23/09/2011
09:34
Page 1
EDGE
the
ISSUE NO: 180
www.theedgemag.co.uk
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The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
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The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
09:39
Page 3
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To be honest, The Edge didn’t know what the hell
to use its page 3 picture space for this month...
so thought it’d show you something that’s
been on its mind of late instead.
The Edge 077 646 797 44
Page 3
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
The Edge Editor’s Column
15 YEARS
Bugger! Fifteen years I’ve been doing The Edge
now, readers: man and boy (surely that ought to
be the other way around?).
“Have you really been doing it that long?”
people often say to me.
“Yes,” I say to them.
Do the bloody math (is it math or maths? Dave
Sherman will doubtless know the answer to that
one. But math (singular) sounds far sexier, don’t
you think? As in: “Do the math, punk. Go on,
make my day.”)
The Edge is monthly, twelve editions per year,
this edition is number 180.
I tell you, it’s simple arithmetic once you really
put your minds to it.
WOW
Remember that Kate Bush song ‘Wow’ in which
she insisted everything was unbelievable?
I found myself singing it to myself the other day,
only then I got to the bit where it goes, “He’s too
busy hitting the Vaseline”....which prompted me
to Google the entire lyrics, only I’m still none the
wiser.
Can anyone shed any light?
RELOCATION RELOCATION
Just love that programme and the latest series
shows no signs whatsoever of being past its sell
09:48
Page 4
by date. However, if any TV executives happen
to be reading this particular issue, me and the
missus would just love the opportunity to do a
spoof version. We were actually cracking up
whilst watching it the other night by making our
most crude interjections and I only need a bit of
dark fluff around the outside of my head to be a
dead ringer for Phil.
Chris Morris, eat your heart out.
So would someone from televisionland kindly
get in touch with a big fat cheque to boot.
SILENCE
I sometimes wonder whether you get sick of all
the words I write because life is just too damn
short and when you eventually get a minute to
yourselves, hell’s teeth, you’re confronted by all
of these bloody words.
I guess what I’m saying is, if I left my editor’s
column blank, would you still bother to read it?
BITTER
I’d hazard a guess and say that an awful lot of
people possibly live in fear of ever being found
out for being bitter.
Christ, folks could probably deal with being
labeled racist more than they could ever
handle anyone accusing them of being bitter,
only I can’t see what the big deal is.
Which is why I have absolutely no problems
admitting that I am bitter to the core.
Oh yeah, I am bitter towards any bugger who
ever pays me late (it’s rude, it’s ignorant, and
how much credit do you expect to get anyway?).
Meanwhile, those who’ve ever gotten away with
not paying me at all (and you know who you
are), well then, I’d genuinely like to see you
sodomised at the stake.
What else? Ah yes, I’m bitter about no longer
having the Adonislike body I had 20 years ago
(oh, come on) and not even being arsed to do
the corner lounge
exchange way, chelmsford.
anything about it.
I’m bitter about every single thing anyone’s ever
said they’d do for me, then didn’t.
I’m bitter about all the parking tickets I’ve ever
received and all those who’ve ever tried to
fleece me.
And finally, I’m particularly bitter towards all
those who have never forgiven me for my
numerous drunken indiscretions (hey, it’s alcohol: what happens afterwards goes with the
territory).
And while we’re on the subject, I even drink
bloody bitter, so really there’s no hope for me.
ROVINJ
You recommend holiday destinations to folks
and they go, “Oh yeah?” but never go.
‘Bernard the Butcher’ used to rave on about the
Croatian jewel that is Rovinj to me and was concerned he’d overcooked it. But when I eventually got there, I realised that you cannot ‘big up’
Rovinj enough and I absolutely loved it there.
So it’ll be interesting to see what Pen-Pen and
Lengthy-Boy think about it too. And hey, they’re
even holed up in the very same hotel (Hotel
Parc with its magnificent views). Hey, it’s nice
when some people really do take your advice.
JOHN MALKOVICH
What’s the difference between John Malkovich
and Sid James, apart from the latter being
brown bread?
The answer, of course, is the fact that our
Sidney would not in the least bit have frightened
you if he’d landed the lead role in, for instance,
Ripley’s Game....especially if Barbara Windsor
had been cavorting about as his wife.
THE EDGE Chelmsford CM2 6XD
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Page 4
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hit-the-streets
simply log on to www.theedgemag.co.uk
punch the ‘SUBSCRIBE’ button
and t’job’s a good ’un!
The Edge 01245 348256
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
10:32
Page 5
The Hangover
Ostrich Eggs
Here’s a photograph of a Japanese tourist
taking a photograph of some ostrich eggs in
Borough Market, London.
The only reason why The Edge is even
mentioning this is because I recently went up
to town for a bit of a pub crawl with three
reprobates (see page 22) and Kingpin wondered how long it would take to boil an ostrich
egg. So we all placed our bets (I reckoned 25
minutes), but that custard Kingpin got it more
or less spot-on with his guesstimate of two
hours.
Can you believe that, two whole hours to boil a
bloody egg, readers?
Yes, I know they look gigantic and appear like
something out of Jurassic Park (or perhaps
only found inside The Kingmeister’s jockies),
but surely that’s for a hard boiled affair (ahhhh,
you forgot to say to the woman on the ostrich
stall whether 2 hours was for runny or hard?).
Anyway, Kingpin pretty much wanted you all to
know that he’s a genius and.....and he really
gets on your tits sometimes, don’t you think,
because he can be such an irritating know-all
little basket at times.
If you agree, email eggs@theedgemag.co.uk
I hate hangovers.
I figured I’d have one after the day before (our
little London trip, as mentioned, left), but they
actually make me feel a bit paranoid, which is
not such a good feeling at all.
I always then always regret the money I feel
I’ve wasted (because throwing alcohol down
your neck isn’t really all that clever) and doubleregret the fact that I’m not feeling too sharp in
t’head, which then causes me to do damn
stoopid tings such as putting my mobile ’phone
in the washing machine (inside the pocket of
my jeans, it was) which thus causes me to have
to waste even more money by buying a new
one.
Good job I don’t go in for fancy ‘all singing, all
dancing’ mobile ’phones, like I reckon a lot of
you readers choose.
Nope - sniff - seventy sheets was more than
plenty for me to have to fork out when there
was absolutely nothing wrong with my old one
(other than the fact that it no longer worked...
cause of death: DROWNED).
I also had to fork out a £250 chunk this month
to get the lower part of the driver’s door of The
Edgemobile resprayed after some thoughtless
twat caught their front bumper on it after no
doubt reversing out of the sardinelike parking
space next to me at the bloody supermarket.
Nice of them to leave their name, telephone
number and insurance details tucked beneath
my windscreen wiper (not).
Peasants.
So that’s £320 simply to stand still, if you know
what I mean (I hadn’t gained anything....I’d just
got parity with that which I’d already previously
had.
Have you wasted any dough recently, readers?
Email: wasted@theedgemag.co.uk
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Page 5
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
10:33
Page 6
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Page 6
There’s no-one gets more disillusioned with life as we know it than The Edge.
I mean, by Christ, I wouldn’t swap my highs for anyone’s as sometimes I am literally floating (nay,
soaring). But bugger, there’s a flip side of that coin and anyone who knows me knows I can really
plummet the depths.
Give me rain and a grey, grey sky and my attitude is, “What’s the bloody point of living?”
In fact, it’s perhaps a bit weird how little it really does take to swing my barometer (“Swing, baby,
swing” - A. Powers Esq.).
Take this photo (above), taken at about 6:30am one morning in early September, whilst I was out
and about distributing The Edge to our town’s commuters at the railway station. The light at that
particular time of day was absolutely wonderful and just look at the beautiful shadow that’s created
by the lamp on the pub wall of The Royal Steamer.
Daft as it may seem, little things like that make me happy, although I do understand that my
connection to happiness is generally governed by the weather, so if it’s shite, then so too (generally speaking) will my mood be.
Sticking with the theme of steam, I spotted
this little beauty (right) pulled up outside The
Compasses at Littley Green recently, and
how can such a beautiful machine not make
you smile? If Fred Dibnah had been behind
the wheel (Gawd rest his Dover), well, I
doubt I’d have been able to contain myself.
I may be the least mechanical person in the
history of the Universe, but a steam engine
in Chelmsford (or any town for that matter),
is a beautiful, beautiful thing. (Let us pose
the question to our town’s commuters: if
there was but one single steam train every
hour on the hour to Liverpool Street 5 mornings every week, would you try your damnedest to catch it, or don’t you give a shite?)
Then there’s Chelmsford’s old gassworks
down by the soon to be levelled Waterfront
Place - and what a crying shame that is). I
don’t know what it is about photographs of
old gassworks, but somehow they appeal to
my sense of....? Is it because I was born
Ecky Thump and not The Edge Editor and all
of my family had Lowry paintings adorning
the walls of their front rooms (did you used to
have front rooms down south, readers?)
when I was growing up?
So what you see on this page are images of
Chelmsford that I personally don’t think are
really half-bad.
Only then I think of the gorgeous sunsets at
Nai Harn Beach in Phuket and I wonder who the hell I’m trying to kid? OK, so I’ve already booked
to go there yet again in 2012, but that’s over six months away and until then, I am literally stuck
with life as we bloody know it in Chelmsford, and the thought of it honestly depresses the hell out
of me more than I’m comfortable letting on.
In my experience - and I honestly wouldn’t wish that on any of you - life’s seemingly very often all
about coping and attempting to ‘make the best’ of stuff as opposed to actually living.
Your comments to: living@theedgemag.co.uk
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The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
10:46
Page 8
Mick McDonagh
Hunter-Gatherers
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Page 8
In a recent Edge edition, the editor referred to
his basic hunter-gatherer instinct in his customary jocular fashion. The comment reminded me
of a book entitled ‘Objects of Desire’ by Charles
Dennis, a Chartered Marketer and Senior
Lecturer at Brunel University who also lectured
me in my formative years. He established a
need to understand shopping as a fundamental
aspect of modern society. The book explores a
range of perspectives from traditional (Maslow’s
hierarchy of Needs) to the latest thinking
(Environmental and Evolutionary Psychology).
The author suggests, perhaps controversially,
that shopping styles may be rooted in the
lifestyles necessitated when our ancestors
adapted to the African savannah. Life evolved
from a primeval soup billions of years ago.
However, some four million years ago, a major
Ice Age forced the forests covering most of
Africa to retreat. Many of our ancestors died, but
the more resourceful survived and reproduced,
shaped by the need to evolve and adapt to
explore and settle in environments abundant
with the resources needed to sustain life.
Hunter-gatherer societies have formed the basis
of human life until recent times. Females tended
offspring and the camp, gathering food and
materials for the family tribe, whilst males tended to hunt, generally being physically faster and
stronger, and protected the family tribe.
Evolution tended to dictate that those best at
their respective roles were more likely to find a
potential mate and to survive resulting in persistent traits.
In today’s western consumer societies, even
where cultural enlightenment has meant greater
gender equality in the workplace, the fundamental differences in female and male shopping
habits persist. Female ‘gatherers’ tendencies
entail ritual seeking, comparing pros and cons,
visiting more shops, more often and for longer,
using the process as a leisure activity or social
interaction. Male ‘hunter’ styles include incisive,
decisive and determined behaviour. Shopping
trips are shorter, imagining the moment of the
‘kill’ (purchase)! So is this all just cultural stereotyping? Well, yes. However, in 2003 the BB conducted some market research resulting in 22%
who disagreed with the stereotypes and 78%
who agreed.
