The Edge Magazine Chelmsford Fanzine

Fifty not out

Dangerous Pants

Written by Fifty Not Out   
Thursday, 04 February 2010

When historians look back on the noughties, 25th December 2009 will be recorded as another nail in the coffin of air transport. The reason has nothing to do with carbon emissions, high cost, the sheer dreadfulness of Ryanair or even the fact that because we're in Britain, you can't even get to an airport on Christmas Day because there's no feckin public transport. No, the reason is something that could have come straight out of the pages of Viz.

 


 

The Continental

Written by Steve Ward   
Friday, 18 December 2009
There was a time when Europe was a continent, writes Steve Ward. It was classified as such in atlases and encyclopaedias and the constituent parts were reasonably well known to any British school kid in a geography class. There were France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Switzerland, and some small countries in the North West between France and Scandinavia. Then there were a few joke states like Monaco, Andorra and San Marino. They were jokes only insofar as they are ridiculously small and not really what you'd classify as a country at all. And that was Europe. Nice and compact, easily defined, foreign, and definitely a physical presence.
 

 

Egalitarianism

Written by Steve Ward   
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Despite harbouring a fondness for what Pele described as ‘the beautiful game’, this column has not often dwelt too long on the subject, writes Steve Ward. Although a great many people share Pele's view, there are an equal number - and not all of them female - that can't see the point in grown men chasing a ball. Of course, if they are just chasing the ball, it's a fairly low level of football that's going on, but that's not the point.



 

Come Fly With Me

Written by Fifty Not Out   
Tuesday, 06 October 2009

Come Fly With Me

Airports. Dontcha just hate them? Anyone who has been forced to use one in recent times, and we'll define 'recent times' in a minute, will have been stressed beyond reasonable limits by the horrible places.

Those of us well into middle age can remember when flying used to be a slightly exciting prospect for most plebs. It wasn't something we did very often, and so it was to be looked forward to as an experience. The airport, back then, was an integral part of that experience. There were strange procedures that didn't exist anywhere else. Tickets were complicated multi-leaf things with carbon copies. Even security checks, which consisted of walking through a metal detector gate, were a bit novel, and so yes, exciting.

 

Old Bags

Written by Steve Ward   
Thursday, 20 August 2009
We return to not one, but two old favourites this month, because sadly, neither is ever far from view.  In fact, 'old favourites' under-cooks it a bit, because a much better word to describe the topics would be obsessions. The two things, neatly linked in this instance, are fame and the utter, utter dreadfulness of our glorious leaders.
 

FAME

Written by Steve Ward   
Thursday, 16 July 2009
What does the word mean to you? If you're of a certain vintage (old git), then Fame is the title of a David Bowie song from his I-wish-I-were-James-Brown period. For anyone born in the 1970s, Fame is the TV show turned film turned stage show turned video game turned breakfast cereal that captured the nation's teenagers by their heartstrings, filling their poor little heads with ideas of song and dance immortality.
 

Relative Incompetence

Written by Fifty Not Out   
Monday, 01 June 2009
It's SteveThe title of this month's missive is not, as you would first think, about whether your uncle is any good at doing his job. However, the circumstantial evidence is that should he be employed in providing you with a service of any kind, then he won't be, but that's not the point. At least, it's not the whole point.
 

An Unpopular View

Written by Steve Ward   
Friday, 17 April 2009
Fifty Not outTwo months ago, the Grumpy Goose filed a column in this here magazine that will have struck a chord with a great many people in the UK. The gist of it was a huge contempt and general dislike for the USA and all who sail in her. This is a fashionable and widespread view, and in fact, until a certain Mr Obama came onto the scene, GG's opinion was just about universal across the rest of the entire world. That view holds that America, and by extension therefore each and every American, is arrogant, ignorant, loud and far too outgoing. Oh, and fat too.


 

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Written by Steve Ward   
Monday, 02 February 2009
 Here's a nice little dose of doom and gloom to match the winter weather. It starts with a line most famously sung by Frank Sinatra. It runs like this: “Love and marriage.......go together like a horse and carriage.”

That's what the old song says and maybe it's even true for some people. But for many others, love and marriage comes before a trip to the lawyer and penury.

Given the way that the divorce courts work in this country, it's clear that anyone with their own money who gets themselves into a wedded state is asking for trouble. Or you could look at it from the other point-of-view and say there is a fortune to be made out of marriage, by hitching then ditching a sleb.
 

Pretentiousness (Yes, Again.)

Written by Steve Ward   
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Over the last twenty or so years, the amount of wine drunk per annum in the UK has increased in volume from an Olympic sized swimming pool's worth, to something closer to the contents of Lake Windermere. In fact, having used the cliché about Olympic sized swimming pool, there's a huge temptation to fall back on the other standard phrase of measurement and say it's now the size of Wales. Yes, to pass the test of journalistic competence, it is necessary for any writer to compare things to the size of Wales. Clearly, for a liquid, that doesn't work. So Lake Windermere it is. And remember, you read it here first.
 

David Caruso

Written by Steve Ward   
Saturday, 04 October 2008
Cool CarusoD
avid Caruso.

There's a name to conjure with, and it has to be said, a particularly fine moniker. To younger readers, he's the guy from one of the CSI programmes on TV. To those of an older generation, he's the ginger headed detective from NYPD Blue back in the 80s. That last sentence is the significant one here - the one that notes he was playing the cool guy 25 years and more ago. That makes him, at a rough guess, at least 55 years old. Yet look at him in an episode of CSI and the guy's still got flaming red hair.
 
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