ‘huh?’ Now though, everyone understands the concept. You simply compile a long list of all the things you want to do before you kick the bucket, or shuffle off this mortal coil, go to meet your maker, snuff it, pop your clogs, or any number of other euphemisms. So it could have been a snuff list, but that doesn’t sound very attractive, does it. It’s a decent enough idea in that the discipline involved to create the list gives you some focus for the rest of your life. However, you need to be careful. If your list contains too many things that are far too improbable for the average Joe, then you could be lying on your death bed perusing the ten goals you’d set yourself and realise none of them have been ticked off. At that point you would have to conclude your life had been a long and miserable failure. So, swimming with dolphins (why is that so popular?) might be achievable for most people, but walking on the moon has a success probability of about a gazillion-to-one. There’s another angle to this too. It’s reasonable to suggest that many people will put things on their bucket list that project an image of the person they’d like to be, rather than the one they actually are. For example, you might think of yourself as the adventurous outdoor type and list climbing Kilimanjaro as a life goal. Whereas in reality you are a sofa-bound lard-arse with no intention of putting in the work necessary to get fit enough to actually go for it.

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

by Steve Ward

LONE STAR What’s all that got to do with San Diego? Well, in an article about bucket lists that was published a little while ago, it was reported that one of the most popular entries was to do a proper American road trip.

culture, big hats, horses and cows with an oilfield or two thrown in for contrast. Oh, and Dallas too, of course. The TV series, that is, not the city itself. And maybe a sense that it is a bit different to all the other states.

So it’s obvious the images of open and empty American roads from a thousand movies has made a huge impression on us Brits and one of the advantages of living out here is the ability to go on such an adventure anytime you feel like it.

Well, let me tell you, having recently been there, I can report that it is indeed a very different place altogether. We’ll get to Texan culture in a bit, but first of all, let’s sum up the state in one word. Dreadful.

Over the years I’ve been fortunate enough to see a great deal of this country, riding the two lane blacktop backroads north to south and east to west, although until recently I’d never been to Texas. Now Texas is one of those places that has a particular image. Generally you think of it as cowboy country; agri-

Jeez, it is thousands upon thousands of square miles of absolutely nothing. It’s not even desert - scenery that has its own kind of grand splendour. No, it’s just flat, grassy nothingness. Most of the small towns are run down with boarded up shops the norm. Indeed, many do not even boast a restaurant worth the name.

Burger Kings and Taco Bells are the best you can hope for. The roads are generally in a shocking state with pot holes and ruts in abundance. So all in all, it’s not a great place for a road trip. Sadly, you can drive all day and all the next day and still be in Texas. If nothing else, it is certainly big, that’s for sure. Culturally, Texas is a bit like Yorkshire. That’s because Texans, like Yorkshiremen, think they are superior to the rest of the population. If they were given the opportunity, it would come as no surprise for both the state and the county to vote to become separate countries. Well, just as us English would have been very pleased to see the Scots bugger off on their own, the same applies to Yorkies and Texans - you’re welcome to each other. But having said all of that negative stuff about Texas, let’s redress the balance a bit. The people, though arrogant about their home state, are invariably friendly and welcoming to strangers. And the city of Austin has more clubs featuring quality live music seven nights a week in a ten block area than the whole of London. It’s truly a great and buzzy place in the evenings. And you should see the property prices. Boy, they give it away. In conclusion and to tie all this together, should you have ‘American Road Trip’ down on your very own bucket list, might I suggest that you caveat that a bit by adding ‘Avoiding Texas’. With that, over and out for another month. Have a good one.

