It must have been a thousand years ago that I and a few others were squabbling in similar fashion with Joe Rooney. I was a fool then, hopefully less of a one now. Joe was right then and he is right now.
Woah there, Missvic! Easy on the sweary sauce, if you please. We're not all Monsta and Dazza, all hopped up on bostik and Special Brew, roaring impotently at the moon in protest against a cruel, vengeful clamping deity, you know?
They are selling the golf club to the club members. It will continue to be a golf course. The site of the exciting new community facility is yet to be decided.
Saturday afternoon everyone is in the pub*, watching the toon via the magic of dodgy Arabian channels. *No names, no pack drills, "The Man" may be looking in.
Well, the unsubstantiated say-so of a barely literate internet messageboard poster is all the evidence that I require. Thanks for clearing that up, monsta.
It's a little known fact that our resident Mary Quant lookalike funds her extravagant lifestyle by selling voguish crisps in Canada. I reckon she even designed the bags.
Yes, what a diabolical waste of our council tax, providing facilities for victims of domestic violence when we could have an unnecessary swimming pool for people too lazy to travel the vast distance to Blyth or Ashington. Sort it out, Wansbeck Council!
A prawn at the gym This is what Bill Gates had on his mind as he pored over a set of blueprints for the "Infotainment Superhighway" that fateful night in Seattle.