The book is extremely deep comparing myriad
factors. Consumer behaviour is diverse and not
always easy to explain because motivations are
based not just on shops and shopping but also
on service and experience. Given the fiercely
competitive nature of the retail/shopping centre
industry and the currently difficult economic
position, we tend to regularly make differential
changes to the total shopping proposition merely
to survive. As well as changes to the retail mix a
successful retail strategy necessitates continuous realignment to a range of tangible and intangible factors (such as environment/atmosphere)
in line with customer expectations. However, our
eternal dilemma is that human behaviour is not
directed by mere knowledge and information,
but is a product of the images that a person
perceives. We therefore function, or react, not in
response to what is true, but to what we believe
to be true.
Shopping is as old as civilisation itself. People
have always found it convenient to meet at a
particular place to exchange produce. Farmers
in the Middle Ages would gather on specific
days at suitable places, usually a crossroads
where a market would be held. The gathering of
people with goods to barter and sell and money
to spend attracted others, such as bankers
(RUP), innkeepers (silent) and blacksmiths (iceman) for convenience. More permanent premises were established. People lived literally ‘over
the shop’. Communities formed, became market
towns and evolved into today’s towns and cities
with shopping at their centre, surrounded by
other services: administration with office blocks
and a Town Hall; safety and security in the
forms of police and fire stations; leisure, such as
libraries, cinemas, parks and, of course; housing. Transport routes begat roads, railway and
bus stations, and garages to maintain our modern metal horses. These communities were only
contained by and, in a way, defined by these
respective geographical surroundings. However,
commerce refuses to be constrained thus, so
edge of/and out of town retail was born. Then
some wag invents the internet and e-commerce
ensued.
Now let me bring the subject back down to
bricks from clicks. The county town continues to
evolve to meet the needs, desires and aspirations of its principle customers (yes, you!). High
Chelmer has completed the first phase of its £5
million extension project with JJB Sports relocating to West mall. A huge hoarding wall has been
erected at Central Square whilst we build a twostorey glass frontage for Primark, which will also
involve the remodelling of the centre’s roof in
that particular area.
Aquila has put before planners a full application
for the redevelopment of land at the rear of the
High Street and west of the River Chelmer in
order to improve the ‘quality and depth’ of the
town’s retail offer, in order to provide a major
retail store (John Lewis) and other shops/restaurants in 2/3 storey blocks with an extended Bond
Street. A basement car park associated highways works servicing and riverfront
cycleway/footpath. The application also calls for
alterations to the ‘ginnel’ (the gap between the
Gap store and Superdrug on the High Street) in
order to widen the pedestrian access route to
the new mall. ‘Ginnel’ is a northern English word
(which I am sure the editor well knows) meaning
a narrow passage between buildings; an alley.
The origins of the word are possibly the 17th
century French chenel (channel). Meanwhile,
Chelmsford’s numerous night-time revellers
seem to know it as a ‘public’ toilet and I would
even hazard a guess that some of our town’s
future residents were conceived there.
Finally, thank you for all your feedback from my
last article, and in answer to all those who were
wondering and didn’t ask, Primark will open at
High Chelmer Summer 2012.
I have also politely ignored the many ‘linked in’
requests as I still prefer to do my social networking with a pint in my hand!
Oh yes indeed, Michael, I am well aware of
what the splendid word ‘ginnel’ means! E.E.
The Edge 01245 348256
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
14:19
Page 9
brilliant!
“Knickers! Knackers! Knockers!” as dear old Les Dawson might have said.
Things like this really chuff The Edge up.
Surely it can’t be right to remain so very juvenile when one has reached
ripe old ‘middle age’, but what can you do? I honestly cannot help myself
(“which is a bit of a lame excuse if ever there was one, officer”).
I took this snap when I spotted these panties drying above one of my
favourite Chinese take-away outlets in Chelmsford (can any of you readers
hazard a guess as to which one it is?).
I don’t know who these knickers belong to, but she’s obviously not proud,
and fair play to the young maiden for that.
In a similar vein, have you ever called upon anyone unexpectedly when
they’ve got their Y-fronts drying on radiators scattered about their house,
yet they’re completely oblivious (or maybe they simply don’t care because
who’s house is it anyway?).
Or what about that occasion when you were stood at a bus stop and
someone you knew drove straight past, completely ignoring you, or so you
thought, whereas the truth of the matter might well have been that they’d
just dropped an almighty bottom-burp and were far too embarrassed to
stop as they reckoned you’d be offended by the smell.
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Page 9
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
11:01
Page 10
PARAPROSDOKIAN
A paraprosdokian is apparently ‘a figure of speech in which the
latter part of a sentence or phrase is either surprising or unexpected’. Therefore, ‘Where there’s a will, I want to be in it’ is a paraprosdokian. OK, so now enjoy some of these little belters...
1. Do not argue with an idiot; he will drag you down to his level and beat
you with experience.
2. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on my list.
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3. Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright,
until you hear them speak.
4. We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.
5. War does not determine who is right - only who is left.
6. Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a
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7. The evening news is where they begin with 'Good Evening' and then
proceed to tell you why it isn't.
8. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is
research.
9. A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train
stops. On my desk, I have a work station.
10. I thought I wanted a career; turns out I just wanted paying.
11. Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says: 'In case of
emergency, please notify....' I always put 'my doctor’.
12. I didn't say it was your fault, I just said I was blaming you.
13. Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the
street with a bald head and a beer gut and still think they’re sexy.
14. Behind every successful man is a woman. Behind the fall of every
successful man is usually another woman.
15. A clear conscience is the sure sign of a fuzzy memory.
16. You do not need a parachute to skydive; you only need a parachute
to skydive twice.
17. Money can't buy happiness, but it certainly makes misery easier to
cope with.
18. There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so
they can't get away. (“That’s a cracker!” - Frank Carson)
19. You're never too old to learn something stupid.
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Page 10
20. To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit
‘the target’.
21. Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.
22. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than
standing in a garage makes you a car.
23. A diplomat is someone who tells you to go to hell in such a way that
you look forward to the trip.
24. Hospitality is making your guests feel at home even when you wish
they were.
25. I always take life with a grain of salt - plus a slice of lemon and a shot
of tequila.
26. When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the Fire Dept.
usually uses water.
Did you enjoy those, readers? Personally speaking, I’d had enough by
about number eight cos that’s just the way things seem to be where I’m
concerned of late. To have had diahoea for ten days solid (ha! - now
there’s an oxymoron if ever there was one) and still not feel right has
really left me totally out of sorts/kilter.
diahoea@theedgemag.co.uk
The Edge 01245 348256
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
15:10
Page 11
David Sherman’s
BEVERAGE
REPORT
The British brewing industry
was rocked to its foundations at
the beginning of August by the
announcement that CAMRA’s
much-coveted Champion Beer of
Britain Award had been won by
an Essex beer that’s actually
worth drinking. Breaking with
convention, judges assembled by
the consumer organisation named
Oscar Wilde, from Maldon’s
Mighty Oak brewery, the country’s
finest beer.
Noted beerwriter James
Roberts said, “This really is quite
unprecedented. Previously,
there’s been an unwritten rule
saying that a beer from Essex
can only win this award if it has
soapy undertones and such a
high hop-rate that consuming
more than a couple of pints of it
gives David Sherman indigestion.
But this isn’t true of Oscar Wilde
at all. It’s actually a really good
beer, with a pleasant balance of
fruit, roast and sweetness, and a
gentle roasty bitterness in the finish.”
Crown Prince Zumuat Bez-Ali
who chairs the International
Council of Beer Drinkers,
described the result as ‘a very
welcome surprise’ and said that
he hoped other organisations
would take note and start rewarding brewers for producing ‘traditional quaffing beer instead of
freak-show exhibition pieces with
little value beyond that of novelty’.
However, not all drinkers were
so pleased with the outcome.
One policeman in Tottenham was
so angry he shot someone. Angry
protestors took over the streets in
Birmingham shouting, ‘More
awards for yellow beer!’ and
began setting fire to cars and
buildings. They also broke into
shops in order to steal cans of
similar products - no thefts of
decent beer were reported.
The popularity of unpalatable
Essex beers in recent beer competitions has been the cause of
much controversy in the county,
not least among people who can’t
www.theedgemag.co.uk
read properly. In one incident last
year, a journalist was issued with
death threats after he suggested
that this was in part the result of
a brainwashing campaign that
belittled the public and exploited
the feeble-minded. The feebleminded evidently took exception
to this.
In the world of politics, David
Cameron cut his holiday short in
order to congratulate the judges
on their wisdom. Announcing
plans to ‘halt the slow-motion
moral collapse’ of the cask-ale
industry, he set up a commission
to look into how people with poor
taste could continue to be kept
away from breweries and judging
panels. His speech to Parliament
on the subject echoed his ‘Hug a
Beardy’ address to the Conservative Party conference in 2007, in
which he emphasised the value of
encouraging people to drink
decent beer.
Kenneth Clarke said, “This
result confirms what I said in
April. Not all Essex beers are
equally bad. Some are very bad
indeed, and judges should treat
them harshly. Some are actually
very good, and it’s good to see
that in this case, the judges have
acted accordingly.”
Tom Paulin, disagreeing with
Germaine Greer, noted that (continued on page 94).
On other pages - Shock figure
of 36 UK pubs ‘still open’ (P.9)
Government minister claims
beer tax ‘less than £70 per pint’,
(p.4)
CAMRA - Real ale ‘not
responsible’ for death of Amy
Winehouse (p.20)
Paul Gambaccini - Amy
Winehouse ‘not responsible’ for
death of real ale (p.21)
Pictures of big fat men with
ginger beards at Great British
Beer Festival (p.3, 5, 6, 7, 8,
etc.)
Oscar Wilde is available at
The Orange Tree in Lower Anchor
Street and the Wheatsheaf in
Writtle.
Go try it.
Page 11
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:01
Page 12
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As any bloke down the pub will no doubt tell you (oh look, here’s one,
above), the folk who run the railway network clearly haven’t got a bloody
clue. Forgetting, for one moment, the sad fact that they cannot even get their
trains to run on time (or on leaves for that matter), and that their carriages
are both uncomfortable, overcrowded and are often full of marauding goats,
they seemingly cannot even target their advertising correctly either.
Take Bazza (above). He’s twigged it, yet he’s merely procrastinating with a
right refreshing bottle of beer, as opposed to being some ludicrously overpaid
jerk up town who amasses a load of railway hoardings into a package, gives
it a right jazzy name (such as ‘The Network South East’, er, ‘Jazz Package’)
and then desperately tries to flog it to the likes of Sainsburys and VW, telling
them what an “amazing captive audience” they’ll be reaching....before getting
his knob out for extra added emphasis.
Trouble is, mate, what you’re failing to understand is that your mute messages are falling on deaf ears as the R.P.A. (railway punter audience) are
primarily an unreceptive lot, due to the fact that they feel the piss is continually being taken out of them (and they’re not wrong there either).
What the railway networks also fail so miserably to understand is that there’s
a flip side to their hoardings which is a revenue opportunity they are currently
failing to exploit (stroke: thieve).
Look at ‘our man down the pub’ once again, readers (smile, Bazza) and see
whether you can spot it?
Yes, that’s bloody right, the rear of those two 48-sheet hoardings up on
Chelmsford’s platform 2 ought to be turned into ‘advertising opportunities’
directed towards the ‘captive audience’ sat drinking in the sunshine (weather
permitting) out the back of The Plough.
Did you know that it has been scientifically proven that punters are far more
responsive to advertising if they are in a G.F.M. (good fecking mood - which
is precisely why The Edge works so very well) and hell, you’re never in a
better frame of mind than when you’re down the pub having a few bevies.
So what the backside (Backside Advertising Inc.) of these hoardings ought to
be saying is stuff like: “Oh! Slob People! Stop enjoying yourselves and get
yourselves down to Fitness First/Virgin (add name of gym).”
Or how about: “Don’t drink and drive...catch the train instead.”