You can contact Wardo at steveward2000@hotmail.com

shaun@theedgemag.co.uk

Page 25

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HEY FATTY BOOM-BOOM Part II

We’re already on the downhill stretch to Christmas, which means we’ll all be spending a week or two drinking far too much and stuffing our faces with all manner of lovely, fatty foods and piling on the pounds. And after this festive blow-out come the inevitable feelings of guilt, swiftly followed by yet another half-hearted attempt to join a gym and actually go to the bloody thing this time around. Those of you who regularly attend a gym probably laugh at the new yearly influx of Christmas puddings waddling and sweating buckets on the treadmill in January. In fact, we all spend a fair bit of time laughing at fat people, don’t we? Go on, admit it; fat people are one of the last remaining targets that we’re still allowed to mock with impunity. Well, fat people and the ginga’s, I guess. What’s the number one discrimination in the workplace these days? Discrimination against fat people, and for some reason we all seem to be tacitly OK about it. But why are we? Discrimination of any sort is a terrible thing, so why do we agree that race and gender are out of bounds, but fat people are still fair game? However, I’m hardly riding into this column on a moral high-horse, as I do it all the time too. Although in my defence, I do tend to mock everyone of any shape and size, which is sort of being a champion of equality, isn’t it? A recent bit of car-trouble saw me getting the train to work for a few days and I would groan whenever I saw corpulent commuters shambling towards me, knowing that I’d soon be squashed up against the window and be forced to listen to their laboured breathing, not to mention being showered with crumbs as they pulled a never-ending stream of pasties out of their pockets. OK, that last bit obviously doesn’t happen and I’m being needlessly cruel, but I’m sure a lot of you who do commute every day (you poor bastards) can relate to that sinking feeling when you’re sat next to the only spare seat and ‘Jabba the Hutt’ gets on at Shenfield? The point is that fat people are one of the last subsets of humanity that we can sneer at and deride without having to feel guilty about it. After all, being fat is all their fault, isn’t it? If they’d just put down that pie and went out jogging instead they’d be fine, wouldn’t they? The lazy bastards.

“One return to Liverpool Street, please. Ho-Ho-Hooo!” But is it their fault? And what exactly is the moral crime of carrying a few extra pounds around the waist? Because that’s how a lot of us view it, isn’t it? That ‘letting yourself go’ is a heinous example of moral turpitude, which is totally ridiculous when you come think about it. Because as crimes go, dipping into the cookie jar a bit more than you ought to doesn’t Page 26

ME & MY adamantium skeleton

The Kingmeister reports exactly make you Jack the Ripper, does it? It all comes down to the ‘fact’ that if being fat is a choice people make, then surely that makes them fair game for a wholesome bout of fat-shaming.

Because slim vegetarian people are all so very nice, aren’t they? Now, if you agree with any or all of what I’ve just written and you think that fat people could all just be lovely and thin by simply exercising a little willpower and not being so lazy, then please stop right now as you’re making yourself look stupid. Hey, and for once, that’s not me being a dick just for the sake of it, as I thought exactly the same until a little while back, simply because I hadn’t bothered to educate myself properly. You see, what makes people fat is way more complicated than just certain people being greedy buggers, and simplifying the issue to such a ludicrous degree is doing everyone a disservice. I’m sure there are a few of you reading this who are already shaking your heads and not believing a word of the point I’m making, as you down your cabbage and kale smoothie and flex your guns in the mirror. But just stop ogling yourself for a few minutes and wise up, because you just might learn something. While the rest of us have been busy sneering at the people whose buttocks are so big they probably have their own weather system and laughing at YouTube videos of fat people falling over (watch them, they’re brilliant), scientists have actually been researching just what factors make some people’s heart skip a beat when they see a Krispy Kreme. Did you know there are over 140 areas of the human genome that have a direct bearing on your propensity to gain weight? And this is on top of the evolutionarily engrained hankering to stuff our faces with lots of glorious fat that we’re

saddled with. So it kind of calls the whole idea that it’s just a matter of willpower into question, doesn’t it? Honestly, if you seriously think you have any control over your genetic make-up, then I suggest you give Charles Xavier a call and join the X-Men. As well as the genetic factor, studies clearly show a link between obesity and your social and economic demographic, as well as what part of the world you happen to be born in, something I think we can all agree we each have very little say in. Yes, of course you can control what you eat, but what you can’t control is how often you feel hungry and how powerful those feelings of hunger are. What food you have available to you (or can afford) when those hunger pangs strike is also outside of your control, to a large degree. And I’d hazard a guess that there aren’t very many salad bars outside the factories and industrial areas of Blackburn, for example. Oh, and tell me there isn’t a huge disparity in price between all of the healthy stuff we should be eating more of, compared to processed, chemical-laden tripe that clutters up the shelves. Taking into account these very powerful outside factors, condescendingly saying to an overweight person: “You just need to eat less and exercise more” is almost akin to saying to a smack addict: “Just stop taking heroin!” - as though it’s the simplest and easiest thing in the world. Let’s all be honest about one thing as well. When we sneer at fat people, we’re mainly doing it because of how they look, not because we’re disgusted that their arteries must be chock full of lard. Most of you who are regulars at the gym are doing it to look good, whilst improving your health is just a fringe benefit. It’s image that we’re all worried about, not our cardiovascular fitness. Granted, most overweight people aren’t particularly fit, but research has clearly proven that it’s perfectly possible for an overweight individual to be fit and healthy, so once again, it’s mainly the image that we’re worried about. Ask any fat person why they want to lose weight and one of the main answers is to