(See, the railway networks would never even think of something so simple as
this. Why? Because they constantly wander around with their heads stuck up
their arses, that’s why.)
Or alternatively, Mrs Bazza could rent one of the hoardings out herself
(because they won’t fetch anywhere near the rate of the hoardings on the
platforms) and it could say: “Come home, Bazza....your tea’s ready, pet!”
To comment on this article, email wankers@theedgemag.co.uk
NO, WE DON’T LIKE
YOU, AND YES, WE
ARE COMING TO
GET YOU!
The Edge 077 646 797 44
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
11:46
Page 13
****
AUSTRALIANS DON’T GIVE A
about
ANY OTHER CHELMSFORD MAG!
Check this out, readers:G'day Shaun,
This is Grahame Ashby in Australia. My brother-in-law John
Gower from Chelmsford sends me a copy of The Edge every month and I
really look forward to receiving it and reading it very much indeed. My kind of
mag and my kind of humour. Anyway, John suggested I send you a photo of
my good self holding a recent copy of your organ taken outside one of our
watering holes, a famous tourist attraction here on the Sunshine Coast called
The Ettamogah Pub. Wishing you continued success in the future with such
a great publication.
Best Regards,
Grahame Ashby
Neat, huh?
And how old is Grahame? Yet another one in the eye for all folk who simply
don’t get that The Edge isn’t an age thing, or about some poxy socio economic grouping or other. It’s just about real people tuning-in on a specified wavelength. And can you honestly imagine any other local publication getting sent
half way around the world? No, I bloody well can’t either!
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Page 13
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:03
Page 14
Can a new ‘syrup’ improve your performance?
The Edge loves footie but tries not
to write about it on account of the
fact that it doesn’t think its lady
readership would approve.
However, if I try to dress this up by
talking about hair do’s, maybe, just
maybe, we can get away with it.
“Oi, baldy?” whispers Rio Ferdinand
to Wazza and the Manchester
United striker appears forlorn.
So the brand new season; brilliant,
or what? I know that ‘money is the
beetroot of all evil’, but how bloody
exciting is it now that Manchester
City are also in the frame for the
Premiership crown?
Speaking of crowns tho’, it’s the boy
Rooney who’s recently been grabbing all of the headlines, and not
just because of his early season
promise. He just looks like a totally
different person and his
confidence levels appear to have
been boosted to an incredible
degree, all after having an industrial
strength carpet tile riveted to his
skull.
He looks a bit like an Action Man
toy these days, don’t you think?
What a transformation. Just look at
him (left). He appears (as miserable
as Fulham’s Danny Murphy always
does) to have the weight of the
world on his shoulders. Only now
look at him (right) and he could
definitely pass for one of Brad Pitt’s
cousins.
Rooney’s new mop is the principle
reason why Manchester United are
proving yet again to be the team to
beat if you want to raise any silverware in Blighty.
Having said that, The Edge has
been reasonably impressed with
what’s been going on over at Anfield
and with wily old Scot ‘King Kenny’
now occupying the hot seat, can he
really restore the glory days of
Paisley and Shanks?
Probably not; but he’s going to give
it a damn good shot and that’s
what’s making the early months of
the brand new season all the more
exciting.
Me and Edge columnist Steve Ward
compiled our Premiership predictions before the season began and
we chose exactly the same ‘top 5’ in
exactly the same order; now surely
that’s not a good sign? They are
Man. Utd., Chelsea, Man. City,
Liverpool, Arsenal.
However, it’s not so clear cut at the
other end, for while we’ve both got
Swansea for relegation, Steve reckons Norwich and Wolves will
accompany them, whilst I plumped
for Blackburn and Wigan - but after
the start the latter have made and a
couple of decent signings Steve
Kean has made at Ewood Park, I’m
wondering if he might actually not
be the first Premiership manager to
get the chop.
Speaking of which, my former
school chum Peter Jackson won the
entire Football League Sack Race
by becoming the first managerial
casualty of the season when he
resigned from his post at Bradford
City in August - what the hell’s all
that about?
I need to confess to being merely
an armchair supporter and unusual
in so far as I don’t follow any one
club, whereas Wardo’s a died in the
wool Yid who never misses a home
game at White Hart Lane.
But I’ve told him his chairman,
Daniel Levy, has dropped one
almighty clanger by not accepting
Chelski’s bid of £40m for midfield
maestro Luca Modric - but hey, I
guess there’s always the January
Transfer Window to look forward to.
Thing is, Spurs have almost been
everyone’s favourite ‘second club’
for the past couple of seasons, due
to the magnificent job ’Arry has
done, yet we both reckon they’re
going to be little more than also
rans this term. And after the Euro’s,
what then? Will ’Arry become the
next England manager?
The Edge honestly reckons the
whole England set up is a bloody
fiasco. The F.A. should simply
appoint a clearly intelligent bloke,
such as Steve Coppell, offer him a
25 year contract and say, “Right, get
“Brilliant barnet now, lad,” reckons
John Terry. “You should come and
play for us at Chelski.”
on with it, our kid.”
It’s absolutely crackers drafting in
new coaches with new ideas every
couple of seasons. The national
team needs long-term strability and
the likes of Steve Coppell and, perhaps, Trevor ‘don’t sit on the fence
for too long or you’ll get splinters in
your arsecheeks’ Brooking should
certainly be a part of it.
But let’s end on Rooney’s wonderweave as it’s, “Absolutely fantastic,
Barry. I’m over the moon and really
excited about it. What’s thirty grand,
eh? Not even a weeks wages.”
Mia Whitmore
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Having recently met Mia Whitmore, The
Edge can honestly say that if you would
like to have some professional portrait
photographs taken, then you can’t go
wrong with this friendly young lass (lady).
Preferring to take people’s photographs
in the comfort of their own homes, or at
a favourite local haunt, it makes for an
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Mia set up her own photography
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time with her child and she is steadily
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In addition to Mia’s standard rates and
packages, which are extremely reasonable, The Edge has to say, Mia also
offers Gift Vouchers for an hours photo
shoot and A4 canvas print, starting from
£65 (for pet portrait) that would surely
make an ideal birthday present or
Christmas gift.
Based in Chelmsford, Mia is fully CRB
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delivers the kind of photographs that
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Upon production of the voucher below,
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made before the end of October 2011.
So what are you waiting for readers,
huh?!
FREE A5 Photographic Print
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Page 14
The Edge 077 646 797 44
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
14:19
Page 15
BACK INN TIME goes Back In Time!
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Page 15
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:34
Page 16
PERKS OF THE JOB!
By the time you readers get around to reading this, your editor will just
have returned from a week spent at a high class Portomaso 2-bedroom
apartment at St. Julian’s harbour front, Malta....and I’ve had a right bloody
tickle, I tell thee!
Y’see, someone I kind of know (well, I know what he does and he knows
what I do, but that’s pretty much about it, if you know what I mean) got in
touch and said, “Look, the thing of it is, I rent out my beautiful apartment
in Malta, only I’m sick and tired of renting it to Jocks and Geordies and
Scousers and Brummies and.....I’d far rather rent it to a whole load of
really nice local Essex people.”
“Aye,” said I.
And this is the best bit, readers, and you’re proper going to hate me for it.
“So how do you fancy,” he continued,” taking your missus over for a
weeks autumnal sunshine and writing a bit about it in that there rag of
yours and I’ll only charge you atishoo, cough, really can’t mention it etc?”
“Well, sir,” said I, “I very much think you may well have gotten yourself a
Apparently it’s one of these harbour front apartments, recently valued
at a cool 750,000 euros.
Page 16
This is the private pool area that sort of ‘comes with the apartment’.....
only at an additional cost of 10 euros per person per day!
deal there, fella. All things considered and what have thee.”
Well, what could I say, readers? After all, what would you have said in my
shoes, hmmmm?
The truth of the matter is that Malta was somewhere we were always
going to visit at some point, only seeing as opportunity has well and truly
knocked, hell, why bother waiting?
Anyway, I’ll let you know how we got on in the forthcoming November
editions. However, I do have an immediate concern in the shape of the
additional cost required to visit the private pool area (does this bloke
honestly not realise that I’m a Yorkshireman?) and the extortionate prices
they will no doubt charge for drinks once they’ve got you in there.
No, no, no, no, no. Sod that for a lark. That is something I just cannot be
poking up with, no matter what this particular holiday hasn’t ended up
costing us (that’s not the point)....so no doubt I will also be reporting about
the nearest free local beaches too, readers, arf, arf.
On the thorny subject of cost, you’re probably looking at between 500 to
1,000 euros to rent this luxurious apartment per week, depending upon
the time of year (and availability remaining). So in the first instance, log
onto holidaylettings.co.uk and in the small grey box (top right) that says
‘Search: Home ID, Location, FAQ...’ punch in 77983 and....VOILA!
The Edge 077 646 797 44
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:34
Page 17
NO MORE NERDS...
NO MORE NERDS...
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Never ones to shy away from problem solving, Gamit Ltd. needed to link
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Page 17
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
YOUR
letters
&
emails
12:35
Page 18
The Shermanator
In response to the letter from that
Catholic bloke last month, if someone can’t distinguish between a
lump of bread and the body of
Christ, then they’re really not qualified to lecture people (i.e. you,
Shaun) on the subtle distinctions
between ‘active’ and ‘passive’ uses
P.S. The active use if the verb
means the object of the sentence
is performing the action. The passive use means the action is being
performed to the subject. So ‘I was
sat’ implies the passive, as in ‘The
waiter took my coat and I was sat
at a table towards the rear of the
restaurant’. The waiter performed
Riveting
Dear Edge,
Spotted this sign whilst our rambling on the south coast of England
and thought of you!
this month’s star testicle!
And???
Mrs. A. Saxon
Chelmsford
E.E.
Coffee
to theedge!
CHELMSFORD, CM2 6XD.
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
Hitler the Cat
Dear Edge,
Here’s a picture of our cat.
Can you guess why we call him
what we do?
James Rawlinson
Braintree
Errrrrr, is it because it’s antiJewish for some unfathomable
feline reason?
E.E.
Five
Dear Sir,
The Edge is seemingly comprised
of 32 pages and your mug-shot
was on five of them last month.
Thank God you declined Michelle’s
kind invitation to sort out your
‘back, sack’n’crack’ as that would
have increased the burden even
further
Yours (I like to think) observantley,
Joe Danter
Great Leighs
My dear boy, I do so apologise
as I appreciate I am not the most
photogenic of chaps. I must
remember that The Edge is not
my own personal photograph
album, damnit!
E.E.
Page 18
Dear Edge,
Thought you might appreciate this photo of an Italian bloke my friend
Wendy and I spotted whilst we were on holiday recently.
The sign he’s relaxing in front of says ‘NO BALL GAMES’.
He actually slept like a baby for ages until his wife eventually noticed
his indiscretion and woke him up.
Jools Morris.
Jools, you don’t happen to
know a local bloke called Jan
Attrell, do you (this is him on
the left), because The Edge
reckons you might have actually photographed him whilst he
was on his holidays of late?
The two fellows do actually
look like one and the same,
don’t you think?
Instead of people finding this
sort of mishap offensive
though, The Edge reckons it’s
good to see otherwise hardworking men relaxing, and if
that means there ‘plums’ are relaxing too, then hey, what the hell
....it really is no big deal?
E.E.
of past-tense verb-forms.
Yours,
David Sherman.
You know what, readers, there’s
nowt that lad doesn’t know and
whilst that there Wolverine character (see page 26) might physically pierce you with those ultralong fingernails of his, The
Shermanator can literally splice
you in two with mere words,
which is a far better armoury to
possess in The Edge’s book.
Speaking of Wolverine tho’, have
any of you ever wondered why
Kingpin’s column always has
that picture of the X-Lax Man on
it? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because
he bloody well fancies him, the
ruddy great short tart.
E.E.
the action because he sat you
somewhere. ‘I was sitting’ is the
active because it’s something you
did for yourself.
But (and oh my God, the plot thickens here) ‘sat’ can be used as an
adjective to describe the historic
state of something or someone. So
‘I was sat’ can in fact be used in
exactly the same way as ‘I was
cold’ or I was tired’. So whoever
sent you that email is an idiot.
That was The Shermanator once
again, if you didn’t realise it, and
the guy who sent in the email to
which The Shermanator is referring is Ev Lucas (sorry Ev, but
you did), only please for gawd’s
sake don’t counter reply as
these things then drag on and
on and on etc.
E.E.
Dear Edge,
Where would you say serves the
nicest cup of coffee in Chelmsford?
Yours inquisitively,
Stella Blackman
Beaulieu Park
Funnily enough, Colin makes a
nice brew round at C&C Autos
where I get my Edgemobile serviced, Stella, although you might
find you vacate their premises
with a couple of oily handprints
on your backside, were you to
pop round and ask him for a
chocca mocha skinny latte. E.E.
John Malkovich
Dear Sir,
I popped into Asda at Chelmer
Village the other evening and was
surprised to see they’d made a
right effort and had carpeted all
around the entrance/exit doors.
Yours faithfully,
John Malkovich.
Bloody hell, John,The Edge
noticed that too. Ahem. Not that
it ever shops there, mind.
E.E.
Maltese Government
Dear Edge,
Is there any chance you could
kindly not come to Malta as we
don’t particularly approve of
Northern Tykes.
Yours expectantly,
Lawrence Gonzi
Prime Minister of Malta
Too late, me old fruit, I’ve
already concluded negotiations
with Sleazyjet and am reyt looking forward to coming. So can
you tell me what is the nearest
pub to St. Julian’s that serves a
right refreshing pint of Barnsley
Bitter at room temperature and
none of that extra cold
malarkey? Also, I shall definitely
be wanting somewhere close at
hand that serves an awesome
full English breakfast from
9:00am ’til midnight plus Sunday
Roasts five days a week.
E.E.
The Edge 077 646 797 44
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:47
Page 19
theEDGE DVD REVIEW
DVD
review
LOVED IT!
This is one of those flicks that’s easy to watch, yet oh so well put together.
I had the gross misfortune to watch Hall Pass the other evening, which
was inept. When you consider the vast sums that go into producing
movies, you wonder how the makers of Hall Pass can get it so blatantly
wrong, whilst the producers of Tamara Drewe simply nailed it.
WARNING: You do not need to wear your wellies to watch this movie, but
as it’s set in a place called ‘the countryside’ (where people poke their
noses into other peoples business), you may get more out of it if you do.
Tamara (Gemma Arterton) returns to Ewedown, where the majority of the
locals remember her for having a bit of a schnoz in the middle of her face,
though she’s now an elegant swan after rhinoplasty. And these days she’s
a glitzy columnist in London, don’t you know, has a pop star beau on her
arm, and decides to employ ex-boyfriend Andy (Luke Evans) to ‘do up’ the
old family home in order to make a quick killing.
Then there’s Beth (Tamsin Greig) and Nicholas Hardiment (Roger Allam);
he a fantastically self-important and successful crime novelist, whilst his
wife runs a ‘retreat’ for would-be writers in the idyllic form of a series of
ever so quaint chalets in the grounds of their beautiful home. ’Course,
Nicholas merely treats his wife’s female guests as potential sexual fodder
and has absolutely no intention of helping them with their craft, whilst Beth
has grown so used to slaving away and keeping both the home and everyone in it tout sweet that somewhere along the line she’s also become
accustomed to turning a blind eye to her husband’s philanderings.
“She’s poured herself into those shorts,” she says upon Tamara’s return,
“I hope they don’t give her thrush.”
So drop whatever you’re doing this weekend and fit this movie in.
It’s as refreshing as diving into an ice-cold lake (sort of).
I’d definitely happily watch it again.
)XOO\ÀWWHGEDWKURRPVVXSSOLHGDQGÀWWHGIURP
£3495.00
Bathrooms, Ensuites, Cloakrooms, Wetrooms, Shower rooms
Building work, Heating, Plumbing, Electrics, Tiles,
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Building work, Granite, Lighting, Tiles, Flooring
Appliances, Sinks and taps, Electrics, Wood worktops
K Kitchens, Made to measure kitchens, Granite,
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3OHDVHSKRQHIRU\RXUIUHHQRREOLJDWLRQVXUYH\DQGTXRWDWLRQ
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Family run business
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All DVD’s fired from Blockbuster, Springfield Road, Chelmsford.
Beaujolais
ujolaiis Day
17th November
N
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ookings Now
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The Edge 01245 348256
Page 19
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
ONLY
JOKING!
Men With Short...
A man goes into a book shop and asks the
young lady assistant, "Do you have that new
book in stock for men with short penis's? Sorry,
miss, I can't remember the title.”
She replies, "I'm not sure if it's in yet."
The man says, "That's the one. I'll take a copy."
Harry Potter
I’ve just seen the latest Harry Potter film, but it’s
a bit unrealistic for me. Like, a ginger kid, with
two friends? Leave it out.
When Opportunity Knocks
A man with a gun goes into a bank and
demands money. Once the cash is handed over,
he turns to a customer and asks, “Did you see
me rob this bank?”
The man replies, “Yes, absolutely.”
So the robber shoots him dead. Then he turns
to an old couple standing next to him and asks
the man, “Did you see me rob this bank?”
The old chap thinks on his feet and replies,
“I didn't, but I'm pretty sure my wife did.”
The Good Old Days
I hate all this terrorist business. I used to love
the good old days when if you spotted an
unattended bag on a bus or a train, I’d think,
"I'm having that."
Busy Busy Busy
A man is busy shagging a 30 stone woman he
picked up after last orders had been called
down at his local. He says, “Can we have the
light off?” She says, “Why? Do you find me
repulsive?”
He says, “No. It’s just the bulb’s burning my
arse.”
12:36
Page 20
Catholic Dog
Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside with
only a pet dog for company. One day his dog
died, so Muldoon went to see the parish priest
and said, “Fartha, me dog is dead, so could ya
be saying' a mass for the poor creature?”
Father Patrick replied, “I'm afraid not. We cannot have services for animals in church. But
there are some Baptists down the lane and
there's no tellin’ what they believe. Perhaps
they'll do somethin’ for the poor creature.”
Muldoon says, “Thank you, Fartha, I'll go right
away. Do ya think £5,000 will be enough to
donate to thee Baptists for the service?”
Father Patrick put his arm around Muldoon’s
shoulder and said, “Sweet Mary, Mother of
Jesus! Why the heck didn't ya tell me your dog
was a Catholic?”
Something’s Wrong
I woke up this morning at eight and could immediately smell something was wrong. When I got
downstairs, I found the wife face down on the
kitchen floor, stone dead.
Well, I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. Only
then I remembered Wetherspoons serve breakfast until 11.30am.
Jenny
A man was sitting reading his ’paper when his
wife hit him around the head with a frying pan.
“What the bloody hell was that for?” he cried.
His wife said, “I’ve just found a piece of paper in
your other trousers with the name Jenny written
on it.”
Her husband replied, “You daft bugger. I wore
those trousers to the races the other night and
Jenny was the name of a horse I put a bet on.”
Well, his wife was beside herself with apologies
and went to fetch him some ice-cubes wrapped
in a tea towel for the swelling on his head.
Then, but a few days later, her husband is
watching TV when she almost knocks him
unconscious with the frying pan.
“Now what?” he says, holding his throbbing
head in his hands.
His wife replied, “Your horse ’phoned.”
"My God!" I said. "You wouldn’t think a person
could carry on celebrating that long."
Gynaecological Visit
A middle-aged woman seemed sheepish when
she visited her gynaecologist.
“Come, come now,” coaxed her doctor. “you've
been seeing me for years. There's really nothing
you shouldn’t be able to tell me.”
“Oh, OK then,” she says, “but this one really is
kind of strange.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” says her doctor.
“Well,” says the woman, “yesterday I went to the
bathroom in the morning and heard a plinkplink-plink in the toilet and when I looked down,
the water was full of one pence pieces.”
“Hmmm, I see,” said the gynaecologist.
“Then in the afternoon, I went to the bathroom
again and plink-plink-plink, there were a whole
load of two pence pieces in the bowl.”
“Wow!” said the doctor, fascinated.
“Then last night,” she continued, “I went to the
loo once more and plink-plink-plink, the toilet
was filled with five pence pieces. And hey, just
this morning before I came to see you, plinkplink-plink, ten pence pieces! Doctor, you've
simply got to tell me what's wrong with me as
I'm scared out of my wits.”
The gynaecologist moved around the table to
put a comforting hand on her shoulder and said,
“There, there, my dear, it's nothing to be scared
about and there’s nothing whatsoever wrong
with you. You're simply going through the
change, that’s all.”
Sound Advice
My dear old grandaddy gave me some sound
advice on his deathbed. “Thomas,” he said, “it’s
always worth spending money on good
speakers.”
Literally Shaking
I was walking down the road when I saw a bloke
with a turban on his head standing on a fifth
floor balcony shaking a carpet.
I shouted up to him, "What's up Abdul, won't it
start?"
Suicidal
Sexy Young Secretary
I had a mate who was suicidal, and we are talking mega depressed here. So I decided to help
him out by pushing him underneath a steam
train. Hey, I never saw him look so chuffed.
Two law partners hire a sexy, young secretary,
and though they're both happily married, they
agree to see who can score with her first.
Eventually, one of them does so and his partner
is eager to hear how things went.
"Ah," replies his partner, "she was no great
shakes. In fact, my wife’s better."
Another couple of weeks go by and the second
partner eventually gets lucky with the young
secretary.
"So?" asks the first partner, "what did you
think?"
The second partner replies, "You're right. Your
wife is better."
Essex Girl
During a recent password audit, it was found
that an Essex girl was using the following password: ‘MickeyMinniePlutoHueyLouieDewey
DonaldGoofyLondon’
When asked why she had such a long password, she explained she was told it must contain at least eight characters and one capital.
Annual Check-Up
Went to see a nurse for my annual check-up
this morning and she told me I had to stop
masturbating.
“Why?” said I.
“So’s I can examine you,” she said.
High School Reunion
My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high
school reunion when she kept staring at a drunk
slumped alone, drinking out of a whisky bottle.
I asked her, "Do you know that man?"
"Yes," she sighed. "He's my old boyfriend. I
hear he took to drinking right after we split up all
those years ago and he hasn't been sober
since."
Disabled Toilets
Disabled toilets, somewhat ironically, are the
only toilets big enough to run around in.
Johnny & Joanna
A woman takes eight-year-old Johnny home and
tells his mother that he’s been caught red-handed playing doctors and nurses with Joanna, her
eight-year-old daughter. But Johnny's mother
says, "Oh, let's not be too harsh on them. After
all, they’re bound to be curious about sex at
their age."
"Curious about sex?" replies Joanna's mother.
"He's taken her bloody appendix out!"
All jokes published are supplied by Edge readers. Please send your ‘egg yokes’ to shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:55
Page 21
No, readers, this is not Andy
Cresswell giving it some
F.M.L. (Freddie Mercury
LARGE - as in: ‘All we
hear is RADIO GA-GA,
RADIO GOO-GOO’).
If you look very closely,
you’ll actually see he’s got
a kettlebell in his hand.