improve their appearance. We’re not pointing fingers at them and shaming them because we’re really worried about their health. The truth is we just don’t find fat people very nice to look at because of the ridiculous and frankly disgusting obsession with image our culture has, and if it’s bad enough for men, then what about for women? For women the pressure to fit into a very narrow, and frankly unattainable, mould is tremendous and perhaps that’s what we should focus on a bit more than diet? Perhaps we should start admitting to ourselves that this obsession with image is ludicrous, disgustingly narcissistic and, ultimately, very dangerous indeed? We all know that it leads to crushing psychological and dietary problems for legions of people, particularly young girls, and while I’m sure we all agree it’s a terrible, terrible thing, we’ll still go out and buy a copy of ‘Heat’ so we can point and laugh at an actress who’s committed the cardinal sin of popping to the shops in a tracksuit with no make-up on, or (gasp) noticing she’s put on a few pounds. Honestly, if you’re genuinely one of the vacuous twats that buys such tripe so you can laugh at the fact that Kim Kardashian has a fat elbow and feel better about yourselves, then you’re a total cloth-head and you should be bloody well ashamed of yourself. The example (above) was actually true as well. I can’t remember exactly what scandalous rag it was in, but one of these odious publications did run a front page cover showing Kim Kardashian having a bit of fat around her elbow. Her elbow, for Christ’s sake!

You thought I was making it up, didn’t you? Perhaps we might all be better off if we stopped thinking that the airbrushed images we see of actors and models are actually real and stopped trying to aspire to something that’s simply unattainable? Perhaps if we stopped being so focused on image and focused instead on the things that truly matter about people we might stop being such judgmental arseholes? In fact, maybe we should all try looking at ourselves, rather than pointing the finger at other people? Yes, it’s much harder to do that, but it’s ultimately much more rewarding. And if you do need a quick break from all such soul-searching and introspection, well, you can always watch some YouTube videos of fat people falling down some stairs, can’t you? The Edge 01245 348256

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such an all new totally different situation, the more I think it needs handling with kid gloves. I guess if you hate the job you do, you obviously canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wait to be retired because surely anythingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s got to be better than that which you positively cannot stand. But what if you actually like the job you do? Only the time comes when itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s appropriate to stop doing it? Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a completely different kettle of halibut, is that. When youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been working at something for years and then all of a sudden, in a puff of smoke, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s simply not there any more, no wonder itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a major shock to the system for so very many people. Overnight the whole structure of your life can completely go out the window, and just how scary is that? And surely the last thing any of us deserves is for retirement to be solely a moribund existence, yet the more I come to think about it, and as much as Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always despised the word, the more Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m arriving at the conclusion that we all need a certain amount of routine in our lives, simply because thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s exactly what all of our previous years of existence have been based upon and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re used to. We canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t afford to allow our final days (god, that sounds depressing) to simply bleed into one another without any form of purpose. What a tragedy it would be to wonder what the point of getting up in the morning was. Research suggests that although there is initially a slight improvement in our health after we retire, presumably due to an immediate lack of stress, in the longer term retirement can have a markedly adverse effect. Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more, the risk of developing a physical problem immediately increases by up to 60%, due to leading a far more sedentary life. However, the biggest single factor in order to totally screw up your retirement is psychological and that which occurs between our ears. We ought to be in charge of it, of ourselves, but many of us arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t and simply fail to cope with the newness and uniqueness of the situation. Due to already being mindful and cautious of what may lie ahead, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m hoping that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be able to figure out a foolproof plan. But if truth be told, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not hedging my bets.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not on about winter, writes The Edge Editor. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m on about the prospect of retirement. What does retirement mean? Many of us seemingly long to retire, but what we really mean is that we long to stop working; we long for decisions seemingly no longer being made for us and having the final word on what we do and when. But retirement genuinely concerns me, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll happily admit to that. Firstly, for me to retire, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d obviously need to be able to afford to do so, which thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not the remotest possibility of at the moment. And hey, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d also want someone to take over the reins of The Edge and keep the mag going after all these years. But the major reason retirement concerns me is that I have absolutely no experience of it whatsoever and changes to the way you live your life (such as taking on a new job or moving to a completely new area) always concern you, donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t they? So why should retirement be any different? My main concern is: what the bloody hell will I do with myself? For starters, do you retire where youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always lived (or in my case have lived for the past 35 years)? My gut instinct to answering that question is to say â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;noâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, but then Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m the sort of person who actually likes visiting new places, so do I turn into a bit of a nomad? I guess there are numerous ways to do that, but from where Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m standing, a campervan would appear to be the most economical and sensible way of truly leading an inquisitive lifestyle. But have I ever driven a campervan, or indeed stayed a single night in one? No, I havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. I have always slept outdoors under canvas up until now, so that would incur yet another change. And the fact is, you cannot dismiss change as having solely a positive effect as there are always two sides to every coin. To my mind itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be totally bad planning (remember the 6 Pâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s: proper preparation prevents piss poor performance) to simply be of the mindset that says, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be OKâ&#x20AC;? as why should it? That attitude leaves far too much to chance, does that, which is never a good thing. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a fact that many people actually become depressed after the onset of retirement. Now I used to think â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;more fool themâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; butB the more I contemplate