OH
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Page 21
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:55
Page 22
PLAY MORE MUSIC
"After silence, that which comes closest to expressing
the inexpressible is music." Aldous Huxley
I'm writing this because I love music, writes Richard Hindle. I always have and I
always will. At times in my life, it's been the only thing I’ve had that makes any sense - it
has literally saved my soul. I know that music can heal division across race, culture and
belief/political systems. Music has been with us since the start of human consciousness
- it is perhaps only predated by art as the first 'spiritual activity' that helped us draw
aspects of our subconscious minds into society as a valid expression of our sense of
imagination and our inherent desire for progression. Through this expression we can
change our sense of self and how we understand those around us for the better.
My personal music journey began with Toyah Wilcox, ELO and Adam and the Ants (do
keep reading, please!) - hanging around in my elder brother's bedroom, chatting about
how cool certain sounds were. We had our own little thing going on. Since then, I've
learned that Jeff Lyne (ELO) wrote the entirety of 'Out of the Blue' in two weeks flat,
stuffed out of his face on cocaine. Good work, Jeff, you legendary snow plough, you!
After this foray, I rapidly descended from rock, (God, I actually bought Bon Jovi's
'Slippery When Wet') into metal, then goth, psychedelia, followed by every extreme
aural soundscape imaginable. The hunger inside me for extremity wasn't, in retrospect,
about music; it was about the extremes of human consciousness - the crossover
between conscious deliberation and subconscious freedom - still the eternal key to
writing ‘good choons'.
My brother soon gave up on being interested in my music collection. He became convinced I just liked 'weird for weird’s sake' (brother Lawrence, during this time I was still
head-phoning Aha - though admittedly I kept this a bit quiet, given I was young and still
concerned about looking cool in front of my peers). For a while I became a truly 'sensitive artist' - pop, or anything commercially acceptable, did not fit with my own sense of
pushing conscious boundaries.
But as I've aged and mellowed/given up, I've let pop back in (a bit). Recently I've loved
the first half of Nero's 'Welcome Reality' album (drop the second half), whilst realising
that 'yoof' has already passed beyond any Dubstep shenanigans, probably being old
school given the album was released an awfully long time ago (in 2010)! Good music,
to me, is about placing something where it needs to be and whilst I wouldn't pretend to
really enjoy the entire X-Factor 'Karaoke Queen/King' soul-sucking belief that all talent
has left humanity for good mentality, I'm far less judgmental of the whole proceedings
(ish) these days.
I've played in many bands since the age of 17 with varying degrees of absolutely no
commercial success, from my first collaboration 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead
Things' through to 'Siberian Space Disaster' and the current and best musicians I've
had the pleasure to play with, 'Dead Dux'. To play music with good friends is a great
honour. As a band, we are OLD - even the young un's in the band are in there 30's and
I'm close to a decade on from them re: grey hairs. But we play together because we
enjoy each other's company, perspective, passion, and we believe we have something
musically valid to express. The majority of bands start because the members want to
live the 'lifestyle' - drugs, sex, fame, fortune etc. Most give up in their early twenties
when they realise that the only way to make money out of music is to learn covers and
gig at functions like weddings, because in truth, there is no support for original and creative music in any way, shape or form - other than from a passionate and usually
unpaid few.
Don't believe the record companies responses to the digital age regarding the inability
to fund new talent - most never gave a flying fxck about anything other than unit shifting. The current internet fuelled response to this means artists, as they did under record
companies, still earn nothing from music, but at least they can express themselves and
develop their own fan base away from cash hungry idiots telling them what is right or
wrong regarding the most recent 'fifteen minutes of fame'.
As a musician living in Chelmsford, it’s frustrating. Perhaps our proximity to London
holds our town back, but our 'countryside cousins' in Colchester fair much better with
every aspect of culture compared to Essex's capital (yeah, sorry council gentry, but we
probably won't ever have enough crack heads, armed police or MUSIC VENUES to be
considered a City, even if we do end up with a John Lewis!).
There are a few local bastions of local music: Panic magazine (Andy Poole, Dan Hewitt,
James Lapham, Lucy Jones, Dusk Daily, Kat Howchen, Paul Dale, David Arsoctt and
crew), Shakey's Night's (Dave Wheelhouse) and those that support his efforts, Hooga
(Marc, Jon and Jon) and maybe you can even include Captain Fleece (Brett) as well,
given there are some excellent bands at The Fleece - as a manager his efforts have
definitely facilitated Chelmsford's music scene.
Generally, bands don't get paid for playing in Chelmsford. Shakey, having had experience with the gent (regarding our own band) always does his best to pay bands, but
unless you bring in the crowd, you won't generally get paid and many venues will only
have original ‘live’ music on a Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday/we're empty night - and of
course that's going to work (fail). For venues themselves, it's always got to be about the
dollar - as with any business, you need cash to survive.
This should be where local council has a far greater part to play. We do have funded
events (The Fling etc.) but this is different to having a dedicated music venue where the
pound sign doesn't rule creativity. If the Chelmsford music scene continues to be dictated by money, then there remains little future for music in Chelmsford. I attend a lot of
music nights in our town and all too frequently they prove lacking in attendance. Whilst
I've seen some fantastic local bands and met some truly great people, the only thing
Chelmsford is known for regarding music is the ‘V festival’ which currently has nothing
to offer local musicians who want a platform or audience to appreciate their efforts.
Thanks Virgin/Branson - glad to know you care!
In truth, I have very few solutions, but I think the start of it actually lies with bands and
musicians. If you are in a band, then you should support other bands. If you love music
(rather than merely trying to look good on stage), then why not attend each other's
nights? If people who proclaim to love music can't even be bothered, then no-one else
will be. But I will always live in hope and will always enjoy seeing bands I've not seen
before, and go back for more of those I enjoy.
I'm truly grateful for the effort a very few have made to making Chelmsford something
more than just a shopping centre, and I can only hope that their efforts continue to
make this town a far more fruitful and creative melting pot.
Page 22
Pub Crawl: London
When you decide the take a Friday
off and go up to London for a day
on the piss (as they say in the
trade), I’m not sure whether it’s an
admission of defeat in itself?
I doubt whether my co-conspirators
viewed our day out in much the
same way, but I do seem to get to
pinging point before quickly deciding that I simply have to get out....
of Chelmsford.
The Likely Lads: (closest first)
Kingpin, Captain Cutthroat
and The Chopster.
We certainly made damn sure
there were four of us in order to
get our cheap day return tickets for
£9.95 each, which is surely all it
ought to cost.
Kingpin then admitted on the way
up to town that he’d once stuck a
marble up his bum as a child, so
that brought on a few reminiscent
tales (of simply playing with marbles as kids, as opposed to actually sticking them anywhere).
We had our first pint at lunchtime
outside The Old Thameside Inn as its name suggests right on the
Thames at Pickfords Wharf, Clink
Street (what a great name for a
street), next to some ‘fake boat’ or
other that no doubt Dame Ellen
MacArthur probably circumnavigated the world in. I kicked off with a
5.1% Wispa whilst Kingpin and The
Chopmeister opted for pints of
Tribute, Captain Cutthroat favouring a Doom, such was his mood.
We then popped round to The
Rake in Borough Market (I just
adore Borough Market) and had
four halves, because get this: the
nectar we were sipping cost £9.30
a pint (do try the Echt Kriekenbier a traditional Flemish cherry ale at
6.8% - but tastes like pop!).
Then it was into the market itself to
the lovely Cider Stall where the
lads also opted for an ostrich burger for lunch (from the stall oppo-
Cider Stall: Borough Market
site) whilst I had a curry instead.
After which it was a trip on the
lovely Thames Clipper from
London Bridge to the Embankment
where they charge you £3.70 for
but a couple of stops (like a twat, I
insisted we buy our tickets at the
dock, as opposed to on the clipper,
which was a mistake as we never
got asked to produce ’em).
You pass The Founders Arms on
the water and if you’ll take our
advice, that’s as close as you want
to get to the bloody place.
We, on the other hand, were headed for The Coal Hole on the
Strand as it’s a place Kingpin
insists I once really liked, but honestly, lad, I think we must have
been talking at cross-purposes as I
cannot bloody abide it as it’s way
too ‘obvious’ a location.
The Lamb & Flag is much better,
tucked away on Rose Street, just
off Covent Garden, and that’s
where Kingpin decided to switch to
G&T’s as he was “getting full of
beer” - the ruddy great tart.
It was cab time then, over to Ye
Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet
Street (not before walking past a
Gay Ice-Cream Bar at 15 Maiden
Lane to get there, once we’d
ditched the taxi after it got stuck in
traffic), but it just didn’t seem to
have the same magic as it had on
a previous visit (funny/odd how
that sometimes happens, don’t you
think?). Anyway, that was where
Chopsy dropped the bombshell
that he’d be CONFIDENTIAL
on the Sunday.......but that he’d
definitely be wanting his widescreen TV back!
Then it was another cab journey
back to Liverpool Street where we
learnt that some thoughtless bastard had decided to chuck themselves under a train at Romford
(you’d think they’d have at least
gotten the weekend out the way
and topped themselves on the
Monday morning), so we were
forced, yes, forced to have a couple of jars outside a pub called
Williams in Artillery Lane, and then
The King Stores (daft name for a
hostelry) in Widegate Street.
Eventually caught the 7:45pm rattler back to Chelmsford (took a
bloody age) and popped into The
Golden Fleece (Duke Street),
Sweeneys (“Hello Tom” in Tindal
Street) and the all new and
exceedingly impressive Bay Horse
(Moulsham Street) before staggering home to our fartsacks.
What a bunch of wasters, eh?
Never again.
www.theedgemag.co.uk
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:58
Page 23
Death Penalty
Toothpaste
Dictators
MP Priti Patel wants to reintroduce the death penalty; she
thinks it’s nice to kill people.
Ah, bless her.
“Are your teeth really clean?”
those TV ads asks us. “Did
you know that 2/3rds of your
teeth are hidden below the
surface?” they inform us. Now,
you can use new Colgate to
protect those hidden areas.
Fxck me. What next?
Is your arse really clean? Did
you know that 90% of your
arse is hidden? But now, you
can buy the new Toilet
Wizard. It’s a bloody great
brush that you stick up your
arse to clean those difficult to
reach places, you gullible
twats.
We armed and supported
Sadam Hussain, who became
a brutal dictator while we
turned a blind eye. Then we
replaced this sadistic dictator
with a corrupt and inept government; at the cost of thousands of British, American and
Iraqi lives.
Hundreds of British & American
soldiers have been killed to
install a corrupt and inept government in Afghanistan. It has
just been announced that we
will no longer deliver detainees
to the new Afghan authorities’
prisons, as there is evidence of
torture and murder.
And now we are in the process
of removing another brutal and
sadistic dictator, Colonel
Gadafi, after first supplying him
with arms over the last 10
years before turning on him.
He is being replaced by a brutal and sadistic rebel government, who we now recognise.
Channel 4 News recently
showed their reporter intervening in the detention of, and
intended execution of, seven
black African migrant workers.
They tearfully begged the
reporter to remain with them or
they would be killed. So he
remained and they were saved.
Nearby, a bulldozer had just
dug a big hole in the ground.
Meet the new boss, same as
the old boss.
Bacteria
The Grumpy Goose!
Child Care
There has been a lot in the
media recently about the high
cost of child care; how are
parents supposed to have
careers if they cannot find
affordable child care. We all
know the problem, life is
great, the career is great,
then, along comes the first
child. How bloody inconvenient. What can I do with this
annoying little thing? I know,
pack it off to a stranger every
day, like I do with the dog.
It’s such a difficult problem,
juggling motherhood and a
career; I don’t know what the
answer is.
I do. Forget your career; you
selfish bitch, and look after
your child.
A woman’s place is in the
home.
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
There are so many products
we are encouraged use in our
perpetual war against bacteria.
Mothers are encouraged to
constantly wipe worktops and
chopping boards with Dettol;
as we all know, there are
more bacteria on our chopping boards than on our toilet
seats. What? What are we
chopping on our chopping?
Brown trout?
We must buy automatic soap
dispensers because the
push-button on top of the
manual ones are infested with
bacteria, apparently. Even the
little plastic cage that contains
our toilet bleach blocks are a
perfect breading place for
bacteria, so we must use a
new anti-bacterial gel that
attaches to the toilet bowl
without a little plastic cage.
We must kill all bacteria!
We must drink Yakult every
day; you know the stuff, rotten
milk in a little pot. It’s good for
us; we need a healthy dose of
bacteria every day.
Wait a minute...
Green Policy
The government and local
councils are frightened to criticise any eco proposal, no matter how daft, for fear of swimming against the (perceived)
tide of public opinion. No matter how expensive, useless or
ugly, if it carries the name sustainable or renewable, eco
friendly or Green, then it will
be rabidly supported and woe
betide anyone who says,
“Hang on a minute....”
Therefore, I propose something eco friendly. We could
use the unemployed to carry
us to and from our place of
work (piggy back style). This
would alleviate traffic congestion during rush hour and cut
down carbon emissions.
Page 23
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
12:58
Page 24
HAPPY HALLOWEEN,
KIDS. GO EASY ON
THE SQUASH!
Jacqueline O’Neill
EDGErecommended!
Highly
contact jacqueline on 07583 629 493
Page 24
Having a Brew with: Darren Maynard
Darren Maynard (40) is married, has 2 kids and a border-terrier called
Max, who the family bought the very day after watching Marley & Me.
They live in Wickford, but Darren runs the B&O branches in both
Chelmsford and Leigh-on-Sea. After leaving school (aged 15), he
worked for Ford for 2 years as a YTS, then joined the old Kelleys store
in Chelmsford (remember that, readers?) in 1989 and has been selling
B&O ever since, eventually taking over our local branch in 2002. When
The Edge meets him for a right refreshing brew, he places an iPad, a
mobile ’phone and his wallet on the table between us.
EE: I see you’ve brought your toys,
with you (as if on cue, a trumpet
sounds to signify an incoming text
message)?
DM: Never leave home without
them. I absolutely love gadgets,
particularly anything shiny with the
apple logo on it.
EE: OK, so let’s get the ball rolling.
Confess to a guilty pleasure?
DM: Oooooh, I’m a bit of a shopaholic. I can’t wait to go to Westfields
in Stratford....but not necessarily to
buy anything. I just love looking at
stuff.
EE: Whoa! Now I find that plain
weird, looking at stuff without actually making a purchase. So confess to
a guilty pleasure that I can actually
get my head around?
DM: What, like a packet of chocolate
Hobnobs that have come straight out
of the ’fridge, do you mean?
EE: It’d have to be a Galaxy Fruit &
Nut bar for me. Anything else....the
more embarrassing the better?
DM: Sex and the City, I guess. I really fancy Sarah Jessica Parker.
EE: What, that whiney, skinny,
horse-featured.....yuk.
DM: Takes all sorts, mate.
(Darren’s mobile makes a trumpet
sound again)
EE: You clearly like your gadgets.
What about Facecock. Are you following the herd by being on there?
DM: Guilty as charged.
EE: How often do you log on, or
whatever they call it?
DM: About three or four times a day.
EE: Why?
DM: To see what’s happening.
EE: Such as?
DM: To see what my friends are up
to.
EE: Oh, I’ve heard all about people
having ‘friends’. How many of the
buggers have you got then?
DM: (checks to see): 296....but I
know them all.
EE: What, personally?
DM: Yeah, for definite.
EE: Well, at least you don’t have vir-
tual friends. So what type of thing
would you put on Facecock?
DM: I might post the fact that I was
just about to go to the gym (Virgin
Active, Thundersley).
EE: Oh. So you’d also ‘post’ the fact
that you were just entering, I dunno,
Sainsburys or Tesco then, would
you?
DM: (laughs) No. Why would I?
EE: So why tell people you’re going
to the gym?
DM: (thinks about it) Hmmmm, I take
your point.
EE: Have you been on Facecock
already today (we met at Costa
Coffee at 9:15am)?
DM: (laughs guiltily) Don’t put this in
the mag, but I was on there at
4:00am this morning.
EE: FOUR AM??? That sounds like
a guilty pleasure if ever there was
one.
DM: The dog wanted to go out into
the garden, so I made a cup of tea
and logged on while I waited for him.
EE: Dear of dear, Maynard! Moving
swiftly on, I think, what was the last
book you read?
DM: I’m not much of a reader. There
never seems to the be time. I guess
it would have been Peter Kay’s autobiography, ‘The Sound of Laughter’,
about a couple of years ago whilst
we were on holiday.
EE: And what about the last movie
you watched?
DM: (face lights up) The
Inbetweeners movie at Bas Vegas...
EE: Eh?
DM: Festival Leisure Park at
Basildon. They call it Bas Vegas.
I loved the TV series and it’s probably the funniest film I’ve ever seem in
my entire life.
EE: Leave the readers with one final
thought, disturbing or otherwise.
DM: (thinks) When you’re out walking the dog, other dog owners will
actually stop and talk to you. Not
only that, but when I get home of an
evening, the dog seems to be the
only one that’s pleased to see me!
The Edge 01245 348256
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
13:01
Page 25
GOLD- -SPECIAL
PEYTONBRANCH
PLACE
TVTVGOLD
‘GOLD! Always believe in your soul, you’ve got the
power to know, you’ve got your pants on back to
front....’
Whatever happened to the dashing
Patrick Mower?
And this month, old-timer readers, it’s the one and
only Special Branch. Now come on, some of you at
least must surely remember Special Branch, starring the pitted-faced George Sewell (as Chief
Inspector Alan Craven) and the drop dead gorgeous (so Edge Mum used to reckon) Patrick
Mower (Detective Chief Inspector Tom Haggerty),
before he made such a complete and utter cock of
himself by appearing in both pantomime and
Emmerdale.
Special Branch is a label customarily used to identify police units responsible for matters of national
security, whilst Special Branch the TV series ran
between 1969 - 1974, with Patrick Mower being
belatedly introduced (in 1973) as a bit of ‘eye
candy’ for the ladies to lust over as its viewing
figures were lower than anticipated.
Young Edge lad didn’t tune-in until 1973 when the
series began being produced by Euston Films who
were later responsible for both The Sweeney and
Minder - so yes, readers, Craven & Haggerty really
were the blueprint for Jack Reagan and Sergeant
Carter who followed them.
Christ, what the hell happened to derail Patrick
Mower’s most promising
start as a television heartthrob - and make no mistake, he definitely was the
real deal at that time?
He’s 73 now, you know,
gawd bless ’im, and even
in Emmerdale you have to
admit that he still looks
bloody good. But somewhere along the line it
must all have gone terribly
wrong for him as a far
more glittering career was surely expected (and we
were talking about a potential James Bond in the
making at one time).
Mower first came to prominence in the excellent
Callan starring Edward Woodward (blimey, The
Edge will have to feature that in its own right one of
these days)....so how did he end up as Rodney
(bloody) Blackstock?
There simply seems to have been a great big hole
in his career for the better part of 25 - 30 years, so
if you’re reading this, Paddy, me old son, give The
Edge a tinkle, okay, mate?
I’ve just looked him up on t’interweb thingy and it
seems he must have been a bit of a luvie at heart
as he used to have his very own theatre in Soho;
it’s just that I really did expect him to make it BIG.
Look at his shirt lapel though (above)? What a
blinder, eh? So maybe his fashion sense was to
blame? It’s certainly well shaky these days.
DOORS - DOORS - DOORS
‘Cheerful Bob’ & Bros. inc. ‘Serious Chris’
& ‘Forgetful Dave’ - ‘all Alive & Fitting!”
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visit www.bang-olufsen.com/beovision7
or visit our showroom and surrender your senses
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www.bang-olufsen.com/chelmsford
Scan the code with your
smartphone. QR apps can
be downloaded free from
the app store.
shaun@theedgemag.co.uk
Bang & Olufsen of Leigh on Sea
91 Broadway West, Leigh on Sea, Essex SS9 2BU Tel: 01702 477741 Email: leigh@bang-olufsen.co.uk
www.bang-olufsen.com/leighonsea
Page 25
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
Ouija Board
It’s no secret by now that I view the
realms of mysticism, magic and spirituality
as a load of old bollocks. Despite my best
efforts at insulating myself from all this
claptrap by developing a coterie of erudite, intellectual and above all sane companions, the mysterious world of the
supernatural still finds a way to slip
through the chinks in this social armour
and often from the most unexpected
sources.
The not-so-secret world of ‘the other side’
comes in a myriad of different flavours
and its adherents could call themselves
‘Pagans’, ‘Wiccans’, ‘Followers of Astaru’
or ‘New Agers’. In the interests of journalistic brevity however, I shall simply refer to
them as ‘Divs’. As with any belief (and it
seems to me that the more ludicrous the
belief, the more tightly it’s held), any
attempts to explain the various phenomena in scientific terms are fought against
tooth and nail.
13:04
Page 26
ME & MY adamantium
skeleton
The Kingmeister reports
Pictured: A Div
Unfortunately for the Div, however, the
shadowy arts of reason, empirical evidence and common fecking sense are
hard to beat, even when they fall back on
the argumentative equivalent of sticking
their fingers in their ears and shouting “La,
la, la - I’m not listening anymore!”
But it was a great shock to me when, over
a pint outside The Rake in Borough
Market the other Friday, to learn that none
other than our esteemed editor admitted
his belief in Ouija boards. So we had an
enjoyable and spirited discussion on the
supposed efficacy of the Ouija board and
the ‘spirit world’ in general but, being a
few pints in and without all the salient
facts to hand, I didn’t feel that I’d put up a
good enough fight for the forces of sanity
and resolved to continue our battle of wits
The doorway to the spirit world: a
bargain at £9.99 from Amazon.
Page 26
in my column. As I’m sure you’re all
aware, the Ouija board (sometimes
referred to as a ‘Spirit board’) is a tool
supposedly used to contact the spirit
world using a planchette (the little triangle
thing) and the letters, numbers and words
printed onto the board.
The gathering of Divs will place their fingers lightly on the planchette, ask their
questions, and then the spirits will guide
them to spell out the answers, thus once
and for all proving that there’s life after
death, that spiritualism is great and the
Divs were right all along.
Or does it?
Er, no, actually, it doesn’t. You see, my
main problem with all this cobblers isn’t so
much what the Divs believe in, as
how/why they believe in it. The Div will
see the planchette move under their fingers without them pushing it and spell out
coherent words, something that I admit
must be quite astounding the first time you
experience it.
But then, unable to explain what just happened, the Divs will automatically believe
it’s magic, rather than actually making an
effort to carry out some research into the
phenomenon. That’s my problem in a nutshell. As soon as something you can’t
explain is ascribed to the world of magic,
or spirits, you’ve closed your mind to any
other possibility, and you’re doing both
yourself and humanity an injustice.
With careful research, experimentation
and enough time we can, and have,
explained much of the unexplainable. It’s
one thing our insatiably curious monkey
brains are good at.
So let’s all imagine, just for a second, that
we all subscribed to the Div stance of:
“Well, I can’t explain it, so it must be
magic.” Only now think of just how much
we’d have learned over the last few centuries if that was our reasoning. That’s
right, sweet feck all is the answer.
And that’s what pisses me right off more
than anything else.
Yes, there are still plenty of things that we
can’t explain, but surely the rational people amongst us like to carry on trying to
figure stuff out and not just file it under
‘magic’ so we can get back to drinking bat
juice and annoying people by playing the
sodding bongo drums.