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The Edge 229_The Edge 172.qxd 22/10/2015 15:04 Page 28

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MILLIONAIRHEAD Grossly disturbing news reaches The Edge that that spasm (sustained involuntary muscular contraction) Joey Essex is indeed a wally with an obscene amount of lolly. Notoriously dim - he doesn’t even know where France is - Joey apparently owns a clothing shop in Brentwood and also promotes hair products called D’Reem (get it?). His company, Joey Essex Management Ltd., reported profits of almost £500,000 last year, whilst he can apparently earn up to £10,000 per night as an ‘appearance fee’ and is often paid to promote brands. Our Joey even splashed out £1.6 million on a four-bedroom mock (well, it would be, wouldn’t it?) Tudor gaff in Chigwell, complete with tennis court and swimming pool, whilst he swans around in a customised white Range Rover which he reportedly paid a cool £140,000 for. As well as being a guest on just about every TV panel show going, Joey is undoubtedly most remembered for his stint in the I’m A (Minor) Celebrity....Get Me Out Of Here! jungle, as well as diving show Splash. Young Essex also starred in Educating Joey, in which he attempted to broaden his horizons regarding issues such as politics and space travel. And get this, readers: Estimated wealth: £4.5million. Honestly, who’s the mug, eh?

Next time 4 Weddings star Andie MacDowell comes onto your TV screen during the middle of Coronation Street, just watch as she ever so discreetly sniffs her armpit whilst she is meant to be promoting the benefits of the Revitalift anti-ageing serum. The Edge is not jesting....just you keep your eyes peeled and see!

OH BUGGER Wonder what words that maneater Rhianoff muttered when it came to her attention that her 2015 Strictly partner was to be the wet weekend that is Daniel O’Donnell? The Edge 01245 348256