As it happens, the architect of the original
debate, the Ouija board, is easily
explained. If you’re a Div, you might want
to stop reading now in case the imminent
deluge of common sense interrupts your
chakras and makes you cry. Whether you
believe in them or not, we can all agree
that the Ouija board is a mystic tradition
dating back to the mists of antiquity. For
thousands of years, cultures have been
using the Ouija board to talk to the spirit
world and, oh hang on, no they haven’t.
Nothing screams “Magic” like a 20
foot tall robot surely?
The Ouija board was actually invented in
1890 by a trio of businessmen in that
most mystical of cities: Baltimore. The
Ouija board itself is owned by the same
parent company to hold the rights on
those other famous articles of spiritual
enlightenment: Transformers toys.
That’s right, your portal to the other side is
as mystical as an Optimus Prime toy and
was manufactured for the very same
reason: to make someone money. Yes,
you can go back to ancient Rome and
China and see similar practices of divination in as far as they were trying to commune with the spirits, but the methods
used were vastly different to the Ouija
boards of today, and so the ancient tradition of the Ouija board basically goes back
as far as when it was still fashionable to
wear a corset and bustle.
In fact, I managed to find a copy of the
advert that went out when the first ever
Ouija board was marketed, and it reads:
‘Ouija - a wonderful talking board!’
How very interesting and mysterious!
‘Surpasses in its results of second sight
and clairvoyance! Will give an intelligent
answer every time! Proven at patent office
before patent was allowed.’
Proven at the patent office, eh? I’d love to
have been there for that particular meeting.
“But Kingpin!” I hear all you Divs slobber,
“your cheap shots about Optimus Prime
still can’t explain the pure magic behind
the Ouija board!”
Actually, yes, I can, so be quiet and you
might learn something. The Ouija board
works because of something called the
Ideo-motor response. Basically, your
subconscious mind causes minute movements of your muscles to move the
planchette to spell out words and the like.
As far as you’re concerned, you’re not
moving it at all and it’s some other force
that’s in the driving seat, which is actually
partially correct. As I’ve mentioned in a
previous article, we have no control over
our subconscious and it’s almost like a
separate entity, which is smarter and
stronger than our conscious minds will
ever be. The Ideo-motor response is both
clinically proven and well documented and
60 seconds of consulting that other mystical oracle called ‘Google’ would have
shown all you Divs the very same thing,
but that’s nowhere near as much fun as
talking to the dead, is it?
If you do have a Ouija board and you’re a
believer of all this nonsense, then please
try this little experiment. Ask the spirits a
few questions and see what there answer
is. Then blindfold yourself and ask the
same questions again and get someone
else to see what gets spelled out. If you
can’t, or won’t, do this test, then I’ll save
you the bother and tell you that the second attempt will yield nothing but unintelligible gibberish.
The spirits shouldn’t need to see where
the letters are, should they? But you do,
and once sight has been taken out of the
equation, your subconscious will suddenly
have all the literary intelligence of a carton
of Pot Noodle.
I’ve even thrown the gauntlet down about
ghosts in the past (which no-one took me
up on) and I’ll do the same with all you
spiritualist Divs as well. Invite me over to
your place and I’ll happily Ouija it up with
you all night long and show you how it all
actually works.
You can even Tarot card and cold-read me
too, if you like, and I’ll be able to explain
or refute all of your nonsensical bollocks
without even breaking into a sweat.
Only please, for the love of whatever deity
you subscribe to, use your bloody heads
for once. If there’s something you can’t
explain at first glance, then get off your
arse and actually study the subject a bit.
The brain is a remarkable piece of evolutionary engineering and you’re honestly
doing yourself a huge disservice by filling
it up with any such ludicrous claptrap.
In fact, it’s like buying a brand new Aston
Martin, cutting the roof off and using it as
a skip. And despite my almost crippling
misanthropy, even I believe that you, me,
and all of us, are far better than that, so
for once, rather than trying to prove me
wrong, how about trying to prove me
right?
Come on, readers....someone take The
‘Kingpin Challenge’ as The Edge would
love to prove the little shit wrong! E.E.
www.theedgemag.co.uk
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
13:08
Page 27
Moulsham Street’s
licensed sex shop over two retail floors
ADULT DISCOUNT STORE
OPEN 7 DAYS A WEEK!
the edge reaches....erm, Harwich!
Craig Gough sent this photo in of himself and his buddy, Ben ‘The Funky’
Gibbons as he’s a Youth Projects Manager at Chelmsford YMCA and the
pair of ’em “took a group of young people out sailing”, so I reckon Craig
thought The Edge might give this dodgy pair a well earnt pat on the back,
or something?
F
*** off. The Edge is going to absolutely muller you, lad.
You honestly look like an advertisement for bad sunglasses. Ben’s (The
Edge is assuming he is ‘The Gibbon’ on the left) look like a couple of
early eighteenth century French sideboards, whilst yours are just plain
daft, sunshine. Hideous Su Pollard/Christopher Biggins jobbies.
And what’s going on with the molars? Don’t you read The Edge’s classified section? It says there plain as daylight: TOOTH FAIRIES - fantastic
results for just £99’ Get yourself booked in, Austin!
Finally, has Ben got a crush on you, or something? Your photograph
takes me back to a school disco in 1974 (I was 13 then, Craig, and I bet
you hadn’t even been born), only I was trying to surreptitiously get off with
a girl called Christine Walls - and a right little handful she was too. But
what I wasn’t trying to do - and The Edge says wasn’t again for extra
added emphasis - was consummate a boylove crush.
Oh Craig. Oh Ben. I honestly bet you wish you hadn’t written in?
How DARE The Kingmeister RIDICULE
The Ouija Board, readers?
The Edge really would love it if one
of its readers did invite Kingpin
over to their next Ouija Board
evening, because the way your
editor sees it, you can read and
read and read about something
until your head is almost full to
capacity, but actually doing
something is another matter
entirely.
If what you say is true, Kingpin,
lad, then why doesn’t the glass
move about the table straight away,
hmmm?
Because it doesn’t and if it’s only a
game, well then, it ought to be
returned to the department store it
was purchased from on the
grounds that the bugger’s faulty.
I’ve only ever dabbled once and it
was for genuinely good intentions
(a death in the family of the girl I
was seeing at that time), so to be
fair, the three of us who gave it a
go were but 100% novices.
But when that glass does eventually start moving - whoooooeeeee - it
is a proper force to be reckoned
with and you never know what the
hell it’s going to spell next. (Honest,
anyone who thinks someone is
pushing the glass simply doesn’t
know what they’re talking about
because you only place a finger
lightly on top of the glass and you’d
each have to be doing the pushing,
only no way could you make it
The Edge 01245 348256
glide like it does.)
Now then, the second point I’d like
to make is - and this actually happened - a fourth party entered the
room whilst we were doing the
Ouija and they were just about to
leave when it spelt out ‘WAIT’ really
quickly. Then it proceeded to tell us
something that the three of us at
the board didn’t have a clue about,
but when we told the fourth person,
well, shocked, staggered,
amazed....use whatever word you
like, but they were pretty bloody
dumbstruck at what the board was
telling them and it also made perfect sense to them, even though it
might as well have been Double
Dutch to we three.
So what’s all that about?
How can you honestly explain that?
Like I say, I’ve only ever done it
once, but this ‘mere glass’ ended
up coming on a car journey with us
(don’t you dare laugh, Kingpin!) so
that only two people had their
fingers on it, but ‘spirit’ was still
definitely in there, lad!!!
Sometimes the glass would be
swishing about the table so very
fast that it’d somersault off and
land on the floor, so that it’s just a
glass on the carpet, right? But pick
it up and place it face down on the
board again with all of our fingers
on it and whoosh, away we’d
blinkin’ well go again.
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The wonders of modern technology, eh? Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf.
Page 27
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13:11
Page 28
FIFTY...NOT OUT
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by Steve Ward
Tea Lake
You don’t hear so much about it
these days, but a decade or so back
the papers were always moaning
about the stupidity of the Common
Agricultural Policy. The argument
went, mainly from the Dailies Mail
and Express, that French farmers
were being made rich enough to
own Ferraris because the EU paid
them stacks of money to grow stuff
nobody wanted.
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So we had mountains of grain and
sugar, and lakes of wine. Rather
than send all this excess food to
places that might need it - Africa for
example - it was left to rot in barns
or vast vats just to keep prices artificially high.
You do have to wonder how such
crass mis-management could be
allowed to happen. But then you
remember the old sayings about a
camel being a horse designed by a
committee, and the one that goes
committees are places where good
ideas go to get strangled, and it all
seems perfectly feasible. The EU is
the biggest committee in the world,
and worse, there are a great many
self interests to cater for, so the fact
that Jaques le agriculteur can milk
the system as well as his cows is
actually of no great surprise.
Well, the infamous wine lake came
to mind recently when a statistic was
published. Before we get to that we
must just ponder a while on how any
sane person could let perfectly reasonable alcohol simply decay to
vinegar, rather than let us peasants
have it on the cheap. It’s a certainty
that anything of decent quality was
not left in a barrel in Provence - it
would have been bottled and sent
up the motorway to Brussels as
quick as you can say cheers. Or
Salut, if we’re getting into the swing
of it. You can be sure the Euro MPs
will have been looked after, so that’s
OK, isn’t it.
Anyway, the statistic that was published recently was that the average
three bed semi takes 9,500 cups of
tea to build. Yup. 9,500. If that doesn’t qualify as a lake, heaven only
knows what does. You can look at
this several ways.
Page 28
British workman does his best job
when sustained by endless cups of
tea. In a way it’s quite reassuring,
because it belies the never ending
stories in the right wing rags (Dailies
Mail and Express again) about
Polish builders coming over here
and taking all our jobs. Surely if that
were true, the average house would
take not 9,500 cups of tea to build,
but, say, 500 bottles of vodka? Not
that we’re stereotyping, of course.
But you could look at it another way
and say that it’s typical, and rather
than get on with their work, the
assorted brickies, plasterers,
plumbers and sparkies spend the
whole day sat around drinking tea.
You pays your money and takes
your choice on this one, as with so
many things.
Interestingly, but unsurprisingly, the
survey was conducted by someone
with a vested interest. There is a
new kid in town as far as tea sales
is concerned. This is an old trick, of
course, to commission a survey with
a good stat at the end of it which is
bound to get picked up by the press.
That will always ensure your new
company or product gets a nice free
plug. In this case it’s a new brand of
tea called ‘Make mine a builders’.
Not quite as snappy as Typhoo is it,
but in a way quite clever because
you won’t forget the name.
The presumption must be that the
tea is particularly strong and tastes
best with three sugars. What’s that
about stereotyping?
Anyway, should you have so little to
do that digging beyond the headline
stat of this survey seems like a good
idea you will find some more interesting (?) ideas. Make mine a
builders has discovered that
although it currently takes 9,500
cuppas to achieve a wholly constituted semi, that number is slowly but
surely decreasing.
Unsurprisingly, this has nothing to
do with improving productivity in the
construction industry and everything
to do with the ever increasing popularity of coffee in the western world.
Yes, Bob the Builder is now often to
be found clutching a Skinny Decaf
Latte.
Now this is a complete shock to all
our prejudices. You can’t have hairyarsed builders standing around
drinking such wimpy stuff, can you?
It just goes against all of nature’s
laws. Starbucks’ finest light brown
coloured milk belongs in the manicured mitts of Sex and the City
wannabes, not on a muddy building
site.
You can extend this principle of
measuring how much work is done
by the amount of liquid consumed to
your own life. Imagine going into
your boss and asking for a pay rise
because you’ve had to drink ten
cups of tea every day this week.
Firstly, you could say that this is not
at all surprising. It’s been the way
That’d work, wouldn’t it?
since, oh, forever, that the great
To comment on this article email: steveward2000@hotmail.com
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
***
F
23/09/2011
17:30
Page 29
A DUCK, IT’S QUACK!
The Alfa Giulietta has been out for just over a
year and The Edge was recently lucky enough
to test-drive its flagship ‘Cloverleaf’ edition and
bugger, it’s an impressive thing indeed.
You just know when you sit in a car when everything immediately feels right, and so it was with
this adorable little beauty; as snug as a bug in a
rug - just like a spot of Ballroom Dancing in your
favourite pair of Y-fronts.
Christ only knows what the Cloverleaf’s figures
are when you put it in ‘dynamic mode’ (the shift
is both immediate and noticeable) from, say,
30mph-80mph, but it felt like a mini atom bomb
going off and proper made me swear. I mean,
picture the scene: a glorious mid-September
day, the sun is shining, the car windows are
half-down and as I am accelerating, the obscenities are truly flying out of my mouth, for which I
blame the Giulietta. It’s like having a dog on a
lead that simply wants to be let loose; there’s
almost no holding it back.
And another thing, if anyone reading this is
actually interested in a ‘Cloverleaf’, then why not
buy the demonstrator I drove when it becomes
available in December and save yourself up to
five grand on the list price (the Giulietta featured
cost £25,500 new inc. white paintwork and
those cracking 18” black alloy wheels).
The choice is yours....either a brand new 1.4TB
MultiAir or this particular ex-demonstrator (but
three months old with ‘demonstrator mileage’)
‘Cloverleaf’ for between £20,000 and £21,000.
Tough call!
“Most impressive is the way the car pulls at 80mph....the thrust
is really surprising and enables brisk, safe overtaking.”
Autocar on the 1.4TB MultiAir 170bhp version
Handsome Dog: waiting impeccably outside
The Lion at Boreham.
There are two 1.4-litre versions (120 and
170bhp), three diesel versions (105, 140 and
170bhp) and the ‘Cloverleaf’......oooooh lordy,
the ‘Cloverleaf’ (BMW has its ‘M’ version,
Mercedes its ‘AMG’ and Alfa Romeo its
‘Cloverleaf’ - racing heritage and all that, don’t
y’know) offering a turbo-charged1750cc engine
with a mouth watering 235bhp.
0-62mph figures quote 6.8 seconds and if
you’ve got a mind for math and you don’t think
that sounds all that nippy, then book yourself a
test-drive as it completely blew The Edge away.
And what a looker, eh? There’s simply no bad
angle where the Giulietta’s concerned, a bit like
Italians in general (apart from Berlusconi).
Jeremy Clarkson has always said that everyone
should own an Alfa Romeo at least once in their
lifetime, and with both the Mito and the Giulietta,
there’s definitely no reason why not to (whilst
Alfa enthusiasts are no doubt waiting with baited
breath for the strangely named ‘4C’ sports
model that will set you back in the region of
£40k to £50k next year. Sales Manager Rob
Wallace told me, “We’ve already taken a few
non-refundable £5,000 deposits.”).
Though I’m a diesel man through and through, if
I were to buy a Giulietta, I’d like to think I’d opt
for the 1.4TB MultiAir Veloce, because it’s just a
single second slower than the ‘Cloverleaf’
(0-62mph), yet you’re looking at 47.7mpg (combined) as compared to the latter's 37.2mpg
(which for all that performance is outstanding).
NOW WITH 5 YEARS’ COMPLIMENTARY SERVICING.*
REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLE
I AM GIULIETTA.
To find out more about the Mito and Giulietta
range, why not speak to the very nice
people at County Motor Works
01245 235050
....and make sure you mention The Edge!
GRRRR! Easy, boy, easy.
A L FA G I U L I E T TA
1.4 TB MultiAir 170 bhp Lusso in Special paint
Optional Final Payment
(inc. option fee of £295)
36 Monthly Payments of
Total Amount Payable
£329.00
On the Road Price
Deposit
Amount of Credit
£20,495.00
Duration of Contract
£2,490.00
Rate of Interest (Fixed)
£7,761.00
£22,095.00
37 months
3.35%
Representative 4.1% APR
£18,005.00
PERFORMANCE
ALFA D.N.A.
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The safest car of its class.
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obtained in the
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facebook.com/alfaromeouk
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WITHOUT HEART WE WOULD BE MERE MACHINES.
COUNTY MOTOR WORKS
EASTERN APPROACH, SPRINGFIELD, CHELMSFORD, ESSEX CM2 6PN
01245 235050 www.amcalfaromeo.co.uk
Model shown Alfa Giulietta 1.4 TB MultiAir 170 bhp Lusso in special paint. Range of official fuel consumption figures for the Alfa Giulietta range: Urban 26.2 – 51.4 mpg (10.8 – 5.5 I/100km); Extra Urban 48.7 – 76.3 mpg (5.8 – 3.7 I/100km);
Combined 37.2 – 64.2 mpg (7.6 – 4.4 I/100km). CO2 emissions 177 – 114 g/km.
OFFER SUBJECT TO AVAILABILITY WHILE STOCKS LAST, BEFORE 30TH SEPTEMBER 2011. FINANCE SUBJECT TO STATUS. GUARANTEES/INDEMNITIES MAY BE REQUIRED,TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY.WITH ALFA ROMEO PREFERENZA YOU HAVE THE OPTION TO RETURN THE VEHICLE AND NOT PAY THE FINAL PAYMENT, SUBJECT TO THE VEHICLE HAVING NOT EXCEEDED THE AGREED ANNUAL MILEAGE (A CHARGE
OF 6P PER MILE FOR EXCEEDING 6,000 MILES PER ANNUM IN THIS EXAMPLE) AND BEING IN GOOD CONDITION. OFFERS MAY BE WITHDRAWN OR AMENDED WITHOUT PRIOR NOTIFICATION.ALFA ROMEO FINANCIAL SERVICES, PO BOX 108, LEEDS LS27 0WU. SEE ALFAROMEO.CO.UK FOR FULL TERMS AND CONDITIONS. *5 YEARS’ COMPLIMENTARY SERVICE PLAN/50,000 MILES – OFFER APPLIES TO VEHICLES
REGISTERED BETWEEN 1ST JULY TO 30TH SEPTEMBER 2011. SERVICE PLAN INCLUDES SCHEDULED SERVICING ONLY OCCURRING WITHIN 5 YEAR PERIOD AND 50,000 MILE LIMIT AND EXCLUDES WEAR AND TEAR ITEMS, RETAIL SALES ONLY. OFFER CORRECT AT TIME OF PRINTING.TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY. SEE WWW.ALFAROMEO.CO.UK FOR FULL DETAILS.WE WORK WITH A NUMBER OF CREDITORS
TO PROVIDE FINANCE TO OUR CUSTOMERS, INCLUDING ALFA ROMEO FINANCIAL SERVICES. **SOURCE: EURO NCAP RATING.
The Edge 077 646 797 44
Page 29
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
13:19
Page 30
kennel which then prompted the RSPCA
to go in and investigate where the dog
had been put.
Apparently the gypsies were taken by
complete surprise by the Police’s dawn
raid. No doubt the resident fortune-teller
got a damn good kicking after they’d left
if that was the case.
But it does make you think.
For instance, when the Egyptians had
slaves, they built such wonders of the
world as the pyramids and the Sphinx,
whereas all gypsies and their slaves
seemingly manage to do is tarmac a few
drives.
TOTALLY TRACIE
Blood Sweat and Chores
Page 30
Keep Calm & Carry On or
Shit Your Pants & Panic
A burglar’s Poodunnit gave the game
away when he soiled his pants during a
raid and was traced by cops via his DNA
Jeffrey Humphries apparently lost all
bowel control after being startled as his
gang raided a warehouse near Lakeside.
Cops found his discarded pants lying
nearby, so promptly took a sample (next
time you moan about your job, think
about having to do that for a living).
Humphries was then caught bang to
rights and pleaded guilty to two counts of
burglary and was promptly sentenced to
4 years in prison. The detective who led
the enquiry said,“I followed my nose until
I got to the bottom of it.”
Keeping on with the theme of bums, this
month a gang of prisoners brutally
attacked another inmate who they
wrongly suspected of hiding drugs inside
his bottom. They believed the victim was
hiding the drugs and selling them at a
cut-price to other lags. Which begs the
question who would pay full-price if
they’d known they’d been stored up
there in the interim?
So incensed at the suspected cheek of
it, four men cornered the suspected drug
bum in his cell and set about him with a
tin of tuna in a sock. They then spent a
further 30 minutes using a spoon, shower gel and a pen filled with soap in order
to try and extricate the non-existent
drugs.
The four men were caught red-handed in
the act (bit hard to think of an innocent
explanation for that one, boys) and all
pleaded guilty to attempted burglary and
had 20 years added to their sentences.
These days you cannot turn the telly on
or open a newspaper without some story
dominating the headlines connected with
gypsies. Forget about having a Gay Best
Friend; a Gypsy Best Friend is where it’s
at right now. Paddy Docherty, ‘Gypsy
King’ and winner of this year’s Celebrity
Big Brother, is now supposedly in talks
with Hollywood studios, whilst Brad Pitt
is hotly tipped to star in a film about
Paddy’s life. Brad reportedly said, “This
is the part I’ve been waiting for my whole
life,” and he is even making plans to get
into character by living in a caravan
alongside Paddy. Well, I can just imagine
what Angelina will have to say about
that, particularly as she’ll no doubt be
expected to stay at home and clean the
caravan all day long.
The mere mention of the word ‘gypsy’ is
usually enough to send normally rational
people into a state of mass panic and
hysteria, with garden fences and barricades going up all over the place, just in
case the eviction of Dale Farm should
have the repercusions of gypsies moving
into your back garden.
Meanwhile, the United Nations peace
keeping forces were expected to have
been called in at any moment to keep
the peace between the Travellers of Dale
Farm and Essex County Council. Only
hang on, wasn’t Angelina once an
ambassador for the United Nations? So
maybe she could come in useful after all.
The latest story is that a gypsy camp has
been alleged to have held 24 men as
Whose a Pretty Boy Then
slaves in caravans and made them work
If you get caught short whilst staggering
from dawn ’til dusk with no more thanks
home after a bit of a bender, don’t worry
than a tin of cider and a can of spam
if a tree happens to say, “Hello there,” or
(sounds OK to me). To be honest, when“Whose a pretty boy then,” whilst you’re
ever I see anyone in a caravan, I always
mid-tinkle. No, your not going mad. An
assume that they’re there against their
escaped parrot with a full repertoire of
will. I can never understand anyone who
phrases has apparently been on the
works all their life, then retires to live in a
loose for some time now and there have
caravan, towing it about through traffic
been reports of other species of bird’s
jams the length and breadth of Great
copying its phrases (I kid you not).
Britain, simply to drink tea and eat soggy
People have been calling local police
sandwiches in some godforsaken,
stations and reporting ‘voices calling
windswept field or other, and then has
them’ in night from their gardens. “Hello
the cheek to call it a holiday! Camping or
there”, “Hello darling” and “What’s up?“
‘glamping’ - as it is now known - seemare just a few of the phrases that flocks
ingly has a bit of glamour attached to it.
of wild birds have been heard to cry.
But at least the gypsies have a reason
Let’s just hope these birds don’t flock to
for owning a caravan.
One man interviewed about his time as a Chelmsford town centre or they might
discover a whole new vocabulary, such
“Gypsy Slave“ said he was promised a
as “Fancy a shag?“ and “Hold my hair
caravan with Sky, only it turned out to be
back, Michaela, I think I’m going to
a caravan with a hole in the roof.
puke.”
Another ‘slave’ was made to sleep in a
Tracie123@aol.com
The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
23/09/2011
17:30
Page 31
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The Edge 180:The Edge 172.qxd
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23/09/2011
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Page 32
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