The Edge 229_The Edge 172.qxd 22/10/2015 15:04 Page 29

MOTCO

Man on the Clapham Omnibus

Poolside Observations After the upset of my non-appearance in the September issues and the trauma that was subsequently caused by my good self performing the Mexican Hat Dance on my beloved fedora hat (see EE’s opening page comments in the same issue) I decided to go into exile. OK, that may be a tad dramatic, as it was only a temporary exile in the form of a couple of weeks in Tenerife, getting some much needed sun... As a sociology/psychology student, a favourite pastime of mine is people watching. One game is putting dates on personal events and ages etc. by various means. Names are a good place to start, so most of the Kylie’s and Jason’s one can date back to the golden period of Australian soaps in the 1980’s. Next we have the slow onset of the tattoo craze. I am not averse to discreet ‘tats’, but I do think a lot of the nation have lost their way on this one. So many are of dubious quality, particularly those who have a mate with an ‘A’ level in art who has always been good at drawing, but just because he bought a 15 quid tattoo-kit on Ebay is not a recommendation to retaining his services. After all, it’s one thing waking up and looking in the mirror at 54 and asking ‘Where did my looks and hair go?’ and entirely another to also be asking ‘Why have I got a life-size drawing of ‘Mott the Tweed Slayer’ covering my chest?’. So let’s start with the infamous ‘tramp stamp’ on ladies backs. Now I actually like these and think they are unfairly named, but the label has stuck. And this goes in two stages. Firstly, older ladies from an early period when trousers were worn at a proper level will have higher knicker lines and subsequently the tattoo appears high up on their lower back. So this places that event in the early 2000-2004 period. Move ahead and the switch to hipster trousers worn lower than a rattle snakes belly and the ‘tramp stamp’ appears right at the top of the bum crack, also revealing the ever popular thong at that time, guesstimated to be 2004-2007. Then there’s the infamous tribal band around the top of the arm, both male and female, and we have to go back to the late 1990’s with these, all of you ageing ravers out there. These will, of course, be grouped with the oriental script phase. Naturally you think it makes some Zen-like wisdom statement, but actually they lied to you and all it really say is: ‘I eat too much cake’. This then brings us into the full tattoo explosion where people of all ages, most of whom have a lifetime ahead of them, randomly plaster themselves with

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equally random designs in equally random places. Here we can comfortably date such into the noughties decade. There are, of course, exceptions, such as the traditional tattoo wearer of old. He or she will have stock favourites, such as Mum/Dad/children’s names, a rose, snake, an anchor and, of course, Lemmy or Ozzy Osborne portraits. These will be limited to mainly upper arm. Problems begin when they get divorced and have to ink over the name of their ‘ex’ then add the latest addition. Result: a completely blue arm. It appears that the ‘tatt’ phenomenon is pan European. Our hotel had a curious mix of nationalities, but with a large UK contingent, as always making very good use of the ‘all inclusive’ option. Holiday thirst, it seems, takes a lot of slaking. Also we Brits do have a peculiar need to announce where we hail from, although I never hear many voices announcing in a heavy accent: “I am from Tweedsolvich, a small county in the Urals famous for its cabbage soup and political forced labour camps.” Meanwhile Yorkshire folk just cannot help announcing the fact, and I really do think they honestly believe it is god’s chosen land and we should kiss t’butts. Whereas the Lancastrians simply spend the entire day saying (rather too loudly): “Yuz alllriiigghht luv” to make sure you know they are paid up professional Northerners. Meanwhile the middle class Southerners simply act superior to everyone else and think all are fair game for some accent snobbery. Anybody who has a flat Estuary accent like me will have to contend with the whole world thinking ESSEX and yes ……TOWIE. Even far from home one has to deal with the fallout of that steaming pile of parney that continues to blight our county. The Welsh cannot believe they can get a direct flight from Cardiff to anywhere (and yes, I am qualified to speak as I have lots of family in Swansea....there’s lovely, see). Lastly and unusually quiet are the Scots, lying there sweating more than a celebrity with a policeman at the door. Quietly preparing to perform an exorcism on the bar....i.e. make all the spirits disappear! Yours aye, Bronzed Mott.

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TOTALLY TRACIE USE IT UP - WEAR IT OUT

What to talk about this month? Well, there is only one subject that is being played out in every house, office and coffee shop in England and that’s the bloody 5p charge on supermarket carrier bags. I myself refused point blank to get involved. For me, life is more than the price of a carrier bag (just about), but then somehow this month I found myself in the middle of an argument at the supermarket checkout with a cashier, plus a stand-up fight with ‘Him Indoors’ on the petrol forecourt and he’s now battling with me in the divorce courts - all due to the carrier bag debacle! Let me digress. Sunday morning, I take off to do the shopping. I usually do a month’s shopping in at a time. I wish I was organised enough to do the home delivery thing, but last time I did that, I came home to find that both ‘Him Indoors’ and my son had rifled through the bags and eaten all but everything they wanted, whilst leaving the frozen stuff to defrost on the kitchen floor until I arrived home after work. Never again! So there I was, queuing at the checkout, and all around me I can hear people complimenting each other on their ‘Ingenious Bag Inventions’ to get their shopping home without spending any money on plastic bags, until finally it gets to my turn. I promptly ask the cashier for five plastic carriers. Well, all hell immediately breaks loose. You would think I’d asked her for a kilo of smack cocaine. “They’re 5p each,” she snapped. “Yes, that’s fine,” said I politely. But she proceeded to huff and puff and pant under the counter getting them out for me until finally she magically produced (Debbie McGee never made that much fuss) but two bags from somewhere in between her legs. “Here’s a couple to be going on with,” she said, irritatedly. “I don’t want two bags,” said I. “I would like five bags, to start with, as I want to separate my shopping.” You see, I like to organise my shopping into separate bags. Well, she then points to the 10p ‘Bags for Life’. “Buy some of those,” she sniffed, “you can use them again and again.” “But I don’t want them,” I protested. “I have a'cupboard full of them at home and I keep forgetting to bring them with me. I like the thin bags as I use them for my lunch every day and I recycle them. So please can I have another three?” I actually found myself pleading those final seven words. “You must be made of money,” she says, and starts rolling her eyes, mocking me, and cajoling the person in the queue behind me with a cheery, “This lady must be made of money.” Perhaps she must have caught me at a bad moment, because I found myself screaming back at her, “It’s 25p we’re talk-

ing about here, not £25. Now either let me have my bags or I will call the manager and complain and you can stick your shopping. It’s a tax, not a means test, and you’re not the Carrier Bag Fairy.” I then found myself looking up to see other shoppers with their heads buried on their chests, scared to make eye-contact with me, rummaging around in their handbags to see if they could fit a trolley load of shopping in them without having to suffer the same ignominious fate as myself. So she proceeds to scan my shopping, making disparaging remarks. “Oh you’re making pastry. Economising are you?” - all sarky like. “No,” I reply, “I’m collecting all these bags of flour to throw at any kids who knock on my door at Halloween,” I reply sarcastically. Anyway, we finally painfully get to the end and she says, “£187.77. But of course you could have saved 25p had you’d had your own bags?” “Well I obviously forgot to bring them, didn’t I?” I snapped, before adding for good measure, “although I don’t really care.” “Well,” she persisted, “you could have put all your items in the trolley and loaded them into the boot of your car and carried it out there for free.” Well, I exploded again. “You think I have time to walk up and down my driveway carrying all this stuff into my house one bit at a$time to save 25p, do you? You need your bumps felt, you do. I shall never set foot in this supermarket again, so you can stick your damn bags where the sun don’t shine,” I huffed, before strutting out. So I eventually got home and lugged all of the shopping into the kitchen before ‘Him Indoors’ shouted from the comfort of the sofa on his fat backside, “Oh, am I glad you’re home. Are you putting the kettle on?” Horror of horrors, I looked in the ’fridge and I’d only forgotten the milk. So he eventually drags himself off the sofa to find out why his tea is taking so long and says, incredulously, “You forgot the milk?” before eyeing me up and down as if I’d committed a crime. “How could you forget the milk?” Quite clearly anyone would think I’d been out shagging the milkman and forgotten to pick up an extra pinta from him in my haste. So off we both go in the car to get some milk from the garage. On the way I am telling him about my row in the supermarket with the cashier. “Oh, I don’t know why you let people bother you so much,” he says. “You should just let it wash over you.” I am silently fuming all over again at his tone. So we pull onto the forecourt and I’d like to say he jumped up and got out of the car and went to buy some milk, but he just sat there, waiting for me to do it. But eventually, after a dozen evil looks, the penny finally dropped and he huffed off to buy it himself. I shouted after him, “Take the bags out the boot to put the milk in.” Five minutes later he comes back out, striding across the forecourt, opens the door and slings the milk behind us in a temper. “They didn’t have any 5p carrier bags and I wasn’t paying 10p for one,” he muttered. “Stuff that.” As I go to pull away, I find my feet suddenly $ swimming in white liquid. Oh yes, him throwing the milk about in a temper had split one of the cartons and now we’re suddenly drowning in the stuff. I honestly couldn’t take any more, so I just punched him and it was one Mike Tyson would have been proud of too. Three car valets later plus £130 spent on 6Bto-;2/= every product 0.= known man to deal with % smell of stale milk and my car still the stinks of cheesey foot odour. So if you see a crazy woman driving around with her head hanging out the window, it’s me. And all this fuss over a few 5p carrier bags...

Tracie123@aol.com

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